#give some kids a sandbox and one will build a castle another will build a trench and the last will sift through the grains of sand

[talentedtrait]

isn’t it so cute how we all have the same game but we have different sim styles and stories and different saves but it’s all from the same material

[inkspiredwriting]

Playground Pandemonium

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I imagine that five would be a great dad. But I also think that he is insecure and is sometimes afraid of becoming just like Reginald. What do you think?

Warnings: None

It was a rare sunny Saturday afternoon, and Five Hargreeves had finally found a day to spend entirely with his wife Y/n and their four-year-old daughter Maddie. They decided to make the most of it by visiting the local playground. Y/n, ever the planner, packed a picnic basket full of Maddie’s favorite snacks, while Five’s contribution was ensuring they arrived early enough to grab the best spot.

As they walked hand in hand through the park, Five scanned the area. “I haven’t been to a playground since, well, ever,” he admitted.

Y/n laughed, squeezing his hand. “You missed out on a quintessential part of childhood, Five. But don’t worry, Maddie will show you the ropes.”

Maddie, bouncing ahead of them with an infectious energy, turned around and called, “Come on, Daddy! You’re gonna love the swings!”

Maddie made a beeline for the swings, and Five found himself being roped into pushing her. “Higher, Daddy! Higher!” she shrieked with delight.

Five, slightly uncertain but determined not to disappoint, gave her a solid push. Maddie soared into the air, laughing gleefully.

“Careful, Five,” Y/n warned, settling on a nearby bench with a watchful eye. “We don’t want her launching into space.”

Five smirked, “I’ve seen worse launches.” He gave Maddie another push, but this time, his mind wandered to a particularly explosive time-travel incident.

Distracted, he pushed a bit too hard. Maddie shrieked—not in delight, but in mild terror—as she swung higher than intended. “Whoa! Okay, not that high!”

Y/n stifled a laugh as Five, looking mortified, rushed to catch the swing on its way back. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said, steadying her. “Daddy’s still learning the basics.”

Maddie giggled, her fear quickly forgotten. “It’s okay, Daddy. Just don’t push me into the future!”

After the swing incident, Maddie led them to the sandbox, where she promptly began constructing an elaborate sandcastle. Five and Y/n joined in, Five more reluctantly.

“Why does this remind me of building fortifications during the apocalypse?” Five muttered as he helped shape a sand wall.

Y/n chuckled. “Probably because you’re overthinking it. Just have fun!”

Maddie, her tongue poking out in concentration, sculpted a turret. “Look, Daddy! A tower!”

Five nodded, actually impressed. “Nice work, Maddie. It’s almost as secure as some of the bunkers I’ve seen.”

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “Maybe we can skip the part where it gets blown up by time-traveling assassins.”

As they worked, a group of kids approached, drawn by the impressive sandcastle. One boy, clearly the sandbox bully, sneered at their work. “That’s a silly castle,” he said, kicking sand at the base.

Five bristled, ready to give the kid a stern talking-to, but Y/n put a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Five. Let Maddie handle it.”

Maddie stood up, glaring at the boy. “My Daddy can travel through time and fight bad guys. What can your daddy do?”

The boy, taken aback, mumbled something about his dad being a lawyer and scampered off. Five chuckled, giving Maddie a high five. “That’s my girl.”

Y/n called them over to the picnic blanket for snacks. As they sat down, Maddie’s excitement was palpable. “Can I have a juice box, Mommy?”

Y/n handed Maddie a juice box and gave Five a sandwich. “Try not to eat it too quickly,” she teased. “We don’t have a lot of supplies here.”

Five took a bite, nodding appreciatively. “Better than cockroaches.”

Just as they were settling in, a squirrel darted towards the picnic blanket, clearly eyeing their food. Maddie squealed, and Five immediately went into protective mode.

“Back off, rodent!” Five growled, standing up to chase the squirrel away.

The squirrel, unperturbed, grabbed a stray cookie and scampered up a tree. Five glared after it, shaking his fist. “This isn’t over!”

Y/n laughed, pulling him back down to the blanket. “I think we’ll survive without one cookie.”

Maddie, giggling, took a sip of her juice box. “Daddy, you’re so funny when you’re mad.”

Five sat down with a huff, brushing off the dirt. “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

The playground centerpiece was a tall slide, and Maddie insisted that her parents try it with her. Five eyed the slide warily. “Are you sure about this? I mean, what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’ Five,” Y/n interrupted, grabbing his hand. “It’ll be fun!”

They climbed the ladder, Maddie leading the way. At the top, Five hesitated. “This is higher than it looks.”

Y/n, already halfway down the slide with Maddie, called back, “Don’t chicken out now!”

With a resigned sigh, Five sat at the top of the slide. “Here goes nothing.” He pushed off, the slide’s angle steeper than expected. As he hurtled down, his typically composed expression twisted into one of surprise.

He shot off the end of the slide, landing in an undignified heap on the ground. Maddie burst into laughter, running over to help him up. “That was awesome, Daddy!”

Y/n, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, helped him stand. “See? Fun!”

Five dusted himself off, trying to maintain some dignity. “Maybe for you.”

As the sun began to set, the Hargreeves family packed up their picnic and headed home. Maddie, tired from her day of adventure, held each of her parents’ hands, swinging between them.

“That was the best day ever!” she declared, beaming up at them.

Five, despite his usual stoicism, smiled down at her. “I’m glad you had fun, Maddie.”

Y/n leaned her head on Five’s shoulder as they walked. “You know, for someone who’s never been to a playground, you did pretty well.”

Five chuckled. “Well, I had a good teacher.”

As they reached their car, Maddie climbed into her seat, already half-asleep. Five and Y/n shared a look, both of them tired but happy.

“Same time next week?” Five asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Y/n laughed, kissing his cheek. “Absolutely. As long as you promise not to get into a fight with any more squirrels.”

Five grinned. “No promises.”

As the Hargreeves family drove home, the playground behind them, they couldn't help but smile. It was the perfect blend of laughter, love, and just a bit of Hargreeves-style mayhem.

[nymime]

Hear me! Mamma Harrington singing a lullaby to Baby steve to sleep, and the lullaby is Baby mine. Just imagine this.

Baby steve, 5 or 6 years old, had a big scary nightmare, is raining a lot and he cries yelling for his Mamma, who appears in seconds at the call of his bambino.

“Mio bambino, Cosa sta succedendo? Qualcosa ti ha spaventato?” She quickly takes him in her arms, rubbing the little back of his boy gentle as she shush his sob sweetly.

“Incubo! Un brutto incubo!” He was crying more less for the little hops his mamma was giving him.

“Oh… mio povero bambino…” She whisper and then kiss the forehead of Steve. “Vuoi che la mamma ti culli?” The boy nod after the question his mamma did.

Without a second thought, the woman take the boy to her dorm, and gently lay down in the bed with steve in her arms. She start humming and stroking the kids hair, gently wiping away the tears with kisses. After humming a little more, she start singing softly, with a sweet calming voice, that lull steve and gives him a warm feel of safety.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry….” She kiss another tears in the chubby cheek of her baby. “Baby mine, dry your eyes…” She tickles a little the tummy of Steve, making him giggle a bit, she smiles and start stroking his hair again.

“Rest your head close to my heart…”She leads steve head to her chest, where her heart was beating calmly. “Never to part, baby of mine…” She kiss again his head, humming again a little.

Steve fall asleep, safe and warm on his mamma’s arms.

Little one when you play

Steve was at the park now, playing in a sandbox, making some castles in peace. But a little rock hit his head, he whine for the pain of that, he look over an see a kid that two years older than him, curly brown dark hair and big doe eyes, he was amazed for the boy beauty, but quickly wake up that for the kid mocking him and run away after throwing another rock, this time to the castle, it fall down for the hit.

pay no heed what they say…

Steve wants to cry, feeling upset and sad for his castle, he straightened up and wipe the tears in his eyes.

Let your eyes sparkle and shine

With more determination on his little eyes, he start building the castle again, he will not cry for that mean boy, even though he is pretty, Steve will not cry, his mamma tell him that he didn’t need to cry for bad people, they don’t deserves his tears.

Never a tear , baby of mine…

Last year of high school, Steve was tired, really tired, after halloween and the freaky shit of upside down again, he was done with everything, he just wants to rest, and his mamma, but she wasn’t here, not after what happen when he was 11. He sigh trying to not cry, he groan when someone bump against his shoulder, the bruises of fighting Hargrove still fresh.

“Oh! Sorry king steve!” A voice said meanly, mocking even.

If they knew all about you, they’d end up loving you too.

Steve look back to see Munson, a sly grin in his face, like he was trying to provoke the minor to explode to him. Steve just sigh, and awkwardly smile to the boy, same as pretty like that day in the park. “Sorry, Munson, my bad.”

All those same people who scold you,

Munson frown his pretty face, curiosity sparkling in his eyes, he huff and just move over. “Whatever, make yourself not a bother, Princess.” He leave, laughing with his friends when he reach them.

Both of them not knowing than in two years they will meet again to save the older, and maybe, to be something else.

What they give’d just for the right to hold you.

Steve was crying, all alone in his big cold empty house, not home, stopped being a home years ago. He was still in that stupid sailor outfit, his face hurts so bad, he feels so damn guilty, he wasn’t in the right to be, Steve wouldn’t be able to save Hopper even if he tries, maybe he would die instead of the man, but no, is late, and now Jane is without a father. Max is without a brother too, yet Billy was an asshole, he didn’t have the right to die like that, impaled for that goo monster.

Steve cries that night, and the next and the next to that, his eyes are puffy and red for all tears. No one to hold him, he miss his mamma. After three days of crying, he fall asleep? dreaming of a time where everything was easier, where his mamma wasn’t afraid for him, where he can be in her arms again, being hold like a baby.

From your head down to your toes,

“You’re not much, goodness knows...” The woman was still singing, Steve sleep long ago, but Cecilia Occhipinti ne Harrington would always end a song for her baby, specially his song. She hum a little more before whisper the last sentences. “But you’re so precious to me…Cute as can be, baby of mine.” The last kiss in the boy forehead, and Cecilia lets herself fall asleep hearing the constant breathing of her bambino.

Poor woman and kid, none of them knows the future that waits for them.

————

translate:

Mio bambino: My baby.

Cosa sta succedendo? Qualcosa ti ha spaventato?: Whats happening? Something scares you?

Incubo, Un Brutto Incubo: Nightmare, a bad nightmare.

Mio povero Bambino: My poor baby.

Vuoi che la mamma ti culli?: Do you want mommy to coo/lull you?

[jlalafics]

"Photograph"-a Royal!Everlark story

This was inspired by this prompt from @writing-prompt-s:

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

This is totally unedited. Thank you to @sparklingdust4612 for bringing this prompt to my attention. Looking forward to everyone else's interpretations along with this one and the story by @jhsgf82!

I actually have more of this but I thought I'd show y'all a little bit of my interpretation of the above prompt.

****

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen, still…

-Ed Sheeran

Photograph

Katniss Everdeen loved building castles.

In the massive sandbox, she packed another bunch of sand into her bucket before placing it upside down to set. While waiting, Katniss imagined how she would decorate the inside of her palace, a delighted smile growing on her face as she thought of the possibilities.

First, the walls would all be yellow. Not the ugly yellow that looked like snot—but yellow like Prim’s, her baby sister, golden locks.

Yellow meant hope: that’s what Daddy always said.

Knocking on the sides of the bucket to loosen the sand like Mommy showed her, Katniss slowly lifted it revealing a perfect tower for her castle.

“Yes!” she hollered, jumping up in excitement.

Her eyes went to Mommy who was sitting on the bench across the way. She was talking to a pretty, yellow-haired woman with a big tummy. Prim was asleep in her stroller, her binky hanging from her mouth.

“Mommy!” Katniss rushed over, stopping just a scant from toppling over on the concrete. “Look! I’ve made the perfect tower!”

Her mother smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Katniss.” She turned to the woman next to her. “My Katniss is always building and dreaming on how to make her perfect home. Her teachers tell me that she has such a creative mind for a seven-year-old.”

“How absolutely charming,” the woman responded kindly, a smile on her pink lips.

Katniss tilted her head at the sound of her voice. There was something different about the way the lady talked—the dips of it sounded strange—but still nice.

“Why do you sound like that?” she asked bluntly.

Her Mommy frowned. “Katniss Everdeen! Please apologize!” She looked to the woman once more. “I’m so sorry—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured her. The pretty woman turned to Katniss. “I have a little bit of an accent because of where I’m from, that’s why my voice sounds different.”

Katniss nodded. “Okay, but it does sound nice…like a song!” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

The woman glowed like an angel. “My name is Marguerite.”

“Hello Miss Marguerite.” Katniss looked to where her sandcastle waited. “I better go before someone takes my stuff! Bye!”

Throwing a wave at the woman, she plopped back down onto her space in the sandbox ready to add some detailing to her newest tower—

The foot crushing her tower landed straight in the middle of it creating a space between each side.

Katniss fumed and her eyes went up to the blond-haired boy with the snooty face.

She stood, her hand slamming into his chest. “Hey! You destroyed my castle!”

The boy stared at her in shock. “No one ever touches me!”

“Until now—”

Katniss was suddenly blocked by another boy, tall and dark-skinned.

“No one touches his royal highness,” he declared, and the blond boy stuck his tongue at her.

Another boy, this one dark-haired and sharp-eyed, approached.

“Prince Peeta has decided that you will be his bride,” he stated with a scowl.

Katniss made a face, crossing her arms to show them how disgusting that sounded. “Gross.”

The so-called Prince Peeta walked over to her.

“As my bride, you can make as many sandcastles as you want,” he explained. “I’ll build a bigger sandbox than this for you!”

Something inside zinged at the thought. “Really?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katniss eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you want to marry me anyway?”

Peeta shifted in his stance, the confidence in his blue eyes suddenly wavering. “I like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

A rise of pink colored his cheeks. “They’re soft…and pretty.”

That had been it for her.

On that warm afternoon, by the swings of District 12’s only playground, Katniss Everdeen married the so-called Prince Peeta.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Gale, the dark-haired boy, said. He looked at Peeta, a teasing smile on his face. “Go on—kiss her!”

“Close your eyes,” Peeta told her.

Katniss, wearing her paper towel veil courtesy of the park’s public bathroom, did what he said and closed her eyes.

SPLAT!

She barely registered being shoved down into the muddy puddle.

Katniss looked up at the sneering boy, feeling the rise of anger in her body.

“That’s what you get for pushing me.”

++++++

Twenty years later…

“Katniss.” She looked up from laptop to find Prim at her open doorway. Her sister held out a Fed-Ex envelope. “This just came for you.”

Without even glancing at it, Katniss tossed the envelope on her bed, going back to the open page on her screen.

“Don’t you want to open it?” Prim stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed, picking the post up to examine it. “It looks important.”

“Probably one of those things saying that I’m eligible for another credit card.” Katniss frowned, sitting back, and staring at the blinking cursor. “I’m so stuck on this blog post!”

“Is this the one about kitchen flowers?” her sister asked, and she nodded. “You got some great pictures from Madge’s shop.”

“I know but my writing inspiration is zilch,” Katniss explained. “I need to get this done if I want to post by Mother’s Day.”

“Speaking of Mother’s Day, mom is wondering if you’re bringing anyone to Sunday dinner,” Prim informed her.

“I love our mother but lately every conversation we’ve had is either about my lack of a dating life or my withering eggs,” Katniss said. “Right now, I need to focus on getting more attention on the blog. It’s just gaining momentum!” She rested back and turned to her sister. “This is important to me.”

“I know,” Prim replied. “And you are good at it. I mean, look at what you’ve done to our apartment! To this room!”

Her sister’s bright blue eyes looked around the buttercream room, beautifully decorated with white-washed furniture. The console that her television sat atop was bought at a nearby thrift shop and refurbished by her. Katniss had sanded it down before putting a whitewash over it and adding lacquer to give it a more modern look.

In fact, most of the furniture in her and Prim’s apartment was completely refurbished by her. She had always had an eye for decorating and instead of going to a four-year college, Katniss had opted to go to design school.

Creating something new from what people considered junk gave her a special kind of thrill—almost akin to being in love.

At least that’s what she thought it might feel like.

“Whoa!”

Katniss whipped over to her sister—who was holding an unfolded paper in her hands.

She stood from her seat and went to Prim. “What?”

Wordlessly, Prim handed the piece to her—it was a letter.

The letter was on marbled paper, an elegant insignia atop it, and she could see that the elegant calligraphy was done by hand:

Dear Miss Everdeen,

You are hereby summoned to the kingdom of Panem to present yourself to His Royal Highness, King Peeta.

Photo documentation has validified that you are the Queen Consort to His Royal Highness.

Attached is my business card, please contact me to arrange your travel to Panem.

Respectfully,

The Rt. Hon. Effie Trinket

Private Secretary to His Royal Highness

“This is a joke!” Katniss tossed the letter onto her desk and laughed. “Photo documentation? There is no such thing—”

The laugh fell from her lips as Prim turned the FedEx envelope upside down and a single photo fell onto her bedspread.

“There’s a business card in here, too,” Prim told her carefully.

Walking over, Katniss could see that the photo was facedown.

Trembling, she picked the print up and read the elegant cursive atop it:

‘Peeta and his new bride, Katniss Everdeen!’

Next to the caption was a happy face; it was obvious that this statement was made in jest.

Turning the photograph, a wave of nausea hit seeing the image of her seven-year-old self, a paper towel veil atop her head, joining hands with a blond boy—

Prince Peeta.

Or to be more precise, His Royal Highness King Peeta of Panem.

[wingsanddimples]

Danville, VA; July 1988

Dean wants to get Sammy a puppy. Not a real one (John would make some big show of...well, probably putting it down to teach them a lesson, if Dean was honest with himself), but a stuffed one. He’d seen the kid hugging the extra pillow on the motel bed at night and thought back to before the fire, when he would hug a blue bear to sleep at night.

He wants to find a puppy, but he also knows he’s at the mercy of whatever is easiest and most available for him to grab.

He stares at the kids on the playground, dutifully babysitting his younger brother in the sandbox, waiting for a good opportunity with a kid who’s just forgetful enough and a parent in just enough of a hurry.

The opportunity comes and Dean sees it immediately. A little girl, probably not much older than Sammy, has dropped her purple hippopotamus by the swings. Dean tells Sammy it’s time to go home.

“But Deaaan,” he whines at his brother, “I’m not done with my castle.”

“I know, we’ll come back tomorrow and I’ll let you build as many castles as you want, but we gotta go right now, okay?” Sammy pouts and Dean is tempted to let him finish his castle, but remembers the mission he’s on. “Go on, get started, I’ll catch up. I need a drink, ‘kay?” Sammy continues pouting, but gets up and stares woefully at his half finished ‘castle’. It’s more like a lopsided pile of dirt with a dirty pigeon feather stuck into it as a makeshift flag, but Sammy has also had to make due with the broken shovel and no bucket. He sighs loudly and starts walking to the sidewalk out of the park with his shoulders sagging dejectedly.

Dean takes the opportunity and sprints to the swings, sliding in the gravel and grabbing the stuffed hippo, as if he’s sliding for the game winning home run in the World Series.

He manages to stuff the hippo beneath his jacket with deft fingers that have lifted many a candy bar out from under gas station clerk’s noses. He then casually walks toward his younger brother and quickens his pace, grabbing Sammy’s hand and tugging him along and far away from the park and back toward their dingy motel room.

~

Sammy is eating the spaghetti-o’s Dean put in front of him and watching the static-laden cartoons they managed to get to come on the old motel TV when Dean decides to give him the hippo.

“Sammy, I wanted to give you something,” he says, clearing his throat and talking louder than the TV to get his brother’s attention. Sammy turns from the screen, his face a pasta sauce mess with random noodles stuck to his cheeks.

“What is it?” he asks, putting his spoon down and standing up on his chair, leaning toward Dean. His eyes are bright and curious and Dean beams as he pulls the purple hippo out from behind him and presents it to his baby brother with a wide grin.

“It was supposed to be a puppy, but the uh, the store was out, so I got you this instead.” Sam’s eyes widen and he squeals with delight, snatching the hippo and joyfully hugging it to his chest, the spaghettio’s transferring onto the plush.

“Dee, it’s the best puppy ever! I love it!” He clambers off the chair and hugs his brother, the hippo under one arm. “I’m naming it Puppy.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair and hugged him back.

“Sure, sure, Sammy, I’m just glad you like it.”

~

Sammy wakes up to his father picking him up out of bed and taking him into the sticky air of the Virginia night and only groans a little. “Daddy, my Puppy,” he manages to croak out, his throat dry from sleep. John ignores him and puts him in the car, Dean beside him, rubbing his eyes and yawning, trying to get back to sleep. He starts to whine again about the stuffed animal, but John snaps at him.

“Enough! I don’t want to hear another word, Sammy.”

Sammy is too tired to insist and, feeling he might be dreaming, falls back asleep beside his brother in the back of the Impala.

The hippo had fallen off the bed, as stuffed animals are wont to do when a child tosses and turns and thrashes about in their sleep, and lay on the motel room floor, half under the bed.

It isn’t until they’re in a new motel Kentucky in the morning that it sinks in to Sammy that Puppy is nowhere to be found beside him, nor in the small backpack of his belongings. He sits on the bed and cries, inconsolable, for what feels to Dean like hours.

Dean sits at the table in the motel room staring at the ugly green patterned wallpaper. He didn’t know that they’d be leaving so soon, that John would grab them in the middle of the night and leave the state. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, Dean should have known better. He should have checked when John woke him up for the hippo. He could have stuffed it into his own bag. But he didn’t.

Eventually, Sammy’s wails calm down into soft sobs and sniffles, then into silence as he cries himself to sleep. Dean looks over from the table at his brother and sighs. He wonders how many more times he’s going to let his little brother down.

inspired by @godtrials post

[hopeswriting]

The Sawada household meets the Hibari household. The Sawada household uses their special technique and successfully escapes.

[1295 words]

*

Someone shakes his shoulder, and Skull looks up to see Fuuta kneeling next to him. He lowers his headphones around his neck.

“Hey, Fuu. Done playing already?”

“Tsuna-nii’s being bullied,” Fuuta says around his lollipop.

“What?” Skull shouts. He sits up, and crawls all over his books to look past the tree he’s been studying under. He flicks his eyes around the park. “Where? Why? By whom?”

“Over there.”

Fuuta points the direction, over to the benches where the parents sit. Tsuna sits on one of them, curled over his ice-cream, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed down. A black-haired kid sits next to him, in his school uniform even if it’s Sunday, his jacket hanging on his shoulders.

Skull winces. “Oh no, who the hell is this guy? A classmate that has it out for him? Why doesn’t he just walk away?”

“Probably because he’ll be killed if he dares to move.”

Skull winces some more. “Yeah, you really just can tell even from all the way here.” The kid sits way too close to Tsuna, looking down at him without moving, and maybe unblinking too. Tsuna isn’t even touching his ice-cream, and Skull wouldn’t be surprised if it was melting in his hands. He crawls back under the tree. “Okay, what should I do? Should I go over and talk to that kid?”

“What about talking to his big brother instead? He’s the one responsible for him after all.”

“I don’t know about that,” Skull says, hurriedly putting his stuff back into his bag. Younger kids than him don’t tend to feel like listening to him, but it’s even worse with the people his age or older. He stands, lifting his bag over one shoulder, and turns off his music. “Stay here.”

“No way,” Fuuta hurries to say, latching onto his arm. Skull raises his eyebrows. “I mean, of course I’m coming,” he says, calmer, smiling sweetly. “Tsuna-nii needs us.”

“Bullshit,” Skull calls out. He drags him with him away from the tree and under the sun anyway, keeping his eyes on Tsuna in case his situation develops for the worse. “What now? The kid or the big brother?”

“The big brother’s closer.” Fuuta nudges him discreetly in the right direction, and Skull shifts around to look.

Bright red catches his eye to the sandbox, where a little girl clad in red’s building sand castles. On the nearest patch of grass sits what he assumes is the big brother of both the kid and the girl—or maybe the twin brother, the resemblance between the two uncanny—, also clad in red, looking about his age.

Skull catches his eye, and realizes at once Big Brother has already been watching them. He blinks, gives it another moment, but no, they’re really the ones being looked at. Big Brother even smiles.

Skull turns back around as casually as he can, and starts walking.

“Why was he watching us?”

“Was he?” Fuuta asks innocently, the way he does when he’s lying through his teeth.

“You little shit, what did you do?” Skull wraps his arm around his shoulders, and squeezes him against his side in a headlock, while still walking. “Confess.”

“Nothing!” Fuuta defends, then removes his lollipop from his mouth to better speak. “I was just playing with his little sister, but then he wouldn’t stop looking at me like that!”

“You mean you’re being bullied too? Or more like, this was never about Tsuna, was it?” Skull pinches his cheek. “You terrible little brother.”

Fuuta swats his hand away. “I’m the youngest, I’m the first priority! Besides, you can do both, Skull-nii!”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t do either, did you look at them?” They look back above their shoulder, then immediately look ahead again. “Oh my God.”

“He’s following us,” Fuuta says, worry in his voice.

“Yeah, I could see that.” Skull loosens his grip, and firmly holds on Fuuta’s shoulder instead. He makes them both pick up their pace. “What about his little sister, is he just going to leave her like that?”

Fuuta glances over his shoulder again. “She’s following us too.”

“Of course she is,” Skull grits through his teeth. He picks up his pace again, making a beeline for Tsuna with wide, quick steps, Fuuta jogging next to him to keep up with him. The kid next to Tsuna looks up, zeroes in on them, and Skull sharply switches their course, Fuuta stumbling against him. “Oh my God.”

“What about—”

“I’m thinking, okay?” Skull cuts him off. He glances over at the bench, briefly catching Tsuna’s eye, who’s now looking up too. They’re still walking towards the bench, but they’re going to walk right past it at this rate, and won’t be close enough as they do to give Tsuna the opportunity to escape.

“Skull-nii—” Fuuta says, looking over his shoulder.

“Stop looking,” Skull chides him, but then looks back too. The little sister sits on Big Brother’s shoulder so that he can keep up with their fast pace, and his gaze tells Skull he’ll follow them to the ends of earth. He looks back ahead. “Oh my God, why do these kinds of stuff always happen to us?” he whines.

Tsuna gives him desperate looks, sitting at the edge of the bench, but the kid’s still watching them. Whatever, he’s just a kid, Skull got this, totally. He just has to get his shit together.

He takes a deep breath, then switches side with Fuuta, discreetly taking his lollipop while he’s hidden behind his back, and hides it in his grip. He takes Fuuta’s hand, and adjusts his bag over both his shoulders.

“Keep up.”

“Eh?”

Skull takes off running at full speed. He makes straight for Tsuna, who watches them come wide-eyed, while the kid seems unfazed, if intently focused on them.

“Watch out!” Skull screams, and throws the lollipop at him.

He dodges, giving Tsuna’s room, and—bless his soul—Tsuna wastes no time jumping to his feet, shoving his ice-cream against the kid’s chest, then runs to them.

“What took you so long?” he shouts.

“You’re welcome!” Skull shouts back. He grabs his hand once he’s close enough, then runs for the exit, dragging his brothers behind him.

Tsuna shrieks. “They’re following us!”

“Stop looking and run!” Skull says, even as he looks back again, but only to make sure Fuuta’s keeping up.

He is, more or less, too distracted laughing to put much of an effort.

Skull lets go of their hands when they come by their bikes, and holds his steady while Tsuna helps Fuuta up on the handlebar. He runs again then, steering his bike alongside him.

“Hiee, Skull-nii—!”

Skull laughs. “Just jump, no time!”

