Chapter 1
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Chapter 1
pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader
genre: romance, angst
wc: 18k
summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.
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Once a month, Hoshina Soshiro drops by your apartment for tea with you.
It isn’t often that you both get the same day off. Him, with his vice captain duties that never end because Kaijus don’t deign to give him a break, as he often complains. You, spending hours if not days buried in the blade forgery at Izumo tech so much so your parents remark dryly that they’ve forgotten your face. But every so often, the universe smiles upon you and you get to spend an afternoon sitting on your narrow balcony with your oldest friend.
It always begins like this.
He drops a plastic bag full of fizzy drinks on the table that only he drinks, whilst you brew a pot of tea. There’s dessert in the fridge that you get to feed his sweet tooth, and he’ll consume both because you’ll claim you have no appetite. After a few perfunctory questions about your wellbeing - the same as always, nothing’s changed, he’ll turn his mind to the sole focus in his life.
“You gave the latest tech to my brother?!” he yells, outraged. “His main weapon isn’t even a blade.”
“Orders are orders”, you respond. “Besides, didn’t I just tweak your katanas last month?”
“About that”, he grins at you, somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve got more ideas -”
“Not again”, you groan.
He’ll rattle off a long list of things he wants you to work on next month. Blades made out of some kaiju bone, just to test its mettle. A blade to be worked into his boots - an idea he cheekily admits stems from some stupid shounen manga he reads in his spare time. So many of his ideas belong in the trash bin, but you entertain him anyway, studiously jotting down each of his requests.
“You’re lucky I put up with you”, you tell him.
Lazily, he flops onto the floor, rolling to lie his head in your lap. “As if you wouldn’t”, he laughs, poking up at your cheek.
You don’t get the chance to answer him. His phone goes off, as it always does, and he has to go.
“Seeya next time”, he waves, without leaving you another glance. The sliver of sky between the buildings surrounding yours is dark when you get up from your seat to clear the cups.
Your cheek still stings.
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Your family always had close ties to the Hoshina clan. The clan of swordsmiths sworn to the Hoshina clan of swordsmen. A tie that can be traced centuries back to the Edo period to today. Your father crafted his father’s blades in the fires of your family’s forge, yet another in your family’s lineage who were born to serve the generations of Hoshina swordsmen.
Even though you were born a girl, you never accepted that it should be different for you.
You were only seven when you accompanied your father on a delivery to the Hoshina estate. Your stockinged feet echo in the wooden corridors that stretch out before you, seemingly without end. There are portraits of imposing swordsmen in every other room, blades displayed, their former owners’ eventual fate captioned beneath. You are too ashamed to admit that you’re afraid of one such painting with kaiju-like yellow eyes that seems to glare at you that you bolt when your father leaves you aside to talk business with the Hoshina patriarch.
Foolishly, you forget that the Hoshina estate dwarfs your family home. After the fifth rock garden you come across (which admittedly to your seven year old self, seems to blend into each other), you are well and truly lost, so you sit on the porch of some courtyard and wait to be found for a stern reprimand by your father.
Clang.
But you’re drawn by the sound of steel clashing, so you follow your ears, and your eyes thank you as you watch two boys spar with dull blades.
The older, with silver hair, has a clear edge. He’s taller and stronger, so he bullies his younger opponent into a corner. The younger, with dark hair, doesn’t seem daunted, standing his ground with precise swings and savage slashes that his older opponent only manages to parry with difficulty.
Though you hide yourself behind a pillar, the older boy spots you anyway, breaking off the fight to grab you by the front of your top.
“Intruder”, he shouts, waving his blade at you.
“I’m - I’m sorry!” you squeak. You panic, fearful that he’ll throw you out of the estate, because if you can’t even figure your way out around the compound, there’s no way you’re going to find your way back home across half of Osaka, so you hiccup and cry and beg to be let go -
“Hey! You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of a losing fight.”
Courage has never been your strong suit. It’s easier for you to hide behind your father or older brother’s legs, so you’re taken aback by how quickly the younger boy jumps into the fray on your behalf, defiant even in the face of a larger opponent.
Your captor’s nostrils flare. “What did you say?!” he demands, but he lets you go with a sneer.
“Another round then”, the younger boy says, as he tugs you to your feet, brushing the dust off the pretty kimono your mother took the effort to dress you up in. “Maybe this time you’ll actually be serious -”
His brother brandishes the blade at him. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, you insolent brat.”
You spend the afternoon watching them from a safe distance until your father finds you, apologising to Hoshina-sama for his wayward daughter.
You’re formally introduced then to the brothers - Sochiro the elder, who doesn’t even acknowledge you with a nod, and Soshiro the younger, who smiles like the sun when you tell him that he’s amazing in a fight.
“I’ll show you more next time!!”, Soshiro says. His eyes remind you of violets blooming in spring.
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Your mother hears of your adventures in the Hoshina estate.
She comes to brush your hair after your bath. “The Hoshina family sees ours as a vassal clan”, she states baldly, as the comb sticks on a particularly tricky tangle. At your noise of confusion (and pain, because she’s none-too-gentle at getting the snags out of your mane), she explains. “That means our family is bound to them by our usefulness in making katanas, the instruments of their success.”
She clucks her tongue at your obtuseness, as you stare at her, uncomprehending. “We supply swords, not brides to them. There are no engagements between their sons and our daughters. If you wish to associate with the Hoshina boys, you must be of use to them.”
Perhaps, in her ungentle way, your mother was trying to do you a kindness.
But you took her warning as instruction instead. So, though you’ve always been afraid of the loud forge your father and older brother work in, you badgered your father for enough lessons in sword making, hovering over him every minute you have out of school so you can learn everything you can.
It’s worth it, when Soshiro comments on the shiny scars on your forearms the next time you visit.
“I’ve been learning how to make katanas”, you explain, suddenly shy.
“Wow!” you catch another glimpse of violets through wide eyes. “You must’ve worked really hard!”
You peek at the blooms of bruises on his shins, the angry red scratch across his face. “So have you”, you reply.
He beams, dragging you off to play.
More often than not, that devolves into him showing off his latest moves, and you applauding his every action. He revels in the attention, which you find strange because surely everyone with eyes should be able to discern that Hoshina Soshiro is wildly talented, even at the tender age of eight, but then whenever his brother surfaces with taunt regarding Soshiro’s swordsmanship, you can see the chip of his shoulder grow, an invisible burden that drags him into the ground.
As an outsider, it’s not your place to comment on the unfairness of being knocked around by a boy five years his senior, so you try your clumsy best to bandage Soshiro’s wounds and slip in an encouraging word or two. You never want to see the violets in his eyes wither and die.
“I’ll make you the best blade in the world when we grow up”, you bump your elbow against his. “So you can beat him.”
“Promise?”
You loop your little finger around his. Half moons brighten into stars.
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// how abt a blade that can separate into 2 // // or or or // // maybe three?! // // would your ancestors roll in their grave //
You wake up to a text. Or three.
<Gremlin>. You text back. <Soshiro-kun, go to sleep.>
// you wound me // // seeya later // // visiting Izumo tech for my new suit!!! // // make sure you lend me your lunch discount at the cafeteria //
You snort.
<Cheapskate>. The rhythm of your conversation thrums. <are you asking me to have lunch with you>
// someone needs to keep me safe from my fangirls // // don’t leave me in their clutches //
An eye roll.
