#I either don’t know enough to answer the ask or the ask veers too close to topics I’m not interested in

[blueberry-ash]

Writer's Month 2024, Day 2 (‘running’)

TKA Live Action, Mo Fan/Qiao Yifan. (Rated T, and unedited bc it's past my bedtime akdjfls.)

.

Qiao Yifan is laughing, his face sweat-damp and pink. He lets his weight drop carelessly into Mo Fan’s side, a shock of heat and closeness. Mo Fan’s instinct is to shove him away, but he finds himself looking instead.

Qiao Yifan is often happy, so it’s not as though his laughter is a surprise. And the two of them have been working out—running in the early hours before breakfast—so his sweat and warmth aren’t surprising either.

Still, Mo Fan’s fingers flex helplessly in response.

‘Man, I really needed that,’ Qiao Yifan is saying. He’s pushing his damp hair back from his forehead and grinning at Mo Fan, and Mo Fan’s chest tightens like maybe they’ve run too far, too fast. But then Qiao Yifan is leaning back against the raised wall of the flower beds behind them, and away from Mo Fan, a different smile and a little oh on Qiao Yifan’s lips, like he’s suddenly remembered that Mo Fan doesn’t usually like people in his space.

Mo Fan’s chest tightens again but differently, this time. More like he’s made a misstep. More like he’s lost something.

Mo Fan doesn’t know how to say, Actually, I maybe don’t mind being close with people at all, not if it’s you. Even if Mo Fan could—he still couldn’t.

‘I like it,’ Mo Fan starts, despite that. He looks at the square of sky above the park, a dawn-coloured patch cut out from the buildings on every side. He looks at the pavement. At Qiao Yifan’s running shoes. They don’t run together every morning, but often enough. Mo Fan thinks he could sketch it from memory, if only he knew how—the park, the paths, Qiao Yifan’s shoes. Qiao Yifan’s pink cheeks and brilliant smile.

‘Mm?’ Qiao Yifan says. A listening noise, Mo Fan knows. A prompt for further information, a query shaped around the chewed-wonky straw of Qiao Yifan’s water bottle. It makes Mo Fan itch. It makes him want to answer—to know how normal people answer—to know how they sit and smile and flirt and explain that they want things.

It’s new, that Mo Fan wants it. He used to think it was all scam, all faked, like putting on a name badge at work and pretending to care.

He doesn’t think Qiao Yifan is pretending, and that makes him itch and want more than anything.

In the beginning, Mo Fan had actually thought he’d hate him.

Qiao Yifan is chewing on the straw again.

‘Running,’ Mo Fan manages. ‘Running with you, like this—I really like it.’

It feels like a confession. Heavy, weighty, too much. Like something a normal person might say, except that he’s the one saying it.

Qiao Yifan’s eyes crinkle in another smile. ‘Me too,’ he says, like he’s breathing out the words with pleasure, with joy. And then—because he’s Qiao Yifan, and sometimes he veers into questions that force Mo Fan into corners—he asks, ‘Did you think you wouldn’t like it?’

Mo Fan lifts one shoulder in a shrug. He stands and stretches, one foot against the garden’s lowest brick wall and then the other. He pulls his hoodie from wrapped around his waist and drags it on over tacky warmth and cooling sweat. They’re not usually stopped this soon, but they’d gotten silly, playful, had made it a challenge and then speed, speed, sprinting until laughing and here. Mo Fan isn’t sure whether they’ll go back to jogging. Sometimes they walk, instead. A cooldown, slower, and Qiao Yifan’s knuckles grazing against Mo Fan’s.

Qiao Yifan is still watching him. ‘Wait—did you think you’d hate it?’

Mo Fan shakes his head. Frowns. Nods. ‘No. I’m just bad at it. At sports.’

He isn’t being humble or self-deprecating. It’s a fact he’s been told. He’d suffered at PE. He’d been resented at team sports. Even the martial arts class his parents had eventually signed him up for had made it clear he didn’t fit. Poor attitude. Struggles to follow basic instructions. Does not play well with others.

Qiao Yifan is pulling on his own sweater. He’s staring at Mo Fan as he yanks the collar down past his hair. Qiao Yifan says, ‘Huh?!’

Mo Fan shrugs.

Qiao Yifan looks confused, his brows drawn down and his eyes unhappy. ‘Mo Fan, we played basketball with you. You were great! You made it fun!’

Mo Fan looks away, itchy and glad. You were great makes his skin hum, but You made it fun is what he’d like engraved there.

They walk across the shorter side of the park in silence. They buy breakfast at a place on the other side of the street, and Qiao Yifan has slipped his phone across the QR code before Mo Fan can even think about it. ‘My treat,’ Qiao Yifan says, still pink-cheeked and smiling.

Mo Fan thinks he’d like to shout Qiao Yifan instead. He’s never had the money before, not for things like that, and now he doesn’t have the habit—the custom—the instinct to remember the things people do; treats for treats sake, and not debts to be called in.

Qiao Yifan’s knuckles brush against the back of Mo Fan’s hand as they walk. Mo Fan doesn’t know whether Qiao Yifan has realised, but he’s afraid to mention it in case he hasn’t. Maybe it doesn’t tingle through Qiao Yifan with every glancing touch. Maybe Qiao Yifan will step away, will try harder to give Mo Fan space, if Mo Fan says anything.

Mo Fan focuses on his soy milk. ‘Would you—’ he starts, and then doesn’t. He keeps thinking about Qiao Yifan’s bewildered expression when Mo Fan had explained about being bad at sports; about Qiao Yifan’s insistence that Mo Fan had made basketball fun.

He tries not to think about the community gym they often jog past on their runs. About the sign-ups sign outside, and the classes. He doesn’t do a very good job. He says, ‘Since you thought the basketball was okay—we could—maybe—’

Qiao Yifan glances at Mo Fan as they walk. He stays quiet while Mo Fan fails to talk. He would have said something, before—months back—would have hurried to try and fill Mo Fan’s blanks, would have stumbled over himself wanting to help. It’s been a while since he’s stopped. He must have realised it only makes things worse, only lengthens the spaces in Mo Fan’s mind. Now, Qiao Yifan waits.

Mo Fan finishes his drink in an unsteady rush. He stops by the gym, to throw the cup in the rubbish bin, and maybe not only for that.

Mo Fan is gesturing at the sign-ups sign in the same moment that Qiao Yifan blurts out, ‘I keep thinking it could be fun to take a class like that. Like—like tai chi, maybe? Or—or one of the dance classes? I mean, I know we don’t have a huge amount of free time, but they’re on Wednesdays, and it’d count towards our health and wellbeing, and it’s not like there are a lot of things that’re safely no-contact like that, and I—’

Mo Fan is still pointing uselessly at the sign.

Qiao Yifan trails off, probably because of whatever stupid expression is on Mo Fan’s face. With a crunch of his greaseproof paper, Qiao Yifan tosses it in the rubbish bin and reaches down to worry at the rubber band on his wrist. ‘It’s a silly idea. It’ll be mostly grandparents, won’t it? And I know I kind of got used to that at some of my old dance classes, but that doesn’t mean you’d—’

Mo Fan can’t seem to swallow. He does manage to drop his hands, shoving them deep into his hoodie’s pockets and gripping at the lining there. Still, he’s been struck by the idea of Qiao Yifan at dance class—by the image of Qiao Yifan dancing. He wants to ask what kind of dance. He wants to ask if that’s why Qiao Yifan is the way he is—if having a dancer’s body is what makes him so tactile, so comfortable with touching and being touched. If that’s what it’s like to know limbs and muscle for cleverness and beauty rather than ducking and hiding and protecting your head. He wants to ask how loud the music would be, and whether Qiao Yifan would really want to dance with him.

Qiao Yifan is worrying his lip between his teeth—Mo Fan has been quiet for too long.

Mo Fan says, skin too tight and far too warm, ‘No, I want to. I wanted to! To ask you, I mean. All week. I was going to, with the tai chi. But—but the other is okay, too.’

‘Really?’ Qiao Yifan sounds like he’s stopped chewing on his lip and started smiling. Mo Fan isn’t game to look, for fear he catches Qiao Yifan looking too. They go back to walking, Qiao Yifan’s hand swinging loosely between them. Mo Fan regrets having put his own hands in his pockets.

They’re back home, at the little patch of greenery inside the front gate, when Qiao Yifan stops again. Mo Fan waits, then looks at him when he realises Qiao Yifan isn’t going to start speaking. He can see the warmth of Qiao Yifan’s neck. He can see the tip of Qiao Yifan’s tongue dart between Qiao Yifan’s lips, too, pink and distracting—Qiao Yifan is hesitating.

Qiao Yifan says, all in a rush, ‘Is it—if we sign up for—the tai chi, or the dance, do you—do you want to invite the others?’

Mo Fan’s chest squeezes, but Qiao Yifan is still speaking. Qiao Yifan is saying, ‘Because, of course, you should! If you’d like! I shouldn’t assume you’d want just—me. Just us—not like, I mean, it might feel like a date, and I don’t know if you’d—if you’d like—’

Mo Fan doesn’t dare trust himself to have interpreted Qiao Yifan’s rush of words correctly. What Mo Fan wants Qiao Yifan to be saying—that Qiao Yifan would like it to be just the two of them, that Qiao Yifan might like it to be like a date—seems much, much too perfect to align with Mo Fan’s understanding of the world.

Mo Fan really wants to be right, despite that.

‘I’m okay with inviting them, if you want,’ Mo Fan says slowly. He keeps his eyes fixed on the front door’s wood grain, on the long-fingered swirl he can track from handle to doormat. ‘But just us would be—good.’

He looks up a little. He sees Qiao Yifan’s neck bob around a swallow. He adds, ‘Like a date would be—better.’

Qiao Yifan says, ‘Oh,’ and his neck is really pink now, and his hair is a mess, and when Mo Fan raises his gaze all the way and looks at Qiao Yifan properly, Qiao Yifan has this expression in his eyes that makes Mo Fan’s brain try to shut right down, and Mo Fan can’t—

Mo Fan can’t say what he wants to say, not if he wants to say it well, but he can pull his hands out of his pockets. He can step into Qiao Yifan’s space. So he does. He shifts his weight, and he leans his shoulder against Qiao Yifan’s, and he lets himself stay there, his fingers catching around Qiao Yifan’s wrist just long enough to feel the square edges of Qiao Yifan’s rubber band and the thrum of blood rushing below skin.

‘Definitely better,’ Qiao Yifan agrees in a rough voice when Mo Fan pulls away.

‘We’ll—we’ll pick a class?’ Mo Fan promises, and Qiao Yifan nods and beams, so dazzling and bright that Mo Fan can hardly bear to look at him directly.

Mo Fan keeps the warmth of it tucked inside his chest anyway.

[yeetlegay]

Hii. I just want to ask you a question as I like your answers and a welcome blog. How do you keep the differentiation between loving Kinn Porsche on screen and not going there hoping they're together in real life as their chemistry is amazing? I think we'd be too lucky if they were together in real life unfortunately :/

Glad to have you!

As to your question, to put it bluntly anon, I mind my business lol. Actors are professionals and deserve to be treated as such. I love that Mile and Apo seem to be close and enjoy each other’s company, but I don’t follow their personal lives at all beyond the occasional funny anecdotes I see, like how loaded Mile is lol.

I’m not saying it’s wrong to do that at all. I guess having spent a fair chunk of my undergrad years studying parasocial relationships and the commodification of celebrity bodies, I have a healthy fear of engaging in actors outside of their work. I don’t even follow them on social media for the most part, and I’ve only sat down and properly watched maybe two interviews in full with the Kinnporsche cast. Mostly I just see little clips here and there, and sometimes I get asks or DMs about specific interviews or behind the scenes and I’ll go check them out.

So for me it’s pretty easy to just, like, not step into that shippy territory. Again, I’m not saying it’s an inherently bad thing to do. Having written a fair amount about this in an academic setting (although it’s been years now lol), I know how nuanced this is and why people do get invested in celebrity relationships, especially when they’re “queer” (as in shipping two men, two women, etc). To an extent, it’s a natural response to very intentional marketing strategies and the inherent ways in which capitalism makes products of public figures. There’s no way, in almost any present-day society, to make art without being seen as part of it, an extension of it.

Would it be super cool to find out two actors from a show/movie you loved were dating? I mean, yeah! I think the sheer volume of fanfic with this trope speaks for itself lol. And it’s not like it doesn’t happen. Tons of celebrity couples started off as co-stars and fell in love on set. It makes for a good story.

That said, there’s boundaries here, and it’s always a good and healthy thing to analyze how you engage with celebrities and fandom to make sure you’re not contributing to harmful fan behavior or making the actors/singers/whoever uncomfortable. They’re people before they’re anything else, and they deserve respect and privacy just like anyone else does. 💖

[dameronology]

figure it out {din djarin x reader}

summary: din djarin doesn’t usually get jealous. not until he met you, at least {for the lovely and wonderful @stargazingcarol​} - 2.5k words 

warnings: swearing 

this is completely spoiler free!! just some good old jealousy and some antics with the kid. enjoy.

- jamie

You had a complicated relationship with the Mandalorian. 

On one hand, you were colleagues…of sorts. He’d spent two years coming to your outpost on Corellia when he needed his ship fixing – and after becoming fed up of traipsing back and forth, he offered you the job full time. It was a mutually beneficial situation. You’d been desperate to get out the city for years, and you were also the only mechanic he trusted. The prospect of a job that would take you all over the galaxy was exciting, even if it meant tiptoeing around one another in the cramped hull of the Razor Crest (and that was before the addition of the Child). But, when you spent days and days in hyperspace with nobody else to talk to, it was only natural that you became friends. It had felt a little awkward at first, as though you were trying to force conversation with a man who just didn’t want to talk -- but then the Mandalorian’s barriers broke down, and things began to change.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when. It had probably been a few months in, not long after he’d saved your ass from a bounty who had thrown a punch in your direction. You hadn’t expected the Mandalorian to be so protective - and frankly, neither had he. It was after that he found himself doing things without realising; lingering touches on your back when he passed, his hands brushing your thigh whenever you were sat in the cockpit next to him. Then, you became unintentional adoptive parents to a weird, green creature - a bond between you that only seemed progressed naturally, as though you had no control over it.

One night, not long after you took the Child in, you’d both collapsed beside one another on the tiny bed in hull of the Crest. Usually, you would argue for a while about who got to take it, but on that night, neither of you’d had the energy. Under the covers of the dark and with the baby finally asleep, you were muttering amongst yourself - you couldn’t remember the conversation entirely, but it was sleepy, tired gibberish. Din found himself reaching to take the helmet off; he could hear you easier that way, and your voice was comforting enough to lull him off to sleep. In the quiet of the moment, and with the conversation between you reaching a natural stopping point, he’d gently closed the gap between you. It was simple; his lips on yours, only for a brief moment. Then, as though the Child had sensed that everything was no longer about him, he’d opened his mouth and let out a cry for attention.

You began to kiss more often after that; every night before bed, actually. As soon as the lights were off, Din would take the helmet off, give you a gentle kiss and then he’d drift off, holding you tightly to his chest. It was always that, followed by a good night, cyar'ika. Then the morning would come, and it would be good morning, cyar'ika followed by another soft kiss, before the helmet went back on and you both went about your days.

After a few months of that, you’d fallen into an easy routine. Neither of you had quite established what your relationship was, but it didn’t feel like you needed to. It’s not like there was anyone else around for you to have to worry about, or anyone else who would force you to define it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating; Din Djarin had never been the type of person to plan ahead, and you knew that more than anyone. The idea of becoming attached to him, only to lose him or get hurt was enough for you to at least want to try and work it out. You weren’t expecting a deep conversation, or even one that you could walk away from knowing whatever the hell was going on between you two. 

It was just that with the addition of the Child, and the two of you growing closer each day, you wanted an answer. You wanted to know if you were wasting your time; if this was simply a pit-stop on your way to finding a more permanent settlement, or if this was it. Though you’d never admit it, you wanted it to be the latter. Din was reliable, and he cared about you. He was sweet in his own way and he’d have gone to the ends of the galaxy to look after you. He was protective in a way that let you fight your own battles, but not in a way you’d ever have to do it alone. You felt safe with him - as though you’d found everything you were looking for, except neither of you had been looking at all.

You brought the question up on a slow morning. The Mandalorian was between bounties, and you’d briefly landed in a dusty outpost on a thick jungle planet to refuel and find some food. The kid was snoring away in his pod a few feet away, clearly feeding off of the relaxed atmosphere that you’d managed to create. You were laying beside him, the lights still off and your head buried in his neck. Both of Din’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, gripping onto you as though you might slip away into the darkness of the vast galaxy. 

‘What are we?’ You asked quietly.

‘Humans.’ Right, there was the dry sense of humour.

‘Din.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m serious.’

‘What’s making you bring it up now, cyar'ika?’ He asked. ‘It’s early.’

‘I was just thinking.’ You sat up, pulling the covers with you. ‘We’ve been doing this thing for months but neither of us have actually worked out what the hell is it is.’

‘We don’t have to.’ He replied. 

‘Right.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s just-’

As though the little bugger had sensed a sudden onset of tenseness in the room, the Child let out a loud cry. You immediately recognised it: he was hungry. Even if you were ready to throttle anyone who dared come near him, you didn’t have a hard time admitting that he had a penchant for the worst timing. With that said, the fact he’d slept through the whole night without waking once certainly helped the fact.

‘Hey, buddy! It’s okay!’ You heard the mechanical click of Din’s helmet as he turned on the lights, allowing you to leap out of bed and stumble to the baby. ‘We’ll get you some food.’

That wasn’t the first time that something had magically changed the subject whenever you tried to bring up the status of your relationship with Din. If the kid didn’t decide to pull your attention away, it was the Mandalorian himself who veered away from the conversation. He always had to check on a bounty, or rush off to see if the ship was on the right route. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was avoiding the subject entirely and you were starting to become frustrated.

After almost three weeks of trying to challenge him about it, you were close to giving in entirely. What if you were wasting your time? What if you were going to let yourself fall in love with him, only to find out you weren’t a permanent part of his plan? Fuck, did he even have a plan? Was that the life you wanted -

- it was at that point that your train of thought had stopped, because the Child sensed you were upset, and started bawling. Again.

A few hours after your fourth or fifth try at the conversation - once again to have it ended by the kid tossing a frog at you in an attempt to steal the attention back - the three of you ended up in a bar. It was a little cantina a few hours outside of Mos Eisley; it was much cleaner than the other bars you’d seen, and if it weren’t for your foul mood, you might have even enjoyed it. 

‘What’s up with you?’ Din asked quietly. 

‘Nothing.’ You murmured. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your tone is off, cyar'ika.’

‘Leave it.’ You snapped. ‘I’m getting another drink.’

You moved the baby off your lap, placing him on Din’s instead. After digging around in your pocket for some credits, you quickly stood up and sauntered over to the other side of the bar, leaning against the wooden counter as you waited for your turn to be served. It wasn’t too busy - there were a few people floating about. Locals, you figured. It was a slightly fancier part of Tatooine, and you could see the difference in the people who were frequenting the establishment.

You were trying not to think about Din, or the fact he still refused to talk about what was going on between the two of you. You’d long surpassed the point of no return for your friendship - no, you were too invested now. Either he had to prove he was in it for the long run, or you had to walk away. Was that an unfair ultimatum? Not really. He’d started it, after all. 

‘What’s a pretty thing like you doing waiting for a drink?’

You glanced up to see a man beside you, a half-empty flagon of beer in his hand. He was tall, dark and handsome; the type you used to briefly date back on Corellia. He smelt of expensive aftershave, and his clothes gave the impression he was quite well-off. 

‘I could ask you the same.’ You replied. 

‘So you think I’m pretty?’ The man quirked an eyebrow at you.

‘No, I...I mean, yeahhhh.’ You turned to face him, offering him a smile.

‘You’re here with that Mandalorian.’ He glanced over his shoulder, before leaning a little closer towards you. ‘What’s his deal?’

‘Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.’ You snorted. ‘I don’t think he knows what his deal is.’

The conversation was completely innocent - after all, you had no intention of anything happening with whoever this guy was. And even if you did, weren’t you technically single? You certainly weren’t in a relationship, at least not according to Din Djarin. He had no standing ground, nor any right to be jealous. 

Still, that didn’t stop his entire body filling with rage the minute the man put his hand on your arm, and it certainly didn’t stop him immediately packing up all your stuff to leave the bar. Even the notion of another man touching you made him want to scream - let alone the actual sight of it. It was the way your new friend leant in a little too close, and laughed a little too hard at your jokes. You were funny, but you weren’t that funny.

‘We’re leaving.’ Din declared, suddenly appearing beside you. 

‘Okay.’ You shrugged, glancing up at him. ‘I’ll meet you back on the ship later.’

‘No, I mean we’re leaving.’

You snorted. ‘I think you’ll find that I’m staying right here- oof!’

You let out a small squeak as the Mandalorian grabbed you with his free arm, tossing you over his shoulder. Before you could protest, or even apologise to the man beside you, he was marching you out of the bar and into the cool evening air of Tatooine. All meanwhile, the baby was giggling at the site of you with your legs in the air and your face planted against Din’s back. 

The ship wasn’t far - probably not more than a two minute walk. Din had been conscious of the Child’s little legs when he’d parked at the outpost; he was becoming more independent now and insisted on walking places himself. It was just that he could only walk for five minutes before getting tired, but the little sod would cry if you tried to carry him.  He was lucky he was cute.

‘What the hell was that?’ You snapped, barely catching your balance as Din planed you on the floor of the ship. 

‘That man was flirting with you.’ Din simply stated. ‘I didn’t like it.’

‘You...’ you trailed off. ‘You didn’t like it?’

‘He was overstepping his boundaries.’

‘You were jealous, weren’t you?’ You let out a derivative snort, folding your arms across your chest. 

‘You knew I could see you.’ Din was still calm. 

‘And? It’s not like we’re in a relationship, is it?’ You murmured.

‘That’s not-’

‘ - let me finish!’ You cut him off. ‘I have been trying for weeks to talk to you about it, to see where I stand with you, and you always change the subject or try to run away from it! You have no right to be jealous, or to act like I’m with you because you have made it abundantly clear that I am not. Your high horse is basically a shetland fucking pony, Din Djarin!’

