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polijakefim · 11 months

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❤️ Travis Fimmel ❤️

Travis Fimmel On Publicity And Hollywood: 'I Never Wanted To Be An Actor, Still Don’t

The star of 'Vikings' would prefer you not to notice him, thanks.

He’d prefer if your mind wandered elsewhere – to things sublime, mundane, ridiculous, whatever. Consider the new, bezel-less iPhone; ponder your own mortality; think about a new gym regime that might add some lean muscle to your frame. It doesn’t particularly matter – just kindly move your thoughts elsewhere. Grazie.

It doesn’t take particularly long to realise it, but not being noticed is one of the driving forces in Travis Fimmel’s life. Sometimes, it seems like his reason for being.

It’s why he bought, moved into and started renovating a ranch outside of Los Angeles. (He tried the Hills, WeHo, Malibu and Santa Monica.) It’s why he stopped going to parties in West Hollywood and started going down the road to an RSL-like venue frequented by Vietnam vets. It’s why he drives a Chevy pick-up, not a Maserati (or a Tesla, if you’re that way inclined).

But here’s the upsetting thing. Fimmel’s chosen vocation is wholly built on being noticed; on being sampled, considered and propagated to audiences, then bought, distributed and translated into audiences even larger still. Being noticed is in all of Fimmel’s contracts.

Most upsetting for Fimmel is that, against all odds, this farm-raised Victorian is particularly noticeable.

He’s good looking, he’s fit, and, above all else, he has that ethereal quality that feels more and more difficult for actors-on-the-make to grasp these days: presence.

It’s why, in the early aughts, Calvin Klein decided to do what they’ve never done before: reportedly offer an unproven male model a one year, six-figure, worldwide deal to model exclusively for CK. (Klein himself has described meeting Fimmel for the first time: “So he walks into my studio, into my office, and it was like drop-dead… His presence was jaw-dropping. I called Steven Klein right away and said, ‘Don’t do anything. Just put him in the underwear and put him up against the window’.”)

The resultant underwear billboards gave Fimmel a decades-long reminder that, in life, some things will follow you forever. That presence is also why, against every convention of logic and industry, Fimmel secured a flight to Ireland – and the biggest role of his career, as stoic Scandi-warrior Ragnar Lothbrok in Vikings – by having a friend film an audition tape in a farm kitchen.

Here’s the rub – you could spend a thousand pilot seasons with a thousand actors descending on LA; smoke a thousand confessional Malboros at Golden Globes after-parties, push veterans and rookies to reveal their darkest truths, and you’d never find an actor more reluctant than Travis Fimmel.

We don’t mean reluctant in an, ‘aw, shucks’ kind of way. We don’t mean faux humility, or even overachieving insecurity. This isn’t schtick. This is entirely serious.

“I just fucking came out here and tried to do it,” says the 38-year-old, when asked to describe the moment he realised he could be an actor. “I did a class. I never wanted to be an actor, ever. I still don’t.”

Happily, things just seem to be going that way for Fimmel.

Vikings, treasured by critics for arresting cinematography, purist character arcs and a refreshing absence of gratuitous T&A, is coming into its fifth season. His upcoming slate of feature films is stuffed with an abundance of brilliant co-stars: from Sevigny to Whitaker to Buscemi.

Fimmel says that none of the things he dreads most – from auditions to publicity, much like this – have begun to feel easier.

“I hate it. Absolutely hate it. It’s very unrealistic. There’s people that like to get up and talk in front of people. I wasn’t the kid that enjoyed reading out loud in class,” he says of casting meetings. “I’ve walked out halfway through, embarrassed, plenty of times. I put myself on video tape. I can’t remember the last job I got from actually auditioning. It’s horrible. Nervous, sweaty, embarrassed. I feel like a little monkey. I just panic. I get out of there.”

His agents, he says, are understanding about it. They know him pretty well by now – and they realise, wisely, that it’s not going to change.

But while auditioning usually becomes less and less relevant to actors with the kind of momentum that Fimmel now has, publicity skews the other way.

As Fimmel, the formerly reluctant underwear model, and presently reluctant actor, becomes more prominent, studios, television producers and magazine editors only get hungrier for his face and time.

“You just have to do it. But it doesn’t get easier,” he says. “You get a bit more selective about what things you do. You try to do one thing that gets seen, so you don’t have to do five.”

Count GQ flattered.

“It’s always uncomfortable,” he adds, singling out head-scratchingly incongruent product endorsements that have nothing to do with his work. “That’s the worst thing, you have to promote stuff that you don’t like at all. Yeah. You’re just lying the whole time, mate.”

The panacea for all this, according to Fimmel? Isolation. Hence the ranch. Hence the commute.

About an hour north of LA, he has a plot of land, a few horses, a motorbike. It’s a little more mountainous, but still comfortingly similar to his childhood in the little town of Lockington, Victoria, near Echuca.

“I don’t love living in town. I’d rather be home. I hopefully won’t be doing it for too much longer. I just want to make a bit of money and get home.”

This becomes a recurring motif of our conversation – Fimmel would, and will, go back to Victoria as soon as his career allows it. He says this over and over, without a hint of disingenuousness.

“Shit mate, if I had the money, I’d have been home two years ago. You need a fair bit of money now to get a big farm in Australia – it’s so expensive. Unbelievably expensive. I’d love to be back – but I’ll be here for a few more years.”

With the conversation becoming more and more concise, it’s a worthy time to take stock of Travis Fimmel, the man.

With gentle probing, he says this much – he’s not afraid of being typecast. He loves his TV crew. He despises social media – those around him learned to stop asking “long ago” if he’d start using it (shout-out to his 700k Instagram followers: that’s not him posting).

The last two things to deeply frustrate him were the tools missing from his woodwork shed, and the fact that his dog refuses to come to him when called (“embarrasses me in front of friends, every time”). He’s still maddeningly bashful about his modelling past (“I just did that modelling thing to get a visa over here. It’s really embarrassing mate, but what am I gonna do – not get a visa and make money?”)

One thing Fimmel makes unmistakably clear is his current passion: renovating his ranch, solo.

“I’m fixing it all up. The shed. Renovating the house. Putting up fences,” he says. He started renovating the house itself a while back. “I’m down to doing exterior stuff – the trees, building stuff on the deck.”

When we ask what he enjoys so much about it, Fimmel inadvertently stumbles into his real mission; his actual raison d’être. You know, the kind of thing that keeps a reluctant actor acting.

“I enjoy doing that stuff,” he says, stomping around the grounds, bathed in mid-afternoon sun. “I enjoy seeing nothing there, doing it, then seeing something that wasn’t there before.”

#travis fimmel #ragnar lothbrok #vikings #polijake_fim

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yeetwinchester2 · 3 years

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The Son He Never Got...

Pairing: Steve Rogers x daughter!reader, Bucky Barnes x Rogers!reader (platonic), Peter is there but no real relationship between the reader and him.

Warnings: abandonment-ish??, ✨daddy issues✨, angst, more angst, thoughts of not being good enough, blah blah blah, I think you get it. steve's not really the good guy here. Bucky fluff

Requested: yes/no "Prompts 1, 2, 13 and 14 with Steve Rogers x daughter!reader" #1: "Why would you do that?” #2: “I can’t believe it...” #13: “I hate you.” #14: “Go to Hell.” I don't think I included all of the quotes that were requested... but they'll be there in the next part or two.

Summary: When a boy named Peter Parker shows up as a new recruit, Steve starts spending more time with him. The reader notices, but Steve doesn’t. Bucky is helpful :)

A/N: Thank you for the request!! This is (maybe) the second request that I’ve actually completed :) I hope it's alright!!

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Turning off your alarm, you get out of bed and get dressed for school. Today you were supposed to have a father-daughter date with your dad after school. You decided to wear a plain black flowy shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and your white Doc Martens.

Throwing you backpack over your shoulder, you head down to the kitchen to get some breakfast and tell everyone good morning before you leave for school. "Mornin' everybody! Hey, dad. Did you pick out where we're going today?" you say with a toothy smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. What're we going out for, again?" he sounded confused, but you just ignored it.

"For our father-daughter date, dummy." you said, jokingly punching his arm. Not that it'd hurt him. He's a super soldier for crying out loud.

"Oh, yeah. About that... We're gonna have to reschedule our dinner tonight, hun. We can do it another night. The team and I are going to meet the new recruit tonight. You should meet him too!" he was rubbing the back of his neck, hoping that you wouldn't be too upset.

"But we've always had our dates on the first Friday of every month. We can't just skip this month!" He's not seriously going to reschedule dinner because of a new recruit... he wouldn't do that to you, right?

"I know, I know. Can we please just have dinner another night? This new recruit could be some serious help for the team."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever. I've got to get to school. I'll see ya when I get back." He's seriously gonna choose the recruit over me, his own daughter? No, maybe it's just more important than I realize.

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

"Y/n, its probably nothing. Maybe he just needs to talk to some new people. Being stuck in ice for 70 years and all, he doesn't have many friends," your friend, Milo, tries to reason.

"The recruit is my age. He's a highs schooler. My dad isn't gonna make friends with some high schooler. I don't know. I guess we'll just wait and see." It's nothing, he needs to get to know the recruit anyways...

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

After a long and tiring day at school, you get home to see you dad and the new recruit going over what you're guessing is paper work.

"Hey, dad. Hey, new recruit. It's nice to meet you, I'm y/n." you say, holding a hand out for him to shake.

"I'm Parker Peter. I-i-i mean, Peter Parker." he says with a wide smile. You can see his cheeks become a little more red.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Peter. How long do you think you'll be staying tonight? I can't have you stealing my dad from me already!" you say, jokingly. The three of you let out a short laugh.

"I'm not sure. I guess I'll leave once I've gotten the tour and we've gone through all of the paper work." Peter says. Why does he need a tour? He's only here to train, right?

"Sounds good! I'll be in my room if y'all need anything." you say, adding a fake smile. Turning around, you head to your room. The rest of the night, you do nothing but homework, completely forgetting about Peter.

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

The next few days consisted of the same exact thing. You'd eat breakfast, go to school, come home and greet your dad and Peter, and go do homework. Had your dad asked you how your day was during the few days? Not once. Had he asked Peter how his day was? Yep. Did your dad ask if you needed help with homework? Nope. Did he ask Peter? Of course he did. Every day. I can't believe it... Is my dad replacing me with Peter? No, he's just helping him out, right? Right.

The next day was Wednesday, which meant you got to workout with your dad and Peter. 'Oh boy. I get to train with two abnormally strong superheros. Yay.' you thought sarcasticly. You went about your day as you usually do. On the way home from school, you texted your dad to let him know you might be a little late because of traffic. You When you got home, you changed into workout leggings and a sports bra, and headed to the gym where you usually meet your dad for workouts. You then realized that your dad hadn't texted you back. When you walk into the gym, you figured out why. Him and Peter were already halfway through the workout that y'all were supposed to be doing together.

At this point, you're starting to realize that your dad is actually replacing you with Peter. Peter's like the son he never got. He's been pushing you and the plans you've made to the side. He's been making Peter his priority.

Walking up to the two sweaty guys, tapping them on the shoulders to get their attention. "Peter, I hate you. No offense though. It's not your fault. Dad, can I talk to you? In private, please?" You do hate Peter, but not because he did anything wrong. He didn't. He's a real good kid. But he's you dad's favorite now. He replaced you, but he didn't know it. So, by default, you hate Peter.

"Hey! Don't talk to Peter like that! He didn't do anything wrong. You can't just walk in here and tell him you hate him. That's not how it works," he practically yells. Your dad never yells at you. The harsh reaction cause tears to swell up in your eyes.

"Dad. I need to talk to you. In private. Away from Peter."

"It can wait. Let us finish what we were doing. Then, we can talk. Got it?" he said sternly.

"Yes sir." you say, holding back tears that you knew would fall as soon as you turn around. And you were right. As soon as you turned around to go to your room, the tears fell, and they wouldn't stop. It only got worse when you got to your room. Forgetting to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to soundproof your room, you continue sobbing, yelling every now and again. Bucky, in the room next to yours, heard your crying.

Bucky was always there for you. He had been since the day he met you. His face when he found out Steve, THE Steven Grant Rogers, had a daughter. You and him have been close ever since. He's more like a best friend than an uncle if you're being honest. You go to him for everything. Well, almost anything. You hadn't told him about what was going on with you and your dad. You knew he'd be pissed about how your dad was treating you and go argue with him about it. You didn't want to make a big deal of it or anything at first, in case it was nothing.

Bucky, hearing you crying, run out of his room and to your door, softly knocking on it. "Y/n? Hun? Can you please let me in? It's Bucky."

You slowly stand up and walk towards the door, opening it. Looking up at him, with red eyes and mascara running down your checks, you move back to the bed. Bucky closes the door and sits next to you. "You wanna talk about it?" That's always the first question either if you ask when one of you is in this kinda situation.

"I don't know. I don't know, Buck." You lean into his shoulder, crying again.

"That's okay. Take your time, y/n/n. I'll be right back." he says, standing up from the bed. You see him walk into your bathroom, knowing exactly what he's doing. The two of you have a good routine for these kinda nights. It's usually always the same, but it works. When you're crying like you are now, you get horrible headaches. So, Bucky will always get you some ibuprofen and water to help. When he gets back from the bathroom, he hands you a two small pills and a glass a water. Without a second thought, you swallow the pills and some of the water. You thank him and set the glass on your nightstand. Pulling the covers up over your shoulders, you lay back down.

"Thank you.."

"Mhm. Are you gonna sleep first? Or talk? You know we're gonna talk about it at some point."

"I know, I know. Can I sleep right now? We can talk about it another time. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, of course. But you're not getting out of it, and I'm not giving you the whole 'Its not healthy to keep it all in' lecture. You've heard it enough, so have I."

"Thanks. Mucho appreciated, old man."

"No problem, kiddo. Get some rest, we'll talk tomorrow. 'Night, sweetheart."

"Night, Buck."

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

A/N: Cool. This is part one of this. Yes, I will (eventually) finish part two of Excuses. I have no idea when, but eventually. Same goes for part two of this one. But I really like this first part, so I think it'll continue. Thoughts? I hope y'all like it :))

#steve x daughter!reader #steve x daughter #steve x reader #steve rogers #marvel x reader #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #fanfiction

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kinglazrus · 3 years

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Deep Wounds Ch. 2 - What Now?

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Word count: 4069

It takes ten minutes for everyone to change and clear out. During that time, an invisible Danny floats in one of the shower stalls, his gym bag clutched to his chest, one hand clamped around his mouth. If it hadn't been for Dash's shout of "No!" he might not have hidden in time. Danny only had a few seconds to snatch up his bandages and bag—but not the gauze—before the first person entered.

It was Tucker, thankfully. He gaped when he saw Danny and quickly waved for him to hide. Just in time, too, since Elliot was only a few steps behind.

Now, Danny can only hear a single person shuffling about.

"It's clear," Tucker whispers.

Danny floats through the door of the shower stall, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees the empty change room. He drops his invisibility and dumps his stuff on the floor in favour of clutching his side. "Why didn't I stay home today?"

"Because you want to graduate this year and you can't afford another absence." Tucker grabs his gym shirt off the floor, revealing the forgotten gauze pad, and sighs at the new stains. "I really liked this shirt."

"Sorry, man."

"Dude, you are literally bleeding. Shut up. You don't need to apologize. Just be glad I got my shirt off before Elliot could see the damn thing." Tucker grabs the gauze, rolls it into a ball, and tosses it toward the garbage can. "Ten points!"

The gauze bounces off the rim and falls to the floor.

"Zero points," Danny says.

"Rude."

"Hey, I'm bleeding, remember?"

"That only gets you a pass from saying sorry, not common decency."

Danny's shoulders shake as he laughs. It hurts, making his left side throbbing, but trying to hold it back hurts worse. "Ow, ow, ow," he says, gasps of pain interrupting him. Curling over, he hugs his side even tighter, fighting back a sharp cry. The tension in his body doesn't help, but the pressure on his side feels good.

"Sam on her way?" Danny asks.

"She's grabbing the first-aid kit from my locker. I'll fix you up this time. We all know I have steadier hands." That A-plus in home ec isn't for nothing.

"Thanks," Danny mumbles.

"Yeah, dude. We've got you."

After Sam arrives, Tucker redoes Danny's stitches in record time. Half of the lunch hour has passed by the time Danny gets patched up, but he doesn't feel hungry anyway. Tucker takes his and Danny's bloody gym shirts and stuffs them into the first-aid kit.

"I need to refill on some supplies at home," Tucker explains. "I'll get rid of these there."

"Good idea. My mom found a pair of jeans I forgot to throw away after a fight with Skulker. I had a hard time explaining that one away," Danny says. The "I tripped into a window" excuse probably only works once, anyway. "But we have another problem."

"Dash?" Sam asks.

Danny nods. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"He was acting weird when gym ended. Wouldn't let anyone come inside until we pushed him out of the way."

"Huh." Danny certainly didn't expect that. Dash might be a downright bully anymore, but he's still not prone to random acts of kindness. "That's... weird." It doesn't make up for him tearing Danny's wound back open, even if it was an accident, but it's something.

"I think we might not have to worry about him," Sam says.

Danny stares at her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, actually. He could have done anything when he saw the rest of the class coming, including telling everyone that you were hurt. But he stopped them instead."

"But this is Dash."

"That's surprising coming from you."

"What does that even mean? You guys and Valerie are being so weird today. Come on, Tucker. Back me up." Danny looks at Tucker, fully expecting him to be on Danny's side.

Tucker doesn't respond right away. Biting his thumbnail, he stares ahead at the floor, deep in thought. That alone is enough to send Danny for a loop. When Tucker does answer, Danny's jaw drops in disbelief.

"I'm with Sam on this."

"For real?"

"Yeah, man. We don't even know what Dash thinks he saw, anyway. What happened when he walked in?" Tucker asks.

Danny tells them, sparing no detail.

"Oh, wow."

Sam shakes her head. "I'll say. I can't believe you wailed at him."

"Almost. I almost wailed at him. It was a baby wail at most. More of a hum," Danny says. He was just so surprised when Dash walked in. Danny's instincts took over and all he could think about was getting Dash out of there as soon as possible. He is lucky no one else came running.

"That already will have freaked him out. If we go around making a big deal about it and getting in his face, that'll make things worse." Sam stands up from the floor, stretching her arms over her head. She looks completely unconcerned, so does Tucker for that matter. Both of them are content to let Dash be. "Let's wait to see what he does. If he starts spreading rumours, we'll know right away, and then we can confront him."

"On the other hand, he might go to you, Danny, first," Tucker adds. He takes a bottle of Aspirin from the first-aid kit and presses it into Danny's hand before zipping the bag up. "He might not do anything."

The bottle of Aspirin rattles as Danny twists the lid off. "I can't believe you guys are okay with this." He dumps a couple of pills into his palm and tosses them back. Wordlessly, Sam passes him a water bottle. One quick swig is all he needs to help the pills go down. "He could be telling everyone right now."

"He could," Sam admits. "But he won't."

Sam and Tucker get up to leave, and Danny's forced to follow, or else get left behind. He trails after them, stiff, sore, and aching. The pills won't kick in for a while, and he loathes having to walk now. If he could get away with it, he would spend the rest of the day floating through the halls.

Tragically, he has a secret to protect. One that is very much at risk right now, despite what Sam says. Wherever she and Tucker are getting their confidence from, Danny doesn't share it. He just hopes they're right.

Dash tries to hold it in. He really does. The sound of Danny's anger bearing down on him, reverberating through the change room, hasn't stopped rattling around his head. But as lunch nears its end, the words burst out of him.

"I think Fenton is in a gang or something," Dash says.

The table falls silent.

Kwan freezes in place, hand halfway to his mouth, and a piece of meatloaf falls off his fork. "You... what?"

"I think Danny is in a gang," Dash repeats, softer.

His friends gape at him, equally confused. Mostly. Star doesn't even look up from her math homework. In fact, Dash thinks she's smiling, but he ignores it.

"Kwan, I thought you said Danny was the one who got hit during gym class," Paulina says. She pushes her lunch aside and leans across the table, lifting a hand to Dash's forehead. "Are you sure you got it right?"

"I'm fine, Paulie." Dash ducks under his hand and hunkers low to the table. When no one else moves, he gestures for them to come closer. Kwan does so immediately. Paulina rolls her eyes but obliges.

"I'm good," Star says.

"Okay, so, I checked on Fenton after dropping him off, 'cause he looked kind of bad, and I guess, I don't know. I felt... whatever. It doesn't matter. But like, he had this huge cut."

Paulina grins and leans in closer, finally looking invested. "You felt kind of 'whatever?'"

Dash scowls. "Seriously, Paulie?"

"You're the one who said it!" Paulina smacks the table, a fit of giggles bursting from her. It's her "I've found some juicy gossip" noise and Dash hates it.

"Did you even hear me? Huge cut and all that?" Dash says.

Kwan shrugs. "I don't know. His parents build a lot of crazy stuff, don't they? He probably hurt himself on one of those. Did you see that new gun they were toting around last week? It melted Mr. Lancer's car!"

"Oh, my God. I totally saw that. I felt so bad for him," Paulina says.

Dash frowns down at the table while the conversation plods on. True, everyone knows the Fentons have some crazy inventions. But everything they make, they make to hurt ghosts, not people. Everyone in town has been caught in the Fentons crossfire at one point or another. Dash still remembers the disgusting taste of the Fenton Foamers. Like warm, month-old key lime yogurt. Disgusting, but ultimately harmless.

And Danny didn't just have a little cut. It was huge. Dash only got a brief look at it, but that short glance told him everything he needed to know. Something, or someone, had hurt Danny. Rather than going to the hospital—because no trained professional would do such a sloppy job—Danny fixed it himself or got his friends to fix it. The injury had to be new, too, since it was still bleeding.

But stitches could bleed if you ripped them, didn't treat the injury right. Judging by the placement, Danny's stitches must pull every time he moves his arm.

Could one of his parents' guns have done that?