They’re out of the park running on the sidewalk when Tsuna jumps on the backseat, almost falling back, the bike losing balance if not for Skull holding onto it, Fuuta dangerously swaying on the handlebar.

Him and Skull burst out laughing.

“Not funny!” Tsuna screams, but there’s laughter in his voice too. “They’re still following us!”

Skull looks back, a bit disbelieving, but lo and behold they are still running after them, for all intent and purposes looking confident in their ability to catch up to them, even if they’re on a bike.

To catch up to Skull on a bike, while they’re on foot?

Skull flashes them a grin. They can always try.

He runs next to his bike a moment more, then jumps on the seat, shifts to face forwards while swinging his legs, and rests his feet on the spinning pedals at the same time. “Hold on tight, guys!” he screams, standing, and only puts in the work pedaling after making sure they are, Fuuta cheering loudly for him.

“Hey, what about my bike?” Tsuna asks.

“You’re welcome,” Skull only says, and Fuuta laughs.

*

Just testing the waters for my Tenth Gen & Arco siblings AU. It’d start like this lol, and if enough of you are interested to see more, I’d be happy to write more! So, let me know if you are?

[electronswrites]

Marvel Vs. DC

A lot of Marvel comics fans say Marvel Comics are better written than DC comics, which, sure, I'll give them that. Overall I'd say that pans out.

However

The sandbox that is DC comics is just so much more fun to play in. Like if I want a consistently well-written run with compelling characters, I'mma turn to Marvel. If I want to work out my issues through projecting on an absolute disaster of a human being, I'mma turn to DC (or Matt Murdock).

Like, you go to the Marvel sandbox. Everyone is building a sandcastle. Some are shit. Some are really good. You appreciate the good ones and go: nice.

Then you go to the DC sandbox, and the kids are just throwing sand and dirt at each other. One kid created an absolutely beautiful castle, and then another kid comes along and sets it on fire. A fistfight starts. What a beautiful disaster. I'm playing in here.

[micha-writes]

I never posted this ficlet on here, so ... a little teen!au destiel ficlet that I wrote :) (ao3 link)

That Thing About Best Friends

The thing about best friends is, you can tell them anything. Your best friend, that’s someone who understands you – sometimes even better than you understand yourself. It’s someone who cares about you, someone you can trust, even with your darkest secret. No matter what’s on your mind, no matter what keeps you awake at night, you can tell your best friend, and they’ll be there for you. Maybe they’ll just listen, because sometimes that’s what you need. Maybe you’ll talk about the problem and try to think of a solution together, or maybe they’ll make you change your mind and see things differently. That’s things best friends do.

Most of the time best friends just have fun together, of course. They maybe play a video game together and insult each other over Mario Kart, or they do silly little things like making up funny dances to their favourite music or falling off the couch laughing about inside jokes they come up with while watching a bad movie. Best friends are, first and foremost, friends, of course. Friends who spend time together, have fun and laugh together.

But life’s not always just fun and games, Dean has learned that the hard way. No, life’s not always easy. Life has rough parts, it can be hard sometimes; and because life isn’t all fun and games, the thing about best friends isn’t either.

And in those times, when life isn’t fun at all, your best friend is still there. Sometimes you just need a hug, a supportive smile, a shoulder to cry on or an open ear to listen to your rant. That’s things best friends do: They’re there even when the road gets bumpy.

That’s another thing Dean has learned: That your best friend is there even when you expect them not to be. Even when you think you’ve scared them away with all your complaints about life or your constant anger, even when you think this time you’ve gone too far and ruined your relationship, they’re still there.

Yes, Dean has been there. Dean has yelled at his best friend for no reason, Dean has blamed his best friend for various bad things happening in his life, and still, his best friend is always there.

Cas is always there for Dean. He has always been, for as long as Dean can remember, all his life. In fact, Cas is a part of most of Dean’s earliest memories. He remembers that Cas was there back in the day when it all still was nothing but fun and games, when they were just little kids running around the park or building little castles in the sandbox.

Dean didn’t think of Cas as his best friend back then, he probably didn’t even know the concept yet. He didn’t call him that, but looking back, Cas still was his best friend, even back then, even at only a few years old. One of the clearest and at the same time most important memories Dean has of Cas is of the day of his mother’s funeral. Dean was only 4 years old back then, and he doesn’t remember a lot from that day. But one of the things he remembers clearly is Cas being there next to him, and Cas, just a little kid himself, trying to comfort his friend as good as possible, Cas pulling his little arms around Dean and hugging him as he noticed his silent tears.

Cas has been a constant in Dean’s life ever since. And even though Dean is only 16 years old, his life has been a lot so far. But no matter what happened, no matter how much it was at certain points, Cas has always been there. Ever since that day back then when Dean lost his mother and his home the same night, Cas hasn’t let him down a single time.

Dean trusts Cas, he trusts him more than he trusts any other person in the entire world. Cas has always been the person Dean went to with his deepest secrets, his most personal doubts and concerns, and all his worries.

Cas has always been the one person who knew that Dean’s broken arm wasn’t the result of falling out off a tree, and the black and blue marks all over his arms and upper body didn’t come from Dean fighting with his brother either. Dean and his brother Sam barely fight, and when they do, their weapons of choice are words.

Dean has never talked to anyone except Cas about his father. Not even to Sam, even though Sam of course knows where the marks on his brother’s body come from, he obviously knows where the broken bones that Dean has had multiple times come from, but he also knows that Dean doesn’t want to talk about it. That is, he doesn’t want to talk about it to anyone except Cas.

Dean likes to pretend he’s tough. He likes to pretend he’s strong and manly and hasn’t cried a single time in his entire life, but he doesn’t do it with Cas. Not all the time, at least. Because no matter how tough Dean pretends to be every single day in the school corridors, Cas has seen him cry a lot when they’re hanging out after school, just lying together on their backs in the grass on the field behind their school, just talking. That’s the times Dean talks about his father, and his broken bones, and the marks all over his body.

Dean has told Cas about pretty much every secret he’s ever had in his entire life, and he’s rather sure that Cas has done the same thing. Dean knows a lot of things about Cas, and many of those are things about which Cas has made him swear he’d never tell anyone about it.

The biggest secret Dean is keeping for Cas probably is the one he told him just a few months ago. Dean still remembers that day very well, maybe because it happened not that long ago, but probably rather because hearing Cas say what he said did cause him an undefinable chaos of emotions that he still doesn’t really know how to handle.

Dean still thinks about it now and then, sometimes when he’s alone and thinking, he leans back and remembers how Cas looked at him with that insecure look in his eyes and quietly said “I think I might be gay”, and then he thinks about the weird feeling that single phrase planted in his chest.

That feeling is the only thing Dean never told Cas about. It’s not that Dean has any kind of problem with his best friend’s sexuality, he absolutely doesn’t. He’s not his father, after all – even though he has taken on some of his bad traits, like the anger issue, but homophobia isn’t one of them.

No, Dean is fine with it, and he and Cas have talked about it, about Cas’s doubts concerning his sexuality and his realization that maybe he’s just not straight. They have talked about it, and Dean has really tried his best to be helpful, as good as that was possible with that insane and weird feeling sitting there in his chest, refusing to leave.

Dean didn’t know back then what the feeling was, but he knew that for some reason, he didn’t want Cas to know about it. Today, he’s still not entirely sure what the feeling is about, but by now he has figured out why he doesn’t want Cas to know.

Because today, Dean has understood that the feeling came not directly from Cas telling him he might be gay, no, it came from Dean taking that in and thinking a step (or two) further: Cas likes guys, was the initial thought of understanding, and then Dean thought … could he like me?

Now that, again, isn’t a question Dean asks himself because it would freak him out if it was true, no. Dean knows by now, after countless of sleepless nights spent thinking about it, that he asks himself that question because a part of him wants Cas to like him that way.

And now that is the point of confusing thoughts and doubts where Dean would normally go and talk to Cas about it. Because that’s the thing with best friends, you can tell them anything, they keep your secrets, and they help you figuring stuff like that out. Yes, Dean would love to talk to Cas about it, listen to Cas’s advice, because it’s always great, but the thing is, he can’t talk to Cas about it.

He can’t talk to Cas, because that would include having to tell Cas about those other thoughts Dean has had. Telling Cas would include telling him about those late nights Dean has been lying awake thinking about how it would feel to kiss Cas, thinking about how they could just walk down the street holding hands or about how they could cuddle up when watching a movie together. If he would tell Cas about his doubts regarding his own sexuality, it would sooner or later lead to that conversation, Dean is sure about that, and it scares him.

Dean doesn’t want Cas to know because he doesn’t want to ruin what they have right now. Cas is his best and oldest friend, and as much as he lies awake sometimes, fantasizing about a different kind of relationship with him, he doesn’t want to lose the friend he has right now. Dean is scared of a number of possible outcomes of this situation.

He’s aware of course that just because Cas is probably gay, that doesn’t mean he has to be into Dean. Cas could just as well be gay and not be interested in him at all, Dean knows that, and it’s one of his fears: Telling Cas about all his thoughts, telling him about his sexuality and his confusing feelings, just to have Cas tell him he doesn’t like him that way. That would hurt. It would hurt a lot.

What Dean is also scared about is disappointing Cas. Unknowingly leading him on, playing with his friend’s feelings. Because just hypothetically, if Dean tells him he likes him, and Cas happens to feel the same way, and they give it a try but Dean realizes he doesn’t actually like Cas … Dean is scared of unknowingly “faking it”, he’s scared of misinterpreting his own thoughts and feelings, and he’s so so scared of hurting Cas, breaking his heart and losing him as his friend.

And that’s what it all comes down to: Cas being his friend. His oldest friend, his best friend. The one person he trusts unconditionally, the one who’s always there for him, the one who always listens and gives the best advice, the one he shares all his insecurities and secrets with.

And that, yes, that’s the point. Because Cas is, and always has been, the one person Dean could talk about everything with. No matter what it is, Cas always makes time and room for Dean, Cas is always there to listen.

And now that’s the other thing about best friends: If they’re the one and only person you talk about all your problems with, that’s all perfectly fine and works well, as long as your best friend isn’t the reason you need someone to talk. It’s all fine telling your best friend about your most personal thoughts and dreams, it’s all fine telling them about that person you’re falling for, spending hours trying to convince them your crush really is as amazing as you believe them to be and being made fun of for your blush whenever you’re talking about them, that’s all good fun, until you look at your best friend and realize they’re the one you’re falling for.

Because what do you do if you have that one person you tell everything, but the one thing that’s on your mind the most is also the one thing you can’t discuss with them, because it’s about them? Yes, what do you do when you need to talk about your need-to-talk person? What do you do when you can’t really tell your tell-me-everything person everything?

What do you do when you fall in love with your best friend?

Dean is insecure, he’s scared and he’s incredibly anxious about what might happen, but finally, he decides to talk to Cas. Because it is Cas, after all.

It’s Cas, who has always listened and understood Dean, all his life. It’s Cas, who has always been calm and supportive, no matter what. It’s Cas, just Cas. It’s his best friend.

And that’s another thing about best friends.

They’re always there, and you can always talk about anything.

You might fall in love with your best friend, or you might not. But either way, you love them.

And they love you.

They want nothing but the best for you, just like you do for them. And you can talk to them, even when you’re insecure about their reaction to what you’ve got to say. You can talk to them, they won’t rip off your head.

Because they care about you, just like you care about them. And they’re probably about as scared of hurting you as you are of hurting them. They are, just like you, trying to protect the person they care about.

Because that’s what best friends do.

[cno-inbminor]

immergo

a/n: i recently watched haikyuu and i’m absolutely hooked. to help get it out of my system in time for final papers and assignments, i’m procrastinating by writing this out. hope you enjoy!

featuring: oikawa tooru x fem!reader & some OC’s + iwaizumi

genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff, slooow burn, some cliches to make people suffer

summary: tooru is as constant as the stars and as real as the earth beneath your feet, yet even for you, he still manages to slip away. and when it’s all too late, only then does he attempt to come back.

word count: 21.9k (this is a monster)

playlist: i wanted to try making one so here's a playlist on spotify: immergo

edit: now crossposted onto AO3 here!

-

You are five years old when you first meet him.

He’s got a terrible bowl cut and sand particles smudged on his cheek. A plastic, ocean blue shovel is dug deep into the sand before being lifted up with a load, then precariously dumped into a matching bucket. A teetering sandcastle threatens to fully collapse, yet somehow still sporting a little plastic yellow umbrella that some other kids might’ve left behind. You’re clutching your mother’s hand, a clenched fist brought up to your mouth to hide the trembling of your lips from the nervousness of approaching new people. The sandbox is a part of the playground, but you want to be there alone. You want to be in your own little world, too terrified to face the unknowns, but after the last two weeks of coming by, this boy is always in the sandbox.

Your mother somehow convinces you that you can make new friends. ‘But don’t boys have cooties?’ you ponder. There’s only a week left until kindergarten starts, and your mother thinks it would be nice to try to meet someone so you’ll at least have some semblance of familiarity. Just when you think you’re brave enough, you almost yelp in renewed fear when another boy comes into the scene and plops down next to the other boy, his own pair of a bucket and shovel dyed a bright, firetruck red, and is ready to start digging up sand. You watch him eye the falling castle, grumbling something to the other boy before attempting to patch it and stand it back up. The other boy stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth before morphing his face into a childish, happy grin. And immediately, you think, ‘Oh wow, I like his smile.’

Not only is it bright and wide, but there’s a certain feeling of gentleness. None of this is eloquently elaborated in your brain, but there’s a comfort that settles into your mind. That smile is what causes you to (though still hesitantly) let go of your mother’s hand and slowly wobble to the sand box, pause, before you step up and over the wooden border. The two boys have ceased their castle-building duties to stare at you, who’s now sitting in the sand and looking towards anything but them. Your head scrambles to remind yourself on how to say hello, and it must’ve done something correctly because before they can ask questions, you quietly ask, “Can I play with you guys?”

Both boys look toward each other, giving a look, before the boy with the red bucket shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you don’t mess up my castle.”

Bowl-cut tyke flicks sand at him, causing him to splutter and yell in protest. “Don’t be so mean, Hajime!” Bowl-cut scolds before turning back to you with that earlier grin. “I’m Oikawa Tooru and he’s Iwaizumi Hajime. Wanna help me with my castle?”

And ever since you moved to this new city until now, your mother has never seen your eyes so bright.

-

You are ten years old when Oikawa, with a better hairstyle, receives his first love confession of sorts (because you’re ten).

It takes until fifth grade for you to be finally in a class with both him and Iwaizumi. Other years either had one or neither of them, but you were still able to reconvene during recess. The three of you are attached at the hips during those 30 minutes, either running around in a game of tag, swinging as fast as you could across the monkey bars, or seeing who could swing the highest.

On days when the swings are particularly busy, the three of you would take turns pushing each other, trading off once one of you had your fill. “Higher!” Oikawa would always yell happily, his voice blending in with the rest of the screams and laughs in the playground. With your own laughs leaving your lips as you attempt to push the swing, Iwaizumi would instead yell back at him, “Use your own legs, idiot! That’s what they’re for!” To which Oikawa would whine, but eyes would still crinkle in childish delight as he approached the sky.

But Oikawa notices a lot of things, more than the average fifth grader does. Then again, it isn’t hard to spot the group of giggling girls under a tree’s shade nearby, evidently gazing at him in wonder and affection. He feels his heart soar at the attention and in turn, pumps his legs even harder, almost reaching perpendicular height to the ground. Oikawa admits that he is a bit of a show-off, he wants to be the best, and without warning, releases his hands from the chains and jumps off from the swing.

Both you and Iwaizumi gape at him with a mixture of horror and awe. If you could put this moment in slow motion, you would see Oikawa suspended in mid-air, yet somehow seeming to soar like a bird. His jacket flows behind him as his arms lift up to give a sense of balance, legs stretching out to get ready to meet the ground. You wonder what the expression on his face is like, yet the terror manifests itself into your shriek of his name, pitch and tone overpowering a similar call from Iwaizumi. But Oikawa is Oikawa and he lands on both feet, knees bent and almost touching the ground before straightening back up. You’re about to start running towards him, feet already moving, until you stop because he’s twisting himself towards you and Iwaizumi, V-sign held up and that same, big grin he always has. The sun casts a halo around him and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your feet stay rooted on the mulch and you watch as Iwaizumi stomps over to punch Oikawa in the arm, yelling about how he could’ve broken his legs and who would he play volleyball with then, leaving you to spot the aforementioned fangirls huddled like they’re coming up with a grand plan.

At first, you think nothing of it. It isn’t until after school as the three of you are walking towards the entrance when you wish you were more perceptive like Oikawa. One of the girls from under the tree has gone up to him, quickly bowing while introducing herself, grabs one of his hands to slap a folded piece of paper into it, and almost sprints away. Oikawa doesn’t have a chance to say anything, but he can only give himself a few seconds to register what just happened and unfold the ripped notebook paper. Inside in pretty cursive is an email address (because none of you have cellphones yet), which causes Oikawa to put on a shit-eating grin. He just basically received a love note, a confession, and his ego has just been fed a meal fit for a king.

He brags and boasts the whole way home, causing a permanent frown to settle on Iwaizumi’s face from pure irritation, and you find yourself only able to stay quiet, pondering and contemplating what this small nasty feeling inside your chest could be.

-

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are fourteen years old, nearly fifteen, when you receive your first love confession, which ends up being a little more refined than a hastily torn piece of notebook paper possessing an email address.

Their afternoons and early evenings are occupied by volleyball. While you had been at Lil Tykes from the ages of 6 to 10, mainly due to a massive fear of missing out and wanting to spend more time with your new best friends then, you didn’t have as much talent as those two and decided to pursue other interests. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had protested vehemently when you broke the news to them one evening over dinner at the setter's house, their mouths full of rice and chicken curry yet somehow still managing to speak over the food. Oikawa’s mother had seen you shrink further and further into your chair before slamming her hand on the table, causing the two boys to startle and cease their yelling.

“Respect (y/n)’s interests! I did not raise you,” she spoke pointedly, directing a finger at her now ashamed son, “to be so rude. If she doesn’t want to play volleyball anymore, then she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to keep doing something she doesn’t want to do just because you two said so. Now, both of you apologize to (y/n) and finish your dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” and “Yes, auntie,” both quietly left their lips. You wanted to hug the woman right then and there, tears nearly forming and spilling over at the fact that she was on your side. The two boys had put their spoons down and waited for a few seconds before Iwaizumi finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. We’re just gonna miss you a lot,” he apologized, tone sad and soft. Oikawa was still chewing on his bottom lip when Iwaizumi elbowed him to say something. “Apologize, you idiot,” he hissed.

“Ow! I know, geez. I’m sorry, too. Mom’s right, I should respect what you want to do. We’re gonna miss seeing you, like this meanie said,” Oikawa jabbing a thumb in the direction of his male best friend. Their eyes are still downcast until you let out a small giggle.

“Apologies accepted, you dummies.”

You still found time after your new art classes to go watch them play volleyball with either Iwazumi’s or Oikawa’s mother picking you all up and heading home. The three of you still lived near each other, and the two boys were happy that they could still see you somehow. Lil Tykes after school evolved into official middle school volleyball practice, yet you were still commonly found in the bleachers finishing homework or doodling in a sketchbook, patiently waiting for your two best friends to go home with you.

A teammate by the name of Wakeda had taken notice of you, had seen your interactions with the best players on their team. He had seen how nice you were with your classmates, yet still unafraid to give Oikawa and Iwaizumi shit for the smallest things. Your aura is pleasant and raw in a genuine sense, only fueling his budding, burning crush on you. He decided he wanted to be confident and bold, hoping that you would give him a chance.

The Friday afternoon starts off like any other -- Iwaizumi and Oikawa head off to volleyball practice with a greeting and a wave, receiving one from you in return as you make your way towards the math club. The art classes from late elementary school only served to show that you only possessed some mild talent for drawing and painting, but not enough for you to continue paying money for classes. The passion and drive didn’t exist for you there, not like it does with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in volleyball, and it only became something that you enjoyed in your leisure time. Instead, you eventually find yourself balancing math club and chess club -- math is on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons while chess is on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but they never run as late as volleyball practice.

As tiring as math club can be sometimes, you usually somehow still find the energy to finish the bulk of your homework before heading home. When you walk through the bleachers and settle into your normal seat, the team spots you and gives you a casual wave. You smile and wave back, setting your stuff down before you clamber towards the edge of the rail and look down to spot the manager. On time, she looks up and greets you with a matching smile, ones that you return. The team is coincidentally taking a quick water break, giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi enough time to quickly chat with you from below (and escape their coach for a hot second).

“How was math club?” Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa subtly observes you as you shrug. To both him and Hajime, the mental exhaustion is evident on your face and figure, yet they always find themselves asking, waiting, watching.

“It was okay,” you respond, fighting back a yawn. “Practice competition round was a bit brutal. How’s practice?” You quickly digress, noticing Oikawa was about to jump in and ask for some details.

“This crappy guy over here keeps pushing himself too much. You know, the usual,” Iwaizumi speaks before, once again, Oikawa can say anything. The latter turns to him and lets out an indignant “Hey!” before quickly attempting to defend himself.

“Iwa-chan is being mean, I’m not--”

“All right, let’s get back to work! Everybody back on the court!” The coach yells and Oikawa can only drop his shoulders and sigh, slightly trudging back into the bounds of the court outline. You stare after him worriedly -- both he (mainly out of stubbornness) and Iwaizumi (mainly out of friendship and loyalty) had been pulling late extra practice sessions and the dark eye circles were starting to become more and more noticeable. As if he could tell what you were probably thinking, he turns back and gives a thumbs up with a grin, tongue slightly poking out. You can only roll your eyes at his antics, returning to your seat in the bleachers and pulling out your science homework.

The minutes tick by as the sun slowly begins to set, rays streaming through the windows of the gym in a harsh blood orange. The coach takes a look at his watch before blowing his whistle, signalling the end of practice. The sound of volleyballs hitting skin abruptly stops, except for one last jump-serve that Oikawa sneaks in. The coach berates him loudly, only causing Oikawa to sheepishly smile and rub the back of his neck. All the players bow and announce their thanks before moving to complete their respective clean-up duties. By this time, you gather your stuff and make your way towards the ground floor. Even if your best friends were going to do some extra practice, it’s better for you to sit at their level against the wall.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor increases in volume as you approach the court. But before you can make your way towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa on the other side of the net, Wakeda calls out your name. You turn towards the left to see him pick up a volleyball not far from you, and Wakeda is counting his lucky stars that he was provided with an excuse to be near you.

“Aoki-san,” you greet him by his last name. “How was practice?”

“It was good, but Coach really worked us to the bone today,” he nervously replies, hands subtly clenching the volleyball in his hands. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a second? In private?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’ve never really had much interaction with him outside of volleyball practice, and even then it was very limited to pleasantries. Perhaps it’s about Iwaizumi and Oikawa running themselves to the ground, and nothing to do with you. “Sure,” you agree, looking around before gesturing towards the door of the gym. “We can talk out here, if you’d like.” Wakeda quickly nods and follows you. At this time, the other boys have retreated towards the locker room except for one. One who narrows his eyes at the retreating backs of two people making their way out of the gym.

He puts the last ball in the ball cart, ignoring his friend’s confused look as he jogs towards the entrance of the gym and leans against the wall out of sight. He knows it's wrong to eavesdrop, but he just has to know about what could be unfolding.

The two of you are only a few feet away from the open door and you can only look perplexed as Wakeda begins to look more and more bashful, stumbling over words and anxiously tossing the ball side to side between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” You ask worriedly, trying to maintain eye contact until you can because he’s looking straight down towards the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as you start to fathom what might be happening.

“I’m sorry, I just -- I like you. I think you’re really nice and cool, and I would like it if I could take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned into silence. Never has anyone expressed any semblance of romantic interest in you, nor has anyone confessed. You’ve never been in this position and the first thing your brain starts to unravel is the puzzle of how to turn someone down. It’s not that going on a date with Wakeda would be terrible -- you just don’t know enough about him. You don’t want to bring his hopes up, but you don’t want to bring him down either.

On the other side of the wood, the boy’s eyebrows are furrowed. His arms are crossed and a foot is perched against the wall, legs making the shape of the number four. His eyes are burning holes into the window across from him and he can’t figure out why a feeling of protectiveness is washing over him. But what he can’t figure out even more is why his mind is instantly screaming, “Please say no please say no please say no don’t say yes don’t leave us don’t leave me--”

“I’m sorry,” he hears, ears straining to catch your voice as you softly apologize. You watch as Wakeda’s shoulders slump and the volleyball is finally kept still between his hands. You gently put a hand on his upper arm. “I can tell you’re a nice guy, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Wakeda lets out a long breath before mustering up his best smile for you. “It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it." A hand reaches up to run a hand through his hair in embarrassment and he’s trying to think of what to say next. Be bold, be confident, his inner self reminds him as he stands tall again. Wakeda puts up the cheekiest smile you’ve seen on him so far. “But I’ll be waiting, if you ever change your mind.”

The statement only makes you smile first and then chuckle. Wakeda basks in the sound for as long as he can before he shyly joins you. The laughter isn’t meant to demean him in any way, but it’s the only reaction you can feel yourself make. It’s all so foreign to you, but you’re glad that your first interaction like this is with someone as kind as him. You trust Oikawa’s teammates.

“Thank you though, it must’ve taken a lot of courage to do this. To be honest, this has never happened to me before and I just don’t know what to say,” you ramble a little, now wondering if you’ve said too much. Wakeda begins to look a little more comfortable before making his way back to the gym with you following.

“Would it be cheesy to say I’m glad I was the first?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I know now that I’m never changing my mind.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wakeda exclaims, only causing you to laugh. “You gotta leave some room for chance so--”

“Oi, Wakeda,” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your eyes spot Oikawa slowly making his way from the other side of the gym, walking towards you two with a hand in a pocket and another hand in the air, waving. But it’s perplexing because his chest is heaving like he just sprinted his fastest around the court. “Is that the last ball?”

“Ah, yes, sorry senpai!” Wakeda apologizes before tossing the ball into Oikawa’s awaiting hand. It quickly gets thrown into the ball cart. When you two are standing right in front of him, your friend pats Wakeda on the shoulder. “Go ahead and clean up, you deserve a break,” he says before smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes or even match his eyes. His chestnut orbs have another emotion burning in them, far from the light they would usually glint when paired with a genuine grin. Wakeda quickly lets out a “see you around” and you wave back at him. Once the boy has disappeared into the locker room, you direct your attention back to Oikawa. That earlier fire in his eyes has dimmed a little, but you want to know what it is and why it’s there.

A word barely leaves your tongue when strong arms hug you to a sturdy chest. They intertwine around your shoulders, the squeeze becoming more and more constricting. Your chest tightens and you’re not sure if it’s your heartbeat or his that you’re feeling beat against your chest. In a movement of instinct, you hesitantly wrap your own arms around Oikawa, hand linking to hold onto your own wrist behind his back. Your face is pressed into his shoulder, your nose catching the lingering scent of his deodorant mixed with his sweat. His chin is perched over your shoulder momentarily before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen.

It’s not that Oikawa has never hugged you before. There have been plenty of hugs with the two boys over the last nine years, but something is different about this one. There’s an underlying intention hidden in the muscles of Oikawa’s arms, hidden in the way that he breathes in your scent. Something heavy is unspoken as a sense of intimacy falls over the two of you like a soft blanket. You can only gently grasp the back of his jersey, his grip somehow tightening even more, and finally find your voice to speak.

