#because i wanna determine for how long he's been friends with baseball

[mr-payjay]

i am making my own ii human names list, but very slowly, because i am pedantic. also, i will not be counting mephone creating them as canon. ive had these ethnicity and family hcs for ages, and i will base my names on them. now, here are the two most important names.

OJ: Olivier-Jean "OJ" Jacques Silveira. my oj interpretation/gijinka is brazilian (paternal side) and ivorian (maternal side). his last name comes from his father and is brazilian portuguese. his first name and middle name were given by his mother, as many people in côte d'ivoire speak french (french colonization —> it's the official language now but there's MANY others accompanying it). a lot of people who speak french like to use "jean" in hyphenated names (trust me ive met a bajillion of them), so i included it. i think his name sounds quite classy.

oj was born and raised in america, speaking english at school and french at home. as well as some portuguese, but he never actually learned it. i think he would become quite pissy when kids at school would pronounce his name incorrectly (Olivier-Jean is... very not intuitive to english speakers. i believe they would say it like Oliver-Jeen) so they ended up using oj as shorthand. and he was fine with that, so it stuck. but at home he's Olivier and Olivier-Jean. he tells new people he meets to call him oj just because it's consistent and because he doesn't like the sound of his real name being mispronounced. coming from someone who constantly gets her real names mispronounced.

Paper: Paige Hsu (foreign name) and 许佩妍 / Xǔ Pèiyán (original name). my paper interpretation/gijinka is han taiwanese, so fully of han chinese descent. more specifically, hoklo (chosen because i hc he can speak mandarin AND hokkien). his family immigrated to taiwan from fujian (province in china with hoklo ancestry) post ww2. Xǔ is a particularly common surname in fujian, so i chose it for him. be gentle with me if i messed up with his given name LOL i know much less about chinese than french (but DO inform me if you know more about it and spot any mistakes!). Pèiyán means, in a way, beautiful garment. to wear something beautiful. to be adorned. etc. it's partially based on trying to make it seem a bit like the name "Paige", partially based on what i think his mother might name him (no real hopes or dreams for him so it's a little shallow), partially based on him as i know him (focused on presenting himself). it's also, as far as i know, a name mostly used for women. note that my interpretation of paper is usually a trans man.

now, Paige is unisex, it sounds like page, and it's a loved one of mine's favourite name for him, so i like it. i also think it makes sense for when he immigrated to canada with his mother as something they chose, and something he can still keep (being conveniently unisex). Hsu is one of the taiwanese romanizations for Xǔ. im not sure if he'd take on oj's last name. perhaps he'd hyphenate them. he's not particularly attached to his family, but Paige Hsu is quite a pretty name.

bonus: nickel is named Nikola Stević. this one was easy because my interpretation of nickel is kosovar serb. last names come from the father but the exact practice of it is a bit outdated so Stević is likely from his grandfather or great-grandfather (unless im misremembering how it works). i don't like the name Nicholas his name is Nikola. Nicholas sounds like a sweet little boy Nikola sounds like a menace. i see Nicholas everywhere start calling your nickel Nikola

[apomaro-mellow]

Hello! I love how you write and neeeed someone to steddie-fy this plssss

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM6CptSbP/

ooooh delicious

also this gives me a chance to do a teeny bit of frat!steve that erryone's goin crazy for rite now

Eddie had come a long way from rolling his eyes at his frat brat of a roommate. He'd seen Steve on that first day with his backwards baseball cap and had been ready to write him off. But after only one semester, he'd become totally smitten. In a platonic way, of course.

Steve always texted ahead if his frat brothers would be in the dorm so that Eddie could decide if he wanted to be around that energy. Whatever mess they might've made, Steve always cleaned up. When Eddie was up late studying or working on a hobby, he could hear Steve creeping in like a mouse, respectful of his roommate's night owl tendencies.

Sometimes Eddie had friends over, and Steve was always offering drinks or snacks, playing the part of hospitable host.

And dare he say it? The man was funny. Charming even. To the point that when the semester ended and Steve asked if he wanted to be roommates again, Eddie accepted without a second thought.

Which brings him to the problem he had today.

Now, Eddie himself was pretty free with his emotions. He didn't hold things close to the chest, especially after getting to know someone. So he was no stranger to physical shows, even among his guy friends. He'd hold their hands, hug them close. Even tease them with the promise of a kiss ("Jeff, my man, I could kiss ya!").

But that last thing was a line he never crossed. Kisses were a little too much for surface affection, in his opinion. And as much as he liked Steve and his company, they were just friends. So why was Steve kissing him all the time.

Well, not all the time. Just when Eddie was asleep. Thanks to his late nights, Eddie would sometimes nap during the day. Usually in his own room, but sometimes on the couch. And sometimes when he was on the couch, not yet asleep but down for the count, he would hear Steve's familiar footsteps, and feel an unfamiliar set of lips brush against his forehead. Once Eddie realized what was happening, he first wondered how long Steve had been doing this. Then he wondered why he got butterflies in his stomach.

Honestly, he was surprised that Steve hadn't caught on that he had caught on. Eddie was fidgety by nature and even though he tried to rein it in, he was sure some of his twitchiness had to show whenever Steve gave him those little kisses.

Even so, Steve just went on with his every day routine. Acting like he wasn't giving Eddie a smooch like every other day. Actually, it was getting close to every day now. At least once a day, Eddie found the time to get on the couch in their living room and close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. Sure he could just tell Steve not to kiss him anymore, but he didn't wanna embarrass the guy. Plus, the butterflies.

Then, one day, while Eddie was having one of his pretend naps, he heard Steve come in with someone else.

"Is this the guy?", the friend whispered. It was a male voice so it was probably someone from his frat.

"Yeah", Steve said, just as quietly but with a dreamy tint to his voice.

"And you still haven't asked him out yet?"

"I want to. But he's-you know." Steve's voice was so much closer. Like he was crouching next to the couch.

"He's what?"

Then Eddie felt Steve playing with his hair. "He's so out of my league. He's the president of his club, has his own band, our Lit teacher loves him. Aaand he got here on a full academic scholarship."

"Then you gotta shoot your shot before someone else grabs him."

Steve sighed. "Let's just get the stuff and go."

They left and Eddie was filled with determination. Steve wanted to ask him out. Steve thought he was amazing. Steve thought that he was out of his league. The butterflies in his stomach were gone now and replaced with ants in his pants. Probably not the best analogy but it worked for now. Because in this moment, he actually had to go to sleep and be ready to wake up early.

---------------------

Even after a night of drinking, Steve stayed true to his routine and would set an alarm to get up for a quick morning jog. If he was truly hungover, he'd take it easy and shorten the run but all in all, he never missed it. And he never missed an alarm. But today, instead of waking up to the sound of his playlist on shuffle, he felt something soft and tender touch his forehead.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

Steve's eyes popped open to see Eddie hover, haloed by the sun rising. "Wha?"

"I wanted to return the favor, but unfortunately you get up at the ass-crack of dawn."

"Return the...?"

"By my count, I've got a huge backlog of kisses to make up for", Eddie grinned, then leaned in to give him another, this time on the cheek.

Steve's cheeks pinkened and he had the nerve to look bashful and Eddie just had to kiss the other cheek.

"How long have you known?", Steve asked, pulling the cover over his face.

"About a month. How long have you been doing it?", Eddie asked.

Steve let out a groan and Eddie didn't know if that meant he'd been doing it for longer or if Eddie found out right away. Whatever the case, it was all out in the open now.

"You gonna show me your cute face so I can keep kissing it?"

Steve slowly peeked over the blanket, only showing his eyes. "....Only if you kiss all of it."

Eddie spent the better part of the morning, kissing every inch of Steve's face, teasing him for as long as he could before finally planting one on his lips.

[bi-scottsummers]

Hi, hello, just came here to say that I love your fic "trending in Japan". I was wondering if you had headcanons regarding Kenji or Emi or interpersonal relationships and stuff. Many hugs for you.

hi hello, thank you for the encouragement and hugs! After some thought ive realized I do in fact have some hcs about some of the character dynamics in the movie as well as just kenji himself, cause hes captivated my entire brain:

Kenji & Emi

Emi does not have teeth but she does inexplicably have a teething phase. kenji is forced to hide all his (salvaged) fancy cars in the garage bc the corvette's already been chewed to hell and his heart is gonna give out if he has to watch any more classics get wrecked

he reads her bedtime stories. A lot of aesop's fables, because theyre short and fun and hes trying to raise his monster daughter with good morals. emi goes hogwild for these but its unclear if she actually understands what hes saying; kenji's pretty sure she just likes the silly voices he uses for different characters

they go flying together! they go first thing in the morning before breakfast - it helps kenji shake off the grogginess of sleep and emi gets to stretch her wings. shes not able to go very far for very long initially, but as she grows and gets those cardio gainz she almost gets to be quicker than him. they have races and play air tag :)

while she doesnt have the vocal range to speak english herself, it becomes clear that emi does understand it well. (kenji also develops an ear for her chirping/squawks, though body language & facial expressions play a big part in communication for both of them) during her (much later) rebellious phase she'll simply pretend not to know what's being said when kenji is telling her to do something she doesn't wanna do, which frustrates him to no end

Kenji

developed a pretty massive chip on his shoulder after moving to the states. it wasn't just bitterness over his dad staying behind, though that was a part of it. this is canon but he was picked on in school for "how [he talked], how [he looked] and what [he ate]." he felt like he had something to prove to both his father and the world. he threw himself into sports - specifically baseball - and his academics, and he did so well that it forced everyone to shut up about how he was different from them and focus on how he was better than them

^ playing off this: kenji had a bonkers fucking yonkers routine when he was a kid/in highschool. he'd get up hours before school started to practice his swing, go for a ~1hr run, workout, study, etc. He'd go to school, come home, and do it all again. this is exaggerated but my point is that this kid was DETERMINED and had the discipline to see that determination through to the end

didnt have many friends because of all aforementioned things. he had acquaintances, and he was invited to parties and outings and stuff (never went), but he spent most of his free time hanging out with his mom. he never really had a "parents are so embarrassing" phase. he always liked to do anything with his mother: going to the bank, going grocery shopping, watching cheesy telenovelas till ungodly hours in the morning, etc. she was his no.1 supporter, confidant, and best friend

he played for his university's baseball team and got scouted at 19. his mom forced him to finish his bachelor's first so once he graduated with his degree in kinesiology at 21, he was drafted to the dodgers

Kenji & Ami

both of them, up until meeting each other, were totally dedicated to their career (and child) so they had basically 0 time for friends. theyre both borderline losers but theyre juuust good enough at what they do for people to admire them instead of finding them sad and lowkey pathetic

kenji is way more into the idea of being friends than ami is. hes pretty enthusiastic about it; he thinks that they have a kind of rapport, since they share a similar work ethic and are both (unbeknownst to ami) single parents. he calls her to chat abt random things. ami initially isnt superrrr into it; she thinks kenji is kinda lonely and desperate for human connection, & it isnt until her mom points out that she has not spoken to anyone outside of work-related reasons in 10+ years that shes like oh shit, i am also lonely and desperate for human connection. so she grudgingly acquires a friend. theyre both really bad at it

need to clarify that in my mind their dynamic is 95% kenji yapping about work and drama in his personal life (circumventing the 8m baby kaiju hes raising) while ami goes "mhm mhm" and takes notes until kenji notices and is like What are you doing. at which point ami is like...... right . nothing. im listening. and forces herself to put the notepad away. she has a hard time disengaging from the reporter mindset and just hearing something intriguing without turning it into an article. the other 5% are the rare moments where theyre connecting super well - ami's psychoanalyzing the hell out of whatever kenji just said and hes like what are you my therapist. over time she starts opening up to him, too, and eventually theyre comfortable enough to be having philosophical discussions over breakfast just for funsies

before kenji reveals that hes ultraman, ami thinks hes in a gang. he keeps showing up to their lunch "dates" with like bruised eyes and fractured bones and gets all shifty when she tries to ask about what happened. when she eventually confronts him about it, hes so offended that she thinks hed be involved in something like that that he tells her about being ultraman

thats about all i can think of rn, though im sure ill think of more after rotating all the characters in my head for a while. thanks again for stopping in, i appreciate the support :)

[writerscall]

i cannot be your friend, so i pay the price of what i lost. and what it cost now that we don't talk.

because pushing her away was easier than having to stomach seeing her be with someone else.

author's note/s: 1k words. this is part one of a series. close friends to sad strangers to surprise college roommates is a trope, right?

Ignoring Hazel for the rest of the year wasn’t an easy decision or any easy thing to do. You two weren’t attached at the hip but you were such good friends that even the people who didn’t really talk to either of you eventually asked if you two had a falling out. We’re both just pretty busy at this time of senior year, you’d tell them; you had no idea what Hazel’s answer was to that, and you didn’t wanna know. It hurt you to ice her out but after what happened at the game, you just couldn’t be around her. Not when it was clear that PJ was in the picture like that.

Really, you should’ve been happy for her. You were one of the first people she came out to and even though she never explicitly said it, you knew she wanted to experience one relationship, or even a sort of fling, before high school ended. But your wishful thinking that it could’ve been the two of you in the end like some cliche really was just that — wishful thinking. That kiss and the way she and PJ acted around each other after said it all.

So you blocked it all out. Joined some clubs to fill up your schedule and actually make you as busy as you said you were, focused on academics like never before, got closer to other friends (for obvious reasons but also, why the hell not? It was senior year and you might not see some of them again). Overall, there were pros to what you decided to do about your crush on Hazel Callahan. You were making the most out of a sucky situation.

What you weren’t proud of was deciding to go out with the baseball team’s captain on a whim, and then agreeing to really date him after. He was nice and was a pretty good boyfriend, but you weren’t as into him as he was into you. But that was the least of your concerns throughout that relationship that inevitably came to an end as graduation neared.

You’ll never forget the complicated look on her face the day he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek at your locker. You’ll never forget the ‘Can we talk now? Please?’ text she sent that night, her last attempt at reaching out before she took to ignoring you too.

And that was it. Hazel wasn’t part of your senior year until its end and you assumed it would be the same for the rest of your life, or at least for a long, long time.

But the universe just loved playing cruel tricks sometimes.

“Okay, you’re sure you’ve got everything? Those new notebooks, your writing materials, enough bras and pa—”

“Okay, mom!” You cut her off with a nervous laugh, silently thanking god that your roommate and whoever was helping her move in hadn’t arrived yet. “I’ve got it all, I promise. It’s okay for you to go now.”

Your mother sighs as she reaches out to give your arm a squeeze, and after a few more pointers for your first day and about five ‘you can always give us a call for anything’ reminders, you were alone. You smile to yourself as you look at your fixed up side of the dorm, jittery in a good sense. Everyone said college was different from high school in the best way and you were determined to make it so. Even though you knew how much busier and hectic life would get with university level academics.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t hear the door open. It’s only when that painfully familiar voice says your name that you snap out of it.

Hazel Callahan, practically the same as ever, standing in the doorway with her luggages and a duffel bag across her body. She manages a smile, small and hesitant. To your surprise, all you can say is, “You’re my roommate?”

Her face twitches in disappointment, smile faltering noticeably. You didn’t mean for that to come off the way it clearly did but the question escaped you before you could think. Of all the people in the world — or even just of all the people in high school, it just had to be her? You were over Hazel. You’d tried so hard and honestly haven’t thought about her much at all since graduation.

Only for all that effort to feel like it was undone within seconds. Fantastic.

“Trust me, I… I didn’t know this would be the arrangement. My mom’s got an old friend here who could probably do a room switch for one of us — I mean, for me I guess, you’ve already got your side of the room fixed up while I’m still all packed, so—”

You put a hand up to stop her. “Hazel, it’s fine. We can share this room. All that stuff from…” You let the sentence trail off and clear your throat. “I mean, it doesn’t matter anymore, it never really has.”