Now that Dash thinks about it, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Danny get hit with his parents' weapons. Not their guns, at least. They have that dumb boomerang thing that he's seen smack Danny on the back of the head. Actually, that one hits Danny a lot.

Dash's frown deepens, etching into his face. Why on Earth would one of Danny's own parents' inventions hurt him so much? Unless...

"Hey, guys?" Dash asks, interrupting Star mid-sentence.

"You found more proof of Fenton's gang activities?" Paulina asks.

"What if, like, someone's hurting him?"

"You mean one of his gang buddies?"

"No, Paulie, I'm serious. What if someone is hurting him?"

The table falls silent once more, but this time, his friends' expressions are serious rather than disbelieving.

Kwan lowers his voice. "Do you really think... I mean, Fenton?"

"Well..." Star taps her chin. "Where was he hurt?"

"Here." Dash taps his ribs on his left side, under his arm.

Star nods. "Okay. Are you sure he couldn't have, you know...." She trails off, but Dash already knows what she means.

"No way. He could hardly see the cut, much less do it himself. And it was bad."

"So he was hurt, badly, in a place that no one else would normally see. He didn't miss any school, so he probably didn't go to the hospital. Was it recent?"

Dash nods. "There was blood. Too much to just be because of the stitches."

Star drums her fingers on the table, nodding slowly. "I think you could be right."

The A-listers glance around the table, meeting each other's eyes. None of them say anything, but the same question lurks in all their minds. Now what?

In the days following the change room debacle, Danny avoids Dash like his life depends on it. Which it might. Any time he sees Dash in the hall, he turns right around and walks away. When they're in class, Danny stares straight ahead and refuses to look Dash's way. In gym class, Tetslaff lets him sit out, finally. Having Danny blackout on her after she forced him to play must have spooked her because she benches him before he can even ask not to play.

"No student of mine is gonna pass out on my watch. Twice," she says.

It won't last forever, but Danny will take what he can get, while he can get it.

But the thing is, Dash doesn't try anything. It's surreal. For the past four years, Danny has grown accustomed to Dash's constant harassment. Even when it dropped significantly in sophomore year, Dash never stopped. He threw erasers at Danny during class, tripped him in the halls, called out teasing names every chance he got.

"I'm not the only one who thinks this is weird, right?" Danny asks Tucker on the third day.

Already done his lunch, Tucker is thoroughly engrossed by his phone and doesn't look up as he replies. "You think everything is weird lately."

"Because it is."

"Missing your quality time with Dash?" Tucker flashes a quick grin in Danny's direction before returning to his phone.

"Har, har. You are so funny." Danny would have to be some kind of masochist to miss Dash's badgering. It's just... strange, not to have to watch the halls for him in that way. It doesn't make Danny watch any less—in fact, he finds himself looking for Dash more than before. So that he can run away if he gets close. Except Dash isn't even trying, and that annoys the hell out of him.

Tucker sighs, finally putting down his phone, and rests a hand on Danny's head. "Such a hopeless young soul. Can't even understand your own heart."

Danny slaps the hand away. "Says the guy who asked out every girl in school because they all made him feel the same way because it turns out he's super ace and didn't actually feel anything for any of them."

"And what an emotional journey that was." Tucker faces Danny head-on. "Look, Danny. If it's bothering you that much, then go talk to him. Feed him some excuse about what happened. Just remember that there's a reason Sam and I think it will be okay."

Danny ponders Tucker's advice for the rest of the day. The weekend starts tomorrow, which gives him two whole Dash-free days to think about the situation. Maybe a little time to himself as what he needs. He goes for a flight after school rather than walking home with Tucker; being in the air always helps clear his head.

He soars far above the city until he is little more than a pinprick to everyone far below. At the peak of his flight, his phone rings. The caller ID shows it's Jazz.

"What's up?" he greets his sister.

"Taken over my room yet?" Jazz asks.

"When you've only been at college for a month? Of course." It made a great storage space. Danny turns over to float on his stomach and starts drifting down like a leaf, falling back and forth on the wind.

"Well, I'm gonna need it back this weekend."

"Dropping out already?"

"You wish. I got a tutoring gig: two sessions—Saturday and Sunday. I don't want to do the two hours there and back both days, so I'm coming home for the weekend."

"I can't believe someone is actually paying to spend time with you. Hope the loser doesn't rub off on them."

Jazz laughs. "Pretty sure any loser on my came from you. And it's four people. Actually, you know them."

When Danny comes downstairs Saturday morning and sees Jazz's students at the kitchen table, he stops dead.

"You have got to be kidding me," he says.

"Hi, Danny!" Paulina waves, far too perky for nine in the morning. Squished around the table with her, Kwan and Star offer their own small waves. Dash looks straight down at his textbook.

"Goodbye." Danny pivots and marches back toward the stairs. Forget breakfast; he didn't want to eat, anyway. He can still have a nice, relaxing, Dash-free day in the confines of his bedroom.

A cascade of whispers reaches his ears as he hits the first stair. The A-listers murmur too quiet for him to make out what they're saying, although he thinks he catches his name more than once. Maybe they're talking about how uncanny it is being inside his house. Or, perhaps, they're discussing the new school nurse, Tammy. But even as he thinks it, he knows neither theory is true.

A chair screeches in the kitchen, the plastic capped legs scraping against the linoleum. Danny throws himself up the stairs.

"Oh, Danny, wait!" Paulina's silky voice follows him.

He jerks to a stop at the landing, cringing. How mad would she be if he ignored her? It's funny to think that a few years ago his heart would have leapt at Paulina calling out his name, back when he had a crush on her.

His toes curl against the carpet as he hesitates; the pros and cons of ignoring her run through his head. Pro: he won't have to deal with whatever scheme she's up to, and Paulina is most certainly up to something. Con: she might sic Dash on him, and he's the last person Danny wants to see right now. But that's a moot point because Dash is already here. After some humming and hawing, he grits his teeth and turns back around.

Paulina hangs out the kitchen doorway, greeting him with a bright smile.

"Yes, Paulina?" Danny asks.

It should be physically impossible for her smile to get any wider, and yet it does. "You're having trouble in science class, right?"

Danny hesitates. "Maybe. Why?"

"So are we! We came here for a study session with your sister, since she was Casper's best student in thirty decades. You should join us!"

"Isn't Star acing all her classes? And I thought science was your best class."

Paulina rolls her eyes and huffs, but without any malice. It reminds him of the look Tucker gives his little cousins when they are being intentionally obstinate. Danny flushes, suddenly feeling stupid even though he doesn't understand why.

"Yeah, we're good at it, but the boys aren't. Duh." She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is. "It's easier to study in a group."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I like studying alone."

Paulina's smile doesn't fall, but it changes. Danny can't quite place what it turns into. Her mouth curves upward and her teeth are exposed; objectively, it's still a smile. But there's a new tension to it, one Danny only notices now, but he thinks might have been there the whole time, lurking behind the bright façade. His grip on the newel post tightens, the wood creaking beneath his finger.

At times like this, Danny wishes his ghost abilities included reading emotions. The look Paulina is giving him is important, he can feel it, even though he can't explain it. But it doesn't mean anything if he can't decipher it.

"If you say so." The moment shatters. Paulina withdraws back into the kitchen, leaving Danny alone and wondering if he missed something important.

Down the hall from him, Jazz's bedroom door opens. She emerges with an armful of books—old schoolbooks, Danny notes.

"Not hanging out with Sam and Tucker today?" she asks.

"Jazz, it's not even noon yet. I don't think Tucker's awake." Danny glances down the stairs toward the kitchen, mulling something over in his head. "I kind of want some alone time today. I know you're tutoring and everything, but could you make sure they don't bother me?"

Jazz frowns. "Is everything okay?"

"There was an... incident with Dash at school."

"Boy troubles?"

"Jazz!" Danny's entire face turns scarlet. "Please never say that about Dash." He lowers his voice. "It was ghost-related troubles."

Jazz's expression goes stony, her teasing smile replaced by a serious frown. "Do I need to take care of him for you?"

"Oh, my God, Jazz! Just keep him away from my room!" He marches the rest of the way to his room to the sound of Jazz's snickers and slams the door behind him.

When Paulina returns to the kitchen, Dash sits up straighter. She shakes her head as she reclaims her seat next to Star. Dash deflates again.

"I told you this wouldn't work," Dash says.

"Don't be so silly. That wasn't even plan A, although it would make things easier. Are you sure you didn't do anything to him in that change room?" Paulina asks.

Dash groans. "Please. Please never say anything like that again. It sounds so wrong."

"You're the one who took it that way."

Star and Kwan laugh at Dash's misfortune, watching him bury his face in his arms. When Star suggested they gather evidence, to confirm whether or not Danny was being abused at home, this wasn't what Dash expected. He pictured spy movie antics with them sneaking through the bushes dressed all in black, peeking through windows until they say something that proved—or disproved—their theory.

Things would go a lot easier if Dash could actually talk to Danny, but ever since that moment in the change room, he can't. He knows Danny has been avoiding him, which is better short term. If Danny walked up to Dash right now demanding to talk about what happened, Dash wouldn't know what to say.

How many times has he hurt Danny (pushed, kicked, body-checked) when he was injured? There's a possibility, however slim, that this was a fluke, the first time Danny has ever come to school injured. There have to be loads of reasons someone might not go to the hospital, such as bad insurance. Dash's cousin broke her nose once and let it heal crooked instead of going to the doctor since it was cheaper. He's heard stories of people sacrificing their health rather than paying exorbitant hospital fees. It's not impossible.

Except Danny's parents are inventors. They do projects for the government and can afford to throw money around for ridiculous ghost hunting contraptions. The Emergency Ops Centre only two floors above them must have cost millions. If that's the case, then surely his parents can afford a hospital visit for such a bad wound.

Dash doesn’t like to think about the alternative, but he has to. The alternative is the whole reason he and his friends are here.

That doesn't help with Dash's other dilemma, though. How is he supposed to talk to Fenton, now? Dash doesn't think he knows how to interact with Danny without some form of aggression. Even when he stopped outright bullying people, he never stopped with Danny. A push here, a shove there. It is instinct for Dash to stick his foot out if he sees Danny coming.

Danny even returns the favour, sometimes, growing bolder the older they became. Dash still doesn't know how Danny keeps getting into his stuffed bear collection, but it's not unusual for him to find one in his locker or sitting at his desk when he returns to class.

It's what they do. Dash can't help it. Any time he manages to trip Danny up enough that he gets a glare or a vengeful smile, it makes him feel good.

But he can't do that now. If Danny is actually getting hurt at home, Dash can't in his right mind keep agitating him. Just thinking about what he did to Danny's stitches makes him pale. He doesn't even want to think about what other wounds he's made worse over the years.

And he has. Dash knows this without a doubt. Thinking back on their interactions this year alone, more than five occasions come to mind where Danny grimaced, or flinched, or clutched some part of his body after Danny bumped his shoulder in the hall. It feels him with an indescribable dread, but the worst of it is he can't understand why.

He never knew Danny was injured; he can't be entirely to blame. Thinking that does nothing to assuage his guilt, though.

"Okay!" Jazz Fenton announces herself with a bright chirp. She clutches a stack of textbooks to her chest; books Dash recognizes from their classes. The idea that she stole them from the school flashes through his mind, but that's ludicrous. Jazz doesn't have a criminally minded bone in her body. If anything, she bought them, or the school gave them to her for being that amazing. Either option is more likely than her committing a crime.

Jazz slams the books down on the table directly across from Dash. She flashes him a brilliant smile as she sits and folds her hands over the table.

"So, Dash." She tilts her head. Her smile no longer looks kind. "I've heard some interesting things about you."

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #dash baxter #swagger bishie #danny/dash #deepwounds

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tennessoui · 3 years

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Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?

Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.

I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.

So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)

I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here

alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"

I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!

(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)

(3.3k)

(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)

Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.

“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”

Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.

“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.

On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.

Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.

But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.

No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.

Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.

He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.

Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.

But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.

Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.

It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.

Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.

Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.

Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.

It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.

Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.

Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.

Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.

“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”

Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.

“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”

“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”

“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”

Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.

“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.

“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”

Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”

His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”

And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.

He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.

He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.

He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.

More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.

His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.

They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.

Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”

Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.

The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”

Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.

It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.

“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”

The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.

“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?

“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”

Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.

He wants them back.

“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”

“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”

Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. “Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”

Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.

Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”

“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.

“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”

Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.

Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”

Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.

“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.

Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.

It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.

There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.

But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.

#asks #pokemon au #the long awaited snippet!!!!#so i didn't get to all of obi-wan's pokémon teap #team**#and yes the 'unopened pokéball on his belt' refers to his being the trainer of a legendary pokémon #(zamazenta because i like that)#i really hope this is both a) readable to people who don't know shit about pokemon and #b) readable to people who do know shit about pokemon #because i am right in the middle #somehow i made this about love languages again but that's just me and my relationship with #obikin

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Note

was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something.

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer.

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about.

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?”

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard.

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts.

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face.

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat.

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement.

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock.

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour.

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too.

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face.

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.”

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side.

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other.

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?”

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set.

“No come on I’m serious… Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding.

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because.

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick. Naturally too, you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything.

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot, after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep.

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked.

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that.

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth?

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares?

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam?

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tomholland #Tom Holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x you #sam holland

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lostinthewiind · 3 years

Text

𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪 𝓙𝓸𝓴𝓮

Bokuto Kōtarō - Haikyuu

Synopsis: when your best friend, Bokuto, asks you out in front of his entire volleyball team, you’re sure that he’s just joking around and play it off as such. What you don’t know, however, is that he is completely serious.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Glancing down at the time on your phone screen, you sighed softly and picked up the pace a little, moving as quickly as possible through the halls of Fukurodani without breaking into a full-out run. You were supposed to have met Bokuto at the gym doors to walk home together about twenty minutes ago but your own club meeting had run late and there was nothing you could really do about it.

Normally, this wouldn’t be much of an issue, but you knew Bokuto far too well and knew that being late and not having the time to text him would probably send him into a downward spiral. He was probably already complaining that you had completely forgotten about him and found a new best friend or something. Yes, he was that dramatic.

When you finally reached the gym doors the two of you usually met at, you were surprised to see that he wasn’t sitting in front of it sulking. In fact, he wasn’t there at all. There was no Bokuto in sight.

Assuming that his practice was running late as well, you simply slid open the gym doors as quietly as possible, so as to not disturb anything if the practice was still going on, and peeked your head inside. What you saw, however, was not volleyball practice.

Standing in the middle of the gym, the entire volleyball team was gathered around Bokuto and whispering.

Suddenly feeling as though you had interrupted something much more important than volleyball practice, you moved to close the door again and wait outside quietly for whatever was going on to end. Before you could leave unnoticed, however, Bokuto’s wide eyes locked onto you over his teammates’ shoulders and a characteristic grin spread across his face.

“Y/N!” he shouted and gave an exaggerated wave, bringing a halt to the whispering all at once as everyone turned to face you.

Stopping in your tracks, you waved back sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt. My club ran a little longer than I thought,” you said. “I’ll just wait outside for you.”

“No, don’t go!” Bokuto snapped rather abruptly, his tone a little more demanding than he had originally intended. All of a sudden, the tone in the gymnasium flipped like a switch. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was, exactly, but something was definitely going on.

Akaashi’s eyes flitted from you to Bokuto and then back at you again. Soon, everyone on the team was glancing between you and the tall, owl-eyed man.

“Did the volleyball team turn into a cult overnight?” You chuckled, trying to ease the tension. “Am I the chosen sacrifice?”

When no one answered, you turned to Bokuto, whose smile was slowly faltering. He was fidgeting with his hands at his sides and his gaze kept breaking from you to look at the ground. That was the tipping point for you to realize that something truly was going on. Bokuto was never this weird around you.

“Okay, out with it.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “What’s wrong?”

Bokuto continued to remain silent, cautiously turning back to look at his teammates, who were all nodding at him encouragingly.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Akaashi shoved him forward forcefully. “Will you get on with it already so we can all go home?”

Feeling a tingle of nerves work its way up your spine, you straightened up and swallowed hard. “I was kidding about the cult thing earlier . . . but now I’m actually getting worried. Bokuto, seriously, what’s going on?”

“Y/N . . . I . . .” Bokuto stumbled over his words and it was easy to sense the gears working overtime in his head. Eventually, it seemed as though a wave of confidence washed over him and he looked you dead in the eyes. “Y/N, would you like to go out with me?”

The gym had never been so quiet. All eyes were on you, waiting impatiently for you to respond.

You felt your heart pound harshly against your ribcage and knew that you had to say something soon in case the thumping got louder and the boys were able to hear it. A thin layer of sweat spread across your palms and your mouth hung open slightly.

Was this really happening right now? Was your best friend—and the man you had secretly harboured a crush on for the past year—really asking you out?

No, there was no possible way this was real. You had been lucky enough to get Bokuto to be friends with you at all in the first place and you had decided a long time ago that that was all you were ever going to get. You were happy with that. There was no way Bokuto actually wanted to go out with you.

This had to be a joke.

Looking at the faces of his teammates, who were still waiting for you to say something, you fabricated the amused glint in their eyes and decided on the spot that this entire thing was some elaborate prank on you. They were all in on it.

Slowly, you let out a gentle laugh, trying your best not to make it sound nervous but instead, entertained. “You almost got me.” You forced a smile. “That’s a good one, Bokuto, but you should know that your pranks never get past me.”

Bokuto’s hopeful smile faltered for half a second before he too started laughing. “Yeah, haha, you caught me.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and averted his gaze. “The guys all helped me plan it but it wasn’t good enough to trick you, apparently.” He turned to his friends. “Right, guys?”

After a second of confused and stunned silence, the team started nodding and agreeing. “We’ll just have to try harder next time.” The annoyed expression had left Akaashi’s face, only to be replaced with sympathy for his friend who had just gotten shut down in one of the worst ways possible.

The idea of going out with Bokuto was so humerous to you that you had immediately assumed the entire thing had been a joke. Harsh.

“Well, I’ll wait for you outside.” You turned back toward the door. “Don’t take too long. It’ll be dark soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” Bokuto nodded.

As soon as you had stepped outside and closed behind you, you exhaled sharply. The cool breeze on your warm skin was a welcomed feeling and you closed your eyes. Crisis averted. How embarrassing it would have been for you to fall for something so childish.

Willing your pounding heart and nerves to steady, you drew in deep breaths while you waited for your best friend. A part of you wanted to high-tail it back home without him and avoid the awkwardness that was sure to come, but you knew that delaying the initial confrontation after the incident would only make things worse in the long run.

The best thing to do would be to laugh about it together and move on.

Five minutes later, Bokuto emerged from the gym and you fell into pace beside him, the two of you following the path you took home every day—a path you could no doubt walk with your eyes closed at this point, which was exactly what you wanted to do. There was no laughing happening and the last thing you wanted to do was look up into those bright golden eyes beside you and have to face the emotions waiting there.

Halfway through the slow and silent walk, you couldn’t ignore the fact that something was obviously bothering Bokuto. No matter how exhausted or how bad his day had ever been, he always had something to talk your ear off about. The exuberant Fukurodani ace was known for many things, but being reserved and quiet was not one of them.

Then it hit you like a brick wall. He hadn’t been joking at all when he had asked you out. Somehow, he felt the same way about you that you felt about him and you had shut him down, too afraid to look stupid in front of his friends.

Too afraid to confront your true feelings out in the open where everyone could see.

When your footfalls stopped from beside him and you were no longer at his side, Bokuto turned around to face you. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, you voiced what was on your mind.

“You weren’t kidding, were you?”

Bokuto’s eyes softened and his shoulders slumped. “No.”

Anger and sadness overwhelmed you all at once and you slapped your hands over your face to hide the slurry of emotions. “I’m such an idiot!”

“You’re not an idiot.” Bokuto was immediately in front of you, prying your hands away from your face and forcing you to look up at him. “You just don’t feel the same way that I do. That’s okay. We can still be friends.”

“But that’s the thing!” you exclaimed. “I do feel the same way!”

Bokuto’s wide eyes grew even wider and his jaw dropped. “You . . . what?!”

“I thought it was so impossible that you liked me like that that I convinced myself you must have been joking,” you told him. “That’s why I’m an idiot.”

“Why would it be so impossible?”

You let out an exasperated chuckled. “Because you’re you—the larger-than-life ace of Fukurodani who everyone adores—and I’m . . . me. I thought I was pretty lucky to even get to be friends with you in the first place so I had completely written off ever being anything more.”

“You’re right. You are an idiot.” Bokuto grinned wide, proving that there was no malice whatsoever in his words. “Of course I like you! You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You being you is exactly why I like you.”

Balling up your fists at your sides, you huffed. “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?! I’ve been pining for you for a whole year, Bokuto!”

“A whole year?” Bokuto’s eyes lit up brighter than the night stars. Before you knew what was happening, he was scooping you up into his arms and crushing you into a hug. “You mean to tell me we could have been together for a whole year at this point? We’ve missed out on so much!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, like what?”

“Like this.” He gently pressed his lips to yours, continuing to hold you tightly in his arms. “We could have been doing that for a whole year.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips curled into a blissful smile. “Well, then I guess we’ve got some catching up to do.” With that, you pulled him close and kissed him once more . . . well, maybe more than just once.

#Bokuto Kōtarō #Haikyuu #bokuto x reader #x reader #fanfiction #lostinthewiind #volleyball #anime #manga #reader insert #bokuto kotaro x reader

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

romantic at heart | m.

Legend of Korra - Mako x Reader, fluff

tw: none

word count: 4.6k

A/N: canon? who needs her? certainly not this fic. korrasami deserved to be canon earlier so i vaguely mentioned it, and mako and bolin’s apartment is the perfect setting don’t @ me.

Summary: Mako has always had bad luck when it comes to love, but with (Y/n), things feel easy. So why, then, is it so hard to admit it?

the three times he didn’t say it, and the one time he did.

one;

“I’m telling you guys, this is going to be great! Part Four is my favorite in The Adventures of Nuktuk: Hero of the South!”