“Tooru,” you murmur, fighting the sensation of your heart caught in your throat. Very rarely do you ever say his name in that tone, one so gentle and full of friendly affection (but did he want it to be just friendly?), so caring and drowned in empathy. “Is everything okay?” You continue and ask. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to scream it through his mind, hoping it’ll somehow miraculously meet yours. But even he doesn’t understand what’s drawing him to do this. All he knows is that as soon as Wakeda was out of sight, he needed you here in his arms. The non-verbal pleas of worry and want from earlier have substantially settled, now morphing into thoughts of “It’s okay, she’s here, she isn’t leaving us, she isn’t leaving me--”. It must be the stress from wanting to become the best, from the stress of Kageyama Tobio’s looming ascent to the top, from the general stress of classes. It must be those. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies into your neck, sound muffled but just as quiet as yours had been. You can only feel your heart sink at how strained those words came out. Everything was clearly not fine. Your hands unlink and move to his waist, putting some force into your palms to try to separate from him so you can see his face. But Oikawa quickly protests a soft “no”, once again pulling you as close to him as possible with an arm around your waist and the other soon joining. He can’t handle distance from you right now, some budding anxiety from your attempts at separation quickly subdued as you’re pressed fully against his chest again. “Just give me this moment,” he thinks and pleads to some unknown force.

“I’m just...stressed,” he says before letting out a long breath and disentangling himself from you. But he doesn’t move far, the tips of both of your sneakers just centimeters apart from touching. He straightens his back and lifts his head to momentarily look into your eyes, your own face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze. But before you can decipher the emotions in his eyes, his head tilts down to lean his forehead against yours. Though his eyes are closed, yours are still open in muted astonishment. If the hug wasn’t very new, then this action was definitely new. The tip of his nose barely grazes yours, causing your breath to hitch, once again feeling your heart stuck in your throat. You struggle to breathe, especially when his lips are so close to yours. Somehow your thoughts drift to thinking of what would happen if you elevated your feet just a little bit, what would it feel like if your lips softly met his--

“There’s a lot going on,” he interrupts your (silly, silly) thoughts. “I keep getting reminded of how I’m not good enough, and maybe I never will be. But I want to be the best, you know?” For how tall Oikawa is, you’ve never heard him sound so small before. Your eyes can’t help but flutter closed as you relish in the sound of his voice. You try to understand what he’s feeling, the frustration, the stress, the insecurity.

“I hate knowing there’s someone better out there. I hate that there’s someone out there, right here, who’s got the pure talent and prodigal level that I don’t have because I keep getting reminded of how I’m not the one who has it. It’s just not fair, (y/n), do you understand?”

“But I know you’re here for me. And Iwaizumi. I know you believe in me and in us. You're right here with us. You always are,” he continues before you can affirm and acknowledge him. His fingers ghost over your skin, up from your wrists, to your elbows, then your shoulders, lastly lingering at the sides of your neck. Goosebumps break out in the wake of his tender trail and you fight the urge to shiver. You so badly want to open your eyes and drink in this moment of vulnerability from Oikawa, but you’re afraid that you’ll do something rash, something you’ll regret. You’re then given all the more reason to keep your eyes shut when his hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs on your cheeks, the other fingers softly splayed down your neck. He inhales sharply, then daring to slant his head down just the slightest distance, your noses firmly touching now. Your heart is now thrashing wildly against your ribcage -- you have no grasp on what is happening.

“Promise me you’ll never leave us, (y/n),” he implores, raw desperation laced and building in his voice. You can’t help but recognize the tears uncontrollably forming behind your eyelids. Nothing else around you matters -- it’s only you and Oikawa in this impenetrable bubble that you two have created. You’re too far in now, sinking and drowning into this body of water that is him, entangled and rooted in this web that he’s so quickly and craftily woven. He could ask anything of you and you would do it in the blink of an eye. How he made you feel this way in just a few minutes, from the door of the gym to the embrace of his arms, is completely beyond you, but you can’t seem to find the complaints within you. ‘How cruel of him,’ you despondently think, still unable to find it in yourself to be mad. ‘How wicked of him.’

But then Oikawa deals the final blow with a shaky breath. He lays out his last trap, one that you can’t escape. It’s the final straw, the last pull into a heartbreaking world that you will never be able to escape from for as far into the future as you can see; desperation, yearning, beseeching.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

Nothing, nothing, can stop you from whispering what he so deeply desires to hear, fall delicately off your tongue.

“I promise.”

And his lips crash onto yours.

-

You and Iwaizumi are fifteen years old when Oikawa falls to his lowest.

The kiss was a one-time thing. It had lasted no more than a few seconds when the sound of the locker room door swinging open had you two jumping apart and turning away from each other. Oikawa found it easier than you did to compose himself, though internally he was berating his actions. What was it that made him do such a thing? What was it that pushed him to cross the line he never thought he’d cross? What was it that made him want to spin back around and continue what he had started?

“Iwa-chan!” He had hollered across the building, waving over said male who had smartly refrained from changing his clothes. “Help with some tosses? Serves?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi had muttered under his breath, grunting his affirmation loud enough. But in his peripheral, he had spotted your figure hunched over your things on the bench, had squinted at the way you seemed to be shaking, shivering. He had noticed the look, almost a glare, that Oikawa had directed towards Wakeda before imperceptibly shaking his head to focus on the extra task.

And it wasn’t until weeks later that Oikawa breached the subject during a walk home, sans you because you had late night practice with the math club to prepare for some upcoming Olympiad competition. You were insistent through text that they didn't wait for you and that one of your teammates would help walk you home. Oikawa argued quite relentlessly against it until you threatened to block him from the group chat (though it wasn’t the first time you threatened such a thing) and Iwaizumi decided to take his phone away.

While much wasn’t being said, mainly both preoccupied with their popsicles that they had stopped at a convenience store for, Oikawa broke the silence.

“I kissed (y/n).”

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his popsicle, spluttering and struggling to find the right words to say. Yet the best he could come up with was, “So are you two...dating?”

“No.”

“What the fuck? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re best friends, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know when to tell you though, thought you’d get mad at me,” Oikawa said, pouting childishly.

“So...well, you can tell me what happened before it later. But what happened after? And when did this even happen?”

“Everything just went back to normal. We never spoke about it. And it happened a few weeks ago in the gym after practice.”

“But why?”

“Hmm…” Oikawa had pondered for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Not sure. I was just really stressed, and I was scared that she’d leave us.”

“Us? How am I included in this? And where’d you even come up with that thought?”

“Because it’s always been us three, and it’s always gonna be us. We can’t be apart.”

“We’re eventually going to be apart, you know. It’s not likely that we’re all going to end up in the same city.”

“No,” Oikawa spoke obstinately, hands harshly crushing the wrapper around the now empty popsicle stick. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to stick together wherever we go. We’ll play for the national team and (y/n) will find a job in Tokyo. We’re always going to be near each other. That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi had nothing to say about that, except for, “We’ll see.”

In the month or so to the blossoming age of fifteen, things don’t change very much. Oikawa becomes more physically affectionate with you and Iwaizumi. You try not to notice how often and how casually Oikawa tends to sling an arm over your shoulders. He does the same with Iwaizumi, though the latter is more likely to shrug it off in mock annoyance and causes Oikawa to lament about lost friendships. But even if physical distance has shortened, Oikawa begins to dig a mental wall between you two. His face becomes more hardened during practice, rarely ever putting up an earnest smile with his teammates. The late-night practices run even later, each serve hitting harder, each toss against the wall getting stronger. The nights when you leave him on his own slowly increase in frequency, going back home with only Iwaizumi. The third leg of the triangle missing feels so adulterated, so wrong. Oikawa is digging himself towards a hell that he won’t be able to return from, but how can you lift him back up? How can you dig your heels into the earth and pull him back out?

“I’m trying my best,” Iwaizumi attempts to comfort you one night. He sees how often you turn back to look at Oikawa as the two of you reluctantly move to leave the gym. Practice had been rough on him, getting switched out with Kageyama Tobio. You had watched his defeated body collapse onto the bench, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run down and snap him out of whatever mental spiral he had created. One serve after another slams into the ground, his figure hunched and panting yet pushing itself to the limits.

“He’s going to kill himself at this rate,” you whisper morosely, turning back to peer at the dark sky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“You know there’s no one more stubborn than that idiot. He’d have to pass out for you to drag him out of here.”

“Please teach me how to serve!” A young male voice calls out. Both of you pivot on your feet to see the source, eyes focusing on the scene of Kageyama Tobio requesting a seemingly simple task from a senpai.

But you can only watch as Oikawa’s eyes lose any semblance of emotion, instead only darkening with what seems like rage entering his body. He begins to tremble, and Iwaizumi must’ve seen something shift because no sooner than that does he bolt at top speed towards the unsuspecting pair. You can only watch in horror, shell-shocked, as Oikawa begins to forcibly swing his right arm, the back of his hand aiming straight for Tobio’s right cheek.

A horrible screech unearths from your throat in the form of a piercing “NO!” and slices through the air, just as Iwaizumi is able to stop Oikawa’s assault on the poor unsuspecting underclassman. You’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so ready to intentionally commit an act of violence against an innocent person. Your ears pulse with your heartbeat, barely registering Iwaizumi apologizing to Tobio and giving Oikawa the lecture of his life.

The latter is reminded of the purpose of having a team, is scolded for having been so selfish in his pursuit for excellence. You start sprinting over when Iwaizumi headbutts Oikawa in the nose for his insolence, tossing your bag down as it only decreases your speed. You don’t care for the trouble of cleaning out blood stains from towels when you begin to clean his face, his eyes still furious and full of anguish but somewhat softened when he sees your tears. He continues to let Iwaizumi teach him a lesson while you pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head back. Like handling a doll, you have to lift his arm so he can keep the towel in place himself. You then scurry off to find the first-aid kit, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself. Only a couple of minutes later, the three of you are sitting on the ground and you’re dabbing ointment on the emerging bruise right in the middle of Iwaizumi’s forehead. Iwaizumi is a little calmer now, though he’s still verbally punishing Oikawa for even thinking of purposefully hurting a teammate.

Oikawa thinks the three of you are all fine and okay. He’d be ridiculously thickheaded if he wasn’t able to catch onto how quiet you are on the walk home, how instead of walking between him and Iwaizumi, you’re now on the opposite end. There’s a tug at his heartstrings when he plays with the idea that you’re attempting to put distance between you and him, but he refuses to believe it. His actions were a momentary lapse in terrible, awful judgment, and you had forgiven him. Why else would you have tried to help with his nosebleed? There’s no way you’d let something like this drive a rift in the trio.

There’s just no way.

-

“You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

There are times when you forget that Iwaizumi can be just as perceptive as Oikawa. For the last two weeks, you would, more often than not, avoid them during lunch. You attempt to show up at their volleyball practice as late as possible, saying that your club activities went longer than usual to prepare for upcoming competitions. You still walk on the opposite side from Oikawa on the way home and only give the bare minimum answers to any of his questions, leaving very little room to continue conversation. The atmosphere is heavy and awkward, tension so thick that Iwaizumi would need a chainsaw to cut through it.

This time you’re on the roof of the school. It’s cliché, so cliché, but the weather was too hard to ignore. Mostly cloudy with a slight wind, the perfect temperature without feeling too hot or too cold. You loved being outside during these days, and you had weaved as fast as possible through the emerging crowd of third years, up the stairs, and onto your personal sanctuary. Your bento is half-eaten when Iwaizumi makes his presence known. You should’ve seen this coming.

“He’s worried about you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“He misses you.”

“I know.”

“...he wants to know if you’re avoiding him because of that incident.”

“...which one?”

“The kiss.”

You whip your head in his direction, giving Iwaizumi an incredulous and affronted look. Instinctively, Iwaizumi throws his hands up, signaling that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. God, Oikawa could be such a clueless buffoon sometimes. You scoff and nearly snort. Iwaizumi looks about ready to tear his hair out.

“So the great king thinks that I’m avoiding him over something that we haven’t talked about that happened a few months ago?”

Iwaizumi can’t find the words when you slam your bento box down on the ground, chopsticks thrown haphazardly on top and almost rolling off the edges. Iwaizumi catches them as you stand up in anger and begin to pace in front of him.

“Who does he think he is? He’s got a decent following of fangirls to help stroke his ego, and I’m sure some of them are more than willing to worship the ground he walks on. His teammates practically idolize him -- sans you -- but he thinks I’m losing sleep over some kiss we had months ago? It would make much more sense if this had been a couple of weeks after that, but we’re talking months right now! How is it," you stop in your stride, bottom lip beginning to tremble as you look down at Iwaizumi. "How is it that he’s one of my best friends who’s known me for almost 10 years, a genius in his own way, but still can’t tell that I’m avoiding him because I’m scared of him?”

This time, Iwaizumi is confused.

“You’re scared of Oikawa?” He asks, trying to confirm what he just heard.

You let out a long breath, forcing yourself to simmer down and keep a cool head. Part of you feels guilty, yet another part feels justified for your actions. You were only protecting yourself; it was only natural.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” you begin, gingerly sitting back down next to him. The comfort of your best friend that you’ve been denying yourself of is granted as you rest your head on his shoulder. You link an arm around his as well as you begin to curl into a familiar position. Iwaizumi only naturally rests his head on top of yours, hands folded in his lap and legs stretched out.

“I’ve never seen him look so angry, even when that one kid in second grade tried to make fun of you. Or even when someone took the shit talking too far at an official game last year. But he was ready, Iwa-kun. He was ready to displace Tobio out of sheer anger and spite. I know he knows better now. I’ve seen how much better he meshes with you all on the court and attempts to bring the best out of everyone. But it’s hard to look at him sometimes and forget what he was then. What if he gets mad like that at us one day? What if he tries to hit you?”

What if he tries to hit me? is left unsaid, but they ring loud and clear in both of your heads.

“The idiot knows that I could take him down in a fight if it ever came to it. And since it’s apparently not obvious, I’m just letting you know that Shittykawa would rather throw himself off a cliff before ever laying a finger on you like that.”

“But how can you guarantee that?” You argue back, lifting your head up to look him square in the eyes. You want to see if the same hesitancy is reflected in his orbs, the same uncertainty that had been slowly building up in you as an ugly beast. Instead, his eyes are steady and full of promise, never straying from yours as he ends the debate.

“You can trust me. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll do anything to make up for it, though the chances are very, very low. They’re practically non-existent.”

And if Iwaizumi says so, well…then it probably is so.

“...I trust you then,” you comply, your head leaning down to rest on his shoulder again. “You better be right.”

“I know I am.”

Silence.

“If you’re not going to eat the rest of your bento, you should give it to him. He’d be happy to see you.”

A few sighs later, a couple of stretches, some steps down the stairs, you find yourself stuck at the door of their classroom. You can see him with his jacket on, head buried in his arms on his desk and turned towards the windows. Iwaizumi gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Somehow you find yourself demurely sitting in the empty desk chair in front of him, hands clutching your bento box and chopsticks. Iwaizumi stands by you and watches as you quietly gulp.

“Tooru, wake up.”

Oikawa thinks he’s dreaming. More often than not, you had plagued his visions in sleep, often ending with you attempting to wake him up, but it had been spoken by his mother. He would be disappointed that it wasn’t you by his bedside trying to goad him out from under the sheets.

“Tooru, wake up. I have food.”

This is different. His eyes are bleary and caked with exhaustion, vision catching the light that peaks from under his elbows. Her voice is so close -- he has to give in and just look. Oikawa lifts his head and stares in front of him. He blinks once, then twice, then multiple times, and you’re still there. This is not a dream, he concludes. This is too good to be a dream.

You watch him warily as he attempts to gather his bearings. In the meantime, you open your bento and grab the last onigiri. When Oikawa begins to form the sounds for your name, you quickly stuff the rice ball into his mouth, causing him to give a muffled protest and use one hand to prevent the food from dropping. You watch with muted delight as everything begins to hit him all at once: the food in his mouth, you in front of him with a close-lipped smile, Iwaizumi leaning on the desk next to you two, the sunlight beaming through the windows.

His eyes slightly water, choosing wisely to not say anything for now. Oikawa dutily finishes the rice ball before you place the bento in front of him with chopsticks neatly arranged to the right of it. His hands shoot out to cover yours before they leave the bento, squeezing gently as he looks at you with apologetic puppy eyes. You can’t stop your smile from widening, and only then does Oikawa happily let go, thank the food, and begin to chow down with a gusto that had been missing for the last week.

Things are going to be okay. Unless that group of fangirls seething at you over in the corner is an indication of something otherwise.

-

You turn sixteen when Oikawa gets his first, real girlfriend.

It’s your first year at Aoba Johsai and Oikawa has captured the hearts of many people from around the area, be it still from middle school, or even some of the upperclassmen. Those who are engrossed in school volleyball were surprised to hear that he didn’t matriculate into Shiratorizawa. And because Oikawa keeps most everyone at arm’s length, only very few people know the reason why. It wasn’t that he was good enough to get in, that’s for sure -- it had mainly been him refusing to “serve” Ushijima. The Herculean boy can criticize his choices all he wants, but Oikawa will never step down from his pedestal willingly.

What no one knows besides Oikawa himself is that Ushijima was only 70% of the reason. The other 30%? He was not going to be the one that separates the trio. What a hypocrite he would be if he had left after having so passionately convinced Iwaizumi that the three of you would always be with each other.

Little do the two boys know that you had seriously considered going to Shiratorizawa. They knew how smart you were as you consistently placed in the top 5 of your class throughout middle school. What they didn’t catch onto was also how well you did in math club and chess club -- to be fair, they knew you excelled, they just weren’t sure of the details. Inquiries about your competitions were always answered in team format: we did well or we placed pretty high. The same existed for chess competitions -- you weren’t a national champion by any means, but you were still somewhat recognized. But again, the same answers were given: we all did well. Math club and chess club never had the public presence that other clubs did. Very few cared, and much less was said.

Before Oikawa pointed out how disgusted he was by the idea of going to Shiratorizawa, you had studied for their entrance exams in your spare time. You didn’t play any sports, so those scholarships were out of the question. It’d all have to be based on merit and you were ready to prove yourself. You had gotten past the first two rounds of exams without them knowing, and your nights only became longer and longer as the material increased in difficulty. But then the two boys talked about going to Aoba Johsai together since they were invited anyways, and not long after, you found yourself at the entrance of the testing center with Oikawa and Iwaizumi on either side, putting Shiratorizawa to the back of your mind.

Things are more brutal in high school. Subjects are more difficult, classes take more time, after-school activities often extend past the sunset. There are physically not enough hours in a day to spend nearly the amount of time you used to have with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The fangirls increase, Iwaizumi’s irritation becomes more exaggerated, and Oikawa becomes too nice on the fan-service.

He’s the triple threat: smart, kind, an amazing volleyball player. You and Iwaizumi can only roll your eyes as he plasters on his fakest grin for the crowd of girls huddling around him, demanding his attention. A part of him is thankful that so many seem to admire him. As much as he won’t return the affection, he welcomes the non-stop stroking of his ego. It does wonders at keeping his insecurities at bay, even if he knows that everything is superficial and surface level. They think they know him, but only a handful of people truly understand his personality.

So when Oikawa announces on the train home that he’s taking a girl out on a date, you and Iwaizumi can only passively nod, thinking that nothing will come of it. Then the second date happens, the third, the fourth, and then the stamp of the label between the two.

“I have a girlfriend now, guys!”

“Like actually? Sounds fake to me,” Iwaizumi scoffs, Oikawa taking offense.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for, a heartless player?”

“Somewhat,” you jokingly supply, eyes still trained on your notes from your biology class. You don’t need to physically see him to know that he’s pouting and threatening to stick his tongue out at you. “Who’s the poor girl?” You ask, not really expecting much.

“She’s in your class, actually. Tachi Misaki?”

Your eyes stop registering any of the text that you’ve written. How did you miss that? How did you miss the fact that the girl he’d been dating was sitting only two rows away from you?

“Well,” you reply, clearing your throat. “All I can say is that you’re shooting above your level.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, plus she’s really smart and pretty. She seems kinda low maintenance, pretty chill. Makes pretty good cookies. You think I could get her to learn how to make milk bread? But only if she has time.”

A heavy sigh leaves you as you stick a pencil between the pages and snap the notebook shut. Iwaizumi looks deep in thought before asking, “You think you’ll be able to handle her?”

“I mean, I’ve been going out on dates with her up ‘til now. She seemed fine and said she knew how busy my training schedule was. Like I said, she’s chill. Doubt she’s ever going to be super clingy or anything like that.”

By this time, you’ve all arrived at Oikawa’s house. He waves goodbye as he enters the front door, leaving Iwaizumi to walk you home.

“I give it three months, max,” you tell him. It’s mean, but you know Oikawa. He’ll be the most caring boyfriend in the beginning, but then he’ll get too comfortable, too complacent. He’ll unknowingly rely on the other person to comply with his needs rather than continuing to compromise to meet theirs. It’s only a matter of time before Misaki realizes that.

“I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt...maybe he’ll finally wake up, y’know. He’ll have an excuse to stop putting in extra practice or do something other than watching Shiratorizawa matches ‘til 2AM.”

At that, you cast a disbelieving look at him, his eyes catching yours. It isn’t long until you’re both failing to keep your laughter in. Oikawa Tooru? Ditching the opportunity for extra practice? Over his dead body.

Your estimation comes to fruition when Oikawa lightly dunks his forehead to lay on top of yours during the train ride home. The three of you had been standing near a pole, your own arm linked around it for some balance as you review and scribble some extra things into your notes from class. Oikawa is hanging on by a handle while Iwaizumi is grasping the part of the pole above your head.

“Misaki-chan broke up with me,” he spoke, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear as well.

“Did she say why?” You ask, unable to move your head as you stare at the flap of his jacket.

“Becauseimtooobsessedwithvolleyball,” he mutters quickly.

“Say that again? And louder?” Iwaizumi teases.

Sigh. Straighten. “Because I’m too obsessed with volleyball,” he repeats a little bit louder, looking slightly ashamed and embarrassed that he, the great king of the court, the sole subject of so many girls’ affection, was ultimately dumped. The other part of the embarrassment masked the guilt he felt inside, having taken advantage of Misaki’s affections for him. Your eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, knowing that the conversation from months ago wasn’t said for naught. The sad, inevitable truth was there, and someone had to say it.

“It’s okay, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi nagged, patting the bachelor’s back. “You gotta make compromises, too.”

“But she knew! And we went on dates. That’s compromises, right?” Oikawa bemoaned, stubborn and petulant as ever. “It’s not like she wasn’t warned…”

“How many times did you guys go on a date?” You ask, attempting to get him to see reason. You know that the truth is there. He’s just fighting against full acceptance.

“Mmm, three times. No, four.”

“Three times in three months? Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay okay, um, what’d you guys do on the dates?”

“(Y/n)-chan, are you jealous? You wanna go on a date with me?” He teases, a pointer finger poking your cheek. You squint at him before (gently) slapping the back of his head, causing him to rub the area out of mock pain.

“Ya, do you want to die?” You threaten. “I will throw you off this train if I have to.”

“Can I help?”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you on her side?? Shit, I need new friends.”

“Good riddance.”

“Stoooppp!”

From then on, Oikawa swears off girlfriends in high school. Everyone is too busy, and no one is going to understand him and be okay with what he does. Volleyball is his passion and dream, why is that so hard to get through people’s heads?

(But he knows that as much as he protests, he couldn’t give Misaki what she wanted. He wanted to make it work, he really did.)

The horde of fangirls only grows over the years. He’d rather hold a torch for no one than to try again. Nothing mattered more than a victory against Shiratorizawa and moving on to nationals. The fangirls’ affection would make up for any lack of a love life and Iwaizumi can only shake his head as a trail of hopeful hearts are left in the setter’s wake.

There are times when Oikawa is incredibly thankful for you, that at least he has some sort of close female companion that’s not his sister or mother. Even if you’re busier than ever, you still make time for him and Iwaizumi, whether it be attending their late practices or making sure that they finish their homework over the weekends. They can’t play if they’re failing classes.

(Y/n)’s personality is what he wants in a girlfriend, Oikawa realizes one night. Someone chill, someone understanding of his lifestyle, someone who goes out of their way to spend time with him. Someone he feels a connection with no matter the distance, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to go to if they needed him, someone who would always, always be there--

But he can’t possibly date you. Why risk losing you when he already has you within his grasp? There’s no need to worry about making time or planning for dates, no need to worry about coming up with a gift for White Day (as if he already doesn’t). There’s no need to worry about you leaving him now when his ugly, petty side manifests from time to time because you’ve seen it all. You would never leave him, he reaffirms to himself. You will always be by his side no matter where he is. He can always count on you to be in the bleachers during games, front and center, with the rest of the school cheer crowd. He can always count on you to lend him a shoulder, to pick up the phone at 4AM when he’s woken up anxious with thoughts going at a million a mile, to hand him two slices of milk bread on the weekends from their favorite bakery, to keep him in line with Iwaizumi.

Why risk voiding himself of all that, of so many memories, just to pursue the chance for some more intimacy?

And as Oikawa’s fingers hover over his lips, his mind reeling with flashbacks on how that kiss with you felt even two years later, the last thing he registers before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep is the painful tightening of his chest.

-

Oikawa is seventeen when he is reminded of how easy it is for him to lose you.

The three of you are sitting on a checkered blanket on top of a hill that overlooks the nearby area. A plastic bag holds a mix of canned beers and hard ciders, some empty and others waiting to be consumed. You’re taking it a little farther than you usually do, typically sipping one through the night. Yet you’re on your third and the two boys can only look at you with slight concern.

Your finals were particularly difficult -- part of you had still been recovering from the vicarious loss against Shiratorizawa, knowing how hard your two friends had taken it. It had only caused Oikawa and Iwaizumi to spend even more time in the gym after practice, a ferocity and drive in their muscles that you had never observed before. The amount of time and energy it took from you to forcibly change and drag them away from the court was substantial. Sleepless nights were dedicated to thinking of ways on how to lift them back up from whatever mental hell they created for themselves. In a sense, those nights paid off, but not without a price.

The alcohol tingles through your bloodstream and seems to slow everything down. You’re not drunk, but you don’t think you could appreciate the scenery before you as much as you are now if you were completely sober. Oikawa is going on about the constellations in the night sky, Iwaizumi teasing him relentlessly, and you can’t bother to fight the lazy smile that stretches across your face. Would you still have these nights with them if you had gone to Shiratorizawa?

“Did you know,” you softly interrupt them, unable to keep the secret any longer. It’s been two years, surely it couldn’t hurt. “Did you know...that I would’ve gone to Shiratorizawa if it hadn’t been for you two?”

The sound of cicadas has nothing on the sudden pounding of Oikawa’s heartbeat. Iwaizumi has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, searching your own as you pull up your knees and rest your chin on top of them. The lack of a verbal response only makes you chuckle, reaching down to grab your can and take another sip.

“Evidently it didn’t happen,” you drawl and then giggle. “Be-because I’m obviously at Seijou--”

“That’s not funny,” Oikawa interjects, voice hard and stern. “That’s not funny, you don’t get to say that and expect us to laugh it off. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?”

“Why does it matter so much?” You mumble, suddenly desiring for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “I clearly didn’t go, okay? Jesus--”

“No!” The setter yells, his face morphed by rage. “You were going to leave us? Why would that ever get into your brain, I mean, did we do something? Did we do something to push you to do something like that?”

“Hey, dude, calm down--”

“Don’t you get it, Iwa-chan? She was going to leave us and go to fucking Shiratorizawa of all places! She--”

“I thought you guys were going to accept their invite, okay?!” You interject, exasperated and frustrated. Evidently, you made a mistake in bringing this up now. “I didn’t realize how much you guys hated Ushijima’s guts and immediately changed plans once Aoba Johsai was on your agenda. So just stop, alright? It was two years ago and nothing’s gonna change.”