< Die >. You turn your phone facedown, resolutely refusing to respond.
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Despite your complaints, you end up eating lunch with him anyway.
It’s difficult to concentrate on your meal when your childhood friend turned the most eligible bachelor in the Japan Defense Force sits across from you in a skintight uniform, your giggly co-workers sitting two rows down watching his every move. So you push your tray away and just watch him as he chatters away through a mouth full of food (something he’d never do back home because he’s been raised with manners befitting the second son of the esteemed Hoshina clan, but around you he seems to turn into a demented manchild), but you’ve always found it endearing how he’s his chaotic true self around you -
“New recruits are coming in next month so I don’t know when we’ll have time to catch up -”
“There’s nothing to catch up on when you keep text me in the middle of the night with your train of thoughts - “
“That’s all work related”, he says. “I want to know how you are doing.”
You’re not about to tell him that your parents have informed you that they’re tired of you mooning after a man who’ll never love you back, and have started haranguing you via text to get your ass back to Osaka so you can meet suitable men your age who’d be willing to accept an unladylike wife with burn scars trailing up her forearms.
“As if you really want to know”, you grumble. “You’re only interested in talking to me when it’s about your weapons and tech.”
“You wound me”, he dramatically claps his hand to his chest, miming hurt. “You don’t believe that I care about my oldest friend?”
“Nope.”
“Rude”, he sing-songs. “C’mon.”
“The only reason we’re even lunching is because you wanted more upgrades - plus, now you want a shield against your fan-girls, who, by the way, are going to mob me in the bathroom and make me recount for the thousandth time, why and how I know you, the - I quote - cutest guy in the Japanese Defense Force, though they really should get their eyesight checked out in my opinion -”
“Oohhhh - people think I’m good-looking?” He runs his fingers through his hair like he’s in some 80’s shampoo commercial, throwing an exaggerated wink over his shoulder to the nearest fangirl. You hear a thump on the floor. You hope she didn’t hit her head too hard (but perhaps it might make her sole brain cell work a little better if she did).
You tap his knuckles with the back of your chopsticks. “Get that ego on a leash.”
His grin is cheeky. “I can’t help it if people think I’m good-looking.” Your heavy sigh makes him pout. “You don’t think I’m good looking?”
The lunch bell comes to your rescue.
“I have to get back to work”, you tell him, all too ready to make your escape.
“So do I”, he gobbles down the rest of his lunch. “Seeya around.”
“Stay safe”, you add. “Don’t let a Kaiju eat you up.”
“Eat me up?!” he squawks with mock outrage. “Don’t you know I eat Kaijus for breakfast?”
As if you don’t. In Tokyo, the third division is exceedingly popular. Captain Mina Ashiro of course, takes up most of the attention with her long, dark hair and prowess as the nation’s foremost sniper, but once in a while, the newspapers and magazines run features of Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro, and you dutifully keep cuttings in a scrapbook that you hide under your bed.
In every interview, he talks about how it’s patently untrue that there’s no space in the Japan Defense Force for those who prefer to wield a blade rather than a modern gun. “Captain Ashiro believes in me”, he says, so seriously that it’s hard to recognise your usual jovial friend. “For that, I’ll be thankful for every day.”
He said the same thing to you the day of his promotion.
“She believes in me when no one else did”, he tells you in disbelief.
That’s a lie, you want to shout. You reminded him that there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d fail the entrance exam into the Japan Defense Force, and he’d indeed pass with flying colours. You calculated his unleashed combat potential from your lab in Izumo Tech, saw him exceed and excel so much so that an exception was made for him to carry katanas which you spent sleepless nights crafting for him. He won his first promotion as platoon leader nary a year in after a stunning victory decapitating yonju across Tokyo, and your congratulatory text to him was ‘See, I knew you’d do it.’
So no, Mina Ashiro was not the first person who believed in Hoshina Soshiro. You are.
Unless, in his eyes, you don’t count.
<okaa-san> <Yes, I’ll be glad to meet your friend’s son> < No promises on anything more>
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The date your parents arranged for you is a man with a pleasing smile who has as much romantic interest in you as you in him - which is to say, very little at all. “I’m too busy with my job, but my mother insisted”, he confesses.
You like him all the better for his honesty. “So did mine”, you respond with a wry chuckle.
Yamamoto-san is good company, nonetheless, even if his only interest in life other than his demanding job as a corporate slave is tending to his houseplants, so since you both share an interest in getting your overbearing mothers off your backs, you agree to have lunch once a month just so you can say to your parents without lying that you’re seeing someone.
A part of you that you tuck deep into your chest hopes that word gets around to Soshiro, who’ll come beat your front door down, demanding that you, instead, turn your eyes to him (as if you’ve ever looked elsewhere for as long as you’ve known him). And when Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, pops into your office for his own tweaks to his tech and rounds upon you with a wicked twinkle in his eye, you’re sure that whatever you share will be conveyed as salaciously as possible to his younger brother.
“Soooo”, he drags each word out obnoxiously. “Your older brother mentioned that you’re seeing someone now who isn’t my younger brother.”
You smile blandly. “Soshiro-kun and I have always been just friends.”
“Just friends my arse”, he retorts. “You’ve had a planet sized crush on him since you were seven. It just can’t be helped that my brother’s got a katana up his arse.”
You try your best not to wince. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain Hoshina?” you gesture at the door. “As you can see, the mountain of work that’s been piling up ever since you stopped by my office needs to be done, and I really don’t have time to sit around and gossip like old women.”
“So grumpy”, he hops off your desk. “So, should I tell him that he’s missed the boat?”
“Tell him whatever you want.” You begin to type furiously on your laptop. “As if he’ll care.”
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Five minutes later.
// u have a bf?! // // and i had to find out fr Sochiro?! // // AND u said there’s nothing to catch up on? //
You lock your phone in the drawer beneath your desk.
// are u ignoring me???? //
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“You ignored my texts!”
This is a first. Hoshina Soshiro, cranky even when a stack of golden brown pancakes soaked in maple syrup wobbles enticingly in front of him. “I was busy at work”, you say. A flimsy excuse, one that fails to placate him as he continues to pout, childlike at you.
“So?” he demands, slicing right through the pancakes with his butter knife. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
His eyes narrow as he waves his knife accusingly at you. “You decided to tell Sochiro that you got a boyfriend before me?”
You take a sip of coffee to steady your nerves. “You know I don’t talk to your brother unless he decides to invade my lab. But I guess he and my brother still text from time to time.”
“Hrm.” he puffs out his cheeks, blows out a breath heavy enough to flutter his bangs. You restrain the urge to reach over and straighten his hair. “Fine.”
“I’m just seeing a guy that my parents set me up with.” You rehearsed exactly what you wanted to say, but your insides churn, the coffee you drank not doing you any favours. “I guess they’re just worried that no one will ever want me as I grow old and unmarriageable.”
His chuckle is blithe, uncaring. “Parents are all the same, aren’t they? Just last week, my mother called me to ask if I’m interested in being set up on a date with someone - as if I’d ever be interested, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date, and besides, she probably just called because my older brother’s a master at dodging such calls -”
You let him ramble on as you gather the remnants of your courage deep within your guts for a final advance.
“Soshiro.”