Mako shared an amused look with (Y/n) as Bolin led the way into the darkened theater, holding open the door for the group to enter. Asami and Korra passed hand in hand, and when (Y/n) walked past Bolin, they tossed a piece of popcorn at him and Bolin caught it in his mouth.

Mako brought up the rear of the group, and as they walked up to find their seats, he whispered, “How many parts are there, Bo?”

“Seven! And the Finale’s great, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t have the heart that part four does.”

“That’s just because he kisses Ginger,” (Y/n) leaned in and whispered to Mako, earning an incredulous “hey!” from Bolin.

“How’d that work out, by the way?” Asami turned to the earthbender with what sounded like genuine curiosity and Bolin chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, you know, the hearts of mover stars are fickle, so we didn’t last long… there was something about it being a publicity stunt, but that didn’t make much sense, so…”

“Well it’s her loss,” Korra elbowed Bolin in the side with a smile and he forced a chuckle.

“She doesn’t deserve you, Bo.”

“Yeah, you’re a great mover star.”

A few people in the theater shushed them, and the group settled down into their chairs, just moments before the lights dimmed further and the mover started. The disembodied voice of Varrick boomed through the speakers with a recap of the previous 3 parts of the daring adventure, and everyone fell silent, slowly getting sucked into the mover before them.

Ever since their debut, the Nuktuk movies were a success - a staple of Republic City culture - getting replayed in theatres again and again. After learning that Mako hadn’t seen Nuktuk in its entirety, Bolin called for a state of emergency and got the whole group together so they could schedule a time for a complete rewatch of the seven-part masterpiece.

Mako had been planning to make some excuse - a series of cases that Beifong put him up to, or a slew of paperwork that some higher-paid coworkers pawned off onto him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to miss something for work, and it wouldn’t be the first attempt at lying to get out of a viewing party. Just three months ago he narrowly avoided a showing of Love amongst the Dragons by faking sickness and saying that Beifong told him to sleep all day so he could be back at work the next. Everyone but Bolin believed him, and Bolin (who didn’t want to see it either but promised Asami he would go) let it slide.

After that, Bolin was better at guessing when Mako was lying, and whenever he needed Mako’s compliance, he set (Y/n) up to the task of cajoling Mako to come along.

So far, their track record had been impeccable.

(Y/n) chuckled at something they saw on screen, and Mako turned to them. “How many cases of Vari-dye do you think Varrick sold after that product placement?” They gestured to the screen where the once blonde Ginger flagrantly mentioned her hair dye product before becoming a, well… ginger. The script was somehow able to loosely tie the product placement into the plot, but the moment earned a couple of well-earned laughs throughout the theater.

“Millions, most likely. Aren’t these movers big in Ba Sing Se?”

“As comedies,” (Y/n) muttered, leaning in, clearly trying to keep their voice down so Bolin didn’t hear. The theater around them was dark and silent, but the light reflected in (Y/n)’s eyes was full of life and mirth. Mako found himself unable to look away.

He cleared his throat, “You do have to give it to Nuktuk and his comedic timing.”

“And Juji’s heart-wrenching death and subsequent resurrection.”

Mako found himself chuckling at their lame joke, and for once, he didn’t mind. (Y/n) smiled triumphantly, as though they had accomplished something truly grand, and angled their bag of popcorn towards Mako. He took some and popped a piece in his mouth, his laughter still dying on his lips.

“Varrick must be quite the director, to get you to laugh in a totally serious, not-a-comedy mover.”

“Varrick?” and there was just enough suggestion in Mako’s words to say all that he couldn’t, though why he couldn’t seem to get anything else out, he didn’t know.

Things were always easy with (Y/n); their smiles were soft and infectious, their tactics in getting him to open up were effortless and effective, and falling in love with them had been the most simple and uncomplicated thing in this world. It should have been with such ease that Mako told them that it was them that got him into the theater and their corny comments that made him burn inside, like a thousand dying comets that took the form of shooting stars.

But for some reason, he was stuck.

Unsurprising, really, Mako had never really had luck when it came to love and even friendship. There was always something complicating things; there were always two sides of him, fighting the other for reasons even he couldn’t fathom. Eventually, one of them would lose. Eventually, something would give.

But until that eventuality…

“I suppose I am quite the comedian. Should I write a screenplay?” (Y/n) was speaking, but something in their demeanor was different - a little stunned - like they hadn’t considered something before and it was only now dawning on them, slowly, but comfortably. Easy. “It would have to be a sequel to Nuktuk, of course. Maybe I can introduce the grumpy, mysterious fire-bender who he’s now forced to share a quest with?”

(Y/n) nudged him in the shoulder, already rolling their eyes at their own idea. Mako looked down, suddenly interested in picking the perfect piece of popcorn. “Yeah. If you’re making it, why not?”

(Y/n) snorted and turned back to the film.

two;

Taking the steps to his apartment two at a time, Mako fished for his keys in the pocket of his pants. Walking the beat had the potential to be more trouble than it was worth, and often Mako found himself at the gym at the end of the day, taking out his frustration the way he used to - pro-bending. Well, not so much pro-bending, anymore, seeing as they disbanded the Fire Ferrets, and dissolved the team, but it was the same training, nonetheless, and Mako had been a pro-bender so long that oftentimes, nothing felt more comfortable than the gym.

As he walked down the hall to his door - second on the right, Bolin had insisted - Mako could hear the sounds of laughter and the beeping of the oven. Despite himself, he smiled, breathing in deeply as he fiddled with the lock and opened the door.

Inside the tiny apartment, (Y/n) and Bolin were working side by side, leaning over the oven as they looked at the baked goods that lay within. The counters were a mess of cluttered ingredients and mismatched bake wear, Pabu had tracked flour across the carpet, and by every measure it was chaotic, but Mako simply leaned against the doorframe, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Stress baking, again? Y’know, I’m really starting to regret giving you a key.”

"This was all Bolin, actually.” (Y/n) pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it down before turning to Mako with their usual countenance. “He told me to come over - he bought a set of mixing bowls and everything.”

“He didn’t buy more counter space?”

“Hey!” Bolin called incredulously through a mouth full of baked goods. Pabu scuttled beneath him, eating the crumbs that fell to the floor. “Counters wouldn’t fit.”

“It’s alright Bo,” (Y/n) nudged his arm with their shoulder, turning back to the task at hand. They used an old spatula to take their masterpiece off of the pan, and Bolin took two from them.

“You have to try this batch, Mako, (Y/n)’s gotten really good at their green tea cookies.”

“Oh?”

Mako shut the door behind him and walked over to the couch. (Y/n) met him halfway with their signature, light green cookie, Mako took it with an appreciative smile. “The secret is in the matcha. I wasn’t putting in enough before, so they didn’t taste right.”

Mako broke off a bit of the cookie, making sure to get a bit that had a white chocolate chip in it, and savored the taste. (Y/n) was watching him with one of their expectant smiles, and he nodded his head, the bittersweet flavor still lingering in his mouth. “These are your best yet.”

“High praise, coming from you.” And there was an edge of sarcasm to their voice, but their eyes were bright. Mako just looked at them for a moment, really looked at them in all of their casual beauty. (Y/n) had moved into his life so early on and so slowly that Mako didn’t know what life would be like without their casual teasing and easy grins.

And, of course, their random (but not unwelcome) bouts of stress baking.

Mako must have been staring a bit too long, because (Y/n) raised a playful eyebrow, and not too long after, Bolin broke the silence. “Uh, Pabu and I have to go, and uh... y’know, do adult stuff, with uh....”

“With Korra?” (Y/n) supplied amusedly, turning to Bolin, who was stuffing a napkin with cookies hurriedly.

“Yeah! Y’know, Avatar stuff...” Bolin shrugged, slipping out the door, only to open it up again and grab his shoes before shoving off again.

(Y/n) scoffed and Mako sighed, calling after him. “Real smooth, Bo!”

A muffled response called out to them, and (Y/n) laughed, walking back over to the kitchen area, where they started to put together another batch of cookies, measuring the sugar with their hands and putting it into a bowl with butter. “I’m surprised you haven’t been kicked out from noise complaints.”

Yeah, well Bolin charmed our neighbors into liking us too much to see us go.”

“His charm does go far, doesn’t it?” Mako watched and (Y/n) moved through his apartment with ease, pulling spoons out of the drawers and cleaning the dishes as they went. Their practiced movements had the surety and preciseness of someone who lived there, and the thought was enough to make Mako’s throat dry.

“So,” Mako cleared his throat and walked over to (Y/n) passing them the egg they were reaching for. “you measure everything with your hands, and yet you’re constantly insisting that baking is a science. How does that work?”

“It’s all in the weight and look of it - a full cup is a far cry from a fourth.” (Y/n) mixed the ingredients together, their brow set in concentration, “Or, at least, that’s what my mom used to say. What I will tell you—” they looked up at Mako rather suddenly, that intensity still alight within them “—is that it’s in how it feels.”

“So the weight of it.”

“Yes... but it’s more than that.” (Y/n) looked at him with their sharp eyes, as though trying to judge something. “Go wash your hands,” and they jerked their head to the side, “I’ll show you.”

Mako didn’t even hesitate to do as they said, and even though Bolin had left, he could hear his voice - a surprised “what...?” - nagging the back of his mind. It was easy to shrug off. It was (Y/n). Everything was easy when it came to them.

“Alright,” (Y/n) said, with a hint of childish excitement, as Mako slung the towel he had used to dry his hands over his shoulder. “Give me your hands.”

Their touch tickled and their fingers - dry and powdery from the flour - grazed over his, opening his palms with a gentle sort of care.

“Here is one cup or so.” (Y/n) grabbed a handful of flour, transferred it to their other hand, and skimmed some off the top before placing it in his. “Yeah, you can feel the weight, and you can see how much there is, but you have to kind of trust that what you're feeling is right, because it’s not always going to feel the same, right? When you’re tired or you’ve been baking all day, things feel different, even though they’re the same.”

“All this for flour?”

“For each cup of flour. We need two and a half.”

“I can see why Bolin asks you to do the baking.” (Y/n) chuckled and guided his hands to the mixing bowl, where Mako let the flour slip out of his fingertips like really fine sand. “But I can tell that you feel it...” the last bit of flour fell out of his hands, but Mako let his hands hover near (Y/n)’s for just a moment longer, “and that’s good enough.”

They smiled, and it has all the serenity and beauty of dawn. “I’ll make a baker of you, yet.” They added more flour to the bowl and started mixing, their gaze flicking up to Mako. “One of these days you’re going to understand the feeling of it.”

“I...” and part of Mako wanted to say that he already did, that his feelings were about the only thing he understood when it came to moments like these, but the words got caught in his throat, and he found himself unable to get them out. “I think we’ll have to do a lot more baking, then.”

three;

Mako ran, the ground beneath his feet steady and his breathing exact. The beauty of Republic City Park surrounded him and in the early morning, when the air was just nippy enough to need a jacket, there were few people to be found. The usual groups of people practicing tai chi or playing Pai Sho weren’t out yet, and the sun was just peaking over the horizon.

Morning runs often gave Mako a sense of clarity - there was very little he could focus on when in fast, forward motion, and everything complicated fell away. It was just him, the ground, and the fire in his veins.

Mako slowed to a jog, and when he found an empty park bench, he sat down, wiping the sweat off of his brow. The shadows were just starting to creep away, losing to the brilliance of the sun and hiding in each recess and tiny alcove. The duck pond in front of him was warming to a crystal-like blue. Mako breathed out and tipped his head back, letting the stillness wash over him, his thoughts slowly catching up with him.

“Mako?”

And at first, he thought it was just his feelings for (Y/n) meeting up with him once more, but then he heard the steady pounding of the pavement and there they were jogging toward him, ushering in the morning with a comfortable pace.

“Heading into work later than usual?” They stopped by the bench and Mako slid over so they’d have room to sit.

“No, Beifong told me to take a day off. I usually do paperwork today, but she handed it off to someone else.”

(Y/n) hummed in acknowledgement. “So you’re joining Asami and me for our run, then?”

"Huh?”

“Asami and I usually go on a run, at this time. We meet here.”

“Asami told me that I should take a run since I wasn’t going into work today.”

Both of them scoffed, relaxing deeper into the metal bench. For a moment they just sat there, taking in the moment, and letting the world dawn on them, a beautiful mixture of colors - a painting slowly completing itself. Eventually, (Y/n) turned to Mako, an eyebrow raised in jest. “Do you reckon they think they’re being slick?”

“Probably - and it’ll only get worse once they get Korra on board.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t already?” The two chuckled, shaking their heads at the efforts of their friends, and (Y/n) knocked their knees together, leaning in a little closer. “It’s alright, I like spending time with you.”

“You’re gonna hate me once we finish this run, though.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy me some tea, afterwards.” (Y/n) stood up, stretching their arms and letting out a yawn. “To make it up to me, of course.”

Mako stifled a smile and stood, making a show of his weary sigh. “Alright” —(Y/n) rolled their eyes at him— “You drive a hard bargain.”

They started off at a slow jog, and every minute or so Mako upped the intensity until they were sprinting across Republic City Park, occasionally dodging the wayward soul taking a morning stroll. The world blurred around them, the lush foliage turning into swaths of green with the occasional pinprick of color - purple or yellow, green or blue. As they slowed down, the world became more defined, and when they came to a walk, (Y/n) pulled ahead and turned around so they could walk backwards, facing Mako with a breathless grin.

“You owe me at least a muffin to go along with that tea, after what you just pulled. I almost ran into a woman walking her toddler! Could you imagine what would have happened, had I hit her?”

Mako laughed, still coming down from his high, and (Y/n) grinned at the sound - dazzling and so bright, it put the sun to shame. “Let’s get you out of the park, then, before you start running down Pai Sho players.”

The two fell into step beside each other, taking the path out of the park and into the busy streets. Already, Republic City was booming with life, and the two were rather quick to slip into the quiet tea shop that was just around the corner. Inside, the cafe was fairly empty, with slow music playing from the speakers. (Y/n) closed their eyes and breathed in the smell of freshly-baked muffins, and Mako was quick to look away when they caught him staring.

(Y/n) walked towards the case that held all of the baked goods, trying to read the different types they had displayed. “This is way better than trying to throw something together at my apartment.”

Mako pulled his attention away from the menu board, where he had been searching for the right type of tea. “Your apartment? You mean you actually have a place to go, other than mine?”

“You gave me the key.”

“For emergencies.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, ‘emergencies’ is in clear need of a mutual definition.”

The two ordered, and Mako paid, despite (Y/n) saying they had the money, and when their order was ready, they took a seat in the corner, next to a window that overlooked a busy intersection. (Y/n) insisted they split the muffin and gave half to Mako, and after settling into their more calm atmosphere, (Y/n) turned to Mako.

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of your day off?” (Y/n) took a sip of their tea and fixed Mako with one of those stares - the kind that saw through everything else, and somehow got down to his core. “I can’t imagine this is what you had planned.”

“Uh… I don’t know. I figured I’d go home and work on finding a lead to a case or something.”

“Even though Beifong told you to take the day off?”

“Well, I’m not at the station…” Mako trailed off, suddenly finding great interest in the rim of his cup.

“And you’re not going to work from home, either.” (Y/n) scoffed exaggeratedly, and though Mako was the most incorrigible person they’d ever met. Although, in their defense, he probably was. “Not on my watch.”

“So what, you’re going to find something for me to do all day?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Mako watched as (Y/n) sat back in the booth, a triumphant yet challenging smile on their face, and he felt the disbelief in his chest melt into something softer. It was there, again, that urge to say something both incredibly brave and terribly stupid; that desire to put all of his feelings into words and express them more truly than anything else.

“Alright,” Mako swallowed and allowed himself a small smile. “If that’s what it takes.

✧ *:･ﾟ

one;

Just when Mako had admitted to (Y/n) that he was an avid reader, he couldn’t remember, but at some point, they had found out, and ever since, the two spent their lazy weekends sprawled out on his sky blue sofa, books in hand. This time, (Y/n) had come earlier than usual, and by midday, they had already finished their novel - a fast-paced murder mystery with just a bit of a redemption arc for one of the main leads. They had talked about (Y/n)’s book while walking down to the market to get the necessary fixings for dinner, and when they came back to Mako’s tiny apartment, he passed them one of his favorites to read - a historical fiction that combined elements of notable legends and recorded history to make an interesting thriller with plenty of easy-to-digest drama.

When (Y/n) took it from him, they took one look at the summary and raised an eyebrow. “This is one of your favorites?” Mako had tried to push down his embarrassment, stuttering out some kind of response, but had just smiled. “It’s not a bad thing, just surprising. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

And they did. For the next hour and a half, the two sat in Mako’s apartment in relative silence, reading separate novels and making the occasional exclamation of shock, betrayal, joy, and surprise. Mako had looked over at (Y/n) occasionally, trying to judge where they were in the book, and whether they were enjoying it just as much as he had, the first time.

At some point in the day, the sun filtering through the window matured into a deeper, golden shade, turning the afternoon into early evening. Mako, who had been thoroughly engrossed in his novel for the better part of the day, stood up from his couch and stretched when he noticed the change in light. Letting out a sigh, he made his way over to the kitchen area. As he started to make dinner for the both of them, Mako missed the way that (Y/n) turned to look at him from their place on the couch, a lopsided grin on their face. They still lay on the turquoise material, sitting upside down with their feet in the air, book in hand and the red couch cushion resting on their stomach, watching as Mako turned on the stove with a click of propane and a bit of fire bending.

It wasn't long before the apartment was full of the comforting smell of Mako's cooking, and soon (Y/n) found it impossible to focus on the page before them. They opted to right themself instead and watch Mako as he finished up, adding the finishing touches to the meal before splitting what lay in the pan into two different bowls.

He handed a bowl to (Y/n) as he settled onto the couch, both of them moving to sit cross-legged, their knees touching. (Y/n) savored the flavor of Mako's signature dish, and he gestured to the book beside them.

"How're you liking it so far?"

"The book? It's great. Perfectly paced, in my opinion, although I wouldn't mind for a little bit more world-building. The time period is so interesting and they could lean into it a little more."

Mako nodded, satisfied with the smile on their face and the eagerness in their tone. "I figured you'd like it. There's a lot happening, but the characters are good enough to carry the story."

"That's a raving review, coming from you." (Y/n) laughed, the sound falling from their lips effortlessly. "And I can see why it's your favorite. You like a good redemption arc, don't you?"

"It's an interesting enough idea."

"A rather sweet one, too. Are you sure you're not a romantic at heart?"

Mako scoffed in response, but even so, he could feel his cheeks burning up, the nagging voice in his head (the one that told him to just confess already, or do something equally as rash) getting louder from conviction. "I think that's you."

"Oh definitely, but there's always room for one more," (Y/n) mumbled through a mouth full of noodles. "And judging by your taste in books, I'd say you already are."

"There's not even a romantic subplot!"

"The main character literally took lightning to the face for his best friend, and then proceeded to say that he’d do it all again, if it meant they could stay together. Are you telling me there isn't something there?"

“You said yourself that they’re friends!”

“C’mon, Mako,” (Y/n) deadpanned, setting aside their dinner so that they could use their hands to punctuate their speech. There was a fire in their eyes, and something restless in the way they moved - like there was something important they were trying to say. “Friendship is clearly just an excuse for them.”

“An excuse?” Mako felt his throat dry. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of their proximity, and the little space that still existed between them - like they were almost touching, and yet oceans apart.

(Y/n)’s hands fidgeted in their lap. “Yeah, like… An easy out when you’re too afraid to go for it...or when you think you’re not enough.” Part of Mako wanted to look away, but (Y/n)’s eyes had caught his gaze too fully and the other part of him battled to stay. For the longest moment, he couldn’t move. “But they love each other - you can see it.”

There was a battle waging war inside Mako; each side fighting the other for dominance, and only one coming out on top. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like a deep sigh. “Yeah, they love each other.”

(Y/n) smiled, their mouth moving with just the slightest tremble, and part of Mako wondered what had disrupted the ease with which they did everything, but another part of him already knew. Mako reached out and cupped their cheek, the feeling of their skin against his flooding him with courage he didn’t know he had.

“And I love you, (Y/n).”

“About time you confessed to me.” (Y/n)’s eyes sparkled in jest before they surged forward, kissing Mako and igniting the fire in his chest. All he could think about was them and the way they blissfully invaded all of his senses, how soft their lips were, and how strong their hands were, as they wrapped around him, pulling him nearer. When they broke apart, (Y/n) rested their forehead on his.

Then they said it, their voice a whisper that sent him tumbling over the edge, their breath fanning against his cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Mako kissed them again, craving the feeling of their lips against his, chasing after the way they made him feel - like every moment had led to this, like every battle had been worth the struggle. Time seemed to stop, and for a moment, it was as though there was no gravity, and the only thing anchoring Mako to this world was (Y/n), and their touch.

“Like I said,” (Y/n) was smiling when he pulled away, and their gaze made it easy to come back down to earth. “You’re a romantic at heart.”

Mako chuckled and (Y/n) laughed with him, the sound filling the tiny apartment with something undefined but utterly perfect.

“Alright, so maybe I am.” Mako relented, tipping his head back. “But an epic romance doesn’t happen within that book, if that’s what you're after.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to write a sequel of our own."

-- taglist: message me if you want to be added to a taglist!

#legend of korra #lok #the legend of korra #tlok #mako #mako tlok #mako lok #mako x reader #mako x you #mako imagine #lok imagine #legend of korra fanfic #legend of korra imagine #fluff #reader insert #atla #gender neutral reader #and yeah you can measure flour and stuff with your hands i do it all the time don't @ me

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

52 or 41 for the meet ugly? sternclay, nsfw if thats chill

Here it is!

52. you think I’m leering at you in the gym but really I’m studying your form and trying to learn how to make mine better Sternclay NSFW

This is the toughest part of Joseph’s workout, so he could do without the audience.

He first noticed the guy during his turn at the squat rack; taller than him, in a grey t-shirt and black shorts that show he has muscle to spare, with brown eyes that were on Joseph’s ass whenever he looked away. Were Joseph not in the middle of the kettlebell burpees sequence, he might even spare a glance of his own to see how he fills out the front of his shorts, but he’s tired and he’s been dealing with behind the back stares all day.