Though expecting her to brighten even slightly at your attempt at an olive branch, her expression stays the same. Complicated actually, like the one she had upon seeing you and your (short-lived) senior year boyfriend for the first time in school. You try not to think about it.

“Anyway, I’ve got some things to go check with the registrar’s office, so I’ll get out of your hair so you can unpack and all that.” There was nothing to check with at the registrar’s office, but you needed to find some place that wasn’t your dorm to pull yourself together. Or maybe scream.

There’s a look of understanding on her face but shakes her head at you. “You wouldn’t be in the way. We could use this time to catch up. It’s been a long while, you know?”

Well, you certainly weren’t ready for that, so you just say something about wanting to get to the office while it wasn’t too busy yet. You cast her a side glance with a smile that you really hoped didn’t look forced or fake as you watch her bring in her things, then make a beeline for the door. 

But you stop when she asks, “Hey, um, maybe we can sit with each other at the orientation tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah, sure.” And you knew that didn’t sound forced or fake with the way Hazel almost grins at you.

Yeah, you really needed to find a place to scream somewhere on campus.

[thetriggeredhappy]

day 1 let’s fuckin’ go. everyone listen to butterflies by samsa

Day 1: Pursuit

“You seriously don’t have any better games than this?” Scout complained, looking back down at the board, doubtful. “Not even, like, a deck of cards? To play poker or somethin’?”

“Rather not play two-person poker, and I don’t like gambling anyways,” was Sniper’s reply, not glancing up from shuffling the cards.

“I mean, maybe Go Fish then, or Old Maid, or—or somethin’, not fuckin’… Trivial Pursuit.”

Sniper seemed to mull that over for a moment. “If you don’t want to play,” he started to say, hesitant, and Scout sputtered to cut him off before he could finish that thought.

“I, I mean, I didn’t say that,” he managed, still half-glaring down at the board. “Just, y’know.”

Sniper probably didn’t know, actually. Truthfully, Scout wasn’t much for… book smarts type games. Games that needed quick reflexes, talking quickly, theatrics, those he was a champion at besides his eternally bad luck, but facts and numbers and geography? Those he tended to sort of… fuck up beyond recognition. And he really, really didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of Sniper.

Kind of the worst case scenario, actually. But the worse worst case scenario was driving the guy away before even getting to hang out with him, here, the first time he’d ever agreed to one of Scout’s dozens of proposed hangouts.

Hell, he’d honestly gotten used to Sniper always saying no. ‘Nah’ and ‘Not this time’ and ‘Afraid not, sorry mate’ were three phrases Scout had heard at least three and four times a week for months, now. He’d started brushing right through it, stopped letting it hurt his feelings even, although he couldn’t help but get his hopes up, still. Invitations to team drinking nights and poker parties and carpooling with the guys to the movies or a bar or a casino, or more overt invitations to listen to new albums or go out to get fast food or to fairs or to concerts, he’d long since gotten used to those standard, polite rejections.

So he was surprised, then, when he’d delivered his offhanded invitation—“Hey, Snipes, all the other guys bailed on the rec room game night tonight, you wanna be there anyways?”—he hadn’t expected Sniper to hesitate for a few seconds before shrugging and saying sure.

Hell, he was halfway through his ‘yeah no problem no worries man’ before he even realized Sniper said yes, then it was fumbling the whole rest of the way.

Better to be an idiot friend than a distant acquaintance, maybe. That’s what he told himself.

A brief mumbled rundown of the rules went in one ear and out the other as he got preoccupied with looking over one of the cards, mind boggled by what the hell the letters and colors were supposed to mean. A short summary was nodded at vaguely, and apparently his poker face had been terrible all along, because Sniper shrugged and said that they could just play first to six questions right and tally up wins from there. Then they rolled a dice and Sniper, apparently, would go first.

“Alright, uh,” Scout said, squinting down at the little card. “What does a… he-leo-logist, study?”

Sniper thought about it for a second. “Er… the sun,” he replied.

“Yep,” Scout nodded, nudged a piece towards him. Sniper took it. “So, uh, you go again?”

“Yeah. Er… geography, this time,” Sniper mumbled, shuffling some pieces around in a way that probably made sense to people who actually knew how this board game worked.

“Sure. What’s… the country that has South America’s highest and lowest points?”

Another pause. “Bloody… Argentina, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Damn. Okay, next one,” Scout said, less concerned about the fact that Sniper was doing well and more worried at the fact that he was gonna do awful.

“Geography again,” Sniper determined.

“What natural… breakwater, is off the north… eastern, part of Australia?” he read, a little stilted, squinting at the letters, like that would help, for once. Silence, for a pause, then for longer. Scout breathed an internal sigh of relief, smiling a little. “C’mon, it’s your own fuckin’, uh… country, continent, thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s both,” Sniper said, and paused. “It… it’s not talking about the bloody, er… Solomon Islands, is it?”

“Great Barrier Reef,” Scout replied.

Sniper muttered a swear. “Overthought it,” he sighed, nudging the dice over to Scout, who rolled it. Sniper glanced at the number, moved the pieces, looked at a card. “Right. What craft uses a… kiln, and a kick wheel?”

Scout could’ve cried. “That’s, uh, pottery, sculpting,” he said, relieved.

A nod from Sniper, a piece scooped onto his side of the table, the dice rolled a few seconds later when he realized he was supposed to do that. “How many colors are in the rainbow?” he asked next.

Scout had to count off on his fingers for a second. “Uh, seven,” he said, and fist-pumped when Sniper nodded, scooping up another piece. “Even though it’s, uh, kinda bullishit. There should be six.”

Sniper’s eyebrows ticking up in confusion probably was a sign he should drop it, but instead he found himself spouting off.

“Because, uh, like, y’know, there’s—there’s the kinds of colors, right?” he said, backpedaling at his response of furrowed eyebrows. “Like, the basic ones, the, uh, primary colors, that’s red and yellow and blue, y’know? And then the other three, that you get from mixing those, like, uh, red and yellow is, uh… is orange, and then like, green, and purple, you combine ‘em, right?”

Sniper nodded slowly after a moment.

“But then you got, uh, fuckin’… indigo. In the, uh, in the list of colors, fuckin’, Roy G. Biv? Red orange yellow, green, blue indigo violet? And I know it’s, like, blue and dark blue, but I think that still sucks. If we’ve got indigo we’ve gotta have like, the other in- between guys. Know what I mean?”

“Don’t have much of an opinion on it, but, sounds like you’re making points,” Sniper said, and Scout shrugged, glanced down at the table, tapped his fingertips against his knees out of sight to try and let out some nervous energy. “Bloody, er… your turn, or mine?”

“Uh, mine,” Scout said, scrambling to roll the dice.

“Right. Sorry. Er…” Sniper read over the card. “Patron saint of Scotland?”

Scout swore under his breath, deflating a little, coming up blank. “Uh… hey, Demo!” he called, and heard a vague ‘aye’ from the kitchen. “Who’s the patron saint of Scotland?”

“My mum,” Demo called back, and Sniper snickered, at least, which softened the blow to Scout’s confidence considerably.

“Ah, fuck off,” Scout called back, and looked back at Sniper, smiling. “Saint Scrumpy, fuck, I dunno.”

“Saint Andrew, apparently,” Sniper shrugged, rolling the dice. “Sports question. The orange one.”

Scout tried to read the question before starting to say anything out loud, and found himself completely lost anyways. “Who was the first… Ch—Check-uh-slavarian… to win, the… Wimbleton…”

“No idea,” Sniper said outright, shaking his head at himself. “Don’t follow, er… what, the Olympics?”

“Tennis, I guess,” Scout shrugged, rolling the dice.

“Sports for you too. What did… bloody hell. What did second baseman Bill… Wambsganss, do all by himself in the, er… 1920 World Series game?”

“Oh, shit,” Scout laughed, “guy did, like, a triple play, and then hit into a double later that same game. That was the year some guy got hit in the head with a ball and fuckin’ died.”

Sniper was staring at him, clearly shocked.

“What?” Scout asked, rolling the dice. “I know baseball. And it was a whole thing.”

Sniper seemed to shrug it off, shaking his head. “What’s the Taj Mahal made of?”

“Fuckin’, I dunno, chocolate? What, that some kinda dessert? What’s that?” Scout scoffed, trying to play it off.

“It’s… it’s a place. Looks a bit like a castle? Like, er, like the Eiffel Tower, or Big Ben, tourist sort of thing?” Sniper tried, and Scout shrugged, and he shrugged back, rolling the dice. “Fair enough. One of the, er, Science ones. Green one.”

Scout looked at the card for a few seconds. “I… dunno how to say this word. Glue… glay… what’s that?”

Sniper leaned over, and Scout turned it towards him. “Glaucoma. Hits your eyes,” he said, and Scout nodded, and he took a piece, rolled again. “Brown one.”

“What are… catalogued, under the Dewey decimal system?” Scout asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Books, library books,” Sniper mumbled.

“Jesus, are you—where’s the mirrors, seriously? How are you doing that?” Scout asked, and Sniper huffed something like a laugh, taking the piece, rolling again. “No, no, seriously. How the hell do you know half of these?”

“Geography, blue,” he prompted.

“Alright, I swear to god.” Scout held the card close as he read it, first to himself, then out loud. “What national capital is heated by underground hot springs?”

Sniper, to his credit, paused for a moment before answering. “Iceland’s. Reykjavik, it’s called.”

“I swear to god.” Scout flipped over the card, read the answer. “Oh, what the fuck!”

“I’ve bloody been there!” Sniper defended.

“Nah, fuck off, hold on—“ Scout picked up another card, reading another question. “Where in a tree does photosynthesis happen?”

“Leaves.”

“How do you know that so fast!” Scout demanded.

“That’s just science class in school!”

“Fuckin’—who, fuckin’, rode on the raft with Huck Finn?” Scout asked next.

“The, er… runaway, Jim.”

“Oh, what!” Scout all but shouted.

“Scout, I read.”

“Nah, nah, you’re way too good at this game, either you’re like, cheating, or you on purpose picked this game because you’re, like, weirdly crazy good at it or something!”

Sniper’s expression went from amusement to that blankness again, and it only made Scout even more infuriated.

“I mean, seriously, did you pick this game on purpose because you just know all the cards? Did you just wanna do the game where you’d for sure win?” he demanded.

Sniper was fidgeting with his glasses, now, and to be honest, Scout wasn’t even particularly mad, just confused.

“I mean, shit, you’d think you just wanted too play this one so you could look smart and cool and shit like that,” he said. and saw the way Sniper shrank a little, and the lightbulb went off way too late.

A pause.

“Dude,” Scout said, fighting down a laugh.

Sniper mumbled something he didn’t quite hear, sinking in his chair.

“Alright, seriously, if you wanna look smarter than me, you really don’t gotta pull out the trivia questions. Pretty much any game works, you know that, right? I’ll make an idiot of myself playing, like… Uno,” Scout said. Sniper shrugged, still not looking him in the eye. “Okay. Here’s an idea. How about we play, uh… I dunno, Crazy Eights. And while we play I’m gonna keep grilling you on this random trivia shit because seriously, that’s totally nuts, man.”

Sniper hesitated for a few seconds before he finally nodded and straightened up, and in a way, they both won. Scout because he now at least knew he wasn’t the only one who was a total mess and way too worried about what other people thought, and Sniper because he could keep being impressive about random trivia knowledge. Apparently, he knew a bunch about geography and books and nature, and not a single thing about sports.

Scout accused him of trying to memorize the cards. Sniper laughed, properly, for the first time all night.

[heyitsyn]

There Once Was A Man With No Arms-

Goshiki x Manager!Tendou!FirstYear!Sister!Reader

a/n: that was a mouthful

anon request: ahhh i loved your headcanons of iwaizumi dating oikawa's sister!!! this time, can i request goshiki x tendou's first year sis na manager din ng team nila? salamatttt hehe ingat ka lagiii💞

this cute little bowl cut babie

so you are the little baby sister of our favorite red hair cutie and he was the one who offered you the manager position

ofc you accepted bc hello, you get to hang out w your brother and tease semi-semi-senpai everyday

pls let semi live

everyone likes you though bc you are their manager and you do a lot of things for them even though you dont need to

like sometimes, you stop by the store and pick up all kinds of snacks and if its really hot, popsicles and ice cream

ushijima farmer-san is known to be quite stoic and serious but he’s pretty chill around you and even ruffles your hair whenever you make a stupid joke

as a tendou, you are basically like a ctrl+v  with your brother 

the same cute teasing and bubbly personality but the quick change to serious and demeaning

the team gets stressed, especially mom, bc he has to take care of not one red-head freak but two

but he liked you more though bc you were a first year and you were this short little pumpkin and you were so nice and just all around A D O R A B L E

but you just didnt rub goshiki the right way

maybe bc he thought you were just doing this as an act and no person could really be this bubbly and cheerful

or hes just jealous his senpais attention is directed to you

he will DIE FOR HIS SENPAIS

whenever he gets a good spike, you cheer him on and say things like, ‘nice spike, tsu-chan!’ and he swears youre just doing this bc you want to kill him with a heart attack and he doesnt like feeling like this but you like torturing him

boi what is with this logic

even though he lives for praises, your praises and compliments just hits different than his senpais

before he even realized it, he started all out glaring at you and tendou, being the overprotective brother he was, pointed him out on it

‘oi, little kouhai, you got a problem with our y/n?’

at the mention of your name you turned around from talking to the coach and everyone turned to goshiki, expecting him to answer

unfortunately you didnt hear what your brother said so you were just confused

‘hm? i read the room and i am not comfortable with the energy in the gym today’

someone snorted while goshiki turned red at the attention being on him with the topic of you so he just walks away back to the court

‘oh? what was that all about?’ 

semi shushes tendou and gives you a smile

‘y/n, can you help tossing the ball for us?’

you nodded and quickly ran to the chair and waddled over to put it by the net before standing on it

everyone turned red, including goshiki and even shirabu, and busted their uwus

‘okay! let’s go!’

youve always noticed tsutomu and his determination to beat ushijima which youve appreciated bc he was so hard-working and he was talented enough

‘good one, tsu-chan!’

‘t-thanks, y/n-san’

even when no one noticed it, you were always there to give him compliments and he always grows flustered and hes just a big idiot babie and doesnt realize that your praises makes his heart beat faster bc he thinks youre freaking pretty and someone pretty complimenting him in his spikes boosts his ego

but eventually, it grew on him

instead of looking around for any senpai to praise him, he now turned to you and you would give him that adorable smile and he would bite his lip to stop himself from running over and hugging the life out of you

then he remembers who your brother is, well more like how protective the boys were

‘waka-senpai, nii-chan got sick so he wants you to stop by his dorm later today!’