There was a silence between you for a moment. It felt good to have finally said it - you just wished you’d been a bit more gentle. Din had never seen you shout before, or even come close to losing your temper. He knew it was bound to happen but he had never imagined it being at him. Then again, if you’d tried to pick him up and force him out the bar against his will, he would have been angry too. (The thought of you even trying it was rather comical).

‘I was scared.’ 

That hadn’t been the response you were expecting.

‘Of me?’ Your voice was quiet.

‘I’m in love with you.’ He said bluntly. ‘That terrifies me.’

‘I...fuck.’ You felt as though the wind had been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with whatever grey smoke the Crest spat out when the engines were broken. ‘I love you too - but why does it scare you?’

‘Because it means I can’t ever leave you.’ Din continued. ‘And I want to give you the life you deserve but I don’t know if I can. Not with my job, not with the things I’ve done.’

‘Din.’ You took a step forward, his large hands enveloping yours as you did. ‘D’you think I care about any of that?’

‘I was afraid to ask.’

‘No offence, but you can be a bit thick sometimes.’ A small chuckle escaped your lips, even if tears were forming in your eyes. ‘I don’t care where we are or where we go, as long as I’m with you, then I have the life I want. That’s why I’ve been so off these last few weeks, because I was so scared you were going to turn around and push me away.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’ He said. ‘I’m not going to leave you - you have my word. I promise.’ 

‘So why don’t we just stop being scared and start just...being together?’

He briefly stepped away, hitting the control panel to turn off the lights in the ship. His helmet hit the ground with a thud, and a moment later, his hands were on your hips as he pulled you towards him. Din crashed his lips onto yours, closing the gap between you with a desperate kiss. You’d kissed before - more times than you could even begin to count - but this one felt different. It had meaning; purpose, in fact. It was as though the last few months’ worth of feelings that the Mandalorian had been pushing aside had finally broken.

‘I love you, cyar'ika.’ He quietly murmured again. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry.’ You tearfully smiled, forehead still pressed against his. ‘And I love you too, even if you’re a bit of a dumbass sometimes.’

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you, dumbass.’ You quietly said. 

‘Is that now your equivalent to cyar'ika?’

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

Joe has been waiting in this coffee shop line for no less than ten minutes, but he doesn’t mind because he’s spent that long looking at the man in front of him. The line of those shoulders and the curve of that long neck reminds Joe of someone he can’t place. Still, he’s almost positive that he knows this man. A memory, somewhere, sits in the back of his mind, itchy.

When the man turns, chin to shoulder, and gifts Joe his profile, the sight of a prominent nose is enough.

“Nicolò!”

It’s been years, but Joe would never forget his childhood friend. As neighbors who went to different schools, they were inseparable in the evenings. For summers, they were practically attached at the hip.

Nicky has grown since then, filling out his lean frame. Lanky limbs are now solid mass. And those shoulders. Shoulders that tense up as Joe watches, until Nicky looks like a rubber band pulled too tightly, ready to snap.

Sighing, he half-turns toward Joe, though his gaze remains elsewhere. “Did you want a selfie together? Or an autograph?”

Joe frowns. He’s heard from his mother that Nicky is doing well for himself - she’s seen him on television. But Joe doesn’t watch television. Maybe he’s been afraid to. Maybe he wants the past ten years back, to stand once more under that tree in Nicky’s backyard where they said goodbye, and actually kiss him this time.

Joe said Nicky’s name on reflex. Perhaps he should have let the past live in the past.

“No,” Joe says. “Sorry.”

Joe ducks his head, but he still feels the moment Nicky sets his eyes on him. He hears the soft intake of breath. He watches Nicky’s shoes as those feet twist further until Nicky is entirely facing him.

“Yusuf?”

Joe tries for a smile. “It’s me.” He looks up and finds himself in a blue-green ocean. Nicky’s face does not so much as twitch, but those eyes always give him away. “Hello, Nicky.”

Nicky steps toward him. “Joe, I -”

“It’s okay,” Joe says.

“No, I -”

“You don’t have to -”

A stranger’s voice calls out, from further down the line. “Is that Nicolò di Genova?”

Nicky’s mouth snaps closed. His back straightens.

“It is!” says someone else. In a matter of moments, Nicky is swarmed with fans. He’s patient with them, taking pictures and signing autographs, but Joe can see the tense line of his body and the tightness in his smile.

Ahead of Nicky, the line has dwindled. The cashier calls out for the next customer, but Nicky is buried in fans. Joe steps around the crowd and takes Nicky’s place. He has no idea what Nicky is drinking but he guesses a coffee and orders another for himself.

Drinks in hand, Joe turns to find fresh faces surrounding Nicky, and decides to step in. “Okay! Alright! Thank you all, but Mr. di Genova must be moving on now. He’s on a tight schedule, you know.” He passes the coffee to Nicky, then places his free hand on the small of Nicky’s back. “Please excuse us.” Cutting through the crowd, he leads Nicky toward the exit and around the building toward the back parking lot.

Once they are out of sight, Nicky slumps against the wall. “Thank you.”

“It was my fault for calling you out.” Joe hums. “You must be very famous.”

“You haven’t seen the show?”

Joe doesn’t want to hurt him, but he doesn’t want to lie, either. “No.” Even thinking of Nicky, of what could of been, has been so painful. How could Joe bear to see him? To know how beautiful he’s become? To know all that he’s missing?

“Good,” Nicky says, kicking off the wall. “It’s terrible.”

Startled, Joe laughs.

Nicky looks at him again, and his eyes sparkle in the same mischievous kind of way they used to before he suggested something that always got them both in trouble.

“Joe,” Nicky says. “If I asked you to take a ride with me, would you?”

Joe wonders, even with ten years separating their last day together and today, how Nicky could ever think the answer might be no. “Nicky, I’d follow you anywhere.”

Nicky dips his head, and his lips curl up into a gentle, easy smile. Softly, he says, “I missed you.”

Joe forgets how to breathe.

“Come on.” Nicky walks past him and into the parking lot. Without a word, Joe follows. Ten years wasted. Ten years too long.

Nicky stops at the side of a red Ferrari. Joe finds his breath again just to laugh. For such an unassuming man - even now he wears jeans and a t-shirt - he would have the flashiest car in the lot.

Joe has learned long ago to never place presumptions on Nicolò di Genova.

“You don’t like it?” Nicky asks. He’s still smiling, there’s no hurt in it.

“It’s perfect, Nicky.” Just like you.

Joe opens the passenger side door and slides inside, as Nicky does the same behind the wheel. Nicky turns the key and the Ferrari roars to life. That look of mischief returns to Nicky’s face.

Joe’s heart flip-flops in his chest.

Without another word, Nicky touches the gas pedal and they jolt forward. He veers around the corner, then onto the road, the highway, and out to the country. He drives fast, but danger never registers for Joe. Nicky’s eyes do not  leave the road. His hands stay fixed on the wheel at ten and two.

Only when he drives to the edge of an orchard, on the side of a tall, grassy hill, and stops, does Nicky lower his hands. With the car in park, he turns off the ignition and gets out. Joe follows, walking behind him to the edge of the treeline. They’re fruit-bearing trees, not unlike the one in Nicky’s backyard all those years ago. The one they climbed. And fell from. The one they used as protection for water balloon fights, and home base for games of tag. The one Joe leaned on when he told Nicky his family was moving. The one Nicky hid his face against when Joe walked away for the last time.

“Nicolò.” Joe wants to fix it. They tried to stay in touch for a while. But days turned to weeks turned to months, and before long, Joe’s best friend and secret crush was someone he hadn’t talked to in years. He had no idea how to bridge that gap then.

But now, with Nicky right here.

“Nicky, I -”

In the shadow of a tree, Nicky cups Joe’s face in his hands and kisses him quiet. It’s soft and sweet and world shattering. Joe grabs at Nicky’s wide shoulders and holds on for dear life, else he might fling straight into the sun.

When it’s over, Nicky presses his forehead to Joe’s.

Joe’s hands shake. His breath is uneven.

“Ten years,” Nicky says, closing his eyes. “Every day for ten years, I regretted not doing that.”

One hand still clawing at Nicky’s shoulder, Joe lifts his other to brush the line of Nicky’s jaw and bury his fingertips into the short hairs at the back of Nicky’s neck.

“Yusuf,” Nicky says, a plea in his voice. “I have thought of you so many times. Please. Tell me I was not alone.”

A warmth rushes through Joe’s body, starting from deep in his chest. For a moment he thinks he has never been this happy before in his whole life, but then he realizes he is mistaken. It’s just been ten years.

“We said goodbye ten years ago,” Joe says, “But my heart has never strayed from your side.”

Nicky’s eyes snap open. How can he possibly be surprised?

“Kiss me again, Nicky,” Joe says. “We have ten years to make up for.”

And Nicky wastes no more time.

[nctsworld]

fire alarm

✩ mark x reader | college au | fluff | 1.7k 

SUMMARY ⇾ when your dorm building’s fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night and everyone’s outside, you offer to share your blanket with your shivering, cute neighbour. WARNINGS ⇾ fluff, couple of swear words RATING ⇾ teen+ 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

You started to drift into deep sleep when the sudden blares of the dorm’s fire alarm stirs you awake. 

Your groans are muffled in your pillow, frustrated that this is probably another false alarm like usual. With heavy eyes, you rush to grab your phone and keys, stuff your feet into your shoes, and waddle among the crowd of students, departing the building with your blanket over your shoulders as a make-shift jacket.   

The moment you reach the front of the building where everyone safely coalesces, you glance at your phone as you tug at the ends of your blanket around your chest. 3:08am glows back at you, along with a couple other notifications. You barely get the chance to check them since the blatant chattering of teeth nearby catches your attention instead. 

Your gaze rests on the familiar figure a few steps beside you, rubbing his arms up and down while his legs tremble. Peering around, you realize you’re one of the few who brought more than a jacket for extra warmth during this chill, autumn night. On the other hand, he’s one of the few who hardly had any layers, solely wearing a baggy red t-shirt and a pair of boxers. 

His face swivels side to side, searching the crowd, and it dawns on you that it’s none other than your next door neighbour, Mark. 

His dorm room was to the left of yours. You’ve only interacted with him in passing, regularly acknowledging each other with casual nods and smiles. His sweet smile never failed to make your heart race and to make the corners of your mouth widen further. You didn’t know much about him, except for the fact he played guitar since you occasionally heard him play late at night. 

You always wanted to get to know him, but neither of you shared the same classes nor were you in the same clubs. To make matters worse, the only time you saw one another was when either of you were coming or going.

Perhaps now was the time to finally make a move. 

Lifting your blanket off the pavement, you shuffle your way towards him. As you near him, it clicks in your head that you didn’t initially recognize him because, besides the lack of clothes and the slightly messy hair, he’s wearing glasses to boot. 

“Hey, neighbour.”  

Mark stops his searching and his focus lands on you. The handsome individual steps closer to shorten the space between you, displaying his signature smile. You grip onto your blanket tighter and the weight of your shoulders droop, allowing your face to shyly sink into the sea of fabric covering you. 

The shivering man says your name and replies with a cool, “Hey.” 

“Do you want to share the blanket with me?” 

“Oh, no. It’s okay, I’m all right,” he stammers with a shake of his head, continuing to rub his arms.  

You perk an eyebrow and open one of your arms out, offering him the promise of warmth. 

Beaming, you say, “There’s enough room for another.”

His mouth twists to one side of his face, the gears in his head obviously turning. 

“Are you sure?”       

A hum, nod, and a grin answer his uncertainty. Mark swiftly grasps onto the end of the blanket and wraps himself over his shoulder. Although the heat from the front of your body flees due to the partial sacrifice of your cover, you’re now having an extra source of heat from being right next to Mark, touching shoulder to shoulder. 

“Thanks,” he bobs his head. “I appreciate it. I just bolted out of bed and didn’t think of even bringing a jacket.” 

“That’s okay, that’s why you have me,” you joke, swaying and pressing your shoulder lightly against his. 

Both of you chuckle softly. There’s something else to add to the list of things that are keeping you warm—the prickling rising from your chest to your cheeks. 

You then comment, “I’ve never seen you with glasses before. I almost didn’t recognize you.” 

“Ah, yeah, I wear contacts during the day. Depending on stuff, I sometimes wear my glasses, but not as often.” 

“Well, I think you look good either way.” 

Your eyes practically fall and roll away from your head, cognizant of the words that just escaped your mouth. 

“I mean—” You snap your eyes shut for an extended beat, not wanting to see the look on your next door crush’s face. “You know what, let’s just pretend I didn’t say that out loud.” 

Exhaling a lengthy sigh, you turn to face the opposite direction, now regretting your offer to share your blanket with him. 

Your regret leads you to miss the way his face lights up. 

“Hey, no, thanks for the compliment.” 

Under the blanket, his fingers gingerly graze over yours for a fleeting moment, which causes you to shift your head towards him again. The tips of your noses are almost touching. His twinkling eyes are locked on you, but yours are veering everywhere else except on him. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you look good too.” 

With that, your gaze finally lands on Mark.  

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You want to continue the conversation, you really do, but you’re at a loss of words and are too busy getting lost in the galaxy of his eyes from up-close. From the way he’s not tearing his eyes away either, a little part of you wonders if he harbours an infatuation with you as well. He couldn’t possibly, right? 

Despite being practically strangers, the silent, intense aura blooms as time passes. Your respective breaths brush against each other’s lips and it’d be so easy to just lean in to meet the other’s—

Suddenly, the tension is cut short as everyone begins to sluggishly amble their way back into the building. 

Although nothing really transpired, you break apart simultaneously like someone caught you two doing something you shouldn’t. Mark lets you have your blanket all to yourself once more and both of you head back side by side in comfortable silence.  

After walking up the flight of stairs, trailing behind all the other residents of the building, you finally reach your respective doors. 

“It was nice to see you,” you say, pulling your keys out and inserting the fitting one into your lock. 

“Yeah, thanks for sharing your blanket with me. I really appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, neighbour,” you glance up at him from your hand. His whole body faces you and his mouth is agape like he’s itching to say something. On second thought, he presses his lips together and feels around his body for his keys. Realization hits him in the face. 

“Shit,” he bangs his forehead against the door, deterring you from entering your home abode. “I forgot my keys inside.” 

Mark turns to you with a scrunched face. Even in a state of frustration, how could someone be so cute? “Sorry to ask, but can I borrow your phone?” 

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” You don’t hesitate to scramble and hand it over to him. 

He mumbles a quick thanks, rubbing the back of his head. When he finishes entering a number to dial-in, he holds the phone against his ear and leans the side of head against his door, still facing you. You stand there awkwardly, eyes wavering between the adorable phone borrower and the handful of people in the hallway trickling back into their dorms. 

After the third unanswered ring, a bold offer impulsively escapes your lips.  

“You know, you can stay at my place overnight if you need to.” 

Oh, no. Shit. Why brain, why?

You don’t register your brazenness until the fifth ring, when Mark’s jaw is hanging and his eyebrows are glued to the ceiling. Okay, maybe you can save the moment by saying it was a joke or—

“Hello?” you overhear a muffled grumble on the other end. 

The shock dissolves away from his face. “Oh, hey. Sorry to wake you, Johnny. It’s Mark…” 

Utter embarrassment. This time, you can’t save yourself from your impetuous words. Millions of possibilities run through your mind, including abandoning your phone for him to keep and then moving to another building. No, moving to another college. Actually, Mars sounds like an even better idea. 

You’re so deep in your overdramatic thoughts, your face in a pinch behind your blanket, that you don’t even realize Mark’s already done with his call. 

“Thanks.” His voice breaks you away from your thoughts, eyelids shooting open. He must’ve stepped closer while you weren’t looking because he’s now in front of you, dangling your device from his fingertips. You gently grasp the phone, jointly holding it with him. 

“And about your offer…” You cringe, ready for him to ignore your existence until the end of time. You officially ruined everything, and nothing has even happened yet. 

“How about we go on a date first?” 

Your head shoots up at his proposition. Did you hear that right? 

“Then, maybe when the fire alarm goes off again next time and I forget my keys, I’ll take you up on it.”

It could be because it’s almost 4am and you’re teetering on sleep, or you’re purely stricken, but all you could do is nod mindlessly and squeak, “Sure.”    

A heartstopping smile rolls over his face. “I was hoping you’d say that. I took the liberty of adding myself to your contacts and sent a text to my phone.” 

Mark releases your phone from his grip and begins to walk backwards towards the stairs, suppressing his desire to stay with you for a little while more. But, it’s late and it’s not like this was the last time he’d see you. You are neighbours after all. 

Waving, he whisper-shouts in the hallway, “I’ll text you back first thing when I can. Have a good night!” 

You subtly wave back, still huddling your blanket over your shoulders. When he disappears from your line of sight, you enter your room and flop onto your bed with a jubilant sigh. 

Following knocks at his door, a slit-eyed Johnny is welcomed by a vivacious friend. Too vivacious for 4am. 

“Dude, you won’t believe what just happened. Remember that cute neighbour I’ve been telling you about?...” 

Maybe (and thankfully) there wasn’t an actual fire, but another one was certainly beginning to kindle. 

And neither of you had the intention of extinguishing it any time soon. 

[gotnofucks]

Master of His Own Fate-2

Pairing: dark!Steve x Reader, dark!Bucky x Reader

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Non-con/dub-con, smut, jealousy, spanking, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Probably gonna be a four-part series.

Part 1

MASTERLIST

+++++

Why did it feel like everyone had to do their shopping exactly when you had to? You’d bet it was not this crowed earlier. Or maybe it had something to do with the two super-soldiers flanking you that drew people in. You should have just ordered stuff online since this was super embarrassing. Steve’s hand was in the back pocket of your jeans and Bucky was on your other side, pushing the shopping cart with one hand while holding your waist with other. You’re sure you must have made quite a picture, a little woman sandwiched between them.

“Can you remove your hand?” You asked Steve under your breath and he looked away from the cereals he was perusing to glance at you.

“No” He answered and then pinched your ass for good measure. You jumped, your face flushing and you vowed to look at the floor until you left. You had no desire to see what other people thought about you.

“Why are they so colourful? Why can’t it be simple? There are too many!” Bucky exclaimed and you almost snorted. The cereal aisle was like wonderland for Bucky and you’d been walking back and forth here for 10 minutes now.

“I’m gonna go with this” Steve said throwing in a pack of Cap’n Crunch and you rolled your eyes.

“Then maybe Bucky can get Frosted Flakes and we can leave?” You suggested. Steve chuckled, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss on your head while Bucky took your advice and got Frosted Flakes.

“I’m gonna eat them off of you” He muttered in your ear and you bit your lip, flushing dark. You let them lead you around the store, checking off items off their list. It was so domestic you felt sick. This was not normal, and you unconsciously kept scratching your soulmark hidden under a wristband. You tried not to look at it if at all possible.

Bucky had stopped in front of the shelves containing condoms and quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Chocolate or strawberry?” He asked with a sinful grin and you wiggled until free of their holds. You had to bear their presence at home anyway, anymore and you’ll be smothered.

“We’ve forgotten the cheese dips. I’ll go get some while you finish here.” You said and turned away before they could say anything. You heard them chuckling softly behind you and willed your tears of frustration away.

Your life had changed drastically in the past few months since the night Steve and Bucky marked you as theirs. Try as you might, you couldn’t escape them, not when they are two of the most powerful and influential people in the world. You lived with them in their apartment at the compound now, and to say life was hell would be an understatement. Steve and Bucky have separate rooms but most nights you’re sandwiched between them in one bed since neither wants to spend a night away. You’d had more sex in these few months than people probably did in years.

You veered left into the sauces and spreads aisle, absentmindedly looking at the display. It wouldn’t matter what flavor you got, it would end up spread all over you and licked by your two lovers. You randomly took a jar off the shelf and were about to go back when you bumped into someone standing behind you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You apologized to the man behind you. His hand took hold of your elbow for a second to steady you before he stepped away and shook his head.

“It’s alright miss, not a problem.” He said with a small smile. You got a look at his face and your heart skipped a beat. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair, his genuine smile framed by a well-groomed beard. You saw his eyes dart to the jar in your hand and his lips twitched in amusement.

“I’d advise against this” He said pointing to the jar and you looked down at your hands in confusion. “While one may handle blue cheese, you don’t want to try its dip.”

You winced once you realized what you had picked and the man behind you laughed a little as he saw you put it back.

“What will you suggest?” You asked him. This was probably the only normal interaction you had had in a long time outside of work. It did help that this man was what some would call daddy.

“Oh, I am not a good cook. I just stick to the basics you know, less chances of messing up a dish.” He answered and handed you a classic cheese dip. You took it from him with a smile and thanked him. You lingered a moment, for some reason wanting to stay. It seemed like he had the same idea for even though he had picked his own jar, he didn’t leave.

“You, uh – you should get nachos to go with this. They have them on sale.” You said and internally cringed.

“Oh, alright then. Will you show me the way?” He asked and you nodded, leading him around as he followed with his cart.

“You new in the area?” You asked him since all locals knew the store layout pretty well.

“Ah yes, just moved here from Newton, Massachusetts. My name is Andy Barber” The man said and offered you a hand. Your smile vanished even as you mechanically accepted his hand and shook it. Andy Barber. AB. Like the initials on your wrist. Your hand squeezed around your wristband, your heart beating a mile an hour.

“Hey, you okay?” Andy asked and you realized he’d been speaking to you.

“Ah yes, yes I’m okay. Just lost in thought. Here we are, nachos.” You said and uselessly pointed at the display. You told yourself you were being silly, a lot of people with same initials existed. He may not even have a soulmark. Yet as you looked at him selecting his flavors, you couldn’t help but feel lighter than you had in months. You felt belonged, stupid as that may sound.

“So, you live around here?” You wished Andy would stop talking. The more he spoke, the more you wanted to stay and talk the rest of your life away with him.

“Yes, I am a doctor at the Avenger Tower.” You managed to say and saw his eyebrows raise appreciatively.

“Damn, that’s so cool” He said, and you couldn’t help but grin. “I am a lawyer, starting as a professor in NYU from next term.”

“Damn, that’s so cool” you mimicked him and you both breathed out a laugh. You didn’t realize it as you spoke to him that you were walking aimlessly with him around the store, telling him about the sites he absolutely must visit in New York and the best places to get coffee and hotdogs from. You had circled back to the spreads section and stood awkwardly facing each other.