When he’s done, he takes a final look over his shoulder to see the guy still staring at him. Joseph locks eyes, watches his face flood with guilt as he becomes very focused on his shoes. He continues studying them, as if holding still might keep Joseph from coming closer.

“Okay, I sense you’re new here, so I’ll be polite: everyone checks people out at the gym now and then. But the rule is you don’t do it so fucking brazenly the other person notices.”

“I, uh, I wasn’t-”

“I counted you staring ten separate times, even when your workout had you facing away from me.” He crosses his arms, annoyed that the man has the gall to deny his blatant ogling.

“I, uh, I was studying your form” the newcomer rubs his wrist, sheepish, “I’m kinda new to, like, formal workout stuff, and you clearly know your shit, so I was trying to use you to figure out how to do my circuit without fucking up my spine.”

Joseph rolls his eyes; that’s the first lie anyone tells when they get called out for staring.

“I’m serious!” The man has the audacity to look perturbed. Joseph has zero interest in an argument but every desire to call his bluff.

“Well, if that’s the case, if we cross paths again you’re welcome to join me and I can give you pointers.”

With that, he heads towards the locker rooms. He doesn’t feel eyes on him once the whole walk there.

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

“Hey.”

Joseph looks up from setting his fitbit to see his not-so-subtle admirer beside him. The taller man smirks, “you didn’t think I’d take you up on it, did you?”

“No. But I’m not about to go back on my offer. Or modify my work out if you join me. Make your choice accordingly.”

“Okay. What’s first?” His smile is friendly, but there’s a challenge in it. Joseph, who's been bored the entire day, is more than ready to rise to it.

“Jump rope. Nine minutes total.”

They find a spare rope for the other man, but he keeps getting his right foot caught.

“Drop your elbows some, when they’re too high it’s easier for the rope to catch.”

“Oh, thanks.”

His new gym buddy is winded when they’re done, but follows him eagerly over to the mats for his core workout. He’s better at that, though Joseph still has to correct the position of his back the first time. They move through cardio, weights, and cool down with no conversation that isn’t directly related to body position or technique. By the end, the newcomer is soaked with sweat. And..smiling?

“That was fucking brutal. Can we do it again some time?”

If you, um, really want to?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph smiles back, “I’m here every day after work. So you can come find me…”

“Barclay” the taller man fills in his unasked question.

“Joseph. Oh, and try to get some shoes with better traction soon. You’ll have an easier time.”

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

“You okay there?” Barclay looks at Joseph from the treadmill on his left, “you seem kinda low energy today.”

“I ate too small a lunch.” He hits the stop button, walks as the belt slows, “I’ll be fine once I fish my power bar out of my glovebox on the way home.”

“Or you could, uh, you could come get dinner with me? There’s a great spot two blocks from here; it’s my favorite stop after you put me through my paces.”

Joseph thinks about downing a protein shake while wandering his empty apartment.

“That sounds great.”

Barclay leads him to a diner, all yellow lights and red pleather. His friend orders a stack of waffles and fried eggs (“I’m not a big fan of syrup”) while he opts for a french dip and, on Barclay’s recommendation, a chocolate malt. When the server asks if it’s one bill or two, Barclay pays for both of them.

“Least I can do in exchange for the free personal training you’re giving me.”

“It’s not like I mind” Joseph offers him access to his french fries, “I like working out with you. I’ve, um, never had a gym buddy before. UP agents are considered weirdos at work, I’m considered odd for one of them, and, well, you’ve done my workout; it intimidates some people.”

Barclay looks at him across the formica, beard still a bit mussed from drying it after his shower, “Yo--uh, I mean, it is pretty intimidating. But like, in a good way. The kind that makes you wanna push yourself.”

Joseph allows himself a flirtatious smile, “I’m glad you appreciate it.”

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

Barclay: gonna miss workout tomorrow. Got a date. Promise I’ll let you work me twice as hard on Friday.

J.S: Have fun. And you know I will, big guy.

Joseph slips his earbuds in; he’s gotten so used to their easy conversation that his best of the ‘00s playlist is jarring in it’s place. But he falls into his rhythm, is halfway through his workout when a tall, familiar shape in grey shorts hurries through the door and drops it’s water bottle next to his.

“Is everything okay?” He pops his headphones out as Barclay shakes his head.

“Date was a bust; guy was so pushy I bailed after one drink. Figured if I caught up with you the night wouldn’t totally suck.”

Joseph grabs a second mat, lays it out, “I can’t do dinner tonight; since I thought you were busy, tonight is for running errands.”

“No big.” Barclay lays next to him, their fingers brushing for a moment before Joseph counts them down.

As the evening ticks away in sets and reps, he gets increasingly worried about Barclay; his friend begs off both squats and rowing, and doesn’t join him for the ten minute cool-down jog on the treadmill. He hopes it’s just a side effect of having a beer before working out and not something more dire.

The locker room is empty on their side, and he finds Barclay leaning his forehead on the wall outside one of the shower cubicles, taking long, deliberate breaths. His shirt is off, but he’s still in his shorts. When he turns, startled by Joseph asking if he’s okay, it’s immediately obvious why.

“Sorry” Barclay is doing his best to conceal his hard-on, “this is hella embarrassing.”

“It happens” Joseph aims for a pleasant shrug even as his own cock starts acting up, “lots of friction and, um, and all that.”

“It’d be less humiliating if it was that. I, uh,” Barclay is redder than Joseph’s ever seen him, “I put a plug in before my date and, uh, I was in such a hurry to come find you once it ended that I, I didn’t take time to pull it out.”

He forces his voice to stay gentle, to not reveal the heat burbling up from his stomach, “You could have just asked me to wait a second once you got here.”

“Didn’t think of it until I sat down on the mat and realized how much I could feel the fucking thing. Like I, uh, I said, I kinda had a one track mind when I got here. I” his brown eyes are Bambi-wide when they skitter from Joseph’s gaze, “I wanted to see you.”

Shoes squeaking on the wet tile, Joseph nudges him into the stall, “Is that really it, big guy? You went through all that discomfort just for a few more seconds of being near me?”

“Uh huh” Barclay whimpers, his big, broad frame shaking when Joseph presses him against the wall.

“That’s sweet. Do you know what happens to sweet boys when they’re good?”

His friend shakes his head, hair catching across his eyes. Joseph tips his chin up, lips slightly parted in invitation. Barclay groans and drops his head down to meet him. It is, without a doubt, the messiest kiss of Joseph’s life, all sweat and odd angles like his first time in his boyfriend’s den in the July heat. The parallel is heightened by Barclay instantly grabbing his hips and humping him through his shorts.

“Joseph, babe, please, please say this is okay.” His hands tighten their hold when Joseph licks a stripe up his neck; it’s sweaty, sticky, the kind of thing he hates in porn but damn him if the doesn’t want to lick and suck Barclay until he can taste him in his sleep.

“No, it’s not.” Joseph cups his face to keep the panic he sees there at bay, “because if you cum like that, I won’t get to show you the rest of your reward.”

“Re-reward?” Barclay actually squeaks, and what can Joseph do at such a sound but kiss him once more.

“Shorts off, water on. I’ll be right back.”

Water obediently patters on the tiles as he shoves his hand deep into his gym bag; god bless emergency laundry quarters and bathroom vending machines.

He strips, joins Barclay in the shower and discovers his cock is even more pleasing than it’s outline suggested.

“Lord almighty, you’re gorgeous.” He lowers to his knees, traces the path of droplets through the hair on Barclays stomach and chest. Then he removes the first condom from its pack, rolls it down the thick cock that’s just tempting him to abandon his plan, then slips the second one on his finger.

“Fuck, this has gotta be a dream, right? Because it’s the same one I’ve jerked off to for fucking weeks.”

“No, big guy, it’s not.” Joseph reaches between Barclay legs, “oh shit, you’ve been wearing this all night?”

“AHnnnuhhuh” Barclay moans as Joseph toys with the base of the plug.

“And you still did a huge chunk of our workout. I’m impressed, big guy, impressed and very, very, very pleased.” He kisses his cock on each very, Barclay letting out an “uhn” at each one. As he slides the plug free he continues, “To think, your date was so unpleasant he missed out on not only your charm and your handsome face, but the fact you were prepared enough to prep for him.”

“His loss is my gain ohfuck, Joseph, baby, please-” Barclays cock bobs in the air as Joseph teases his ass. When he presses in Barclay gasps, Joseph praying the droplets hitting the walls lend any escaping sounds an air of plausible deniability.

“Nice and open. Good boy.” Joseph slowly works his finger in and out, building up to two almost immediately. He nuzzles Barclays cock, “do you always bottom?”

“M-most of the timeOH, god” His head lolls back when Joseph takes his cock into his mouth, sucking lazily as he fucks him open, “I like it, makes me feel taken care of.”

Joseph eases in a third finger, let’s his cock fall from his mouth as water collects in his eyelashes. Barclay is staring down at him, hair several shades darker as it plasters to his face and eyes hopeful.

“In that case” Joseph times his upstrokes to his thrusts, “how about you come to my place on Sunday? I’ve got a whole box of cocks to choose from; we could work our way through them.”

“Yes, ohfuckyesplease.”

“We could play around with positions too” He can see Barclay’s muscles flexing in new ways as he begins bucking his hips, chasing the tender pressure of Joseph’s fist, “I bet you look great on all fours, and I know what you look like with your ass in the air already. You in my lap, that could be fun--oh, ohshit” he laughs as Barclay nearly fucks himself off his fingers, “you like that, like the idea of sitting in my lap like the big, sweet boy you are while I fuck you, like the thought of cumming on my cock and then going to fetch the next one, of me not letting you stop until we’ve been thorough and found your favorite because that’s what you deserve-”

“Fuck!” Barclay moans, hands slipping on the tile as he floods the tip of the condom. Joseph adds “get tested” to his mental to-do list while the other man slides down the wall like a slasher victim until they’re face to face on the floor.

“You okay, big guy?”

“Can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s just the lunges talking.”

“Please” Barclay kisses his shoulder, “please let me suck your dick.”

Joseph smacks the handle until the water turns off, scrambles to his feet and clings to the “no-slip” bar as Barclay shoves his face between his legs. He sucks his cock, occasionally opening his mouth enough to licks his folds. He’s so eager, even tries fucking into him with his tongue, big hands groping his ass while Joseph stifles his moans in his forearm. He’s going to cum in the gym shower, he’s going to cum from his first blowjob in years, he’s coming to cum from the astounding, impossibly hot man below him who he intends to dom into next fucking week-

He cums hard, the hand not bracing him on the wall dropping down to stroke Barclays hair. After a moment, he tries to grab his towel from where he tossed it, Barclay smiling up at him.

“Hey, Joseph?”

“Yes? Hah, got you” He pulls the towel in.

“I was staring at your ass that first day. I mean, I was mostly looking at your form but there was for sure some ass appreciation.”

“I fucking knew it.” Joseph begins drying him off, “just for that you owe me dinner again.”

“Thought you had errands.”

“Shit. How do you feel about a romantic, pre-dinner Target run?”

“I’d love it.”

#trans agent stern #sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugly

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Nobody Listens to Kix

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Case 01338: Kix

They always say that medics make the worst patients, and it was doubly true in Kix's case. If he wasn't working in the medbay, all medical care was left to the droids, and their programming left a lot to be desired. At least the men had Kix to treat them. Kix had no organic to treat him if he was the one sick.

At the moment, he was fairly certain he wasn't sick. Sure, his head ached so badly that his stomach threatened to rebel and it hurt to move any part of his body, but that could be explained by any number of ailments. Maybe it had always hurt to swallow, breathe, and blink, and he just hadn't noticed.

On the off chance that he wasn't as well as he thought, Kix had been working to stave off any illness floating around the Resolute. He took in extra liquids and got as much sleep as possible. Since he practically lived in the medbay, sleep was a challenge, but he was trying.

Kix pulled his head up from the surface of his desk, groaning as he did so. The shift in position made his head throb worse than before, but that wasn't why he was cursing. When had he fallen asleep? He was less than halfway through the ever-present stack of medical forms taking up half of his desk, and with no troopers in the medbay, he needed to do as much work as possible before the next crisis hit.

"That didn't sound very rested," a voice remarked from closer than Kix was comfortable with.

He turned quickly, took a moment to huff out a breath and clutch at his head, and stared into Rex's amused eyes. "Captain. When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago. I watched you fall asleep on your forms."

"Did you need something, sir?" Kix asked, wincing. Why were the medbay lights so bright? "Is everything all right?"

"Actually, no," Rex told him. "I have a sick trooper who won't accept medical treatment."

"I'll set him straight," Kix promised grimly. "Who is it?"

"You, obviously," Rex said, the amusement on his face now tinged with concern. "Kix, you're dead on your feet."

"I'm fine, sir."

"Then you won't mind if we power up one of the medical droids to double-check that?"

Kix grimaced. "You want to use one of those shu-shuk machines? They have a success rate of-"

"-55%" Rex finished with him. "I know, Kix, you've told us all. But you're the only medic we've got, and you're clearly not going to treat yourself. The medical droids are the only option. Consider it an order."

"Sorry, sir," Kix reminded. "I have authority on all matters of health. Yours, the men's, and mine. I outrank you in this."

"In this," Rex echoed, frowning forebodingly. "Fifteen push-ups, soldier. That's an order that has nothing to do with medicine."

"Captain-"

"I'm serious, Kix. Fifteen push-ups and I'll drop the medical droid stuff."

"Get ready to lose, Captain," Kix said with a grin. Rex returned the expression, but there was worry on his face.

Five down. This is gonna be so easy…

Eight in and I feel fine. I knew I wasn't sick.

Okay, Kix. You need to spend a little more time in the gym. You shouldn't be this winded after eleven push-ups.

...Why is my face so cold?

"Welcome back," Rex said blandly as Kix tried to raise himself from where he had collapsed on the floor. His arms wouldn't support the weight and he rolled onto his back instead.

"How many did I get to?"

"Thirteen," Rex told him. "Not bad. I thought you would pass out by six or seven."

"I didn't pass out," Kix argued.

"Of course not. I know how much you love lying down with your face pressed against the medbay floor," Rex agreed dryly. "I took the opportunity to power up a med droid. Pick a bed."

Kix glared, but Rex unsympathetically propelled him toward a bed as soon as he was standing. Before he could voice any further complaints, Kix found himself on a bed being scanned by a med droid.

"CT-6116 is showing symptoms of an acute infection in both the sinuses and the upper respiratory tract. This has resulted in secondary symptoms as headache, difficulty breathing, dehydration, fatigue, dizziness, and muscle aches."

Kix glared at the medical droid, mostly to avoid the way Captain Rex was glaring at him. "So, with the typical droid success rate, we can safely rule out those two diagnoses."

"Karking hell, Kix!" Rex hissed in irritation. He took the scanner from the droid and rescanned Kix, passing over his body about four times too many. When he was finally done, he glanced at the screen. "Sinus infection and upper respiratory tract infection. Treat him."

The last bit was directed at the droid, who rummaged around in the med cabinet. Kix gritted his teeth as its rough-jointed metal hands knocked around, systematically destroying all of the organization he had managed in that small space.

"Why did you wait this long, Kix?" Rex asked sharply. "You're a medic. Surely, you've known for a while that you needed treatment."

"If a medic is currently undergoing treatment, he cannot continue to treat others," Kix explained reluctantly. "The risks of accidental malpractice are too high with the side effects of many medications."

Rex stared at him, dark brows furrowed. "The side effects are too much of a risk, but operating with a temperature that is well over standard isn't considered dangerous?"

"It is… or it probably should be," Kix admitted. "But it isn't written that way in the regs, so it isn't an explicit requirement."

Rex frowned even harder. "So… it's a loophole."

"Yes, exactly."

With a sigh, Rex scrubbed his hand over his close-cropped blond hair and collapsed onto Kix's well-worn chair, obviously pulled over from behind the medic's desk. "Do you realize the consequences of the choices you're making?"

Acutely uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had experienced this conversation from the other side far too many times to count - including with the captain himself - Kix shrugged. His answer didn't seem to be enough for the captain, who sat watching him for the (frankly ridiculous) length of time it took for the med droid to give him a dose of antibiotics and a cup of water.

"I know it may come as a surprise to you, but I do monitor the medbay logs," Rex finally said when the droid puttered off to fetch an antibiotic spray for Kix to inhale. "Do you know how much time you spend here?"

"I'm here every day, sir," Kix answered honestly, giving into the realization that Rex wasn't going to let it go.

"Yes, for three-quarters of the day. That gives you a collective five or six hours to shower, eat, and sleep. Judging from those push-ups, you don't spend any of that time training." Kix felt his face flush before he could stop it, but Rex wasn't done. "To put it another way, you've logged almost six-hundred hours in the medbay over the last standard month. That's a little over twenty-three full days out of thirty."

"When I'm not here, sir… men die. Brothers." Kix's voice cracked a little at the admission, but he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Rex, refusing to look away. Caring for his brothers was not a weakness and he wasn't ashamed of it.

The harsh expression on Rex's face softened into something like understanding, but his famously steely resolve didn't fade. "I'm tired, Kix. I'm so tired of watching my men - my brothers - die. I'll be damned if I watch you work yourself to death trying to keep others alive. You have to take care of yourself so that you can keep everyone else safe as long as possible."

He sat back in the chair, running a hand over his jaw as he thought. "Your medic's proficiencies can be pulled. You know as well as I do that the regs say I'm supposed to pull them for the first infraction. I don't want to do that, but I will if I don't see you taking better care of yourself. I won't have another one of these conversations, Kix. Is that understood?"

"Understood, sir," Kix agreed quickly, heart in his throat. So much of his identity was tied up in being a medic… he wasn't sure what he would do if his status was pulled from him.

Rex nodded at that and moved to leave the medbay, but Kix had one more thing to say: "I'm sorry, Captain."

"You will be," Rex said solemnly, the effect made more chilling by the bright smile that flashed across his face in the next moment. "I'm not going to stop any of the men from coming to visit you. That's the worst punishment I can think of."

Kix laughed uncertainly at the threat, but didn't understand it until an hour or so later, when the medbay doors opened to admit a mass of grinning troopers.

"Hey, Kix!" Hardcase greeted, far too loudly.

Commander Tano's grin was nothing short of evil. "We heard you weren't feeling well."

"Not only that," Jesse added with a smirk. "We heard you didn't accept treatment until you collapsed in front of Captain Rex!"

Tup schooled his face into a mock-serious expression. "It's dangerous to take risks with your health like that."

Kix took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the medbay ceiling and cursing Rex internally. The captain was a cruel, cruel man…

---

A/N - Kix truly is the worst possible patient, but he needed a bit of his own medicine (ba-dum tss)! Sorry for the bit of Rex angst here, but in my mind, this is toward the end of the war, and everyone is getting mentally and emotionally tired. They made a point of mentioning it in the last season of the Clone Wars: sometimes, it's hard to be the one who survives. Also, on a lighter note, how long do you think Rex was working on that medical outranking work-around? My guess is since the time Kix made him stay in the medbay overnight!

Thank you for reading! I would be honored if you would consider reblogging so that my work can spread. There are only a few chapters left in this story, but it’s not too late! To those who have liked or reblogged my work in the past:

Okay, thank you, byeeeee!

#Nobody Listens to Kix #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone trooper kix #clone captain rex #captain rex #clone trooper hardcase #commander ahsoka tano #ahsoka tano #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper tup #clone troopers deserve better #more to come #please reblog

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anonniemousefics · 3 years

Note

Hello! I absolutely adore your writing, especially your writings of kanej! Anyway, I would love to see you write something about jealousy from either kaz or inej, I just think it would be interesting to see your take on it! Obviously you don’t have to, I love your work! You’re a great writer!

❤️ Thank you so much!! This was so sweet to receive, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get this to you! So, hopefully you’re cool with this, but I decided to apply this idea in a modern AU because I have another request I’m also working on for a modern AU and this felt like an opportunity for some more practice. 😊 (And it just made it more fun for me -- idk, my brain just needed to do something new with these characters to make this work.)

Samples - Modern AU

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 3,545

Rating: Teen And Up (Language)

“Who did this?”

All of Kaz’s friends were doubling over in laughter around the round hand-me-down table in Kaz and Jesper’s apartment. There were black and white Cards Against Humanity prompts spread across its surface – the most offensive combination of which had Inej, well, and everyone else, in fits.

What made my first kiss so awkward? had been the prompt Inej had drawn.

To which Kaz had submitted the following, randomly-selected card for her consideration – Announcing that I am about to cum. And then kept his poker face locked in place.

“Who did this?” Inej was demanding again, clutching her stomach.

Kaz wasn’t sure why he was hesitating -- something strange was happening while all of this was playing out. Nina had one hand on Inej’s arm while she was fairly screeching with laughter. Inej was slumping against Jesper, like the laugh was shaking her boneless. In fact, everywhere he looked, he was noticing how they were each exchanging these casual, unconscious touches in the midst of their mirth – Matthias turning his face against Nina’s shoulder, Wylan slapping Jesper’s shoulder.

No one was touching Kaz, though – which, that was good, though, right? That was because they were his friends, and they were thoughtful, and they knew all about The Very Sad Thing that had made him the way that he was.

And yet --

Kaz couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. He should be laughing, though, he realized. A normal person would be laughing, given the infectious nature of laughter. And also it was genuinely a really funny card – that’s why he’d played it. But all he could do was force a smile, and that was it.

He suddenly felt like an alien among them.

“Was it you?!” Inej was exclaiming, waving the card at him. Kaz designed what he hoped was a coy smirk for her.

“Are you saying that’s your favorite?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It was you.” Inej looked appalled, which only made everyone around the table hoot louder. Kaz was still smirking as she threw his winning card back at him with a mischievous, red-faced grin on her face.

“Oh, my God, Brekker.” Nina was wiping the tears off her apple-red cheeks.

“Why does that make it so much worse?” Matthias wondered, since he evidently could never not take a jab at Kaz. He scrubbed his eyes like he needed to wash them out.