“Hm?” he looks up, mid-chew. “Sup.”
“If I really did get a boyfriend, you wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“Why would I mind?” He laughs, reaching over to prod at your cheek. “I mean, I guess as long as you don’t stop making me awesome katanas, and as long as he doesn’t mind that I text you my brilliant ideas on improvements -”
Unknowingly, he cuts right through your heart. But in fairness to him, you offered your heart on a silver fucking platter, even handed him the blade to stab it with.
“I was just worried you’d be unhappy”, you mumble, blinking back tears furiously.
Thankfully, he’s too focused on clearing his plate. “I thought you were going to ask me something serious”, he laughs. “What a silly question.”
“Yeah”, you manage to croak. “What a silly question.”
He goes on to fill the rest of the afternoon with chatter about his new recruits. You sit numbly and listen to his tales of a Shinomiya slip of a girl who blows all recorded numbers for a recruit out of the window, an old man who confounds his techs by registering a big fat zilch on their combat scales, but he entertains his candidacy because he’s a great source of entertainment.
“You okay there?” he frowns, stopping mid-story. “You kinda look down.”
“Indigestion”, you lie through gritted teeth. “Never you mind.”
“You shouldn’t take milk in your coffee if you’re lactose intolerant, silly”, he teases, confiscating your iced latte.
“I’m just an idiot”, you try your best to smile. Fortunately, he accepts a pained grimace.
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Your mother was both right and wrong. You know that Soshiro cares for you as a friend, because he could never be callous enough to reduce you to your usefulness to him, but it’s true that he has no space in his heart for you.
A year or two ago, you piled yourself in a car with both Hoshina brothers to brave the Obon traffic to get back to Osaka for the holidays. You hadn’t been able to afford the jacked up prices for the shinkansen, and Soshiro only found out yesterday that Captain Ashiro took pity on him for missing consecutive New Year holidays that she gave him Obon off as a consolation price, so their parents nagged Sochiro into ferrying you both home.
“Shouldn’t you have your own car?” Sochiro groused.
“Why would I need a car if I’m on base 24/7”, Soshiro replied. “Why do you need a car? Unless the sixth division is slacking off -”
The car screeched to a halt. Sochiro kicked open the door, yanked Soshiro by his collar and shoved him into the driver’s seat. “To keep your smart mouth occupied, you can drive us the rest of the way to Osaka.”
“Aren’t you scared I’ll crash?”
“If you do, I’ll skin you alive.”
Your forehead nearly split open from all the bickering. “Guys, I can drive -”
“No!” Both brothers yelled at you in unison. It’s the first time they’ve probably agreed on anything in their life.
The bickering finally ended when Sochiro fell asleep in the back, head pillowed against the window glass on one side in a way that he’s bound to wake up with a neckache. Still, you’re forced in close proximity to Soshiro, the puffs of warm air from the overworking air-conditioner blending with the scent of steel and citrus, from the shampoo he probably uses, you mused half dizzy, head heavy -
“If you puke in the car, Sochiro’ll make you lick it up.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Talk to me so I don’t focus on your terrible driving.”
By the time Soshiro’s done with his recounting of the last four fights he’s been involved in, the massive disappointment of this year’s recruitment exercise and his admiration for Captain Mina Ashiro (which made you want to scream, kick your foot through the windshield, perhaps), the afternoon sun is low to the ground, streetlights along the expressway flickering on.
You couldn’t help but ask. “Do you ever think about anything other than your job?”
“Nah.” he chuckled. “I don’t have time for anything else. I gotta spend time to train y’know, otherwise I’ll really die on the job.”
“Soshiro!”
“That’s why I got good life insurance”, he deadpanned.
“I guess that was a silly question”, you slump back in your seat.
“It really is”, he teased. “So, what else d’you wanna hear about my all consuming job?”
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The memory stings your eyes.
You make up an excuse to return to your apartment without haste, waiting until he disappears around the corner before you give in to the tears that you’ve been keeping at bay all afternoon. Strangers on the train ride home give you a wide berth, because they certainly don’t want to catch whatever malady you’re clearly suffering from with your swollen eyes and hiccuped sniffles. You stumble into your shoebox apartment, kick your shoes off at the genkan.
Tonight you’ll give yourself the grace to mourn the death of a dream.
You crack open the beers he previously brought, one after another. Drunk, you sit on the balcony, the half-moon reminding you too much of a certain vice captain. You let your mother’s words flood your mind. You are meant to offer him blades, not a bride. In another lifetime, in every lifetime, perhaps, the noble born son of a samurai clan would never open his heart to the lowly daughter of a swordsmith. He would be raised to always put duty before love.
You don’t know why you hoped for anything different.
So when you roll off your sofa in the morning, you glare at yourself in the toilet mirror, eyes rimmed red, a hangover in full effect.
“You are an idiot.” you slap your cheeks so hard it turns pink.
You will not allow this to continue. Hoshina Soshiro is not yours, has never been yours, and will never be yours. You are pathetic for hoping otherwise, stupid for living in hopes that he’ll look at you some day, an utter idiot for letting every choice you’ve ever made in your life be guided by your infatuation with a boy who doesn’t have space in his heart for you.
You could’ve been like your older brother, been content with sticking to the family business of sword making instead spending every spare minute on your engineering studies so you’re well positioned to be snapped up by Izumo Tech as a weapons specialist. You had the leeway to be based in Osaka near your family, but accepted a position in Tokyo just to be closer to where Soshiro’s based. You could’ve had a social life, perhaps even friends outside of work, if you’ve not dedicated your life to your job, working after hours tirelessly, just so you secure promotion after promotion, cementing yourself as Izumo Tech (and by extension, the Defense Force) go-to for anything blade related, just so you fulfil the promise you made to Soshiro all those years ago.
You cannot live the rest of your life this way.
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a/n: so...i know i've only ever written for the hq boys but the way hoshina soshiro grabbed my throat in a chokehold in that gym training scene just forced my gremlin brain to start typing and get to work on this story for him.
hope you guys like it <3
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Hoshina Soshiro is staring at your thighs.
... you think.
It's hard to tell, since you aren't looking at him. Quick, fleeting glances out of the corner of your eye aren't enough to discern the true aim of his line of sight, but it really kinda looks like... he's looking at your thighs.
Why, though?
It's just a typical weekday night. You dropped by his room the way you have for the past twenty-odd years, holding a paperback book with a purple pen tucked behind your ear, ready to indulge in your favorite pastime of silent reading in your best friend's company. Soshiro has his own paperback in hand, green pen spinning around his fingers. The two of you jot little notes as you read, and once you finish you swap books. Later, you'll go to one of your favorite cafes together to talk about them. Soshiro's neat scrawl is as familiar to you as the back of your own hand.
For a brief moment you debate calling him out on his staring. But — nah, it's probably nothing. Maybe your pajama shorts are a little worn and he's just appalled you're wearing something so flimsy.
"What's up, beansprout?"
You glance up from the words you haven't been reading and meet your best friend's gaze. "Huh?"
Soshiro closes his book but keeps his finger tucked to hold his place. His green pen spins in a blur. "You've been starin' at that page for ages. You sleepy or somethin'?"
"Nooo..." you draw out the word as you think of something to say. "Just wondering if I should get new pajamas."