“Uh, it may seem a little forward, but will you show me around the city?” Andy asked, fiddling with the cuffs on his shirt. You wanted him to take it off and see if your initials were tattooed in his skin like his were in yours. You were about to open your mouth when a hand wrapped around your waist from behind.

“There you are sweetie, you had us worried.” Steve’s words felt like a splash of cold water. For a few glorious moments you had forgotten your predicament, lost as you were in conversation with Andy. Your eyes met Andy’s and you saw him frown, his gaze narrowing on Steve’s arm around you and noticing how you tried to get out of it.

“I – uh, couldn’t decide so settled with the classic.” You showed Steve the cheese dip, but his eyes were fixed on Andy whose face was clouded with suspicion.

“Steve Rogers” He offered his hand to Andy, a useless introduction since most people recognized him with ease. You thought Andy would almost decline the handshake but, in the end, politely shook it.

“Pleased to meet you. Thank you for your service to the nation and the world.” His words were polite and yet there was a mistrustful edge to it. You hoped that he wouldn’t say anything and just walk away. You knew how Steve and Bucky could get about other men in your life, and right now you wanted Andy far away from here.

“Don’t mention it” Steve said preening and you took off his hand from your waist and laced your fingers together, trying to pull him away.

“We gotta go, lots to do back home. Thanks for the suggestion mister” You unnecessarily pointed at the jar again and tried to move back but Steve stood still. You were careful not to mention Andy’s name in front of him and you prayed with everything in you that this interaction would be over soon enough.

“Steve, you find her yet?” You closed your eyes in defeat and shame as Bucky walked from the other side and joined your little party. He closed in on you, hands cupping your face and drawing you in a deep kiss. You kept your eyes downcast, not looking at Andy and hoping the Earth will swallow you whole.

“Yeah, she’s was just having some trouble selecting the flavor until this gentleman here helped her.” Steve said and Bucky turned to look at Andy who was frowning harder than ever now. Andy’s eyes were searching yours, but you couldn’t let yourself meet his. Your shame and fear were profound and all you wanted was to leave.

Bucky’s eyes moved from Andy to Steve to you and he straightened, his arm curling around your shoulder, hand resting near your left collarbone just inches away from the scarred initials of him and Steve.

“Thank you, our girl here can be a little iffy when it comes to food” Bucky remarked affectionately but his emphasis on ‘our’ was not lost on either of you.

“Not a problem.” Andy finally nodded and took hold of his cart, ready to wheel it away. You almost sighed in relief, but your heart broke a little when he started retreating. Your eyes met for a brief moment and it seemed as if he would stop but then you looked away and he continued moving.

“What are we going to do with you Y/n?” Bucky muttered once Andy was out of sight. They didn’t care they were in a public place, both of them standing almost on top of you.

“I don’t know what you mean” You whispered and felt Bucky’s metal hand tighten over your arm. You hissed and tried to pull away but found your chin being raised up to face him with rough hands.

“Do you want another lesson on how to behave around strange men?” Bucky asked and your eyes widened, head shaking in negation.

“No, no Buck. Please, nothing happened. We were just talking” You begged, trying to convince him. You watched in horror as one of his hand outright cupped your left boob, fingers splayed so they pressed into the scars over your heart.

“You sure? I can show the whole store who you belong to my love.”

You were ready to start bawling when Bucky started fiddling with the neckline of your top, but it was Steve who saved the day. He gently pried Bucky’s hands from you and tucked you under his arm, pushing your head in his chest with a hand while the other kept Bucky away.

“Not here Buck, look at her. Honestly!” Steve started a swift walk towards the exit with you at his side and you couldn’t help but look back. It was one of those situations where you found the precious thing lost within a sea of garbage when you spotted Andy, his eyes not on you but your arm. You followed his gaze and suppressed a sob as you saw your wristband had shifted after your struggle with Bucky, bringing into view the initials that made your soulmark.

ASB: Andrew S Barber

You didn’t know his middle name but you couldn’t be any more sure of who your soulmate was when Andy’s eyes darted to his own covered wrist the moment Bucky shouted, “Steven Rogers and Y/n Y/l/n you both come back here this very second!”

Bucky was getting your stuff checked out, standing at the cashiers with his grumpy dad face on. Steve ignored him and continued dragging you away towards the exit. Your eyes watered and you tried to stem their flow so you could have one last glance at Andy without tears blurring your vision. You both stared at each other and just before you walked out the doors, even from the distance you saw Andy mouth a promise:

I will come for you

+++++

Fate was a cruel bastard, and you cursed your destiny as you lay curled in Steve’s lap after dinner. No one spoke much once you got home but you knew it was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan. You were wearing a short nightie, Bucky’s favorite and Steve’s hands were absently massaging you as he read through a new mission briefing.

“Wanda was asking about you again” Steve said, and you blinked at him. Just another thing you loved that they had snatched away from you. Wanda was obviously very suspicious when you announced you’ll be shifting from your apartment to Steve and Bucky’s since she knew you wanted to wait for your soulmate to show up. You would have confided in her had you not been aware of the damage your lovers could cause if displeased. Bucky had strictly ordered you to keep away from her until you were in control of your thoughts, which he was afraid Wanda would read. You had looked to help from Steve, who was softer out of the two, but he agreed with Bucky, “Better she not know anything than us having to eliminate her if she did.” They talked of death and violence with such ease it made your skin crawl.

“Can I see her now? I don’t think my texts are keeping her satisfied.” If only you could get a few hours away from their stifling presence maybe it would be more tolerable. The both of them clung to you like a babe to his mum, and your only respite were the hours you spent working.

“Do you think you’re ready to see her now?” Steve questioned you, finally looking up from his mission briefing. Before you could answer Bucky came behind you and plucked you from Steve’s arms like you weighed nothing and perched you in his own lap. Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“The better question would be if you think you deserve to see her.” Bucky commented, his hand fondling your behind under the silk nightie. You shifted under his touch and gaze, uncomfortable under the stern look.

“I’m minding my thoughts, I promise.” You whined and Bucky’s hand cracked against your ass suddenly. You squealed and he held you down with one hand, the second blow even harder than the first.

“You and I both know that’s not what I meant. I don’t like it when you act dumb.” Bucky snarled and you flinched as he raised his hand again. To your surprise, the slap barely had any force behind it and Bucky rubbed your ass softly as if in apology. You turned your face to peek at him and saw him and Steve locked in one of those silent eye contact conversations that you absolutely loathed. Steve was almost glaring at Bucky as if displeased and Bucky had enough grace to look a little ashamed.

“I wasn’t!” Bucky cried out suddenly, throwing his hands in the air and huffing. It was as if they were continuing a conversation that went from telepathy to verbal and your mouth parted in awe when Steve continued speaking too.

“You would have if I didn’t stop you.”

Your gaze moved from one man to another, confused beyond measure. In a flash Bucky was gathering you in his arms, holding you to himself like he was afraid papa Steve would take away his favorite toy.

“I know my limits Steve. She’s mine as much as yours. Stop it.”

You were sure if you tilted your head up you would see Bucky pouting but instead you observed Steve who was in classic captain pose with hands on his hips and disapproval on his face.

“Do you really? Because it sure seemed like you were about to strip her naked in a supermarket of all places.”

“I wouldn’t! I was teasing her.” Bucky said, his head buried in your neck. He took your hand and placed it on his head and you slowly scratched with your nails, making him purr in satisfaction. Steve didn’t look the least bit convinced and his eyes kept bouncing between you and Bucky. Finally, he heaved a deep sigh before getting up.

“She is sleeping in my room tonight.” Your head snapped up just as Bucky’s hold tightened around you in rejection of the idea.

“No, you can’t take her from me.” Bucky snapped and you resisted the urge to slap them both. It bothered you how they went on talking about you like you weren’t even present here.

“I’m not taking her away from you, pal. Just like she learns her lessons when she fucks up, so will you.”

Bucky didn’t look like he would want a lesson, but it didn’t seem like the first time they were having this talk because he said nothing more. He almost didn’t let you leave when Steve took your arm to take you away but finally relented.

“When can I have her back?” Yep, he was definitely pouting.

“When you learn that teasing is pinching her ass in public, not stripping her bare in front of strangers.”

+++++

It had been a while since there were two people in bed and not three. You stretched your feet out, glad to have some extra space. Even cuddled up in Steve’s massive arms, your thoughts returned to Andy. You had finally found him after years of searching, only to lose him on the same day. It was a cosmic joke to have you cross paths now when it was too late to do anything. Your hand unconsciously traced the letters on your wrist, a slight thrill running down your spine as you finally realized what and who these initials stood for.

It wasn’t just a legend anymore. They were right when they said that soulmates completed you. In those precious few moments you had spent with Andy, all your worries had fallen away. You both had built a bubble around yourself where the outer world was nothing but a distant blur and you saw only each other. Conversation didn’t sound strained and you felt so connected despite having just met. You wished you knew he existed a few months ago. How different would life have been then if you were laying in his arms and not Steve and Bucky’s?

You bit your lip when you felt Steve take your hand in his from behind you, his fingers too tracing the initials on your wrist. You stiffened and held yourself back from snatching your hand away. It was never a very good idea to resist when it came to them both.

“Bucky doesn’t know yet” Steve murmured in your ear as he tapped your wrist. You felt your heart drop in your stomach, your fingers curling in your palm. “He thinks it was just some man you were speaking to. His jealousy makes him sloppy and he doesn’t notice details.”

You were turned around to face him, your eyes locking on Steve’s which were a vibrant blue even in the dark. His hands played at the hem of your nightie, teasing it.

“I noticed of course. How could I not, I have never seen you smile the way you smiled at him” You didn’t seem capable of speaking or protesting when Steve’s hands slipped up your clothing and caressed your thighs and belly. His hands were moving but his eyes were fixed on you and try as you might you couldn’t look away. Slowly, gently like one does to precious cargo you were stripped, your body baring itself inch by delicious inch. The calluses on his fingers rubbed against your nipples and you let out a moan, your slick coating your walls and thighs. Your lips met his in a desperate kiss and you couldn’t help but make pathetic mewls as his tongue raced across your throat. He came to rest above your heart, tracing the scar over it. JBB and SGR

“How are these any different to those on your wrist?” He questioned as he entered you slowly, looking deep into your eyes like trying to search your soul. “If we carve your name on our body, would that make you look at us like you looked at him?”

You couldn’t answer if you wanted to, the heat of Steve warming your insides. You met in a familiar dance, bodies slapping, and moaning together until pleasure took over every cell in your body. Steve pulled out and released on your thighs, rubbing his essence in your skin, his breath warm on your cheek.

“I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if I find you talking to that man again” It was not a question and you shook your head, tears travelling down the sides of your face and getting lost in your hair. “Good girl. We can forget it and Bucky will never know. Because if that happens, even I won’t be able to help you.”

You reminded yourself that Steve was just as much of a monster as Bucky was. He had taken you against your will too, and while he may as well be the lesser of the two evils, you could not trust him. You turned to your side, automatically curling into Steve out of habit when he held you. That is what this relationship felt like. A habit. It was a routine you were stuck in with no way out. You closed your eyes, seeking the escape of sleep and tried to sooth your broken heart over a love it may never find again.

+++++

Bucky was a terrible stalker and you wondered how he remained a ‘ghost story’ for all those decades. Steve had been hoarding you in his room for nearly a week and you knew Bucky was at his wit’s end. He wasn’t even pretending to hide anymore; he’d just stand across the med bay and ogle you like a roadway creep. You didn’t even know what to do, who should you listen to. Being caught in the crossfire between them is not fun.

You finally had enough and made your way over to him. You were a few feet away when he snatched you in his arms, crushing you to his frame and kissing you soundly. Pulling away, he put his forehead on yours and bit your lip.

“I’ve missed you baby.” He cooed and you sighed.

“Is that why you’re lurking here and scaring my nursing staff away?” Bucky nodded, pecking your lips once more before you moved away.

“I’m sorry about the other day you know. I just…lost control.” It was rare that he would apologize, and you were too smart to reject this small consolation. He will probably be kind and soft for the coming few days and you took what you can. You smiled at him, promising him you forgave him.

“I have just one public hour and then we can go home together. Sounds good?” You asked and Bucky’s smile was almost shy when he agreed. Sometimes you believed it when they say they loved you, but how can someone hurt whom they love?

“You asked me once what I see in you, but have you ever looked at yourself the way I look at you? Here you are, one of the most accomplished doctors working for the Avengers, and yet you give your time to general public to treat their common cold and flu. That’s what I see in you. Your kindness, that light, it guides me away from the darkness in me.” Bucky confessed and you looked away from him. He could be so sweet when he has to be. Both him and Steve. You wonder again if they could always be like that, will you be able to love them.

“I – uh, I’ll see you in an hour, okay? Wait in the common room for me.”

You watched Bucky go and returned with a perturbed mind. The hot and cold behavior almost gives you a whiplash. In the past few months, you have spent several nights crying, but just as many moaning in pleasure. Maybe it could have been easier if you’d given in and just accepted them, but love does not come by force. They can carve their names in your skin a hundred times over, and yet it won’t leave a mark on your soul.

Your assistant entered, informing you that general patients were waiting for you and you nodded. Tony gave you an hour free every day to treat patients outside the tower for free. You believed being a doctor your job should be more than saving just superheroes. One by one your patients trickled in, most with common diseases. Some you prescribed for additional testing; all costs covered by the Stark Industries.

“Your last patient ma’am”

You nodded to let your assistant know you heard her and entered the room. You were looking over a report as you entered, the door shutting itself behind you automatically.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” You looked up and the report fell out of your hand. Sitting in front of you was Andy Barber, his eyes crinkled at the sides due to the wide smile he supported.

“I believe I have a heart problem doctor. A beautiful lady stole mine.”

+++++

 Taglist is open for all characters

[chenziee]

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

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A Divine ball of fluff

[Read on AO3 | Request info | Ko-fi]

Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp—  “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”  

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you.      Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

 ~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

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Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

[Request info | Ko-fi]

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Missed Opportunities | Helmut Zemo x Reader | Chapter 3

Welcome to Part 3! You've made it this far? I'm impressed. Thank you for sticking around. This is quite the long chapter so, I hope you enjoy the juicy action all around.

And this one was quite the doozy to write. It's 3AM now? Hah, I've spent the entire day writing two chapters. But definitely don't expect more at quite this frequency. But I appreciate you all none the less.

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Tag Requests: @lostghostgirl94 @neoarchipelago @fillechatoyante @fanfics-ig

Did I miss someone? For future tag requests: Please send me a direct message if possible, it's easy to lose people in the mix and I don't want to miss anyone!

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For previous chapters go here: Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 5.358

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It had been precisely three hours, forty-two minutes since two Avengers and a criminal mastermind had left the safe house you were staying in.

You were currently staring up at the ceiling with mild boredom waiting for the next round of texts to come in. An alert notification rang through the near empty residence, the noise echoed off the walls of the living room intensifying the reverberation of sound.

Rolling over, you flopped onto you stomach from your position on the couch, stretching your arm out to grab the phone off the coffee table.

Carefully, you read the incoming message. 'No recent signs of Karli, but following up on a handprint Bucky found a couple miles from our initial start position. Zemo has a theory it might lead to a section of tunnel that veers off towards the harbor. Will update again in another hour. - S'

Great.

So they'll easily be gone at least another couple hours, leaving you to your own devices. That's dangerous. There's no telling what kind of trouble you could get into without something to do. Your mind was always processing, constantly formulating new plans and calculating risk probabilities. It's why you were so fidgety and animated. You didn't inherently have ADHD, but your brain was so active the symptoms manifested as such. You had a genius level intelligence, you just chose to down-play it most of the time. You craved activities to keep your mind from going into overdrive; it's why you spend most of your mornings running. To drain your body of excess energy and let your brain rest.

You groaned in irritation, tossing the phone back onto the coffee table. Sam could have at least given you a pin point location so you could do some research on the area where the handprint was found.

Maybe you could read for a bit.

You got up and headed to your room at the back of the apartment. Zemo gave you the last room at the end of the hallway, it also happened to be the only room that had a half bath attached to it. Which in retrospect, was quite thoughtful of him.

As you reached your room, a chilly draft fell across your body, causing goosebumps to raise on your fair skin. You noticed you left a window open in the room and moved to close it. Often times, late at night you sat at the window sill and read to pass the time when you couldn't sleep. Sometimes, you'd crack the window open and simply listen to the sounds of the outside; they were just as soothing. There was no denying it was quite lovely where you were staying. Helmut Zemo had impeccable taste.

You grabbed your book and crossed the room, rubbing your arm to help circulate some heat back into your body, but before you got to the door, a patch of blue caught your eye. Zemo's hoodie. It had been left draped haphazardly over the back of one of the chairs in your room. A constant reminder you needed to give it back to the Baron, but you weren't ready to just yet, and funnily enough, he hadn't asked for it.

Shifting from foot to foot, you debated what to do. It was comfortable. Wearing it one last time couldn't hurt, right? There wasn't anyone here to cajole you about it anyways and you could just take it off before the guys got back. Perfectly reasonable. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you snagged the garment off the chair and pulled it on as you walked back out to the main living room, book in hand.

As you rounded the corner and made your way through the kitchen back to the couch, you heard a loud metallic bang against the entry-way door accompanied with the tell tale signs of door knobs turning. Caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, you had leapt off the ground, clutching the book to your chest.

You stared at the door in fear knowing it was way too soon for anyone to have returned yet. And they wouldn't have caused the disruption in the attempts to break in. Pushing down your apprehension, your senses started to return to you, and you realized you need to get to your phone. Now.

Your eyes moved across the apartment and landed on the coffee table a short distance away from you. Bingo. You took a step forward towards the table when the front doors suddenly swung open and a whirl of red, white and blue flew past your face. The projectile, nearly hitting you, caused you to stumble, knocking you backwards onto the floor. You landed clumsily, but thankfully caught yourself before your head smacked against the ground.

You didn't need to look up to know exactly what object flew at your head. The sound alone was unmistakable.

"Apologies for the erratic entrance, I only meant to use it to help open the door - I hadn't planned on Lemar here unlocking the them so easily. When the doors fell open, it kind of just flew right out of my hand."

Annoyance had now replaced your fear.

John Walker.

You had many opinions of the man based off what Sam and Bucky had told you, but you hadn't had the pleasure of actually meeting him. Until now.

This did not help sway your opinion of him in the very least. If anything, it only solidified that the government had made a rash decision. You don't just had over the shield to anyone.

You glared up at the intruders from your position on the floor. This was completely unexpected. How did he even manage to locate this safe house? Something nagged at the back of your mind that Captain Walker might have had help from people with a questionable background. You shoved the thought aside for the time being.

Lemar had gone around to the back of the couch and pulled the shield out of the wall embedded in between the two stained windows. Walker, who stood next to you, was offering his hand to help you up.

You didn't even make an effort to consider his gesture and got up off the floor without his assistance, dusting yourself off in the process.

Walker appeared undeterred by your dismissal of him and instead put on a winning smile and rotated his hand in the attempts of a handshake.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot. John Walker. Captain America," he proudly stated.

"I know who you are Captain Walker, as well as your friend here," you briskly answered, crossing your arms in front of you.

You could see the smile start to drop off his face and his eyes turn a bit darker.

"And I know who you are as well, you're well documented along with the Avengers, but I was trying to be polite," Walker grounded out with forced effort.

You didn't want to start an argument with the newly anointed Captain America, but there was something off about him that just irritated you.

"Polite?" you sarcastically question. "How is barging into someone's residence, polite? Please, do explain," you shifted your weight onto one side, giving him an expectant look.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. In case you've forgotten, I'm Captain America," he took a step towards you, his body language highly suggesting an intimidation tactic.

You held your tongue and took a step back to place more distance between yourself and Walker. You spared a glance at his partner to gauge his reaction, but his expression was guarded, although he was watching with rapt attention.

"What do you want, Walker?" you bit out. You attempted to keep some of the contempt out of your voice, but he had quickly turned your mood sour this afternoon.

"Where's Zemo?" Walker cut straight to the chase this time.

"Not here, obviously," you held your arms out, gesturing around.

"I want to know where Zemo is. He's coming with us," the captain took another step towards you, this time with a more forceful intention.

You furrowed your brow and took another step back. His posturing was starting to make you slightly nervous.

"Even if I did know where he was, I'm not saying either way. Zemo has been surprisingly helpful to us, and we need him to locate Karli along with the rest of the Flag-Smashers, including the missing vials of serum. And he's more likely to continue working with us, than provide you with any information at all. That I can say with absolute certainty," your words sounded confident, but inside you were trembling.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say to Captain America.

His entire demeanor changed. Once where there was some warmth and light-heartedness, there was only a cold emptiness left in his gaze. He reached back to grab the shield from Lemar, and then without any warning shoved you back against the wall to your left.

You heard the distinct sound of your right shoulder pop as is slammed into the wall along with the rest of your body. The rapid movement from Walker and impact from the shield knocked the wind right out of you. The pressure from the amount of force he was exerting pinned you to the wall and caused the shield to be painfully pressed into your side, separating you from Walker. You could feel the rim of the shield digging slightly into your neck, but not enough to cause any real damage.

"John!" you heard Hoskins shout with alarm from behind Walker.

You swallowed thickly; very real fear had settled into your bones. You were capable of defending yourself, but hadn't actually needed to put those skills into any use. Bucky and Sam had taught you some moves and hold to get out of, but it never crossed any of your minds once you'd have to fight Captain America. You tried to shift your head to the side to see how far away your phone was. What possible options you had. Maybe you could appeal to his partner and deescalate the situation before things got too ugly.

"I'm only going to ask this one last time. Where is Zemo?" Walker spit out, putting force against the shield, which in turn, caused you to grimace in pain.

"Hoskins, you really going to allow Captain America to torture an innocent citizen trying to help in a cause we're all aligned in?" you gasped out, trying to swallow as much air as possible through the pain wracking your body.

You refused to let it show. Holding back as much of the discomfort you were in. You didn't want to give Walker the satisfaction.

"John, ease up. She's not a terrorist, and frankly, I agree with her," Hoskins voiced, his footsteps bringing him closer to Walker with the hopes of gaining his attention no doubt.

The pressure from the shield against your form was lifted slightly, though the shield was still closer to your body than you'd like to admit. You closed your eyes to focus on regaining some stability and figure out your next course of action to get yourself out of this mess.