And still not a single laugh out of Kaz’s body – this was disturbing. How long had he been this way? And why did he care so much all of a sudden?

“Guys, I’m pretty sure he won,” Wylan was saying, pointing at Kaz’s stack of wins. Had he? Everyone turned to count their cards.

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even been paying attention to winning? But Kaz loved winning. It was the only reason he tolerated his roommate hosting these raucous game nights – because it meant Kaz could win things. And usually a lot of things. It was especially choice winning things off of Matthias Helvar, Nina’s latest lughead boyfriend she’d met at the gym, who now had to be invited to everything even though he sucked. He was always cuddling close to Nina, putting his arm around her, whispering gross things in her ear that made her giggle insufferably. It was so fucking uncomfortable.

Kaz never acted that way around Inej, and they’d been together for years. Sort of. Not always officially. It really had only been officially lately, but Kaz had always told himself he wasn’t one to need to put labels on things. Inej knewhow he felt – he knew this. (Did he, though?) He definitely knew this. (No, he didn’t.) There was no need to be like Matthias fucking Helvar and canoodle her in front of everyone on game night.

Oh, God. Kaz was suddenly having a realization, right there in the middle of counting his cards.

Oh, God.

He was jealous of Matthias Helvar.

Oh, this sucked.

This really fucking sucked. Kaz thought no one in their right mind should ever be jealous of that big dumb fuck, with his protein shakes and his weirdly popular fitspo Instagram page. The guy looked like he ate nothing but wild-caught salmon and organic broccoli. He wasn’t funny, and he’d say weirdly spiritual shit at socially unacceptable times. He probably spent his weekends doing annoying, on-brand fuckery like being one with nature and brewing his own kombucha, that asshole.

And this was the guy who felt comfortable enough to kiss a girl’s ear in a total stranger’s apartment. (Well, not a total stranger, Kaz would relinquish that – Nina had been dating Matthias for three months.) Matthias Helvar was doing all that nothing with his life, and he wasn’t the least bit self-conscious.

Ugh. Kaz hated that guy. Worse! Kaz wanted to be that guy. Minus the kombucha and the religious stuff. And the gym membership. And probably the protein shakes.

Ok, fine, Kaz was only interested in the PDA. This was so fucking awful.

“What number were we playing to?” he heard himself ask. He wasn’t even paying attention to card counting. He was going to have to start again.

“Can’t count that high, Brekker?” Matthias asked, smirking, and there was always something Kaz took as halfway serious in the way he tried to joke.

“Die in a fire, Helvar,” he said, with a smile that was as good as a middle finger.

“And on that note!” Nina sung out, standing with a hand on Matthias’ shoulder. “It’s almost midnight. I have an eight a.m. class. We gotta call it a night.”

“Matthias drove us,” Inej explained to Kaz’s questioning look at the word “We.”

Inej and Nina were roommates, too, like Kaz and Jesper, but the two girls lived on campus in the dorms at Ketterdam University, where all but Matthias attended. (Fucking Matthias, who was a personal trainer and got money from wellness companies to tout their shit on his Instagram. Ugh.) Wylan, Jesper’s boyfriend, was also living in the dorms this year, after spending his freshmen year commuting from his dad’s enormous house. Wylan had been the one with the car before Kaz had finally scraped together the money for one, but his dad had cut him off over the summer. Kaz didn’t know much about that beyond what little Jesper had told him, which, in summary, was: goodbye, car; hello, dorm life.

“You should have said something – I could have picked you all up,” Kaz said, mostly to Inej, as the others were standing from the table.

Nina reached a tentative hand out to gently touch his shoulder, well-protected by the fabric of his black v-neck.

“Kaz,” she said, gingerly, “we love you, but Matthias has functioning air conditioning.”

Kaz slid his glance toward Inej, who gave a little confirming nod, pressing back her amused smile.

“My thighs don’t stick to the seats in his car,” she explained, softly, which may as well have been a knife to the gut. He loved driving her around in his car. And, to top it off, she was in a pair of really adorable denim cut offs, her legs deeply tan from the summer sun, and he hadn’t even had the nerve to try to touch her exposed knee all night. (Meanwhile, Hands-On Helvar over here had been sitting with his palm all over Nina’s plentiful thighs all night. God, he was so gross. Couldn’t Kaz be just a little bit gross?)

“Are you okay?” Inej was asking. She was stepping a little closer to him away from where everyone else was putting on shoes, preparing to leave. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her loose, purple crop-top, and her long, dark braid was pulled over her shoulder – just mercilessly cute all over. And he hadn’t touched her all night.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but he kept his hands in his jeans pockets. Inej’s dark brows knit together.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” she checked. Kaz huffed a laugh – how was he supposed to answer that? Realistically, he should lie.

“Probably not,” he admitted anyway, and gave a shrug. Inej opened her mouth to reply, but Nina called to her from the doorway of the apartment.

“Sorry! Eight a.m. class! She’s going to text you from the car anyway!” Nina was shouting.

“She’s not wrong,” Inej shrugged with a smile. And reached out to barely brush her hand against his spine, like the first attempt at a hug. But Kaz could only bunch up his shoulders, hands stuffed deeper into his pockets. Why was he like this?

There were a few more awkward goodbyes at the doorway, including Matthias’ one-more last-minute sales pitch on the recent CBD-infused green powder drink he was hawking online. (“I’ll bring you some samples next week. They say it’s excellent for chronic pain.” Kaz had flipped him off when his back was turned.)

But then, once they’d all gone and the apartment was quiet, Kaz felt like he was rolling in regret.

“You doing ok?” Jesper asked him, gathering up the empty Solo cups for the trash. Jesper was a really good roommate. They’d been randomly assigned the same dorm room at the beginning of freshmen year, and it just worked. Jesper’s high energy plus Kaz’s insomnia were meant to be. They liked all the same things: strong coffee, getting paid dirty money to write other people’s papers for them, and occasionally clearing the mind by playing Call of Duty all night. They’d moved off campus the following year (a better move for the plagiarism operation), never even really having a conversation about whether or not to room with someone else. It was not even a question, and who else would Kaz even want to room with?

“You’ve seemed off all night,” Jesper was pointing out, and if Kaz had half a brain, he knew he should have been asking Jesper for advice about PDA long before it had reached envying-Matthias-Helvar-levels. Jesper and Wylan were normal in public. When they held hands or hugged or traded kisses, it wasn’t some fucking scene.

But how was he even supposed to bring this up to Jesper?

“Helvar’s such a dillweed,” was all he could find to complain. Jesper snorted.

“He is not that bad,” he said, dumping a stack of Solo cups into the trash.

“He’s the literal worst,” Kaz objected. “I can’t believe he unironically called himself an influencer.” And at that, Jesper pretended to barf into the trashcan.

“Yeah, no, you’re right – that was dumb,” he said. “I commend you for not cutting off your own ears when he did.”

“We are not buying his stupid fucking green juice,” Kaz said, pointing at Jesper to show he meant business.

“Good!” Jesper agreed. “Nina says it gives him the shits.”

And that brought Kaz some comfort. He found he could smirk about it while he loaded up the dishwasher. He was starting it up when his phone buzzed on the counter. He leaned over to read it.

Inej: You seemed sad tonight.

Inej’s contact photo in his phone was one he’d snapped when she wasn’t looking – she was leaning her head back with her eyes closed, taking in the sunshine. It had made her brown skin glimmer and dazzle.

Kaz stared at her text for probably too long. Long enough for Jesper to peer around the corner of the kitchen doorway at him.

“I’m going to bed – everything okay?” he said, and cocked his head. “Is it another last minute job?” Those kinds of jobs – the ones where a student was giving up the night before something massive was due – paid the most, but for good reason. They were absolutely fucking miserable to pull off.

“No,” Kaz shook his head. “Just Inej.”

It was never “just Inej” – and Jesper nodded like he knew that.

“Hey, Kaz,” he said, as he began to leave for his bedroom. Kaz looked up at him sidelong as he mouthed, barely audible: “Tell her what’s wrong.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.” Kaz rolled his eyes. And heaved a heavy sigh.

And started typing.

Kaz: I guess I was a little.

Whoa, pressing send on that was unpleasant. He wandered over to his preferred recliner in the living room and flopped back in it. Shoved the footrest up to elevate his bad leg. Ugh. Just ugh to everything and everyone. He looked down at his phone again.

And Inej had been quick to respond.

Inej: You can tell me these things, you know.

Inej: I know I won’t always have the right thing to say, but I want to be there for you.

Inej. Why are you being so perfect so far away?

Why are you wasting your time with a boyfriend who struggles to touch you?

Inej: Are you writing a novel?

He’d been writing and rewriting the same sentence twenty different times. She’d probably been looking at those ominous three bobbing dots for way too long.

Ugh. God. Fine. Kaz drew in a long deep breath, staring up at the ceiling like it could intervene and come to his aid. And then fucking wrote.

Kaz: I wish things were different

Kaz: I wish I wasn’t so fucked

Kaz: I wish I knew how to be a better boyfriend – how to make you blush and laugh and make that one smile that’s like you’re telling secrets with your eyes

He pushed the recliner back as far as it would go. Maybe it would tip and dump him on his head and he’d have to go to the hospital, and that would at least delay Inej inevitably breaking up with him for being this pathetic wet blanket. The phone buzzed again, and he almost didn’t want to look.

Inej: Um, where were you all night? You literally had me doing all those things all night

Huh. That wasn’t how he remembered it.

Kaz: On the opposite side of the table from you

Kaz: Watching basically everyone else be able to touch you but me

Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck. That sounded so petulant, and he’d already pressed send. That sounded so needy and disgusting. Who said that kind of shit? Not even Matthias Helvar said that kind of shit. He wanted to throw his phone across the room. No, out the window. No, out into the sea.

Now he was on the receiving end of the three bobbing dots of doom. Fuuuuck.

Kaz: Can we just forget I said that?

More dots. Then nothing.

Then dots.

Inej: I don’t know. You’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.

At that, Kaz raised his eyebrows.

Kaz: I am not jealous.

Inej: You’re a little jealous

Kaz: No, I feel insufficient.

(Oooof. That was like trying to throw an anvil. Painful.)

Inej: Oh

Kaz was watching the texts come in from beneath his arm now, holding the phone high over his head. Like watching the slasher scenes in a horror movie.

Inej: I mean

Inej: It seems like you’re just splitting hairs here

Inej: Since you must think others are sufficient in ways you are not, so you envy them

…

Kaz: Touche, Ghafa.

And he couldn’t help smiling to himself when Inej sent him a gif of a swashbuckling cartoon Robin Hood brandishing a sword. Then another text bubble appeared.

Inej: You are not insufficient to me, Kaz.

He really wanted to believe that.

Kaz: Even if I’m not hanging all over you and amassing a truly staggering number of Instagram followers with my six-pack abs?

Inej: O.M.G.

Inej: Kaz

Inej: Brekker

Oh, God, what had he done?

Inej: Are you *jealous* of Matthias?

Uggghh, he was going to be sick.

Kaz: Fuck no

Kaz: It was just a hypothetical

Kaz: It was an exaggeration

Kaz: I could do the same thing with any one of our friends

Kaz: And we all know the abs are photoshopped anyway

Inej: OMG

Kaz: What now

Inej: You called Matthias our friend

Kaz wanted to stab himself in the brain.

Inej: I’m gonna tell him

Kaz: Don’t you fucking dare

Inej: I already did

Kaz: What? How? How are you that fast?

Inej: Still in the car

Kaz: ????

There was no reason for that – the dorms were hardly a 10-minute drive. Now Kaz’s brain was assaulting him with a thousand reasons things his girlfriend could still be doing in a car (A nice car! With working air conditioning!) with a personal trainer/amateur Instagram model, and none of them were pleasant or welcome thoughts. The phone buzzed again.

Inej: I asked him to bring me back to you. :)

At that, Kaz straightened the recliner, rising to his feet as fast as his stiff leg would allow.

Kaz: You did? And he did? Why?

He was limping toward the front door.

Inej: Because he’s not terrible, Kaz. And because I guess I missed your car after all ;)

Jesper and Kaz’s apartment was the third floor of a wonky old Victorian home that had once been something grand and only recently had been split into three different abodes – which was definitely the worst decision the two of them had made as roommates. Kaz was leaning hard against the railing as he took to the steps when the front door of the building banged shut below. And then there on the landing below was Inej, wearing a sheepish smile in the yellow, buzzing fluorescence of the hall light. She was holding her phone in one hand, her tan leather purse slung across her slim body.

“I thought you looked like you could use a hug,” she said, as she pocketed her phone.

Kaz took the last two stairs carefully, coming to stand in front of her. She smelled like vanilla and coconut oil – like something he wanted to wake up to every morning.

“You came all the way back for a hug,” he wanted to clarify. His hands – he should do something with his hands. What would Matthias do with his hands?

No. What do I want to do with my hands?

So, he looped a couple fingers through her belt loops. Tugged her a little closer. And she smiled.

“Technically,” she said, “Matthias came all the way back so I could bring you some samples.” She patted her purse, which did look a little bulkier. “They were in his car the whole time.”

“Mmmm.” He pretended to look tantalized. “Hot car samples. Delicious.”

Inej was twisting her fingers in the t-shirt fabric at the crest of his hips. Tugging him a little closer, too. God, it was so good. She’d been so right. He had wanted a hug.

“I know that’s how I want my protein powder,�� she teased. “Piping hot, right out of the oven.”

“Just how Ma used to make it,” Kaz added, with a good bit of feigned nostalgia. Inej blurted out a laugh, tipping forward until her forehead bumped his sternum.

At that first brush, it was like his hands knew what to do from there. They slipped around her waist while her hands slid around his. And she pressed her cheek against his chest while he held her close.

“You are not insufficient,” Inej said against him.

“I would really like to pretend that never happened,” he said with a sigh, resting his chin on top of her head.

“Too late,” she hummed, happily, and gave him a light squeeze. He smiled against her hair.

“You know I wouldn’t want you to be like Matthias, right?” she asked.

“You shouldn’t even want Matthias to be like Matthias,” Kaz grumbled.

“Hey,” and Inej pulled back to look up at him with her big, soft brown eyes. “I mean it. I just want you to be you. I don’t want all the handsy stuff. That’s what Nina likes. I just like you.”

Kaz carefully pushed back a few strands of her hair from her forehead.

“Not even a little handsy stuff?” he checked, which made Inej give her coy little smirk, his very favorite.

“Maybe a little handsy stuff,” she said.

If there were ever going to be a time to kiss her, it would be now. But when he thought it, Kaz felt his heart make an enormous leap into his throat, seizing in panic. If he touched her mouth with his, if he closed his eyes and felt her face so close to his, would he just end up floundering in The Very Sad Thing again? What if it happened while he was kissing her? Would every kiss after that be tainted? Could he risk it – could he ever?

So, he didn’t move to meet her lips. He let his hands fall to the small of her back, though, and kept her close for another moment. Like a sample of physical affection, and she seemed okay with that. He would will himself to believe it was not insufficient.

“Drive me home?” she asked after a moment, with a kind of sweet, eager anticipation that made Kaz believe in magic. He nodded, of course.

“I’ll go up and get my keys,” he said. “And you throw away those samples.”

Inej laughed, following him up.

“Deal,” she said.

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

Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

#kanej #kanej fanfic #soc fanfic #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #modern au #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #look so im not a matthias fan #dont come for me #i just want to make fun of him because he's a big doofus

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hq-lovin · 4 years

Note

Just saw requests are open so I would love a scenario or long fic about the reader being Iwa's sister, she's sassy and rude and when she goes to see the boys practice, she tells off Kyoutani for being rude with the team. Somehow he doesn't go mad at her (as everyone thought he would) and instead he starts to treat them better. At the end he likes her or smth and when he asks her out Iwa gets all crazy but the reader tell him to f**k off or something 😂 Thanks 💜 you can change anything you want!

scolding kyotani // mad dog

hiii! I thanks for requesting, I made the reader not too rude lol hope that’s okie! 😳 this would be my first time writing for Mad Dog-Chan I hope its not too bad!

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➣ pairing : kyotani x fem!reader

➣ scenario [1260 words]

➣ warning : a lot of swearing

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kentaro kyotani

gif : @volleygifs

“Damn, you guys were better than I thought.”

“I swear- just go over there and try and not to piss anyone off.”

“It’s not my fault like 60% of the time,” you cry out and head to the bench where your brother pointed at and sat down, scrolling through your phone boredly. Minutes later, Oikawa approached you once he walked into the gym.

“Hey there Y/n-chan, what’re you doing here?” He waves cheerfully, taking a seat beside you.

“Don’t call me that, and Hajime said I had to come with him,” You reply cooly, putting your phone down.

“Ah there it is, the famous Iwaizumi sass,” you chuckle at his remark before spotting a guy with a blonde buzz cut along with 2 black stripes around his head. You tilt your head before nudging Oikawa.

“Who’s that?” you ask, getting more confused when Oikawa lets out the biggest sigh and an expression of pure annoyance was planted on his face.

“Mad dog-chan,” he groans and turns to you, “He’s in your year, I’m surprised you don’t know him.” You cringe at “Mad dog-chan” you’ve definitely seen him before.

“He might have been in one of my classes,” you reply, ripping your eyes away from his figure instead choosing to look at your nails.

“He only listens to your brother,” Oikawa states, letting his gaze on Kyotani fall and getting up to stretch.

“Hajime? Weird.”

“Yeah well he-” Oikawa didn’t get to finish his sentence before your brother chucks a volleyball at his face.

“Hurry up Shittykawa! Stop gossiping with my sister!” he yells across the court, making you shoot him a glare and go back on your phone.

“Don’t be jealous Iwa-chan! Just because she likes me better than you doesn’t mean- aH! Stop throwing volleyballs! I’m the captain!”

You let out a loud laugh and relax on the bench. Putting on headphones, you get ready for a long day of practice.

“Kyotani! You need to stop! You’re going to get blocked every time if you do that!” Matsukawa scolds, catching your attention. Raising a brow, you slowly take your headphones off getting a better listen to what was going on, especially because Mad dog-chan was involved.

Kyotani grunts and shoves Matsukawa off with a huff. How immature, you think mentally rolling your eyes. You watch as the other third years try to calm him down, including Oikawa. Glancing around, you don’t see your brother anywhere.

“Where’s Iwaizumi?”

“He’s in the bathroom, this is the worst timing. Oikawa looks like he’s about to explode.”

Indeed he was, you walked up to him and grabbed his shirt to whisper in his ear.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“I told you! He won’t listen to anyone but Iwa-chan!” Oikawa, and turns to you.

“You have to help us,” he pleads, you glance at Mad dog who shoves Hanamaki out of his way. You feel the rage bubbling in your chest and stomp your towards him, effectively making the others back away.

“Hey!” You yell and catch his attention, making him scowl at you.

“Who the hell are you?” He narrows his eyes and cocks a brow, obviously very irritated at the whole situation.

“Doesn’t matter, Mad dog, is it? You need to shut the fuck up and start respecting your teammates.” Kyotani’s glare turns sharper and he tilts his head.

“I-It’s actually Kyotani-”

“Kindaichi, not the time.”

You turn back to Kyotani, throwing him a hard look as he crosses his arms, shooting you a look that was mixed with anger and shock. You raise a brow and match his stance, before speaking again.

“These guys have worked their asses off in practice especially the fucking third years, to not show them the fucking respect they deserve is insane and you need to get your ass in gear. They’re trying to help you and you repay them with this?! By being an arrogant whiny ass baby?! Look, there are other people on Seijoh, you’re on a fucking team, start acting like it.” With a final huff, you turn to the other boys who had their jaws on the floor.

“Uh it’s okay Y/n! W-We can continue just fine, there’s no need to fight!” a scared Watari shouts from the crowd as you see Kyotani’s brows furrow in even more annoyance.

“Dude! Where is Iwaizumi? How long does it take that guy to pee?”

“If this goes on Mad dog’s gonna explode.”

Staring straight ahead, your gaze on Mad Dog hardens. He looks stunned for a second, before huffing and turning away from where you stood. You raise a brow and before you could yell at him again he turns to his team.

“Sorry,” He says yet his tone is stiff and awkward. He looks straight at Matsukawa and mumbles something.

“Show me that block again.”

The rest of the boys all collectively gasp, as your lips quirked into a smile. Sighing, you turn to walk away when you are suddenly met with your brother. He gives you a blank look before speaking.

“Good job,” he says, and you shrug. It really wasn’t that hard to knock some sense into him, almost too easy.

“Iwa! Can we have Y/n as our team manager?!”

“What? Why?”

“She just dealt with Mad Dog, did you not see or were you too busy taking your time in the bathroom?”

“Shittykawa I will not hesitate to throw another volleyball in your face, I’ve done it before and I will do it again.”

By the end of practice, the guys were exhausted. Especially with the whole Mad Dog thing, although they were able to play a proper practice game with Kyotani actually cooperating properly. The boys were still shocked you could tame the wild beast.

“You,” a deep voice emerges from your right and you groan internally. Turning to the side you see the familiar blonde buzzcut and sharp eyes.

“What?” You ask and tap your foot impatiently, an annoyed frown etched on your lips from the previous events.

Kyotani sighs and the slightest blush painted on his cheeks. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns to you again.

“Go out with me,” he demands, making you confused. This guy looked like he was going to burst when you scolded him, very loudly, in front of his teammates. Now he was avoiding eye contact, instead choosing to look off to the side.

“Sure.”

“Wha-”

“On one condition,” you stop him halfway. Leaning against a wall, you give him a serious look.

“You promise to respect the third years, specifically Oikawa.” He looks at you like you just grew another head, making you sigh.

“He’s a good guy Kyotani, he knows how to lead a team,” you say. He thinks about it for a moment.

“I’ll… try,” He finally gets the words out and you chuckle.

“Good enough for me.”

“Cool… um I’ll get your number tomorrow? I think we have English together.” Your eyes widen for a second before nodding, accepting his request. So we do have a class together.

You wave him bye as he walks off. Smiling to yourself, you spin around now facing your older brother all of a sudden making you yelp in surprise.