‘okay’

since you were their teammate’s sister, theyve known you for a while and watched you grow from being this little middle school girl to a first year high schooler 

you were practically their sister

goshiki went to a different middle school so he never really realized how the guys treated you so differently but he knew it would be difficult to win them over for your hand

oops wait what

this thought struck him just as he was drinking water and he ended up choking on water causing you to run over from talking to semi so you could pat his back

‘omg, tsu-chan, you need to be careful!’

this was only the beginning of weeks of being weird

like he was so distracted and different that shirabu actually yelled at him and refused to give him any tosses

‘you talk big about being the ace but the slightest distraction could cost you a match. are you really being serious about being the ace or is it all just talk?’

he got all sad and mopey and he had to sit on the bench 

goshiki never got benched

he was too good to be benched!

but he was and he did not like it

you went over to him and sat next to him

‘tsu-chan, can you follow me?’

he looked up from the floor and he shrugged before following you out of the door

the others watched their first years exit the gym and they contemplated following

but tendou, surprise!, actually stopped them

‘my sister can sort him out herself. trust me’

goshiki didnt exactly know where you were taking him to until you stopped by by the baseball field where there was mud

‘y/n-san, why-’

‘you always say my name formally, why is that? im a first year too, tsu-chan’

he looked down

‘um, i-i don’t know-’

‘y/n-chan, tsu-chan. try it out’

‘y-y/n-chan’

you squealed at how cute he looked w red ears and a red face but you refrained from hugging him

then you remembered why you brought him out

‘oh right! come here, tsu-chan!’

you took a branch from a nearby tree and encouraged him to crouch down with you as you began to draw on the mud

‘there was once a man with no arms-’

you started happily singing and this was when goshiki really realized the resemblance between you and your brother

you both were happy and cheerful bc you wanted to radiate the energy to the others to be happy too

and it worked

tendou’s funny songs and jokes always made the others laugh and you did too

goshiki was happy that he was able to absorb that energy and he soon completely forgot about shirabu’s comments

once you were done, you have drawn a dog on the mud and the boy was so amazed at the sudden creation

he looked up at you with wide eyes and you laughed with a wide grin at his expression

‘hehe, its cool, right? nii-chan showed me something like that before when i got sad and it made me happy again. i thought it would work on you too’

he might have questionable feelings around you bc when you mentioned being sad, he felt weird

like he was relieved he wasnt there to see you sad bc he couldnt take it seeing your usual grin into a frown and your bright shining eyes filled with tears

‘y/n-chan, when you get sad, call me, okay? so i can go to you and make you smile like you did with me’

your eyes widened in surprise but you nodded, your grin even wider

‘im counting on you, tsu-chan!’

and he did

when he received a call late at night from you, he easily snuck out from his dorm and ran to the baseball field where he saw your crouching figure aimlessly dragging the stick in circles

‘y/n-chan!’

he huffed and panted after running so fast and you looked up before running to hug him

‘im here now. youre okay’

you didnt release out your problems on him bc you didnt want to burden him

but he understood and just hugged you until you felt better enough to return to your crouching

goshiki hurriedly grabbed the stick and began to do the same thing you did for him before

‘then he jumped onto the lake and got stung by bees?’

he stopped and frowned, realizing he wasnt right

but the frown lifted when he heard your giggle

‘tsu-chan, he got stung by bees first and then he jumped on the lake!’

the corners of his mouth lifted and he chuckled

‘heh, i guess he did. but this is my version so listen closely, okay y/n-chan?’

this might be the reason you got close w the first year

the others noticed it too since you seem to pamper him and take more time taking care of him than them

like you even started wiping his sweat for him while he just giggles when you pull on the long strands of his hair

‘tsu-chan, i want to cut it!’

‘no, y/n-chan!’

‘but-!’

he grabbed your hands and your arms around his torso so he could do the same to you and gently tugged on the ends of your long hair

‘you too then, y/n-chan. your hair is long too’

you pouted then gently punched his chest

‘mean, tsu-chan’

‘heh?! mean?! how?!’

tendou is like the best big brother ever and hes just like ‘yuhhhh get it tsutomu!!!!’

eventually, goshiki began playing even better

his complete spike percentage has increased and his jumping has gotten higher

but the team predicts that this was all because he’s trying to show off to you and your praising and compliments have motivated him to play better

forget being ace, he just wants you to praise him

‘y/n-chan! y/n-chan! did you see that?’

‘wahh!!!! so cool, tsu-chan!!”

bus trips to matches are so cute but yall lowkey annoy the players a bit

yall sit next to each other and are just leaning together as you giggle over stupid cat videos

like we get, goshiki is getting some quicker than us

i feel like before moving on to relationships, goshiki and you would be best friends first and then move on to the dating stuff

tbh, theres no difference bc yall have always been like that but theres just an offical label now

‘hey, tsu-chan, wanna date?’

‘u-um,, sure?’

yall would hang out in either his dorm or yours and yall would be alone bc the team actually trusts you but you dont know that they pass by the door ever 5 minutes and listen in to just to make sure yall are not doing anything bad

smh they so nosy but we luv them

you know of his insecurities about not being enough and his fears of not being the ace and his dreams of playing to the big leagues and his passion to continue playing on the court for as long as he can and how excited he is to be able to spend all those years with you

he knows of your insecurities about the way you look and being associated with your apparent freak of a brother but you didnt care about that and even fought someone when they said something and your deep protectiveness for the boys, especially your brother but it’s all because the boys were the ones to accept you with open arms and treat you like family

yall shared a lot of secrets amongst yourselves and tbh, your communication is just *chefs kiss*

so serious fights dont happen, like ever, just stupid little arguments that are usually resolved like an hour later

since youre also a manager, its also your job to make sure the boys are maintaining their good grades and you know that shira-senpai has given up on tutoring tsutomu

i mean,,, goshiki is smart but he gets distracted easily and ends up spacing out during lessons

yknow?

thats when the little arguments bc youd be trying to teach him the damn phythagorean theorem and hed be distracted at how come your hair was styled like that today

‘goshiki tsutomu, i will leave your ass to fail right now if you dont stop touching my hair’

‘but babyyyyyy’

‘no, ‘dont baby’ me, you idiot! you’ll be crying like a baby when you fail and you’re bench during the next game!’

oof also!

hes a protective little babie and he gets jealous easily so whenever yall have games, he literally hangs all over you 

like he makes a show of putting his jacket over you and kissing your forehead so that the other teams know to stop looking over at your direction and whispering about you

ofc this gets on your nerves but you cant help but think how cute he looks when he gets jealous

he gets all pouty and touchy and youre just like, take my uwus you big babie

even tendou is like, ‘im her brother yet hes more protective than me’

he demands to be hugged 24/7 but thats not appropriate if youre in public so he ltr drags you outside and away from people just so he could hug you

he likes hugging you bc youre shorter than him and it makes him feel all special and soft since you like to burrow your face into his chest and your sweater paws are just like ugggggghhhhhhhhh

whenever he gets nervous, you kiss his fingers and his knuckles bc it soothes him and youre just his good luck charm and he feels like he can take over the world w a single kiss from you

‘baby, didja see that?! i was so cool, right?!’

‘so proud of you, tsu-chan! youre so cool!’

‘i love y/n like a sister but if she inflates his ego more, i will have to tape her mouth’

can you guess who said that?

overall a relationship i strive for and i really want a goshiki now thanks byeeeeeee

a/n: ngl goshiki’s hair lowkey triggered me when i first saw him bc why the heck does it look like that?! but now i actually like it on him and i cant imagine any other hairstyle fitting him

[writefightandflightclub]

For the next thirty (Santi x GN reader blurb)

Summary: You get lonely around the holidays. Turns out, you’re not the only one.

Author’s note: It’s a super quick + short one. I’m in my Triple Frontier feels tonight. I may even have a Will blurb for you shortly. Idek what this is. It’s a Christmas holiday fic. Why? Idek. Frenchie is your call-sign. I told you: idek.

Warnings: swearing, kissing. Mention of alcohol. Mistakes.

GIF: @realoscarisaac​

“You ever wanna get married, Frenchie?” Frankie asks you merrily, taking a generous swig of beer.

You blink at him from across the table, taken aback by the sudden tangent in the conversation.

“Shit, ‘Fish. Where did that come from?”

You were generously hosting Squad Christmas for yet another year in a row. It was a lot of effort to host, but it was worth it, as, in return, the boys always ticked-off a ton of your annoying holiday tasks. You were clever about it, of course, and you plied them with enough beer and snacks that they either pretended not to be wise to your game, or they ceased to mind so much.

Even now, you are sat with Frankie and Will, readying to wrap all of your family gifts, and Benny and Santi are outside in the cold, kindly hanging your Christmas lights. Or, at least, you can hear Santi’s version of “helping” through the window, which seems to consist of yelling orders at Benny from the ground as the Miller brother snipes back.

Frankie looks at you cheekily as he hands you another tote full of gifts to set out on the table.

“Y’ know. Asking everyone,” he says casually, voice layered with far too much innocence, and a throaty chuckle rattling his chest. Yeah, he’s definitely up to something. “Asking all the single people I know. Asked Pope earlier. Asking you. I mean, cariño? It’s common knowledge people get lonely around the holidays.”

“People do, I’ve heard that from people,” Will nods emphatically, with a knowing, conspiratorial smile between him and Frankie.

You arch an eyebrow, not having any of this bullshit.

“Savage, ‘Fish. Fuckin’ brutal,” you complain.

“You plan on it - settling down?” ‘Fish presses, with no shame.

“What would I get out of marriage, huh?” you dismiss. “Someone to ask me honey, where are the scissors? for the next 30 years? Doesn’t sound worth the hassle.”

Frankie shrugs and opens his mouth to protest, but you cut in.

“Besides,” you protest. “Who’d wanna spend that much time with me anyway?”

“Maybe we know someone. Could fix you up,” Will smiles, a shit-eating grin inching over his face.

“Oh yeah!” Fish adds. “Don’t we know a guy, Miller?” Frankie says, slapping Will on the upper arm.

“If you know him, he’s probably a shit head. I want nothin’ to do with him.”

“Oh yeah. He’s a shithead, for sure. Complete pendejo,” Frankie laughs, shoulders shaking. There’s another conspiratorial look between him and the Miller brother. Miller bother, more like. Will exhales a laugh and looks down at the carpet, softly shaking his head at Frankie.

You brush it off, not concerned with their attempts at meddling. More concened, in truth, by the fact you were a little lonely so close to the holidays, much as you were determined not to admit it. Less lonely, perhaps, because you’ve had the boys for company... especially Santi of late. Maybe he got lonely around the holidays too.

“Look, less chat more wrapping, pendejos.”

The pair back-off, palms raised, their deep laughter still washing over you, and Will looks down at the unfurled roll of wrapping paper on the surface in front of him.

“For real though, where are the scissors, Frenchie?”

You are about to come up with some fitting comeback -something about how you don’t need a spouse when you already have four dumbasses to annoy you- but before you can tease him or answer his question, Santi breezes back into the house with Benny in tow, responding on auto-pilot.

“Kitchen or craft, hermano? If you mean craft -in a basket in the top of the linen cupboard, and if you mean kitchen - third drawer from the left.”

When Santi responds, all of you -Benny included- converge on the man, slack-jawed, and in silent disbelief.

The significance and the seredipity of this is not lost on you.

Nervously, Santi looks around at the eyes on him and unsettles his baseball cap from his head, rasping his palm over his hair and then trailing it down over his stubble.

“What?” he asks as Will breaks the silence with a snort of laughter and yet another conspiratorial glance at ‘Fish. The men’s faces crease with silent mirth.

“What, dickheads? Was that weird? Shit, do I spend too much time here?” he asks self-consciously.

It was a small thing. A small sign of familiarity. Yet somehow, it is enough for you to realise Santi is everything you want. And that maybe, probably, he might want you too.

“Not enough, turns out,” you breathe, rising from your seat with the sudden realisation, and, to everyone’s surprise -especially yours- you grab Santi by his t-shirt and pull him to your lips for an open-mouthed kiss.

Santi responds immediately, melting into you like he’s been waiting for this for a long time, his arms wrapping around you as if you are a gift he is folding into his embrace, his kiss hot and heavy as he moves his supple lips and tongue against you and grazes you with the fiery rasp of his stubble.

Woops and shouting from the other boys draw you back into the room, and, as if suddenly realising what you’re doing, you push your palms to Santi’s chest and practically throw him off you.

“Fuck, honey,” Santi asks, looking kiss-drunk and hotter than you’ve ever seen him. “Not that I’m complaining but what was that for?”

“People get lonely around the holdays,” you offer innocently.

“So I’ve heard,” Santi frowns, looking over at Frankie and Will trying desperately to supress a laugh.

God, you want to kiss him again.

“Do you wanna... talk? Away from these assholes?”

You nod, yes, and you grab his hand and lead him into the kitchen, away from prying eyes, where you very much intend on... talking. And then, making-out up against the counter until your legs are weak and your face is raw with stubble burn.

“Hey, wait, just one question,” Frankie pleads, and the two of you are stupid enough to turn back to him, each arching an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“You ever wanna get married, Frenchie?”

You stick a middle finger up at your dear friend and escape, as the Miller bothers join his fits of laughter- Benny susceptible depsite not even being in on the joke.

Regardless, you lead Santi towards the kitchen, where you talk, and you make-out until the two of you are pretty worked-up. Until you feel warm in the knowledge that this year, you may just be a litte less lonely for the holidays, after all. Maybe even for the next thirty, if you’re lucky.

Frankie and Will were right though, that guy they knew? Complete pendejo. but you love him, turns out. Have for a while. You just needed to realise it.

[whumpmatsus]

tw // noises , loud noises : osomatsu afraid of an emergency alert system test

I went ahead and made it an actual emergency alert, because rainy days and Mondays and whatnot-

also it's worth noting I did look up Japan's emergency alert system, but I have no idea how J-Alert actually functions, I've just kind of assumed it's similar to the system that's in place where I live XD

Osomatsu, you've got some top-notch little brothers there!!

it's technically Allmatsu but like... big Sokudomatsu vibes tho :D

-

All things considered, a few days of bad weather keeping all the sextuplets cooped up in the house pretty much guarantees that they’re all going to be on edge.

They’re occasionally two seconds away from being at each other’s throats anyway, with all the challenges of being a big family in a small house. When the skies darken and open up with rain, though, it all becomes that much worse.

It means Ichimatsu can’t venture out to feed the stray cats, because being out in the cold rain for so long will probably lead to him getting sick. The comfort and stress relief that Karamatsu finds in playing guitar on the roof is vanished into thin air. Everyone has to keep Jyushimatsu from going outside since he’s half determined to play baseball even when it’s pouring. Choromatsu can’t hit the streets in search of a job or anything; too much chance of getting caught in a torrential downpour far from home. That’s also the reason Totty can’t make any plans with his friends, and counts his blessings that he doesn’t have any work shifts during these days.

All things being equal, Osomatsu is almost certainly the most laidback of their little group. Big brother tries his best to find solutions to keep all of them distracted, such as playing games or helping everyone settle on what TV show they should watch. Even though there are other places he’d rather be right now ― like the races or pachinko or maybe somewhere trying to pick up girls ― he can acknowledge that it’s kind of nice to spend time with his brothers when they can’t go outside.

The rain’s been coming down steadily today, a constant pattering that’s rhythmic and borderline soothing. It’s already put Ichimatsu and Totty to sleep, the two of them curled up under a blanket together. Before they fell asleep, Totty said something about the storm being “free ASMR”, whatever that means, and Ichimatsu mumbled an agreement as they cuddled in against each other.

To be completely honest, the energy in the house in general is pretty low. That might be best for a stormy day. Everyone can chill out and recharge their energy.

For the most part, Osomatsu is playing at being as responsible as he can handle today; gathering snacks, making tea, keeping kerosene in the heater so nobody gets too cold. Now that Totty and Ichimatsu are down for the count, everyone else is starting to get sleepy. Which, of course, means it’s time for a collective nap.

He takes a look around the room as he settles in on the couch himself. There’s Ichimatsu and Totty under their single blanket, seeming to be getting along just fine to share it. Choromatsu and Karamatsu are nuzzled against each other with their legs under the kotatsu, with Choromatsu’s head resting on Karamatsu’s shoulder and Karamatsu’s head resting on top of Choromatsu’s. And Jyushimatsu is… huddled up in a few blankets near the couch. For all intents and purposes, sleep has apparently claimed him, too.

Well, that’s good. Now that he’s made sure all his little brothers are comfortable, Osomatsu can doze off himself.

There’s a leftover blanket folded up at the end of the couch, so he pulls it up around himself and lies down with his head propped against one of the arms of the couch. He’d certainly like to be nestled up with one of the others, but he’s not gonna disturb them for that. They’re all in their own pairs, save for Jyushimatsu, and he’s not going to make the second youngest clamber up onto the couch just because Osomatsu wants some physical contact.

Besides, he can get that later if he wants. It’s going to be chilly and dreary all day, so more snuggles are inevitable. If he gets lucky, everyone will gravitate to one big cuddle puddle after dinner.