"Stay out of this Lemar," John replied, but his menacing stature had lessened minutely.

You opened your eyes to stare at Walker. He had removed the shield between the two of you and placed it on his back; however he stepped into your personal space instead and placed a hand against your collarbone, essentially rendering you immobile again.

Well, at least now you could breathe.

Walker peered down at you with distain, "You're really not going to give him up are you?"

You clenched your jaw and lifted your chin defiantly at him.

"No," you answered.

The wheels were turning inside Walker's head. You could literally see the fire burning in his eyes, realizing he wasn't going to get an answer out of you. Not willingly.

He dipped his head and released his hold on you, pointing a finger right at your face, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

You saw Lemar walk up and pat Walker's shoulder, "Alright, let's get out of here."

Walker straightened up and stiffly walked away, leaving Hoskins trailing behind. His ego had taken a blow today.

Hoskins gave an apologetic shrug, "He's under a lot of stress."

Before Lemar could fully clear your line of sight, you quietly spoke up, "He doesn't deserve that shield."

Hoskins didn't have a response to that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In wake of the aftermath, you had tried to clean up as best possible. You assessed your injuries were non life-threatening, though your right shoulder was most definitely dislocated. The arm was kept close against your body hoping to not jostle it too much. You felt spikes of pain as you cleaned the area where Walker had thrown the shield into the wall, but ignored it so you could get the place back in shape before Sam, Bucky and Zemo returned.

Sam had messaged not too long ago, they were roughly 20 minutes out from the apartment.

Your ribs were throbbing from where the shield had been buried into your side, but you didn't think they had been broken, only bruised. You were going to have to ask one of them pop your shoulder back into place.

You were dreading the conversation, but were determined to remain as calm as possible to help alleviate the immediate reaction they were going to have once you revealed what happened.

The events of the day had finally caught up with you and coupled with the cleaning efforts, your body was signaling it's exhaustion. You were in the kitchen, and honestly didn't think you could make the short trip to one of the sofas; so you carefully sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen and waited patiently.

Sure enough, 20 minutes later, the doors to the apartment opened and the guys swiftly came in to greet you.

"Did you even leave the kitchen?" James inquired, coasting around the kitchen to grab a drink.

You smiled tightly and responded in kind, "For a short while, yes. Did you guys find anything worth while?" You quickly wanted to change the subject but knowing you were only delaying the inevitable.

"Yeah, we think we've discovered a possible building Karli is using to hideout in. We had planned on eating something quickly and then leave again to check it out tonight," Sam explained.

As Sam was talking, Bucky had accidently bumped into you, causing you to wince and pull your arm tighter to you. Luckily, he didn't see your face, but Sam did.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam questioned, voice filling with concern.

You blew out a breath bracing yourself for what you were about to say.

"What happened to my wall?" Zemo piped up, giving you a curious glance, he had moved to run his hand along the diagonal cut, inches deep, in the space between the ceiling to floor windows.

Bucky left his glass and walked over to get a better look, as did Sam. Both of them would know precisely what caused a mark like that to become etched into a wall.

Sam and Bucky snapped their heads back to you as soon as they saw the indention, but it was Zemo who spoke first.

"John Walker was here," he stated, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over the back of the couch he was nearby.

"It was an, eventful afternoon here," you tried to put some overly cheerful, comedic tones into your voice, but failed pretty miserably.

"What happened?" Sam immediately asked.

The trio had made their way back to the kitchen to get answers from you.

Zemo came to stand nearby, eyes roaming your body, searching. With his expertise, there was no question that he would quickly figure out you were injured; so you tried to tell your story as concisely as possible.

"Um, so - Walker and Lemar showed up. He asked for Zemo. I told him he wasn't here aaaaand they left. The end," you hurriedly spoke, wanting to get this over with and not draw any more attention to yourself.

But you could see in Helmut's eyes, he knew there was more to your story. His carefully crafted mask was starting to crack as you saw his gaze drift down to you cradling your arm underneath the island away from Bucky and Sam's eyeline.

"You're hurt," Zemo said. His face showed open concern as he walked the remaining distance to you.

With more tenderness than you thought possible coming from him, he slowly and carefully moved your right arm away from your body. He kept his eyes trained on you for any discomfort or signs of pain.

Once your arm had left your lap though, you reached over with your left hand to grip one of his wrists to prevent him from moving your arm any further.

"Don't, please," you pleaded, gritting your teeth and swallowing down the pain threatening to erupt from you. You were panting now, and more clear than ever something had happened to you while they were gone.

Helmut released your arm without hesitation, but did not leave your side. You saw him exchange tense looks between James and Sam. Normally, Bucky would have been focused on keeping Zemo away from you, but with the current circumstances, he was no longer a priority.

"What actually happened?" Bucky softly called out, he and Sam had gotten closer to take a better look at you. Sam brought a chair out to sit next to you and give you a once over, while you explained.

The expressions on their faces were grim as they anxiously awaited your reply.

"It wasn't - it's not quite as bad as it seems," you started, stuttering out the words as Sam brought his hands up to check your head for any injuries first.

"He just barged right in and was insistent on finding Zemo. He was acting so arrogant and pompous, I just refused to give him any information on his whereabouts," you continued on. "He didn't like the fact I wasn't willing to cooperate with "Captain America" and he got a little.....rough with me."

Sam paused his surveying to meet your gaze. You could see the guilt beginning to creep into his eyes. He turned his head to look up at Bucky, who was angrily flexing his vibranium arm in displeasure. Probably only affirming his notion that Sam should have never given up the shield in the first place.

"What did he do?" Bucky's tone brook no argument. He wanted to know the truth.

You scrunched your face in unpleasantness when Sam checked your lower neck and collarbone, he had found the place on your body where the shield and his hand had met you.

"Is this from - ?" Sam couldn't finish his sentence and he looked away in anger. You could tell he just wanted to get up and throw something, and that was commonly uncharacteristic for him.

Zemo had shifted his position to take a peek at what Sam was doing while he checked you out. You saw how his eyes had darkened with quiet rage taking stock of everything. There was an outline of a thin scrap mark against the underside of your neck and jaw, but it was a clear demarcation that would only be caused from the shield itself.

You nodded sadly and focused on answering Bucky's question as you gave Sam the okay to keep going.

"Walker, didn't get what he wanted, so he did the only other thing he knows how to do," you cleared your throat and rubbed your hand against your forehead.

"Use brute force," Zemo darkly said.

"He used the shield to push me up against the wall over there," you pointed over as you continued re-telling what happened. "I was knocked into the wall pretty hard, but Walker lost all focus and nearly suffocated me from the force of the shield against my body. I think he -" you yelped like a wounded animal, not able to finish your story when Sam touched your shoulder.

Bucky's eyes had widen and became deeply concerned over your pained scream.

Your muscled were clenched tight as you tried to ride out the pain, face starting to turn red.

Zemo had placed a light hand on your back, leaning down to comfort you and remind you to breath.

You fumbled with your good arm as you tried taking in deep breaths and motioned to Sam what was wrong with your arm.

Even with your poor mime animation of pretending to have your arm pulled from your socket, James picked up on what you were getting at. He tapped Sam to switch places with him. Your eyes were watering at this point and you blinked back the tears wanting to fall.

"Alright doll, on the count of three, I'm going to raise your arm and put pressure on your shoulder, okay?" Bucky solemnly said.

Sam gave you a smile of assurance while Zemo ended up taking your good hand, letting you know you could use him to brace yourself. He and James shared a silent conversation before nodding at one another. If Sam had a problem with Zemo providing you comfort, he didn't show it. You figured he was letting some of his dormant humanity rise to surface in this moment.

You shook slightly trying to prepare yourself for the next round of pain once your shoulder was fixed, but James didn't give you any time.

"Three," he commanded, snapping your shoulder back into its socket before you had a chance to even reaction.

You let out another cry of pain, holding onto Zemo's hand tightly, but somehow, the fear of the oncoming pain dissipated as you let go of his hand and rubbed your shoulder with minimal soreness.

You cleared your throat and looked at everyone after a few moments of rest. Surprised at how efficiently James had handled your shoulder, but then again, he was the perfect person to do the job.

You scrunched up your nose at James, "What happened to one and two?"

He huffed out a laugh, "It worked didn't it?"

"Thank you. All of you," you gave a lazy smile through the tiredness that filled you up. "I think I'll be okay now - that was the worst of it. Promise. Walker didn't do any further harm to me. I managed to convince Lemar to get Walker to back down," you glossed over the section where Walker threatened you, but you could bring that up later.

None of them were satisfied with your response, but you're guessing they let it slide given the circumstances.

Zemo reached into the freezer to grab an ice pack. He handed it to you to place on your shoulder helping with your recovery. You accepted it from him extremely grateful. You mused your opinion of him was constantly evolving the more time you actually spent with him.

Sam had asked if you were sure there weren't any other areas you wanted to have checked over for injuries.

You assured him, you were alright, just tired and very sore.

Bucky had swiftly gotten up from his chair and made it known he wanted to go after Walker this evening. You knew he wasn't going to let this incident go any time soon. Sam had also been in agreement after fully understanding what transpired, but Zemo was eerily silent.

"You guys should follow your original plan. Don't let Walker distract you. I'm alive and I am going to be okay. Go follow your lead on Karli," you interjected, trying to be the reasonable one. There was no need for them to go off halfcocked while they were still very upset. You were too, if you were being honest with yourself, but your focus was on your friends first and foremost.

"Well, we're not leaving you here alone. I can stay behind and let Zemo and Sam check things out," James said.

"Actually, it makes the most sense if I stay behind," Zemo chimed in.

"Why is that?" Sam countered warily.

"The particular location you are going to, I have....a history there. It would be wise for me to not be seen in that part of town as to not raise any alarm bells," he reasoned with them.

"And why should we trust you with her?" Bucky asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Because I have no motive to do any harm to her nor shall I allow any further injury come to her. On this James, I give you my word," Helmut replied, the seriousness of his tone was not lost on anyone in the room.

"Okay," Sam relented, moving about the kitchen to pack some food for their evening night out.

"Just like that, huh?" James said with disbelief.

"Yeah, just like that," Sam parroted back.

Bucky wasn't happy about the situation, but there was an urgency to find Karli, so he caved.

James leaned over on the counter to make sure you were 100% okay being left along with Zemo, reminding you at any time you can call and they'd rush back instantly for whatever reason.

You stood up slowly, balancing the ice pack on your shoulder and shuffled over a few steps towards him, "Thank you. Now, go."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You waved to to your friends a second round of goodbyes for the day. You sagged against the counter, temporarily forgetting about Zemo for the moment. You really needed to lie down.

As if he read your thoughts, you suddenly felt his presence as an arm wrapped around your waist, resting firmly against your hip.

"Here, let me help you get someplace more comfortable than this," Zemo asserted, taking his free hand and dropping the ice pack from your shoulder onto the counter. He then grabbed your left hand, raising your arm and wrapped it around his neck to help support you. So now most of your weight is on your left side, allowing your right to have most of the pressure released from your injuries.

You were so close to him you could smell his expensive cologne and aftershave. It was intoxicating and caused your head to swim a little. You stumbled slightly, but Zemo kept you steady as you both made your way to your room.

In your exhausted state, you managed to sneak in a few glances to Zemo, who was concentrating on the task at hand, not wanting to cause any jarring movements. He deserved more credit than you had been giving him; he truly did seem to care in his own warped way.

Once you had gotten to your room, he guided you to the bed to lie down. Not once had you complained. A true testament of just how tired you were. You couldn't even muster a snarky reply at his disheveled state of being, from practically dragging you down the hallway.

You snuggled into the hoodie you were wearing and tried to lie in a position that wouldn't cause too much discomfort for your shoulder and ribs.

Zemo had stepped into the closet and when he returned he came back with a couple extra pillows. He propped them against your injured side to prevent you from rolling over during the night.

If nothing else, Zemo was incredibly thorough when he focused on something. And right now, that focus was you. It was unnerving, but also thrilling at the same time. Maybe you did have a head injury, because all you could do was smirk at how utterly adorable he was tending to you. It made you curious as to whether this was what Zemo was like before. For the first time, you really wanted to know more about him.

You saw how he was confident in everything he does, and this situation was no different apparently. He had been muttering to himself as he adjusted bedding and made sure there was nothing in the room that you could trip over if you had to get up. He was taking in all the possibilities, like you did.

He had been actively avoiding looking at you though since Bucky and Sam left. You weren't entirely sure why, as he's had zero problems watching you over the past several days. You have a feeling it's because you're one of a few people who have seen beneath the surface of Helmut Zemo, and he's reacting the only way he knows how to at this moment.

Distraction.

You were too sleepy to ponder this any further and turned your head to the side to see what Zemo was fiddling with now.

He had finished up the last of his tasks and looked around the room satisfied with his work. Only then did he turn to look at you.

If it had been anyone else, you would swear that Zemo almost seemed nervous. He was, at many times in your experience, hard to read; so all of these new expressions are a different side for you to see.

Zemo tentatively sat on the edge of the bed next to you.

"Do you need anything?" he genuinely inquired.

You shook your head, indicating you didn't.

All of a sudden he laughed. It ended nearly as quickly as it had began. You raised an eyebrow him in reply, but he simply tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie you were still wearing.

Too tired to be embarrassed about it, you simply mumbled, "Shut up. I still plan on giving it back, although, given it's track record, you should quite possibly get rid of it. After what happened today, I think it might be bad luck."

You saw Zemo dip his head and chuckle at your reply. He look much more carefree when he laughed. You'd have to add him to your daily list. Make Zemo laugh.

His expression sobered rather quickly though and became pensive after that, staring out the window briefly before resting his gaze back on you.

"You keep it. It looks better on you."

Not knowing what to say, caught up in the storm in his eyes, you give a small smile. You can feel your cheeks turning red under the intensity of his stare.

Zemo stood up, getting ready to leave when you stopped him by latching onto his wrist.

"Wait," you murmured.

The swift action caused him to furrow his brow in confusion.

You weren't sure exactly what you wanted from him, only that you didn't want him to go.

"Stay."

You could tell you startled him with your request. Your eyes grew larger realizing the potential double meaning.

"Just until I fall asleep?" you clarified, a yawn escaped as you covered your mouth.

Zemo visibly relaxed and had you relinquish your hold on his arm so he could pull up a chair to your bed. He turned his head around the room in search of something. He went to the nightstand and picked up your book.

Amusement flitted across the features of his face as he read the cover. Zemo sat down on the chair and propped his feet up on the side of the bed.

You shut your eyes and tried to block out the soreness covering your body. Tomorrow would be worse. The next day always is. You had begun to doze off, when ever so quietly, you heard Zemo's voice fill the room.

He was reading to you. Lulling you into a peaceful sleep and letting you know he was still present. Wanting you to know, in his own way, he was upholding his promise to Bucky and Sam. That you were safe with him. That you could trust him just as you had, when you asked him to stay in the first place.

With those final thoughts, you drifted off, listening to the subdued sound of his voice.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[falling-pages]

Let me be your strength: MoriHaru

I transcribed this at 2 a.m., so it's not edited nor well put-together. But I liked it and thought it was cute, and there is not nearly enough MoriHaru content. Shoutout to @ohshcscenerios for listening to me cry about this AND for making the mood board!!!!

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Summary: When the pressures of life threaten to snap Haruhi like a twig, she learns to fall into the arms of an old friend.

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(AKA me thirsting over Takashi for 4k words)

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Takashi Morinozuka x Haruhi Fujioka

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Talk of terminal illness

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It wasn’t the champagne that made Haruhi lightheaded or twisted her stomach into knots, but she refused her second glass and sent the waiter away with a polite wave. The heat from the throngs of crowded pressed down on her, though the space was large and cool. She wished she could move outside, but the unbearable heat of a summer evening kept her clinging to her cold glass of water and air conditioning.

She dabbed at the sweat lining her brow, threatening to wash out the makeup Renge had so carefully applied. Haruhi rarely wore it, and when she did Renge always did it for her. They usually stuck together at parties, but she had slipped away as soon as they walked inside. For that, Haruhi couldn’t fault her--the ball was to celebrate hers and Tamaki’s engagement, after all.

The foundation was sticky in her pores, thick eyelashes framing her vision. She was too hot, too tired, too shifty. She tried to enjoy the party, but the source of her discomfort roared deep inside.

“Hello, Haruhi.”

She jolted, briefly, at the voice, so locked up in her thoughts she didn’t even notice the man approach her. Her old classmate towered above her, but his presence was welcome.

“Hi, Mori,” she sighed, leaning into the shadow he cast. Her skin cooled, but her heart burned at how close he was. “It’s nice to see you.”

Mori chuckled, eyes aglow with mirth. Or maybe alcohol, she couldn’t really tell. She had spent the last few minutes searching for anyone she knew at the ball, and it had seemed everyone was classily drunk on their wealth and drinks. It only added to her longing to go home, the guilt lodged in the back of the throat.

How could she be at a party when her father was so sick at home?

“Same to you,” her friend replied. His silver eyes raked down her body, taking in her dress, her makeup, her hair. His glance didn’t feel perverted, though, nor unwelcome. More like an artist working his eyes over a classic masterpiece. “You look very beautiful.”

Haruhi blushed magenta. Renge had worked her magic, lining her eyes and brushing pink wax against her lips, transforming the tired law student into a high-society lady for a night.

“Thank you,” she whispered, holding his gaze, despite every nerve telling her to look away. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

Mori inhaled. He blinked, washing his eyes anew, forcing the bourbon out of his system. He needed to see her straight, and he looked. He looked carefully. Dutifully. Rolling something over in his mind. “On you?” he answered. “Never.”

Haruhi sucked her tongue and smiled, letting herself feel beautiful, letting her insecurities dissipate under his gaze. “You know, this is all Renge’s work,” she explained. “The makeup, and we went dress shopping together.”

Mori grunted, envisioning it a precursor to wedding dress shopping Renge would surely drag her to in the upcoming months. He had to admit, the young lady did a great job -- the light green stitching against the pale yellow silk made Haruhi look like a flower in spring.

“We had to lock Tamaki in the house to keep him from coming with us,” Haruhi continued. She joined Mori’s laughter. “He still thinks of me as a doll he can dress up and play with.”

“Would you rather he had gone with you?”

Haruhi considered, squinting her eyes. “I’m not sure if he would have calmed her down or just doubled the madness.”

“Calmed her down, doubled your madness.”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

They shared an easy smile before Mori stepped away, by her side, to scan the crowd. Tamaki and Renge were sitting at a table overflowing with wine and hors d'oeuvres, chatting as he fed her a bit of cheese on a cracker. Both of them, likely drunk out of their minds, fell into laughter as he missed her mouth, snapping the cracker against her cheek.

“They’re good for each other,” Haruhi mused, not bothering to hide her wistfulness. “The king of excessive compliments, and the queen of backhanded ones.”

Mori noticed the lilting quirk in her voice, veering on the slight edge of jealousy. He grunted again, prompting an explanation.

“While we were getting ready, I asked her if it were too much,” Haruhi said. She sipped from her water glass, swallowing delicately. “I didn’t want to outshine the bride-to-be at her own engagement party. And you know what she said? She said, ‘Don’t worry, you don’t outshine me.’” This time Haruhi was the one to grunt, indignation crossing lines on her forehead. “Maybe she didn’t mean it like that. Maybe she meant something nice in French and it just came out bad in Japanese.”

Mori stayed silent as a waiter approached them with a tray of champagne. He reached for a flute, raising his eyebrows in a silent question to her, but she shook her head, and he refused as well.

“It’s strawberry.”

Haruhi perched her lip in question.

“The champagne.” He finished his bourbon, setting the glass down on a nearby stand. “They did that for you. They remembered you like strawberries.”

Haruhi briefly smiled, but took another sip of water. “That’s kind of them.”

Mori noticed the way she gripped her drink, the way she stared at the happy couple with blacked-out pupils. She couldn't be jealous of them individually, he knew. But of them as a couple? As a concept? Of their happy smiles?

He wanted to tell her she could outshine a thousand suns, that the golden shimmer on her cheekbone reminded him of a fairy queen, that in the lightness of her skin she could have trapped the moon. But he didn’t; he raised his fist to his mouth, cleared his throat, and tore his eyes away.

“You’re jealous,” he muttered. “Why?”

Haruhi snapped her gaze back to him. He had always been able to read her like a book, a riddle solved without explanation as the others stood scratching their heads. He looked back down at her, seeing how small she really was beside him. Confusion stirred in her deep eyes.

“Are you not?” he repeated.

She tore his eyes away from his, feeling movement in her chest. The terrifying ordeal of being known. She knew the champagne wasn’t the cause of her stomach knots, this time, either; rather, the smell of his cologne, strong and musky, left her lips parted in silent contemplation.

“I am,” she confessed. The drink weighed heavily in her hand. “They’re so carefree. There’s not a thought behind those eyes. They’re happy and don’t have stress or law school or a sick parent at home they should be caring for right now--”

Mori took the glass from her hand and set it on the table before stepping in front of her, bowing and extending his hand. She paused her rambling, just now noticing the change of music into a love song and the couples thronging onto the dance floor.

“Haruhi,” Mori said, “may I have this dance?”

Without hesitation she slipped her hand in his, allowing him to lead her onto the floor.

Just that little bit of touch sparked an inferno in his lungs, and he strained against the desire to just wrap her in his arms and whisk her away.

Once they floated to a free space, he took her right hand clasped in his left and took her waist with the other, spreading his fingers over the soft bodice of the gown.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Haruhi gasped, nearly euphoric at the feeling of his strong hands on her. She had been alone for so long that she didn’t even realize how touchstarved she was until his thumb rolled over her knuckles. Like it was right, like it was the only thing that mattered.

Mori led her in a waltz, guiding her clumsy feet with his experienced steps. He was a man so prone to the wild that she had nearly forgotten he was raised in aristocracy, trained and learned in all things fine and elegant. He probably learned this waltz as soon as he could walk.

And yet he held her with firm hands, looked at her with gentle eyes, softly correcting her mistakes without annoyance, only a speck of amusement playing in the upturned smile on his lips. He was in control, and this dance was the only thing she didn’t have to stress over. It made her want to fall into his arms and have him take care of everything else, too.