“You have got to stop doing that,” Glaring at him.

“Him?! Out of all the guys in my team, you choose the dude who looks like he wants to murder everyone?”

“He’s not that bad! Fuck off Hajime, and please don’t give him the talk during volleyball.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll do it during lunch.”

“Hajime!”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu kyoutani #mad dog chan #kyoutani x reader #kyoutani imagines #kyoutani oneshots #kyoutani scenarios #kentaro kyoutani #haikyuu requests

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Fifteen

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone has had a nice week! Warnings: Some cursing; some angst ... I don’t wanna spoil it for y’all But!! Thank you for all of the likes and reblogs and comments!! I love chatting with y’all 🥰 Summary: Once I’d seen the notification of Pike’s message, panic had shot through me. I didn’t open it, I didn’t answer it. Whatever conversation he wanted to have with me, surely he’d want to wait until the tea wore off, anyway.

“I thought Boyce told you to go to your quarters.” My hands were already clenched into fists, so I didn’t need to find a way to hide my reaction to hearing that voice again, so close, and so soon. Once I’d seen the notification of Pike’s message, panic had shot through me. I didn’t open it, I didn’t answer it. Whatever conversation he wanted to have with me, surely he’d want to wait until the tea wore off, anyway. I knew that there was no way a shower and working through a poem was going to get my mind off this (though my grasp of Klingon was getting better). I’d gotten changed and gone down to the gym. I was relieved to find it empty. I needed to work off some of the nervous energy that had been pulsing through me for the last hour.

My assumption about what Pike wanted had been wrong. Here he was, behind me, his voice almost stony in its reminder of what the doctor had told me. I raised my hands to steady the punching bag before turning back to face the Captain. “He did,” I nodded, “And I went. He didn’t tell me to stay there.”

Pike’s face was unreadable. That was new -- that was bad. I’d spent so much time around the man that I could usually at least gauge his mood. In private, Pike tended to wear his every thought, every feeling on his sleeve. He was guarding himself now. I couldn’t be too offended - I was, too. We’d crossed a line on Koutov, and I didn’t know what it meant for my professional relationship with the Captain, or my time on the Enterprise - if I had any left. “He told you to get rest,” Pike reminded me. “I can do that when I’m finished here.” Pike took a deep breath, face unmoving, still. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was feeling - irritation? Fury? Hurt? Betrayal? I couldn’t imagine it being anything light or fluffy where I was concerned, not right now. I’d probably know exactly what he was feeling if I’d heeded his message when he’d sent it, but I wasn’t ready to face whatever this was about to be. “I need to speak with you,” He said quietly, “About what happened.” “We can do that when I’m finished here, too.” “Now, lieutenant.” Everything in me was screaming to not be stupid, to not make this worse, but my mouth opened and I answered, “Later, Captain.” I saw Pike’s jaw muscle twitch as he clenched his teeth. I’d seen him frustrated, sure, but I’d never seen him angry. He gave one firm nod before he said, “Fine.” I watched him reach up and unzip his command jacket to reveal a black long-sleeve shirt underneath. “Wh-What are you doing?” I asked, watching him step aside and setting his jacket on the bench where I’d left my water bottle and communicator. “Best two out of three,” Pike answered, tone clipped, “If you win, we talk later. If I win, we talk now.” “You can’t be serious.” “Do I look like I’m joking, lieutenant?”

He really didn’t. In fact, he had already gone to the mats and taken up a fighting stance. I sighed quietly, mirroring his stance and taking a breath to calm myself. “What counts as a win?” I asked. “Your opponent’s back hitting the mat. I believe you’re familiar with that feeling, lieutenant, considering the last time we had the occasion to spar, you wound up there a number of times. Five, if I’m not mistaken?” The goading had always worked before; Pike and I usually engaged in a fair bit of smack-talk when we were sparring. This was different, though. I really, really didn’t want to talk about what had happened on Koutov; I didn’t want to fight about it, and I certainly didn’t want to fist-fight about it. Did that tea amplify the bad feelings along with the good? The quickest way to end this would be to go for the vulnerable areas - his eyes, his throat, his crotch. But my fighting dirty could mean Pike reciprocating, and I could only imagine that going downhill exceptionally quickly. My contemplation had me so distracted that I nearly missed Pike drawing his right arm back for a hook. I raised both hands on instinct, stepping forward into the oncoming attack. I blocked his arm with my left and bent my right arm in toward my head, using my elbow to deflect any further attack from Pike’s upper body. He reeled away, taking two steps back before bringing his right leg up for a kick. I blocked one strike with my shin, then another, then another, working him a step back with each one. “Are you planning on attacking at all, lieutenant?” Pike snapped. “Why would I tell you?” I retorted before ducking out of the way out of a jab. I caught hold of Pike’s arm with my hands, twisting and turning under it before using his forward momentum to throw him over my shoulder. His back hit the mat with a satisfying thud. “...That’s one,” I added. I hesitated before I held my hand out to Pike. He ignored it, pushing himself off of the ground. “Again,” He ordered. I sighed heavily, resetting my stance. I wasn’t going to argue; I wasn’t going to throw out some line about how if I had kicked his ass once, I was sure to do it again. I was too distracted by the beads of sweat that were breaking out on his forehead. This was probably bad; that line of thinking had gotten me in enough trouble already. My eyes darted to his neck, then his arms before lifting to his face again. “Don’t get cocky, lieutenant,” Pike added, as if I’d said something. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain,” I retorted, “Ya gonna hit me or what?” “I threw the first punch before, I figured we’d switch it up. Ladies first.” “So we’re punching at the same time?” Whoops. So much for not engaging in smack-talk. Pike’s lips quirked into a dangerous little smile. “You feel really good about this, huh?” He asked, lowering his hands and straightening up. I narrowed my eyes, keeping my hands where they were and holding steady even as Pike slowly came closer. “Is this a new tactic?” I asked, nodding toward him. “Feeling very, very good about this--” “It’s not gonna work.” “What isn’t?” “This ‘lulling me into a false sense of security’ bullshit,” I said, gesturing toward where his hands were lowered at his sides, “I’m not buying it-- and I’m a little offended that you think I’m that stupid.” Pike tipped his head to the side “I don’t think you’re stupid.” “If you don't get your hands up in the next ten seconds, Captain, we’re not talking about shit until either I get my own ship or Una resigns.” Pike was halfway to getting his hands up before I went for a jab-hook combo. He took two steps back as I did, eyes widening a little. I pulled both punches, knowing he wouldn’t be ready for them. I aimed a kick next, but Pike shifted out of the way of it. I wobbled as my foot landed unsteadily on the ground. Pike’s hand landed on my shoulder before he stepped in, hooking his leg around mine. Then he turned and pulled me toward him. I watched him pivot with me, as if we were moving in slow motion. My breath left me in a huff as my back made contact with the mat. Pike stood over me, that dangerous little smile back on his face. “You were saying, lieutenant?” I hesitated before I kicked my foot out, trying to sweep his feet. He hopped out of the way, chuckling and shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Up, come on.” I groaned as I pushed myself off of the floor. I never thought sparring with the Captain would get me in trouble; the man knew all of my moves now. I rolled my shoulders, flexing my fingers before clenching my hands into fists. There was no trash talk from either of us this time; both of us had just a little too much to lose. I don’t know if I was still winded from hitting the mat, burnt out from the tea running my emotions overtime, or just over fighting Pike, but this time, I made stupid decision after stupid decision. Pike went on the offensive - it took four kicks, one feint, two jabs, and I was on the floor. I had to fight the urge to kick my feet in frustration. “Let’s go,” Pike said firmly. I ignored the hand he held out to me as he had mine before. I grabbed my communicator and water bottle, following Pike out of the gym. Pissed as I was, we had a deal. When my head was clear, I wanted a damn rematch. I followed him in silence, expecting to go to the ready room. I stilled when I realized we were outside of his quarters. I bit my lip, eyes darting over Pike’s profile before looking up at down the halls, concerned someone would see us. He waved me inside when the door swooshed open. I stepped inside, fighting the urge to look around. The less time I spent being curious, the less time I’d have to would be in there. Pike walked further inside, tossing his jacket over the back of a chair. Was that wing-back-- No. No, I wasn’t looking. I lowered my eyes to the floor instead, tamping down the urge to look around. I leaned against the wall beside the door, folding my arms over my chest and waiting for Pike to speak. “You’re just going to stand there?” He asked after a moment. “You wanted to talk, so...Talk.” “Would you like to sit?” “I’m fine here.” I heard Pike sigh. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?” He grumbled as he came closer. I could feel the effects of the tea, still; my stomach swirled with nerves as Pike’s feet entered my field of vision. “That’s rich coming from you.” He hummed, reaching out and plucking my water bottle and communicator from my hands. I let them go; I doubted that Pike and I were about to start sparring in his quarters again, but I already mourned not having something to hold onto or fidget with. I heard him set them aside before he was standing in front of me again. “... What happened on Koutov,” He started, and oh, god, I already wanted to melt into the floor, “Was not ideal.” “An astute summation, Captain.” I saw Pike’s hand twitch by his side before he pressed on, “I recognize that we were -- and are -- under the effects of something that heightens our natural feelings.” I lifted my eyes to his, then, unable to help myself. I was wary, but so curious. “I also recognize that I crossed a boundary with you, and I’m sorry. It was unfair, and unprofessional, and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” How was he being so goddamn level-headed now when he’d been so full of vim and vigor in the gym? “...You didn’t,” I managed after a moment, shaking my head, “And I’m sorry that I crossed that line as well. I-- I should never have touched you.” Pike swallowed thickly. “I told you that that was alright,” He pointed out. I uncrossed my arms and waved off the excuse. “Be that as it may, it didn’t exactly help what followed.” I could still picture it - still feel it, Pike’s hand sliding under my collar. His eyes were darting down now, to my lips, my throat. I felt myself shiver before I averted my eyes. This was a bad idea, this was a really bad idea. I should’ve stayed in my quarters and taken a shower and worked on some Klingon, damnit. “Lieutenant…” Pike’s hands settled on either side of me on the wall, caging me in. “If it weren’t for Mr. Spock and Number One…” Pike stepped a little closer, our chests brushing; my eyelids fluttered closed as he rested his temple against mine, “If they hadn’t come back…” Our cheeks brushed and I felt my breath catch in my throat. “Y-Yes?” I managed. Pike didn’t answer, just turned his head. I peeked up at him as I felt his nose brush against mine. He’d closed his eyes; his brow was wrinkled in that sweet way it always got when he was thinking something through. “Wait,” I managed. Pike’s eyes opened and he leaned away to get a better look at me. “What’s wrong?” He murmured. “Is… Is this the tea, or is it me?” I winced as I asked it, damning my need for reassurance, but I had to know. I couldn’t just string my hopes along any more only to wind up back in my quarters later, reconsidering a transfer to the Hiawatha. Pike’s brow furrowed again as he looked over my face. “Oh,” He dipped his head back down as he seemed to realize something, raising a hand and cupping my cheek gently, “You have no idea what you do to me.” For a moment, we were waiting one another out just as we had waited for the first punch in the gym. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind, but I was grappling with indecision. Everything in me was alight with how close we were, how gently he was touching me; I could just imagine the unimpressed little frown Una would fix me with; Spock’s raised brow and his mutter of, “Fascinating.”; my ears were ringing with what Pike had just uttered, its sincerity; his gaze was drifting to my lips, his tongue was darting out to wet his own-- I surged up, pressing my lips to his, warm and chaste. I immediately started to panic, because -- Koutovian tea or not, I was kissing my Captain. But before I could lean all the way away, apologize profusely and turn tail, Pike’s other hand lifted from the wall, snaking around my back and drawing me even closer into his chest. Reassured that he wanted this, that I could touch, I raised a hand to cup the back of his neck. Pike hummed, tipping his head to the side and sliding his lips sweetly over mine. My stomach gave a triumphant little flip. Pike liked this. Pike liked this, and he liked me. I rested my other hand hesitantly on Pike’s shoulder, curling my fingers possessively in the fabric. Pike rested his forehead back against mine as our lips parted; I couldn’t help my leaning up to chase another peck or two. He chuckled softly, and I felt the sound shoot right down to my toes. “That answer your question?” I pretended to consider for a moment. “I may need further clarification, Captain,” I said, opening my eyes. He grinned down at me. “I’d be happy to assist, lieutenant,” He murmured. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike/You #Chris Pike #Christopher Pike x Reader #Christopher Pike x You #Christopher Pike/you #Christopher Pike/Reader #Christopher Pike Imagine #captain pike imagine

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. a bit of jhs x named f!reader (but not really)?

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). general flangst? anguf? a blend of angst and fluff, tbh. mainly angst tho.

tags / warnings. sibling dynamics, introspective sadness, talk about not-so-healthy relationships (obviously), dumbass!jk, asshole!jk, jealous!jk, how many more jk tags can i add?, a silly reference to scott pilgrim. nothing serious.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif aka the loml!!!

wc. 3.1k

chapter four.

You and Yoongi don’t fight. It’s always been a point of pride - something to look at and smile on.

That must be why it feels so terrible now, with his knuckles blown white and enough rage to start a war simmering within his veins. You’ve never seen him like this: a world away from your soft Yoon, your best friend, your beloved brother.

“Yoongi, really--”

“No. Stop saying that.” Despite the fact that you know his anger isn’t directed at you - that you’re the farthest target in his mind - it still hurts, like getting caught in friendly fire. Pinpricks of guilt spill across your skin, nerve endings shot to hell by the way his mouth curls and tears, venom laced between his teeth and draped across his tongue. “He came here and you didn’t tell me? I told you - I’ll kill him.”

Hyperbole, you’re sure, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters. A little oh no for a boy who doesn’t deserve it - whose silhouette still carves a spectacularly painful hole in your chest.

“I didn’t want you to worry--” It’s not an excuse. It’s not meant to be. You never lie to Yoongi. Frankly, you don’t think you could.

“You’re my sister.”

It’s enough of a rebuttal that you’re reduced to silence. He’s right. You’re family; family don’t keep secrets.

“I’m sorry,” you try again, feeble and emphatic.

There’s an unbearable distance between you - a sea’s worth of sadness that rocks the rickety boat you’ve built. You can practically see it stretching on and on, sweeping you further and further from his safe shores. It’s an awful feeling.

“You’re my sister,” he repeats, suddenly so tired you worry for him. For once, he looks that much older than you, as if five years have forced passages of experience within his pages. “You can’t hide things from me. Who’s going to be there for you if not me?”

You want to rebuff him - insist that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for - but you know it’s not what he means. More than anyone, Yoongi believes in you. He sees your strength even when you can’t see your own; he’s been that strength more times than you can count.

The reality of your situation isn’t lost on you.

He’s the only one who knows everything you’ve been through. A diary in living breathing form, full of your most shameless secrets, your deepest worries, your worst heartbreaks.

“I know.” Apology threads each syllable, stitches them neatly to each other. The sincerity is blinding, bright white and earnest. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The smile he offers is rueful, twisting the edge of his mouth in a manner you’ve adopted over the years. You return it without thought and then, all at once, the expanse is closed. He’s laughing - a sound that doesn’t ring true in the way you know it should - but it’s a laugh and you know everything is okay.

“Still worried,” he returns with a quiet sigh and flick of his wrist.

You’re with him in a breath, curled against his side on the couch you’d cried yourself to sleep on just days ago. While you’re both far closer in size than you’ve ever been - you were always a tiny kid growing up, even against Yoongi’s own slim frame - it’s reminiscent of your childhood and being caught beneath haphazardly strewn sheets and disorganised chaos in the form of blanket forts.

Dry lips find a home against the side of your head, his arm dragging you to warmth. “You’re an idiot, you know.” He says it in the way only an older brother can - with all the frustration and love in the world.

You do know, intimately well, how idiotic you are. Have been. Seemingly always will be.

“I know,” you mumble, sad into the raised hood of your sweater. “But I made him leave.” It sounds like a child begging for praise - to be told they’ve done well. You won’t deny you need it now.

Good is the first thing Yoongi says, a little flippant and with a hard set of his jaw. More comes when he catches your expression and the way the dent forms between your brows, the tiny pout of your lips. It’s the same face you’ve made all your life - one that hits him right behind the ribs like a Whack-A-Mole game at the carnival.

“You did good, Vivi. I’m proud of you.” They’re bandages, sticky and adhesive on the stitches Jungkook’s visit had torn open. “You’re great and he’s…” There are words he’d like to use - a million scathing adjectives to paint the asshole in technicolour - but he knows better. Knows you can’t take it, at least not right now. “He doesn’t deserve you. You get that, right? You’re better off without him.”

You nod against his side but offer nothing further. The silence speaks worrying volumes.

“You’re not going to answer him again, right?”

Some half-mumbled non-committal response comes. Yoongi wants to tear his own hair out. Better yet, he wants to tear yours out. Instead, he blows a long exhale through his nose, free hand coming to scrub across his face. When will you learn?

“I’m scared.”

It’s so quiet even you hardly hear it, ear tucked against the cotton of Yoongi’s flannel. You think, for a moment, maybe he’s missed it too. Then he squeezes you a little tighter: a silent reassurance.

“Seeing him again just brings back so many memories.” Every other word is muffled but it’s the most you can do. Courage is carried quietly - too loud and you’ll shatter it. “I thought three years would be enough. It should be, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question; Yoongi still debates answering it, just for his own sake.

“Maybe he’s changed. Or maybe I’ve changed. It could be different.” It’s a clandestine belief and one you shouldn’t speak to life - especially to your brother. It spills forth of its own accord, wrong for so many reasons but begging to be asked. You have no control over it and the hope it sows somewhere within your chest.

“You can’t actually believe that.”

It’s infinitely more scathing than Hoseok’s reaction, tearing out of Yoongi’s mouth like a bullet. You can’t help the way you frown, brows drawn and lips pursed. You’ve known Yoongi your whole life. Reading between the lines feels like you’re fucking stupid but you know it’s not quite so harsh. A frustrated you dumb idiot, maybe.

“Don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making any face.”

“Yes, you are. It’s the same one you made when I embarrassed you on your first date. Also the one you made after you threw up all over Hoseok’s shoes the first night you met him.” The recollection doesn’t help your cause - you’re grimacing even more deeply, chagrin spilling into misery in the form of red hot heat over your cheeks. “Don’t resent me for being realistic, Vivi. You know he hasn’t changed.”

The silence is childish. You know that.

“You can’t fix people.”

He arrives with flowers. Two full bunches of your favourite blooms - pretty peonies in shades of coral and lavender. They’re heavy in his arms, held so gingerly it’s almost comical as he extracts himself from the vehicle he most definitely should not be driving. He wonders whether you’ll be home - if he’ll get to see your expression when he presents them to you. He hopes you’ll light up, brighter than the sun in the sky and better than any nightlight.

What he doesn’t expect is someone walking up the sidewalk, gym bag slung across his shoulder like he’s getting ready to settle in for a long night. Short - atleast a few inches shorter than himself - with a stupid face that makes Jungkook want to punch it. Dumb shoes, too. Who the fuck wears Off-White Jordan 1s in that colourway?

There’s a permanent scowl etched across his face as he watches from behind the tinted comfort of his car, single hand caught around the edge of the door. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s perhaps crushing the stems cradled in his arms, inked knuckles blown white around quickly crumpling brown paper.

Maybe he’s your neighbour. Or maybe he’s going to the other house or maybe—

No, he’s definitely walking right up the front path.

The words are out before Jungkook can stop them, shouted into the quiet afternoon more loudly than he anticipates. “Hey!”

Dumbass with the face turns, full of surprise and wandering eyes. He hesitates halfway up your stoop, looking stupider than ever as he looks around for the source of the voice.

Then his stare falls on the brunet with his hands full and it’s like a flip has switched - mouth hardening into a line that raises the hairs on the back of Jungkook’s neck. He’s glaring at him (or something close to it).

Seriously - who is this fucker?

“Can I help you?” Hoseok speaks far more reasonably, at an octave that doesn’t shatter the peace of the residential neighbourhood. He’s still caught on the steps, fist tight around the strap of his bag as he studies the man - no, boy - that jogs up to meet him, two rungs the only thing separating the two of them.

“Do you know Vira?”

A part of Hoseok flinches at Jungkook’s casual use of your name - like he knows you or deserves to address you like an old friend. This kid really was clueless.

When he speaks, he’s perfectly composed, tension held tight behind his teeth. “I said, can I help you?”

Jungkook bristles at the response, some snarky comment threatening to knock the other off his apparent high horse. He barely catches it, grinding it down into a fine powder beneath his molars. He has to tread lightly here.

“I’m a friend of hers.” Not a lie, per se. You two were friends; after all, you’d come when he’d called. That meant something, right? Had to.

“A friend?” Disbelief slips into place, evident in the tone of Hoseok’s voice, how his brows shift beneath his chestnut fringe. He knows better than to believe Jungkook - has heard all the heartbreaking stories - but he can’t quite keep the worry from worming it’s way into his thoughts. They settle uncomfortably, just beneath the surface. “Is she expecting you?”

Everything about Hoseok makes Jungkook hate him. From the sneakers he wears to the watch on his wrist - understated, all gold, more expensive than a nerd like him should have - there’s something undoubtedly punchable about him.

It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he’s seemingly close with you. Definitely not.

“I was going to surprise her.” The flowers are held aloft, gesticulated in the best manner Jungkook can manage with his arms so full. “I didn’t know she was expecting you.” It’s a cheap tactic - recycling words - but he can’t think of much else beyond fitting his foot into this guy’s mouth.

“She’s not.” Sharp, sparse, with no hint of indulgence. Hoseok’s not about to get into a verbal sparring match with Jungkook. It’s not worth his time.

He is, however, going to put him in his place - and easily at that.

“She’s still at work.” Slim bundle of keys rise - two unassuming and one for an Audi. Perhaps unnecessary but Hoseok takes great pleasure in the other’s expression.