Oikawa pauses and attempts to reign in his anger. Why hadn’t you talked about it with them at the time? Why can’t he stop thinking about you donned in their maroon and white uniform, sitting casually in the bleachers of the gym, and instead of waiting for him and Iwaizumi, you’re waiting for Ushijima? Why can’t he stop thinking about how wrong that image looks, how much he’d like to be there and snatch you away because you’re his, you can’t abandon him--

“I’m sorry,” you apologize so mousily. Oikawa glances and sees the glisten of unshed tears, immediately relaxing and feeling guilty for being so hot-headed. It was the alcohol, for sure, he rationalizes before he turns to face you, scooching as close as possible to you. You’re still sitting in a fetal position as he slides one arm behind your waist and another wedges between your stomach and thighs. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your body welcomes the familiar heat and continues to relax as Iwaizumi lays his head on your shoulder. Instead of tears of sadness, you can only bask in the realization of how lucky you are two have these two doofuses in your life. The tears spill over as you sniffle, overcome with emotions that could only be so pronounced under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you guys,” you blubber. Oikawa’s grip tightens for a second as a tacit return of affection. “And I promised, didn’t I? I promised that I’d never leave you two, so you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t wanna leave, even if you made me try.”

That’s right, Oikawa remembers. You promised -- and you would never go back on your word.

-

Oikawa is eighteen years old when he begins to truly understand the extent of your selflessness and how much of a selfish monster he can be when it comes to you.

It’s the night of their loss against Karasuno High, their last chance at defeating Shiratorizawa now gone and irreversible. Though tears had been shed towards his teammates, an overwhelming amount of gratitude and pride to have gone down fighting their hardest, the regret was eating at the two boys like nothing else.

Oikawa’s mother is working late -- you met them at the doorstep when they returned from the team dinner, saying nothing but holding up a bag of their favorite desserts. Minutes later, the three of you are a tangled and cuddled mess with the television quietly airing some old rerun of a child’s cartoon. It’s only when the boys’ cries have dwindled down into occasional sniffling do you dare to speak.

“I’m so proud of you two,” you begin but already feel yourself choke up again. “You did nothing but your best. I know how much this meant to you guys, but this isn’t the end. Time doesn’t stop here and you’re gonna go on to be even better players in uni. So don’t give up, okay?” You ask, hands squeezing whoever’s arm or arms you might be holding on to.

“Don’t give up when there’s so much left to fight for.”

They know you’re right. You’re always right in times like these.

Iwaizumi leaves about an hour later, eyes brighter and a small shit-eating grin on his face after about 13 brutal rounds of Uno. He won the majority of them, thankful that there was something to distract him for now. Oikawa promises to walk you home soon since it’s so late, earning a glare that could only mean “You fucking better, you shithead” and waving him off. Such a worry-wart. But when the front door clicks closed, the silence takes over once again.

Oikawa stands from the couch and stretches, gives a few twists before turning to look back at you. You’re curled up with your phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. “Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds out a hand. Don’t do this, he tells himself. “There’s something in my room that I need to return to you. Come with me?” Only delight fills his veins when you nod and set your phone down on the couch before sliding your hand into his. They stay linked as he leads you to his room, only separating when he lets go and you take refuge on this edge of his neatly-made bed.

As childish as he can be, you forget how tidy Oikawa is with his room. The books on his shelf are meticulously arranged by last name, photo frames strategically and aesthetically placed in empty spaces. His writing utensils are carefully arranged in a row on the side of his desk, and his drawer looks much of the same. Stapler, tape, sticky notes and tabs are all methodically placed, somehow speaking true to his leadership abilities.

Your observations are cut short when Oikawa sits down next to you with a book in hand, one that you had lent him months ago. To be honest, you completely forgot that he had it and you make it known to him.

“But did you like it?”

He nods with a small smile, yet his eyes are staring at the wall with a faraway look. He’s contemplating something, drawing plans in his brain, and after a couple of glances towards you, Oikawa gives in.

Much like that Friday afternoon four years ago, he leans his forehead on yours. A wave of deja-vu crashes over you as you’re once again plummeted into the dark ocean of his eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, searching for any kind of resistance. He needs something that only you can give him.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he whispers. You can feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the heaviness in his voice. “But I don’t know who else to ask. I don’t know why I can’t think of anyone but you.

“So can I please kiss you?”

What?

“But why?” You ask, the confusion so obvious in two words. Oikawa can only sigh to himself before carefully maneuvering you to straddle him, facing no objection from you. It’s just a kiss, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss that he wants with no strings attached to help with the emotional turmoil that only you could begin to understand. Your heartbeat feels like you’ve been swimming against the current for hours, your body betraying you as you let him bring one of your hands to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he languidly nuzzles into your palm, lips placing the softest, most intimate kiss there.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Your heart aches and aches. “I swear that all I do know is that it can only be you. Please, please let me have this.”

And you can’t help but nod.

Unlike last time, Oikawa doesn’t surge forward. He instead bides his time, lips only barely ghosting over yours as he holds onto your waist. The contact becomes progressively fuller, more purposeful, as he completely slants his mouth over yours. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in the strands at the base of his neck and he finds himself drawing you closer to him, arms now completely wound around your waist.

This is a sin, he has to remind himself. This is a sin that only benefits him -- he is taking, he is stealing, he is feeding on an elixir at the cost of your soul. But his desires only overpower his guilt because as devilish as he may be, the sin feels like heaven. A paradise made by you created solely for him.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth before gently sucking, eliciting the most delicate moan from your throat. The sound only flips a switch in his head as he applies more pressure, desperate to hear it again. Mine, he thinks as he begins to litter kisses down your neck, teeth catching skin to leave marks on you. Mine, he screams to himself as his hands peek under the edge of your shirt, skin on skin.

“Tooru--” you pant, trying to lean back and gather your thoughts. This is too much to handle. If you’re not careful, you’ll unlock the only thing that you swore you’d take to your grave, the three words that could ruin everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps before diving in for another quick kiss. “I’m not asking for sex. I just need you,” he confesses, pecks littered between his words. Oh, how you wish this were under different circumstances. How you wish that you could utter those three words without a care in the world and know that they’ll be reciprocated. Your lips meet his again and it feels like the earth has stopped on its axis.

Both of you are unaware of the amount of time that passes. Fervent kisses slowly diminish to a languid pace until it comes to a complete stop. Oikawa can only lean his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and chest heaving with you in a similar state. Neither of you have enough energy to find the right words. His arms only draw you into his chest and he can’t help but marvel at how perfect of a fit you are for him.

“I should probably head home,” you whisper. Being the man-child that he is, he shakes his head vehemently and momentarily refuses to let you escape his embrace.

“Do you have to?” He tiredly grumbles, reluctantly loosening his grip with a sigh as you slide off his lap. You nod and bend forward to give him one last kiss, the separation causing him to whine. You make your way towards his body-length mirror, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and fix your hair. Oikawa hugs you from behind, his limbs wrapping around your shoulders.

“We’re okay, right?”

You nod. Don’t we have to be?

-

And that’s when Oikawa Tooru begins to slip through your fingers.

It’s a combined effort, really. Everybody’s trying to wrap things up, all the big competitions are jam packed into the last remaining weekends, and making room for last-minute college entrance exams. If people weren’t already at their wit’s end, then you can barely fathom the amount of anxiety and stress coursing through the halls of the school.

You use this to your advantage, finding yourself unable to go home with the boys, unable to visit them on the weekends, unable to respond to text messages frequently. You begin to learn to look past Oikawa rather than at him, not bothering to spare a second glance when he’s caught in the hallways by a group of infatuated admirers. You fail to see the way his eyes follow your passing figure or how he slows his pace when walking by your classroom, hoping to get a glimpse of you. You fail to see the disappointment on his face when your spot in the bleachers is empty. So he falters, redirects, and lets the distance increase.

The only time you reconvene with the two is after the graduation ceremony. Your mother would kill you if you left without a picture of you and your best friends, and clearly their mothers are thinking the same thing. Outside in the courtyard, the women spot each other, your mother almost dragging you behind her. They’re trying to find their respective sons, though it doesn’t take long because the sudden clambering and screaming of girls can only serve a few purposes. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are craning their heads before they’re able to finally spot the frantic waving from their mothers.

Soon, they’re in front of you, both individually giving a hug. “Congratulations,” you tell them with as much happiness as possible. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see them -- you’re all attending the same university. They thank you and return the festivities. It’s hard to miss how your hug with Oikawa lasts a little bit longer than normal, even more so when his hands trail down your arms before slyly slipping a small object into your hand. As you unfurl your fist, a shiny circular object is gleaning back at you. You spot a stray thread from his jacket and it hits you -- the devilish fox has given you his second button. You’d like to pretend to be unaffected, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“And if I don’t accept?” You challenge. For a second, Oikawa is genuinely taken aback. It’s obvious he didn’t expect you to consider rejecting the button and stumbles over his attempts to come up with a comeback. When he spots you fighting to contain your laughter, his embarrassment only pushes him to lightly shove your shoulder.

“For being my best female friend,” he elaborates. You deserve an award for containing the pain and bearing through it, pretending that his words don’t faze you in any ways. Iwaizumi only shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy -- what is he thinking?

“Oh I’m sorry,” you apologize in a mocking tone, pretending to bow. “Should I be groveling at your feet now like the other girls back there? Oh great king?”

“Why yes, I am indeed the great king--”

Smack. “You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi reprimands. The recipient of the hit pretends to bawl, resuming his childish antics once again.

That’s how high school ends, with two aching hearts and three families of laughter, all making way for the start of university.

-

Oikawa somehow makes it possible to balance his love life, volleyball, and his business major. Both he and Iwaizumi blend in nicely with the university team as your words from before ring in their brains. They could and are becoming better players -- high school suddenly seems so casual compared to the stakes at the university level. Teammates are constantly being scouted and the two begin to strive for the national team. Despite the fact that they barely see you anymore, Oikawa still dreams of his ideal future: he and Iwaizumi playing for Japan in Tokyo, with you having a job there and supporting them in the stands.

Sometimes he’s able to spot you on campus -- the building for the pharmacy program that you’re enrolled in is relatively far from the business building. Most times you’re walking with your classmates, giggling at something or engaged in a heated discussion. He thinks about how beautiful you look in your white coat with your hair tied back, your face donned with some makeup for the natural look and a pair of dainty earrings. Part of him boils in jealousy whenever there’s a male acting particularly close with you, but he knows he has no right to think that way. The thoughts only fuel him during volleyball practice, which seems to satisfy his coach.

It’s easy for him to like someone, he figures out two years in. It’s easy for him to get to know someone and pick up on their quirks. As a social butterfly, it’s not difficult for him to get along with his partner, but when it comes to developing deeper feelings...it just doesn’t happen. He wants so badly to reciprocate, especially considering how much effort some of his past partners have put in. But something stops him every time -- unwillingly, he’s become a master at letting people down easy, that he’s truly sorry he can’t reciprocate their love. On the other hand, Iwaizumi is pretty successful in his current relationship, going strong for the last year and a half. Oikawa seeks his advice at the club one night, keeping an eye out to see if there’s anyone he'd be willing to take home (not that he ever does).

At this point, Iwaizumi wonders how he’s still friends with him. Yes, he’s fiercely loyal and has been by Oikawa’s side since the beginning, but if the guy was going to do nothing but continue his descent into idiocy, there was very little he could do for him. (Y/n) had the same problem as Oikawa except you figured it out much, much faster.

“You idiot, you’re in love with another person.”

“...say what now?”

“That’s all it is. You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.”

“If I was in love with someone else, wouldn’t I know?”

Yeah. Oikawa Tooru is a big, bumbling, messy pile of denial.

“You know what,” Iwaizumi sighs, setting his drink down before paying the tab. “You’re right. You’re in love with yourself.” Oikawa knows that he’s joking. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- he’s always dedicated himself to the happiness of others. That’s the role of him as a setter and captain: to bring out the best of his teammates’ abilities, but he can only do that if he’s at his best as well. His eyes cast another look into the dancing crowd. He downs his drink as someone catches his attention, also moving to pay his tab.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Iwaizumi only gives him a lazy wave as he makes his way to the entrance. Oikawa is sliding his way onto the dance floor and when Iwaizumi spots who he’s wormed next to, he hopes that one day, Oikawa will really open his eyes.

Because he’s always going for girls who look wildly similar to you.

-

It’s hard to have an undefeated season. Some losses are harder than others and during the first two years, you, sweet, sweet (y/n), always managed to find him.

He needed you most on those rare days. Even after weeks of limited texting and quick passings on campus, there was a level of comfort that solely existed by being with you. He would attempt to joke and tease with you to put up a facade, but when you would lead him to his couch and leave your arms open, the veil would drop as he cried into your shoulder. He would then pick up his terrible, terrible habit of giving into sin (as long as he wasn’t dating anyone), selfishly knowing that you would never say no. He’ll ask you if this is okay, and you always say yes. The two of you never cross the line of anything more than making out, yet the kisses become less lust-ridden and more tender over time, laced with something much more meaningful.

(And with each time, it becomes harder and harder to refrain yourself from confessing.)

Oikawa reveled in being able to sigh against your lips, stealing your breaths from your lungs and even convincing you to stay the night. There were mornings when he truly felt that there was nothing better than waking up with his arm around your waist. He could squeeze you to his chest and wish for this all day. Sometimes, you woke up earlier than him and silently admired how peaceful he looked compared to the haggardness just hours before. With his hair so delicately splayed across his forehead, the ends curling up to defy gravity, a tiny scar dusting his right cheek, you would be painfully reminded of just how much you love him.

The last time you woke up next to him, you thought to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

In the beginning of the third year, you fight every cell in your body to not go to him. Instead, you call him up and ask how he’s doing -- he doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand that you come see him. If there’s something preventing you from visiting him, he won’t ask about it. Even only a call brings him the warmth that he usually craved from you, though he knows nothing can satisfy him like your physical presence. The routine continues, volleyball practice becomes longer, and Oikawa thinks he’s finally getting used to this. This is the farthest you’ll distance yourself from him. There’s no way that you’d ever be more than a train ride away.

“are you guys free for coffee this weekend?” The text reads in the group chat. (Y/n) knows they don’t have a game, one of the rare breaks they get. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have the same schedules, so when Iwaizumi texts back “yh, where at?”, it’s for both of them.

“our favorite cafe restaurant by the bookstore okay? 1pm? my treat?”

“sounds good. see you then.”

“see you guys xx”

They think nothing of it -- it’s just a rare moment that everyone is free and able to catch up. Both dress up in their best casual streetwear, Oikawa even donning the glasses that you like so much. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement at finally being able to talk with you and have you within arm’s distance. Everything is normal when they walk into the cafe, spotting you in the corner booth. You’re quick to match their grins and give them both hugs, watching in delight as their eyes take in the milk bread, agedashi tofu, and a few other shareable dishes. They’re starting to think this is a bit of an apology meal for not having seen them in forever. It’s nice that whenever the three of you are together, there’s no awkwardness and everything seems to be back to normal.

Like how it’s supposed to be. But all good things must come to an end, right?

“It’s so nice being here with you two,” you laugh as you lean back against the vinyl leather. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“We need to do this more often,” Iwaizumi agrees. “We don’t have as many classes since we’re juniors now. Practice is still always the same so we should have more time to meet up. What about you?”

“Same here. Actually,” you pause, hesitant and scrambling for words. You’ve even rehearsed what you’re about to tell them, yet everything has been forgotten.

“I’m...I’m applying to doctoral programs in America.”

The boys look like two deer caught in the headlights. Oikawa is immediately filled with a sense of dread and fear -- his worst nightmare is slowly transforming into reality, unearthing its ugly head. A train ride is one thing, but a 13 hour plane ride? Time differences? A whole different country on the other side of the world?

“That’s...wow. That’s um,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “That’s a big move. Why did you decide on America? I thought you wanted to start working after?”

“I’m enjoying pharmaceutical research more than I ever thought I would. We just actually got back from an international conference a few weeks ago -- there were so many interesting topics and studies being done. And...I thought it’d be nice to travel somewhere, you know. Have a change of pace.”

And you’re not completely lying. You’ve never really been outside of Japan before. Part of you wants to travel and see more of the world, especially after the conference in Berlin. Famous structures and streets that had been mere images on your computer or phone screen were suddenly physically before your eyes. You wanted to gain a better grasp of what it could offer and what you’ve been missing out on.

The other part of you felt stuck here. You needed an excuse to end the never-ending cycle that was Oikawa. It was an infinite loop of running to him, falling into his arms, attempting to put an obstacle on the bridge between you two, but then crossing over it to fall back into his arms again. You were never close to being free of him, not that you wanted to, but you wanted to know who you could be almost nearly without him. You wouldn’t be you if you were completely void of Oikawa Tooru. He would always have a part of your heart and be a part of your soul, no matter what.

“When would you leave?” Oikawa timidly asks, his gaze directed towards the crumbs on his plate.

“I’m actually on track to graduate by the end of this academic year. If I find a research group that wants me and is willing to provide me with adequate funding...I’d probably leave pretty soon after graduation. Y’know, get settled, meet my group, and...yeah.”

Silence ensues as the two boys figure out what to say. Your leg is bouncing restlessly beneath the table, fingers quietly tapping the side of your cup. Iwaizumi seems to be taking it pretty well, but Oikawa...you can’t tell.

All emotion is wiped from his face. He’s choosing to pierce holes in the wall by your head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. He’s trying so hard to be mature about this and be happy for you, yet all he can register is the fact that you’re leaving. You’re leaving them, you’re leaving him, you’ll be gone forever and you’ll never come back, you’re going to find new friends, a new partner, a new bed that belongs to someone else to fall asleep in, oh how wretched--

“We’re gonna miss you,” Oikawa says, voice barely any louder than the tranquil music playing over the speakers. You feel like you’ve been transported back to when you were ten and breaking the news of quitting volleyball, hearing the same four words spoken in a very similar manner. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of their hands in each of yours. Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to give a friendly squeeze while Oikawa’s grip is only limp at best. But after a few seconds, it tightens and tightens until you understand the message: please don’t go.

“We’ve spent our whole lives together. I’ve told you two this before and I’ll say it again -- I’m so lucky that I have you guys. Part of me is able to do this because I know you’ve always got my back and I know that’s not going to change, even when I’m halfway across the world. So keep in touch? Please?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi reaffirms and Oikawa nods. You express your thanks and retract your hands, trying to ignore the way that Oikawa’s fingers linger for as long as they can without being too obvious. The three of you eventually leave, bidding goodbye to your waitress and cashier, and continue to amble down the streets. Time always flies when you’re with them, conversation never truly ending. Eventually Iwaizumi has to leave to meet his girlfriend for dinner and Oikawa, being the gentleman that he always is, ensures that he’ll bring you home safe and sound. As the two of you wave goodbye and watch him disappear into the crowd, Oikawa offers his arm to you. He sees the pleasant surprise on your face and can’t help the smile on his own as you wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.

The two of you continue to chat -- you fill him in on all the little details of your life that he had missed. In return, he does the same, eliciting so many different emotions from you. The pain in your heart increases when you realize just exactly how far away you’ve been from him. You choose to ignore that he’s taking the long way to your apartment, relishing in this rare time you have with him. Oikawa is the only person to make you feel like there truly wasn’t enough time in the world to spend with the one you love.

This must be what it’s like to date you, he realizes. Your hand is still wrapped around his arm, even when the limb became tired and settled for tucking his hand into his jacket pockets. He drinks in every laugh, every scoff, every grin, every gasp of surprise. Very few things bring him greater satisfaction than the way your eyes sparkle when he buys one of your favorite snacks off a food cart or when he points out something that reminds him of you. He never wants you to let go -- all he wants now is to collapse into your bed and wake up with his arm around your waist once again.

Before he knows it, they’re in front of your door, fiddling with your keys. He leans against the wall by your door as you locate the right one, but you hesitate.

“This was really fun. Thanks for basically spending your whole day with me.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he replies, unable to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this.”

“Yeah, it has been.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks with eyes full of hope. You’d have to be blind to not notice them, yet you would still be able to tell by the tone of his voice.

“Of course,” you reply with a small smile. “Until you get sick of me.”

Oikawa scoffs, but puts on a sincere face as he quips back, “Never.”

In all the years that you’ve been friends with him, nothing has ever sent blood rushing to your cheeks so fast. Your heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate and it doesn’t help as he begins to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face.

At the last second, he dips his head to the right and places a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. Before you can blink twice, he’s already walking backwards with the cheekiest grin on his face, a cute little wave towards you. He then turns on his heels and makes his way to the elevator with a bit of a skip in his step.

You don’t even remember unlocking your door and toeing off your shoes. Your entire body feels like lead, yet also buzzing with excitement. And as you’re collapsed on your bed, staring at the ceiling, all your brain can comprehend and tell you is that Oikawa Tooru is truly the bane of your existence.

-

Oikawa does his best to stay true to his word.

Even with fewer classes, there’s always something that he needs to finish: that project, this homework assignment, extra practice -- sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t been in uni. Or at least picked a different major. When he can, he tries to visit you on nights, sometimes sheepishly empty-handed, other times holding a bag of your favorite pastries. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” You joke one night before biting into your favorite flavor of macaron. “More to hold and hug,” he teases back, causing you to give him a light whack on his arm.

He’s there when you nervously submit all your applications. He’s there when you receive offers to interview. He’s there when you get your first official acceptance. And of course, he’s there when you make your final decision. There’s no hesitation when you jump into his arms after submitting your confirmation of acceptance to University of California – San Francisco, though he wishes you could be there forever. Weeks begin to roll by, much quicker than he’d like. The usual cheery and joyful chattiness of when he usually visits evolves into comfortable silence, both of you settling for watching some space documentary on Netflix most nights. Oikawa hates how the inevitable is slowly creeping up his spine and more often than not, he’s torn between wanting to either just rip the Bandaid off or try to stop time.

The approaching reality of you physically leaving him starts to take its true form when you ask him to tag along on the hunt for suitcases. You want to get at least one of those large suitcases that have to be checked in to try to bring as much stuff as possible. The whole time, Oikawa is half numb, though he tries his best to give his honest opinions on the suitcases you consider. He knows what a big step this is as he watches you eagerly pay for your final selection. However, nothing hits him harder than when he comes into your apartment a week before your graduation and there’s a wide array of empty, mismatched cardboard boxes in every room.

To drive the stake in even further, the recently purchased suitcase lies wide open in your bedroom with some stray objects already neatly tucked in. Yet the one that catches his eye is a picture frame placed in a bubble wrap sleeve. It holds the physical memory of you, him, and Iwaizumi at your high school graduation, each person with their own bouquet of congratulatory flowers. There’s a reason you have this specific shot framed out of all the ones between the parents combined; reason being the fact that Oikawa isn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather looking at you.

His eyes glinted with pride and care in that picture, a certain softness in his posture. The picture has always sat demurely in a back corner of your desk. However, some friends or recent classmates that have been in your room have taken note of it, excitedly asking you, “Is this your boyfriend??” It’s more painful when you have to tell them he’s not, only just a very close childhood friend. A very close childhood friend that you’ve kissed multiple times and will always give your heart to, but you leave that part unsaid. .  

Oikawa spends the night with you, taking much longer than usual to fall asleep. You’ve already passed out next to him, mouth slightly agape and hands curled up near your face. Quietly, he adjusts his weight onto his elbow, leaning his cheek into his hand. His other hand gently tucks the strands of hair that have fallen over your face behind your ear. To him, you look nothing short of angelic. He hates that he’s only able to spend time like this with you as the clock is ticking -- he wishes that he made more of an effort to meet and see you during your first two years. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious at the thought of you leaving. Perhaps the two of you would’ve established something that would guarantee your return.

At this thought, Iwaizumi’s words ring in his head.

You’re in love with someone else, that’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.

They continue to ring as he finally falls asleep. They ring as he only wakes up hours later, settling on trying to quickly whip up breakfast for you. They’re loudest when you quietly pad up to him and rest your chin over his shoulder, nearly scaring the shit out of him. Even then, his body can’t help but relax from the feeling of your body pressed against his back.

Even as he prepares for his finals, you’re in love with someone else.

Even in the midst of presenting a final project for class, you’re in love with someone else.

All the way up until he’s parked in a seat, arms cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tucked between Iwaizumi and your mother at your graduation ceremony, you’re in love with someone else.

And when he’s cheering his loudest for you as you cross the stage, pausing to shake the university’s president’s hand and receive your diploma, his heart finally settles on the unshakeable truth that he probably knew all along.

I’m so fucking in love with (y/n).

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters to himself, but not quiet enough because Iwaizumi catches it.

“What’d you do, shithead?” He leans in to ask so your mother doesn’t hear. Oikawa only shakes his head, his leg subconsciously beginning to bounce anxiously. Iwaizumi takes a look at the leg, then a look at his face, and when he catches how Oikawa’s eyes follow you happily ambling off the stage, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. After years and years of living in pure oblivion, Oikawa has finally understood just how much he loves you.

“God, you have such shit timing, you dickhead,” Iwaizumi groans, fingers pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?” His girlfriend on his other side asks. He leans over to briefly kiss her cheek, murmuring a “I’ll tell you later,” in her ear before turning back to his best friend.

Oikawa feels like a nervous schoolboy with the way his face is construed, his hands grasping the flower stems like it’s his lifeline. He begins to think about how he should confess to you – should it be during a candlelit dinner? On the roof of your apartment under the stars? Should he take you to a park or by the beach? A million more scenarios run through his head as the rest of the graduation ceremony proceeds. He stands in a daze as the students begin to file out, the families in the stands soon following suit. His body stiffly stands to follow your family and creaks like a rusty robot, absolutely unprepared to face you with his new revelation. The only thing that brings him out of his head is when Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, practically choking him in the process. His throat coughs and fights for oxygen as he rubs at his neck, watching your mother disappear into the crows before turning to Iwaizumi with a pitiful and defeated look.

“What the hell was that for, Iwa-chan? Why—”

“You are not telling her right now, you hear me?” Iwaizumi threatens in a hushed voice.

“But—”

“She’s leaving. In a week. To America. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Can’t that be for her to decide? She can turn me down, but I need to tell her!” Oikawa cries out as the three of them do their best to stay out of other people’s way, pressing themselves to their seats as much as possible. People are casting them either curious or nasty looks for being obstacles in an increasingly heated argument, but they could also care less.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, then stabs a finger to his chest. “What you want, what you need…it’s always been that way for you when it comes to her. Have you ever stopped to consider what she wants?”

“Of course I have, what do you take me for?!”

“What do I take you for?! I take you for an idiot who spent years taking advantage of her!” Iwaizumi drives his point by jabbing the finger on his chest again. “I take you for an idiot who knew that she could never say no to you and you still used her whenever it was convenient! You think you’ve been such a martyr—”  

“I didn’t do that! I—”

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi hisses. “Prove to us that you genuinely care about what she needs. You know what she needs right now? She needs us, her friends, to go out there, find her, and congratulate her with flowers. Then, we’re gonna go to our favorite place with her family and celebrate her. Today’s about her and her achievements. We’re gonna be happy for her because that’s what she needs today. That’s what she deserves.”

Most of the crowd have trickled towards the lobby by now, leaving the three of them with a few student workers running around to pick up trash and stray programs in preparation for the next ceremony. Iwaizumi sighs, seeking comfort in the way that his girlfriend slides her hand into his. Everything that he had been holding in is now out in the open.

“You think you can do that, Tooru?” He asks in a calmer voice.

“…yeah.”