Well — you didn't call him a creep, but now he's blatantly staring at your thighs and maybe this is... worse? You can feel a flush rising up your body at his scrutiny.
"What's wrong with these?"
"... Nothing?"
Soshiro gives you a doubtful look and before you have a chance to retreat, he's caught you against the bed, pinning you down with his elbows on either side of your shoulders. Your books and pens go flying across the mattress, landing with a thunk and a clatter as the room settles back to stillness. The sudden proximity of him looming above you takes your breath away. You squirm a little at the abrupt weight. Soshiro chuckles, his breath warm by your ear as his legs press yours into the mattress.
"Tell me, egg tart."
He's close enough that the strands of his purple hair tickle your forehead. You know you have no chance of getting away from the Vice Captain of the Third Division in close quarters, but you wiggle half-heartedly anyway. "Get off of me, you big oaf!"
"Oh? That's not very nice," Soshiro's grin is playful. He eyes you for a second, and then he pouts. "I just wanna know what's runnin' through that pretty lil head."
Well that's just unfair. He knows you're weak to him when he makes that face. You scrunch your nose at him and giggle when he mimics you. He's steady, hovering above you, as if it's nothing for him to basically hold a modified plank pose on the soft surface of his mattress. Something about that makes you feel... a little warm.
But he's your best friend. You've known him since you were toddlers, training in swordsmanship together at the Hoshina estate, following him into the Defense Force until you hit a wall and pivoted to research instead — you know Hoshina Soshiro, and he does not make you feel warm like this.
You gather your wits about you slowly, like your braincells are moving through molasses. Soshiro seems content to hold his position, familiar grin still firmly in place. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the careful way he keeps from squishing you entirely, even though he's stopping you from running away from the question.
"It's really nothing, promise," you say, "I just thought maybe you kept looking at my pajamas because they're so old."
There's a moment of silence as Soshiro digests this. You listen to him breathing above you, the thick fabric of his sweats warm where his legs press into your bare skin, the overhead light haloing his purple strands and casting his carefully blank expression in a faint shadow.
"Dontcha think you're a lil too comfy 'round me?" His voice comes out low, almost missed beneath the sound of your rapidly accelerating heartbeat. "I'm a man, too, y'know."
You blink. Soshiro's now wearing the vaguely amused smile he always seems to have on when you're around, but there's something lingering along the edges that sends a shiver up your spine.
Forget molasses. Your brain shuts down entirely, bluescreening as you frantically try to reconcile his words and his meaning and why is he looking at you like that? Like he wants to — to eat you, to swallow you whole — and why does he keep glancing at your lips? Do you have something between your teeth?
But, no, wait — Soshiro is a man. You know this. You've known this for ages. It's impossible to train with the strongest close quarters combatant in the entire Defense Force and not realize this simple fact. You've seen Soshiro take down more miniature and mid-sized kaiju than you can count, and he's a brilliant leader of his platoon and division. Everyone respects him and works hard to live up to his expectations, though you know he works three times as hard in the shadows.
Your childhood friend is certainly not a child any longer. One glance at the densely packed muscle on Soshiro's body is enough proof of that. You peek at his biceps tensing as he shifts above you and gulp.
Yeah, he's definitely a man.
But what does that have to do with anything...?
"Of course I'm comfy with you, Soshiro-kun," you say. Why does your voice sound like that? All... breathy and soft? You clear your throat and try to inject some normalcy in your tone. "You're my best friend! You'd tell me if my pajamas are too worn out, right?"
Soshiro just looks at you blankly. This is where he's supposed to crack a joke, this is where he flicks your forehead and calls you 'sugarplum' and rolls off of you, this is not where he suddenly leans down close enough that you can feel his breaths puff against your ear before everything narrows down to the singular point on your neck where he bites you.
"S-Soshiro-kun, what the hell?!"
"What's wrong? We're best friends, ain't we?"
"Yeah, but why'd you bite me?"
Soshiro's laugh is pressed into your neck like honey dripping from the comb. He's not... He hasn't moved away. You haven't moved away.
You could. He's left you room to move.
But you don't.
It's warm. His legs are still pressing against yours. The faintly woodsy smell of him is all around you, seeping into your skin as you shift amidst his blankets. "No reason," he says airily, lips brushing your temple as he brings himself to hover above you again. "Just takin' advantage of my best friend privileges."
"By... biting me?"
"By showin' ya I'm comfy 'round you, too."
The tension pops. You can't help but laugh, something like relief and the bittersweet tinge of regret flushing through your bloodstream. "What are you, an animal? Who the heck bites people and calls it comfortable?"
"Are ya uncomfy?"
"Well, no, but—"
"I've always wanted to bite you," Soshiro says. You can read the truth in the curve of his smile as his purple strands waver above you. "Ya look like you'd taste good, chestnut."
"That's it," you wrinkle your nose at him. "You've gotta come up with other nicknames for me, or else you'll keep thinking of me as food!"
Soshiro hums in thought. You can feel the sting and the faint imprint of teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck. Something about it makes you feel fuzzy inside, like a tv antenna struggling to search for a signal. You shift anxiously as the silence stretches, yearning for something unknown.
"No can do," he says brightly. His red eyes gleam as he leans down again. "But we're comfy with each other, yeah? Want me to inspect these old pjs for ya?"
The blush blooms beneath your skin with a force that startles you. "Uh, what—? No, Soshiro-kun, definitely not—"
He grins and it's bright, but a little strained. You reach up unthinkingly to cup his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs along his jawline and cheekbones and smiling when he leans into the touch. The knot in your chest loosens. The two of you bask in the comfort of each other for a moment.
"You should really tell me off," he breathes, tilting his head. "You should tell me ta quit messin' around."
"Are you messing around?" you ask.
Soshiro laughs, a quiet sound in the stillness of the room. "I'm never messin' around when it comes to you."
thank you for the tag sage :DD !! this was really cute
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🏷️ — @ughscara @aviiarie @junnivcrse @scribs-dibs @milksnake-tea no pressure ofc!!
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colour palette trend ‘cept its u & ur f/os ship name cuz I got bored n wanted 2 play a game <3 link
tags ! : @satorisoup , @scaryans , @seneon , @tirasamu , @lilbearie , @nyazais , @dazaisarchive , @hoshinakills , @caelivir , @akoke , @suugaru , @synqiri + u !
Hi, hi! First thing first, im in love with your hoshina x designer weapon reader! It's really warm my heart!! (I LOVE IT TO THE CORE HEHBFJSHDHC😭🫶🫶🫶 BLESS U)
Can i request you (this is kinda awkward) i want to see Highschool AU! For Hoshina x Reader. Kendo player! Hoshina x Archer! Reader👉👈 i would love to see them bantering each other (of if it's not Highschool AU! You can use the close range user! Bf x long range user! Gf thing!)
Thank you!
Ahhh my first request, how exciting! Sorry for posting so late. So many things have been happening lately. Also had to do some research and ended up watching tsurune LOL.
Here's a bunch of little stories of your life as Archer! Reader x Kendo! Hoshina.
Synopsis: The club captains of the kendo and the kyudo (archery) club don't seem to get along. Or rather, that's how the club members see it.
---------------------------
"Oi, what do ya think you're doing? The kendo club's got this gym booked for today."
Toppled on top of each, the members of the kendo club huddled nervously outside the door to their gym. They could only take small peaks and glances from their place as they were all too scared to step foot inside.