Tch is Jungkook’s first thought before the second smacks him straight in the face. He has a key to your place? The fact rubs him all the wrong ways despite the fact that he has no right to be bothered; it isn’t his home any more - hasn’t been in years. It still hurts, though, right behind his ribs and all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

Is this how you felt all those times?

Something like nausea builds in Jungkook’s stomach, throwing acid up the walls of his throat. It burns and strings, licking painfully all the way into his mouth. His teeth ache - buzz uncomfortably - and his tongue feels suddenly far too heavy. He wonders if he might choke on it.

Then, slowly, in a voice he doesn’t recognise. Too soft, years younger, uncertain. “Can you give these to her?” He hates it.

He hates even more the way Hosoek looks at him, with such pity Jungkook wants to curl it around his fist and break the older man’s teeth with it. It’s something he’s seen a handful of times - from you, from your brother, from his worried mother when she thinks he doesn’t notice. It never gets easier.

It forces him into a position he hasn’t been in in years: weak.

“I don’t think so.” By how calmly Hoseok speaks, it’s almost as if he’s commenting on the weather or passing along a banal bit of information. It’s far too nonchalant to be breaking Jungkook’s heart, splitting it cleanly in two.

“Why not?” Jungkook’s petulant, a child denied his favourite toy, forced into time-out.

That’s not for you screams Hoseok’s expression. She’s not for you. “I’m not comfortable with doing so.”

The sinking feeling hasn’t stopped for Jungkook. It goes and goes until he wishes he were six feet under, buried under ground as low as he feels. He should leave. He knows he should leave - if only to stop the discomfort that’s gripping every nerve, twisting them like an elbow about to snap.

“Anyway.” There’s boredom working its way into Hoseok’s stare, relaxing the shape of his mouth until it falls wide around a short, terse sigh. “If you’re friends, you can get in touch and drop them off later.”

He’s done playing gatekeeper - can feel his frustration bubbling to the surface in a way he’s not about to entertain. He nods once, dismissive, before turning away from the so-called rockstar that seems terribly small and the farthest thing from it.

“Goodbye.” Then he’s disappearing into your home, leaving Jungkook on the steps with his tail between his legs.

You return home three hours later - blissfully unaware of what’s transpired.

You set your dinner on the kitchen island, deftly unpacking takeout boxes as Hoseok hurries to your side to help. You don’t mind when he bumps into you, knocking his hip against yours with a heart-shaped smile.

It burns a little brighter than usual. “Good day?”

He hums in response, sneaking a yellow tomato from the salad box he’s just popped open. “Something like that.”

“Something like that?” You can’t help but echo him, a pretty parrot with shining eyes and a silk bow in your hair. “Don’t play coy, Jung Hoseok.” A digit closes the minimal distance between you, finding purchase against his side - right where he’s most ticklish.

He shrieks, nearly upending the fries he’s tried to dump onto a ceramic plate.

“Hey!” Hands swat, then fold, catching your fingers between his in an awkward hand-hold. “Keep your hands to yourself, Vi.”

“You don’t complain normally,” you retort. You’re not wrong. Skinship with you is one of his favourite things, fourth only to his dog, dancing, and a certain green-labelled soda.

“Well, today’s a special day.”

Hoseok really doesn’t know where he’s going with his words - only hoping that he’ll find their destination somewhere along the way. He doesn’t want to tell you too soon, all too aware of how the mention of your ex will bring this perfect moment crumbling down. He wants to hold it, perhaps a little too tightly, for as long as he can. He thinks he’s doing you a service, giving you these few extra minutes.

“Oh yeah?” You’re twinkling eyes and pealing laughter, so far removed from the bag of bones and sadness of only days prior. It’s hard to believe there’s something broken inside of there - tucked right behind your breastplate and out of sight.

“Yeah.”

You wait for him to continue, opting instead to fill the silence with mouth noises. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. He always does.

“Jungkook came by.” It comes halfway through a bite of a french fry, the carb nearly bringing you to an early death when you choke on it. All at once, everything spins, as if just the name is enough to upend your entire world. Hoseok’s clapping your back, rubbing soothing circles over the cotton of your shirt, and you’re struggling to find words or breath - heaving around the sudden heaviness.

“What?” So small, it’s hardly a word.

“He was here when I got here.” You’re not oblivious to the careful way he speaks, choosing his words with utmost care. You don’t miss his grip either, gentle and unyielding at your side - as if he might steady you beneath the sudden tidal wave of emotion.

You do well, keeping your voice level once you’ve found it again. “And? What did he want?”

Hoseok does you the great service of pretending as if he doesn’t hear the hope in your voice. You’re grateful for that.

“He came with flowers.” Not quite a laugh comes - more unimpressed and derisive than amused. “Two bouquets, actually.” You can feel him studying you from your periphery, his careful stare trained on your face and the dozen emotions that run rampant through it. “Your favourite flowers too.”

Your laugh matches his own, though far heavier, as if the sound won’t form without immense effort. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” It’s a word you’ve heard a lot tonight. It feels right. One syllable to encompass every feeling you can’t properly articulate. “He asked me to give them to you.”

It should surprise you but it doesn’t. Jungkook’s never been one to ask - instead taking what he wants - but it’s still funny. Of course he’d ask that of Hoseok, as if the act itself weren’t terribly strange, the flowers an unwelcome, begging apology. Jeon Jungkook only did what he wanted - etiquette be damned.

“I don’t see them anywhere.”

“I told him I wasn’t comfortable doing it.” There’s a touch of pride, glimmering gold painted over consonants and vowels. It’s understated in the way that Hoseok always is - not how he looks, but is; you’re drawn to it nonetheless, squeezing your fingers around his own in a silent thank you.

“I hope it wasn’t weird.” It must have been. It’s still the thought that counts.

Hoseok hams it up, scoffing like it’s just been another day. “Weird? Of course not. I have to deal with my friend’s horrible exes all the time. I’m practically Scott Pilgrim.”

“Does that make me Ramona Flowers?”

“No - but you’re my flower.” He says it in jest, only to make you smile, because he knows you need it right now.

You try not to think of how you prefer Pumpkin, instead.

tag list. @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain @neverthefirstchoice @snackhobi

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joshslater · 3 years

Text

Foreign Exchange

This is a re-release since the previous version got blocked for unknown reasons. I’m not going to bother to find yet another photo that doesn’t break the content rule, so you’ll have to imagine the lower part of a slim, white guy wearing red trunks with the outline of a massive penis. Or read the original story and more on my Patreon.

It all started in what was supposed to be a one week stay in Cape Town. I don't know what the airline had smoked, but a round trip from Europe sold for almost nothing during a few hours. Probably some clerical error in the pricing department. Whatever the reason, I shuffled some tasks around and manage to arrange myself a one week spring vacation. I had no idea of what to expect. Only thing I knew about South Africa was the Kruger Park, the worlds first heart transplant, excellent red wines, Apartheid and Mandela.

It started out amazing. I found a cheap place in Green Point, close to lots of the tourist places, and started to drink my way through South African wine bottles. It was on the third evening I made the wrong move. No, life altering move.

I was heading back to the hotel after some late evening sea side action. I had emptied a particularly good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, rich with those mineral tones so prevalent in most South African wines. I was slightly sun burned, possibly lost and decidedly round footed when I walked up to two well dressed white men beating the shit out of black kid.

- Hey, stop that!

I said before my brain had fully reengaged. They did stop. One of the men stared right at me, eyes filled with disdain.

- What you say?

I didn't have time to answer him when something hard hit the back of my head with a thud and everything lost focus and disappeared.

When I came to everything was black and my head hurt like hell. I was lying awkwardly, hands bound behind my back, feet tied together, and some sort of bag tied around my head. The sound made me think I was in someones trunk, but I guess it could have been a van or a covered pick up flat bed just as well. In any event, the vehicle was running fast on what I assumed to be a highway. After a bit of struggle I concluded that I was not just bound up, but also tied down and couldn't move much at all. After a boring hour or so still drunk me slipped back into sleep.

Next time I woke up the vehicle was standing still. I was still as tied up as before, but I could hear someone speaking Afrikaan a few steps away. He came close, shuffled some things around, and then I felt a small prick on my arm. I barely had time to realize it was some sort of injection when I lost consciousness again.

Regaining consciousness was quite different third time around. I still couldn't see anything, but I could feel some swim style goggles around my head, probably blacked out. Now I was lying more properly on a firm bed or padded table. I tried to move, but like before I was tightly restrained. This time it felt more professional, like cuffs around arms and legs, and some kind of material pushing against the chest. And I was naked, I think. It was hard to determine, as the temperature was nice and I couldn't move, but I couldn't feel any clothes on my body. I tried to say "hello", but nothing came out.

This quickly became incredibly boring. I couldn't see or feel much. The smell was basically just some generic clean smell of faint detergent. With sounds there were a bit more variation. I could hear some HVAC rumbling once every 5 minutes, or so I guessed. In addition there was a constant low humming in the room. I could hear some faint sounds from outside the room. Perhaps infrequent cars coming and leaving outside the building.

By my estimate I was at least into the third wake hour when suddenly a door opened and I could hear a conversation between the two men who entered the room. They sounded quite far away, so the room was probably large.

"...so many in the database?"

"We use five key measurements combined into one value as sorting key. The circumference and length, both on flaccid and erect, are approximated into two cylinders. Balls are approximated as spheres. Then we just multiply the three volumes together to make the sorting key. First selection priority is of course bio-compatibility, but this size metric allows for fast selection within that set. It only brings candidates though. The final decision is more complex, of course."

"Complex how?"

"Well, let's ask the doctor himself. His coming here."

A third person entered the room.

"You talking about me?"

"Yes, we were just discussing the selection criteria"

"Ah. Well, since this is a demonstration we want to be bold, while being mindful of proportions and aesthetics. In addition to appearance we want to maximize as many of the secondary factors as possible from the paper. For this one we landed in using the Congo supply."

They were standing right next to me now. The "doctor" continued.

"So this is the subject. The first agent is being administered right now, as you can see. Any questions?"

I tried to say something. Anything. But only wheezing air came out.

"Is he trying to speak?", asked the first voice.

"No, he isn't. Come, let's look at the model", replied the doctor, and they left the room as quickly as they entered it.

6-8 HVAC cycles later I heard the door open again and several people walking into the room. I heard a women's voice close to me saying "Everything is green. Go ahead." and I again lost consciousness.

The room was barely furnished, completely white and bathed in light when I opened my eyes.

"Oh, how good. You are awake."

I heard a female voice in a strong South African accent. I turned my head and saw a fat, black South African lady smiling at me. I was super confused. I was in a hospital bed, but this didn't really look like a hospital, and she didn't look like a nurse.

"Wheh...", was as far as I managed on "Where am I" before my voice gave out.

"You need to drink a lot. Here, let me help", said the lady and gave me something that looked like a hospital version of a gym bottle. As I drank she continued.

"You had a traffic accident. Nothing serious. Just a concussion, so you were dismissed from the hospital to make room. This is a recovery home."

I was gulping water. Man, was I was thirsty. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Just outside the city, so still close to Johannesburg."

That's like at least 10 hours away from Cape Town. What the fuck had happened?

"What day is it?"

"It's Thursday today, dear. I'll go and get something for you to eat", the fat lady answered, and started to move towards the door.

Something just didn't feel right. It was Wednesday evening when I was kidnapped. "No, what date?"

"Thursday the 28th", she said from the door.

A whole fucking week.

I felt a sucking black hole in my gut. The lady seemed nice, but there was no way I would trust her right now. Perhaps she believed everything she had just told me, but clearly some things were not true. My head felt fine, as opposed to the last time I was conscious, but what about the rest? I didn't feel any restraints, just my body in a hospital gown, under some white sheets. In fact, nothing hurt anywhere. Just thirsty, still, hungry and a need to piss.

I could see a different door in another wall than the nurse had just left through. Presumably a private toilet for this small recovery room. A pair of slippers stood next to the bed, so I threw off the blankets began to sit up and swing out my legs. That's when I first felt it. It was weird feeling, familiar, but yet very different.

I quickly kicked my feet into the slippers and carefully, still a bit woozy, shuffled into the bath room. It was surprisingly roomy. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, given the number of people with casts, wheelchairs and whatnot passing through. But it had plenty of room around the toilet seat and sink, and a full length mirror next to the sink, presumably for wheel chair bound people.

I raised the gown from my knees to expose my front, and just stared for a several seconds to fully understand what I saw. My dick and balls were gone. In its place was the largest, most aggressively male genitalia I had ever seen, even in pictures. The massive dick went almost down to my knees, and thick as a can of red bull. And even though it was completely flaccid it was veiny as cabbage and the outlines of a massive head was clearly visible through the uncut foreskin.

Behind the dick were two softball sized testicles hanging low, but unevenly so. It was all topped off with a large bush of coarse hair. And all of it, the hair, the balls and the dong, where dark chocolate black.

I just stared in disbelief. Then tentatively I touched the penis. Yep, it was real and it was now apparently mine. Standing straight my hands couldn't even reach halfway down to the tip. My mind caught up with reality and was filling with questions. Who did this? Why did they do this? How did they do this? Isn't there organ rejection? Aren't you supposed to eat some sort of pills forever after receiving a transplant? Are there even any pants I can wear anymore? Did baller shorts just become underwear?

I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder. It worked fine. Better than fine even, as aiming just became a lot easier with such a hose, although using paper involved lifting. Lifting! I could feel that it was much more sensitive than what I was used to, and felt it starting to come alive. I quickly dropped it and went back to bed. Just as I did lunch arrived.

Once fed, and having checked with the care taker, Amahle, that she wouldn't be back for two hours, I decided to try out my new dong. Tissues were already on the side table. I sat up in bed, kicked off the sheet and had another look under the gown. I was again taken aback with the sight. It wan't just massive, but somehow everything, length, girth, balls, looked to be in proportion. I must admit that I haven't spent much time thinking about, looking at or describing cocks, but the first words that came to mind were aggressive, intimidating and virile. The black skin made it even more so, as the light from the window created contrasting highlights on the veins.

Carefully I looked at the border, where the black skin met my pasty, white body. Rather than a sharp line, as I had expected, there was a narrow gradient where one color blended over to the other. How on earth was this done? It looked like perhaps a decades old surgery where the scar had long since gone soft.

I resumed where we left off in the bathroom, slowly stroking it. It reacted right away, and apparently was a grower as well as a shower. Holy fuck was it massive. I just lied in bed and over perhaps 20 minutes had the best wank in my life. I have no idea whose dick I was giving a handjob, but this was clearly his loss and my gain. It was filled to the brim with nerve endings, making every stroke amazing. Or perhaps it was designed and grown in a lab somewhere? In that case, props to the cocksmith.

The head was leaking precum like crazy, sending small droplets of man lube for every noisy slosh of foreskin riding up and down the head. I was probably suffering from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation with so much blood displaced, but I managed to be amazed over how long I lasted, in the fog of pleasure.

When I finally couldn't keep it contained anymore, I erupted in rope after rope of cum going everywhere. On my chest, in my face, and some overshooting me all together. As I was catching my breath, sweaty and sticky, I was thinking about what to tell Amahle. Or if I should get up and do some attempts to clean up the mess first. I realized I had plenty of problems ahead of me. Cleaning up, getting home, ever wearing pants again, figuring out how to use toilets. But at least there and then I could not care less.

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seiin-translations · 3 years

Text

2.43 S1 Chapter 4.5 - Drifting Yunichika

5. HIGH, FAST, STRONG

Sorry it took so long, there was a lot going on in this chapter

Translation Notes

1. I don’t think I word it very well here but Haijima literally says “obsessing over the face for their school grade” which I think basically means worrying over acting their age or something like that

2. I don’t know if there even is a term in English for this but a high set (二段トス) is where another player sets the ball instead of the setter because the received ball is off

3. The Sanzu River is the Buddhist equivalent of the River Styx

Previous || Index || Next

The Prefectural High School Fall Tournament was held for three days on August 1st, August 2nd, and August 3rd. For the past several years, the number of schools participating in boys’ volleyball official tournaments was fixed at twenty-two. The tournament consisted of the first round on the first day, the second round on the second day, and the semifinals and finals on the third day.

You had to win five matches to win the championship. However, Seiin High School was lucky enough to get a seeded spot in the first round of the tournament, so they would participate in the second round. In other words, they had to win four matches.

Just four matches. Those were the same conditions as the prefecturals a year ago.

As Haijima had said, the fact that there were no sub-prefectural block qualifiers and only twenty participating schools in the whole prefecture would be an unthinkable scope in a large city. That was how close it was to Nationals, but it was also undeniable that it was difficult to maintain the level of competition because there were few competitors.

Seiin High School’s first game was on August 2nd, the second day of the tournament. Before the start of the first game of the day and the second round of the tournament, the banner that read ��Nanafu Seiin High School Boys’ Volleyball Team” written boldly and masculinely in black ink on white cloth, hung from the second floor of the stands and released an overwhelming presence. Needless to say, it was in the hand of Kuroba’s grandfather, as it was in the case of Monshiro Middle School. He repeatedly instructed his mother to refrain from having a large cheering squad of all his relatives as she did in middle school, but she asked to at least hang a banner. He reluctantly discussed it with Oda, and the moment he saw the actual thing, he had taken to it completely. I’ve thought about this now and then, but Oda-senpai and Grandpa would definitely get along.

I’m not…nervous today…right…?

He carefully confirmed that with himself. His body was moving well. His heartbeat was normal. Unlike the school gym, the air conditioning was working in city-run gymnasium, so it was rather cool if anything, and right now he was sweating moderately after finishing his warmup. He didn’t feel uncomfortable. I feel like I can really do it today…then again, I always think that before a match.

“Yuniii! Yuuuni!”

He heard someone calling him through the buzz that enveloped the court right before the game. He turned his head to the second floor and spotted Itoko waving at him right above the “Nanafu Seiin High School Boys’ Volleyball Team” banner hanging from the front row.

With a face that said “You found me!”, Itoko stood and pointed to the seat next to her. “Look, look!”

“Ah… Yori-chan…”

Yorimichi, wearing a tight tank top and a Hawaiian shirt, was yawning as he plunked down on the plastic chair that looked cramped for someone of his size. This was the first time he saw him since he became a university student, but with his long hair tied all the way back into a bun, he looked even more like a punk. He was a bit impressed by how even though he was plenty vulgar in his third year of high school, he still had room to get worse.

Come to think of it, he should have returned yesterday. Itoko looked as though she was proud of the achievement of bringing her brother here. It had been about a year and a half since Kuroba started playing volleyball seriously, and this was the first time Yorimichi came to watch a match.

Why did he come? He wondered. Well, he was probably dragged here by Itoko because he happened to be back, but even so, he wouldn’t have gotten up even if Itoko invited him when he’s at home, so why did he decide to come today? I wonder what he’ll think when he watches my game. Would he make fun of me? Maybe he’d laugh and say, “Why are you being so serious about sports?”

He met eyes with Yorimichi. Kuroba thoughtlessly smiled in spite of himself, but Yorimichi didn’t smile. With a bored look on his face, he jerked his chin, as though to say, “Give me something to look at.”

What should I do… What should he show Yorimichi to satisfy him? Can he get him not to say things like “I shouldn’t have come to see this”, “This is a waste of time,” or “I got woken up early for this?”

His back was poked. He turned back with a start and saw Haijima putting his fist on the left side of Kuroba’s back, right behind his heart, and glaring at him with a stern look in his eyes. It was then that he became aware that his heart, which had been calm earlier, was now beating faster.

“Ugh…Sorry again, I…”

“I told you not to look around. Just look inside the court. Everyone’s there. Enemies…and friends too.”

As he felt Haijima’s fist pressing against his back through his uniform for a while, strangely enough, his heart which had been bouncing like a rubber ball gradually regained its normal weight.

“Don’t be in a hurry. Just wait.”

When Haijima said that and lowered his fist, his heart beating in its normal position. It was like he was preparing for battle, and the taping on Haijima’s fingers absorbed his nerves.

Haijima no longer paid Kuroba any attention and started talking to Oda and the others at the courtside. Kuroba hurriedly joined the circle of matching uniforms. Seiin’s uniform was black with blue lines. Only the libero had the reverse color scheme of black on blue. When Okuma was handed the uniform, he made an ominous prediction that the team would lose halfway because those weren’t the colors of a protagonist team, and Oda had gotten angry at him (According to Okuma, the protagonist team’s colors were a combination of “white and blue.” He thought he understood what he meant).

The starting members for Seiin High School were,

Number 1 Oda Shinichiro Third Year Left 163cm

Number 2 Aoki Misao Third Year Center 193cm

Number 4 Kanno Akito Second Year Right 181cm

Number 7 Kuroba Yuni First Year Left 184cm

Number 8 Haijima Kimichika First Year Setter 181cm

Number 10 Okuma Yusuke Second Year Center 187cm

Number 5 Hokao Kazuma Second Year Libero 170cm

Reserve Number 3 Uchimura Naoyasu Second Year 175cm

The above eight members were going into the match with all their strength.

For Haijima, this tournament would be his debut high school game, but as expected of someone with nerves as thick as sewer pipes, he didn’t seem nervous at all as he went over the formation with Oda and the others. They were the only school in the tournament that had a first-year as the setter, which was a position rare for even a second-year starting member to be in due to its importance as a so-called “playmaker” position. It was already attracting attention, but Haijima didn’t care about the gazes of others, or rather, he didn’t notice.

Both teams took the court, and the cheers of the waiting parents grew louder. I wonder if Yorimichi’s voice is mixed in with them��I doubt it, though…

Crap, my mind is on the outside of the court again. I have to focus on the inside of the court. He ruminated on Haijima’s words like they were a magic spell and let them soak into his body.

“Everything is inside the court. Enemies…and friends too.”

That guy said…friends. He felt like it was the first time he heard that word from Haijima’s mouth.

He subconsciously searched for him. Haijima still wasn’t on the court. He was standing on the sidelines and fiddling with the taping on his fingers in front of his stomach. Huh…? He’s doing that thing again…?

He shook his head lightly, put his hands down to his sides, and fixed his gaze on the court, his face as stiffly focused as ever. It was a face that said everything important in this world was on the nine-by eighteen-meter volleyball court.