Oikawa tries his best to keep his feelings at bay. They threaten to spill when your eyes drink in the bouquet he’s brought for you, a pure smile of delight as you lean in to catch a whiff of your favorite flowers. It’s even harder when you give him a friendly peck on the cheek, quickly moving to give Iwaizumi and his girlfriend hugs. He can’t stop sneaking glances your way during lunch, watching how happy you seem to be as you verbally recall the last three years. His mind does its best to stay involved in the conversation, yet it doesn’t cease to drift towards Iwaizumi’s words. It’s heart-wrenching because everything he said was true – he had knowingly taken advantage of your lack of resistance, had knowingly acknowledged that he was committing a certain sin in life, driven by greed and desire. He knew years ago that he could never get enough of you and would never be able to.

“…your plans after this?” He hears your mother ask you, her voice reminding him to be an active participant in this chat.

“I kind of just want to go home and get out of this dress, probably start up my packing again. I had to put that on hold with finals and everything.”

“We can come help you if you want.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I might even take a nap first.”

“You can take a nap while I help you pack,” Oikawa interjects without a thought. He just wants more time with you. You look skeptical and he puts on an affronted expression. “I’m a really neat and organized packer, thank you very much. You think I’m some poor slob who can’t properly fold a shirt?”

“It’s exactly what I think.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean! I’ll prove it.”

“Fine,” you say with a smirk widening. “But I’m kicking you out if it isn’t up to my standards.”

“Yes ma’am!” He replies like a soldier, comically saluting with two fingers. Iwaizumi shoots him his best warning glare as the table resumes chatting.

About an hour later, the two of you are walking side-by-side in the direction of your apartment. The pace is slow with your heels on, especially as they become more and more painful. Eventually, you let out a big huff and stop in your path to slip off your heels, picking them up by the straps and letting them hang off your fingers. Your gown, stole, and chords are draped over your other arm, the other hand holding onto the cap and flowers. Oikawa watches as you sigh happily and wiggle your toes before you continue the trek barefoot. He’s terrified that you’ll get a staph infection and stops you.

Without saying anything, he takes the graduation gown from your arm and fits it over you, thankful that the bottom of it nearly reaches your ankles. Your arms have a mind of their own as they slip into the sleeves. He crouches for bit and fiddles a little bit before pulling your zipper up, then takes your cap and fits it onto your head. Before you can question his actions, he sweeps around to lift you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp at the sudden motion. One of your arms is already swung around his neck, the other just trying to make sure your heels, chords, and stole don’t drop. Oikawa adjusts his grip a little, then looks down at you.

“You okay?”

You’re incredibly flustered, saying nothing but giving a few nods. He gently smiles before bringing you closer to his chest. Eventually, you place everything into your lap, leaving your other arm free to lie over the flowers on your stomach. You have an internal battle with yourself on whether you should link your free limb around his neck or not – do you want to come off as clingy? Would Oikawa mind? Would it make him uncomfortable? You soon decide, fuck it. You just graduated, you deserve to be pampered a little bit, even if it means treating yourself to indulging in one of your longtime fantasies with the man you secretly love.

Even though your face is already pretty close to his, by wrapping both arms around him, you’re practically nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells faintly of the cologne that you gifted him last year for his birthday. It brings you fond memories of your life with him so far, how even through all the pain of unrequited love, every second has been absolutely worth it.

“Thank you,” you murmur and tighten your grasp. “For everything. For being my best friend, for always being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he replies affectionately. “You know we love you, right?”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how much I appreciate it, that’s all.”

“…I’m so proud of you, (y/n). Look at you, finishing in 3 years and going to California for your PhD. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to convince you to stay in Japan, but I know you wouldn’t have been as happy. Is it too late to still try to persuade you?”

You unwind an arm to smack his chest lightly, playfully scolding him as you fully hold onto him again.

“Don’t even think about it. Of course it’s too late.”

“Well, then there’s no harm in still trying, right?”

“Tooru!”

“Okay, okay, fine~.”

-

Once you’re home, you grab random articles of clothing from your closet before heading into the bathroom to change. Oikawa offers to find a vase for the bouquet during this time, your ears hearing the clinking of glass and the snipping of stems. You didn’t realize you had grabbed Oikawa’s spare jersey he had given you the summer before your first year of university, only noticing after you begin to fit it over your head. The flush in your cheeks is subtle as you slip on a pair of pajama shorts, a giddy feeling filling your chest.

When you step out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, Oikawa’s back is facing you as he continues to arrange the flowers. Something about the scene feels comfortably domestic, as if Oikawa just returned home from work and decided to surprise you with a little gift, insisting that he put it together for you. You’re almost expecting him to give you a kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’m home, dear.”

In the midst of your thoughts, Oikawa is satisfied with his work, grabbing the vase and turning with the intent to let you see his work. He startles when he sees you leaning against the wall and staring at him, yet his heart fails to calm once he realizes you’re in his jersey. Part of you suddenly feels shy with the way he can’t stop admiring you, yet another part is filled with newfound confidence. Your feet softly pad towards him, relishing in the fact that you can render the great Oikawa Tooru speechless. He lets you take the vase from him, still frozen in his spot as you gently place a kiss on the corner of his lips. If he were more composed and more cognizant of his actions, he would have taken you up in his arms and kissed you for real. You take the vase from his fingers and place it on your dining table, appreciating the delicate hue of the petals. It’s a shame that you’ll have to get rid of them soon since you’re leaving in a week.

“Come on, Tooru. Time for you to show me how good your shirt-folding skills are!”

Progress in packing is slow as the two of you talk and laugh, the sound of The Good Place quietly playing on Netflix from the small TV in your room softly filling the room. Eventually, Oikawa refuses any of your help, practically ordering you to stay in your bed and leave it to him. In the familiar warmth of your comforter, you fight to stay awake as exhaustion from the morning events creeps through your body. Before long, you’re taking a last look at Oikawa’s side profile sitting on your floor next to a pile of unfolded clothes and falling asleep soon after. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that you haven’t said anything in a while, only chuckling to himself when he sees you slipped away to the dreamworld.

For the next hour or so, he folds and packs your clothes in silence. The pile dwindles and shrinks until there’s none left, though there’s still some in your closet that you’ll be wearing over the next week. You’re still asleep on your side – he can’t find it in himself to wake you, instead doing his best to climb over you and sit on the empty side of the bed without jostling you. Just as he finds a comfortable half-lying, half-sitting position against a pillow and the headboard, you unconsciously do a full 180-degree turn and snuggle closer to him. One of your legs twists around his, your arm slinging over his waist.

Oikawa’s heart almost wants to fly out of his chest. Had it really been over a little more than a year since you last slept next to him? Was this going to be the last time that he’d experience this?

Was this going to be his last chance?

He must’ve nodded off in the end. Your voice speaks to him in his subconscious, softly calling out his name. His body is curled up on the side where you were sleeping, arms stretched out as he finally wills his eyes to open. His vision is blurry and heavily veiled with sleep, needing a few blinks to register that you’re bent over with your face very close to his. He wants to be wakened like this every day, to the sound of your voice rather than an obnoxious alarm tone from his phone. With all the strength he can muster, his arm reaches out to grab one of your wrists and gingerly pulls you towards him. You giggle as you snuggle into the little space you have, his arms hugging you tightly to ensure you don’t fall over the edge.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, nuzzling into your hair. “Or we can go back to sleep, I don’t mind…”

“Tooru, we need to eat dinner though.”

“But I have you,” he mumbles without thought, clearly saying whatever first comes to his mind.

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“It makes all the sense in the world, silly (y/n)…come on, let’s sleep some more…”

“Even if there’s fresh omurice waiting to be eaten?”

“Mmm…did you make it?”

“Yes, I did.”

Oikawa sighs again before moving his hand from your back to rub his eyes. “Well, we can’t let your hard work go to waste then, right?”

“Not at all.”

You disentangle yourself and ignore how your body aches to lay with him again. Your hands take one of his own in your grasp, pulling him from the bed and towards the dining table where a fresh plate of omurice awaits them. Oikawa doesn’t forget his manners, pulling out a chair and indicating for you to sit in it. Like a true gentleman, he’s cognizant of how he pushes the chair back in to meet your sitting position, ensuring that you’re comfortable before moving to his own seat. The two of you say your thanks quickly before digging in.

Dinner is a quiet ordeal besides the occasional laughter. He tries to play footsies with you underneath the table, having full advantage with his longer legs. You threaten to flick rice at him if he keeps at it, but as time passes by, it’s clear your words hold no weight. Light banter continues when you bring the plates to the sink, refusing any offers of help from him. He settles for having an arm around your shoulders, leaning some of his body weight onto you. His eyes watch you with love and fascination as he berates himself for not figuring it out earlier. Things would have been different, and life would have been much better.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, tone solemn and heavy as you begin to dry off the dishes.

“I know. But I’ll be back in a few years, you know?”

“A few years sounds like forever though.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, Tooru.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

He’s still searching for words when you’ve put the last plate in the drying rack, folding the towel neatly on the counter. You turn to face him directly, causing his arm to slide off your shoulders. He delicately grasps your hands with his and plays with your fingers, eyes focused on them and unable to meet your own. Iwaizumi’s warning voice blares through his head – why, why did he always have to be so selfish when it comes to you? Why did he always give in?

“Tooru, what—”

“I love you, (y/n).”

He’s gone and done it now. His eyes are ablaze with passion as they attempt to convey the depth of his feelings, boring straight into your own shocked gaze. He means it more than anything right now. You have to understand that he’s serious, that he doesn’t mean this in a platonic sense. Without a doubt, he would do anything for you. Could you see that in him?

He begins to panic when you slowly detach your hands, your expression hardening before you turn to occupy yourself with something else. You search for something before heading towards your living room and start packing the decorations into a cardboard box that’s cradled against your hip.

“(Y/n), please—”

“You don’t mean it,” you bite out and somewhat harshly smack a book into the box. “You’re only saying it because—”

“I’m not saying it just because you’re leaving, I swear,” he vows, following you as you pack away more things. “Just look at me—”

“How could you?!” You say accusingly, slamming your box onto the floor and whipping around to look at him. Oikawa isn’t entirely surprised by the tears streaming down your face, yet his heart still breaks at the sight.

“(Y/n), I—”

“What were you expecting?” You ask hoarsely, throat choked with tears. “Did you expect me to just accept it and run into your arms?! We’re going to be on opposite sides of the world for at least four years, and you wanted to start something with me a week before I leave?”

“I can’t lose you!” Oikawa cries out. He watches you collapse into your couch, head buried in your hands to control your sobs. He follows and sits as close as possible in front of you on the floor, reaching up to remove your hands from your face. “I can’t lose you more than I already have,” he whispers dismally, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. Out of fatigue, he places his cheek on your knees, eyes closing as you lay your hand on top of his head.

“Tooru, you—”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he interrupts, striving to get you to see how much this is for him. “I never knew what it was until recently, but you have to know by now that I would do anything for you. You can call me up at 4 in the morning, ask me for my umbrella even when I’m 20 minutes away. You could even ask me to drop volleyball, and I’d do it. Just to make you happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you depressingly chastise as your fingers give in and demurely run through his hair. “I would never ask you to give up volleyball, and even if I did, you’d resent me til the day we die. Hell, you’d resent me in your grave for all I know.”

“You’d still be my everything.”

At his words, you choke out another sob. This had been everything you were dreaming of, except Oikawa’s timing was just so off. You would have to spend the first four years of your relationship without him, and long distance wouldn’t be easy. Even though he would do everything to make it work, you’d worry about burdening him when he has so much he wants to live for. Wouldn’t it affect his playing? His studies? Would he eventually get tired of waiting for you and leave?

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” You sniffle.

“The chance of a lifetime, that’s what I’m getting into,” he quickly replies. He turns to rest his chin where his cheek originally on, facing you with eyes of zero hesitation. His expression softens when he senses the doubt in your face and reaches up to remove your hands from his hair, grasping them softly and placing them on your thighs. “I’ve already wasted years not being with you, and I don’t intend to lose another second. So please, please give me this chance.”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. You need to think this out before diving in, no matter how much you want to comply right now.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You weakly propose. “This has happened all so fast and I just need some time to think it over. This is really big for us, and I just wanna make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” he agrees, then ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“You can’t see me until we’re at the airport though,” you add in, causing him to whine in objection. “I’ll give you my answer then. It’s just a week.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Of course, you big wuss,” you tease.

“Hey, I just confessed my feelings here, cut me some slack!” He cries, pouting afterwards. You somehow still have the energy to giggle at his antics, happy that some things never change.

“You need to leave soon, Tooru.”

“No,” he objects and wraps his arms around your legs. “I don’t wanna.”

“Tooru—”

“Only if you kiss me before I leave.”

You let out a sigh, yet still smiling. “Deal.”

He removes himself and gets out of the way, stretching as he stands when you push yourself off the couch. Even for the short distance from the living room to the door, Oikawa insists on holding your hand. He grabs every second he can with you, still holding on when he’s slipping his shoes on.

“I’m waiting for my kiss,” he says with a lilt in his voice. His eyes are shining and expectant, causing you to roll your own playfully. For the first time in 21 years, you’ll be kissing Oikawa with no feelings hidden, no motives unsaid.

He meets you halfway, softly cradling your cheek with his free hand. His lips against yours bring a wave of nostalgia – god, how you both missed this, the feeling of being able to lose yourself in another person. How you both missed forming that bubble again where nothing mattered but the two of you being there together. You can’t help but think about how much you’re going to miss this in America, how it’ll be months, years, before you can ever fall into Oikawa’s arms again.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to toe his shoes off and have you jump into his arms. He wants nothing more than to carry you to your room and show exactly how much he loves you, but it’s not in your wishes. Don’t be selfish, he reminds himself. You asked for time and space to think about your future with him – if he wants to make this work, thinking of solely his own desires needs to stop here. He must prove to you that it’ll be worth it, that there’s no reason to lose any more time than you’ve already lost.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologizes quietly.

“It’s okay. But consider this week as punishment, if you’d like.”

He pouts. “I really can’t come see you?”

You give a small grin, a pointer finger moving to tap his nose. “Nope.”

With that, he sighs begins to walk out the door, but not before stealing another peck. The action only makes you laugh and playfully push him over the door threshold, waving as he walks backwards with a pout. You don’t close the door until he’s turned the corner, nearly collapsing against it once the deadbolt is locked in place. Everything hits you all at once again, leaving you reeling and almost gasping for air. Your heart won’t cease its rapid pace, though it seems to come to a full halt when your phone chimes with a text message from him.

“Good night, (y/n). I love you.”

Yes, it’s amazing how lucky you are.

-

Without fail, Oikawa texts and calls you every day. He never fails to remind you that he loves you. Twice, he orders delivery to your door because he knows you need to pack your kitchen. A man who buys you food as a surprise and seems to always know what you’re in the mood for? It’s as if the universe is telling you to hurry up and marry this guy.

And Oikawa, trying to be the responsible person that he is, doesn’t see you until they’re sending you off at the airport. Your parents had offered to pick him and Iwaizumi up from his place, especially since it was a little early in the morning. A taxi drops you and your suitcases off at the gate. You hadn’t spotted them when you got in and made a move to go ahead and check your bags in. After you had finished dropping them off, you had turned around to wait outside of the check-in area and spotted the four of them chatting while waiting for you. Even with it being so early in the morning, you can’t help but break out into a smile at seeing them, speeding up your pace as much as you can with the carry-on suitcase lugging behind you.

“Thank you, guys, for coming all this way,” you express your gratitude while embracing Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn’t?” Iwaizumi asks as you move to hug your parents. Your mother keeps an arm around you at the end, already fighting her tears.

“Mom…”

“Do you have everything you need?” She interjects, voice choking up. “Phone? Wallet? Passport? Boarding pass? New SIM card? Emergency cash?”

“They’re all here,” you say, pointing to the locations of each item. “I’m gonna be okay, mom.”

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, ok?” Your father reminds you. “We’re only a call or text away.”

“I know. I’ll try to make it home on the holidays or something, but if not, I’ll be back in a few years at least.”

“What if you end up meeting someone and want to stay in America with them?” Your mother sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Well,” you hesitate, casting a quick look towards Oikawa. When his gaze meets yours, you begin to feel more confident about the answer that you settled on yesterday. You know he’s anxious to find out what you’ve decided. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen. Can I have a minute with Tooru please? Alone?”

Your mother’s eyes widen in realization before she’s quick to shoo off your father and Iwaizumi. Once they’re out of earshot, Oikawa looks at you expectantly.

“Do I get my answer today?” He inquires, removing his hand from his jacket pocket to hold one of yours. You take the initiative to interlace your fingers with his, giving a tight squeeze.

“Mmm,” you hum while fishing out your phone with your free hand. Oikawa watches anxiously as you tap and scroll through something, breath baited as your eyes seem to light up at finding what you need. You turn the screen to him and ask, “Does that answer your question?”

At first, he’s confused. Oikawa sees a contact page open and automatically notices it’s his number. It’s not until his vision drifts back to the top of the page where his name usually was. In the past, it had been “crappykawa” with a smiling emoji, but to his delight, it now reads “the boyfriend­TM”.

His excitement prompts him to lift you from the waist and spin you around in a few circles. You shriek and shake with laughter as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to hold on, your eyes closed tightly until he puts you down. Even then, he doesn’t detach himself from you and leans down to kiss you sweetly, never wanting to let up. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving him in the next few minutes – he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

Minutes later and after more teary goodbyes, you walk through the line towards security. The four of them watch as you exchange pleasantries and answer questions by the guard checking your boarding pass and passport. Once you’ve been cleared, you turn around once more to give a final wave, before disappearing behind the gray walls. After you pass security and find somewhere to eat a quick breakfast, you check your phone. There’s a Snapchat from Oikawa that you immediately move to open. It’s a selfie taken at an angle where his phone would’ve been in his lap. He has his characteristic pout on his face and the caption reads, “i already miss you, my love.”

And at that moment, you know, you can feel it with every ounce of your being, that everything is going to be okay.

-

(epilogue)

Months after you moved to California, Oikawa received his invite to play for a professional volleyball team in Argentina. He consulted his closest friend, you, his coaches, and they all agreed on one thing: he’d be stupid to turn it down.

It wasn’t the Japan national team, but it was definitely an opportunity of a lifetime. He greatly admired the national Argentine team as a child, and that admiration never wavered. On the plus side, it would make the long-distance relationship easier with you, as the time difference would be cut significantly.

The relationship experienced its ups and downs. Some main recurring themes of contention involved his tendency to overwork himself and your frequent late nights in the lab, as well as your disregard for your physical and mental health during times of high stress. They were issues born out of love and care, and they were worked on to help each other improve. You’d always livestream his volleyball matches and he would attempt to stay up with you on a video call if you were in the lab or up late studying, reminding you to drink water and eat something nutritious.

Oikawa found time to visit you during rare extended breaks in the off-season. He’d always make sure that you two would video call Iwaizumi together, wearing a shit-eating grin when Iwaizumi would pick up the call and roll his eyes. In return, you saved up and visited him in Argentina, though only able to stay up to a week at most. The new life was a little difficult and strange, but he made it work. He loved his teammates, he loved you, he loved volleyball, and he couldn’t ask for more.

You finished your doctorate in four years, just as you had predicted. You already had a job lined up before graduation at an academic hospital in Tokyo, allowing you to practice pharmacy and continue research. Not only that, Iwaizumi also earned a position in the top volleyball team in Japan, leaving Oikawa to be ecstatic. His personal dream from so many years ago was finally coming together – the three of you together in the same city, and him and Iwaizumi on the same superior team, even if it meant playing with Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi. But he’d get used to it eventually.  

When you first returned to Tokyo, you were happy to see that not much had changed. Oikawa had another couple of years in Argentina before he would return to Japan and join Iwaizumi on the team. A few weeks in, you were already enjoying your job immensely – the only thing missing was your boyfriend.

A year has passed, and you are currently sitting at home in front of the TV with a mug in your hands. You’re dressed down in your comfiest sweatpants and Tooru’s jersey from university days. A white gold chain holding a simple silver ring hangs daintily around your neck as a token and symbol of a promise. You check your phone and frown a little – Tooru hadn’t texted or called you all day, though he did mention he would be busy with preparing for an upcoming practice match. You’re now worried that Tooru’s overworking himself again, holding the device now to send a quick text reminder to take breaks and stretch afterwards.

You toss your phone to the side and try to focus on the humorous game show, picking up on how ridiculous some of the antics were. American game shows had nothing on the ones here in Japan.

Someone rings your doorbell. At first, you think it’s the postman dropping off a package you had been expecting and make no move towards the door. But the doorbell is rung once again, leaving you to hesitantly approach the entrance. You peek through the spyhole and spot a young man outside, hat slipped on backwards, glasses perched on his nose, and hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He’s looking away from you and has suitcases around him, but you can recognize that side profile from anywhere. Could it be?

You fumble with the lock and throw open the door as your heart threatens to beat out of its chest. The young man finally looks up at you and you gasp as tears spring forward to your eyes.

Oikawa Tooru is standing right in front of you with the most beautiful smile on his face that you have ever seen.

He’s ready to catch you when you squeal and run into his arms, dissolving into laughter as you blubber into his neck and attempt to make sense of what’s happening. Tooru spins you around a few times for good measure, relishing in the comfort of your body against his. It had been too long since he last held you, and luckily, he’d never have to wait that long ever again.

His invite came as a phone call not too long ago, personally from the coach of the team that Iwaizumi had joined. They were willing to wait for him if he wanted another year in Argentina as he had originally planned, but Tooru decided that it was time to come back. He had buzzed with excitement as he planned out his great return, wanting so badly to surprise you. It’d go down in the book as one of the best reveals of a major life change for the two of you, and he wanted it to be perfect.

“How—what—when—I have so many questions!” You stammer, hands reaching for his face to make sure that this is real. Tooru leans into your palm, eyes catching the glisten of the promise ring that he had gifted you two years ago. He was a little worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable enough (“I need people out there to understand that you’re spoken for!” “What are you, a prince of the medieval days?”), but he did appreciate how beautiful it looked when you wore it as such. The happiness he feels right now is more than he could have ever imagined, especially now when he can finally look into your eyes and say the words that he’s been yearning to speak for years to you —

”I’m home, (y/n).”

-

fin.

[animalsatwildlilac]

Power Outage with Bearded Dragon

This beardie has a job. His name is Stripy, and he is a working lizard. His life is full of adventure at Wild Lilac preschool. But he does get weekends off, vacations, and even mental health days, just like me. I think he is lonely when we are not together.

On Thursday, when WL announced an early release because of the winter storm warning, I got the whole day off because I only teach in the afternoons. But I still needed to go in, briefly -- to tend to the animals before the roads got messy.

On the way there, I stopped for supplies at my local pet store, Tropical Hut. I bought 100 crickets and a package of frozen bloodworms.

When I parked in front of the school, rain was falling and the temperature was dropping. Masked parents were picking up their unmasked kids. I left 50 of the crickets in my car with plans to take them home for Stripy, my bearded dragon, and then I went to the animal room.

I fed and tucked our critters in –

Two cubes of bloodworms for the Axolotl;

Cucumber and carrots for the just-hatched baby snails;

Fresh pinecones and toilet paper rolls for the gerbils;

Hay for the new-found guinea pigs (see previous post);

Crickets in with the animals that eat crickets: the tarantula, the geckos, and the cane toad;

And food for the crickets themselves (some apple, some dog food);

The Madagascan Hissing cockroaches still had food;

The walking sticks are all out of bramble – I’m sorry, but they will be okay for a few days without food.

I headed home.

As I brought the deli container of crickets into my house (they had been in my car for about 45 minutes) I realized something was tragically wrong -- all 50 of them were on their backs, heels to heaven. My first though was carbon monoxide.  How could they all have DIED in such a short time? Then I realized maybe they weren’t dead – they were cold! Or did they freeze to death? It just hadn’t been that long. Such drama! I set them on a table and watched them, and as they warmed, they started to move. First a leg twitched, then another, then one flipped over. I was thinking how cool is this! Definitely something to explore with the kids – the freezing and warming of crickets.

And then, as I was deep in contemplation watching the flipping crickets, it’s 3 in the afternoon and -- the power goes out! There was no accumulation of ice or snow. The storm had hardly started. PGE said the power would be back on at 5pm. But at 5, they said 6, and at 6, it was 8.

When the temperature in Stripy’s tank dropped to 65 degrees, I had lifted him out and put him on my chest, zipped up a fleece vest over him, and put a fuzzy blanket around my shoulders.

My husband ventured out into the cold night to find a restaurant with power. He arrived home with salted peppered cod and garlic broccoli and kung pao shrimp from Powell Seafood, and the news that there were now 100,000 people without power in the greater Portland area.

At 8:03 our lights came on! Stripy was glad to get into his warm tank and eat some crickets. The humans were glad to catch up on what we had missed electronically in the past five hours.

Stripy poops biweekly, and does so in a predictable way – pretty much every time I put him in the bathtub; warm water brings it on for him like coffee does for me.

His poop in interesting. Part of it is white and rubbery, part of it loose and greenish brown.

At 2 in the morning my partner woke me. The power is off again, he says. PGE says the cause is under investigation and there is no estimated time for the power to return. In my Ambien induced slumber, I mumbled, “Please … bring me Stripy…”.

Stripy settled on my chest and closed his eyes. He clung to my nightie like a bur on a wool sweater, both of us covered with the duvet. Our dogs are not happy about Stripy joining us in the bed, and they move as close to my head as they can.

My partner kept checking on Stripy, to make sure he was staying on me, not straying into the sheets. But he needn’t worried. Why would this lizard leave the best heat source in the house -- a woman going through a menopausal transition?

Flanked by dogs, a lizard, and my partner who at this point in the pandemic has not just a beard, but a full wizard’s beard, we sleep. But not well. Our thermostat now says 54 degrees. I am worried about the crickets -- they are no longer chirping. but I am not going to snuggle them.

It is windy. My neighbor's roof is covered with snow and smoke is coming out of her chimney. Branches come down from the weight of ice. A car explodes and burns when a power line falls on it. All over Portland, people are lighting candles and caressing their reptiles, trying to keep them warm.

Stripy has two tanks – one at school, and one at home. His at-school tank is what I think of as his studio apartment; it’s furnished with a doll’s bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a hammock, a tiny ceramic toilet, and a small, hard copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. At home, he has a “desert” tank where I’ve built him tunnels and hillocks out of excavator sand.

In the summer, at the end of the day, he likes to join my family on the patio. We have cheese and crackers and glasses of chardonnay, and Stripy gets his own glass platter of mealworms. Yes, I know the mealworms are fatty and are supposed to be a treat, not a regular staple, which is why I’ve been trying to transition him to crickets. I want Stripy to chase crickets like how the beardie in the YouTube video chases blueberries, but he doesn’t.

I believe he doesn’t chase his food because he doesn’t have to.

He waits until a cricket crawls up on his hillock and then -- a quick snap nom nom nom -- he chomps on them. A drop of cricket juice spatters from his mouth.

But I know he still has his instincts, because I have watched him shoot across the patio to catch and eat a bee.

At school, the kids touch Stripy with one finger, and they know not to pet his head. Heads are personal spaces, and plus, that third eye! The first time I saw his third eye, I thought a child had drawn on him with marker.

When not roaming about the animal room, or sunning himself under a UV light, Stripy is carried in a woven sea grass basket filled with silks. He has castles built for him out of Magnatiles. The children pick fresh arugula for him from the garden and hand feed it to him. They sketch pictures of him that are pinned to the wall. The kids love him. They tell him this on a daily basis. They don’t imbue him with meaning, they just recognize him as sentient being.

The kids marvel at how his spikes look so sharp but are actually soft. They touch him and talk about his textures and colors, the orange rings encircling his eyes, his soft belly, his pointy tail. We watch his torso expand as he sighs, relaxing into his body.

What are those holes in the sides of his head?

What do you think they are?

Can he hear me? Why aren’t his ears on the outside like mine?

Will he lick me?

He might.

Why did he lick me!

He is tasting you. He’s finding out who you are.