All except one.
The Captain of the Kendo team, Hoshina, was the only one who dared to enter the gym. Standing tall with his arms crossed, he gave you a menacing glare.
Rising from your kneeling position, you exhaled a tired breath and put your training bow down. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see your name on the registrar, so I presumed the gym was empty and booked it." Despite the courteous words, your apology dripped of insincerity and a smidge of condescension. "Had you actually done your job correctly, this could've been avoided."
The members of your own club shifted awkwardly. Exchanging knowing glances, they braced themselves to watch their Captain go at it once again with the rival club Captain.
Hoshina lets out a scoff as he rolled his eyes at your attitude. He ignored your comment and continued on with his interrogration. "What are ya even doing here, ya can't shoot in here. Why aren't you in the kyudo hall?"
"It's under repair, and kyudo isn't only about shooting. I gotta teach the newbies the correct form before they can even touch a bow." You stated before offering a fake smile. "Why don't you go build your stamina with some laps? It's not good to slack on basic fitness."
"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? When's the last time ya used your legs?"
After a brief moment, Hoshina flashed his own small smile, although there was nothing friendly behind it. He leaned down until his face was a mere couple inches from yours. He knew you hated the height difference. That you hated the fact that there was something he had over you. Going by the tiniest twitch in your perfectly crafted smile, he knew he was right.
"Hey, give me the room, and I'll play nice and let you watch us practice. Maybe then you'll learn something of actual worth." He suggested, feeling a deep satisfaction at the slight clench of your fist.
"I don't understand the need to swing a big sword. Overcompensating for something?"
"Ah, and I suppose hitting a massive target from far away is much more impressive."
"Oh my, if you think a target that's only thirty-six centimeters is massive, then I'm definitely worried for you."
"Are dick jokes the only jokes you can make? Are you a child?"
"Sorry, did I hit too close to home?"
A vein popped on his cheek. He could never really get a handle on your snake-like tongue.
Everyone felt the heavy tension and chill in the air. The first years had trouble believing that the two people squabbling like children were their beloved Captains.
You were known for your kindness and elegance. But you knew when to be soft and when to push harder. Where you went, people's eyes would follow whether consciously or not. You were the most talented kyudo archer the school has ever seen and an equally good captain.
Hoshina was among the top strongest kendo player in the division. Diligent. Attentive. Trustworthy. His laidback attitude attracted a lot of people, but when his serious nature slipped through during matches—that's when it was impossible to take your eyes off of him.
You two rarely crossed paths, but when you did, it was a blood bath. You two brought out the worst in each other. Or maybe you simply brought out each other's competitive streak.
All the members of their respective club could only pray for the day the two of you stop bickering.
---------------------------------
"I heard you guys passed the preliminaries," you said as you sat and watched him practice. It was late into the evening, and only the two of you were still in school. You had locked up the kyudo hall but saw how the lights were still on in the kendo dojo. Curiosity got the best of you, and you went to see who was still practicing.
"Congrats," you said quietly, barely audible to anyone around you.
"Oh, sorry, what was that? Awww, are ya congratulatin' me? I'm so honoured, oh, glorious captain." He jested back, pausing his activities against the training dummy. He stopped because he's had enough practice and shouldn't overexert himself. He definitely didn't stop because he wouldn't hear you against the sound of the strikes.
"Whatever, your opponents were shit anyways. It would've been harder for you to lose."
He lets out a low whistle at your words.
"Way to ruin the moment." He said, beginning to take off his armor. Placing his wooden sword at the stand, he peeled off his gloves.
Then, realization hit Hoshina, and he froze. The corner of his lip curled into a dangerous smirk as he turned to look at you.
"Wait, does that mean ya watched me compete?"
You flushed a pretty shade of pink and looked away from his amused eyes.
"Well, we're hosting the tournament this year, and I happened to pass by the dojo, so I just took a look."
"Right..." He chuckled. "Your preliminaries are tomorrow, right?"
You nod your head as you get up from your spot. The way you stretched your arms above your head reminded him of a cat.
"Yup, and we're gonna show you guys why we're number one in the division, unlike you guys who are only what again? Right, second."
"Hope you miss." He grunted in response. Though, despite the gruff words, Hoshina found that there wasn't actually any bite to his remarks nowadays. His once heated bitter words are now nothing more than poorly disguised teases.
At hearing your chuckle, he looked up at you, and his breath catches in his throat.
"Me? Miss?"
The look in your eyes was hypnotizing.
"Never."
---------------------------------------------------
Why others seemed to admire you was beyond Hoshina's understanding. You were immature, vain, cocky, rude, and knew exactly which buttons to push to annoy him. If people saw the side of you he got to see, they would run for the hills.
Walking from the main school building to the dojo, he heard the faint but recognizable sound of the kyudo bow releasing an arrow.
Ah, that's right. You should be playing right now.
He stopped in his place as he looked to the direction of the sound. He had to pass the kyudo hall anyway to get to the dojo, is what he told himself before he changed course to take the longer route to the dojo.
There was a crowd gathered around the hall by the time he made it there. Not wanting to be seen, he kept to the edges of the crowd but still in a good enough spot that he had a good view of the archers.
Hoshina thinks to himself that he'll only stay to watch your first shot as he watched you ceremoniously kneel with your bow and arrow.
However, he found himself stuck in his place as he watched your elegant and meticulous gestures. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your figure as you drew your bow. He didn't know much about kyudo, but he couldn't help but think that your draw was beautiful.
Everything about you screamed confidence and assurance. With the twang of the bow string, the arrow released and hit dead centre of the target.
Like always.
By the time he realized he's stayed longer than he should've, you had fired 5 shots. Not a single arrow missed the target.
The cocky smile that bloomed on your face as you lowered the bow and admired your work made his heart race.
Huh... so that's why so many people are head over heels for you.
He left before your team could celebrate the victory.
---------------------------------------------------
As the season continued, you two made it a habit to stay later than usual when practicing. Whoever would finish first would go to the other and watch or tell them to pack it up.
As captains in your last year, both of you needed to win your tournaments.
"Don't ya ever get tired? Or are the rumours true and you're actually a robot?" Hoshina said with his head resting in his bag as he sat and watched you.
"Only partly, actually," you quipped back before drawing another arrow. "One more shot."
"And how many times have ya said that?" He asked looking at your target filled with dozens of arrows. Unlike what he was used to seeing, a third of your shots were off target.
"Can't afford to miss. "
"Ya need to go home."
"No"
Hoshina rolled his eyes at your stubborness. "You think this is going to help ya? You're just burnin' yourself out."
Although you lowered your bow at that, your focus does not move away from your target. "We were one point away from not advancing to finals. I need to be perfect. My team is depending on me. I can't afford to drag my team down or disappoint them."
At one point in time, he'd have paid someone to bring you down a peg. Now, however, his heart twisted at seeing you doubting yourself.
"Listen, I know the pressure better than anyone else. This tournament is important to me too. But ya just need to have faith in the skills that you've built up over these years. You've earned the title of best kyudo player for a reason." He sat up straighter when you finally turned to look at him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued, "also, have faith in your team. They've worked hard and don't want to disappoint you either. Don't forget you're in a team, afterall."
You stared at him for a moment before giggling. Your giggle turned into a full-blown laugh at his pout.