From the beginning of the first set to the middle, Seiin used the newly incorporated center and right combination attacks from the training camp to get most of their points until the scores of both teams reached the ten point range. The dexterous duo of Aoki and Kanno toyed with the enemy’s blocks so easily that it was funny.

And after all was said and done, it was Haijima who was masterminding that. In addition to the transcendent accuracy of his overhand handling, he was able to set the ball to any place with one hand even when the receives to the front of the net were disordered. In addition, if there was even the slightest opening——.

Haijima’s left hand flashed over the net as he looked to make a jump set. In the next moment, a two-attack was made launched into the opponent’s territory with unbelievable speed.

The other team froze, and the gallery let out cries of surprise. It seemed to have become a rumor in the venue that Seiin, a team that was completely out of the limelight, was displaying an unusual strength from the first game with an incredible rookie in their ranks. There were even people who looked like they were from the high school sports association appearing here and there on the court.

——However. He had not set a single ball to Kuroba, who was in the ace position. He was beginning to feel like he wasn’t going to hit a single ball in this match. He was sure that Yorimichi was in the stands right now, being disgusted that he wasn’t being useful at all. Even the blocker of the opposing team who he was matched up with was starting to get a look on his face like, “Why is this guy on the court?” He was beginning to feel bad that they marked him.

Oda also made a high-speed back row attack. Through the training camp, he had come to be able to match Haijima’s sets, which literally meant “high and fast,” perfectly. Kuroba’s and Oda’s highest points were thirty centimeters apart, but they were able to do powerful back-row attacks as though they were hitting the ball at the same positions.

What the hell am I doing here? He couldn’t help but feel that way. If they wouldn’t let him hit, then the team would be much better off putting Uchimura in, who played better defense than Kuroba. During the training camp, Oda and the others were searching for a formation that prioritized receiving ability by swapping Kuroba and Uchimura.

If it was until yesterday, it might have gone bad. But… He recalled his conversation with Oda this morning.

“What do you think are the features of Haijima’s sets?”

It occurred when everyone was going to the competition venue. Oda had stopped Kuroba and asked him that.

“They’re high, fast, and straight. A B pass somehow becomes an A pass. He’s unpredictable when sending the ball to the front or back, so even his teammates don’t know where it’s going. But the worst is that he has no intention to match the attackers. He makes difficult sets with a face that says ‘It’s your fault if it doesn’t reach you.’”

He answered with complaints mixed in. Oda smiled, looking strangely happy.

“Yeah. The basic ability of a good setter is to make the attacker feel good about hitting the ball. On that point, Haijima’s sets has too much of his own tendencies and are difficult to hit. But why do you think they’re difficult?”

Kuroba was puzzled by the further questioning. Even if he was asked why, all he could say was that they reflected Haijima’s sadistic and inconsiderate personality.

“Haijima’s sets are probably customized to each attacker’s ability with precision. Everyone’s highest jumping points, takeoff, and swing speed is different. The set comes right in at the moment when each person is swinging at their highest points, within a few tenths of a second. However, he doesn’t set the ball to the place where it’s comfortable to hit it, he sets it to where it would be a little difficult. It’s not a place where you can’t reach at all, but a place where you will be able to reach if you really concentrate, stretch your nerves all over your body, and bring out your maximum power to hit. That’s why I’m practicing with Haijima…I’m getting better. I realized that for the first time in a match. I can see my surroundings better than in practice. I’m gaining the ability to hit at the highest point. As far as I know, there’s no setter as dedicated as that guy.”

The word “dedicated” was about as far from Haijima as the other side of the universe, and it somehow sent a shudder down Kuroba’s spine. Seeing his doubtful face, Oda laughed again.

“Kuroba, you don’t believe in Haijima?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in him, but…”

“Actually, Haijima told me something. He told me that no matter what happened today, I shouldn’t bench you.”

“Huh…?”

“It’s not Haijima you don’t believe in, but just yourself. If you can’t believe in yourself, try believing in Haijima.”

Hokao made a beautiful A-pass to Haijima. Aoki and Kanno ran to intersect each other behind Haijima to divert the block targets. Oda also jumped out to do a back-row attack.

Haijima threw a glance at him for a moment under his hands, which were held in an overhand stance.

“Just wait.” ——Haijima’s words before the game echoed in his head.

Before he could think about it, his body was moving and he was doing an approach run. Two well-paced steps with his right foot and then left foot. On the third step, he stepped firmly on the floor with his two feet, right and left, and lowered his ankles, knees, hips deeply. He swung his arms from back to front deeply, releasing the power stored in his lower body to leap into the air. The entire floor threw his body up high due to his elasticity—the result when one could jump the highest.

There was nothing blocking the space above the net of two meters and forty centimeters. I’m completely unmarked! The opponent’s blocking was completely shaken off by Aoki’s and Kanno’s movements. For a sensible few seconds, he stood still in the air and had a clear view of the opponent’s entire court. The course that he was meant to pierce the ball down seemed to automatically emerge. It was a sport where you had to defend a nine-by-nine meter court with a reaction speed of a few tenths of a second. If you lagged for even a moment, there would be an opening there.

Even though today was the first time they played together, even though they hadn’t played together properly during the training camp, Haijima’s set flew “straight” towards Kuroba’s highest point, so precise and accurate that it was incredible. The timing was perfect. It fit right into his hand without a millimeter of deviation. All he had to do was to leave it to the rotation of his body and swing his arms.

The ball, driven in at an acute angle, bounced up in the opponent’s court with a bang. The highest, fastest, strongest——!

He was able to spike with all his power in an official game, something he kept failing at ever since the middle school prefecturals. He didn’t know what he was stumbling over, so he was at a complete loss for a whole year. Then that single set came to him like a sword of light cutting through the darkness, and he just hit it without thinking about anything, forgetting himself completely——. He still couldn’t believe he hit it. Why couldn’t he do it until now?

“If you can’t believe in yourself, try believing in Haijima.”

At that moment, they connected. Haijima’s—that guy’s—clumsy, easy to misunderstand, disconnected words became one thought. “I won’t let that happen again.” “I’ll prove it at the Fall Tournament.” “I’ll make every ball I set to you the best ones.” “Don’t be in a hurry. Just wait.”

“Kuroba!”

As though he was tired of waiting for the long flight time to end, Oda jumped at him and put him in a headlock.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

With his hair mussed up, Kuroba absentmindedly answered, “Ah…okay.” Hokao poked his shoulder, and Aoki slapped his butt. Kanno, who was moving back to serve, gave him a small peace sign. Okuma and Uchimura were loudly cheering something from the warm-up zone.

“Seiin High School has two immoveable pillars: the high-speed combination performance developed by setter Haijima Kimichika and the explosive offensive power of ace Kuroba Yuni—we’ll be the team that people will talk like that about.”

When it seemed that the referee was going to give them a warning, Oda finally released Kuroba’s head with a “got you” look on his face.

“Well, it’s also because I was talked into it by Haijima.”

He bashfully added, and then his expression stiffened.

“Alright, Kuroba, let’s take it from here.”

“Y-Yes.”

Kuroba nodded, his cheeks flushed. He was so happy to hear the words “Ace Kuroba Yuni” from Oda’s mouth that his inferiority complex from the training camp was easily blown away.

It was just as Haijima said. You’re the team’s ace. He felt like the world was turning out just as Haijima said, and a shiver welled up from deep within him with a little bit of fear and excitement that swallowed that up.

Haijima was the only one who was completely calm about the one play and was already observing the opponent’s court with his mind on the next play. The rotation turned once, and the front row now consisted of, from the left, Haijima, Kuroba, and Aoki. The player must the rotation’s positional relationship until the ball was served, or it would be a positional fault penalty. The moment the ball was served, Haijima must quickly move to the right side and have the line order be replaced with Kuroba, Aoki, and Haijima, the three of them stood by in a tight group near the center of the front row.

“You were considering this from the beginning. Leaving me out from the combination practice…”

He couldn’t help but whisper that question as he and Haijima were huddled together behind Aoki.

In the prefecturals a year ago, Kuroba had been overly conscious of the blocks and fell apart spectacularly after being persistently marked by the opposing team. However, since Kuroba was the only attacker who could hit the ball, they had no choice but to set all the balls to him, and there was no way to get himself unmarked.

But now——Haijima said, “I can do things differently.” If the opponent was aware that their team used the center-right combination a lot, they would become wary of it and adopt a blocking system that was closer to the right, and the mark on Kuroba on the left would weaken. The scenario was to have the seniors play the role of setting the stage, so to speak, in order to have him hit the ball unmarked and get rid of his awareness that he was bad at it.

“How on earth do you make a request like that to the senpais…You really do have nerves of steel.”

He could only be thankful that he was blessed with understanding seniors.

“You’re decisive enough on your own. We’ll do the cheap tricks to get you to hit the ball. If you’re a senpai who’s so obsessed with stuff like keeping face as a senior (1) and ruin our chances of winning, then we don’t need you anyways.”

Haijima declared unabashedly while his gaze was fixed on the opponent’s court. But then he suddenly pouted and added something else in a whisper.

“…That’s why, I’m taking you. To the Spring Tournament.”

Although he didn’t say the word “senpais,” Kuroba supplemented that word in his mind. He A laugh escaped from his lips as he realized that in his own way, Haijima felt indebted to Oda and the others.

“You talk like you alone are taking them, but…we’re the ones taking them, aren’t we?”

Haijima blinked in surprise. Kuroba was embarrassed after he said that aloud, having gotten carried away and talked big. He was afraid that he would be cut down again with “you’re a hundred years too early to say that.” However,

“…Yeah.”

Haijima’s face softened, and he nodded.

Now he understood—everything was in the court. Enemies, and friends as well. He wondered if Yorimichi was watching. However, he didn’t feel like looking up at the stands, when normally he would be curious and try to find him. His feet were properly rooted here, not on the second floor of the stands.

He didn’t look for him, but he just wanted Yorimichi to see this. There was nothing to be shrink from. There was nothing to be embarrassed of. He wanted to puff up his chest and be proud of that this was the volleyball he was so passionate about right now. Above all, he wanted him to see this team.

He saw Haijima touching the taping on his fingers again. He lightly shook his head and fixed his gaze forward with a focussed expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be in bad shape, so Kuroba didn’t mind it at the time.

“Do it with the intention of taking it and hitting it yourself.”

He was told this by Hokao and Uchimura as they went along with his receiving practice during the training camp, to the point he had calluses on his ears. Don’t just sit back and watch the ball after a serve receive, run with the intention of snatching away the set to yourself. The left-side hitters have always been an easy target for the serve. That was why their receiving abilities, not just their spiking abilities, were the key to offense. No matter how good Haijima was, if his serve receive was up to par, there was no way to build an offense.

Even though he knew that, when he received the ball, he felt like he had done his job and stopped moving, but thanks to being told that over and over and repeating it in practice, it was hammered into his body. There was meaning in being taken out of offensive practice during training camp and forced to do only receiving practice.

He was hit by a serve in his bad form and fell on his butt, but he immediately jumped up and ran. Although the receive went off course, Haijima had already entered the ball’s drop point due to his outstanding reading speed and mobility. This was what he meant when he said that with Haijima, a B-pass became an A-pass. An A-pass was a good receive that allowed the setter to return to a position that didn’t move in from in front of the net for the fastest combination attack, but a B-pass was a worse receive than that. When it came to the C-pass, the setter might not be able to get it, and if that happened, the sign could not be used and another player would have to do a high set. (2) However, Haijima didn’t abandon the sign, even if it was a C-pass, and chased the ball himself to force a combination attack.

Haijima alone had the final say on who got to hit among the four attackers on the court, including Kuroba. He judged the situation instantly based on the reactions of the opposing blockers and receivers, and in Haijima’s case, rather than simply striking where they were undermanned, he chose the option that would allow him to harass his opponents the most and leave an impact on the rest of the play.

He noticed that he was being marked by a blocker, but Kuroba sent the desire of being given the ball to Haijima. Until now, all he thought about was escaping from the blocks. But now he was ready to smash one in.

Haijima touched his taping again for an instant and made a gesture of shaking his head. ——What, now?

Haijima opened his eyes wide at the ball that was approaching right in front of his face, and he turned away as though to run from it and knocked it down with his hand.

Beep——.

The whistle sounded, and there were cheers from the opposing court for their good luck. Meanwhile, on Seiin’s court, all the attackers who ended up with half-baked jumps looked at Haijima with astonishment. That was natural for anyone who knew the man named Haijima. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was someone else’s basic mistake, but Haijima——?

The ball rolled fruitlessly to the center of their court. It was unbelievable, but Haijima, who was staring at it with a look that was even filled with hatred, and then as though he had returned to himself, immediately put out his hand and flicked it out of the court.

***

“Thank you for your hard work!”

All the members of the team formed a line facing the advisor and spoke in unison. Oda stepped out of the line and faced his team members.

“Now, we’re going back to school temporarily…”

“Aah…Oda, there’s always tomorrow, so let’s just break up here. Some people live closer to here than school.”

The old advisor interjected with a slippery voice like half of his body was already submerged in the Sanzu River (3), causing Oda’s temple to twitch. “I think you’re the only one whose home is close, sir, but…” Although he bitterly grumbled that, Oda sighed in defeat and turned back to the members.

“We’ll break up here for now. The Nanafu group will stay together and return to the school. Everyone else can go back home. Tomorrow, we’ll meet in the clubroom at six-thirty. Alright, don’t get into any accidents or anything like that, and think of it as a match until you get home, don’t lose focus.”

“What is this, a field trip?”

Aoki let out a strained laugh and quipped, taking over the conversation from Oda, who looked embarrassed.

“The Monshiro group is going far away, so ask your parents to give you a ride. I’ll put the ball case in the old teacher’s car, but Kuroba and Haijima, can you bring the cooler box back home and then bring it back tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes, we can both bring it tomorrow. Our houses are close.”

The two third-years gave Kuroba a casual look as he quickly jumped to attention and answered. Guessing that they wanted him to take a look at how Haijima was doing, he stealthily glanced at his profile. Haijima, who had quickly returned to his glasses from contacts, was looking ahead with a reddened face for some reason. Is he tired…? However, he couldn’t tell the difference clearly because he always looked like he wasn’t thinking about anything, surprisingly, except when his club activity switch was on.

That was the only time Haijima made a basic mistake, and after that it had no effect on him at all, and he went on as usual—or rather, his level of “usual” was unusual—until the end, but Seiin High School continued the play and won the two games of the day. They would advance to the semifinals tomorrow, the final day.

So, they have come to the same place as the prefecturals a year ago.

It was as though they were advancing by tracing the road from a year ago. He was confident that they would break the semifinals this year for sure, and he was plenty motivated, but—a bad feeling that there was an unexpected trap lying in wait for them just like a year ago, continued to hover in a corner of his mind.

They met with the parents who came to support them from Monshiro in the gym’s parking lot. Kuroba’s mother, Kanno’s mother, Haijima’s grandmother, and Itoko and Yorimichi were there. The Kannos’ car and the Kurobas’ car (Haijima’s grandmother seemed to have ridden in the Kurobas’ car) were there, as well as a light pickup truck. The truck belonged to the relative who transported provisions to the training camp. The back of the truck was still littered with vegetable scraps. It seemed that this was the car Yorimichi borrowed to “just drive around in town” in.

Thank you so much for all your help, Kanno’s mother thanked Kuroba’s mother reverently. He wondered about the parent of a second-year being deferential to the parent of a first-year.

It seemed that Itoko had made plans to join with her school friends from now. An amusement building called Suzumu Play-One was built near Itoko’s Suzumu City high school recently, and it had a karaoke place, a bowling alley, and an arcade. It had become a hangout for high schoolers with free time (by the way, Karaoke Box Monshiro was finally demolished at the start of this year). No wonder she made her hair into a bun-looking thing on the top of her head, wore a sleeveless dress-looking thing, and carried a summer vacation-like basket bag-looking thing. He, on the other hand, had just changed out of his uniform and was wearing a T-shirt that was already drenched with sweat, carrying an enamel bag that dug into his shoulders and even a cooler box. He didn’t mind it though, because he wanted to do it.

“Good job out there, Yuni. You were pretty cool.”

“What do you mean, ‘pretty’ cool? Say I’m ‘super’ cool, onion head.”

As he reflexively shot back after being praised with a smile, Itoko took the initiative to load Kuroba’s luggage into the back of the truck, so he took it back and threw it up himself.

“You still have the semifinals and finals. You’ll get carried away if I praise you. Yorimichi? Don’t you have anything to say to Yuni?”

Itoko’s voice turned a bit angry and she slapped the driver’s door. “Aah?” Yorimichi, who was sticking his face into the air conditioner at the driver’s seat, rolled down the window with an annoyed look on his face.

“Ah, um…how was it…?”

“Doesn’t matter how it was. It was pretty cool at the venue. I thought it would be hot, so it took a while for me to wanna go there.”

He sloppily leaned against the door with one arm out the window. Even though he didn’t exercise, his arms were muscular, and they were a size thicker than Kuroba’s who recently started to work hard at muscle training. His tank top was tightly stretched over his thick chest. He could try doing some kind of sport even now…

“Ugh, don’t dodge the question and tell him. You wanted to see a volleyball game, didn’t you?”

Itoko said, putting her hands on her hips with an exasperated look on her face.

“Huh!? Yori-chan, you’re interested in volleyball!?”

“No way.”

He had widened his eyes and unintentionally said that with hope in his voice, but got flatly rejected on the spot.

“I just wanted to see what you’re so into. You probably found something there you haven’t told me about…Well, it looks like you’ll be keeping at it for a long time, so work hard at that.”

“Geez, just be honest!”

Yorimichi withdrew his head from out the window, and Itoko got angry. But for Kuroba, it was more than enough. Those were Yorimichi-like words of support. Come to think of it, he wasn’t drinking while watching the game today. He didn’t come here to make fun of him. He had him understand that he was doing this seriously. He didn’t know what he was shrivelling from. He knew that Yorimichi wouldn’t laugh for no reason at the things people cherished.

That’s why I like Yorimichi…

“…Mm. I will work hard.”

He answered bashfully. Yorimichi was already pretending not to hear and fiddled with the car radio. “There’s only enka,” he complained.

At that moment, he heard a hoarse scream and something being struck.

He turned around and saw Haijima and his grandmother next to the Kurobas’ car. There was more than a head of difference in height between the grandmother and Haijima, which made her look extremely weak. A dark red handbag had fallen at her feet, and her wallet and other small items were scattered across the asphalt.

“Why are you using that without asking me…?”

Haijima said with a trace of anger in his voice. His grandmother’s small frame shrunk. “W-Why are you getting so angry all of a sudden? I thought you didn’t want it anymore since you put it away in the closet…”

“Haijima? What are you doing to your own grandma?”

Confused, Kuroba rushed over as he reproached him. When he crouched down and was about to pick up the scattered items, the old woman also hurriedly crouched down and ran her wrinkled little hands over the asphalt to gather the small items, saying, “Aah, young master, there is no need to do this.”

He was about to pick up the handbag when his hand stopped.

A dark red schoolbag… This is…

“Don’t touch it.”

Haijima’s hand snatched the bag from over Kuroba’s head.

On his knees and speechless, he looked up at Haijima. The summer evening sunlight, which was still beating down on them, illuminated Haijima from behind so he couldn’t see his expression, but he could clearly see that the bag he was gripping had…that Tokyo middle school’s emblem—the one Kuroba didn’t know—embroidered on it.

Why…? Along with that question, he felt anger.

You said you weren’t going back, didn’t you? So why do you still treasure that thing…?

I wonder if I’m hurting right now.

“I ain’t going back” …Even though I believed in those words I heard at the training camp, I might be feeling betrayed.

***

He smacked the top of his alarm clock that ringing shrilly next to his pillow with the palm of his hand as though he was spiking with all his might. He sluggishly peeled his face away from his pillow and looked at the digital display of his now-silent clock. It was 5:05 in the morning.

“Mmm…Gotta get up…”

He had to take the first train in order to get to the clubroom by the 6:30 meeting time. He had to jump over one city to go to school, so a roundtrip to school took up quite a lot of time.

“…Five more minutes…”

His consciousness sank the moment he plopped his head down on the pillow again.

The alarm rang again. He half-consciously hit the clock that was still under his hand, but it didn’t stop no matter how many times he hit it. “…Nn?” It wasn’t the alarm. It was another sound. “…My phone…?” Groaning like a zombie that had risen from the grave, he reluctantly crawled out from his futon.

The Kuroba main house was a purely Japanese home, and Kuroba’s room was also a Japanese-style room with tatami mats and a futon. He could hear muffled ringing from the enamel bag he had thrown to the foot of his futon. Now he remembered that he forgot to charge it yesterday before falling asleep.

“Hup.”

As he was waking up, he raised his upper body vigorously in the manner of a push-up. Midway through, a shiver of pain ran up his back. “Aaagh,” he groaned and ended up curling his back. He crawled over to his bag with his hand behind his back. It was a different kind of pain from the muscle pain he got after practices and games, and his body ached all over, not just his back. His cheekbone was still throbbing with pain.

He thought that if it gave up halfway and stopped ringing, he wouldn’t have to answer it. But the ringing spitefully continued until he reached into his bag and fumbled for his phone.

“Oda-senpai? You’re an early riser.”

When he saw the caller’s name on the display, he thought of Oda’s face, full of enthusiasm like he had been running in the morning. Oda’s house was close to the school, so he shouldn’t have to get up as early as Kuroba.

“Fwah, g’morning…”

“Kuroba, come to school immediately!”

He heard Oda’s voice, refreshing and clear right in the morning, just like the image in his head.

“…? I’m going there now, but…”

“Come directly to the staff room, not the club room. Depending on your answer, we…will have to withdraw from today’s game.”

The sleepiness that had been coiled about his head dissipated at once.

“…What?”

He could only hear Oda’s heavy groans from the speaker.

He thought it was déjà vu from a year ago. No, he really wished it was just déjà vu.

We’re withdrawing…? From the semifinals?

——Again?

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#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation

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