This bearded dragon, does he know how to fly?

Not yet.

Well, his mommy needs to teach him!

I ask him questions in front of the kids … Stripy, do you want some dandelion greens? Oh, you do!  Oh, Stripy, I can see you don’t want to be held right now. You want to move across the floor on your own!

I regularly give animacy to inanimate objects, too.

What is he saying now, Teacher Nikki?

What do you think he is saying?

Caring for animals helps us to build compassion. I want the kids to know that the animals are communicating with us, we just have to listen.

Sometimes, on my way home from work when I stop at Trader Joes, Stripy tells me that he doesn’t want to be left alone in the car, so I set him on my shoulder and he lies very still (but is supremely alert and watches everything) as I walk around the frozen foods and the wine aisles. Kids always notice him and want to connect. The crew usually notice him, too, and greet him with a wink. My sister, who likes animals but doesn’t have any, when I tell her about my experiences in Trader Joes with Stripy, says “Oh, Nik-Nac, you’ve become one of those people.”

And yes, I guess I have, it’s true. I have become that lady with the bearded dragon.

No, we are not supposed to have a lizard in a preschool -- because of the salmonella risk. However, I believe that risk is an inherent and natural consequence of childhood. Our preschoolers take turns on a broken seesaw that was homemade to begin with. They build with crates and cardboard boxes we scavenge from the furniture store on the corner. There is sometimes a sprinkling of nails in our sandbox. We have earthquakes here, and floods, and ice-storms.  Our children breathe harmful air from wildfires. We have lockdown drills to prepare us for potential active shooters in our schools – a little salmonella isn’t going to shut things down for us!

In my more than 30 years of teaching with animals, I have probably exposed thousands of children to salmonella. It will be okay. For those of you who are still worried, let me tell you a little story.

I hosted a special COVID sleepover for some school-age kids recently (the kids were all from the same pod) and when it was discovered that one child had forgotten to bring a tooth brush, I said, “that’s okay, just borrow someone’s toothpaste and brush with your finger.” I mimed a demonstration and all the kids made faces of disgust. “I would never brush my teeth with my finger,” I heard. “I put my fingers in my butt too much!”

We do wash our hands as often as possible.

[ameth18blog]

Unexpected Encounters. Chapter 1: Families and Children

It was a normal day in the city of Japan, in one of the airports of the city a plane from the city of Zootopia just arrived. In it, people who have just come to the country came either for vacations or for other reasons.

Among the people getting off the plane was a red fox with green eyes wearing a green button-down shirt, brown pants, and a blue tie; a gray rabbit with purple eyes wearing a red and white and gray plaid shirt; another gray rabbit with blue eyes that had black stripes on its face that joined at the back of its head that was wearing a white button-down shirt, black pants, black tie and a black jacket; and lastly a brown fennec fox with light brown eyes wearing a black shirt with a red stripe and olive green pants.

These were nothing more and nothing less than two of the Zootopia police officers Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps, known as the first fox and the first rabbit in the Zootopia police forces, Jack Savage, the best known secret agent of his agency, and Finnick, an old friend of Nick's who helped out on many undercover missions.

But the four of them weren't coming. Behind them came 2 children: One was a gray and light brown vixen with green eyes, wearing a red shirt, a yellow skirt and a blue bow on her head. The other was a gray rabbit that had black stripes on his face that joined at the back of his head, he wore a light blue shirt and brown pants.

These two children are named Nicole Wilde and Jerry Savage, they are half siblings and at the same time twins. Nicole is the daughter of Nick and Judy, while Jerry is the son of Jack and Judy. They are both 4 years old and each was standing on either side of their mother.

Some time ago Nick and Jack had fallen in love with Judy and they did everything possible to make Judy fall in love with one of them, without either of them knowing that the other was in love with her until the day they both confessed. After several unforeseen and very long counting situations one night, Nick, Judy and Jack ended up having a threesome which led to Judy getting pregnant. After Nick and Jack realized this, they decided to help Judy, since in the end they didn't know which of the two the unborn child could be and they felt responsible. When Judy gave birth, they realized to their surprise that they were twins and that the girl was a vixen that looked like Nick and the boy was a rabbit that looked like Jack. From that moment on the five began to be an unusual family, but over time they got used to it, although despite being a happy family there was never an official marriage Nick, Judy and Jack, but they lived in concubinage. They were even quite close that Nicole and Jerry referred to both Nick and Jack as their parents without any distinction and even Nick and Jack treated both children as their children without distinction from one to the other. The only thing they lacked was a stable home, as the whole family rotated between the small apartments of Nick, Judy and Jack to live until they could buy a house big enough for all of them, fortunately they already lacked little money to get it.

Finnick on his side when he heard the news of the birth of the children and upon meeting them, they became very fond of him and began to refer to him as their honorary uncle, even letting out a side of him that even Nick didn't know and surprised him when he passed time with the kids, it was like I was someone other than the grumpy one he knew. Because of that, Finnick had become so close to the family that when Nick, Judy, and Jack went out to work, he stayed behind to babysit.

Now, the reason they were in Japan, was because after several years of service in the agency Jack was given the opportunity to take a vacation paid by the agency to anywhere in the world, and he could bring companions, it is which is why Nick, Judy, Finnick, Nicole and Jerry came with him. And the reason they came to that country is because once Jack was there during a mission and he loved the country that he wanted to visit it again and he was sure that his companions would love this country.

"Well, now that we are here, where is the hotel where we will be staying?" Nick asked.

"It's not far, it's closer to a company called Carrier Man Trading Co., Ltd. It's quite comfortable and cozy," replied Jack.

"If it's more comfortable than my truck, it will have my approval," Finnick said.

At that moment, Nicole and Jerry were drinking some water in a fountain that was a few steps from where Judy was standing, when they finished they were about to return to their mother when they suddenly found two small objects right behind the fountain. They were two brilliant emeralds the size of their hands. One was red and the other was blue. Nicole took the red one and Jerry took the blue one. They were so beautiful that they decided to keep them. They looked the two jewels, realizing that no one was looking for them so they put them in their pockets. Nick, Judy, Jack, and Finnick didn't realize what the children found at the time.

"Well, we'd better take a taxi to the hotel," Judy said, taking each of the children with her hands.

When everyone finally left the airport with their bags in hand, Jack hailed a taxi. Most were surprised that in that country people were driving the opposite way to where they were driving in Zootopia. After putting the suitcases in the trunk, they all got in. Finnick sat down next to the driver. While Nick, Judy and Jack in the backseat, with Nicole on Nick's lap and Jerry on Jack's lap.

After they were ready, the taxi left the airport in the direction of the hotel.

...

In another part of the same city, children were found playing in a park while their parents watched them. In a specific place in the park there was a grayish-brown and gray hyena, wearing a black and red striped shirt, black pants, a black leather jacket and black boots; an orange, white and brown red-panda, wearing a peach sweater, a white and brown plaid skirt, and black shoes; a orange, white and brow red-maned-wolf, wearing a black shirt, white jacket, blue pants, and yellow shoes, also wore a gold watch on his left wrist; a light beige fennec vixen wearing a light blue turtleneck, gray skirt, black socks and brown boots; a white secretary bird with some orange and yellow feathers, wearing a blue sweater, white pants, and white shoes; and finally a gray gorilla, who wore a white dress with a red scarf and white shoes.

These were workers from Carrier Man Trading Co., Ltd who were on their day off: Haida, Retsuko, Ookami and Fenneko who worked in the accounting area, Washimi who was the CEO's secretary, and Gori who is the director of marketing. Haida and Retsuko were married just like Ookami and Fenneko were also married. Washimi and Gori who were longtime friends and friends with Retsuko, ended up becoming friends with Haida, Fenneko, and Ookami in recent years.

At that moment two children approached them: One was a brown and gray red-panda in, wearing a black and red striped shirt, and blue pants. The other was a cream, white, and brown hybrid that had the eyes, head shape, arms, legs, and height of a red-wolf, while it had the muzzle, nose, tail, and ear of a fennec; she was wearing a light blue T-shirt and grayish blue pants.

These two children are named Koka and Hana. They were best friends and had a little crush on each other. Koka was the son of Haida and Retsuko, while Hana was the daughter of Ookami and Fenneko. They were both 6 years old and were playing together in a sandbox building sand castles.

A few years ago after leaving the group of OTMGirls and having returned to work in the company, Retsuko and Haida began to be closer at first as a relationship of best friends, but with the passage of time Retsuko decided to give a chance to Haida and realized that he was more attentive and respected her decisions than what she wanted for the future. It was like this that after dating for a while, and after a night of passion Retsuko got pregnant, after finding out about that having talked to Haida he proposed to her and they married shortly before Koka was born. Since then they are a happy family with their son. Even Retsuko's mother and grandmother visit them very often and even the relationship with Retsuko and her mother has improved, the only thing that still stresses her are the situations she experiences at work.

On the other hand, Ookami and Fenneko was more surprising, since they have never revealed when they started dating or how it happened, but Retsuko and Haida assume that it was at some point when Retsuko returned to work. And they only discovered them when Retsuko and Haida once caught them going home together holding hands a few days after they got off work. It was because of this that Ookami started dating Haida, Retsuko, Washimi, and Gori more often. As with Haida and Retsuko, during a night of passion between the two Fenneko became pregnant and after revealing it to Ookami, he proposed to her and they married before Hana was born.

They had all gathered to have a day of relaxation, and they had been in the park all morning, as it was already noon, they decided to go to lunch.

"Koka, Hana. Come on, it's time to go" said the parents.

"We're coming" they both responded in unison.

Koka and Hana had found two emeralds buried in the sand that were brightly colored. Koka had a green one and Hana had a yellow one. They wondered who could have lost them in a place like that. But since they liked them, they decided to keep them, so they put them in their pockets.

Once they were reunited with the six adults, they held hands with their respective mothers.

"I heard about a restaurant that just opened recently, and it even has an area for the children to play and have fun," Washimi said as she showed them a picture of the restaurant on her cell phone.

"And it's not that expensive either, so we can all ask for something" said Gori while holding his phone with the same image.

"Well, that's fine with me. And it looks nice," Retsuko said.

"Yeah, and it's not like those punk-style places that Haida used to take me to vent when Retsuko rejected him," Fenneko said.

"Hey, you didn't need to say that" Haida said a little blushing with embarrassment.

"Oh come on friend, that is in the past" said Ookami as he put a hand on his shoulder.

Koka and Hana only observed the situation without understanding from the adults, they only thought about the jewels that were found, perhaps later they would show them to their parents.

After a few seconds, the whole group finally left the park and went to the restaurant for lunch.

...

In another part of the city in a dark alley there were 6 beings, 3 male beings with their respective wives and their respective children between 14 and 9 years old. Each of the male beings held an emerald, one cyan, one purple, and one white. One of them had a tracker, in his hands. And I was seeing how far the other four were.

"According to my tracker they are not far from here" this was a yellow fox.

"I can't believe that for the second time, we ended up in another dimension because of chaos control" this was a red echidna.

"Well, we have to find them quickly, because if it happened like the previous time, he might be here too" said the blue hedgehog.

[adxcaldwell]

King of the Playground

King of the Playground - A Young Beatles/Hurricanes/BobDylan fic with some familiar cameos by Brian Epstein, Mal Evans, and urs truly

Inspired by the wonderful @cherrybombz01

Word count 4873 - Somewhat lengthy. But I’ve been told it’s worth that.

The sky was clear and sunny - the forecast was finally clear, and without a cloud in the sky, Brian had finally told his boys that he’d take them to the park.

“Come on,” John rushed, crossing his arms as he watched Paul tying his shoes. Ever since he’d learned to tie them himself, he’d insisted on doing so in such a drawn out manner, making sure that both sides of the bow were even, and not just that, but ensuring that both knots on either shoe looked alright beside the other. Things couldn’t just be done with Paul. It had to be a process. “Nobody’s going to be looking at the knots on your shoes.”

“Just cause you won’t doesn’t mean that nobody will,” Paul told him, with a little huff to his voice. 

“John, if you can’t behave with Paul, then how can I trust you to behave with others at the park?” Brian spoke with a gentle sense of firm guidance as he knelt down, looking at John with a tired expression, his eyes warm with kindness and concern. “I don’t think you want to spend your time at the park sitting with me on a bench, do you?”

“Do you?” George mouthed teasingly, looking over Brian’s shoulder at John.

John just shot him a glare and then fixed Brian with a reluctant kind of pout, shaking his head once. “No.”

“He just wants to get there before Rory and his friends,” Ringo explained patiently, “Because he’s the King of the Playground.”

“King of the Playground?” Brian couldn’t help but smile as he heard this title. “Is that so, ‘King of the Playground’?... Well, nobody can be King of the Playground. Everything in England is ruled by the Queen, I’m afraid. You’ll have to let this king know that if he tries to enforce his rulings.”

“You don’t understand, Eppy,” John muttered, turning away slightly, embarrassed by Brian’s attempts at fixing the situation. “Can’t you tie your shoes any faster, Paul?”

“I’m done,” Paul said proudly as he got to his feet, admiring his work. “Perfect.”

It was on the tip of George’s tongue to comment that one of the bows on Paul’s left shoe was slightly bigger than the other, but he saw the look of annoyance on John’s face and knew that it was better left unsaid.

“Then everyone’s ready to go?” Brian prompted, looking over the four boys before giving a little tsk, picking up a green scarf. “John, I thought I told you all to get your scarves on.. It’s winter, you know, and it’s not getting warmer any time soon. You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t want to wear that,” John said stubbornly. He didn’t like wearing matching scarves with the other three. 

Paul had a blue one, George wore red, and Ringo was somehow happy with one in soft pink - he’d picked that himself, and was okay with it because “It’s a lighter version of yours, George, and it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“If you don’t wear it, then I guess you’ll just have to stay home and be properly warm inside for the day,” Brian told him with the ease and assurement of someone who had been in this situation many times before and come out a winner.

So John put the scarf around his neck with reluctance, and off they went to the park.

As soon as they were out of the car, John had begun walking before he heard Brian calling his name.

“No wandering off until we’re out of the parking lot,” he told him, herding his little group with a smile across the lot to the park entrance. 

And then John took off. He went past the sandbox, past the swingset, and past the little clearing of benches in the middle where Brian and the other babysitters and parents usually sat. He ducked underneath the silver twisted poles where other kids often practiced gymnastics, or failed to practice gymnastics, and narrowly missed colliding with someone who was midway through the monkey bars before coming to a breathless stop in front of the little climbing wall that led up to a wooden pirate ship. 

And sure enough, who popped over the side but none other than the fair-haired leader himself who stood tall over boys even older than him, Rory.

Rory gave him a grin, and raised his hand in a little wave.

John’s breathlessness quickly turned to annoyance, and he could feel the frown on his lips threatening to form a pout, but he resisted sulking. No, leave that to Paul.

“Sorry,” called another boy who came to Rory’s side. That was Johnny, Rory’s best mate. “This is the King’s ship, and we don’t take stowaways.”

“Tell the King to sod off,” John snapped, his sulkiness giving way to scathing disdain.

Rory’s eyes widened immediately, and he glanced over at Johnny before looking down at John. “L..Language,” he managed to say, before bursting into laughter that was quickly joined by that of his friends.

Paul, George and Ringo caught up to John just as he was kicking at the tanbark with the tip of his shoe.

“I told you to hurry up with tying your shoes,” John said to Paul accusingly.

“I told you to hurry up with tying your shoes,” Paul mocked in return.

“Well, no chance of getting the pirate ship,” John mumbled, trying not to let his disappointment show. Rory and his friends always got to the pirate ship first, it seemed, no matter how much John tried to beg Brian to get there earlier. 

“We could go play on the swings,” Ringo suggested.

“I don’t want to play on the swings,” John said back.

“What about the monkey bars?” George tried. “You could try to hang upside down on them again, when Brian’s not looking.”

“I don’t want to play on those, either,” John mumbled.

“No, you don’t, you just want to whine, don’t you?” George countered.

“So what if I do?” John told him dismissively, really more telling than asking, as he turned on his heel and began to walk off.

George just shook his head, and he looked over at Paul, who looked either worried or guilty, and patted his arm. “It’s not your fault, you know. I think Rory just lives up there with his friends, that’s all. Bet he sleeps underneath the ship at night. That’s how his hair stays so blonde, you know, it’s bleached by the sun.”

He earned a partial smile from Paul, who snickered in amusement and then nodded his head. “Maybe.”

“Not much of a king at all,” George remarked, glancing up at the pirate ship. 

“Suppose anybody could be king of anything they wanted to be,” Ringo said thoughtfully. “I think we should just settle for the sandbox.”

“We could play with the shovels and dig a hole, or build a castle,” George said, smiling at the idea.

“We could dig a hole and put Rory in it,” Paul said with a pout in his voice and on his lips, crossing his arms as he gazed up at the ship. Sure enough, Rory was standing at the edge again, and he gave Paul a smile and waved to him. Paul plastered a bright smile on his lips and raised his hand in an enthusiastic wave.

“Oh, cut it out,” George said, grabbing Paul’s hand and tugging it down, already pulling him away from the ship. “Let’s go see if Bob’s here. He’s always fun to hang out with.”

Bob was usually holed up on one of the farther benches, or, when his mother was busy with a book, he’d jump over the fence to the nearby trees and climb up in one and perch himself there. He wasn’t really a fan of the playground, except to make up his own kind of fun. If it was separate from the other kids, and something that involved a little handiwork and creativity, it was something Bob would do. 

“He was over by the obstacle course,” Ringo noted.

Paul scrunched up his nose. “The obstacle course? What was he doing over there?”

“The obstacle course,” Ringo replied, as though confused how Paul couldn’t see the obvious answer. 

George tilted his head curiously, and peered over in the direction that they’d came. Yeah, that was Bob alright, with the curliest hair in the world, standing by the obstacle course. He gave a tug on Paul’s sleeve and then began to walk, standing in as the leader seeing as John had up and left them. He walked them over to the obstacle course, trying to see why Bob would take a sudden interest in the playground at all, when the trees were perfectly fine just over the fence.

“Hi, Bob,” George greeted with a smile, trying to hide his enthusiasm. Bob was cool. Brian would never let them hop over the fence to climb trees. Brian would probably lecture them for a half hour about how dangerous that was, and how easily they could break a bone or wind up hurt without Brian knowing, just like he had the last time George had tried to casually remark how cool it was that Bob could do things like.. You know, go off and climb trees by himself.

George bet that Bob’s mother didn’t lecture him for forty years about safety when it came to being outdoors alone.

“Hey, George,” Bob said with a conversational drawl, looking over at them, seeming a little surprised.

“Since when do you do obstacle courses? Training for the draft?” Paul questioned, glancing back at the pirate ship. He wasn’t quite over their loss, or John’s annoyance with him for it.

“I, uh..” Bob’s gaze flickered a short distance away, but the shift in attention was too quick for George to catch where he’d looked. “No.”

“You know?” Paul spoke curiously.

“Know what?” George asked. After all, anything Bob said, anything Bob knew, was usually pretty interesting.

“No, I uh..” Bob reached up, scratching the back of his neck. “I said no, like, no, I’m not.. Training for the draft, or anything like that.”

“You don’t seem to be doing the obstacle course, anyway,” George noted, a little bit confused. “Are you just trying to think it out, in your head, then? Get it all planned out right so you don’t fail? That’s logical. That’s cool,” George told him, already working out how intriguing such an act was.

“No, man,” Bob said, trying not to laugh, seeming a little flushed all of a sudden.

“Were you watching that time?” came a breathless voice as a girl skipped over, jumping over one of the balance beams, her colorful poncho landing cozily over her figure. 

“No, I missed it,” Bob admitted, glancing at the three boys who were suddenly extraordinarily curious about Bob’s connection to this girl. 

“Missed what?” Ringo asked, wanting to make their presence a little more known without being awkwardly quiet or stiffly introducing themselves. 

“Well,” she said, fixing her bangs, “I was trying to show Bobby how to get on top of the monkey bars, but he can’t seem to figure it out and I think he’s too scared to try.”

George just blinked. Bob, the kid who climbed trees taller than the park like a fish could swim, scared of getting up on top of the monkey bars? 

“Yeah, well..” Bob gave a bashful little laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “Can I get another try?”

She hesitated, and then laughed with him, nodding. “Yes, but you better be watching this time, okay?”

“I will,” Bob promised her, gesturing to the monkey bars. “Don’t fall.”

“If I do,” she told him, reaching out to tap his nose, “Then you’ll just have to catch me!” With that, she turned on her heel in the loose tanbark and took off back to the playset, skipping lightly across the balance beam and jumping up onto the platform.

“You can’t climb the monkey bars?” George asked, a little bit in disbelief.

“Of course I can climb the monkey bars, man,” Bob reassured him.

“So why did you tell her you couldn’t climb the monkey bars?” Ringo asked, tilting his head.

“Cause he thinks she’s pretty and he’d rather have her explain it a billion times so he can have a billion reasons to talk to her,” Paul noted, smiling a little. “That’s cute.”

“I know,” Bob emphasized, crossing his arms and hiding his own little grin.

John, on the other hand, wasn’t having such luck or amusement. He had sat himself down on a bench out of Brian’s sight, arms crossed and back slouched, his attention fixed to the ground. This was downright miserable. What was the point of coming to the park if he couldn’t even do the one thing that he’d wanted to do? 

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you sit on a bench by choice,” came a pleasant tone of voice. It was Mal, one of the people who volunteered every few days to help keep an eye on kids at the park, and make sure none of them were getting up to anything dangerous without supervision. “Something happen?”

“Rory’s got the pirate ship,” John said with irritation, tired of explaining his annoyance to everyone. “Again. He always gets the pirate ship, because he’s the King of The Playground.”

“King of The Playground?” Mal leaned against the fence, thinking this over for a moment before tilting his head. “Since when do kings have pirate ships?”

John glanced over at him, not wanting to come out of his blues just yet. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, aren’t pirate ships for.. You know.. Pirates?” Mal reached out and nudged John’s shoulder. “Now, you know, I’d never encourage any kind of drama, or anything like that. But I think if you could gather up a pirate crew, you might just be able to take that ship from the king.”

The idea dawned on John rather slowly, but then he sat straight up, jumping off the bench, already coming up with a plan. “Thanks, Mal.”

“For what?” Mal asked, his eyes twinkling as he winked.

John grinned, and took off across the park to the bench where Brian was, in the sun, a pair of sunglasses letting him read comfortably from the book he’d taken along. But they weren’t cool sunglasses, like Bob’s. Brian made everything look so.. Gentlemanly. Which, he said, was as ‘cool’ as a man could be. He always sat near to the entrance - this way none of the boys could leave without his knowing, and they’d always know where to find him.

“Can I borrow your book?” John asked him, holding out his hand.

Brian peered over the sunglasses and tilted his head. “Oh! Did you want to look through it? I have another I brought along in case I finished looking through this one, first.” 

John glanced at the title. New York Through The Years. “...Yes.”

“Yes, you’d like to look through it?” Brian pressed gently. He’d never known John to want to read at the park, but he wouldn’t discourage it, so long as he was careful.

“Yes.”

“And you’ll take care of it? I wouldn’t want to get it back torn up from your playing.”

“Yes, I’ll take care of it.”

“Alright.” Brian held it out to him. “Where are the other boys?”

“I’m going to go find them,” John told him, and that part was honest. He took the book, not giving Brian a chance to reply, and bolted in the opposite direction. “Bye-Eppy-We’re-Being-Good!”

Brian smiled, lifting his hand and calling after him, “Well - good!”

John held the book to his chest and raced across the park, finally catching a glimpse of the other boys by the obstacle course. What were they doing there? Did they even care that he came up with a way to solve all their problems? 

“John, you’re back,” Ringo said pleasantly. “We’re learning how to get on top of the monkey bars.”

“Well, forget about that, I’ve got something better,” John said, holding up the book. “I know how we can get the pirate ship.”

George looked at him briefly, his attention dropping to the book. “...Teach him about history and bore him to death?”

“No,” John said, shaking his head. “Paul, don’t you want to hear what I’ve come up with?”

Paul made a little sound in indignation and turned away, crossing his arms.

“What’s gotten into him?” John asked, frowning.

“You were mean to him,” George pointed out. “You said it was his fault that Rory got the ship.”

“Oh.” John frowned, trying to work out a way to fix that. He reached out and poked Paul’s shoulder. Paul didn’t say a word. “Hey Paul, you know your.. Shoes.. Are tied pretty nice today.”

“You don’t mean that,” Paul said dismissively.

“You’re right, I don’t. You spend too much time worrying about that crap.”

“You know, that’s not how I was taught to apologize,” Bob said casually, raising an eyebrow.

John pursed his lips for a moment and then sighed. “Fine. You worry too much about that crap, but… I shouldn’t’ve been mean about it. It wasn’t your fault we didn’t get the ship today. It’s not cause of your shoes or anythin’ like that. Okay? I’m.. sorry.” He half-mumbled the word, not wanting to say it very much at all. 

Paul’s expression lit up, and he spun around, looking at John expectantly. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m not saying it again,” John said, his cheeks heating - see, he didn’t even need the stupid scarf at all, did he? “So you better have heard it the first time.”

“But I didn’t quite hear you,” Paul said in singsong, “And Brian says it’s important to speak up and enunciate, you know, so people understand -”

“Well do you want to go and sit with Brian, or do you want to get the ship?” John countered with a flustered rush. “Hmm?”

“Bob, did you see it that time?” The girl was breathless as she jumped over the balance beam, coming to a stop in front of Bob, who looked kind of like he was looking at a bunch of flowers.

“No, I..” Bob scratched the back of his neck. 

“Gosh, you might need glasses,” she told him with a laugh, fixing her own and then nodding, “Or at least prescription sunglass ones.. So you can still look cool..”

John took a moment of pause, trying to work out what the blurred color was before he recognized it as a girl, with short brown hair and round glasses, and a black leather cap with a red feather on the side. Maybe Brian was right, maybe he should start wearing his glasses more often. 

“Sorry,” Bob told her, and he sounded genuine, “These guys are trying to work out a way to get the pirate ship from Rory’s gang, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She looked over at the four of them, nodding. “Well, do you have a plan?”

John hesitated. “Well, what help is a girl going to be when it comes to pirates?”

“I heard once that there was a girl pirate who fought men with her shirt off,” she told him, a mix of eager to share the information and annoyed at the idea that she wasn’t good enough for his silly game. “And she won.” 

John’s eyes widened at the idea, and the thought that this innocent-looking girl knew things like that.

Bob just gave him a grin as if to say, yeah, man. That’s why I’m at the obstacle course.

“Well, alright,” John said. “We’re going to be pirates, and we’re going to take the ship from the king - that’s what pirates do. Kings don’t need pirate ships.”

“Well don’t you want to look the part?” As soon as she’d asked this, Paul lit up.

“How d’you mean?” Paul questioned.

“Yeah, it’s too cold to take our shirts off,” Ringo told her.

“Well..” she trailed off, trying not to laugh at Ringo’s comment, and then clasped her hands together. “Your scarves. You could tie them around your heads, you know? Look more like a group of pirates.”

“I could tie mine like an eyepatch,” Ringo said, already slipping off his scarf.

“But Brian said not to take them off,” George pointed out.

“You’re not taking them off, you’re just putting them on differently,” Bob suggested to him, and this seemed to satisfy the concern.

So the scarves came off, and Ringo and George tied theirs on like eyepatches, Ringo covering his left and George covering his right (“and together, we’re one whole seeing pirate - or one blind one”) And Paul and John had tied theirs across their foreheads.

“What about you two, then?” John prodded, glancing between the girl and Bob.

“I’ll be the ship’s doctor,” she told him.

“I’ll be the musician, then,” Bob answered.