"Now why's that so funny?"
"No, no," you managed to say as you try to collect your composure. "I just never imagined getting a pep talk from my arch nemesis."
A smile replaced Hoshina's pout. "I'm your arch nemesis?"
"Aren't I yours?" You jested back as you began putting away your equipment.
Were you? Arch nemesis wouldn't be the words he'd use to describe you. He didn't quite like the idea of you only being a rival to him.
His on the other hand. Now, that didn't sound too bad.
With your back turned to him, he called out to you, making you turn to him.
"Here."
You caught whatever he threw at you before it could hit you. Sitting in your palm was a key chain with a cat shaped charm, and beside it, an omamori charm with the embroidery "victory."
"Hasn't really been working on me, so you might as well try it," he said, looking rather bashful.
You let out another laugh at his actions. "Can't be owing you, here's mine," you said amused, removing the charm that hung on your bag and tossing it to him.
"It might give you my luck, but I doubt it'll be able to give you my amazing skills. So don't put too much pressure on it."
The charm was of a heart with an arrow through it and a wooden good-luck charm with the engraving "grind them to dust."
"How fitting," hoshina said outloud as he held the charm in his palm.
"Oh yea," you chuckled. "The statement is quite aggressive, but I thought it was funny"
"Hmmm? Oh yea, that too." Before you could even think twice about his statement, he closed his palm around the charm and gave you a determined look.
"Let's win this."
You couldn't help but smile. "That goes without saying."
---------------------------------------------------
Bonus:
"Hey, isn't that Hoshina's charm?" One of your club members asked curiously as they stretched on the ground. Although the rest of the members pretended they weren't listening in, they were dying to know why you had it. They were able to spot it right away when they saw it on your school bag. It was the charm that Hoshina kept on his bag for all the years they've known him. They also couldn't forget how the Kendo members were forced to stay after school to search for the charm when he lost it.
"Yeah," you responded matter of factly as you stood and watched them.
"Why? I thought you two hated each other?"
"Now, who ever told you that?" You responded slyly.
Their mouths hung open at your statement. Were you gaslighting them? Or were you just pretending you didn't pick a fight with Hoshina every chance you got.
"Oi, y/n hurry up. I'm hungry"
At the voice, they all snapped their heads to look at the owner of the charm himself. Leaning against the doorframe, he was in his school uniform with his bag tucked under his arm.
"Yea, yea, coming old man, don't be so pushy," you said, making your way towards him. When he turned to head out, the members saw your unforgettable charm hanging from his bag.
"You buying lunch this time or is it my turn?" They heard you say as the both of you walked by the window of the gym.
"Don't remember. Let's just say it's my turn. " Hoshina responded with what they think was a smile.
"What the fuck just happened."
fellow hoshina stan i have good good news
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BDJWJDIEOWIDJWJW THANK YOU FOR BRINGING THE GOOD NEWWS DOR HOSHINA SOSHIRO
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– in between missions.
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pairing: sunday x gn!reader
premise: it's been an eventful six months since sunday joined the stellaron hunters. today marked one of their very rare day offs, and what better way to spend the day with the people that's taken care of him.
– warnings: slight angst if you squint, mentions of blood in some parts.
– author's note: updated the lore in this little mini-series (?) LMAOO thank you sunday leaks on sunday for bringing me back to life. so sorry for being a bit ia, tumblr has been such a pain in the ass that it slightly demotivated me to write. new layout for sunday fics too so yippie!! (totally not foreshadowing). art credits to 冒火锅海台 on Weibo for the art. | 4.1k words (LMFAO).
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MORNING — 6:00 A.M.
before, sunday would wake up at the crack of dawn; waiting for the sun’s rays as he watered the plants he’d been taking care of. now –he still wakes up earlier than most– he spends his mornings in a big kitchen with the sound of kafka’s humming filling the bubbles of silences that start to form. it was always a pleasure helping the older woman cook everyone’s breakfast without having their loud bickering in the background (though sometimes he would grow paranoid if he never heard it throughout the day; he’s grown used to your voices).
before missions started, all the petty quips, and the laughter, sunday appreciated the quiet moments he gets to share with kafka.
“sunny, can you take over for me? i need to defrost silver wolf’s nuggets.”
sunday only hummed in response. body lazily slipping itself into kafka’s previous position of frying the leftover rice from yesterday. “sunny” was the woman’s name for him; a form of endearment, you said, she does it to everyone. sunday would never admit it himself (kafka often teased how adorable his morning voice was so he tried not to speak until after breakfast), but hearing that little nickname always sent a flurry of little butterflies down to his chest. collecting the pollen from the flowers you’ve carefully placed in between his ribs and spreading it all over his chest. no one has ever given him such a casual nickname before, so sunday had started to cling to it like a lifeline.
when the clock strikes 7:30, it usually means you're about to wake up. after patting his hands dry on a spare kitchen towel, sunday lifts his head and there you are. a small smile spread across his lips when you greeted kafka with a side hug. you still had your bed hair and your eyes were barely open; it was an endearing sight to see.
“good morning,” sunday snaps out of his daze when an arm wraps around his shoulder and pulls him close to your chest. sunday could distinctly smell the chocolate you ate with silver wolf the night before and the soft remnants of your scented candle. he let his head lean more into your touch as he mumbles a soft good morning straight to your heart. ignoring the pair of eyes that crinkle in amusement behind the kitchen counter.
by the time 7:50 rolls around, you’re fully awake. a cup of coffee in your hands as you, him, and kafka go door to door to wake up your little group. from the corner of sunday’s eyes, he sees kafka peer over blade’s door and a grumpy okay go through. on the other end, he sees you greet firefly good morning with a hug before disappearing into another hall to come and get elio.
before he could even knock on silver wolf’s door, the wooden thing pulled open and he was met with the sight of the silver haired girl looking down at her game console. he chuckled in amusement, patting down the stray hairs that poked up and guided her to the kitchen. he made sure to ask if she’s beaten the boss yet and when she replied with an angry huff, sunday took it as a sign to not bring it up for a while.
it's already 8:10 when everyone is sitting down around the kitchen table. plates of warm fried rice, chicken nuggets, some slices of fruits, pancakes, and multiple cups of teas and coffees were laid down on the table. small chatter started to arise and sunday could feel the energy start to spike as well. as he took bite after bite until he felt your knee bump into his. when he turned to you, he was met with the sight of you pushing more food in his direction.
“you need to eat more,” you said before taking a bite of your pancake. “you’ll need the extra nutrients if you want to fly again.”
sunday just smiled and accepted your offerings without as much as a word.
roughly an hour passes before everyone is cleaning up their spaces. blade was on dishes duty while the rest went back to their rooms to get changed. sunday was in his quarters, buttoning up a spare polo blade had given him when he heard a knock on his door.
“good morning again.” you greet with a smile.
sunday smiled in return and urged you to come in. “good morning to you, too.”
“kafka and firefly are going out for groceries. do you want anything?”
sunday was taken back to the days where he would water the plants in his office back in the penacony. how he would run his finger down each leaf and smile to himself when a flower starts to bloom. if sunday only joined a few weeks ago, he’d declined immediately. but it's been almost half a year since he’s joined, and he’s feeling a bit more comfortable with asking for more personal things.