She noticed, too, his handsome features, as there was nowhere else to look but his face. He was taller now than in their youth, a broad-shouldered man of 26, heady and well-established and strong. She thought him too tall and muscled to be a graceful dancer, but she had forgotten he was a hunter, a fighter, a swordsman at his core. His suit, dark green and black, barely clung to his athletic frame. He was absolutely massive compared to her. Gone were the lanky, tall boy and flat-chested girl that once walked Ouran’s halls. Now they were man and woman at their peak.

She wondered how he had not found a wife yet, then wondered how she had never noticed him before.

He noticed, too. Every girlish feature he had adored in high school matured into ones of a woman mother nature scorns. When his fingers brushed her ribcage, she turned her attention back to his face. He was looking at her with the same intensity, but not the same recognition, like he was seeing something he had always known. His nose was noble, lips full, jaw sharp as his eyes. But what caught her attention was the scar, white against his tan face, jutting through his left eyebrow. It had healed long ago, the result of a kendo accident his first year of college, but the hair of his eyebrow never grew back correctly. The scar was turned and jilted and railed against the puckered skin, so untameable that Mori had stopped trying.

But Haruhi thought it suited him. The man could outrun the wild, but the wild would always catch up to him. The bit of evidence that he was more than what his last name got him.

Suddenly, she wanted to touch it. She had never felt the urge before; she barely noticed it, to be honest, and would never disrespect her friend like that.

But then again, he had never held her so intimately before.

Before she could, Mori cleared his throat. He had waited until she was settled in the dance to question her further, but she was staring so intently at him that he kept quiet. Had he been less tan, she would have seen him blush.

“What else is going on,” Haruhi?” he asked, turning slightly to avoid bumping into another couple.

She took a breath, disappointed that her reprieve had ended. She enjoyed looking at him. If he allowed it, she would have all night.

“You know, my dad,” she said simply, and Mori nodded, pulling her closer. Feeling his hand squeeze her made her woozy. “He’s still so sick. Not getting any better, not getting any worse. Just on the verge of needing someone to care for him at all times.”

Mori nodded again, chin hovering above her head. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he spoke. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you.” Haruhi did not miss the singular I. “Kyoya has been gracious with paying for the medical care, and for the nurses staying at our house. You all have done enough. Truly.” She looked up at him and did her best to smile, but even she knew he wouldn’t believe it. “It’s just so difficult because he needs care 24/7. So I feel guilty about going to class, guilty about sleeping, guilty about being here.” Her steps and voice faltered, eyelids fluttering to avoid tears. “I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, tugging her hands away from him. “I should be at home, with him. He needs me--”

She tried to turn around, but Takashi grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, shuffling so she could look into his eyes. Her gaze wandered just above them--to his scar, he was sure--but he shook her very slightly, very gently, like waking a baby. “Haru,” he whispered, taking the liberty of a nickname. Her eyes flashed in pleasure, in a memory, bright with tears and charm. But her bottom lip trembled.

“You deserve a break,” he said, using his strength against her for the first time, making her look at him, to hear every word he spoke. “You have done so much. You have suffered so much. You deserve a break.”

Haruhi tried to fight him, but it was useless--he was right, and he was here, willing to provide it. Beneath her anger, beneath her sadness, there was just exhaustion, burning like a bed of red-hot coals, and she was dangling just over the edge of it, so close she could feel the hellish fumes on her face. They drew smoke up her nose, wracking coughs through her chest, burning and blistering her palms as she clung to the rope just barely keeping her alive.

Either the rope would snap, or she would.

Her father had depended on her ever since she was a child, and she had no choice but to claw her way up the frayed thread. But now her lungs burned, her fingers bled. All she wanted was rest.

She had to drop sometime.

A warm hand on her shoulder roused her back, and she looked into her friend’s steel gray eyes, now warm and pooling like molten lead. When his fingers glided along her cheek, she realized she had been crying, and wiped away the tears. He didn’t speak, only caught the ones she missed.

“I’m not strong enough,” she whispered. Her mouth twisted into neither a smile nor grimace, but a ghostly combination of both. “They were right. I’ll never be like my mom, I’ll never be good enough.” Her exhaustion poured over her in buckets, weak knees finally giving in, stumbling forward into Mori’s chest. He caught her without reservation; he had since the moment they met, and he always would.

He was strong enough to stay still when she fell, propping her back up and sheltering her against him, within his arms. He held her fastly, tightly, as she cried, nine years worth of pining and love for the taking, manifesting in front of their very eyes.

He knew how difficult it was. He had just graduated from the same law school only months prior, had the same professors and took the same classes. He himself barely scraped through at times. Even though he had given her his old books and notes, she struggled--and no wonder, having to constantly take care of her father.

“You’re right,” he said against the shell of her ear. She shivered, and he ran a hand up and down her back to soothe her. “You’re not like your mother. She ever had to carry the burden you do.”

Mori saw the weights tied to her feet, dragging her over the edge. She was going to slip, and soon--she couldn’t continue the facade of strength when she barely slept at night, barely processed her mornings over coffee, barely found the motivation to shower and brush her teeth when all she wanted was to sit at her father’s side and cry.

Maybe she thought she was concealing it well, but he was a Morinozuka, trained and battle-hardened and able to pinpoint weaknesses. He didn’t want her to hide from him.

A cold hand wrapped around Haruhi’s heart, and she pressed further into Mori’s chest. Then she realized herself and flung back, cheeks reddening at her boldness.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, Mori, I forgot my place,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his very expensive shoes.

“No, no, Haru, no,” he said, scrambling for words. He cursed his silent nature. “I’m not going to let you fall. You are safe with me. I am never going to let anything happen to you.”

For a man whose strategy was always holding his cards close to his chest, he threw them down, baring his heart and soul to her mercy, desperately, as he tried to comfort her. He bent down, awkwardly long limbs sufficient in holding her, pressing her head to his chest. Her shampoo smelled so sweet, like the cherry blossoms waving just outside, and she felt so small curled up in his protective embrace. It sparked a heat in his knuckles, anger in his heart.

No one so sweet and good should have to suffer like this.

When she was ready, she moved away from his chest, accepting his willing hand wiping away her tears and the handkerchief in this pocket to hide behind until she regained her composure. Her makeup was ruined, and her hair was in disarray, but Mori thought she had never looked more beautiful than under his arm, pressing her cheek against his hand, chasing his comfort.

As soon as she smiled at him again, he took her hand and spun her back into the waltzing position. Mori built up the confidence to speak again.

“Is it alright if I call you Haru?”

A blythe smile. Pink tinged around her ears. “Yes.”

“Good.” He swallowed. “Haru, you are strong, and beautiful. It breaks my heart to see you like this. If you need to lean on someone, lean on me. Let me be your strength."

A fluttery sigh escaped her lips. “Okay.”

Mori nodded, leading her quickly back into the dance. Amazing, how many songs could be waltzed to. His agile feet knew them all by heart, so he could bask in the young lady’s presence.

Their eyes met periodically, blushes exchanged, and then gazes wandered. His traveled to the dance floor, landing on Tamaki and Renge.

They danced like two fools in love--which they were, obviously. Clumsy, falting steps, swathed in each other’s arms, mouths colliding in mismatched kisses and loud laughter. When he read their lips, he saw them chattering away in French. He saw the light pouring into each other’s eyes, both of them the sun pouring warmth through the window of the other’s soul.

He saw the way Tamaki’s bride-to-be looked at him, and wondered if the woman in front of him would spare him the same glance.

“You’re jealous,” Haruhi said suddenly. “Why?”

He turned to look at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why did she use his own words against him?

She hid her smile behind her hand. “Are you not?”

He rolled his eyes, taking her firmly by the waist, as her hand returned to his shoulder.

“If you must know,” he muttered, twirling her under his arm, smiling as she giggled, “I am jealous. Because Tamaki has a beautiful lady in his arms, whom he loves, and who loves him, whom he can kiss and woo whenever he pleases.”

The orchestra suddenly roared, or maybe it was the blood in his ears when he noticed Haruhi’s hand tense in his. But, at least she didn’t drop it. She spun back into his chest, clinging to his shoulder like her grip would imprint on his suit. And when she looked at him, eyes bright and wide and full of wonder, he saw the knowing glint within.

She cocked her head aside. Her steps slowed, and she looked at him, running her eyes up and down his body as if just now realizing how long they had been dancing together.

“And you long for that?” she asked.

Mori sighed, ears pricking as the music ended. He let her go and bowed, assuming her wariness a rejection. Parallel to the floor, at least, gave him time to hide his face, regain his composure, mask the pain flowing quickly to his hands.

“Yes,” he sighed. And then, throwing all decorum out the window with a cracking toss of the head and a to hell with it for social commentary, he spoke again. “I long for it the way a bird longs to fly. And it makes me jealous of them, because I, too, had a beautiful lady in my arms, whom I love most dearly, whom I also wish to kiss and woo, but I do not know if she loves me back.”

His heart rose in his throat, and he gasped as he uttered the last words, oxygen leaving his lungs and brain at the sight of her chewing her lip. She had likely never heard him speak so many words at once. But they had clouded his mind. He had lived with them for nine years, pushed them down beneath the surface even as they slithered and crawled around in the form of blushes on his cheeks and pats to her head.

Finally, she spoke. They had stood there for an eternity, watching the other breathe. Wondering whose heart would give out first.

“Well,” she whispered, stepping forward and taking his hand, “she does.”

And then she pressed herself on her tiptoes and kissed him, just in time of the climax of the new song, in beat with the swells of strings and cymbals and trumpets, forgetting, momentarily, where they were. Takashi didn’t forget, but he couldn’t have given less of a damn. He turned off his practiced decorum, the polite manners of the aristocracy, all he had ever known, and kissed her like a man starved. Like she was his last meal, like he was poisoned and she was the antidote. It was Tamaki and Renge’s ball, yes, but he, too, deserved to be selfish for the first time in his life.

Haruhi knit her brows in concentration. His body was so hard, rough and solid and muscled from his years of training, but his lips were soft. Even harder were his practiced hands as they clung to her waist. They bunched the dress, moving and touching and exploring, and it reminded her of some exploring she also wished to do.

Without breaking the kiss, her hand wandered from his shoulder to his jaw, threading in his hair, before landing at his temple stroking the fine hairs of his eyebrow. But she hesitated. Even as her tongue was in his mouth, she was nervous.

When her fingers brushed the scar, he grunted. Though it was muffled by her mouth, the shame filled her stomach. She moved her hand back to his hair, but he grunted again, pulling just inches away to see the mortification hollowing her pupils. He pulled her hand forward, pressing a kiss to it, and replaced it where it belonged. He clutched her closer, watching in amusement as she touched as she pleased. The scar was rough and tattered, like the rest of him, but it distinguished him from the fine elegance of the ball.

She never cared for fine elegance, anyways.

Mori leaned down to press a softer kiss to her swollen lips. Haruhi’s stomach twisted into knots. How this force of nature could love her so tenderly was beyond her.

But when the song ended all too soon, he took her hand and led her to a table, snagging a glass of water for her. He whispered her name, his voice the soft type of strong that made her feel safe. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to call you mine.”

Haruhi’s mouth filled with cotton. She cautiously moved her hands up his chest, circling the knot of his tie.”Mori…”

“Call me Takashi, please,” he said, reaching down to hold her face. His thumb swiped gently over her lips, seeing how flushed and full they were. “Or you can call me Mori, or anything else you wish. It only matters to me that it comes from your lips.”

She gave off a sigh, a damp, fluttering sound from the back of her throat. “Yes,” she cooed, breathless. “Yes, Takashi, yes.”

At her perfect annunciation, Takashi swept her into his arms, lifting her high into the air, almost like the first time in Music Room Three, but this time she was smiling, and laughing, and maybe it was the candlelight and stringed musicians that made him feel so romantic, but he thought he could see forever in the way her glistening tears met her smile.

-

[ronsenburg]

OKAY SO I COULDNT CHOOSE BETWEEN THESE TWO SO KLAPOLLO FOR (KISSES PROMPTS) 15 OR (I LOVE YOU PROMPTS) 29 MAYBE???? 👀👀👀

Falling in love is easy, it is saying something about it that seems to be the problem.

It’s something Klavier and Apollo apparently excel at; they talk in circles around the feeling without ever voicing the words, their sentences falling away abruptly as they veer too close to the sentiment.

Apollo should say it.

He means to. Every time Klavier laughs he can feel the words bubbling to his lips, threatening to spill over into the air around them.

He wants to say it, too. So badly that there are times when it is the only thought in his mind, playing over and over like a skipping record.

Every time Klavier smirks at him in court or reaches for his hand in public or answers his front door wearing his hair pulled back or refers to Apollo by one of the countless nicknames he’s bestowed.

But he doesn’t.

In the beginning he’d held his tongue for the simple reason that Klavier was Klavier; what if Apollo was fooling himself, thinking someone like that would want something more from someone like him? But as time passed and the looks between them began to linger too long and their eyes seemed to say the words that their mouths apparently couldn’t, the reason changed. If Klavier felt the way Apollo thought he did about him, why hadn’t he said it? He’d stared right back into Klavier’s perfect face and silently urged him to be the one to break the stalemate.

But he didn’t.

They were reaching a point where it was becoming completely unbearable. Apollo was sure that Klavier was writing songs about it, he could hear Klavier humming an evolving melody under his breath whenever his attention was otherwise occupied. The urge to ask about it was so strong that it made it difficult for Apollo to focus on anything except the soft notes floating in the air between them.

If someone didn’t say something soon, Apollo might actually go insane.

So, Apollo should say it. He imagines the conversations they might have leading up to it, the words that he will say other than just blurting the obvious at the first sight of Klavier’s smiling face. This is what he will say if Klavier seems surprised, if Klavier isn’t ready to say it back, if Klavier doesn’t actually feel the same way.

But, though there are hundreds of possible scenarios Apollo has run through in his head, the way it actually goes is not one of them.

It happens like this:

Dusk is falling on an early summer evening. The sun has disappeared below the horizon, but the last hints of its rays linger in the sky; the stars and moon above are set in a sea of nautical blue.

They are running late for a dinner reservation. 

It’s never a problem, not really, not when the table is saved for the Klavier Gavin. But Apollo doesn’t like being late, doesn’t like taking advantage of privileges that are not his, that are only offered because he happens to be dating a celebrity.

The words sound just as ridiculous in his thoughts as they do out loud.

“I can’t believe you had to straighten your hair again,” Apollo says, the pace of his steps on the concrete sidewalk mildly accelerated, “it looks exactly the same as it did this afternoon. How did that take an hour?”

This is a conversation that they have had, verbatim, at least six times now. Klavier is very clearly trying not to laugh. “Schatzilein, you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to date me. You cannot complain about the process when you seem to enjoy the results so much, ja?”

An exasperated sigh is the extent of Apollo’s immediate response.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he says a handful of moments later. “From now on, I’m telling you our reservations are half an hour earlier than they actually are.”

Klavier doesn’t reply.

Three steps later, Apollo turns, ready to verify that yes, those are the lengths he is willing to go to to ensure they are on time to a dinner reservation for once and, no, no amount of smooth smiles and seductively whispered words over dinner will change his mind on the matter.

But Klavier isn’t beside him anymore.

He’s stopped, five steps behind Apollo, and staring with very wide, very blue eyes.

Apollo has no choice but to stop as well. “You okay?”

“Warte, was hast du gesagt?” Klavier mutters, and then, when Apollo only stares back with a blank face, “what you just said, nicht wahr? Repeat it, please.”

It seems like an overreaction to a statement Apollo was only half serious about, in the end. “I’m going to tell you our reservations are earlier than they actually are?”

Klavier shakes his head firmly, pieces of hair falling from his carefully reconstructed twist. “Nein, before that.”

A few moments of confusion pass before Apollo understands. Then, the realization dawns on him with enough panic that Apollo can feel the blood rapidly draining from his face only to be immediately replaced by a spectacular blush. “Oh.”

If this is not a scenario that Apollo had considered when debating how to profess his feelings, Klavier’s reaction now is just as, if not more, unanticipated.

“Do you mean that, Schatzi?” he asks, still wide eyed and voice wavering as though this is an anomaly, as though there aren’t millions of people on this earth in love with him at that exact moment in time.

And that realization, that someone annoyingly famous and stunningly handsome and irritatingly suave—someone like that could look at someone like Apollo and ask if Apollo meant what he had accidentally let slip? How could he pretend that it was just a turn of phrase, a saying that didn’t mean anything, when Klavier was looking at him like his love was something too good to be true, too much to wish for?

The implications of a look like that takes Apollo’s breath away.

“Of course I do,” he murmurs in a quasi-embarrassed reply, giving up and diving in. “It’s not really how I wanted to say it, but, well, yeah. It’s fine if you don’t want to say it back, I didn’t mean to spring it on you in the middle of—“

But then Klavier is walking towards him with urgent steps, the distance between them dwindling down to just a handful of inches before he stops. Apollo has to look just up to continue to meet his eyes.

“Say it again,” Klavier requests, “bitte.”

“You’re lucky I love you?” Apollo repeats obediently, although his tone is all the more embarrassed for their public proximity. “You are, you know.”

“And you are impossible, Liebling,” Klavier laughs, but it sounds more astonished than amused. He reaches out his hands to place them on either side of Apollo’s still-flushed face, his thumb tenderly stroking the edge of Apollo’s jaw. “Just the last part, if you please.”

“But, why?” Apollo asks in response, just as astonished. He doesn’t really mean ‘why do you want me to say it again’, though it’s what the question implies. That’s easy enough to guess. What he means is, ‘why do you want me to love you’?

Klavier’s gaze softens in response.

“Because I love you, Apollo Justice,” he replies, quiet enough that anyone listening beyond their single square of concrete would not be able to make out the words, “and I would like to hear it, ja?”

Like they have been given a cue, the streetlights that flank the road blink their way to life above them. Apollo can only barely see them; with his face still cradled between Klavier’s hands and his gaze fixed on Klavier’s blue eyes, there is little else in his field of vision or on his mind.

“Oh,” Apollo breathes, “okay.”

The fact that the words are little more than a whisper has nothing to do with embarrassment, this time.

“Ja, okay,” Klavier laughs a moment later when Apollo hasn’t managed to exhale the breath he’s been holding, let alone actually saying something. Klavier is still grinning as he leans in to kiss Apollo, the press of his lips a gentle encouragement that does much of the opposite of its intention. As he pulls back, still so close that Apollo could count the faint freckles hiding beneath the layer of foundation Klavier insists on wearing in public, the look of adoration in his eyes leaves Apollo positively tongue tied. “Whenever you are ready, Schatzilein.”

“You’re the worst, did you know that?” Apollo replies, though his voice is far too soft to actually mean it. “But I love you anyway.”

Klavier’s smile, then, is dazzling. “I think I will have to accept that one, ja?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

When Klavier kisses him again, standing there below the streetlights of the boulevard for anyone to see, Apollo finally stops worrying about the kind of people they seem to be. Whether he has earned the love of someone like Klavier or if Klavier deserves better than someone like him ceases to be important, if it ever really was to begin with.

The only thing that matters, then, is the warmth of the arms that are reaching out to pull Apollo closer. Anything beyond that—including the dinner reservation they most certainly will have lost by now—will need to wait; Apollo’s heart is too full.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan​ and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers​ for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you. 

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members. 

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him. 

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear.  Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.  

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking  about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight. 

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively. 

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane. 

“If you think so, go confess or something then.” 

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain.  Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs. 

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody. 

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself. 

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable. 

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be. 

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down. 

--

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you. 

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way. 

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection. 

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add. 

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.” 

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

--

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you,  you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head. 

Liar. 

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face. 

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened. 

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you. 

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy. 

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder. 

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise. 

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching. 

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you. 

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out. 

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away. 

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones. 

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head. 

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad. 

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them. 

--

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you. 

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after. 

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less. 

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly. 

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately. 

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.” 

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence. 

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena. 

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai​​  @babythotshq​​ 

[hexusproductions]

Smaugust 2022, Day 16 - Creme Brulee

Characters: Clarisse, Maria and Nada

Prompt list: Found here

Creme Brulee - Arguably a simple dessert, requiring a small amount of ingredients in order to ‘count’. Custard, the main ingredient of the dish, reminds me heavily of both my family and of Christmas.

The sign hanging on the door of Pink Dusty’s Cafe read ‘Closed’ in large slanted letters. Inside, chairs had been pulled across the room to create more seats at one of the booths. Once Clarisse had set out enough steaming cups of tea and coffee for everyone, she was all but pushed into a seat.

“So, Clarisse, how have you been?” Maria pried. Clarisse wiggled enough in her seat to remove the apron from around her torso. She was the owner of the establishment, so the cafe had been a perfect place to invite her friends after-hours to catch up.

“I’m going alright!” Clarisse confirmed, smiling as she took her cup, “I’m always kept busy around here. I’m making enough sales to keep me afloat, that’s all I can really ask for.”

“Well don’t go straining yourself darlin’, we know how you get with work.” Maria tore open a sugar packet and tapped it into her own cup of tea. The torn edge fell onto her crossing guard jacket, lost amongst the hi-vis and large pockets, but she didn’t make an effort to sweep it off. Clarisse waved away Maria’s concerns with her hand.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“At least it’s nice to be able to get together for once.” Nada remarked, and others around the table voiced their agreement. She had her handbag seated comfortably in her lap, an item that Clarisse had always thought was far too big, but also didn’t think it was her place to judge. “Ever since Josh started looking for a new stove, I feel like I can’t get out of the restaurant.” Clarisse nodded. Her free time had certainly taken a dent since she’d opened the cafe, although in her case, she usually enjoyed the stress.

“Speaking of which.” Maria’s head spun around to face Clarisse, a smile plastered across her face as she used the mention of Nada’s husband to veer the conversation, “Had any more visits from Prince Charming yet?” Nada giggled, and Clarisse rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t call him Prince Charming.” She informed them. Maria and Nada were both looking at Clarisse intently, practically squirming in their seats for information.

“Oh yeah? What would you call him then?” Maria prodded. Clarisse sighed. They weren’t going to let the topic go unless she gave them something.

“He came back again. Not just on Monday afternoon like usual, but on Wednesday too.” She felt herself grinning despite herself, her friends’ excitement infectious and rousing the pleasant memories. Nada cheered, Maria drum-rolled her hands on the table and scooted closer to Clarisse.

“Did you talk to him?” Her cup forgotten, Maria continued to dig.