“Wait, how come you get to be the musician? That’s a cooler job. I would've been the musician,” she decided immediately, feeling a little disappointed in her lack of claim to a better position.

Bob stood no ground. “I’ll let you be whatever you want, you can be the musician, and I’ll be the doctor,” he said, without a hint of conflict. Whatever she wanted to be, he wouldn’t argue a word, even if she wanted to be the one who threw him overboard.

“Great.” She grinned proudly, and then looked to John. “See, I’ve got colorful stuff for playing music, and Bob’s got normal clothes cause he’s the doctor. It works.”

“If you say so,” John said, and he nodded. “Let’s go get that ship.”

“But you didn’t tell us the plan,” Paul pointed out, shaking his head.

“Just follow my lead,” John told him, turning around and marching his little militia on toward the pirate ship.

“Hey Rory, John and his friends are back again,” Ty called to Rory as he peered over the edge of the ship, seeing them heading over.

Rory gave him a curious look, peeking over the side and tilting his head. 

“Well, this should be fun,” Johnny said as he leaned against the side.

“If by fun, you mean mildly entertaining,” Lu commented.

“D-Don’t.. Be mean,” Rory chastised, smiling slightly. Maybe it would be interesting.

“Hey, King Rory,” John called as he came to a stop in front of the climbing wall that led up to the wooden pirate ship.

Johnny raised an eyebrow and leaned over the side, peering down as the other three boys joined at his side, a mix of amused and curious.

Rory looked over at Johnny, who met his gaze and then cleared his throat, calling down to John, speaking on behalf of the blond boy who didn’t want to stutter his way through the same thought.

“Who seeks an audience with the king?” Johnny spoke, trying to sound authoritative.

Lu snickered. “God, you’re a square.”

Johnny elbowed him immediately, looking down at John expectantly.

“John’s pirate crew, who want their ship,” John said confidently.

“John’s pirate crew and what army?” Ty called over the edge of the ship.

Rory and Johnny gave him a tired kind of look.

“The pirate crew is his army,” Lu told him, shaking his head and giving in to the ridiculousness of the situation, of the younger boys inciting a takeover. “Alright. On what grounds?”

John was so glad they asked. He held up the book, opening it to a random page and pointing at the text. “According to pirate code, a pirate captain can do whatever he has to do in order to get his ship back!”

“Well sorry, kid, that’s against the law,” Lu called down breezily, and Rory tried to stifle a laugh, though really, he was quite impressed with their little charade.

“Well,” John said with a smirk, “You’ll be happy to know that pirates don’t have to follow the king’s law.”

“He’s got a point,” Johnny said, looking to Rory.

Rory just nodded solemnly, leaning his elbows on the edge of the ship and looking down at the group. “That h..he d-does.”

“Well boys - er, pirates - what are you going to do?” Johnny called leisurely, and the four boys on the ship were suddenly a little interested in this game of pirates and kings.

“Take back our ship,” George called to him immediately. 

“Got any weapons?” Ty asked.

“Lots of bullets,” Bob suggested, picking up a handful of tanbark.

“No, that’s too dangerous,” George whispered to him.

“He’s right,” Ringo agreed with a nod.

“Alright,” Bob said, dropping the handful of tanbark and brushing his hands off on his pants. “Invisible bullets. A lot of ‘em.”

“Well we’ve got cannons,” Lu called back thoughtfully. “A ton of those. So we’d just blast you into next week before you could load your guns.”

“Cannons take longer to load than guns,” Bob reasoned.

“Not these,” Johnny told him, “These are quick-loading, high-fire cannons. Very new, the science was only just finished a week ago today. It’s a stunning feat, and a wonderful way for the king to keep trespassers away from the ship.”

Rory was trying to stop himself from laughing, hearing Johnny try to reason about imaginary cannons, but he couldn’t for a second pretend it was anything but hysterical. “H-h..high f-f..fire cannons..”

John held up the book. “Laugh all you want. It’s right in the pirate code.”

The girl glanced between John and the boys on the ship for a minute, and then she strode up to the climbing wall. “I’ve got a pack of fruit snacks and some candy. I’ll trade you for the ship.”

Johnny glanced to his laughing leader, and then snickered, calling back. “The King will consider a trade.”

“Giving up the ship so quick?” Ty asked, trying not to laugh. Rory’s amusement was infectious.

“Candy and fruit snacks, get your priorities in order, man,” Johnny told him.

“First things first, though, come on,” Lu said to Johnny, looking down at the girl. “How much candy are we talking?”

She shifted her poncho, showing a black little bag across her shoulder underneath. “Like.. a lot.”

“Oh, man, she’s got a lot, she says,” Lu said with amusement, glancing to Rory. “Well, what says the king?”

“What says the king?” Johnny prodded, and Ty joined in, the three of them chanting at their blond leader who tried to keep from laughing.

Rory held up his hand, laughing, and then glanced down at her. “K-King.. Says okay,” he told her.

“Pirates win,” Lu called, walking to the edge and carefully jumping down, followed by Johnny.

“King forfeited for some candy and fruit snacks,” Ty said with a grin, jumping down after his friends.

Rory paused to make sure the ship was tidy and they hadn’t left anything behind, nor had anyone else that the other kids could get into danger with. But things seemed in order, so overboard he went.

As soon as the girl had come up to him, Rory just gave her a smile.

“K..Keep it,” he said, genuinely.

“Keep it?” she repeated, blinking. That made no sense. “What about the trade?”

He wanted to tell her that the fun was worth giving up their little hangout spot, but instead he just reached out and straightened her hat, giving her a grin. 

“I think the king says you’re welcome at the new kingdom any time,” Johnny said for him, grinning and offering her a playful wink.

“As long as you bring those fruit snacks and candy,” Lu told her.

Bob walked over, a little envious of how much she seemed to be enjoying their attention. “Hey, you were going to show me how to climb the monkey bars one more time, right?”

“Well,” Johnny said, “We’ve got free time for learning, right?”

She gave a little curtsy with her poncho, and then seemed to change her mind and switch to a deep bow instead. “Well I’d be glad to teach the king and his men.”

“Little traitor,” John called over his shoulder as he started up the climbing wall. 

“Hey, I never pledged my allegiance,” she called back, laughing, “Musicians don’t have to be loyal to anybody.”

Bob thought he’d never met anybody so perfect in his whole life.

“Off to the monkey bars,” Lu called, grinning.

“In the name of the king,” Johnny added, marching ahead.

John climbed up aboard the ship, standing at the wheel and looking out at the rest of the park. Finally. He set the book down carefully, making sure it was in a tidy, safe little location. He’d assured Brian it would be, after all. And maybe he’d even look through it, boring as it was, if he got a moment.

“Well, he’s finally got his ship,” George commented, glancing up.

“Yeah, hasn’t he?” Paul crossed his arms.

John peeked over the edge of the ship curiously at the three boys waiting down below. “Well what are you doing down there?” he called.

“We were going to go play in the sandbox,” Ringo told him.

“No, forget that,” John said, and he patted the edge of the ship, grinning. “Come on up, boys. A captain is nothing without his crew.” xxxxxxx

[beermanoftana]

daddy insecurities [arthur, ariadne, eames]

a repost, originally posted in my former writing blog

ship: arthur x ariadne, slight eames x valeria

warnings: swearing; edited thrice in a span of…a few minutes so mistakes may be present

notes: this is 1 of my 3 inception babies; i was still using a different voice then but nothing else has changed

summary: arthur is jealous. he’s very jealous. eames may not have gotten ariadne, but he sure is getting his children.

Things have been going great for Arthur and Ariadne. In their opinion, they weren’t taking their relationship too fast or too slow. After a year and a half of being engaged they got married. A year later they had Casey Luca Brandon, followed by Spencer Phyllira Brandon after another four years. They moved into a modern Victorian home not too far from the city once they started family planning, but keeping the apartment that they shared for the future—and desperate times.

When Ariadne was pregnant with Casey, she had to stop dream sharing. When Arthur first held Casey in his arms, he knew he wanted to be with his family every step of the way. So they agreed to stop dream sharing until the kids were old enough. As much as they wanted to quit permanently, they missed it too much. For now, they’re your regular but above average-looking family living in Paris.

So on this beautiful summer day, the whole family decided to go out of the house and bask in the ambiance of nature. They took a stroll around the city, had lunch near the Eiffel Tower and went shopping for some new clothes before settling down in a park. Arthur and Ariadne found a great spot under a tree and they laid on the grass as Spencer squealed while running—or waddling—to the playground with Casey holding her left hand and their dog, Coulson, on her other side.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at her,” Arthur tells Ariadne. His jaw is clenched and his fingers are intertwined with his wife’s. “And I think he really wants to play with her.”

“They’re children, Arthur.” Ariadne rolls her eyes and looks at the man beside him. “Stop staring at him at least.” She turns back to the playground to watch her children building a sand castle. “Casey and Coulson are with her. They’ll be her knights in shining armor.”

And just as she says that he jerks forward a little. “Did you see that?”

Ariadne raises an eyebrow. “See what?’

"She looked at him.” His eyes dart to the boy on the other side of the playground. “Spencer saw that boy.”

“Arthur…”

“How’d she even know that he exists? He’s been behind her all this time!”

“Maybe she just happened to look that way. She’s two-years-old, Arthur. He looks just about her age or a little older. There’s nothing wrong with that. Calm down!”

Frowning, he rubs the bridge of his nose then sighs and leans down to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “Am I overreacting?”

“Yes. It’s very un-Arthur-like. Imagine if Eames was here.” She chuckles a little. “But I won’t be surprised if he suddenly does talk about it without even being here. He knows everything, it’s actually kind of scary. And really, who wouldn’t be weak when it comes to Spencer? Look at her!” She raises her free arm to gesture towards the little girl and boy a few feet away. “Look at them!”

Arthur looks over at his children. Both of them have more of Ariadne’s facial features. They both have brown locks and chocolate brown eyes. Spencer also acquired Ariadne’s natural waves while Casey’s hair is a little more straight. They even have some freckles on their nose. Arthur’s glad that they have Ariadne’s smile, it lights up his world when he sees all three. However, the way their eyes crinkle when they smile, their adorable dimples, thin lips and height come from Arthur. Unfortunately, they both have his ears, too. Ariadne and the kids love it but he doesn’t. Arthur’s very conscious about his ears.

Casey, who had just turned six, is starting the first grade in two months. He’s got both Ariadne’s creative brain and Arthur’s skills (or at least, starting to show signs of it). He loves building and sketching, and Ariadne’s excited to teach him a few tricks once he’s older. He also loves to dress up in Arthur’s suits. During his most recent birthday, Uncle Saito gave him his own suits, a custom made Armani, a three-piece Tom Ford, and the latest Gucci. And yes, they can imagine how Saito can get his hands on smaller sizes. There was a note attached to the gifts, ‘I see that he has Arthur’s taste. When he is older, I shall send the rest.’ And Saito always keeps his word.

Spencer, on the other hand, spends way too much time, in her two years of living, with Eames. He unexpectedly shows up in their house and brings the little girl out without their permission. The first few times he did that both the Point Man and the Architect panicked, fortunately, they’re rational thinkers (and Arthur has spent way too much time of his own life with the Forger). But the little girl loves Eames and is already starting to show signs of becoming a prankster.

“Add a little color to your life, darling,” he would say. And Eames adores the little girl. Always calling her princess and buying her unnecessary gifts. Whenever Arthur or Ariadne would scold him about spoiling the girl, he’d reply, “And you don’t? She’s got us all wrapped around her tiny finger.”

During dates with the Cobbs, Phillipa, now a high school graduate, and James, an incoming high school student, loves playing with them. Dom likes to think that it’s a second shot of being a parent. Saito constantly showers them with expensive gifts (and even promising on granting them a scholarship to whichever university they’d choose). Yusuf also shows his love for the kids by sending them trinkets from his trips around the world for conferences.

“You’re not going to lose her, Arthur,” Ariadne assures, “especially not at this age. And even if she does end up having a silly crush—”

“She’s too young for that,” he interrupts, which earns him a glare from the brunette beside him.

“She will never choose them over you.”

Arthur grumbles, “She chooses Eames over me all the time.”

“You know she loves you both equally,” she reminds him.

Arthur sighs and nods. When he looks up again, his eyes narrow. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“Arthur!”

“It’s Eames! He’s trying to take her away again!”

Ariadne looks at where the children are, and, sure enough, the English man is by the sandbox, holding the little girl by the waist, and talking to the six-year-old boy. Coulson is wagging his tail and sniffing the man with glee. “He’s not going to take her away in front of Casey, and this is one of her favorite spots, he knows that.”

Eames looks up and gives them a grin and a wave. Ariadne does the same while Arthur simply raises his hand in acknowledgement. He whispers to the little girl and then says something to the boy the Brandons can’t decipher. The brunettes nod happily before turning to their parents and giving them a wave with smiles on their faces. Ariadne giggles and, again, waves at them with a huge smile on her face. The scene of his children warms Arthur’s heart and immediately, he smiles, his eye crinkling and his dimples showing, and waves back at them.

“Maybe I won’t kill Eames today.”

“Your daughter would be heartbroken.”

Arthur nods. As he watches his children play with one of their godfathers the boy he had been fussing about earlier is walking towards the sandbox. “Ariadne?”

“Don’t stress, Arthur. He’s simply looking for a playmate, and besides, Eames is there. Doesn’t that relax you a little?”

“I suppose.”

“He’s pretty much their second father.”

“He’s just a suspicious boy.”

“Arthur, he’s probably only three.”

“Exactly, at that age, girls and boys don’t know that they can feel attraction!”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “That boy probably thinks Spencer is a pretty little girl who seems to be having fun and who just might want to play. He just wants to be friends with Spencer! There’s nothing wrong with that. Stop being such a jealous father and let your daughter have some fun.”

“I’m not jealous,” Arthur snorts.

After a few minutes, the two see Eames kiss Spencer’s temple, stand and make his way towards them. “Darling,” he starts, “I can hear the two of you bicker over nonsense all the way over there.” He uses his thumb to point at the place he’d recently been in.

“Arthur’s just jealous,” Ariadne says.

“You should be, your children seem to like me more than you.”

Arthur glares. “Aren’t you due back to visit Valeria in Germany?”

“Val knows it’s hard for me to leave our godchildren. Do you want to get rid of me that easily?”

“Always.”

Eames chuckles. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“They’re not.”

“Arthur’s just jealous that Spencer will start to replace him soon,” Ariadne supplies.

“He already has been replaced, ever since I showed up in the hospital when she was born. Even your own dog likes me better than him.”

Ariadne fails to suppress a soft laugh. “Not helping, Eames.”

“The only time I’ve seen this bloke get jealous was with you, love. It’s very amusing to see him all worked up over,” Eames looks behind him, “a three-year old boy,” he continues when he turns back. “You can probably take him down with a single move. He doesn’t seem to have much experience with hand-to-hand combat.”

“What’s his name?” Arthur asks.

“Are you going to check his records with your phone, darling?”

“No, his family’s. And not now, when we get back home. What’s his name, Eames?”

Ariadne rolls her eyes and Eames just shrugs. “Christopher.”

“Christopher what?”

“Robin.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Eames.”

After roaring with laughter, Eames says, “I’m surprised you know who that is.”

Ariadne laughs. “Having two children does that to him.”

A small smile escapes the dark haired man’s lips. “Give me his name, Eames.”

“All right, all right. It’s Christopher Mann, and that’s with a double 'n’. He’s a sweet child, really. I’d hate for you to find something in his record.”

“I just want to make sure that when this boy tells his family or anyone about playing with a little girl named Spencer and her brother named Casey with a dog named Coulson, I have nothing to worry about,” Arthur tells him. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Both Ariadne and Eames look at each other and sigh.

Arthur squeezes his wife’s hand. “I just want this family to be safe.”

Ariadne smiles. “I know.”

The three adults watch the three children play. Arthur hates to admit it but Spencer is enjoying the company of the new boy. “Where’s his family?” he wonders aloud.

“Over there,” Eames points at an older couple on the other side. They seem to be having a heated argument. “Christopher doesn’t like hearing them talk loudly. It makes him sad. Poor boy. His older brother is away in college so he’s very much alone at home.”

That breaks Arthur’s heart and he’s suddenly really happy that the children are getting along really well. He can’t imagine either Casey or Spencer being alone while he and Ariadne fight. Hell, he can’t even imagine him and Ariadne fighting when the children are within reach. Sure, they’ve had their share of arguments and cold shoulders when the kids are around, but they’d always make sure to keep their emotions in check until they’re alone.

The boy, Christopher, also seems to be having fun playing with Coulson. The dog sniffs the little boy before licking his face. “Even Coulson likes him,” Ariadne says with a little laugh. “It’s really just you, Arthur.”

About an hour later, Christopher’s mother calls him. “Chris! It’s time to go now, honey.” Arthur sees the boy frown. Christopher stands and pets Coulson one more time before waving at the two children he had recently befriended. Once he’s left, Spencer pouts and gives an exaggerated sigh. Casey pats her shoulder and tries to cheer her up, which seems to have worked.

“My princess is sad,” Eames observes, “it’s time to bring her to the ice cream parlour.”

“You’re really showing favoritism, aren’t you?” Ariadne says with a small smile.

“I do not, love. I also spoiled Casey when he was younger. But I suppose I have a softer heart for little girls.” He shrugs. “Hey, Arthur, would you rather teach Casey or Spencer?”

“Teach what?”

Eames groans. “Fighting, of course! We’re going to teach those children to defend themselves! They are definitely not going to be bullies—”

“Unless they hang out with you too much,” Arthur mutters.

“—so they will be bullied. We need to make sure that they’re feared!”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “Eames…”

“Love, we cannot allow those two precious children be looked down upon.”

Arthur gives a little nod. “There’s no need for us to personally teach them unless we think that they need more. Ari and I have been talking about it; we’re planning on letting them take self-defense lessons. Casey would probably start soon and we’ll wait until Spencer is his age.”

Grinning, Eames says, “Perfect. I’ll be there in the waiting area.”

Ariadne smiles and Arthur can’t hide the smirk on his face.

When Arthur notes that the sun would be setting soon, Ariadne suggests that they head home. After getting some ice cream from the store they arrive in their grayish-white house and Eames mentions to them that he has nothing better to do and there’s nothing more he loves than spending time with the Brandon children. “You and Ariadne can have some grown-up time, yeah?”

“We don’t do grown-up time when the kids are at home,” Arthur mumbles. “Just don’t kidnap our children and you can stay for an hour.”

“You can stay for as long as you want, Eames,” Ariadne says as she helps Casey with a new shirt. “We’re having pasta for dinner.”

“Eames does love pasta,” the Forger tells them, licking his lips. He picks up Spencer just as she says, “Me!” Eames chuckles. “Everyone loves your mother’s pasta, princess. You should try Uncle Eames brownies.”

“Oh, dear God, no,” Arthur groans.

“Don’t you have some researching to do, darling?” Eames jokes.

“I just have to make sure that you’re not going to make a run for it.” Arthur shakes his head and heads for his study. “Come, Coulson.” And the dog happily follows him inside.

“Your daddy is a strange man, princess.”

Spencer grins. “Daddy!”

Less than an hour later, Arthur emerges from his study and walks back to the living room. On the way, he passes by his wife preparing the ingredients for dinner. He smiles and kisses her cheek before heading to his destination. He spots Casey on the floor with his building blocks and Spencer still on Eames’s lap. Coulson sits obediently beside Casey.

“You’re still here,” Arthur deadpans.

“Your wife said I can stay as long as I want. And I’ll be staying until dessert. Or at least until this little princess’s bedtime.”

“Tuck! Tuck!” Spencer claps.

“Tuck me in, too, Uncle Eames!” Casey joins.

Eames grins. “Of course, of course. I will gladly tuck you two in. Perhaps you’d even want a story of one of my adventures?”

Casey nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I love your stories, Uncle Eames!”

“Love Unca Ease!” Spencer squeals.

“Aww,” Eames tickles her stomach, “Uncle Eames loves you, too, princess.”

Arthur smiles at the scene. As much as he despises Eames—okay, he really doesn’t, at all, he loves the man as much as he loves his brother, Edward Brandon—he loves that Eames loves Casey and Spencer enough for them to be his own children. He hears Casey play with his toys and he’s a little jealous of the attention that Eames is getting from Spencer. “Casey,” he calls.

Casey looks up and grins. Arthur has his legs open and arms outstretched. The little boy walks to his father and Arthur carries him to his lap. He stretches towards the dog who was sitting beside him. “Come, Coulson,” he says.

Coulson wags his tail and trots over them. Casey pats his head and then turns to his father. “Daddy, I think Coulson is lonely.”

“He can’t be lonely, he has you.” Arthur smiles, already knowing where the conversation is heading.

“I think he needs a friend.” Casey smiles.

Arthur shrugs. “He has a brother and a sister.”

“Daddy, you’re being silly!” Casey giggles. “I think we should get another dog.”

“Another dog?” Arthur feigns surprise. “Now where did you get that idea?”

Casey shrugs exaggeratedly. “Can we, Daddy?

Arthur smiles. "Your mother and I would have to talk about it first, okay?” Although he’s very sure of what the answer will be. “But we may not get one exactly like Coulson, he’s one of a kind!” Coulson wags his tail and sniffs Arthur’s knee. “Yes you are, Coulson,” he murmurs, fondly remembering the time he first entered his and Ariadne’s lives.

“That’s okay,” Casey nods, “I just think he needs a friend.”

Arthur kisses his temple. “We’ll see, big guy. We’ll see.”

After dinner and dessert, the family, plus Eames, is sitting around the living room watching an old, classical film that stars Audrey Hepburn. While the adults are engrossed in the film, Casey and Spencer play with the dog on the floor.

“It su—it’s sad that she’s only known for her acting skills and beauty,” Ariadne sighs, “she’s an amazing person. So much more than what people say about her.”

“Well, that’s Hollywood,” Eames says with a shrug. “And as an actor I can definitely say that some people are only judged by our faces. Some people, as beautiful or as handsome as they are, cannot act to save their lives! And yet, people still praise them. It’s more of a popularity contest. While some people, more average looking ones, who can act wonderfully, cannot shine due to being overshadowed.”

“It’s hard to tell who you are in that argument,” Arthur sneers.

“Oh, darling, you wound me so deeply. I’m neither and you know that.”

Ariadne giggles softly before placing her head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go to bed early? Like, right after this movie ends.”

“If that’s your way of shooing me out, love, it’s not working,” Eames says with a wicked grin.

Arthur groans. “You’re not planning on spending the night, are you?”

“Well, now that you’ve revealed to me your master plan, someone’s got to keep the children together, right?”

Ariadne smiles. “Well, someone’s got to wash and tuck the children to sleep.”

Arthur shifts. “Really?” But the grin on his face cannot be stopped.

Eames laughs, causing the children to look at him with smiles on their faces. “What’s so funny, Uncle Eames?”

“Oh, just a grown-up joke, Little Man. We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Okay,” Casey nods. Casey’s memory is better than most, he’d remember this moment, and Eames knows it. “Are you tired, Spencer?”

Arthur and Ariadne smiles and squeeze in together. But just as they’re getting cozy, Spencer appears, waddling with a grin that showed off her few baby teeth. “Daddy!” Arthur smiles brightly and doesn’t think twice about carrying her and putting her in between him and Ariadne. “Mommy!” she squeals.

Ariadne plays with her daughter’s hair before kissing the top of her head. “Not tired yet, sweetie?”

“Na!” She grins. “Pay!”

“It’s almost your bedtime, you can’t play anymore. Once this movie’s done, Uncle Eames will be washing you and Casey and then tuck you to sleep.”

“No sip!” she protests.

“Yes sleep,” Arthur tells her. “If you sleep earlier, there’s more time for you to play tomorrow.”

Spencer pouts. “Unca Ease towo?”

“If you wake up early enough then I might still be here,” Eames tells her. The tone that Eames used makes Spencer squeal in delight. “Sleep?”

“Sip!”

Arthur peaks over to see Casey resting his head on Coulson’s curled body. “How are you doing, big guy?”

“Coulson’s tired and I’m tired.”

“I suppose that means you had a great day today?” Ariadne asks.

Casey looks at them. “I did! What about you, Spencer?” His little sister raises her arms and squeals. “I think she also had a great day,” he replies, making the three adults laugh.

Later that night, with Spencer and Casey soundly asleep in their respective rooms, Eames in the guest bedroom, and Coulson back in his doghouse, Arthur and Ariadne lay quietly on their bed. Ariadne’s resting her head on Arthur’s chest while he has his arms wrapped around her.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be jealous of a little boy, Arthur,” Ariadne says.

He chuckles. “I know.”

“And you shouldn’t be jealous of Eames, either.”

He sighs. “Eames is a challenge. He’s amazing with everyone, it’s hard not to like him.”

Ariadne smiles. No matter how many times Arthur has admitted to caring about Eames, she still catches herself thinking about the two being best friends. “You’re not just Spencer’s father, but her dad. Eames is…well, he’s Eames. We already knew that our children would love him.”

“Eames is a great dad without having to be a father.”

“He’s scared. Valeria told him about the pregnancy scare, he was so relieved. She was hurt but she understood. He isn’t ready yet. Maybe he loves the two because he also wants to start a family, he’s just not sure how.”

Arthur sighs and holds her tighter. “He’s weird.”

Ariadne laughs and snuggles closer. That’s when they hear a bark and a scream. Arthur quickly puts on a pair of boxer shorts and Ariadne scrambles to find her robe. The Point Man is out their room quicker than the Architect.

“Coulson!?”

Ariadne gently pushes Arthur to the side to see what’s happening. Coulson is running around with Casey right beside him. Eames is at the end of the hall with Spencer on his shoulders.

“Eames!”

The fun stops and they turn around to look at Arthur. “Darling, you’re in front of minors. And they’re your children.”

“My children shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

“Casey couldn’t sleep. He knocked on my door about an hour or two after I tucked him into bed. He said he wanted to be in one of my adventures. We couldn’t have fun without Spencer and Coulson. So,” he shrugs. “Oh, love, you look…hm, I can’t really say it in front of the children.” Eames winks.

Ariadne wraps the robe she’s wearing tighter around her and hides behind Arthur, a faint blush appearing in her cheeks. “It’s way past the kids’ bedtime.”

“Pay!” Spencer squeals, clapping her hands.

“No, no,” Ariadne shakes her head, stepping away from Arthur and moving towards Eames, “Spencer, it’s time to sleep.”

“No sip!” Spencer argues, but her arms are outstretched. “Mommy pay!”

“It’s late now, honey,” Ariadne tells her. Eames brings the little girl down from his shoulders and gives her to Ariadne. “You have to go to sleep.” With Spencer at her hip, she looks over at Arthur who’s trying to get Casey to bed. “Arthur, I can take care of the kids and you’re in charge of Coulson and Eames.”

Arthur groans. Coulson stops wagging his tail and sits. “Oh, no, not you, Coulson.” Eames laughs out loud. “Eames, you’re banned from this house at night.”

“Stop being jealous of me, darling,” Eames teases.

tagging: @angel-cap

[undiscoveredstory]

Howdy kiddos! Well, it’s sure been a while since I posted a lil fic here, but the time has finally come again! This one goes out to @schuylergirls! Happy, happy birthday, kiddo! I hope it’s been fantastic :) 

The prompt was what happens to Martha in Heathers with the note from Ram, but with Eliza. This is inspired by that, but I changed a few things... Even the Angst Queen can’t be as dark as Heathers. “Read more” after the first few paragraphs just because this is so long. 

Enjoy, and happy birthday, kiddo!!! <333

Eliza Schuyler was on cloud nine. She could not believe that Alexander Hamilton–– the Alexander Hamilton–– had actually written her a love note.