“plants,” he replies. “the small ones that are easy to take care of.”
you tilt your head curiously like an owl. “why plants?”
“i used to take care of some flowers back in dewlight pavilion every morning. i’d like to get back into that, if you don’t mind.”
sunday recognized that little smirk of yours. with a shake of his head, he accompanies you out his room after fixing up his hair and bid farewell to kafka and firefly.
“let’s get you all the plants you want then.”
AFTERNOON — 2:38 P.M.
training in the afternoon was something sunday didn’t get quite used to. even now as he’s exchanging blows with blade, he feels quite unsure of his grip around the hilt of the wooden sword; how his footwork felt sloppy and uncoordinated. sunday wasn’t shocked (maybe, just slightly, a bit bitter) when the dark haired man knocked him off his feet for the seventh time in under two hours.
“you’re overthinking things too much,” the man grumbled, offering his hand to him. “it’s written all over your face; stop thinking about the nitty gritty things and start focusing on the task at hand. if you keep focusing on your opponent's footwork, you’ll end up ignoring his swings.”
“right, apologize. let’s go again.”
sunday had never felt such a competitive surge of emotions come over him whenever he trained with blade. the way he swung the charred sword in his hands; his body and how it moved so fluidly like water; and his determination to win despite beating him by more than a mile; it made sunday want to genuinely get better. blade fought like it would be his last battle, and he would go down with a fight.
“mister is getting better,” muttered silver wolf as she collapsed face first by your side, finishing her own training with elio. “he’s keeping up with the old man now.”
you brush away the bangs that stuck to her forehead and offer her a towel. elio, now in their cat form, sat down on your other side and started playing with the orange peels. “sunday has improved a lot huh? it feels like it was just yesterday when he first joined.”
“for reals.” the silver haired girl stretched and tried to reach over for the oranges.
a memory resurfaced in sunday’s mind when he caught sight of you peeling oranges for silver wolf. how you looked particularly at peace in the moment. his mind replayed the image of robin when she came back to penacony after the accident. he had such an intense amount of guilt for not being by her side at such a hard time, he isn't quite sure how to put it into words.
“brother!” shouted robin as she entered his office, a bright smile on her face and her phone in hand.
before he could utter a word she had shoved her phone to his face, “an orange?” he asked with a confused tilt of his head.
robin nodded and said, “they say when someone close to you peels your oranges, it's a sign of having a strong relationship! is that why you’ve been peeling my oranges for me recently?”
sunday felt the wind be knocked out of him as his world turned upside down. blade had flipped him over to his back and as the cherry on top, whacked him on the head with his wooden sword.
“for not paying attention,” he grumbled. “let’s call it a day.”
he didn’t get much of a word in when blade was already seated beside silver wolf (the girl shoving an orange slice to his mouth and him accepting it silently). sunday gets up from his lying position, patting down the dust on his (blade’s) clothes and takes a seat next to you.
“do you mind opening your wings for me?” you ask as you place a small plate of orange slices on his lap.
taking one in his hand and a small bite, he lets the pair of wings by his waist stretch out and lay on your lap. your careful fingers and observant eyes scanning over every feather, smoothing out the ones that stuck out. it wasn’t long before silver wolf put down her console and started poking at his wings too.
“do you feel that, mister?” she asks.
he shakes his head with a small smile, “no, i do not.”
she only hummed and looked up at you. “will he be able to fly soon?”
you take a few seconds to respond.
“soon,” you mutter as your hands re-adjusted the exoskeleton that’s been supporting them. “they look better than when you first arrived. you seem rather curious, what gives?”
silver wolf pouted and shoved at you lightly. your chuckle rang in his ears like music. the same melodies he would play on his record player when the night feels too long. sunday leaned more to your side when the younger girl showed a pixelated character in her game and pointed to its wings.
“when you fly again, mister, you have to take me with you!” she excitedly exclaimed with stars in her eyes. “i’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to fly.”
sunday felt a tug deep within his heart when he looked into her eyes. silver wolf, surprisingly, was very welcoming of him when he first joined. they got along fine and would even spend their free time in each other’s company. her excited demeanor reminded him of how robin looked when he first took to the skies. the animated expression on her face; her grin reaching her eyes; and the way she’s leaning forward in anticipation.
“when i fly again, i’ll be sure to let you know first.”
his reply was all the more worth it when the girl jumped in delight and landed on blade’s back. your laughter along with silver wolf’s excited blabbering and even blade’s protests made more flowers bloom inside his chest. sunday ceased his chuckling when he realized he had run out of oranges to eat. before he could even ask for more you’re already replacing his empty one with a new plate filled with peeled oranges.
“i can peel them myself, [name].” he says almost in a whisper.
“i know you can,” you dangle the orange peel in front of elio and let them play with it and stack them in a pile. “but let me do it for you.”
EVENING — 6:00 P.M.
“it’s my turn to decide what we get to eat!”
“it’s been your turn for two weeks. if anything, it’s my turn now.”
sunday could only push the two further and further apart, or at least try too. blade was a foot taller than him and obviously more bulked up than him; silver wolf might be the shortest but she knows how to use it to her advantage, zooming from one place to another like a little mouse. he could only plead with a lopsided smile when you enter the kitchen, your towel around your neck to catch the stray waters that dropped from your hair.
you sighed with the shake of your head and pulled silver wolf back into your chest. two arms snugly wrapped around her small shoulders as she kicked and pointed at blade. sunday on the other hand stepped in front of the man with a stretched arm, trying to calm down the silver haired girl as best as he could.
“at this point if you two can’t decide then i’ll just cook whatever i want.” you joked. both heads turned towards you and glared, but you only laughed and let silver wolf stomp her way to sit on the kitchen counter. “how about some sweet and spicy chicken for dinner? that way you both get what you want.”
sunday watched in amusement as silver wolf jutted her lower lip and mumbled on how she wanted cake. blade only slumped his shoulders and grumbled a low fine and started helping you take out all the ingredients from the fridge as well as the pans and bowls.
“i swear you two have worse cravings than a pregnant wom– ow!” you didn’t get to finish when blade purposely knocked your head when he opened a cabinet. your eyes narrowed at him while he only shrugged. a playful smirk on his lips as he shoved your head lower when you went to berate him.
a soft nudge on sunday’s back pushed him a bit forward. elio’s blue eyes in their cat form met his own gold ones and the two stared for a while. the cat motioned his head towards you and blade who chatted over dinner, not long, silver wolf also joined.
“go join them.” was all they said before jumping down from the table and going to who knows where.
sunday didn’t get a chance to reply when a pair of arms snuck around his waist. he let out a noise between a surprised gasp and a shout that made you snort in amusement. when he turned to glare at you, you only stuck your tongue out and tied the apron around his waist.
“come help us make dinner, sunday.”
and how could he say no when you’re already dragging him by the apron to the kitchen aisles with all the ingredients laid down.
by 7:15 p.m., kafka and firefly enter through the door and are met with a memorably amusing sight of sunday almost collapsing on their dining table as elio pushes a carton of milk to his direction. you and silver wolf were laughing at him with pointing hands and tears in your eyes. even blade cracked his own chuckle and rolled his eyes playfully as the halovian kicked him in the shin.
the taller woman surmised that sunday had fallen victim to blade’s insane spice addiction. the stray silver spoon on the table with the sauce was evidence. kafka let out a chuckle as firefly came over to his side –still keeping a bit of distance– and asking if he was alright.