“Yes, I did.” She answered the pointless question; her friends had been the ones to egg her into talking to her bashful regular in the first place. She took a deliberate sip of her coffee. “We had a lovely chat and exchanged a fair bit of information about ourselves.”

“Are you going to ask him out?” Nada chimed in.

“I don��t know.” Clarisse answered honestly. The ladies scoffed and groaned, and she spoke over them to insist, “He’s a reliable customer! I wouldn’t want to drive him away.” The so-called ‘Prince Charming’ was a regular of her cafe. From her perspective, he’d been coming in for about two months every Monday afternoon. He ordered the same coffee and salad sandwich every time; sometimes he brought in a book or extra work from his job, but no matter what, he never missed a day. The lovely chat she’d had with him recently had helped reveal some things from his perspective. Pink Dusty’s was his favourite cafe, and he enjoyed coming in after work. After about a month, he’d become embarrassingly smitten with the cafe’s owner. It had taken him almost another month to rustle up the courage to tell her, already expecting - either out of little confidence in himself or to respect her hypothetical decision, possibly both - for her to decline. But to his delight, she’d accepted graciously, and the two now took his visits on Mondays (and now Wednesdays, it seemed) as an opportunity to catch up.

“I’d see what happens.” Nada told Clarisse over a sip from her cup. “If he’s only coming in so you’ll date him, then his business isn’t worth it.”

“I’d date him so he keeps coming in.” Maria said, a hand cupping her mouth as if she weren’t speaking at normal volume. Clarisse chuckled and shook her head. She wanted to ask Nada how her daughter was, but she knew there was no hope of changing the topic.

“What’s his name?” Nada leant forward, matching Maria.

“Augustine.”

“What’s his last name?”

“I’m not telling you that.” Clarisse smiled, tilting her head with a knowing look, “I’m not helping you snoop.”

Nada light-heartedly screwed her nose up at Clarisse, but removed her hand from her handbag. Maria reached over to pat Clarisse’s arm, the gesture genuinely comforting despite her overly curious demeanour.

“He sounds lovely, hun.” Maria returned to her former seat, wrapping her other hand around her cup. She was being serious now. “You should take him to dinner. One that you didn’t cook.” Nada laughed under her breath. Clarisse looked at her two friends. They meant well, she knew that. And she was sure they could tell she was considering the idea. She hadn’t known him for long, but she was really beginning to like the guy.

“Maybe.” Clarisse finally answered.

[tpwkjerii]

as you wish | 2

your one true love was lost in a pirate attack five years ago, and now you’re engaged to a cruel prince. with all your misfortune, you didn’t expect three unconventional thugs and a painfully familiar pirate to save you from a dreadful future. (inspired by The Princess Bride)

pairing: pirate!seokjin x princess!reader

warnings: fluff and angst (!!), reader is forced into engagement and becoming a princess, mentions of death, kidnapping, murder threats, almost drowning, magical flesh-eating eels, heights, attempted murder, vminkook being vminkook lol, jimin is kinda mean (but he’s rlly a softy), combat/mentions of combat

genre: fairy tale/pirate au, semi established relationship au

word count: 3.8k+

a/n: i loved writing this :) pls leave comments as they’re greatly appreciated !!

prev | next | m.list

The gentle rocking of a boat lulled you back to consciousness. As you peeled your eyes open, you were met by the dark star-filled skies. You blinked to refocus your vision, and the clearing sight of a ship’s flag waving in the night winds reminded you of the situation you were in.

You shot up and looked down at your body, cursing silently when you realized that your hands were bound by ropes.

“ - no one could be after us?” a deep and smooth voice asked suddenly, causing your head to shoot up in panic.

The three men who kidnapped you were gathered together at the opposite end of the ship, examining the dark river behind them. You listened as they bickered, using this as your chance to devise an escape plan.

“As I told you hours ago, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable -”

You angled your hand and tugged at the loose end of the knot. To your relief, the ropes loosened, and you carefully slid one hand out and freed your other hand. With the three men still arguing on the other side of the ship, you quickly thought of how you could escape.

There was no way you could beat these men in physical combat and it was impossible to call for help. And you were certain that you couldn’t wait until you reached whatever location they set out for since they would probably kill you once you arrived. As you looked out at the dark waters ahead of you, you realized that the only possible solution was to jump off the ship.

Now you weren’t the strongest swimmer by any means, but you were sure that drowning was a better alternative to whatever the three men had planned for you. With that thought in mind, you took a final glance towards the three bickering men, inhaled a deep breath, and jumped off the ship.

Your body was instantly met with the ice cold waters of the river, and behind you rang a loud, muffled scream and commands of “get her!”

Your legs kicked as you attempted to keep your head over the freezing water. You ignored the burning sensation in your throat and legs as you fought against the currents of the river. You swam towards what you hoped was the river banks and you cursed internally when you realized that the men were following you in their ship.

“Veer left!” you heard one of them instruct. His honey-like and deceivingly sweet voice indicated that he was the blond man who first spoke to you.

You continued to kick as hard as you could, but you halted to a sudden stop when a high-pitched shriek rang from a short distance away. Your blood ran cold as the shrieks grew louder and a black snake-like shadow, illuminated by the moonlight, became visible under the water.

From behind you, the blond man laughed. “Do you know what that is, your highness?” he asked, his growing volume indicating that their ship wasn’t far behind you. You breathed in shakily, your tired legs fighting to continue treading water, as he continued, “Those are the Shrieking Eels — if you doubt me, just wait. They grow louder when they’re about to have their next meal.”

Your breathing grew heavier as you saw the eels approaching you, their bodies splashing the waters around you. The eels’ shrieks were becoming louder and louder and the pure terror you felt as you watched them swim closer silenced any pleas or cries that could have left you.

“If you swim back now, I promise no harm will come to you. I doubt the eels will give you such an offer!” the blond man told you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move at all.

“I won’t warn you again! Either come back or die!” the man shouted at you, urgency evident in his voice.

Petrified, you make no noise or attempt to move. You couldn’t do anything, not with the loud shrieks of the eels ringing in your ears and their snake-like figures getting closer and closer to you. Your eyes widen when one sticks its head out of the water, it’s menacing eyes and mouth growing wider as it slithers towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for its great jaws to clamp down and send you to the afterlife, but the bite never comes.

Instead, two familiar and strong arms pull you out of the water and drop you onto the wooden deck of the boat. You shivered in your soaked dress that was clinging to every curve of your body as the cold night air blew against you. The freezing winds only made your shaking worse as your heart pounded in your chest. The eels’ shrieks weren’t nearly as loud anymore - they were now growing fainter as they retreated - but even the slightest noise reminded you of their terrifying jaws.

You were panting heavily as you observed the men before you once again. The dark-haired man who saved you from the eels and the red-haired man were back at the opposite end of the ship, steering the boat away from the eels and pointing to something in the distance, while the blond one was scolding you as he tied your shaking hands together with the rope.

“You think you’re brave, don’t you?” he snapped sarcastically.

Your gaze met his and you stared deeply into his brown eyes. “Only compared to some,” you barely managed to breathe out.

You could tell your words enraged him as he opened his mouth to shoot back a reply, but he was interrupted by the red-haired man’s shout.

“Look! He’s cut our lead in half,” he cried, pointing in the direction behind the ship. You used what little energy you had left to crane your head to see what he was pointing at. Indeed, there was someone trailing their ship.

In another boat much smaller than the one you were in, a man in black was standing upright. His hair and the top of his face, excluding his eyes, were covered by black fabric. Even in the distance, you could make out his broad shoulders, and his build painfully reminded you of your first love. But the very clothing of the man in black caused you to push such thoughts away. His attire signified that he was a pirate — the exact type of person who killed Seokjin in the first place.

“It doesn’t matter, Taehyung!” said the blond man, bringing your attention back to him and the red-haired man, who you now know is named Taehyung. “See!” the blond man exclaimed, pointing towards the high cliffs that your ship was headed for. “The Cliffs of Reality!”

The rocky landscape was illuminated by the glowing yellows and oranges of dawn, and you gulp at the idea of having to climb it.

“He’s getting closer to us, Jimin!” the dark-haired man shouted towards the blond - Jimin.

“Ah, Jungkook, we’re safe! Only we know where the harbor with the shortcut up is,” explained Jimin. His words were enough to comfort his two friends, and together they steered the ship onward and pulled into an obscure dock.

In one swift move, Jungkook brought you into his arms and held you upright. He pulled you up and off the boat, Jimin and Taehyung following closely behind you.

You gasped as you felt yourself being lifted up once again, and Jungkook laughed softly, his chest rumbling with the vibrations of his voice. “Sorry, your Highness,” he said while fixing his hold on you. You were chest to chest with him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and your head next to his, but facing the opposite direction of him. “It’ll be quicker this way,” Jungkook continued.

Jimin guided you all past a few large rocks, revealing an obscure and steep stone walkway leading to the top of the cliffs.

“Whenever you're ready,” Taehyung said to Jungkook from behind him. Since the red-haired man was behind you, you were able to see the smile on his handsome face. His kind face made it hard to believe that he helped to kidnap you.

Jungkook responded, “Everyone steady?” a small laugh vibrating against your chest.

Taehyung’s boxy smile grew and he replied, “If you please.”

“I’ll climb with ease,” Jungkook continued the rhyme as he started up the high stairs.

“Ohh, good one Kookie,” Taehyung said with a laugh. Once again, his smiling face and warm voice could fool you into thinking he wasn’t actually one of your kidnappers.

“You and your rhymes,” Jimin muttered from the front, but you could tell by his tone that his statement wasn’t completely spiteful.

“Kookie likes them,” Taehyung defended innocently, and the brief yet heartwarming interaction almost put a smile on your face. Almost — you were still being kidnapped.

They continued up the stairs quietly for a few minutes, and Jungkook’s arms were still wrapped securely around your waist. You had no idea how he could be strong enough to carry you this entire time, but you did know that he was right in thinking that having you walk on your own would take them too long. The steps were extremely steep and difficult to maneuver — it would take only one misstep to fall to a rocky, watery death.

Soon enough, you reached a ledge that overlooked the waters. You tightened your grip around Jungkook as you realized how high up you already were. The boat was now barely visible and you could barely hear the waters crashing against the rocks.

“Jungkook, why don’t you go first,” suggested Jimin, and you felt Jungkook nod and remove his hands from around you.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you asked, panic clear in your shaky voice as you clutched onto him tightly.

“Hold on tight, Princess. We’ve got a rope to climb,” he answered with a teasing tone.

You gasped in fear. How the hell was he going to carry both of you up a rope?

Jungkook sensed your fear and laughed again, but his lighthearted mood brought you no comfort. “Don’t you worry, your Highness. I won’t let you fall. It’s not that far up anyways,” he said in an attempt to reassure you. But it still didn’t do much for your nerves. You only squeezed your eyes shut and clutched onto him.

You squeaked as you felt yourself being lifted higher and Jungkook’s arm muscles flexing under yours.

“He’s gaining on us!” Taehyung suddenly announced, causing you to peek one eye open. The same man in black who was trailing the ship was quickly making his way up the steep stone stairs, further fueling the curiosity in your head. Was this man trying to save you? Was he sent by Prince Donghae? Did he want to kidnap you for selfish reasons too?

Enough thoughts clouded your mind to give you a headache. You had no idea your life would ever end up like this, clinging to a random (and insanely strong) man while he climbed up a rope to take you god knows where.

“Faster, Jungkook!” Jimin cried from beneath you.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Jungkook grunted, a twinge of sympathy filling you as you heard his heavy pants. As strong as he was, he was definitely struggling to haul both you and him up the cliff. But any sympathy for him was shot dead as soon as you remembered that he was the one who kidnapped you in the first place.

The three men were quiet, all in intense focus to reach the top of the cliff before the mysterious man caught up to them, until Jungkook finally reached the top of the cliff. He breathed a sigh of relief as his leather-gloved hand gripped onto the hard, flat stone.

“Alright, Princess,” he started, his voice now gruff and slowed from exhaustion, “can you lift yourself up there?”

Forcing your eyes open, you craned your neck and looked at the top.

“Y-yes,” you responded, your heart beating loudly in your chest. You wanted to get onto a solid surface and off this rope as fast as you could, even if that meant perfectly playing into your kidnappers’ plans.

Using his other arm, Jungkook hoisted you up, allowing you to successfully lift yourself onto the flat cliff top. You rolled onto the ground ungracefully, breathing out deeply in relief. Behind you, Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung all hoisted themselves up.

They were all breathing deeply from exhaustion but managed to stand upright. You watched from the ground as Jimin pulled out a knife from his pocket and leaned down to the rope, placing it against the bound material and beginning to cut through it.

You felt a sudden rush of energy as you realized that if he cut the rope, the man in black following you would surely die. You hurried towards Jimin, kneeling to his eye level and saying frantically, “Stop! You’ll kill him!”

“It’s his fault for following us,” he muttered.

You cursed in panic and looked over the ledge. The mysterious man just started to climb the rope, which was about to be cut off by Jimin’s sharp blade. And with a loud snap, the rope broke. You watched in shock as it fell off the ledge, the frayed end a dreadful confirmation.

You froze in place. Did you just become an accomplice to murder? Tears pricked in your eyes at the thought of the painfully familiar man falling to his death, but they didn’t fall as Taehyung exclaimed, “He didn’t fall! He’s climbing!”

Your head whipped from Taehyung towards the ledge. You peered down, the sight before you verifying Taehyung’s words and allowing you to breathe in relief. The mysterious man was gripping onto the rocks tightly and slowly climbing up them.

“He had to have seen us with the Princess,” Jimin stated as he paced behind you. “It’s the only reason why he’d be following us this intently. He has to die.”

You turned around to shoot a retort towards Jimin, but you were cut off by his quick instructions: “Jungkook, carry her. We’ll head for the Joyeon frontier. Tae, catch up once you’ve taken care of the other guy.”

Your heart raced as you saw Taehyung nod and unsheathe his sword. “I’ll do my best,” he said with a smile.

Jungkook swiftly picked you up again as he added, “Be careful, Taehyung.” He walked away from the ledge with you securely in his arms and Jimin ahead of you. A part of you wanted to try and stay behind, the possibility of seeing the man behind the mask tempting you greatly, but the rational part of you knew that there was no way you could overpower Jungkook and Jimin.

You turned your head towards Jungkook, who was holding you in bridal style. He appeared younger than you, probably by only a few years, and you wonder how he got involved in such business in the first place.

Jimin and Taehyung also appeared to be slightly younger than you, and from the brief interactions you saw between them and Jungkook, you figured that they may have grown up together. Despite the fact that they were your kidnappers, you couldn’t help but feel curious about them.

“Jungkook,” you started, the name unfamiliar on your lips. He looked at you with a raised brow, confusion evident on his face as this was the first time you ever addressed him.

“How are you, Jimin, and Taehyung acquainted?” you asked.

Shock briefly passed in his face before he answered, “We grew up together. We’re practically brothers.”

You nodded in response. “What’s your business?”

“We do favors for some people, try our best to make a living for ourselves -“

“Ah, Jungkook, why are you telling her so much?” Jimin questioned, turning back to face you two with a straight face. “It’s not like she’s going to be our friend or anything.”

Your face dropped at his blunt words. Right. No matter how kind hearted they seemed, these three men were still your kidnappers who would probably still end up killing you.

“Ah, Jimin, there’s no need to be so mean,” whined Jungkook, giving you a pitiful glance. “Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen to you.”

A wave of relief flooded through you, Jungkook’s kind eyes and innocent smile soothing your nerves.

“Jungkook!” exclaimed Jimin, whose face was beginning to turn red. “Don’t say too much!”

“What’s the point, Jimin? Don’t you feel bad? She’s so nice!” Jungkook defended with a whine.

“We’ll discuss it later, we’re still being chased by that man in black — we have no time to lose!” Jimin stressed, his blush spreading as he quickened his pace.

Jungkook laughed and increased his face, your smile growing with his. At least you knew they weren’t going to kill you.

“Inconceivable!” exclaimed Jimin. “That man’s catching up to us!”

Jungkook’s head whipped around to look at the direction Jimin was facing. The younger man’s face dropped. “You don’t think he… killed Taehyung?”

Jimin’s face hardened, and you felt your heart tug at the distraught expression on their faces.

“Give me Y/N,” Jimin started, and Jungkook followed obediently. “Take care of that man and catch up to us,” the blond directed as he secured his grip on you. You wanted to mention that you could walk on your own, but one look at Jimin’s stern expression signified that it was best to stay silent for now.

While Jungkook rested at a nearby tree, Jimin led you away. This was the first time you were alone with the lond, and you wondered if he was secretly as softhearted as Jungkook or as playful as Taehyung.

“I don’t think your friend is dead,” you stated quietly, hoping it would reassure him. You knew very well how it felt to lose someone you loved and you wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone else.

Jimin’s face remained neutral as he responded, “You wouldn’t know how people like us and him are, Princess.”

“But I do,” you replied softly, looking away from him as you honestly continued, “I know very well how people can be. Before I was Princess, I was just the daughter of simple farmers. My mother died in the city attack, my father died of illness, and my love died from a pirate attack. I was alone, and the Prince knew that. I still do not know why he wanted me to be his Princess, but I have no one and nothing else.”

Jimin’s breath faltered and several emotions passed through him at once. This entire trip, you defied his expectations of you. You were bold, honest, kind hearted, and nothing like the rumors that spread amongst the townspeople. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say to you.

You shrugged in his arms, still facing away from him. “You have nothing to apologize about. I only hope you do not have to feel more pain in your life.”

Jimin remained quiet until he reached an empty clearing.

“We can wait here until Jungkook catches up,” he said as he set you down against a large tree. You nodded softly, your eyes drooping in exhaustion.

“Ok,” was all you whispered out before you fell unconscious once again.

Jimin examined your features with a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured to your sleeping figure.

Several minutes passed before a tall figure became visible in the distance. Jimin straightened, but his hopeful face fell when his eyes landed on the man in black and not Jungkook.

Quickly, the blond wrapped a black strip of fabric around your eyes and grabbed your wrists. You awoke with a startle, your vision completely covered as you asked, “What’s happening?”

“Nothing of your concern, your Highness,” muttered Jimin. His grip on you tightened as the mysterious man walked closer and closer until he was only a few feet from you.

“Did you hurt them?” Jimin questioned him, his voice darker and more threatening than you’d ever heard before.

“Not more than what was necessary to get to you,” the man replied, and the undeterminable familiarity of his voice caused you to draw in a shallow breath. The smooth gentleness of his words reminded you of Seokjin, whose death still pains you even two years later.

“So you killed them,” Jimin muttered, his breaths growing heavier.

“I did not,” the other man stated simply. Silence followed until he added, “Give me the Princess, and I will allow you to catch up with your friends with no more interference.”

Your thoughts wondered at his demand. Who was this man? Why did he want you? Was he sent by Prince Donghae? How was he so similar to Seokjin? Where did he c -

“No. Our business with the Princess is our business,” Jimin said flatly, his grip on you tightening. He pulled you slightly behind him as he continued, “I’m sure you understand what it’s like for your life to depend on something.”

“I do,” the man responded, “which is why I must take the Princess with me.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Jimin asserted darkly, his harsh grip causing you to whimper.

At that, the man moved towards you and Jimin in one swift move. Jimin pushed you to the ground away from them, and you braced yourself on the thankfully soft grass. You tripped on the edge of your dress as you scooted away fearfully and tugged off the fabric covering your eyes.

The masked man and Jimin were fighting, but none of them appeared to have the true intent to kill. The former had the upper hand, being larger in stature and greater in strength. He easily locked Jimin in a hold and pushed his body down.

“This will only take a moment,” the man said as he pushed a pressure point on Jimin’s neck. In a matter of seconds, the blond’s body fell limp and his eyes closed.

The man sighed heavily and stood up, keeping his eyes on Jimin’s unconscious for a few seconds before directing them towards you. You were shaking in fear and confusion as you examined the man in front of you.

Everything, from his voice to the curve of his lips, reminded you of Seokjin. What kind of sick trick was the universe playing on you?

“Come on, Princess,” he said as he approached you, his voice causing your face to waver again.

Still sitting on the ground, you gazed up at him as you asked,

“Who… who are you?” Your voice was softer than ever and your eyes were glassy from memories of Seokjin.

“I’m no one of importance to you, at least not anymore,” he answered stiffly, bending down to stand you up.

Not anymore?

“It can’t be,” you whispered as you stared into his deep brown eyes. “Are you who I think you are?” you asked tearfully.

“That depends,” he started, his breaths shallow and his voice airy, “who do you think I - ”

The distant cry of horses interrupted him, and both of you directed your attention to the hills behind you. You gasped in shock as you recognized the kingdom’s flags flying from the royal horses. And even at a great distance, you recognized the man commanding the group — Prince Donghae.

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Lost and Found  |  Arvin Russel x Male!Reader

Request:  I kind of thought about Arvin arrived in new city, without cash (maybe only small amount) and wandering aimlessly. Then he stop at a diner realising he doesn't have a place to stay at night and buy food, decide to leave but stopped by mreader(waiter?owner?) and said that he can eat for free (mreader can't help after watching him so pitiful). Later on mreader said that he know Arvin not from here, and kind of tell him place to stay and also a job if he want to, i mean who can just ignore Arvin.

Warnings: Cursing, smoking.

Words: 4915

---

A mere glimpse. Just enough. A man, somewhere around your age. You'd seen him walk past the large window as you cleaned the last plates, halt for a moment before turning inwards. Stepping into your diner. The place wasn't big. But it had style, that look about it. Vibrant colors, yet cozy and warm. Located on the corner of a busy street, always something happening. Always movement. Three booths on either side, each seat sporting a view through the large windows on that bustling street. Opposite the booths stood the bar, it wrapped around the corner and partially hid the kitchen—enough stools to fit a soccer team. A small space was occupied by a door in the left corner; behind lay a staircase leading up. On the far right stood the large jukebox, too large for the place. But what is a diner without it? In all, a small place, but locally renowned for the food. Except for tonight. Tonight was quiet—a boring, dull, dark night.