So he does his best to relax on the couch. He closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing down a bit. The rain continues to pound in sheets against the window, and in heavy drops against the roof. There’s the soft rumbling of thunder that’s begun in the background, so low and powerful he can feel it. Somehow, it’s a comfort, something that whispers to him that he can go to sleep now.

Surrounded by his brothers and the lullaby of the storm outside, it’s easy to drift off.

Osomatsu is nearly sunk down into the beginnings of a deep sleep when suddenly, a blaring alarm goes off. And it’s not just one ― it sounds like several firing off in perfect, irritating harmony.

He can’t explain why he has the reaction he does. All he knows is that the abrupt, loud, obnoxious noise cuts through everything else and seems to hit the panic button in his head. A terrified yell rips itself from his throat, and he’s bolt upright. Then he’s on the floor, rolled onto Jyushimatsu and waking his younger brother up.

“HOLY MOLY!” And as soon as Jyushimatsu shouts, it’s enough to wake everyone else up. How anybody could sleep through that siren is beyond Osomatsu, though he’s pretty sure if anyone could, Jyushimatsu could. “Osomatsu-nii-san! You’re on top of me! What the heck is that?! Are we late for school???”

Totty groans as he’s woken up in the rudest way possible. “We’re too old for school, Jyushimatsu-nii-san. We’re adults.” He pulls his phone out, and his other hand reaches to pat Ichimatsu on the head. “Aaahnnmmm… it’s a weather alert.”

“Severe thunderstorm warning,” Choromatsu groans, having turned to glance at the TV. “Looks like it’s only gonna last till like 7 P.M., though.”

Karamatsu yawns and rubs at his eyes. “Should we get supplies together in case the power goes out?”

“The rest of you dumbasses can do that,” Ichimatsu huffs. “I’m not moving. As soon as the alerts stop making that shitty noise, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Well, I guess it falls to the three oldest, then.” Choromatsu stretches, giving a quiet, “Oof” when something in his back pops. “Osomatsu, do you wanna come help us… uh… Osomatsu?”

Strangely enough, the eldest brother is still incapacitated from the unexpected sounds, curled into a ball with his hands pressed over his ears. There might even be tears in his eyes, if one’s looking close enough.

Jyushimatsu runs a gentle hand, (or sleeve, as it were), over his big brother’s head, seeing as he’s the closest one. “I think something’s wrong with Osomatsu-nii-san. He’s all shivery and breathing funny.”

That’s really all it takes for Choromatsu to be over lightning-fast, knelt down next to the eldest. “Osomatsu? Osomatsu-nii-san, are you okay?” He frowns and tentatively tugs one of Osomatsu’s hands away from his ear. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Th… the noise…” His hand is trembling in his younger brother’s grip, tears welling up in his eyes. It still feels like his heart is trying to hammer its way out of his chest completely. He can’t really get a good breath in.

Choromatsu’s brow furrows and he looks back toward the TV, which Karamatsu scrambles to turn off in case it’s the prolonged sound causing the problem. “Did you… ahah… it startled you, right? I think it startled all of us…”

Ichimatsu pushes himself up a bit so he can turn his attention to his older brothers. “Looks like it did more than startle him. He’s about to jump out of his skin.”

“Ah…” Choromatsu quickly gathers Osomatsu into his arms, and is surprised with the fervor with which the eldest clings to him. It reminds them both of… being kids. “H-hey, Osomatsu-nii-san… it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over now. Can you, um, try to follow my pattern of breathing here? That might help you calm down.”

Osomatsu nods and does his best, mirroring the way Choromatsu inhales for four seconds, holds the breath for seven, and exhales for eight. It takes several cycles, a few minutes’ worth of this, before he can feel himself starting to be a little less shaky. His heart is still pounding, but not as fast as it was a moment ago.

Choromatsu holds him carefully, rubbing Osomatsu’s back, until he can feel the tension beginning to fade from his brother’s muscles. That was… weird. It’s not like Osomatsu to get so anxious, especially not to the point that he’s crying. “There… is it better now?”

“Y… yeah…” Osomatsu raises a hand in an attempt to scrub the tears away. Man… how embarrassing. He’s the oldest and he’s over here acting like a baby because of a stupid weather alert. “Sorry… I, uh, don’t know where that came from, haha.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Neither of them make any move to get out of the position for a minute, then Choromatsu gradually pulls away once he can’t hear his older brother’s heart beating like a gong. “You… good?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

Ichimatsu stretches his arms above his head. “Damn. I guess we’re all awake. I hate those alert things… remember that one night when we were kids, and it came on just as we were getting ready for bed?”

Totty laughs, rolling over and propping his face up against one arm. “Yeah, I remember Choromatsu told me they were warning us a big storm was gonna come and wash all the baby brothers out to sea.”

“A-ah…” Choromatsu’s face goes red in an instant. He was such a little bastard as a child. “I’m sorry about that, Totty!”

He waves a hand. “Nah, it’s okay! ‘Cause remember what we did next?”

“Ah… I remember!” Karamatsu grins. “We all said we wouldn’t let the storm get you, and we wrapped you up in blankets and stood guard the whole night.”

“Until we fell asleep,” Jyushimatsu giggles. “I remember panicking when we woke up, but then we all high-fived each other when we saw Totty was still there in the morning!”

“W-we could do that again,” Choromatsu suggests, stealing a peek at their eldest who still appears to be tired. “Except this time…”

Totty’s up in a second. “Ooh, yeah!! Let’s cocoon Osomatsu-nii-san so the big, bad weather alerts can’t hurt him!”

Osomatsu feels like he should be having the hairs on the back of his neck stand up right about now. Instead, he feels sort of warm in a good way when everyone starts to wrap blankets around him. “Geez… you guys don’t need to do all this shit…”

“Well, no, but it’ll be fun.” Choromatsu gives him a smile and nestles in against his older brother’s side. “I’ll take first watch.”

Osomatsu snorts, but lets his head fall on top of Choromatsu’s anyway.

“Man… you guys are lame.”

Thank God for that, though.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 16 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

<- Previous part (15)

Next part (17) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

×

The Loss Of A Friend

You've never been to a funeral. Well, you did, but you were a kid and you didn't know the family friend who was being buried that day. In your child's mind, you didn't get why everyone was wearing black, in uncomfortable silence, crying all day long. You remember clearly that a blue bug got your attention, making your eyes follow its every move, making you smile despite the sad atmosphere.

It couldn't be more different today.

As the coffin is lowered into the ground, where Jason will forever rest now, you hold Billy's hand, the soft fabric of your black dress tickling your tights. You barely feel it though, all your sensations resumed to the weight in your chest, crushing, squeezing your ribs, smashing your heart.

You suddenly remember the day Monica introduced you to Jason. It was the Saturday before you started working at the pool, in the parking lot of Starcourt Mall. He had his little brother on one arm, and the girl walking beside him, tugging on the hem his shirt.

“So that's the new girl.” He said, a smile spreading across his lips as he reached out his hand for you to shyly shake. “I'm Jason, born to bear the weight of being Monica's cousin, but also the coolest guy you'll find in Hawkins.”

That, of course, started a small war of cheesy pick-up lines, insults, and sarcastic comments. You laughed, feeling easily welcomed by Monica's cousin.

Now, what gets your attention is how his young siblings cry, yell, calling out Jason as is he was just sleeping inside the wooden box and would wake up, smile, and start chasing them around again. He won't. Jason is only a memory now.

“I think we should go,” Billy says in a low voice, letting go of your hand to rub your arms softly.

Nodding, you let him guide you to his Camaro, driving you away from the sea of people dressed in black. You've known Jason for such a little time compared to everyone else here, who saw him grow up, studied with him, lived near him for many years. Your pain is just a speck of dust compared to theirs.

When you get home, the sun is setting. You decide to call Diane, just to make sure she's alright, but you don't tell what happened. It would make her come here immediately, and the last thing you need is someone else you care about being in danger. You have to lie, despite hating yourself for it, telling her that your voice is funny because you had to yell a lot with the kids at the pool. But it's better this way. There are more than enough people here you need to worry about.

“Come here,” Billy calls when you finally head to the bedroom. He sits in the bed, back against the headrest and you're quick to crawl into the bed and into his arms. “How are you feeling?”

“I don't know. Sad doesn't really explain it.” Putting your legs over his, you hide your face on his neck, breathing in your favorite cologne, the only one he uses since the day you told him that. “I can't believe I buried Jason. Jason. My crazy-ass friend.” Your voice cracks and you hold back a sob. “I'll never hear those stupid jokes again.”

“I'm so sorry, princess.” There's a pain in his voice too. Billy has been around Jason a bit, mostly with you. But you know he's actually sad because of how broken you are. You can see it in his eyes, that he wish he could take your pain away, and that he's desperate because he doesn't know what to do.

But there's nothing Billy or anyone else could do. You can't fight death. You can't hit it with a baseball bat full of nails until it gives your friend back. The only thing you can do is avenge him. Get whatever took him and destroy it.

“I wanna kill those Demothings.” The anger in your voice is tangible, and you clench your hands into fists. “I swear to God, Billy, I'll kill one of them myself.”

“Anger won't help. We need to be smart about it. We need a strategy.” Billy is often angry with things. Mostly with things that hurt you, but this time, you get why he's taking another path, trying to calm you down instead of putting more wood in the fire. “The meeting is set for tomorrow. We'll find a battle plan to kill those damn things.” His hand comes to lay on your thigh, fingers softly caressing your skin. “But for now you need to rest, ok? I'll cook something you like and then we'll cuddle watching some nice movie. How does that sound?”

“What if I cry through the movie?” You ask because more tears start rolling down, it doesn't matter how many times you try to get rid of them.

“Then I'll hold you tight.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Billy is kind enough to try and get you into some small talk. Nothing too complicated, nothing related to the Demothings or Jason. You're thankful for that. He even manages to get a few laughs from you, although they're always followed by a reality check when the events of the last two days hit you again, and the smile is gone.

A couple of hours later you're watching Jaws, your head on Billy's chest as you try to follow the events of the movie. But it seems way too fast for you, or it's just your mind that's refusing to process anything that's happening.

You just keep thinking about death. About how Jason's whole life was cut short. How all of his plans for the future were erased.

“Billy, can I ask you something?” Keeping your voice low, you speak up for the first time since you came to the living room after having dinner.

“Of course, princess. What is it?”

Biting your lip, you consider if you should really bring that up. It's selfish to talk about your future when someone else won't have one. But this whole situation made you want to make plans because it's a privilege to still be here. It's a blessing to still have time. “What you said to Joyce about... Marriage. Did you really mean that or–” Pushing yourself up from where you were laying on top of him, you take a deep breath. “–or were you just trying to get out of the conversation. Because it's ok if–”

“Haven't I made it clear that I want to be with you for the rest of my life?” He moves to sit up as well, pulling you close until you're placed in between his legs, a hand caressing your cheek. “Because if I hadn't, I'll make it clear now. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I don't know how it happened, and it did get me by surprise, but the day you walked in the Hawkins Community Pool, I knew something changed in me. I knew I had to get to know you, and I did thought it would pass, that I'd get tired of you as I got of the other girls, but I didn't.” Billy holds you closer to him, your foreheads touching. “You hit me like–”

“Bang.” You finish for him, the memory of the day he was unbelievably honest with you coming back. The day he admitted to you, and somehow to himself too, that he liked you. It was also the day he punched David, and the day he kissed your cheek, making your stomach burn like it has been set on fire.

“Like bang.” He breathes out, warm lips coming in touch with yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him as close as you can, the need to feel that he's here, with you, clouding the sound of the TV. Billy moves to lay back down again, and when you move to follow his change of posture, your knee slips and connects to his ribs. “Ouch!” He breathes out, cutting off the kiss.

“Oh, shit. I'm so sorry.” Covering your mouth, you bring the free hand to rub his side. “Sorry, baby.”

Taking a deep breath, he grabs your arm and pulls you down, making you collide on his chest, giggling. “Sorry. I shouldn't be joking around with you now.”

Squinting your eyes at him, you try to get up, but his strong arms come around your body, keeping you from moving. “I hate you, Hargrove.” The fake sentence is soon overcome by a giggle. “I'll kick you right this time, I'm warning you.”

“Oh, I'm shaking like a leaf.”

“Don't test me, Hargrove. Keep in mind we sleep on the same bed and I know all of your habits, baby.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhmm.” Mumbling, you manage to stand up, moving back into a sitting position. You know he actually let you go, but there's no reason to acknowledge that. Taking a deep breath, the sudden happiness is stained again, as the memories crawl back. It seems like Billy notices because his smile softens. “I love living with you, you know that, right?”

“I love waking up next to you every morning.”

You can't help the smile that comes to your lips as you bend over again, kissing his lips.

On the next day, Billy calls Anthony to ask him to give you a few days off work. Obviously, you have to urge your hothead boyfriend not to curse the manager and risk losing his job. You feel fine to go to the pool, or you think you do, but the truth is you wouldn't be paying much attention anyway. And much to your dismay, Billy gets a total of zero days off. No discussion, what makes him hang up the phone so hard you thought he broke the poor thing.

Since you don't want to be alone, and Billy would absolutely never allow you to be alone in the house when you're friend just died, he drives you to Joyce's place, where the party will gather to make plans.

Saying it's hard to be away from Billy on the day after you buried Jason is a misunderstanding. Seeing him drive away from Joyce's porch makes you feel like he's taking your heart with him. He didn't seem pleased either, but there was no other choice. You wouldn't make him miss the day, since you know Anthony is a terrible human being, just looking for the right excuse to get rid of the lifeguards.

“Honey, come inside,” Joyce calls a hand on your shoulder. “Can I get you something to eat? We had pizza last night and I have a slice in the fridge.”

“No, thank you, Joyce.” Politely, you decline her offer. “Is there any bed I can crash in?”

“Sure. Come.” Walking through Jonathan and Will, you wave at them, muttering a good morning and trying not to cry at their sad faces. They know Jason was a close friend, and, like everyone else, they don't know what to do or say. “This is Will's and Jonathan's room. Just pick a bed.” Nodding, you choose the one on the left and lie down. “Do you need to talk?”

“There's nothing to say.” Putting your head on a pillow, you stare at the ceiling. You feel comfortable around Joyce, she has this mother thing about her. “I just want this to end. Before anyone else gets... Eaten.” The word makes you shiver as it brings the image of his body back. “I wish I wasn't the one to find him. To... See him that way. I don't think I'll ever forget that.”

“Honey, I'm so sorry.” She comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “When... When they found Will's body, it hurt. I knew in my heart it wasn't him, but the very idea of losing my baby was horrible. So I have an idea of how you feel. Losing someone is a pain that doesn't go away. You'll get used to it, but it remains. All we can do is learn to deal with it and honor them by carrying their memories.”

You're crying through her speech, and you can't help but sit up and hug her, crying on her shoulder. “We have to be careful because I can't lose anyone else.” You're not sure if she can even understand what you're saying, but since she nods, you think she did.

“Don't worry, honey. We'll all be alright.” She pulls away, rubbing both your arms. “The kids will be here soon, but feel free to stay here or join us, ok? Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Thanks.” Offering her a small, sad smile, you watch as she leaves.

You hear when they get here, the chattering starts, and you can understand a few words here and there. They talk about you, and about Billy and about the funeral. But soon enough it falls into the major problem. And that's when you tune out, staring at the ceiling, trying not to make yourself too comfortable in someone else's bed.

The only thing you want now is Billy. You want to go back to the time where there was no Demogorgon, Demowhatever lurking around. At least to you. It's weird to know what really happened in Billy's car accident, how he was almost the host for the Mind Flayer. You're happy it didn't happen, that he's here now. You need to thank Max for that, actually. If it wasn't for her and the others, your Billy wouldn't be here. He could be dead, and you'd never meet him. He'd never shoot glances at you, or drive you home, buy you tacos or punch David's face. Or kiss you, hold you, love you. The thought of a life without Billy in it is absurd. Now, more than ever, after you lost someone so dear, you have this need to be with him. Just to make sure he's here.