“thought you were only getting groceries?” you ask with a raised brow. eyes surveying the amount of bags she and firefly had in their hands.
“there was a sale for clothes,” kafka reasoned. “how could we say no?”
you shake your head in disbelief and give the woman a side hug. “dinner will be ready in ten. help the poor angel soothe his tongue in the meantime.”
kafka laughed as she dropped her bags by the living room couch and guided sunday to sit down. firefly handed him an empty glass and offered to pour the milk in it. he shook his head no and did it himself. the poor boy downed the drink in one go and it didn’t seem enough to soothe his burning tongue so firefly went to get another carton from the fridge.
sunday furrowed his brows and stuck out his tongue. no doubt his taste buds won’t be working for a while.
“why does blade put so much spice in his food?” he questions the older woman who only smiled. her eyes glazed over to where the said man was and sunday followed.
“bladie can’t taste anything that isn’t spicy,” kafka said, her eyes not once leaving blade’s figure. “a living corpse can’t really taste anything. spice is considered a pain sensation; pain is the only thing he can feel and taste.”
sunday frowns at this new information. he knows little of blade’s past and had made no effort to try and dig it up. he was curious, yes, but it must be an incredibly sensitive topic if every night the man slips away from his bedroom seeking you or kafka out to soothe the mara that’s coursing through his body.
“i… see.” a hand came to ruffle up his hair. he looked up to see kafka smiling down at him and handed him another cup of milk.
“try to ask him about it someday. maybe you’ll be able to help.”
sunday keeps that information at the back of his mind until everyone finishes cooking dinner.
the clock hit 7:25 and everyone decided to eat by the living room to see what kafka and firefly bought in their mini shopping spree. he sat in between you and blade on the floor, using the small coffee table in front of you to hold your food while silver wolf sat on the couch behind him. her legs over your shoulders and slouched on the couch.
time surprisingly passed slowly tonight. only ten minutes had actually passed of kafka showing off her new coat, but to sunday it had felt like eternity. he absentmindedly tossed his food around his plate, pushing away all the spicy pieces of chicken to the edge of his plate.
“not eating the spicy chicken now are we?” sunday whipped his head to blade and glared. warmth rising to his cheeks, wings fluttering in embarrassment when he remembered what had happened not too long ago.
“your “normal” amount of spice nearly sent me to a coma,” he rebutted with a roll of his eyes. “so pardon me for not wanting to be sent to the hospital.”
you let out a loud laugh and leaned back on the couch. silver wolf was now using his head as support when she agreed wholly with his statement. firefly let out a quiet cough to silence her laugh while kafka chuckled. blade only rolled his eyes and took the pieces of chicken on his plate and placed it on his own.
“you said you wanted to try.” he argued back. a teasing lilt to his voice as he placed a piece of chicken to his mouth to add more salt to the injury.
“a grave mistake that was.”
you cease your laughing and lean on your propped up arm. “well look at you two, getting along so well!”
sunday scowled while blade scoffed. both picking up pieces of food and silently chewing. what started as a small bump of sunday’s elbow turned into a small petty argument about spice tolerance.
“it is quite sweet of you bladie,” kafka started. “for taking all the spicy pieces off of sunny’s plate, i mean.”
you jumped to the wagon immediately and nodded. “agreed! you’ve never done that for anyone here before. i’m starting to think you’re playing favorites.”
“one more word and i’m dumping the rest of the chili oil on your plates.”
that had shut you up immediately. for extra measures, you scooted away from them both with your plate close to your chest. “shutting up now…”
NIGHT — 11:20 P.M.
sunday let out a long sigh as he tossed and turned in his bed. he had lost count of how many times he’s replayed tonight’s dinner in his mind to at least try and get some sleep and not be plagued by his nightmares. tonight was joyful, and he’d like to keep it that way till the end of the day. but his insomnia had struck him again like always. he’s already drunk two pills from the medication you bought him and it's yet to take effect.
with one last sigh, sunday threw off the sheets over his body and stalked out of his room as quietly as he could. the base was dark in the dead of night. the halls looked more ominous and longer than normal, something he believed was taken out of a horror film. when he first wandered these halls at this hour, sunday would feel the pricks of his paranoia.
but unlike the first time, there were no longer stray feathers of ravens following his wake. his feet weren’t stained by his blood as he dragged his body to the direction of salvation. in these halls, sunday wasn’t carrying a knife he used to plunge into his own chest to try and make the weight of the sins he didn’t commit a little lighter. he was free; free as he could be in the safety of everyone’s presence.
his gaze shifted to the slightly ajar door that led to your workshop. he frowned as he realized you were staying up late again. when he peered into the small crack, sunday was met with the sight of firefly hunched over your desk, sound asleep with stray pieces of fabric by her feet.
the nights at base were usually cold so sunday quickly walked to his room again to get a spare blanket. as quietly as he could, the halovian entered your workshop, silently cursing when the door creaked slightly. making sure he didn’t step on any of the fabrics on the floor, sunday draped the blanket over the girl’s shoulders.
another memory of his resurfaced. on nights like these, robin would sneak into his office with a pillow and blanket in her hands. she would guide his head gently to lay on the pillow and not the harsh wooden table and make sure the blanket over his shoulders didn’t slip until morning came. by instinct, sunday’s hand came to smooth down firefly’s hair and whispered good night.
he started picking up the stray pieces of whites, blues, and blacks from the floor and neatly folded them one by one. placing them in neat piles on your table. with one last look to firefly’s figure, he smiled to himself and quietly shut the door behind him. his next stop was the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea.
“he’s gone now, firefly.”
even as you called out to her, firefly did not budge and kept her head in between her folded arms. you shook your head and sat down next to her. you had witnessed what happened and you could only guess the conflicted feelings the girl felt.
“do you think he’s a bad person, little knight?” you ask, hands picking up one of the fabrics sunday had graciously folded and laid them on the table. a measuring tape around your shoulders and a pencil snuggly on your ear.
“he’s done bad things, but…” you hum in reply. firefly’s voice was muffled because of her arms but you heard her perfectly fine, much to her dismay. “i don’t think he’s a fully bad person. i just find it… awkward to interact with him.”
“do you want to interact with him?” you wonder. “as friends i mean.”
firefly finally raised her head. hand clutching the blanket draped over her shoulders as the other ghosted over the spot where sunday had patted down and whispered good night.
“i don’t know.”
you only hum. “sunday is rather strange isn’t he? he’s quite the piece of work if you ask me.”
“what about you?” firefly fires back, scooting her chair closer to you. “do you think he’s a bad person.”
“no. no i don’t.” you answer immediately and feel firefly pause. “he’s kindest person i’ve ever met.”
“i see…”
you pat her head gently and fixate your gaze back to your table.
“he’s a lot more like us than anyone expected. sunday has done bad things that hurt those around him, but we’ve also done that haven’t we? take your time. all of us were lonely at some point, so it’s also his first time he’s ever craved someone’s company. we’ve all done that too, didn’t we?”
when a new day started (around 1:56 a.m.) she made her way back to her room. sunday’s blanket was still wrapped around her even when she laid down on her own bed. she never pointed out how you purposefully drafted a space for the ticket you’ve always hidden on sunday’s new uniform.
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