"How may I help you?" You asked, moving towards him, drying your hands on the towel slung over your shoulder. "Kitchen is still open." At first sight, he struck you as a roadworker. A knapsack slung over his shoulder and worn-torn jeans and jacket. His once white shirt underneath grime with dirt and sweat. With his gray cap on, you couldn't really tell his expression as he was busy with the contents of his wallet. Spreading a small collection of coins across the bar. He cleared his voice before speaking. "Hi...ehm..." His voice was hoarse and dry. "W-What can you get me for this?" Speaking with an accent that wasn't from around. Working in the dinner, you heard and spotted many different ones. Making it a sport to figure out where they came from. But his posture and expression didn't lend towards a nice conversation. He looked reserved and held back.

Wiping your hands clean on your apron, you step closer and lean in, accessing what lay in front of you. It was obvious; he had literally turned his wallet upside down on the counter. Scraping every last coin out of there. The amount in front of you was far off from a meal you served here. But there was something about him as you looked up. You get a glimpse of his eyes underneath the cap. His eyes sat deep in his face. The expression was grave. Staring soullessly into a void. Veering back into life as he felt your eyes connect with his. "Sorry, sir…" He apologized after a lengthy sigh. "Long day." He mumbled, straightening himself upwards. He took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. "I know it ain't much, but…"

"Jerry!" You call out over your shoulder, awaiting the familiar deep voice to respond back to you. "One burger with extra fries." And give him a smile. "Seat yourself." Nodding towards the booths behind him. "I'll be right with ya." And start collecting the coins into your hand. You knew it wouldn't cover the cost, far from it. But you'd rather have a customer then wait for this long evening to end. You'll make ends meet. A good deed wasn't misplaced once in a while. And as your father always said, it's better to give than receive. From the corner of your eye, you see the man seat himself. The far most booth in the corner, close to the window and holding his knapsack close. A sense of pity grew for the man as you saw him there. Head hanging low, gaze stuck to the table. Occasionally peering outside. His expression was impossible to read as his cap sat low and firm on his head. Hiding his eyes.

Arvin looked across the booth's plain white table, staring almost, with incomprehension on his face. He felt empty and alone. Traveling all this way without purpose. Only anger and rage. Angry at the world. At everything. His growling stomach was the only thing that kept him sane. At least there was one thing he accomplished. He wanted to be far away from that place he once called home. His thoughts drifted between Lenora and his grandparents. He couldn't let his guard down for a moment and kicked himself back into it. His eyes were almost trained to spot a police car from a mile away. It set him on edge since that day—even the sound of the sirens. A quick glance through the local newspaper revealed no article about the drama in his hometown. It was a momentary relief. But the question was, for how long?

"Here you go, sir." You announced as you approached, putting down a glass of coke in front of him. He looked up at you, staggered, to say the least. "So... where are ya from? Going by your accent, you're not from around here." You check the diner a second time around, ensuring no customer was going unattended before returning to the stranger. You stuff your hand in the pockets of your apron. Patiently awaiting his response.

"I'm not." He said somberly. Taking big swigs from the glass. "I'm from a place called Coal Creek. Somewhere close there."

"Hmmm, that's around Marlinton." You asked. "Somewhere in-between Summersville and Staunton?" You tried to recall the map in your mind as you thought long and hard. "I'm not sure..."

"You're about right…" He nodded, crossing his arms on the table. "You been there?"

"No. No, not me. But I can recall someone going there." You heard the place before, but it probably was a trucker or someone else who mentioned it. "But I'm not sure who it was." You shake your head and continue on. "Anyway, how was the drive?"

"I got a lift."

"Okay, and what brings you to the rural city? Work, family?" You asked. "Love?" Followed by a light chuckle, trying to lift the mood a little. In the background, the jukebox had stopped playing. Only the sound of the grill in the kitchen and the neon letters' sizzle outside took over its role. Even the old coffee machine was quiet now.

"I don't know...." He shrugged off your question. 

The rough and uneasy response brought the ongoing conversation to an abrupt end. You didn't know how to respond to such an absent, short answer. Luckily you were saved by the bell. Jerry shoved the plate through the window towards the front. "Thank you, Jerry. Lookin' good as always." Giving him a thumbs up to show your gratitude as you take the warm plate. "Might as well lock everything up back there, Jerry. I think that's it for tonight." Following his confirmation, you bring the plate up to the table. Before you put the plate down, you take out a moist towel and wipe the table clean. "Look at that." You mumbled while cleaning the last bits of. "Much better." You pass him a knife and fork and follow up by placing the plate in front of him. "Enjoy your meal." 

"Thank you, sir." He said, and began to eat immediately. With an eye on closing time, you begin to clean the bar and surrounding booths. Jerry had cleaned the kitchen and said his goodbyes before heading home. All the tables and benches needed a thorough cleaning, and if you managed now, you'd have spare time for other things tomorrow morning. 

"You planning on going back to Coal Creek?" You asked while you cleaned the second last booth in front of him. From your position, you could only see the top part of his cap. He sure must have heard the question, as there was total silence across the diner. But the response took some time. 

"No." He said resolutely, with a whiff of distraught emotion in his voice. "Never." You gaze up, finding yourself lost in the dark eyes peering from underneath his cap. The pupils functioned like little keyholes, allowing a small glimpse at the ferocity and anger boiling within him. A fire raging within him that you wouldn't want to know how to quench. "I ain't going back to place."

"Right... Well, that's clear." Something had happened in that town where this stranger came from. And he wasn't intent on sharing that with you. Not in this state. "There's plenty of work in the city." And continue on to the next booth while you try to keep him talking. In the past, you sure had more talkative guests at the end of the evening. "Just make sure you walk in the right people."

"What does that mean?"

"Well…You see-" With a sigh, you raise yourself up again from cleaning the booth. You've always tried to warn the newcomers around—especially the ones who were low on cash. "Certain neighborhoods here… have a wrong crowd. Tend to lure people in, you know, pray on the poor and lonely... with false promises and such. Ending up… bad."

"I don't fall for that." He scoffed and continued to eat his burger. "Don't you worry." 

"Oh, I don't." You said, slightly sarcastic. "But it's easier said than done." And turn back behind the bar. Wiping the top of the bar down. Restock the last things. Making sure all the lights in the back were off. "Sometimes it makes you wonder if there's more bad than good on this planet.

"I know there is…" He muttered while he watched the world go by his window. "If there really was a God out there…" He spat, shaking his head. The man seemed distracted as if something was on his mind. The quiet was eerie, just to the two of you. He captured you in a way you couldn't describe, nor felt before. The headlight of passing cars illuminated his face. And you couldn't help but stare sometimes. Yet, the man didn't scare you. He remained unmoved in his spot while you worked your way around the place. Even when you turned the jukebox on again, trying to break the uneasy silence. You said your goodbyes to Jerry the cook again as he returned for his keys, and watched the streets go quietly darker and darker into the night.

"I understand you're closing." He said out of the blue, leaving his seat. Taking his jacket and knapsack with him. Halting in front of the bar where you were working. At least pretending to be working.

"A bit earlier than usual, yes." Wiping the bar down again, as he stood there. Watching you. "I got some pie leftover if you want." You offered, pointing at the stool. "Take a seat."

"No, I'm good." He replied with a grumble.

"Okay… Well, suit yourself." Drinking the last bit out your glass and continue your work on the cash register. "Have a good night, sir. And, please make sure the door is shut properly behind you."

But the man stood there, watching you work. And as you glanced back, he turned his eyes to the street. As if he searched deeply for a reason to stay inside. Not wanting to go outside. You know it didn't rain. You could see that. Yet, he remained in the same spot. Unmoved.

"I can wait." He offered, which took you by surprise. He didn't unsettle you in any way. But it was this kind of gesture you didn't expect. "Don't want you to be robbed by that… wrong crowd lurking the street." He looked over his shoulder, scanning the dimly lit streets while leaning against a table. "If... that's... alright with you?"

"Yeah…" You say and turn to confirm, catching each other's gaze. It's normal in any conversation. But this felt different. You felt drawn in by those brown eyes. Almost hypnotized. The moment of eye contact was longer than probably necessary. A smile slowly forming on your lips. "Of course." You nod and slowly return to your work. To your shock, you see your hands trembling ever so slightly as they hover over the numbers on your cash register. Not from the cold. That for sure. Because your hands feel clammy.

  -

"Was that all your money?" You asked while you shut the door behind you. With the keys in your other hand, you lock the place up. Turning on your heel, standing there a few feet apart from each other. The streets weren't exactly busy at this hour. But there was always some movement. But the man stayed silent nonetheless. Perhaps hoping you would drop it. "By not answering, you're admitting it is."

"Yes..." He grumbled, annoyed. "Yes, it was." Avoiding your gaze as he stepped aside for a passerby.

"There are some cheap rooms, two blocks down that way." You pointed down the road. "Big motel. Can't miss it." Pulling out a couple dollars from your wallet.

"That's far more than I paid for the food." He said, too stubborn to take the money.

"That's not the point." You noted. "I don't want you to sleep in a cardboard box under a bridge. There's no need to." Holding the money up to him. "It's cheap, but at least you got a roof over your head, a warm bed, and a way to freshen up."

"You don't have to do this."

"I know." You nod. "Now take it." Reaching the money out to him again. "Or are you intend to find out who's the most stubborn of the two of us."

"I can just walk away." He chuckled. "You know that, right?"

"Promise me one thing." Taking another step closer to him.

"What is that?" He says, watching you with a challenging glint in his eyes.

"Tomorrow morning, be here at seven." Jabbing a finger over your shoulder. "Backdoor. I'll fix you breakfast." Forcing the money in his hand. "Got it?" 

The man nodded as he stashed the bills away in his pocket. "And to who do I owe this promise?" 

"(Y/N)." 

If there was something to lie about, it could be his name. That's what coursed through Arvin's brain right now. After all this, should he be honest? Hadn't he already been up until now? A small inner conflict silenced him for a moment. But inside of him, the gears were turning. The name sat right with the person standing in front of him. And it made him feel… things…. 

For the first time, you caught a glimpse of what you thought to be a smile on the stranger's face. Short and sweet. It was a kind one. A genuine one. A smile that pleasantly cracked his stern features. So unexpected, yet so satisfying to witness. It suited him well.

But only seconds. As he bowed his head down, strolling his eyes across the pavement while fishing for a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. The cap hiding the expression. As if he was embarrassed to show his smile.

"I'm Arvin." He looked up, flashing his smile with confidence, stepping closer towards you. "I haven't thanked you (Y/N)." Offering you one of his last cigarettes. "The meal. And… this." Patting the bills in his pocket. "That's real kind of you." The smile said more than enough. Despite the stubbles across his face, the unshaven look, the long locks of brown hair protruding from underneath his cap, he had a certain charm. And it felt infectious. That ferocity from earlier had subsided. Making way for a heartwarming smile. "Thank you (Y/N)."

"No problem, Arvin." Pulling the collars up against the wind, but kindly refusing the cigarette. "I only drink." And return him a smile. "See you tomorrow morning."  

He nodded as you saw the fire catch his cigarette. The orange glow shining across his features. There was this tensioned moment of eye contact before you exchanged a "Goodnight". Arvin watched you go as he ran his hand over his curled dark hair, smoothing it into place before putting the cap back on. A shuddered breath left his parted lips. He didn't understand what his body was experiencing. This feeling. He wanted to say something as he saw you walking away. But he couldn't. Nailed to the spot. Yet his legs were like jelly. So each went their own way. But not without their troubled minds.

  - NEXT MORNING - 

 Still early in the morning, the cool breeze nipping at your skin, you tighten your coat around you. The streets were reasonably quiet. With your hands safely stowed away in your pockets, sheltered from the wind, you make your way down the street. The unmistakable form of the kiosk was one of the few places open so early. You pick up the newspaper while you exchange a few words with the older man behind the counter. It wasn't the smoothest of conversations. Undeniably, Arvin had been on your mind. Something about him made you look forward to seeing him again. With the newspaper under your arm, you continue. Therefore sleep didn't come easily last night. Twisting and turning in the sheets. What bothered you, you couldn't pinpoint exactly. But it had something to do with Arvin, you figured as much. The night was short as you woke up way before your alarm clock did go off—a terrible start to the day.

You turn into the alley leading to the backdoor. Not much movement this early in the morning. Your heart skips a beat as you are frozen on the spot. Seeing a figure hunched together beside the backdoor of the diner. The denim jacket and cap immediately gave away who it was. "Arvin?" You asked the obvious, slowly approaching. "Is...Is that you?"

A pair of tired eyes paired with furrowed brows shot up at you while you fish the keys from your pocket. His handsome face was lined, and eyes set deep into its sockets, riddled with sleep—a frustrated but tired gaze connected with yours. You can't help but notice the trembles shaking his frame as you come close. "Hey." He grumbled as the simple greeting came from his shuddering lips. The cold and fatigue certainly got a good grip on him. 

"You're... early?" You said somewhat sarcastically. "Something happened?" 

"R-Ran into some problems." He groaned, followed by a coughing fit that almost knocked his lungs out. "So I…eh slept here." 

"Damn… Do I wanna know what happened?" Arvin's condescending stare said more than enough. The way he communicated through that stare—the eye contact. You knew enough. You shook your head in disbelief. "Well, c'mon." Extending him a hand to help him on his feet. "I'll get you started with something warm." A firm grasp takes your hand, but his fingers were cold through and through, followed by a gaze of threatening eyes. You caught it in a glimpse. It was more than enough. Just what you thought. The red of his knuckles, skin rough and stained with dried blood. Arvin had been in a fight of some sort. 

"What?" He snorted in derision. Pulling back his hand from yours as he got onto his legs. His anger, sudden, and ferocious. There was a moment of thoughtful silence as he inched closer beside you. He was aware of what you saw. But wasn't going to admit it, nor tell you. 

"Nothin…" You replied. Careful not to show your disappointment. "Let's head inside."

Arvin took a seat at the bar, with your jacket wrapped around him. Just to give some extra warmth. Eyes small and dim, an expression of defeat and a glare that had tiresome written all over it. His shoulders hung low, and his posture sat like a wreck on the stool. 

"Did you even sleep?" Placing a big pot of tea beside him. He only answered by shaking his head, wrapping his hands around the mug. Life slowly returning to his pale-looking fingers. You let him sit in silence as you sip your morning coffee. Arvin's gaze stuck somewhere beyond the passing traffic. A thousand-yard stare. It sure was his trademark—so absent-minded, sulking on his own. Jaw locked and sucking on his teeth. You weren't a morning person either, but this was something else.

"Tidy up." You said while putting a warm moist cloth beside his hands. "You'll scare the customers."

"I don't follow." Came the grunted reply. Sipping on his steaming hot cup of tea. His reply almost sounded like a challenge, rather than this usual angry tone you got used to. 

"The blood-" You nod to his knuckles. Looking all sore and red. "On your hands. You... need a bandage or...?" The response was none. He just looked at you. Sometimes a car caught his attention before looking back at you. You think to notice a small curvature on the corner of his lips. Making you a little unsure of what to do. "You okay, Arvin?"

"You'd like to know...?" He asked with a growing smirk, slowly tilting the cup to his lips. The smile now more prominent than before. "Wouldn't you…"

"Arvin…" You sighed and rolled your eyes. "It's more-"

"Goodmorning!" A voice called out in the back. Interrupting you mid-sentence. Making you jump a little. You hop over to Arvin and pull the jacket away from him, just in time as your father turned the corner. "Well, good morning to you too." He flashed a smile towards Arvin. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Before Arvin had said a word, you already interjected; rather smoothly, you had to admit. "This is Arvin." You introduced. "And we were just talking about the job…"

"Oh! Nice meeting you." Extending his hand towards Arvin. "I'm (YOUR DADS NAME)." Shaking his hand. "So you're here for the kitchen? That's good! Jerry will be delighted to hear that." Arvin watched you with big eyes as you continued to talk in on your dad. Desperate not to let Arvin ruin the hold thing. But for one, Arvin didn't follow at all. His mind was too hazy to process this much so early in the morning. After a few minutes of conversation, your dad turns to Arvin. "All sounds good. You got experience?"

"Well... ehm." He stammered somewhat inaudible. Nervously shielding his bruised knuckles with his other hand. "I…"

" You... mentioned… your gran-" Trying to put the words in his mouth, mimicking the words with your lips. But Arvin clearly wasn't following. A confused expression crawled on his face as you exchanged glances. "Grand--... M-

"-Grandmother… Yes." He said, finally catching on. "I… learned from my grandmother."

"Ah! Okay. Well, we don't serve that kind of food here." Your father bellowed in laughter. "But experience is best shown via practice. When you're ready, hop on in the kitchen and serve us some breakfast." Your dad says, pulling off his jacket. "Give us a call when you're ready." And turns to you. "I'll be upstairs, do some paperwork. How was yesterday?" 

"Good, good. Nothing special. But listen…" Pushing him along towards the staircase in the back. Out of earreach of Arvin. "Arvin needs some living space. If he's good, which I think he really is, maybe he can sleep upstairs? One of the older rooms." 

"I thought you were thinking about-"

"No, no, no… That can wait. I can wait. But what do you think?"

"Yeah, of course. We can make that work. If you think he's good. Go for it. But he better make us a good breakfast." He laughs and pats you on your shoulder, starting to scale the flight of stairs. "Call me when it's done." You let out a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you. A good start so far. 

But dark clouds were gathering near the bar. You could see it in his eyes. Arvin's kind and smiling expression he faked in front of your dad. Those expressions had vanished, replaced by something of an animal's howl of outrage. "What did you just do?!" Arvin jumped off his stool, aggressively barged towards you. "You-"

"If you mean to ruin this for yourself-..." You cut him off. "-speak... louder."

"I didn't ask for any of this!" He hissed with his teeth clenched, like a wolf snarling at his prey. But surprisingly, in a lowered tone. Confronting you close up. His balled up fists threatening what came next. 

"Then why are you whispering-...?" You grinned. "-Arvin?"

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into!" His breath ragged with the passion of his anger and fuelled rage, big brown eyes peered into yours. For a moment, you were afraid that he might do something to you. "Do you?!" 

"No, but neither do you." You fired back at him. "Don't be mad at me. I'm merely giving you a chance."

"If I wanted that, I'd ask for it!" He snarled up close, the spittle almost flying across your face. "For ev-"

"Stay angry all you want." You said without letting him finish. "You can walk right out of the door if you want, or… you step into that kitchen and make something of it." You let the words sink in. Stepping past him, you turn around and pat his shoulder. "Think about it. It's a chance to start anew."

"I…" He sighed without finishing his sentence before even starting it. "You don't even know me."

"What's your point?"

"Why would you help me?!" He held his pose as he spoke, the dark brown intensity of his eyes never leaving yours. "Out of all the people that walk in here, why me?"

"It's simple." You toss the pen aside. Feeling the frustration of his misplaced mistrust starting to annoy you. "I just want to help you, Arvin. That's all." Your breath quickened for a moment as you stood there facing each other. Locked in one and other's gaze. "I… I felt…" But shake the thoughts from your mind. "I felt sorry for you."

"You shouldn't..." He mumbled, gazing into the distance. Locking his jaw as he mulled over your words. Trying to look tough. "I don't need someone else's pity." Throwing his knapsack over his shoulder. And starts heading for the door. "I'm a lost cause."

"Then what do you have left to lose? Nothing. Right?"

"I'm free to go wherever the fuck I want." He sneered, jabbing an angry finger against your chest. "Because you did something nice doesn't mean I have to repay you."

"That's not…" You sighed deeply, frustrated at his stubbornness. Seeing him walk away again. "Arvin… don't go."

"Oh shut up." He snarled, waving a dismissive hand.

"I'm sorry." You apologized. Ashamed of your comment earlier. "I shouldn't have said that. And, I… didn't mean it that way. It's… I haven't slept well and..." 

"You and me both." He said. Leaving you a little bit surprised. A moment of silence filled the room. Upstairs you could hear your dad walking. For a moment, youre afraid he might have heard something. "I'm sorry too." He hung his head low. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. You didn't deserve that."

"Will you at least think about, Arvin. I want you to know, my father has agreed on lending you a room upstairs." You said while averting your gaze, back to your work. "You can stay there for a while." And head towards the ledger spread out before on the counter. Arvin stood there, frozen on the spot. Hand on the door. Ready to leave. "Think about it, Arvin."

His eyes widened, the aggression in his expression sank away, replaced by guilt. "Are you… Are you serious?" He turned to you. "(Y/N)?"

"Yes, I believe in you. You just… need a little bit of help." You said. "Worst case, my dad laughs about it, and he'll teach you himself. He can't see the bad in people. He only wants to bring the best out of them."

"Runs in the family." He says with a small smile growing. You only catch it in a glimpse as you watch him turn around, walking towards one of the hanging aprons behind the bar. You watch him from the corner of your eye and can't help but smile. Fiddling with the apron and cleaning his hands. He seemed like a good lad. And you were happy he at least was giving it a shot. "Arvin." You called just before he entered the kitchen, mentioning him to come over. "Make the bacon extra crispy for my dad. You'll score extra points."

"I will." He smiled and nodded. "I will." And watch him enter the kitchen. 

"And don't forget yourself." You add on while you try to focus on the numbers in front of you. But they didn't hold any interest to you. Opening hour was just around the corner, but this day had already gotten so much better. Your smile was hard to suppress. But why would you? A smile of happiness. Now it's up to him.

"(Y/N)" Arvin's voice came from behind you. Waking you from your derailed train of thought. As you turned around, you see him leaning on his forearms through the little serving counter. "When this turns out-" 

"It will, Arvin." You immediately said with confidence, followed with a smile. "Trust me. It will." 

"Okay." He chuckled softly. "Well...Do you… eh maybe want to get a drink sometime?" Asking with a slight nervousness to his voice. "No cigarettes." He added, a tender smile curving his lips. "I… also... still owe you for last night, so..." 

"Now I have to make this work." You chuckle, rubbing the nape of your neck. Feeling a rush of heat shoot across your cheeks. "Sounds good, Arvin."

[blinder-secrets]

Ring Girl - Part 2

part one

ao3 link

a/n: i can’t believe after 3 years i’m finally continuing this... i genuinely feel so good about it, i hope it was worth the wait

Bonnie woke before you, as he often did. He could’ve left you sleeping, slipped away without stirring you at all, but his softness wouldn’t let him. It never did. He’d told you once that his day couldn’t go right unless you welcomed it in and, after that, you’d stopped complaining. You let him wake you when he wanted and smiled each time that he did.

‘Dove,’ he said quietly, trailing his index finger across your collarbone. ‘It’s morning.’ He drew a line and then looped it, spinning patterns on your skin until you showed signs of waking.