It was weird how it’d all happened, really. Kitty Livingston, Eliza’s cousin, had tracked her down in the hallway between second and third period to thrust the note in her hands. At first, Eliza thought something was wrong because Kitty looked distraught, but Kitty raced off before Eliza could question it. Eliza didn’t have time to race after her cousin, and, besides, her cousin had been spending more and more time around the popular girls lately. Eliza was surprised Kitty had risked being in her presence long enough to give her the note.

Without questioning it further, Eliza dashed off to class, sliding into her seat, practically letting her backpack slam against the floor so she could open the note before the teacher walked in. She unfolded the loose leaf page to reveal a spidery script written in black gel pen:

Dear Eliza,

I've been thinking about you. I miss the simpler times when we were still friends. I'd like you to come to my homecoming party this weekend.

Love, Ham

Eliza had to reread the letter two more times before it hit her: Alexander Hamilton, the boy who had kissed her in kindergarten, still had feelings for her. Alexander Hamilton, the boy she’d had a crush on for the past eleven years, had a crush on her.

Eliza could not believe it. She could not believe it.

She could barely focus for the rest of her classes. All she could think about was lunch period, when she would see Alexander sitting with his friends. Normally, she sat with her sisters and their friends, far away from Alexander, but today–– today things would change.

The morning slowly passed. Eliza swore she could feel each tick of the second hand in the pit of her stomach. When lunch time finally came, she waltzed into the cafeteria with more confidence than she had possessed in the past two and a half years of high school. Angelica noticed the change in her sister right away.

“Someone’s happy today! You do well on that math test?”

Eliza shook her head. “No–– I mean, yeah, I did, but that’s not why I’m so…” she giggled.

“Giddy?” Angelica supplied, an amused eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah,” Eliza said with another laugh. She held the note out to Angelica.

Angelica read it, her brow furrowing in what looked like concern. “Where’d this come from?” she asked, her voice unusually strained.

“Kitty gave it to me!” Eliza said, beaming.

“Um, Eliza, you know Kitty’s been––”

“She’s our cousin, Angelica.” Eliza wasn’t sure what Angelica was going to say, and she didn’t want to know. She dismissed her older sister’s concern with the wave of her hand. “I’m going to go talk to him now.”

Just as Eliza was about to leave, Peggy joined the table.

“What’s up?” Peggy asked. She studied Eliza, her face breaking out into a grin. “Why do you look so––”

“Giddy,” Angelica said flatly.

Eliza passed Peggy the note. Peggy started jumping up and down as she read.

“Oh my gosh! ELIZA! Alexander Hamilton likes you!”

“I know!” Eliza said, jumping up and down with her sister. She glared at Angelica. “I’m glad at least you’re happy for me.”

Peggy smirked as she took in Angelica’s look of disapproval. “She’s just jealous.”

“Am not!” Angelica said.

“Okay, I’m really going now,” Eliza said. She pushed her shoulders back and flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. She wanted to appear confident. She felt like Alexander would like a girl with confidence.

Across the cafeteria sat Alexander with his friends, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Lafayette. They were laughing over something Alexander had said. John was laughing so hard that milk spurted from his nose, which only made the group laugh even harder.

Eliza would normally be far too intimidated to walk within a ten foot radius of their table, but the note had emboldened her. Alexander wanted her to talk to him.

She was almost there, she was so close––

Someone grabbed her arm. She spun around to see Kitty.

“Oh, hey, Kitty,” she said. “Did you know what the note was about? It turns out that Alex––”

“I didn’t read it, nope,” Kitty said, a nervous tinge to her voice. “Uh, but, uh, I need your advice on something. It’s important.”

Eliza studied her cousin for a moment. Even before Kitty had fallen in with the popular crowd, she’d never exactly asked Eliza for advice. Angelica was typically the advice-giver.

“Oh, uh, sure. What’s up?” Eliza asked.

Kitty led her away from Alexander, back toward the table the Schuyler sisters normally occupied. She sat Eliza down and began talking about how her mom was all up in her business lately and she just didn’t know what to do and…

Eliza sighed. She had really wanted to talk to Alexander, but she didn’t want to be a bad cousin. So she sat there and listened to Kitty babble on and gave some half-hearted advice. She would just have to wait until later that night.

She would just have to wait until Alexander’s homecoming party.

***

“Eliza, are you sure about this?” Angelica asked, anxiety obvious in her voice.

Eliza rolled her eyes as she held up different necklaces in the mirror. “Yes, mom.” She selected the gold necklace with a blue pendant on it. It went perfectly with her navy blue dress. “Stop worrying so much. I don’t know what there is to worry about!”

Angelica was silent for a beat too long. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“What if Kitty… Is tricking you?”

Eliza gasped. “Angie! How could you even think Kitty would do something like that?”

Angie looked down and shrugged. “She’s just been… She’s been hanging out with the wrong crowd. I’m worried they’ve influenced her.”

“She hung out with us for all of lunch today,” Eliza pointed out. “She rarely even did that before, so maybe she’s seeing through them and knows where the true friendship is at?”

Angelica shrugged again. “Yeah, maybe,” she said with a sigh.

Eliza could tell her sister still wasn’t convinced, but she tried not to let it bother her. Maybe Peggy was right, and Angelica was jealous. The thought of Angelica being jealous of her was new to Eliza. All her life, she’d admired and envied Angelica. Was this what it felt like to be the person someone else envied?

Eliza wasn’t sure she liked the feeling. She would much rather Angelica just be happy for her, like Peggy was.

Peggy popped out of the closet, where she’d been going through the girls’ collection of purses. Between the three of them, they had at least twenty.

“I think I found the perfect one!” She held out a gold clutch to Eliza. It matched her necklace perfectly. Peggy was good at making small details come together like that.

“I love it!” Eliza exclaimed. She stared at herself in the mirror.

Behind her, off to one side, Peggy’s face came into view. She beamed at Eliza. Angelica rested her chin on Eliza’s other shoulder. She looked skeptical, but her scowl lightened up a bit when she took in Eliza’s outfit and the smile on her face.

“You look beautiful, Eliza,” Angelica said. “Are you sure you don’t want me or Pegs to go with you?”

“Nah, I’m good! But thanks.” She hugged both her sisters. “Kitty will be there, but I bet once I get to Alexander we’ll have a lot to catch up on…”

Eliza and Alexander had been such good friends when they were five. Of course, everything is easier when you’re five. All they had to have in common back then was the fact that they both liked to play with Hot Wheels and enjoyed building sand castles in the sandbox on the playground.

Eliza knew Alexander liked to write, and that he was a talented debtor, but everyone knew this. He was a journalist for the school newspaper and he had won awards for his debating skills. He probably knew nothing about her. She mostly kept to herself and her sisters.

All the more to talk about, she thought with a smile.

Eliza waltzed down the stairs and into the living room where her parents sat, the younger kids playing with Legos on the floor.

“Well, look at you!” her father declared.

“You look beautiful, sweetie.”

“You ready to go?” Her father stood up.

Eliza wished she didn’t have to rely on her parents to drive her, but she hadn’t exactly wanted to ask Angelica, who she knew disapproved of her going to the party in the first place––

“Actually, I’ll take her.” Angelica stood in the doorway, car keys twirling around her pointer finger.

Eliza wanted to squeal and hug Angelica. Being driven by your cool older sister was infinitely better than being driven by your loving but awkward father.

Philip sank back down into his armchair. “Perfect. You girls have fun!”

“Thanks, Angie,” Eliza whispered as they headed out the door.

“Don’t mention it,” she said. She was clearly trying to be light, but she was failing. Angelica seemed like she was on the lookout for a predator. Like she was just waiting for something catastrophic to happen.

The drive to Alexander’s house was silent, save for the rock music playing on the radio. When they pulled up in front of the house, Eliza couldn’t help but gasp. It wasn’t like Eliza’s family didn’t have money–– they were very wealthy. But Alexander was a level above her.

Alexander was the adoptive son of George and Martha Washington. George was a US senator, and Martha also held some important position in a government agency. What, exactly, she did, Eliza wasn’t sure. Either way, the Washingtons were loaded, and it showed. Their house was huge. They owned land as far as the eye could see. It would be intimidating if there wasn’t bad pop music blasting from somewhere in the dark, and a bunch of high school students gathered on the porch.

“You sure you’re good?” Angelica asked. “I’ll come in if you want…”

Eliza did want her sister to come with her now that she saw how big the party was. But she didn’t want to appear weak. It was weird, she’d never worried about that with her sisters before. But she felt like she had something to prove, and she was going to prove it.

“I’m good,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster up.

“Okay, well, give a call when you’re ready to be picked up.”

Eliza nodded and hopped out of the car. She waved to Angie as she slowly pulled away, exiting the Washingtons’ circular driveway.

Eliza turned to face the Washingtons’ home. She squared her soldiers and marched forward, her flats crunching against the gravel of the driveway. As she approached the porch, she realized it was Kitty who was out there with her popular friends.

A look of horror passed over Kitty’s face when their eyes met. Eliza couldn’t help but feel offended–– how could Kitty spend all of lunch with them, then be disgusted by Eliza’s face just a few hours later?

“Wow, she came,” one of Kitty’s friends snickered.

Before Eliza could comprehend what that meant, Kitty stepped forward.

“Eliza, wow, you came.” Kitty looked paler than usual, which was saying a lot, since Kitty came from the white side of the family and normally looked quite pale.

“Yeah!” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m here to see Alexander. He invited me.”

“Oh… Did he?” Kitty said, her voice quivering.

“Are you looking for our lovely host?” one of Kitty’s friends asked. “He’s in there.” She pointed to the front door.

“Okay, thanks,” Eliza said. “See you in a bit, Kitty!”

“See you, Eliza…”

Eliza pushed the heavy red door open and the music became louder. It didn’t seem to be in English, but in French. The Washingtons’ other adoptive son, Lafayette, was French, so Eliza figured that he was the deejay currently.

She looked around the dimly lit hallway. Girls laughed too loudly at boys’ jokes. One couple was making out against the wall, nearly knocking a portrait that hung there off the wall. Then she heard his laugh. She heard Alexander Hamilton’s laugh.

She turned, and there he was, talking to John Laurens, who was clutching a can of soda and laughing too hard at Alexander’s jokes.

I’ll just say hello…

Eliza crossed the floor until she was standing in front of the two boys.

Alexander looked surprised to see her. “Eliza,” he said.

Her name had never sounded so beautiful.

“I wasn’t going to come, but then I got your sweet note, and I just had to.” She smiled at Alexander.

“What? I didn’t write you a note…”

“What?” Eliza felt something shatter inside of her. She wanted to run, but she was cemented in place.

“Why would he write you a note?” One of the popular girls Kitty was friends with said from behind Eliza. “You’re a nobody!”

Eliza wanted to melt into a puddle. She wanted to seep through the floorboards. She wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Eliza––” Alexander said, reaching out to grab her arm, but Eliza flinched away.

Before she knew what was happening, she’d raced out of the house and down the Washingtons’ driveway. She’d also pulled out her phone and speed dialed Angie on the way.

“Hello?”

“Come get me. Please.”

“Eliza? You just got there––”

“Angie, please,” she said with a sob. “You were right. You were right.”

“Oh, Eliza. I’m coming right now. Stay where you are.” Angie hung up.

Eliza wrapped her arms around her torso, suddenly so cold. She prayed the darkness of night obscured her from the view of anyone still on the porch.

Suddenly, there was the sound of someone running across the gravel. The sound stopped behind her.

“Eliza?”

Alexander.

“Eliza, I’m so sorry.”

Alexander appeared in front of her. He looked distraught, and quite disheveled. She loved his disheveled brown hair. He usually wore it in a ponytail or bun, but tonight it was down and messed up from running. It was adorable.

“I didn’t know,” he said quickly. “I had no idea those girls had… Been so cruel.”

Eliza looked down at her flats and pushed around a piece of gravel with the toe of her shoe. “It’s fine. It was stupid, anyway. I don’t know why I believed it.”

“Kitty told me what it said. She said the other girls had put her up to it.”

Kitty did it. She really betrayed me like this.

“Let’s just forget it.” Eliza waved a hand dismissively and went to turn away from Alexander, but his hand landed on her shoulder, freezing her in place.

“I may not have written it, but the sentiment is true.”

Eliza was really frozen now.

“I do miss us being friends. And I’m really happy you came tonight. I don’t want you to go.”

Eliza had no idea what to say, so the first thing she thought of just tumbled out of her mouth. “I already called my sister.”

“Angelica?”

Eliza turned to face Alexander again, his hand falling away from her shoulder in the process. She missed the contact already.

“Yeah.”

“Well, tell her she can stay. I’d love to hang out with you both.” The smile on his face seemed genuine…

Before Eliza could respond, a car pulled up beside her. Angie rolled down the window.

“Leave my sister alone, Hamilton,” she practically growled.  

The back window rolled down and Peggy’s face appeared. “Yeah, or you’ll face our wrath!”

“It’s all be a huge misunderstanding,” Alexander said, holding his hands up. “I was just telling Eliza I really want her to stay, and that I would love it if both of you could stay, as well.”

Angie and Peggy turned to Eliza. They were going to let her make the decision.

Eliza shrugged. “Why not?”

Alexander pumped his fist in the air. “Sweet! Come on in, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

Eliza smiled. “Okay,” she said softly.

Angie parked the car. She and Peggy walked on either side of Eliza as they headed back toward the house. Eliza felt like she had her own security detail.

“Oh, and Kitty and those girls are gone,” Alexander said. “I kicked ‘em out.”

“But they’re popular!” Peggy said, her eyes wide.

Alexander shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, but they messed with one of my friends.” He looked directly at Eliza. “Nobody does that.”

Eliza couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face. Maybe the night wasn’t ruined, after all…  

[mukayimotoyslimited]

What Is MUKAYIMOTOYS All About?

Remember how fun it was to play outside?

If you do, consider yourself lucky. Those of us that are old enough to have grown up in a time where playing outside was the norm are likely, the last generation that did reap the rewards and did not have to make much effort to do so. Nowadays, it's a different story.

Today, the screen of tech gadgets with flashy apps running does give kids thousands of reasons to sit in and remain hours playing still. Due to the fact that, as pediatric research repeatedly asserts, playing outside is about much more than toys and games.

By sitting still and staring at a screen, kids are likely to miss out on the range of benefits playing outside has in store for them. But not if MUKAYIMOTOYS has something to say about it.

MUKAYIMOTOYS, Bringing Children Back to Nature

More than just a toy brand. To us, what sets MUKAYIMOTOYS apart to is our message. We want to give the children a reason to get back outside to explore and learn from the world that surrounds them while having a great time.

In times past, there was no need for parents nor kids to make any effort to go outside. Yet, electronic screens now offer them infinite distractions that rarely involve going out. At MUKAYIMOTOYS, we don't want kids missing out on all the fun we had being outside!

That is why we offer our curated line of toys that are perfect for them to take out with them and have fun coming up with imaginative ways to play with them in the outside environment. Better yet, if they can invite some friends!

But Why Does MUKAYIMOTOYS Want Kids Outside?

If you are a parent, we are willing to bet that some of your best childhood memories involved having fun experiences while playing outside. It was there where it was at back then!

Monkey bars in the park, building castles in the sandbox, running around with our toys in our hands, making it seems they flew. Countless priceless experiences which, besides giving us a good time, taught us much even though it was not immediately obvious.

According to research done by pediatric experts, while children play, they learn a lot about themselves, their environment, and, in case they are playing together with other children, each other.

Another example of what outside playing can teach is imaginative play. The variety of terrains children can encounter when they are playing outside can add new possibilities to how they play with their toys. One truck toy suddenly becomes a dump truck to carry sand at the sandbox, for example.

It is this kind of imaginative play situation that stimulates the development of analytical, critical, and creative thinking in children. Something they could surely use while growing up in the world of today. And what better way to develop that than while having fun outside?

What About When There Are No Toys to Play with? Enter MUKAYIMOTOYS's Donations

The fact that we are set on getting children back to nature through toys also made us keenly aware that there are children born in environments where getting their hands on toys is not a priority.

Children growing up in less fortunate circumstances are still developing children all the same. Thus, it is not fair for them to miss out on the benefits playing with toys has on their cognitive development.

For this reason, MUKAYIMOTOYS decided to lend a hand to them. As of July 2021, through our initiative 'Caring for Thai Children,' we make that, for every toy sold, a percentage of the money makes its way to a charity fund that will put toys in the hands of children that have none.

The first subject of our program is one community located far deep in northern Thailand, in the Chang Rei mountainous region. The village rest just on the trilateral border of Thailand, Myanmar, and Laos in a quite remote location. Thus, it's both difficult to reach and lacking in resources and development.

What it does not lack in its children. Young, innocent, and hungry for play and learn. Our team had the opportunity of visiting and discovering this place not so long ago. The memory of those little smiling, little kids full of life that and no toys stuck with us.

And, once the MUKAYIMOTOYS brand was founded, we saw that it was in our power to make right by them and help them get their hands on toys that could help them ultimately grow up as better human beings and give them a good time.

To Summarize MUKAYIMOTOYS in a Nutshell

At MUKAYIMOTOYS, we are staunch believers in that bringing children, whether they have lots of toys or none, back to nature, as in, to encourage them to play outside and giving them the tools to do so it's one of the best way parents can stimulate their positive development early on.

Don't let them sit and stare at screens all day! Let MUKAYIMOTOYS help them not miss out on all the good things playing outside can teach them.

[benbarnesescape]

Lies and Distractions

Billy Russo Prompt Challenge – for @daughter-of-mayhem

Prompt # 39 – “Shut up and kiss me already”

Warnings: None. Cursing at worse. Mentions of sex

A/N: Ok pre-warning this may or may not be sad. I’m done with angsty Billy after this for a while but I really wanted to write about the transition from when Billy leaves Anvil to meeting up with Curtis the next day. Where would he go? What would he be thinking?  promise, promise the next posts will be happier.

You flickered your eyes open, disoriented and confused as you took in your living room surroundings. Netflix was asking if you were still there, wanting to watch another episode of Parks and Rec. A fire truck sped past your building, the red and blue lights lighting up the already dim space and you blinked, trying to figure out the true source of your disorientation. Then you hear the incessant pounding on your door, loud and with purpose and you groan, dragging yourself off the couch. You glance over to your stove clock checking the time and felt fear grip your heart. Who the hell could be knocking on your door at 11 pm on a Tuesday night?

You grab your baseball bat from your closet, nearing the door and looking through the peep hole.

You give a relaxed sigh when you notice Billy Russo standing on the other side, looking around cautiously before he pounds again and you flicker on your hall light as you start to unbolt your locks. When you finally throw the door open he’s standing there, a duffel bag slung over one arm and he pushes past you into your space with no snarky remark or hello.

“Hello to you too.” You mumble, closing the door and relocking the door. You turn to him as he looks out the windows cautiously, in a way that you had seen with lots of the paranoid vets and soldiers when you were holed up in a fighting zone and you know that there’s something wrong. Something that had you gripping your baseball bat just a bit tighter as you lean against the door, trying to debate what to say next.

Billy Russo always had a flair for adding more drama in your life.

“Were you planning on hitting a homerun against my skull with that thing?” he finally says when he’s satisfied with his position, throwing his bag on the ground and walking to your kitchen. He looks through your cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for, walking back out with the old bottle of gin he had gifted you with a few months back.

“Still debating if I should. The fuck is going on Billy?”

Billy uncaps the bottle, grimacing a bit before taking a seat at your kitchen table and taking a large swig. His eyes never leave yours as he drinks and when he puts the bottle down he throws his head back, slumping in the chair.

“Why does alcohol make everything better?” he mumbles. You don’t shift. Don’t make a movement from your spot at the door. He cracks an eye open and looks at you before heaving a deep sigh,

“Still got those old medic skills from back when you served in the sandbox?”

You cross your arms, falling back on the door before asking,

“What makes you think I’m an old army medic?”

He snorts, taking another swig of his drink before answering.

“When you’re a soldier, there’s just something about the way you move. Especially if you’re a good one. Curtis tells me that once a week you go down to his old center, do free medical exams for old vets. Besides, you got your old arm paraphernalia hanging in your bedroom. Won yourself a ribbon for saving a whole lot of soldiers. Your bathroom is littered with medical supplies. I wasn’t that distracted the last time I was over to note notice all those small details.”

You watch him skeptically before wandering over to him, placing your bat back in the closet before doing so.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who wants to know the details of a girl that he casually bangs.”

He smiles, that side grin that always gets your stomach tied up in knots and his left hand reaches out for you, grabbing your own.

“Is that what you think this is?”

“I’m not stupid Billy. You only call when its late, tend to leave before I wake up in the morning. When was the last time we sat and had a conversation? An actual conversation? You’re not looking for commitment and I’m so fucking messed up I’m willing to take what I can get.”

He’s watching you, those dark ebony eyes staring into your own before he whispers,

“I didn’t mean for you to feel used. I just thought that’s how you preferred it. This relationship.”

He grimaces again, shifting his right shoulder and you sit up in your chair, shaking your head.

“Doesn’t matter now does it? You won’t be staying much longer from what I can gather. Guessing you either got shot or stabbed in your right arm.” You nod in the direction of his discomfort and he nods.

“Show me.”

Another complacent nod as he shrugs out of his jacket and you notice the way his t-shirt is soaked with blood. You get up quickly, making a beeline for your linen closet. Grabbing your medical box of supplies and an empty tub before you’re making your way back to him in the dining room.

“Slug still in your arm?”

He shakes his head as he watches you, his dark eyes taking you in as you come alive. This is what you lived for. Missed. Working in an ER couldn’t curb the way it felt to support soldiers when they’re bullets moving past you. You had been promoted to doctor quickly on the field – when you were a basic nurse that had to learn how to perform surgery, patch up wounds and minimize damage when limbs were blown off it became easy. Back in the states, though, you had to go to school to prove your worth. Utter bullshit but you did it because you missed the itch. Just like you knew Billy did, rather he wanted to admit it or not.

“Pulled it out.” He answers, snapping you back to the present

“Was it a clean through and through? Or is there shrapnel I’ll have to dig around for.”

“Clean break.”  

“How long ago?” you ask, cutting his shirt and examining the wound before pouring water on it. He gives a light gasp before muttering out,  

“Thirty minutes max.”

You look at him for a second before your shaking your head.

“You’re an idiot. Whoever shot you figured as much.”

He laughs, taking another drink before asking,

“Can you sew me up? Or am I going to have to endure more insults.”

You smile, digging through your kit for your needle and thread. He was definitely going to need stitches and a proper cleaning which you knew he’d love.

“I can patch you up. You gotta tell me what kinda heat you have on you though. Because if the cops come sniffing for you, its natural they’ll come visit me.”

He gives a deeper sigh, his jaw set as he debates his next move.

“Deal. But only on one condition.”

You snort, shaking your head.

“Shouldn’t I be the one demanding the conditions.” You ask, carefully threading your needle before digging through your box for antiseptic.

“I tell you and in return you give me a –goddamn that burns! No warning?” he throws you a nasty snarl as you press the alcohol filled cotton ball against his skin and you smirk, shaking your head.

“You soldiers – men – are such babies when it comes to basic antiseptic. Pull a bullet out sure. Swipe a wound with alcohol and your all curse words and tears.” You smirk, throwing the bloody gauze on his table. You look up at him and ask,  

“You were saying?”

He looks at you skeptically before saying,

“I was trying to barter for a kiss. Don’t know if it’s worth it or not now.”

You laugh, scooting your chair closer to him.

“Might want to grit your teeth on something. Gonna start stitching you.”

“Can’t be as bad as the way you cleaned me up.” He mutters, taking another drink as your needle pierces his skin. He stiffens, but is still as you silently start to work on the small wound.

“You ever hear the name Frank Castle?” he asks after a minute and you falter a bit on stitch before continuing.

“Isn’t he known as The Punisher in this city?” you finally ask and he smirks, shaking his head.

“Yea. I guess that is his public name.”

“Frank Castle – the terrorist of New York. He sounds more like a political cover up.”

You can feel the intense way Billy is staring at you, knowing he’s curious to wonder your thoughts on the matter and you cave.

“I say that because the men he attacked, the men he was being charged for were known criminals. Prior to all of his ‘misdemeanors’ he served our country, bagged up a lot of individuals for the sake of America. Sounds like these men did something shitty to him and in return, he killed them. And maybe those men were linked to some dirty politician or two, god knows this damn country is being run by one let alone this city. Just think Frank got mixed up in some shit and unfortunately had to take the fall for it.”

You sit back as you look at the first couple of stitches, reaching over for a new roll of string. You throw him a side glance before asking,

“What I’m curious is why Frank Castle was shooting at you. You one of those dirty men Billy?”

Billy chuckles as he watches your movement, the precise way you thread the needle again before your bending over his arm.

“Frank didn’t like that I was supporting a politician, an old army friend. He may or may not have done some dirty shit. Not my place to ask. I was hired to protect him with my detail and that’s what I did. Frank got caught up in that, didn’t think I was serving him and now….” He drifts and you nod, your hands effortlessly moving before you stop, clipping your thread and tying it immaculately.

“You seem like the kind of kid who facilitated the bullying from behind the scene on the playground.” You smirk falling back in your chair. He starts to say something but you hold up your hand, shaking your head.

“Listen, I don’t care what you have to say about it. If the cops come I’ll tell them what I basically let my friends know. That sometimes we fuck but you don’t really stay around and we aren’t really friends. Done and done.” You get up, grabbing up the pile of gauze, taking it to your kitchen sink and throwing it in. Then you grab a match, catching it on fire as you watch.

“Can’t have your DNA all over the place.” You say as you pad back to him, feeling suddenly cold inside. Knowing that when he left, it wouldn’t be like all the other times where you lied to yourself, saying that maybe things would change. Maybe he would see you beyond the 20 minute waves of pleasure. Want to understand why you distanced yourself.

Looking at him now as he watched you, eyes hooded and lips pursed you knew you were wrong. There was no way in hell you could have that life with him. He had never been yours to begin with.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as you stand in front of him, walking between his stretched out legs as he wraps his arms around your lower half.

“Just memorizing this handsome face.” You answer back softly and he gives a lazy grin, looking up at you as you card your hand through his hair while your other free hand cups his face. Memorizing his touch, painting his features into your mind to hold onto forever.

“I’ll be back you know. When things have simmered down. I’ll be back. Then you can talk to me like a real adult. Tell me what you’ve truly been meaning to say all this time.” He nuzzles against your hand, a lazy smile planted on his lips but you know it’s a lie. Know that he doesn’t care. Know that he’s incapable of it. He just wasn’t made that way.

But you don’t tell him this. Instead you do exactly what he expects you to do. You lie.

“Sure you will Billy.”

He blinks up at you, trying to read you. Trying to remedy what he knows can’t be true. You cut him off instead, placing a finger on his lips and murmuring,

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already. Before I change my mind.”

He smiles, leaning up to grant you your requests. Ignoring the way your tears stain your mouth, or how you cling onto him as desperately as he holds onto you. Ignoring the pain throbbing in his shoulder as he pulls you down onto his lap, needing to forget for a couple of minutes the severity of the situation.

When he’s gone the next morning you’re not surprised, caressing over the place that he once laid. When he’s mug shot is advertised all over newspapers and the television, you also aren’t surprised. Aren’t surprised when the cops come to question you and you lie about him.

You lie about him until he becomes just a whisper in your mind, his promise an unforgotten tale in your string of romantic encounters.

It’s the two years later, in the dead of night when he’s knocking at your door, a shadowy finger even in your apartments well-lit hallway that all of this comes back to you. You almost don’t open the door. But then he’s saying your name in that voice that can only be distinctly Billy and your shaking, opening it up.

“I know it’s been a while sweetheart. Ready to have that heart to heart?”

For the life of you, you aren’t.