Breathing out and closing your eyes, your hand comes to hold the necklace. It makes you feel closer to Billy, and there is a silent promise here, one you hold close to your heart, together with the earring.

Eyes open, you get up of the bed. You don't care if you got days off, you have to see him. Even if it's just for a hug. Leaving the bedroom, you make your way to the living room, which is crowded.

“We wait until it's late at night to make sure the Demodogs are out, sneak inside the tunnels, and spill insane amounts of gasoline all over it. Get the hell out, wait until it's morning, and set the whole thing on fire.” Dustin says, hands in the air and a smile on his face.

He's kidding, right? He can't be suggesting that as if it's the greatest idea of the world. “Are you completely insane?” You ask, making your presence known. Arms crossed, your eyes scan through the party. “You can't possibly think this is a good idea.”

“I agree with (Y/N), this is insane,” Joyce adds, her face making it clear she thinks this idea sucks. “I won't let you do that.”

“But–”

“The point is to kill them without getting ourselves killed. And every single idea you come up with has a hundred different ways to get us killed.” Steve says, both his hand on his hips as he paces around the room. “Who thinks this idea sucks raise your hand.” He's the first to do it, and Joyce, you, and Jonathan do the same.

“Count Billy in.” You say, raising the other hand as well.

“And Hopper,” Joyce states, giving you an approving stare.

“It's six against seven. We're doing it.” Dustin exclaims.

“No.” You basically shout, not caring one bit if you sound bossy. All eyes lay on you as you struggle to keep it together. “We're not doing it and that's final.”

“I–”

“I just lost a friend and I will not let you do something that might just end up in another funeral.” There are tears threatening to fall again, but you hold them back. “So come up with something else.”

The silence is deafening. You know you're breaking down again, even though the tears aren't rolling down. Yet.

“Please. There's gotta be something else.” Lowering your voice and looking down at your feet, you beg. You can't even think about someone else dying. You couldn't bear it.

“I saw this thing at school. Like a robot with remote control.” Lucas starts. “If we could build a bunch of them and attach a hose, we could guide it inside the tunnels and spread the gasoline.”

“Yeah, but there are seven holes. Which means a lot of ground we'd have to cover.” Eleven adds as you make your way to the group, sitting on the couch beside Joyce.

“Let's blow up six of them.” You burst out, crossing your legs. “A hell of a explosion that would take those things days to dig it back. Then there will be only one way in and out. Find a hell of a long hose or just connect a bunch of them and a million gallons of gas. The robots will spread it then we'll just need a match.”

“That's good. It could work.” Nancy says. “But we'll need to chip in to buy all these things.

“Hopper can get some for free I'm sure.”

“We start right now.” Mike stands up and the others follow. “Let's get started.”

The rest of the day is hectic. Lists are made, one of the kids teachers come over to help with what they called a summer project. For fun. And the materials started arriving. You don't really know what to do, so you help Joyce make lunch, keeping up with her small talk. Joyce is easy to be around, and you like to hear her stories about Will and Jonathan. You even manage to show a few smiles every now and then. After everyone is fed, you finally sit on the porch, trying to help as much as you can. The kids are genius, literally building remote control robots from random pieces and the instructions from books. It's amazing. Since you can't really be of much help in this aspect, you join Nancy, separating stuff or doing anything they tell you too.

When the sun is setting, some of them had to go home to gather their stuff. They'll crash here and take the robot construction through the night. By the moment you hear the faint noise of Billy's car, it's just Joyce's kids, Steve and Dustin. Leaving the small pieces of metal you were shaping into tiny little circles, you stand up abruptly.

“Where are you going? These circles aren't going to make themselves.” Dustin complains, raising his hands in the air.

“Billy is back.” There's no need for further explanation, so you tiptoe among the stuff, careful not to step on anything.

“It could be anyone.”

“Dustin, is there any other car in Hawkins that sounds like that?” As you speak, the noise gets louder and Billy's car comes to your sight.

“She knows her boyfriend's car.” Steve jokes as you walk to the yard, smiling when Billy stops the car and comes out.

“Miss me, princess?”

“Obviously.” It's a feeling of pure relief to see him. It feels like it's been so much longer than just some hours, but you feel that you'll have this insane need to be around him for a while. Just to enjoy the fact that you're still alive. You can't help but wonder for long the idea of death will hover over you... Probably forever.

“You ok?” He asks, his hand on your hair as you have your head on his chest.

“I will be.” Remembering the audience, you pull away, standing on your toes to kiss him. “Dustin had a terrible idea but I made him change his mind about it.”

“How did you do that?”

“I yelled.” With no intention of further explanation, you turn at the guys. “I'll be back tomorrow morning, alright? Have fun doing crazy science.” Waving at them, you get into the car.

You would like to stay at Joyce's, keep helping as much as you can, but you feel like you need silence and peace. The kid's laughter and jokes make you feel better, but you know that you also need to let the sadness creep over for a while. Keeping it hidden, disguised, makes no good. So as you dry and brush your hair, waiting for Billy to finish his shower, you cry.

For Monica, for Jason's younger siblings, his mother, his father, uncle, and aunt. For every friend he made since he was born. And for yourself too. Jason was one of the people that you imagined you'd be around for the rest of your life.

You're dragged away from your thoughts by the phone's ring. Rushing to answer it, you find it's Joyce, kindly asking if you can pick Mike up and drive him to her place, and of course, you comply.

“Billy.” You call when you hear him coming out of the bathroom. “Joyce needs us to pick up Mike. Nancy can't stop what she's doing there.”

“Sure. Let's go.”

Being out at night makes you anxious, but you try not to let it show. Eyes on the road, you bounce your leg nervously, tugging on the seat belt. Billy notices, and a hand comes to rest on your thigh.

“We'll be fine. Relax.”

“I'm trying.” Stretching your arm, you touch his neck. “I'm sorry if I can't stop thinking about Jason and what happened.”

“(Y/N), you just lost a friend. My responsibility as your boyfriend is to hold and love you through this process. Don't apologize.”

“I don't want this to be your responsibility, Billy.” When he turns his head to look at you, you run your fingers through his jaw.

He takes a deep breath, pulling over by Mike's house. You were about to get out, but since he doesn't move, neither do you. Billy looks like he's thinking, furrowed eyebrows and distant eyes. “Billy? Come back to Earth.” You decide to ask, taking off the belt and turning your body towards his.

“To have and to hold. For better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.” He squints his eyes through the words, trying to remember them. It takes a while for you to understand what he means, and when you do, your heart starts drumming in your ears. “To love and cherish till death do us part.”

“Billy...”

“It means I'll stand by your side. Not because I feel like it's my responsibility, but because I love you. And I'm more than happy to take the responsibility of being your–”

“Couldn't you save that up for, I don't know, someday when I'm dressed in white?” The words come out fast, and you're blushing hard, your cheeks burning. “No. You had to do this now. Drive me insane now in your Camaro.” You roll your eyes dramatically when his lips break into a smile, that smug, cocky smile he has when he knows he got to you somehow.

“Be my wife, (Y/N).”

“No.” It's an utter absurd how hard you have to fight not to say the exact opposite. You want to just burst out the word, here and now, because you're so damn sure you want Billy for the rest of your life. “No, baby. We'll graduate, save up money and you'll make a decent proposal.” You hope he can't notice your hands shaking as you step out of the car, almost stumbling on the sidewalk. His words burn through your mind, sending shivers down your spine. “I won't say I'll marry you in the middle of the sidewalk, in the middle of the night, in front of Mike's house.”

“Did I just make you nervous?” Billy's arms come to encircle your waist, his deep voice, and breath on your hair making you sigh.

“Shut up, Hargrove.” With the sweet sound of his laughter on your ear, you knock on the front door, trying to push him away before someone comes to answer. “Let go.”

“Are you using my cologne again?” As soon as he asks, you feel his nose softly rubbing your neck, what makes you giggle and try to push him away again, uselessly. “You are.”

It wasn't your intention to let him find out, but he always does. “Well, it was–”

The door is suddenly open, a yellowish light hitting your eyes as you try to stand up straighter. The woman standing there gives a step back as if she just saw a ghost. Her eyes fly from Billy and back at you, then all the way back to Billy. It hits you suddenly as you realize she's Mrs. Wheeler, the woman Billy was going to meet on the day the Mind Flayer almost got him. They haven't met or spoken since that day, and you weren't expecting her to look so... Perplexed. You try to read her expression, to understand what the look in her eyes means.

“Hello, Mrs. Wheeler.” You manage to say because Billy clearly won't even try to be polite. You feel his muscles tensing up, as he gets immediately uncomfortable under the woman's stare since she doesn't seem to even try to hide. “Sorry to disturb you. We're here for Mike.”

×

@chloe-skywalker @dpaccione @dreamin-of-dacre @funeral-7 @uncookspaget @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @halloweenbitch2764 @redlovett @multific @shinydixon @nikkixostan @clockworkballerina @nope-thanks

[vrisrezis]

Jyushi with hurt feelings?

While his brothers have seen him cry before, or have seen him be sad for a short moment, nothing like this. The poor man has been crying and sulking for days.

You had told Jyushimatsu, you didn’t wanna be with him anymore. You gave no explanation other than “you just act too much like a child. I cant be with somebody like you”

To be fair, it’s not like you were in the wrong. Jyushimatsu’s brothers knew he could be a bit overwhelmingly stressful to be around just due to his sheer energy, childishness, and tendency to randomly rip off his clothes. They didn’t understand why you dated him either, but whenever they asked you seemed to give thorough answers as to why you were dating him, stating the reasons why you loved him. He was kind, he was sweet, he introduced you to new things and helped you think in a different perspective, he even made you like baseball despite both of your lack of knowledge on it, he keeps thinks interesting, he keeps you motivated and keeps you from being lazy.

You were a rather serious individual, which admittedly terrified all of the brothers, but according to Jyushimatsu, you learned to be more fun with him, enjoying yourself. Letting your guard down. Sure, it surprised them he could even be with somebody as efficient and smart and serious as you but given how you talked of him, they didn’t think twice.

Which is why they couldn’t even believe it. Maybe this should’ve been expected. A loser NEET can’t be with a rich, smart person who goes to uni. It should’ve been easy to believe you, that this was how you really felt. After all, it was easy for Jyushimatsu to accept, and it seemed reasonable enough to karamatsu, todomatsu, ichimatsu, and Choromatsu.. even if some had second thoughts about the situation… it seemed to fit.. it made sense.

All except for Osomatsu, he just could not accept this. Osomatsu was practically your best friend, which comes across as odd, given you two were complete opposites. He’s careless, selfish, and childish, you’re careful, selfless, and serious. But you two bonded well, despite the eldest brother annoying you constantly.

This wasn’t you and he knew it, as if you cared if he was childish? You had told him many times it’s what you liked about him, that you wanted to be more like him.

The truth is, Osomatsu is the only one that knows a lot about you. That includes your familial situation. Your mother in particular, was always emotionally abusive and extremely manipulative towards you. She only wanted you to associate with people “on your level” and people that were “good enough” to be your friend. It has caused you to become lonely and not make many friends. You had confided in him and told him a similar issue was happening. She wasn’t okay with you dating Jyushimatsu.

Finally, Osomatsu had enough.

“You need to talk to them”

“B-but.. they said.. they didn’t wanna be with me anymore.. because I-”

“I know what they said!” Osomatsu interjected, “listen. I know them better than anyone. Even you. This isn’t what they want and I know it! So what they said no? Are you really okay with that? You LOVE them right?” He asks, and Jyushimatsu nods. “When you love somebody, you don’t just give up on that! Ever! Fuck that whole if you love them let them go bullshit! If you love somebody you stick your claws into them and never let them go for as long as possible because NOBODY else is EVER going to make you feel that way!”

By the time his rant is over, Jyushimatsu is wiping his tears. He’s determined now. He’s no longer hurt, and he is going to find you and set the record straight.

Even if he’s hurting right now, he is never gonna give up on what you have.

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

THE BASTERDS’S ANGELS

A few weeks later.

Gathered in a clearing, the Basterds enjoyed their new victory against the army of the IIIe Reich. Their last encounter with a German patrol was successful, as always. Indeed, they managed to kill ten soldiers and make four prisoners.

As Hirschberg and Wicki kept an eye on the prisoners, the other adults collected the scalps and different belongings from the corpses.

As for Maddie, she sat on a dead tree and took notes in a small notebook.

She asked:

"How many scalps do you have, Utivich?"

"Five!"

"Noted!" she replied.

Indeed, as Maddie did not have to pay back the "scalp debt" to Aldo, she has to count the scalps and see who was close to paying back his debt.

Once everyone finished his job, all sat and waited for Aldo to interrogate a prisoner.

"So, who are ya?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Officer Bruno Albrecht!" replied the German soldier.

"Alright, Bruno. Maybe do ya know who we are?"

"You're Aldo the Apache, and your friends must be the Basterds!" said Bruno with a contemptuous look.

All cheered and mockingly clapped. As for the leader, he smirked.

"Ya damn right! I see that ya heard of us that's good! So, ya may know that we ain't in the prisoner-takin' business; we in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin'!"

"Sure, boss!" laughed Simon.

Winona arrived and sat next to Aldo.

"Guess who am I if you're so clever?"

"You're Winona, the Cherokee Amazon. I've heard of you."

"Well, if you heard about my husband and his men, you obviously heard about me too." she snickered.

Aldo gently kissed his wife's hand before he unfolded a map and showed it to his prisoner.

"Now, be useful once in yer goddamn life and tell me where the next patrol is going! And don't lie!"

The German soldier snickered.

"And you really think that I am going to betray my fellow soldiers? I thought you were smarter than that, Lieutenant Raine!"

Suddenly, a shot near his feet startled him. 

He looked up at Ada, who held him at gunpoint, her rifle still smoking in her hands.

"Right now, you're the stupid one. In case you haven't figured it out yet, Aldo is allowing you to stay alive. So do what he says!"

Bruno had an arrogant pout.

"I don't take orders from a Jewess like you!"

"No doubt, but it's actually the Jewess who can shoot you if you don't show cooperation, you Kraut!"

Hugo added

"If I were you, I wouldn't piss her off anymore. She's already taken out 30 Nazis like you since she joined the team. Believe me, she's very efficient!"

"Yeah, long live Ada!" exclaimed Utivich, followed by the other Basterds.

Aldo resumed his questioning.

"I'll ask ya one last time: which route the next patrol will take? Hurry up and answer me!"

But the German soldier decided not to say anything and replied in an arrogant tone:

"I'd rather die."

"Are you serious? They're getting more and more stubborn!" sighed Andy.

"At least we'll have some excitement. Right, Lieutenant?" smirked Wicki.

"Ya bet we will have some fun! Donny, come over here!"

The Lieutenant turned to Maddie and said:

"Maddie Dolly, do me a favor and give Donny his bat, would ya?"

"Alright, sir!" replied the little girl as she took the baseball bat.

"Please, don't call me sir: you're allowed to call me Aldo!" grinned the American man.

"Okay, Sir Aldo!"

This cute reply made all the Basterds laugh while Maddie moved to the tunnel where Donny went for his epic entrance.

Clearing her throat, the little girl called:

"Donny? Can you come here, please?"

Footsteps were heard from everyone before a hand came out of the shadows and a booming voice asked:

"Ya have my bat?"

Smiling, Maddie hid the bat behind her back and said:

"No, no, no! You have to say the magic word!"

"What? A magic word?"

The other Basterds laughed while the German soldiers looked at each other with fear and puzzlement.

"C'mon, Donny: you know what the magic word is!" laughed Michael.