You were on your back, with him on his side next to you. When you’d said goodnight, you’d been tangled together, wound up like string, but he fidgeted too much; in the mornings, you were always apart again. ‘Already?’ you sighed, talking round the edges of a yawn. ‘What time?’

‘Six.’

With your eyes still closed, you turned your head, flipping your cheek onto the pillow to face him. ‘More sleep, please,’ you murmured.

He laughed, keeping it quiet and light. Soft like he might’ve startled you. ‘I need you to wish me luck, dove.’

You pulled your eyes open then, peeling the lids apart and blinking a few times to keep them so. ‘Why?’ you asked, yawning afterwards. ‘What’s today?’

The room was dim, lit with what little sun could filter in through the curtains, but he still lay there glowing. Dark eyes melting into amber. His skin fresh and pale, and drawn across his cheeks like bone china. Precious, you thought. Gold in name and value.

His hand shifted from your chest and pushed under the covers to link with yours. ‘It’s the first day training,’ he said, lips settling into a grin. ‘They’ve got me in the best gym in Birmingham.’ He pulled the word, stretched it and curled it into his accent, cherished it like it was his for the taking.

Birmingham. The city, the bricks and the smoke. It all held a weight to him that was lost on you.

‘What do you need training for?’ There wasn’t a man in England that could beat him, you’d seen enough of them try.

‘It’s important.’ He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. ‘Rules are different.’

‘Fuck rules,’ you answered lazily. ‘You’re all instinct, Bon.’

He squeezed your hand before letting go. ‘Not anymore.’ He sat up with a groan, pausing on the edge of the bed to roll his neck out, to stretch his limbs and wipe his eyes before standing.

‘Come back,’ you whined, reaching a limp arm over the bed to him. ‘Just for a bit.’

He shook his head as he bent over the chest you both kept your clothes in. ‘I can’t be late.’

‘Who says?’ You rolled onto your elbows, chin in your hands. He began to dress himself as you watched. ‘Your dad,’ you asked, ‘or the Shelbys?’

‘Both, dove.’ He ignored the comment you’d slung beneath the words, the question you couldn’t ask outright. Who are you loyal to now Bonnie? Who’s threats scare you the most? ‘I have to go,’ he said.

‘I think I preferred when you were boxing trees.’

The soft smile you knew so well fell onto his features — the one that said, you’re difficult, but you’re mine. He came back to the bed and ran a hand over your hair. ‘Trees don’t pay, y’know. This is good for us.’

It’s good for Aberama, you thought. ‘Will you be away for long?’

‘Just the day,’ he said. ‘You’ll have me again before it’s dark.’

You smiled and turned to kiss his wrist. ‘I suppose I can keep myself busy til then.’

He nodded, and leant down to return the gesture, planting his lips onto the top of your head. ‘Be good,’ he said as he stood again. ‘Don’t be gettin’ into trouble.’

‘When do I ever get myself in trouble, Bon?’

‘Almost everyday,’ he answered.

You’d only lingered in bed a little longer after Bonnie left, then you’d washed and dressed, and walked from the camp with your hair damp and frizzing. It wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold enough to make you regret it either. It’d be dry by the time you got to town. You had thought about getting the train from the nearest station, but why bother when you had all day to waste anyway. The walk would do you good.

When you got to Small Heath, you followed the canals, clinging to those streaks of almost wilderness. They weren’t natural, but it felt nicer to walk them than the roads. You didn’t pass another soul until it took you through the Shelby yard. The old man that owned it gave you a look as you arrived, but said nothing. Perhaps he knew who you were. Perhaps he’d made the connection on his own, from the way you dressed, the way you carried yourself. Bonnie had said their family was Romani too, and kin recognise kin no matter how long ago they settled.

‘Can I cut through here, sir?’ you asked him.

He nodded once, wiping his hands clean on a rag that was already black with coal. ‘One of the Golds, are you?’

‘Not yet.’ You smiled as you veered from the comfort of the canal path to cross the yard. ‘Won’t be long, though,’ you added as you passed him.

He ignored your comment as you thought he would. ‘Don’t make it a habit, love, walking through here. S’a working boat yard, you know.’

You waved a hand over your shoulder in acknowledgment; you never made anything habit.

Following whim had led you to the bookies on Watery Lane. Last time you were there, Finn, you think he’s called, had let you place a bet on the Blinders’ winning horse. You didn’t follow the races yourself, you just did it because you could. Because it had never been offered to you before. He’d suggested a horse and you’d agreed to it, put the few pounds you’d had into his palm and told him to go for it. Make me a winner, Peaky boy.

He wasn’t around this time. When you walked into the betting shop, all the thick-sculled men twisted their necks to look at you. They went quiet like you were a ghost. Like they’d never seen a woman before.

‘I placed a bet,’ you said, to the room, because no one offered to help you. ‘Last week.’

‘Did ya, love,’ said the closest, laughing as he turned back to his work.

You stood straighter. ‘Yes.’ You took the slip Finn had given you, and held it out to him, shoving it under his nose so he was forced to look at it. ‘See?’

The man glanced at you sideways and then took the receipt, sitting back to scrutinise it. ‘Who the bloody hell let you do that?’ he said, accent thick and rolling and itching under your skin.

‘Finn Shelby,’ you told him, knowing it was a weapon to say so. They could be as rude as they liked, but you knew they were all hares in a trap that the Shelbys’ set. You watched the smugness flush from his expression. ‘So,’ you purred, ‘did I win?’

He shook his head, then he sighed. Then he leant forward again and held the paper back out for you to take. ‘No, love,’ he said. ‘You lost like the rest of them.’

Frowning, you took the receipt and shoved it, crumpled, back into your pocket. ‘It was fixed?’ you asked. ‘He had me bet on the wrong horse?’

‘I’m not sayin’ that.’

But he wouldn’t, even if Finn had. ‘He said it would win,’ you continued, your words bitter and souring. ‘Was blessed, he said.’

The man cleared his throat. ‘Can’t be helped.’

It could, in fact, be helped.

‘Do you have a toilet?’ you asked.

You’d sweetened your voice slightly and it had worked, because he nodded and pointed to the back of the room, past the tables and the workers, without even looking up at you. You followed the direction he’d sent you in, and locked yourself into the toilet for long enough to seem convincing.

If Finn could sell you a false bet, you saw no harm in getting back what was wrongly taken from you — with some interest, of course.

When it seemed reasonable, you left the toilet and started back through the shop, eyes scanning the tables as you passed them. It mustn’t have been long since they took their last winnings; the desks were busy with notes, and pennies, and men counting as fast as their education would let them. Seeing a suitably abandoned pile, close to the edge of the nearest, you paused and crouched. No-one was taking any notice of you. You tied your lace though it had never been undone and then, with a final check for safety, you stole the money. Your hand curled over the table-edge, pushing the top inch of notes from the pile and into your waiting pocket. It was so easy you almost laughed.

In a way, you wish you had laughed. Now, you knew it wouldn’t have made a difference, because you never got away with it. If you’d have laughed at the time, you might’ve been able to flirt your way out of the trouble.

After standing, you had started to walk away, nonchalant and pleased with your actions. And then the thin-moustached man, who was previously looking for his cigarettes, had turned back and noticed. You’d been hoping he would be clueless to it. Or at least slow enough that you’d be out the door and down the road before he realised.

‘Oi,’ he barked, ‘where’s that fucking money gone?’

There wasn’t chance to plea your case. Out of everyone in the shop, it could have only ever been you that was responsible. It didn’t take them long to work that out.

You were by the campfire when Aberama found you. He knew already what’d happened, at least, he knew what Mikey had told him, who knew what you had told Allie, which really wasn’t all that much. All you’d said to her, was that you’d robbed some money from the wrong man, and he’d smacked the sense back into you. She didn’t need to know that it involved Shelby business, because Aberama didn’t need to know. The paths that gossip took were predictable enough that you’d accounted for it.

When he got to you, the kettle you’d been waiting for finally hissed and screamed into its boiling point. You reached for it, but Aberama took it off the flames and set it onto the table before you could. No tea for you, then. Just inquisition.  

‘So, what am I meant to tell Bonnie this time?’ he asked, crossing his wrists over his front. ‘He’ll be back soon.’

‘I know.’ You felt inclined to keep your face hidden, choosing to stare down at the fire instead of looking at him. ‘It’s nothing serious,’ you told him. The first slap had been hard enough to split your lip, the second just enough to bruise the cushioning beneath your eye. Everything else was so minor it barely left an ache.

‘Everything is serious to him, girl.’

You nodded.

‘This will hurt him,’ he said.

‘I know,’ you agreed. He didn’t want to hear anything else from you after all. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

‘You will.’ He stepped closer, and dipped his head so you couldn’t help but look at him. You didn’t find him threatening, just chilling. Unreadable but familiar enough that you couldn’t be scared of him. ‘I won’t have you distracting him now,’ he warned. ‘I like you, but I won’t hesitate to make a choice on his behalf.’

You nodded. He lifted your chin with the tips of his fingers to get a proper look at you.

‘You’re too rough for all your sweetness,’ he said. Then, after a moment of consideration, he added, ‘I’ll tell Bonnie before he sees you, but make this the last time, dear.’

After that, you sat on the steps to your wagon, anxiety rotting in your gut, until the sun had began to set. Just before it fell enough to make the sky feel dark, Bonnie came home. He entered the camp whistling, his hands in his pockets, his steps free and bounding. He saw you from across the way, but Aberama intercepted him before he could get any closer.

Guilt bit at your ankles as the joy went from his shoulders and into the mulch, his high from the day’s training lost once he heard of your own stupidity. You watched his brows pull together. His hands left his pockets in fists. The worst part of it, was knowing that it could’ve been avoided. You could’ve taken your failed bet and left, could’ve gone home and read, and waited. Could’ve lay down and listened to him gush about the fights he’d had. Instead, you had to watch his buzz harden into anger, and sit under the weight of his gaze as he approached.

When he got to you, he was mute. His jaw set and unset.

‘Bon,’ you started, looking up at him, ‘before you say anything—‘

‘No, dove,’ he stopped you. He folded his arms and then unwound them again, fidgeting in the way he did when he tried to keep himself calm. When he tried to put words before actions. ‘I told you to be careful,’ he said. His voice was so taut it was almost a whisper.

You exhaled heavily. Not in a sigh, in deflation. You dropped your head but he lifted it again, his hand so light against your cheek that it may as well have not been there. It was the intention more than the grip that brought your eyes back to his. While he scanned your face, you sat vacant, waiting for the disapproval to load onto his features. His thumb moved to hover over the cut in your lip, his eyes dark and scrutinising.

‘Who was it?’ he asked pointedly, still talking through the catch of his teeth.

‘No one.’

‘Don’t do that.’

‘Bon,’ you pushed his hand away, ‘it’s like you said, they’re less forgiving in the city. I know that now.’

He wasn’t satisfied. He knew you too well, knew you were smarter than getting caught for pickpocketing. ‘I’ll ask you again, who was it?’

Rolling your eyes, you looked away from him. You couldn’t lie to his face as easily as you could with others. ‘I don’t know names,’ you said.

‘What happened then?’ he replied, standing limp before you. His gaze bore into the bruise on your cheek. ‘Where were you?’

If Bonnie was anything, he was stubborn. The only person you knew other than yourself, that would run a thought into the ground, let an idea posses him until he found whatever it was he wanted. You closed your eyes for a moment, knowing the next words to come out your mouth would only make things worse. And yet, there you were, preparing to say them anyway.

‘I took money,’ you said slowly, 'from the Shelby bookmakers.’

‘What?’ The word hissed out of him, piercing the quiet bubble that had previously kept you safe from curious stares. Now, they looked freely, heads turning in your direction as Bonnie continued. ‘Fucken’ what?’ he spat. ‘They did this?’

‘No, no, Bon…’ You rolled your head between your shoulders, searching for something, anything, to say to quell him. ‘It wasn’t like that exactly.’

‘Then how was it like?’ His hands curled up again, rigid and set for striking.

‘Finn gave me a dud bet,’ you explained quickly. ‘I went and he wasn’t there, and they all gave me a look as if I shouldn’t be, and I thought, well, fuck them, I’ll take my own winnings.’

‘I’ll kill ‘em.’

You groaned. ‘No, Bon, I was being stupid. I deserved it, really. I mean, it was broad daylight, in a shop full of—’

‘Those Blinder fucks,' he cursed, turning to pace away from you. He spat into the leaves and threw a hand up to grab the cap from his head. ‘I’m s’posed to be fucken’ one of ‘em.’

‘Bonnie.’ You stood, stepping wide enough to reach him. You grabbed him by the arm and forced him to still. ‘It was a Blinder who stopped it,’ you said.

‘Yeah?’ His eyes darkened. ‘Not soon enough.’

‘He wasn’t there,’ you stressed. ‘When he came, he told them who I was. It’s sorted, Bon, we sorted it.’

You’d apologised to Finn, and he’d done the same. You were both crooks after all. There was too much between them and the Golds to be lost, so you’d agreed with him to leave it there, no bad blood. No revenge needed from either side. It’d be forgotten about before sunrise if Bonnie let it.

‘What’re you gonna do, Bonnie?’ you asked, softening your voice. ‘You go there and all this is ruined. I won’t let you do it.’

His jaw set again. ‘They hurt you, dove.’

‘I know.’ You rubbed his bicep. ‘It’s not worth it, still. Not even for me.’

‘Don’t keep sayin’ things like that,’ he scolded. ‘Always puttin’ me before you.’

His brows folded, and when he pulled away from your touch you let him. He looked upwards, to the trees, then to his feet. He was working through it. Tucking away the anger to consider the repercussions. There wasn’t anything he could do without causing more problems, no punch he could land without throwing the fight. He needed to be in the Shelby’s good books, for Aberama, for his career. He may not have liked it, but it was the truth.

‘Alright,’ he said, after a forced breath. ‘If it’s sorted?’

‘It is,’ you answered. ‘It’s forgotten.’

He nodded tightly. Then, for the first time, his expression faltered, softness melting the lines between his eyebrows. ‘You are alright, aren’t you, dove?’

You smiled, ignoring the pinch as it tugged the scab on your lip. ‘It’s nothing.’

Tutting, he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. ‘Leave the fightin’ to me, ey?’ He said by your ear, words light and sad all the same. ‘Dun’t suit you.’

The hug was warm, and tight, and he smelt like a football team straight off the pitch, but you couldn’t pull away. You wanted to sink into him, right between the bones, and stay there. Mine, you thought. Mine and yours.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said, the stress delayed and boiling in your chest. ‘I could’ve fucked it up for you.’ You’d acted selfishly. It was pure luck, and understanding, and wilful retreat that kept it from shattering everything he and Aberama had built.

‘Ah,’ he soothed, his palm running up your back, ‘you know we don’t worry ‘bout the past.’

He didn’t but you did. Always, and relentlessly.

‘Here,’ he said, pulling back to hold your face. He kissed you once, gently, careful ‘cause he knew how it’d hurt, and then smiled. ‘I’ve still got to tell you ‘bout me day.’

‘Yeah?’ You leant back into his arms. ‘How’d it go?’

His eyes lit up. They shone in the twilight. ‘They said I’m gonna be a star, dove. A fucken’ star.’

[sonderthroughthestreets]

I’m not coping so here’s some you(s)mina fluff!! (I still dk their shipname (I like youmina)

I wrote this after the hands clip and then I was too slow but I think we could all use a bit of fluff 🤧

That was close. Too close.

Yasmina sits in her room, illuminated in yellows and she feels the exact opposite. She thinks the colour resembles that of nausea instead of happiness or openness right now. She thinks there’s something settling in her stomach and it’s not the hunger of fasting or the anxiousness of her test next week. She’s sitting with her papers scattered and her brain even more so.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

It was supposed to be a friendly game of basketball and all of a sudden he was crowding her space and he was getting too close for comfort and his hand was on her hand and-

She takes a breath.

His hand is soft, she thinks. It’s kind. And gentle. His skin gives her warmth when his fingers brush across hers like that. But in the same moment, his face was unbearably close to hers, enough that she could feel his breath and she had to pull away. She just had to.

She probably dreamt of this a hundred times over the past two weeks, imagining all the little ways they’d get closer. He’d tease her, she’d tease him. He’d give her a smile and she’d give him one in return. All from a considerable distance. Something just within reach, dangling and swaying from the line she’s made for herself.

She’s walked the line two days ago. Stumbling on it, so thin like a tightrope.

Her heart had hammered in her chest and she was pretty sure Younes could hear it from across the court when she fled. The talking, the staring, the overt flirtatious gestures, it’s all coming together to moments like this. Where he touches her hand and she can’t tell if she wants to feel the blood in his veins flow a little longer or to pull away like it’s boiling instead. And truth be told that scares her a little to feel the emotions wound up in touch. Because now that he’d held her hand twice already, it feels too much, too overwhelming. It all feels real.

She hears the doorbell sound, waking her from her thoughts, and when she steps down to open it, an unexpected face comes to light.

She’s staring, she can’t help it. He’s wearing a green hoodie and she can’t stop the part of her brain that’s thinking it matches her olive green hijab. His curls fall into place on his forehead just so, and his lips are parted, trembling almost, in hesitant action to smile. It’s a bit awkward at first because neither of them want to say anything. But Yasmina figures she should say the first word.

“Younes.”

“Uh, hi,” he says shyly, ducking his head a little. “Your brother invited me, is he…?” he points inside her house.

“So, you’re allowed here again?” she raises her eyebrows.

She expects a serious answer but Younes’ lips are softly curving. His voice is a bit shaky when he asks,

“Would you not let me in, if I weren’t?”

And just like that, the tension seems to be broken. He carries himself easily, brushes things aside quickly. He quiets her heart.

She gives him a smile and pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, shaking her head while opening the door ajar to let him in. Calling for Elias, she heads off into the kitchen. She thinks she might be able to cool down a bit there in solitude. But that’s wishful thinking when she hears footsteps follow her. She turns to look at him and at the same time that she wants to say “I”, Younes wants to say “I’m sorry.”

They laugh with eyes shining.

“You first,” says Younes.

“No, you,” Yasmina throws it back at him.

So, he looks at her, licks her lips and begins again.

“I’m sorry about that day. At the basketball court. I didn’t mean to make you feel weird or anything like that,” he says.

Yasmina blinks thrice, fast.

“No, uh, no, it’s fine. It’s not really your fault,” she says.

It’s not really hers either. How can anyone be at fault when there’s so many emotions involved?

“Okay,” he says, the corners of his lips rising. “I totally would’ve won if you didn’t run away, though.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yasmina shakes her head as she leans on the counter.

Younes’ eyes flicker from her to the counter and the pile of carrots to the side. She can see his mind veering and she’s not really sure what he’s thinking.

“Do you wanna make something?” he asks.

“What?”

“The carrots,” he nods his head to them as Yasmina turns her head back. She looks at him hesitantly, raising an eyebrow.

“I know you’re not that great at cooking and you don’t really have to do much, but come help me?” he asks.

“You...have to leave with Elias, soon,” she says.

“I’m sure he can have some patience. A good skill to learn along with playing basketball,” Younes quips.

His eyes are glistening and Yasmina thinks for a moment that if she could stand still in time, she could count the colours that swirl in the browns. A slow smile dawns upon her lips and she nods. -

Okay, so Younes doesn’t know that many recipes involving carrots but he’s said that carrots in pasta taste really good. Yasmina will just have to take his word for it. She watches him fish around for a pot for the pasta and turn on the tap for the water. His movements are swift and he completes every task with great concentration. But Yasmina is finding it hard to focus.

Her eyes travel to the way he moves and the way he cares and the way it’s all casual and nothing casual at all. She’s just leaning back with a fond smile on her face and she’s thinking that maybe, in the future, in another life, she could get used to this.

He throws a glance back at her after he’s washed the carrots, challenging smirk on his face. Yasmina rolls her eyes playfully. She doesn’t have to think twice about what that look means. Walking over, she takes a carrot and a peeler and starts peeling them carefully. Younes dumps all the pasta in the pot to boil and stirs occasionally. Their shoulders brush each other and Yasmina surprisingly doesn’t mind the warmth. It’s soothing rather than burning.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” Younes comments.

“You'd think I would, learning from a major in carrot science and all,” she says. Then she sighs and looks at him. “Don’t you think?” she repeats.

She’s almost instantly regretting the gesture because now that she’s looking at him, Younes is staring right back and their gazes are easy to hold but hard to let go. She doesn’t know how to stop.

He smiles though.

It’s a smile that turns her insides out. Carves out a small nook for all the lovely things to be neatly placed inside. It’s a smile she thinks she might fight for. Even if it’s to just fight herself.

Then, suddenly his hands are nearing hers and she’s not sure what his plans are.

“You’re missing bits here and there,” he says pointing to the carrot. “Make sure you get all of it.”

Right.

She looks down but his hand doesn’t want to move. It’s staying there as if time really had frozen, chancing her a warped reality where she could try this again. She doesn’t miss that he’s giving her the space she needs to pull away if she wanted to.

Did she want to?

Her hand moves closer to his and the contact is almost searing. Her skin presses against his and the touch is overwhelming once again. But she’s thinking she should stop fighting it. Some part of her mind let’s it happen. Lets the touch bring tangibility to all the feelings she holds inside of her.

She hears the intake of breath and her lashes immediately lift to see Younes looking at her as if he can’t believe this is real. That he’s here holding her hand. Or rather she’s holding his. It’s all muddled and tangled but they are here holding each other in the most personal and corporeal way.

“Yo, bro, lets go,” a voice jolts them apart. They both look to see Elias with the sling of his red delivery bag walking in and motioning for Younes to join him.

Their hands are ripped apart but Younes stutters as he’s trying to come up with an answer or an excuse or something to keep this moment going longer.

“Go. I’ll watch over the pasta,” says Yasmina.

Younes lets out a laugh.

“You’re sure you can handle that?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can handle a little bit of pasta,” Yasmina makes a face.

He gives her that charming smile all soft and gooey and then he heads out with her brother, glancing back every so often. “At least iftar’s ready for you,” he says.

She has to nod at that. When he’s out of sight, her heart’s still clambering inside of her.

She thinks it all went better this time. She thinks if it happens again she might be able to take it. And she’s standing there smiling to herself at the fact that she’s allowing herself to even imagine a next time.

Because next time...she might just give him her hand.