The tall man feigned to think:

"Mmmh, I wonder what the magic word is? Aw, come on: gimme a clue, Maddie!"

"Alright. What do you say to your mum when you want something?"

Grinning, Donny replied:

"I would say please!"

"That's right! Here's your bat!" Maddie laughed as she handed the bat to Donny.

The Bostonian took his favorite weapon and gently patted the head of the little girl.

"Thank ya, pretty head. Now, go back to your auntie: it's showtime!"

"I go!" said the little girl who turned back and went to Ada, who took her niece in her arms.

"Now, Maddie, you know the rules: you close your eyes, and you cover your ears, okay?"

"Oui, tata." (Yes, auntie) answered the little girl.

Indeed, the Basterds had decided that Maddie would never see Donny slaughter the Germans with a baseball bat. The rest of her innocence had to be preserved by any means necessary.

And as the little girl closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands, Donny made his entrance, terrorizing the German soldiers who began to whimper in fear.

Only Bruno tried to maintain some semblance of dignity, but deep inside, he was scared to death.

For their part, the Basterds cheered for the man the Nazis called "The Bear Jew."

Donny walked over to Bruno and sneered:

"So, what we have here? Another one who thinks he's smarter than the rest?"

"Smash his noggin, Don’!" exclaimed Gerold.

A smile appeared on the American's face.

"But I'm counting on it!"

He looked up at his superior.

"Lieutenant, anytime!"

Aldo smiled mockingly.

"But please, Sergeant. Oblige him!"

"With pleasure!"

And with that, Donny began to beat the German soldier, who could not fight back. Soon his skull was a bloody mess.

Meanwhile, the other Basterds cheered and applauded their friend:

"GO, DONNY!"

"YOU'RE THE BEST, DON!"

As for the other prisoners, they were horrified by the demise of their superior.

When he finished, Donny roared with excitement:

"WHO'S NEXT? BATTER'S UP!"

Still grinning, Aldo glanced at the other German soldiers and said:

"Now, THIS is awaiting for ya if ya don't talk! Am I clear?"

The captives nodded, terrified.

"Good. Now, are any of you three ready to talk?"

At the same time, Maddie asked:

"Is that okay? Can I open my eyes now?"

"Oh heck! I almost forgot!" exclaimed Aldo.

"That's okay, honey. You can open your eyes!" answered Winona.

"Ah, finally! I was beginning to find the time long!"

"You're an impatient little one, aren't you?" chuckled Wicki.

Suddenly, one of the prisoners shoved Hirschberg, who fell to the ground, before fleeing into the woods.

"HE RUNS AWAY!" screamed Maddie.

Ada grabbed her rifle and aimed at the fugitive, followed by the other shooters in the group.

"Save your bullets! She's got it covered!" ordered Aldo.

"Who?" asked Archie.

Meanwhile, the fugitive tried to get away as far as possible. Never mind if Tom was to be taken for a coward by his comrades, but he owed his skin first!

But suddenly, a tomahawk blow in the abdomen stopped him in his tracks. Spitting blood, he fell to his knees on the ground, pressing his hands against the wound. As he tried to stop the bleeding, the German soldier heard footsteps coming toward him. 

Looking up, he saw with horror that Winona Raine was walking towards him with a determined step and a murderous glint in her eye.

He was beginning to understand why the other soldiers called her "The Cherokee Amazon."

She may have been just a woman, but she was arguably the most formidable warrior the Third Reich had ever faced.

But as he tried to back away, Winona grabbed the tomahawk and yanked it in a spray of blood. 

As she had managed to pin him against a rock, the young woman stood in front of him with a sadistic smile before saying:

"Abschied, asshole!"

Then, with a warlike cry, she decapitated him with a sharp blow. Once this was done, she left the body shaken by spasms and went towards the head. Then she grabbed her knife and began to methodically scalp him.

After that, Winona returned to the camp with the scalp of her victim attached to her belt.

The two surviving Germans gasped in terror at the young woman's sinister trophy.

As for Aldo, he felt as if he had fallen in love with his wife all over again. He thought she was so beautiful when she was slaughtering Nazis!

"Honey, you're amazing!"

He turned to the prisoners and said:

"Now ya know what will happen to you if you try to escape! Well, do any of you wanna talk?"

Surprisingly, the two Germans were more cooperative than their colleagues and gave all the information they had at their disposal. 

Satisfied, Lieutenant Raine declared:

"Perfect! See, ya can be useful people!"

One of the prisoners exclaimed:

"We've told you everything you wanted to know! Now let us go!"

"Shut up!" growled Hugo, who slapped him on the head.

Simon replied:

"Unlike you, we have principles. And since you've been reasonable, we're going to release you. Well, not right away!"

"What do you mean?" asked the other soldier, his voice trembling with fear.

"What our dear medic is trying to tell ya is that we're going to leave ya with a little indelible memory. Just to make sure everyone knows ya were on the wrong side of history!" chuckled Aldo, pulling out his impressive hunting knife.

Before they knew it, Archie and Michael were slamming them to the ground as Aldo carved a swastika into their foreheads.

At the same time, Ada covered Maddie's ears so that the prisoners' cries of pain would not terrify her.

Once this was done, the two Germans were taken far away to be released. They were released far from the camp, so they could not give their position.

After that, the whole commando made its way to another place to sleep. As soon as they found a sheltered clearing, they set up their equipment and prepared a meal with their provisions and those they stole from their victims.

Then they prepared to sleep because the next day promised to be long and hazardous.

Sitting next to her sleeping bag, Maddie hesitated to go and give them an evening kiss. She had always had this habit with her family, and she missed doing it.

Even if the Basterd were always nice with her, Maddie did not know if they would be okay with it.

Taking her courage in both hands, she got up and walked towards Aldo, who was putting away his rifle.

When he finished, he turned around and saw the little girl standing next to him.

"Is everything okay, Maddie?"

"Can I say good night?"

Amused by this question, the American soldier replied:

"Permission granted, kiddo!"

With a big smile, the little girl leaned over and gave the Lieutenant a kiss on the cheek, leaving him speechless.

"Good night, Aldo!" said Maddie before heading towards the other Basterds.

Touching the spot where he had been kissed, Aldo watched in amusement as the youngest member of the team kissed the other soldiers on the cheek. They were both surprised and touched by this adorable attention.

At the same time, Ada returned with the water bottles full of water.

"It is good, everything is ready for tomorrow... Lieutenant?"

Raine turned around.

"Yes, Ada?"

"What's going on?"

"Well, what's going on is that your niece is giving us our evening kiss!"

The young woman was stunned by this.

"Oh, I hope you didn't mind!"

"Not at all! In fact, I have to admit it's pretty sweet of her!"

He glanced at his soldiers with amusement.

"And I think the guys like it too!"

"Well, that puts my mind at ease!" smiled Ada.

At the same time, Maddie walked over to Hugo, who was getting ready to sleep.

"Hugo?"

Everyone turned around in panic. How would Hugo react?

"Oh no! He's going to kill her!" yelped Hirschberg.

"Maybe he won't kill her, but for sure, she would get hauled over the coals!" replied Archie.

Meanwhile, Hugo straightened up and looked at Maddie with a surprised expression.

"What do you want, Maddie?"

The little girl answered with a shy pout.

"I just wanted to say good night!"

The Wehrmacht deserter couldn't believe it: he hadn't expected such an answer!

He shrugged his shoulders:

"All right. Well, good night to you too!"

Smiling, Maddie gave him a kiss on the cheek before going back to her sleeping bag.

Then, she snuggled into her aunt's arms and fell asleep.

Hugo stood speechless by this gesture. However, he could not help but smile, like his comrades.

After all, Maddie enlightened their lives like a ray of sunshine among the grey skies. And they swore to keep their ray of sunshine far from any harm.

But, as they all laid asleep, they were not aware that in Paris, someone was patiently waiting for them...

Someone that would hunt them down, even in the depths of hell.

And here is the second chapter of this story!

I hope you will like it!

Do not hesitate to leave a review, a like or a comment!

Thanks for all and take care! 😘🥰😍💖

Tags: @sergeant-donny-donowitz @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @knives-out17 @marilynmonroefanfics @jokersqueenofchaos @ocfairygodmother @redrosewritingsstuff @empress-writes @multific @multifandomfix @velvet-waltz @cherryplasmids @dancingwith-sunflowers​

[heli0s-writes]

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie. 

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering. 

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

-

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

-

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

-

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild. 

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

-

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

-

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.  

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone. 

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

-

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

-

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost. 

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.” 

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.  

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.” 

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me? 

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

-

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath. 

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

-

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor. 

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm. 

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking. 

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away. 

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

-

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

-

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room. 

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.  

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth. 

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do. 

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

-

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

[fearofffear]

show me the places where the others gave you scars

A/N: soo...hi. i’ve never posted a fanfic about choices but sadly, given the circunstances... i did this to wash the bad taste off my mouth after ch. 8. so my mc gets blamed, he gets screamed at and humilliated, but ethan is the one who gets all pissy and for what? he fucked up, he shouldn't be mad. but my mc who was innocent gets the worst end of the stick? and worst HE has to console this mf? screw that. i'm writing my own version of oph. anyways, i didn't want the bondage outfit for a scene with jackie, i wanted my mc to come home to jackie and TALK y'know. so that's exactly what i wrote. congrats pb, i promised myself i was never going to write again yet here i am. hope you enjoy!

pairing: jackie varma x m!mc (george valentine)

rating: t (some cursing, nothing too heavy)

summary: George feels crushed and angry after the showdown at the hospital, luckily for him, Jackie offers him a shoulder to cry on.

The sound of a slamming door pulls Jackie out of her concentration as she looks up from her stack of papers on the table to the front door. She leaves the pencil next to them as George walks in, and he looks like he’s about to explode.

“Heey...what happened?” George drops himself on the couch, burying his face on his hands. She raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t answer.

She stands up, leaving her paperwork behind (she can finish it later) and sits gently next to him, putting a reassuring hand on his knee. As George finally lifts his head, Jackie feels a sudden rush of anger and worry at the sight of his red nose and red trimmed eyes.

“George what…”

“They don’t trust me.” He says, sniffling softly as he toys with the end of his shirt. His eyes far away as Jackie leans closer, her eyes worriedly searching his face.

“Who? George please talk to me.” She tries her best to keep the desperation out of her voice, but her eyes betray her.

George sees the worry in her eyes and shakes his head, offering her a sad smile. “Harper...and it’s all Ethan’s fault.” He finishes with clenched teeth, the sadness in his eyes replaced by a raging fire. “He not only risked Elijah’s hard work…” Jackie raises her eyebrows at that. “But also refused to tell the entire team which led to Harper believing I was the one who who did it ”

“I’m sorry George, but i’m not understanding what you’re talking about.” She raises her hand from his knee to his cheek, softly stroking it with her thumb.

So he explains everything, from Elijah’s research, to Michael’s disease, to Ethan putting Michael in the human trials for the drug behind everyone’s back, and Jackie resists the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Ethan Ramsey didn’t care about the consequences of his actions.

“So you told me they don’t trust you, why?” She feels angry, because even if it was stupid, whatever happened made George miserable and while she feels the need to punch someone on the face she also wishes to take George in her arms and hold him until he feels better.

“Harper came in this evening, pointing her finger at me because she found out about Michael being in the human trials for Elijah’s drug, which is illegal by the way, and of course if there was someone to blame...it was me.” Jackie shakes her head, she cannot believe Harper would immediately blame George, especially since he has been nothing but friendly to her. But at the same time, a small part of her brain tells her that Harper isn’t George’s friend, she doesn’t know him, and she did the best with the facts she had. “And Tobias actually defended me, but it wasn’t enough, she kept going on and on saying about how it was obvious that it was me, because of the whole Ms. Martinez thing.” She clenches her eyes shut, because she knows how sensitive George gets about that.

“I tried to defend myself, but it was too late, without any evidence Harper ratted me out to Naveen.” Jackie feels her heart drop and a cold chill run down her spine, because there’s no way this is happening again. George can’t risk losing his licence again. She won’t allow it again.

“Thankfully, Ethan came in and heard everything. He told Harper that it was him, and that i had nothing to do with it, so if anyone was going down, it was him.” Despite her current anger, she lets out a small sigh of relief, she was ready to go deck Ethan if he didn’t take action and let George take the fall, but since he didn’t, the punching could wait.

“So, what happens now?”

“Ethan will probably be suspended, put on trial and…”

“And?”

“And the team will fall to either Tobias or Harper.” George reaches a hand and Jackie takes it, his fingers interlacing strongly with hers.

“But i don’t care about that. I care about the fact that Harper was so determined about how i was guilty…” There’s a small edge to his voice, most likely upset. “She told me she admired me, y’know? A couple of days ago.” He laughs dryly, no humor to it. “What a load of bull.”

“I get that you’re mad, you have every right to be, but she doesn’t owe anything to you, and neither do you.” Jackie speaks strongly, meeting his eyes fiercely. She squeezes his hand in hers. “You’re an amazing doctor, she doesn’t get to take that away from you.”

George smiles, perhaps for the first time he arrived, a true genuine smile that reaches his eyes, and raises her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss. “You’re the amazing one, you know that right?”

Jackie smiles bashfully. “Dumbass, I'm already sleeping with you, you don’t have to try to get into my pants.”

“I know, and i don’t wanna take that for granted.” He reaches and grabs her chin softly, bringing her lips to his for a kiss. Jackie smiles against his mouth, placing a hand on his neck.

After a moment, he breaks the kiss and rubs his thumb close to her lips, staring at her eyes intensely. “Look, I know you care about your co-workers, it’s perhaps your biggest flaw.” She says, never breaking eye contact. “You want everyone to get along but sadly, not everyone will trust you. And you don’t have to put so much faith unto others.”

George sighs, and lowers his eyes. But Jackie places her other hand on his cheek and forces his eyes to meet hers. “You have an amazing heart George, and even though this gets you in trouble, you wouldn’t be the George I love if you didn’t have it.” There’s a hidden message there but both of them know they aren’t ready for those three little words yet. So it remains unspoken.

He smiles stupidly, reaching to put a strand of hair behind her ear. “You give amazing pep talks, I think being Chief Resident has made you soft.”

Jackie rolls her eyes, slapping a hand to his shoulder as he laughs. “Shut up.”

George's eyes move from her to the stack of papers behind them and his mouth opens in surprise. “You were working? I’m sorry i didn’t mean to interrupt”

“It’s okay, I was bored and I needed a break. But now i need to return to it.”

He kisses her cheek and stands up. “Okay, don’t let me hold you.” He says with a small smile, turning to leave and it’s kind of annoying, Jackie thinks, how she can’t stop smiling when he’s around, she didn’t use to be this soft, but George always brings out this side of her.

“Before you leave…” George turns around, his eyes finding hers immediately. “Are you okay?” Jackie asks worriedly, her eyebrows pinched together.

“Better than okay. Thank you for helping me.” He says with a soft voice, reaching down to kiss her forehead, and Jackie can feel her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t say anything, she just rolls her eyes and watches him leave, her heart feeling fuller and weightless at the same time. She stands with a wistful sigh, walking over to finish her work.

Meanwhile, in his room, George closes the door behind him and his eyes find the picture he has on his mirror. A picture of him and Jackie, taken on the day of the baseball match past year. They both have a beer in their hands, her arm slinged around his shoulders as she laughs at something he said, her head thrown back and her face scrunched up adorably, while George looks enthralled at her, his eyes and smile soft as he stares at her, an arm around her waist.

Sienna took that picture (right before it all went to shit) and he remembers how she came to him and showed him the picture, she kept awwing, saying how cute they both looked. At the end of the day she sent it to him, and despite Jackie not knowing about it, he printed the photo and it has been on his mirror ever since. Of course Jackie saw it (she’s been in his room enough times) and he remembers her nodding her head at the picture, mumbling something along the lines of ‘looks good’ but right before he could answer, she kissed him sensless, the photo the last thing on his mind, and she never mentioned it again, and never asked for George to put it down, so he guessed she liked it.

As he looks at the picture he comes to the realization that no matter what happens next, he’ll be okay, as long as he has her by his side, he can get through anything.

[cloveroctobers]

ANNA-JULIA “AJ” (JONES) JARLETT

IG bio/info: @/annajj9x_ | 20.1k followers| Athlete | hey peeps can you stop asking me to throw it back cuz the answer will always be no! K thx take it easy 🏳️‍🌈🌻🏒🐶

21 years old

From bath, England

Hockey player as her profession for the past three years

Her position is defense

Their team name is “rowdy alphas”...yeah some team names just didn’t make sense or they’re cringe for no reason at all

Was raised by her mom,(her mom was a teen mom & had her at 17) maternal grandmother, and her paternal aunt (dad’s younger sister, who’s more like a big sister to her at 28)

They’ve made her into the person she is, literally

Her grandmother has a bed and breakfast that they all live in

the house is Victorian style—almost as if they walked right out of charmed! Instead of a big pink house, think yellow AND purple. It was hideous but homey and charming on the inside

growing up in a house with multiple temporary strangers wasn’t odd to aj at all, in fact it felt like the norm. There was always someone around to socialize with so that was quite nice

Her father was a pro baseball player & passed away due to a automobile accident

she has his smile & freckles

aj was also involved in the accident at the age of 6 & miraculously survived with intense injuries

Has scars as a reminder

used to have night terrors because of the accident...it took awhile—years!!! for them to subside

they’re all vague memories now (but the pain is something she’ll always remember) but she preferred it that way

she’s named “Anna” after her mother’s old best friend/roommate and was supposed to be aj’s god mother but she went missing during their uni years

the name“Julia” came from her paternal grandmother who she gets her wide doe eyes from

her athleticism definitely came from her dad

Her mother luckily liked to document things so there’s a bunch of home videos of her dad in them & pictures/scrapbooks that her mom has for safe keeping

She’s more of a klutz, tiny, and wears huge prescription glasses

extremely close to the three most important ladies in her life, so she’s always been able to be open with them about anything!

when she first expressed her interest in liking both genders around 17-18 her paternal aunt was all smirks, “i knew Britney Spears was so your type, yeah?”

more like shakira but Brit was just as pretty

her mother was a “cry baby” so ofc she burst out into tears squeezing aj’s limbs and peppering her face with kisses. She didn’t view her child as anything different... as she shouldn’t & was glad that her daughter trusted them with this significant moment in her life and wanted to be as supportive as she could

got books, watched Ted talks and everything but knew she could come to the source even tho aj was still figuring it out herself

her grandma dipped her head at the new info sitting at the round kitchen table, “been there. had a few broads in my life after and during my marriage with your no good grandad. Thank goodness the bastard died before you even got to meet ‘em.” “Mum!”

what felt like the biggest weight on her chest was lifted. She knew they’d understand but a part of her had a little bit of doubt, she’s heard so many horror stories where those like her didn’t have the support she has and that made her extremely sad to think about

i see her as a person that has/had many friends in secondary. She’s always open to chat and her being on a few sports teams helped her out in her case

very competitive in anything that she does & will guarantee that she’ll beat you. (“ You wanna race to the car from here?”wins. “Who ever cleans the most dishes the fastest gets the last slice of pie.”) majority of the time she’s right but if she loses?? oh don’t let her lose to you, it’s a pity party for the rest of the time ur in her space. Such a sore loser omg

stays active, always working out + has a gym membership and makes sure she goes at least five times a week

she’s very strong, loves leg day & working on her core

she’s about 5’10

loves wearing “gf jeans” since they’re super comfy but doesn’t mind skinny Jeans with rips in the knees every now and then

trainers and chucks are her go-to sneakers

has no issue shopping in the men’s section ‘cause who’s gonna stop her? Nobody that’s who

owner of over a 100 graphic tees + vertical stripped shirts are also her favs, SWEATPANTS/joggers?! How many does she have? A lot. Snapbacks? Plenty. Will she wear them backwards? Obviously.

Physical touch is her love language. She’s comes from a family that has no issue showing their affection by touch. There is NO such thing as personal space and that still stands with aj when it comes to relationships, she sees no other way

It’s what she shows and what she wants in return, if you’re not touching her in some sort of way, then automatically she thinks there’s something wrong or that she did something

Is the jealous type. It has shown in relationships and ruined a relationship or two

Has cheated on a significant other out of pure jealousy & is not proud to admit that

Does have a wandering eye but feels now that she truly understands herself when it comes to relationships, she’ll never act on it again

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, I get libra tendencies from her so that’s what I’m sticking with. She likes to keep the peace (unless she’s jealous) , idealistic — always looking on the bright side of things, outgoing, romantic, and professional— especially when it comes to her team; her true leadership comes out, yet she can be indecisive, hates confrontation, self pitying — if things don’t go perfectly how she imagined/planned it to, the world is ending and everyone is out to get her, and can be unreliable—never on time

September libra to be exact

if she’s really in love/taken a interest in you then she gets nervous: blushing, sweaty palms, cracking her knuckles, tongue tied—the whole 9

she’s already defined as a puppy by her coach but when she’s in love? She’s a lovesick puppy!

her fav holiday is Valentine’s Day

thought she was going to be a pro skateboarder growing up but it took one bad fall where she thought she was paralyzed for her to choose something else

she likes her weed on occasion

Obsessed with all types of cheese except cottage, “can I put cheese on this?”

more of a jumpsuit kinda girl or dressy top with jeans & hoops on a night out

has a solid group of mates outside of the hockey team, they’ve all met and hung out a couple of times, as they should since aj feels they’re going to be stuck with her for awhile so why not?

They’re a riot when they all go out, let’s just say that there’s never a dull moment

fav color is periwinkle

enjoys ASMR, mostly in the mornings when she’s waking up. You know how people love podcasts? (Sorry seb & Nicky, she still wants to be on the show soon!) ASMR is her thing

loves tangerines, you can count on it that she’ll have one on her, “where did you pull that from?” “I’ll never share my master plan.” “You’re such a tit.”

Definitely prefers “fresh squeezed” orange juice & will make her own, she has the tools & the strength 😏

Very rare for her to get sick ;) & if she does she’s a complete baby about it

Will fight that she’s sick before she admits it, trying all sorts of horrid remedies & vitamins

loves summer & all things that come with it, the number one thing is leaving bath for however long she can for a new place to enjoy

when she arrived to love island, she was thrilled for the weather. Yes she was looking for love but most importantly a nice get away & that it was (depending on your route that is lol)

closest with seb, vieve, elladine, and tai but don’t tell the others that! (She doesn’t care if you tell Yasmin, honestly)

just because her & seb “dated” and it didn’t work out doesn’t mean they can’t be friends right? It was almost automatic for them to be platonic after it was determined there would be no romance between them, almost like sibs! like those celebs like to say—except this time these two won’t turn around and actually find romance

vieve came with seb so...but no shade aj did like vieve. She gave great advice (while seb sometimes didn’t say the right things unintentionally or what aj needed to hear) when needed, especially from a medical view and is very sweet

elladine was the one who had all the tea & ideas to match, she’s quite organized and always down for DIY’s and could suggest almost anything. If you needed someone to help you get things tidy or match/find your Aesthetic, she’s the friend you call to help

tai was the one she could be a “bro” with, sure elladine has her competive side (or controlling, depends on how you view it) but tai was the one you can run to for much needed “bro hugs”, partying, going to the pubs, playing sports with or against, checking out/flirting with babes, etc...

it was not long after the villa that aj had a revelation with her sexuality & fully owned and labeled herself as a lesbian

She was happy being in relationship with someone else or with herself, life was short and she was young so there wasn’t time to dwell and stress over things so what the hell?! Live your truth the best way you know how ya know?

probably smells like sweet citrus, almond flower, and sea salt

on chest days, she’s a sweets snacker. Loves gummy bears (also with vodka) , swedish fish, sour patch kids, etc...basically shit that sticks to ur teeth

put all her chips into hockey, while it was advised by her Counselors & mum not to do so, aj went about it anyway. She thought about the pros and cons but knew there was nothing else for her. So there were more pros than cons. She was meant to play sports, its what felt right in her soul

Made her feel connected to her father, when she’s on the field she feels that he is with her

 scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated or confused about something

Doesn’t always grasp concepts right away, she’s a soft dummy but most of us are and that’s okay! We’re all smart in our own ways

Feels like sunflowers are always around her especially if she sees them wherever she is. They must symbolize SOMETHING, therefore she loves them

spf queen. All about it, get with it or let the sunrays ruin ur skin that’s on u

loves a good filet mignon medium-well & is probably the only good thing she knows how to make alongside a salad, baked potatoes, & her oj

sucker for romantic-comedies...it’s basically her life duh!

If she has a dog, it’s a Dalmatian or Great Dane. She needs a companion that’ll keep up with her

loves kissing, it’s her favorite form of intimacy

Quarantine life included the push up challenge for her. Gaining a few pounds in muscle and fat, bothering seb via ft, viewing old letters she wrote to her dad, spending time with her fav ladies since they were now restricted from having guests in their home, and letting boredom consume her + she hated the whole lockdown that came with it, she hated being indoors for long periods of time but she knew that’s what partly needed to be done

Posts a lot of beach, park, outings with her friends & team, moments with her fav ladies, workout videos, and guests at the b&b with their permission and if only she befriends them along the way. She’s just as active on the socials as she is in rl but she’s not obsessed with it, she knows how to live in the now. She’s all about balance!

I also feel like she never keeps her phone charged and it’s always dying on her! She had a car charger but...that’s a jungle. She needs to invest in a portable charger stat

crushing on/finds attractive: Jared Padalecki, Keanu Reeves, Barrett Doss, Camilla Luddington, Sandra Bullock, Adrian Kempe, Harry Kirton, Anya Taylor-Joy, Haley Lu Richardson, Naomi Osaka, Ming & Aoki Lee Simmons

who does she listen to? Shakira lol!! Bea Miller, Dua Lipa, Daya, XYLØ, Elley Duhé, Stela Cole, Aloe Blacc, Maroon 5, Lewis capaldi, Charlie Puth, girl in red, Hayley kiyoko, king princess, dodie, & tessa violet

Anthem: Icona Pop — we got the world

[werezmastarbucks]

portland

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2731

music: silently by axel flovent, tear in my heart by twenty one pilots

You got tired of driving at around two in the morning. Somehow Kennewick did not satisfy neither of you in terms of sleeping. Perhaps it was the road, nervousness of traveling, and Kai’s indifference about the current situation you got stuck in, but as soon as he snuggled against you at eleven o’clock, you felt all the sleep has escaped you like a butterfly that leaps away. He was already deep in sleep, when you decided you wanted to drive at night, and Parker was sorely unhappy about getting out of bed. While you still had moral high ground as leverage on him, while it worked, you elected to use it. Then, a couple of hours later, the tiredness returned in full swing, and you stopped in the middle of the highway (the liberating truth was that you could now stop at any point while driving, without even thinking) and made him switch seats with you. 

The portable loudspeaker he had manufactured out of a big boombox was incredibly loud and workable, and you prepped it just below the windshield. As you drifted into sleep you were thinking about how practically useful this boy can actually be, and how underrated his skills were back in the real world. Even without magic he was extremely handy. He was an amazing cook, he was insanely masterful with electronics, he was more savvy about the internet than you, the child of the web world...

You woke up because he whispered right into your ear, the most gentle order you’ve ever received in your life,

“Wake up now”.

Your neck ached, crooked unnaturally, but, as you opened your eyes, you saw what he woke you up for. Kai seemed relatively unaffected, probably having seen this a million of times; perhaps there was already an alarm clock in his head going off when it was the time for sunset. It was a first for you, though. You were already in Portland, and the car was lazily crawling along the street as the sleepy houses passed you by. Bright pink and raspberry was blooming in the sky indicating the new day, again. The light was so intense that, when you caught the reflection of yourself in the rearview mirror, you saw the shade of red on your own face. Your eyes looked sleepy and foggy. 

“Are we there yet?”

“Yeah. Are you hungry? It’s almost time for breakfast”.

You looked at the electronic wristwatch you nicked from an Epson store. It was a real nineties neat cute wrist watch, and it had lighting button which drove you insane. 

“It’s not even five yet. You’re always hungry”.

“I’ve been driving for nearly three hours. It’s draining. You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time, but that’s okay, I’ll just avoid the holes, so you sleep fine”, he declared. You couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He gestured towards the speaker.

“That was a good song”.

“It’s my car”, you argued benevolently, feeling very kind after three hours’ sleep. Due to the fact that Kai has been decent enough to just drive the car without waking you up. And the fact he even turned down the music a little.

“I stole it”.

“You didn’t steal it. It had no owner”, Kai replied. 

He stopped the car in a romantic gesture, and you two drowned in the morning silence, ever quieter than it even was before. The wind lay still, and no bugs buzzed in the grass. You left the car just to be in the moment, to step on the ground and feel its matter, and raised your face to the sky. This was all for you and you only, and that was the first time you asked yourself,

why do they even consider this torture?

The Parker house turned out to be more like a palace. Your head swung back and forth comparing Kai with the wedding cake looking family dwelling, trying to picture him on the porch. There was a traditional old oak that yearned swings, and the big lawn, greener than that of the Salvatore’s possession. There was whiteness of the façade and the depth of the invisible basement.

Soon Kai crawled up the stairs, and sighed, in the yellowish glow of the waking skies. 

“Welcome back home”, he murmured. You tried reading his face to see if it’s hard for him, but then reminded yourself he’s been here already, probably many times.

He’s been suspiciously tolerable these first days, you thought to yourself quietly as you wandered wordless through the living room. The first red flag fluttered in your mind when you threw a look at the banisters of the stairs leading up, and saw two ropes tied to them; they hung down, empty, with loops, like dead cat tails.

“Kai, why is it here?” you asked. The boy was already head first into the fridge in the kitchen.

He walked back to you, and sighed knowingly.

“Oh, yes. They kept the house as I left it at night. As a reminder. Go up the stairs, there’s still blood on the walls, and everything. Let’s go”.

He suddenly grabbed your hand with determination, and you sensed, on the run, like he needed to hold it. Not to guide you. You ran up the stairs, and you threw a quick look at the living room, amazed at the normality of it. One would think Malachai Parker’s house would look horrific, but his tragedy was very American. Pretty cover, bloody insides. The living room had two big couches (big family, it used to be), a very curious L shaped coffee table, and a fireplace. On the shelf above, there was a neat row of photographs of the family: everyone but Malachai, of course. They wished to forget he existed, for one reason or another. Kai’s hand led you on and you went into the long, spacious wooden hall of the second floor out of three: the blood on the walls was fresh, it glistened in the first cloud light. The patterns were thick and wide, like Kai’s been deliberately pouring it around; on the floor, there was a faint trace of his bloodied steps and something else, like he was dragging... a baseball bat? with him.

You tried not to step on the blood. The little window at the end of the hall was covered with a curtain, so it was bleak. 

“Here”, he said enthusiastically. It was obvious Kai has been psyched that someone would share the whole thing with him. No matter what part of prison it was: whether the beautiful sunrises of Washington, or the evidence of the massacre he conducted in his own house.

“Wow, whose room was it?”

“The twins. Luke and Liv”, he pushed the door to let you in. The bed was turned on the side, and there was a puddle of blood under it. The wardrobe was thrashed. 

“This is where I stabbed Jo. She hid them from me with the cloaking spell. I made her talk...” Kai muttered. His eyes were opaque, and he was focused on the memory. His sight shifted under the window.

“The-ere it is”, the witch stepped to the dark spot and picked up the bat, wrapping his fingers around the handle. There was blood on the tip of it. He swung the bat in the air in a motion that made you understand he could be a baseball star. Could have been. 

“And the banisters? Who was there?”

“I hung Ashley and Sam”, he said, putting the bat back against the wall. You observed the room. His siblings, they all had names. Ashley, Sam... those who made it to the future, the twins and his own personal enemy, Josette, felt more real because you have met them. You were there when Kai merged with Luke, you witnessed his death. But to think that some of the Parkers were left in the ninety-four, hung down from the stairs, and they were children who had names... Ashley and Sam. You didn’t even know whether Sam was a boy or a girl. You asked him.

“They were best friends, Sam and Ash. Samantha was two years older than Ashley, and she was so uptight I think somebody would have killed her one way or another. She was unbearable. So bitter she didn’t have a twin, she told everybody Ashley was her age, and that they were twins, although everyone in the coven knew they weren’t”.

“She was just a child, Kai. She wanted to be a part of this important thing, too”, you shrugged.

“Yeah, so did I. You wanna see my parents’ bedroom?”

He probably saw it in your eyes that you were slowly growing anxious about the whole murder night replay. 

“What did you do to your mom?”

“I stabbed her in the throat. She had to go first, she was a very powerful witch”, Kai said quietly, watching you closely. He was cruel in a way, leading you deeper into the bleak reality of his, trying you, curious as to how much you can take. 

“I made a mistake with dad. Should’ve stabbed him, too, but I thought I’d be untrivial, and I poisoned him. Which obviously backfired right into my face”.

Kai put his hand through his dark hair, and you realized his eyes are glowing nervously.

“What made you snap?”

“When our birthdays were coming up, I realized they’d never let us merge. Even Jo herself didn’t want it. Just so you understand, merging and even dying, as a Gemini twin, is the biggest event of your life. Even if you lose, you’re not gone. You live through your twin. You give them your power”.

You weren’t saying anything. He went on,

“You think I’m inherently evil?” there wasn’t a trace of indignation in his voice; just sheer curiosity. He never had a chance to ask that anybody. He never had this conversation. He just didn’t know at all. “They always told me I was”.

“There’s no such thing as evil, Kai. It’s a tale created for kids, to make them afraid of giving in to their instincts. There’s only pain and its consequences”.

You looked away not to seem too invested. You wondered how one can let a fellow human go on for nearly fifty years with such a grave misconception about themselves; how one can allow such violence upon their own child. Violence and negligence so intense it makes them act out so aggressively, so loudly. Every single blood stain, every broken wooden thing, every swing of a bat in the hands of now twenty-two year old Malachai, was a cry, not a roar of evil deed. He was so disfigured. He was so wounded he had to inflict pain on others to be heard. And yet they didn’t hear anything except their own screams. 

You wanted to ask him the same question, am I bad for liking you so much? But you knew he had no answer. Kai was very knowledgeable about many things; he understood many things you didn’t, but he knew nothing about the philosophy of morale. He had no deep feelings, he had no deep core in him. It was burnt clean long time ago. 

Am I evil for not feeling sorry for the kids you hung from the banisters? 

Am I bad for rooting for you when you were merging with Luke?

Am I bad for siding with you against my oldest friends?

Am I bad for being the only one who gave you the benefit of the doubt, just for the sake of being the only one?

After all, it takes just one person to keep someone from breaking. But when Malachai finally killed his family, when he reached the breaking point to never be innocent again, you were still a month away from being born. 

“Take the books outside”, you asked him.

Kai looked up from the table. He was reading diligently, not skipping pages, and watching him got tedious after three hours. While he was on it, you trod through the front and back yard; made sandwiches; studied the pictures of the kids; sneaked into the basement and got horrified at the sight of Kai’s ‘room’ there. 

(Yeah, it became my room for a while, he yapped from the kitchen. He laughed at your eyes, widened in horror, yeah, it was real pain. They kept me there when they had people over... pretended I don’t exist)

His real room used to be upstairs, underneath the roof, but it became Jo’s space eventually, and there was no trace of Malachai there. It was sad how there were so very few signs of the oldest child in the house. No posters, no shoes at the door, no jackets, no used tissues, no sports awards. No clothes, no mess, no boy things, no magazines, no CDs, no skateboard. There was a TV in the basement, and a bed, a nightstand, and a couple of comic books in the drawers of it, and you felt there was a huge chunk of Kai missing, as if they had got rid of all the things reminding of him, as if it was him who died. 

“Take the books outside”.

“Why?”

“I’m tired. I want to sleep. Let’s go into the city, find a hotel or a big house, and you can read there”.

Kai looked around as if saying, isn’t it the house enough?

You didn’t know how to explain to him that staying in this place was terrible. Kai clearly missed this place although you didn’t know what he was holding on to. The family he missed was clearly an illusion. He craved the real bond, the concept of loving community, not the actual Parker people. 

“I want to burn down this house”.

He tilted his head and his mouth twitched. 

“Have you ever done it?”

“Why would I burn my own house?” 

“You’ve spent eighteen years here, and...”

“Look”, he put up his palms defensively, “obviously, you are a very creative individual with a different way of thinking, and I haven’t done half of the things you come up with, while I was here, but if you’re gonna ask me this question every time you have an idea...”

“You know fire is cleansing, right? You should know, you’re able to control it. Isn’t fire an important element of witchery?”

“Mhm”.

He wasn’t offended by the idea. He was just a little susprised. 

As Kai stepped outside, bringing the last books into the trunk of the (ugly) Buick parked in the driveway, you watched him there on the lawn. Maybe he really was the cancer his family made him to be. He looked like a hyena looking around for a dying animal to chew on. He despised this place, and its lightness, and the fact his surviving relatives thought of the exquisite way of reminding him about what he’s done. And he went around busily, like a bee mama, at the same time.

The house still reeked of blood, and frankly, you didn’t know how he could even think about sleeping here. 

You threw a match on the couch, and another one down into the basement. You knew the house would restore as soon as midnight comes, but by that time you’ll be far away from here. Wherever the books send you to. 

You’ve never seen a house on fire so close. The heat was burning your face, and you knew it burns Kai, too, so you pulled on his hand to make him step away. 

“What sucks the most is that I had every right to merge with her”, Kai said suddenly. You had to step closer to hear him over the immense screech and cracking of the house.

There was deep, pure hatred in his voice as he spoke about his sister. You realized that his bitterness about her betrayal is still fresh, and the merge did nothing to heal it. It was personal. She was his to kill.

“I would’ve shown her if she only had given me a chance. You know? Nobody believed I could win, because I’m a siphoner. But if they only gave me a chance, I would’ve tried my best and I would’ve been a good coven leader”.

“You are already”, you said. Kai squeezed your fingers with his stiff palm.

“Once we get out”, he said, dead eyes staring into you, “there’ll be no coven. I will end every single one of them”.

[dilly-oh]

Three Strikes

    “Listen up, team,” Captain Yamato says, his face deathly serious, “we are going to murder these guys. They are going to be sent home in body-bags. They’re the enemy, and we’re gonna slaughter them.”

    Kakashi glances over at the other team. They look like a bunch of sweaty highschool kids, same as them, though their baseball uniforms look like they’ve seen better days. Or months. Two messy brown-haired boys are passing around a joint, a douchey-looking kid with silver hair is blatantly screwing around on his phone, and another is straight up sleeping on the bench. Their Captain is facing them, hands on his hips as he tries to rouse his teammates, ponytail bouncing at the effort. It seems a lost cause, just like their chances of winning.

    “Even their parents aren’t going to be able to identify their remains.”

    Yamato’s doing that thing again where he gets too serious and starts creeping everyone out. Kakashi looks over at Coach Minato to see if he’s going to put a stop to this, but he’s too busy giggling and sexting his wife to notice. As usual.

    “Kakashi, we’re counting on your pitches to really massacre them, got it?” Yamato fixes him with that soul-killing stare, all blank and dead-eyed.

    “Mmm,” Kakashi hums noncommittally, his lower face hidden behind his catcher’s mitt. He finds the smell comforting. Also, Asuma is sitting next to him, and reeks of a nauseating combination of B.O., cigarette smoke and Kurenai’s perfume. As if they’re fooling anyone by claiming to be ‘just friends’. 

    “Can we hurry this up?” Genma cuts in, snapping his gum. “I have a hot date in, like, two hours.” 

    “I’m sitting right here,” Raido states. “You’re so fucking embarrassing.”

    “Love you too, babe.”

    “Where the hell is Gai?” Asuma asks, glancing around.

    “He ate too many protein bars again. He’s in the can.”

    Kakashi can’t wait for this to be over so he can go home and chill with the dogs. All eight of them. He makes a mental reminder to pick up some more Milkbones on the way home. 

    The thing is, Kakashi is damn good at baseball, even though he loathes it. He’d drop it in a heartbeat and spend all his free time playing CoD, except his father insists he play a sport to ‘round out his resume’. As if his straight A’s since Kindergarten and 160 IQ wasn’t enough. Kakashi’s pitches are precise, powerful, and virtually unstoppable. The ball almost seems to move as if he controls it himself. He strikes everyone out with 99.9% accuracy, able to analyze an opponent in a single glance and determine their weaknesses. It’s the reason their team has made it so far, despite his teammate’s determined efforts to goof off. 

    The two coaches finally get their shit together and shake hands (the other coach is an elderly man who winks at Asuma for some reason, who groans). The game begins, and Kakashi takes his place on the pitcher’s mound, rolling the ball soothingly around in his hand. The other team’s Captain is up first. After adjusting his ponytail under his helmet, he walks to the plate, taps the ground with his bat, and looks up at Kakashi just as he winds up to throw.

    He’s a nerdy looking kid with gangly arms, a scar over the bridge of his nose, and a determined scowl on his face. 

    He’s the most gorgeous thing Kakashi’s ever seen. 

    The ball slips off his fingers, goes spinning off in a corkscrew, and clocks a drink right out of a bystander’s hand. Soda sprays everywhere, thoroughly coating a good portion of the meager crowd. 

    “Foul!” the umpire cries. The boy blinks in surprise, then squares up again, bat waving tauntingly. Kakashi gets another ball and winds up.

    This time his ball hits a car in the parking lot, the burglar alarm wailing away. The car’s owner wails even louder.

    “Foul!” 

    Kakashi throws another foul. And another. 

    “Ball!”

    The boy walks. He glances at Kakashi as he trots by him, confused. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the ground, cursing inwardly.

    This will not happen again.

    It happens again.

    And again.

    And again. 

    It’s not so bad when the boy’s on second base, because then he’s directly behind Kakashi and out of his line of sight. But when he’s on first or third, he can see him out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze is naturally drawn to him, concentration wavering. It’s even worse when he’s on the bench, because then Kakashi can see him in his natural state, smiling and chatting amicably with his teammates. 

    But nothing compares to when he’s up to the plate, standing ready for the pitch. The intensity of those deep brown eyes is staggering, making his legs weak. He walks each time, Kakashi’s near-perfect pitches always spinning out of control and destroying something of value. He’s just glad he’s hit mostly inanimate objects and not people. 

    After several innings of this, Captain Yamato has had enough, and he calls a time-out, dragging Kakashi to the side of the dugout for a polite chat. 

    “Kakashi, the fuck is going on? You’re throwing the damn game! Literally!”

    “I’m sorry,” Kakashi mumbles, miserable. “I...I don’t know-”

    “Are you feeling alright?” Captain Minato has decided to finally do his job and actually act like a Coach, walking over to join them.

    “M’fine.” Kakashi shakes his head, hiding his face behind his glove. “It’s just...I keep getting...distracted.” Yamato sputters indignantly, but Minato’s studying him, a thoughtful look on his face. He glances over at the other team, and Kakashi’s traitorous eyes follow, latching onto the boy, who is busy scolding his teammates again, cheeks flushed with frustration. Kakashi’s ears start to burn. Minato chuckles and he hurriedly snaps his gaze back.

   “...I think I see what the problem is.” He pats Kakashi’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “Listen, Kakashi...why don’t you sit this one out? Just...relax and enjoy the view.”

    It feels like Kakashi’s ears are going to burn down to nubs.

    “What?! He can’t sit out, we need him! How else are we going to bathe in their blood?”

    “Bathe in their- what? Christ, Yamato, it’s just a game. Calm down. Are we going to have to have another talk?”

    Kakashi drags his feet back to the bench and plonks himself down. The others glance over at him in concern. 

    “What’s up, Kakashi?” Genma asks. “Constipated?”

    “Gai, give him some of your protein bars.” Raido elbows the other boy in the gut, who groans. 

    Nevermind, they’re just idiots. Kakashi cowers behind his mitt in shame. 

    The game continues, and his teammates manage to do remarkably well without him. Gai makes a surprisingly good substitute pitcher, although he screams “Dynamic Pitch!!” every time he throws the ball until Coach Minato tells him to cut it out. Asuma is jacked enough that he can hit a home-run every time he connects, and Kakashi is pretty sure the other team is terrified of Yamato and his intimidating stare. The game makes a quick turnaround, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve won. He’s been staring nonstop at the boy, too, so that might have something to do with the quick win. 

    Everyone cheers and high-fives while Kakashi quickly grabs his stuff, shoves it in his duffle, and scuttles off towards the bus. Coach Minato is suddenly next to him, blocking his way. 

    “Why don’t you go say hi?” he suggests, nodding his head at the other team.

    Kakashi can’t think of anything more horrible.

    “This was an away game,” Minato reminds him. “You might never see him again.”

    ...Dammit. 

    Dropping his bag in the dirt, Kakashi forces himself to turn around and walk robotically towards the boy, who is just wrapping up a speech to his teammates about how they’re still winners for doing their best, but no-one’s really listening. He turns away from them, shaking his head in exasperation, and blinks in surprise as Kakashi stops in front of him. He’s even cuter up close. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the ground to keep from being blinded. 

    “...Hi.”

    “Uh. Hey.” The boy regards him warily. “You alright out there? The Coach made you sit down.”

    “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Kakashi pauses long enough for the silence to turn painfully awkward. “I’m Kakashi, by the way.” 

    “Iruka.” God, even his name is cute. Kakashi scrambles to think of something to talk about. 

    “So, um. Do you...like baseball?”

    “Not really, no,” Iruka answers. “I’d rather be home playing CoD, to tell the truth.”

    “Oh my God, me too,” Kakashi slumps over, awash with relief. “Have you seen the latest updates? They have a new map that-”

    The next five minutes are incomprehensible gibberish to everyone but them as they debate the best maps, guns, and loadouts.

    “Iruka, let’s go!” a voice calls impatiently from the parking lot. 

    “Yeah, yeah, just a minute,” he calls back, waving at his teammates. Kakashi’s stomach tightens. 

    This is it. His last chance. 

    “Hey, uh...” He takes a deep breath. “You wanna...hang out sometime?” 

    Iruka stares back at him blankly. 

    “I live, like, twenty miles away from you.”

    “Oh.” Kakashi blinks. “Right. Sorry.” He feels like a complete idiot. Here he was, thinking he actually had a chance-

    “Here’s my phone number. Message me so I can friend you and we’ll play later.”

    ...Then again, maybe he did.

    They exchange numbers, Kakashi happily adding a dolphin emoji after Iruka’s name. 

    “So is this a friend thing, or a boyfriend thing?” Iruka asks, blunt as can be. Kakashi just gapes at him, wide-eyed in horror. His face feels like it’s on fire, and he desperately wishes he’d brought his glove to hide behind.

    “...Only...if you want it to be,” he croaks out. Iruka stares at him a beat longer, then breaks out into a blinding grin. 

    “Yeah, sure, why not. You were pretty cute out there, spazzing out every time I was up to bat. I’m surprised you didn’t hit a bird.”

    Oh my God. He knew. Oh my GOD. 

    “I have to warn you, though...” Iruka went on, grinning cheekily, “three strikes, and you’re out.”

    Kakashi has never been more in love.

(Written for @kakairu-fest, Week 1 Prompt: Summer Sports)