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searchingforenadi · 5 years ago

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open cuts are still safety hazards

here we are, back at it again :O

the brief summary: Your customers won’t stop bleeding in your shop. You realize this might be a problem. (second person!OC, TYL).

xviii.

One afternoon, the strangest of pairs enter your shop.

“Hi,” you say slowly, momentarily pausing from wiping down the counter.

“Hi!” Lambo says, grinning. To his side, Gokudera grunts, hands digging into his pockets.

Strolling to your usual display, Lambo gives an appreciative ooh at your desserts. Meanwhile, Gokudera stalks to the register.

“The usual?” you finally ask, when it’s clear Gokudera will not be starting this conversation.

He glances at you, pale fingers tapping the counter, before looking back to the side. “Yeah.”

This… is not the strangest Gokudera has ever been, so you nod and get started on the coffee.

“Hey, Octopus-head,” Lambo calls, pointing eagerly to the cheesecake. “Get me one of these!”

You don’t dare to assume who ‘Octopus-head’ might be, but the signs are very clear.

“Hah?” Gokudera sneers, his voice darkening. “I’m not getting you shit.”

“Come on,” Lambo whines. In the meantime, you pour the coffee into a cup. “Tsuna got me one last time!”

You turn back to see Gokudera one step away from strangling the closest body. Aware that you are one of two options, you wait, very far away, coffee still in hand.

Gokudera bares his teeth, jaw clenching tightly and takes an aggressive step forward - until his eyes catch yours.

You stare at each other for a second, before he exhales slowly. He takes a step back and readjusts his suit.

You hope this is because he remembers he’s in a bakery and not because he’s decided to murder you in your sleep tonight.

“Fine,” he bites out, running a hand through his silver hair, the rings on his fingers glinting under the light.

“Yes!” Lambo cheers, fist pumping the air. He turns to you with bright eyes. “Give me the cheesecake!”

Gokudera lets out a wordless growl.

“Please,” Lambo hurriedly says, his dark curly hair nearly bouncing up and down.

All too aware of Gokudera’s thinning patience, you smile briefly, then rapidly cut an extra large slice of cheesecake and pack it up in a matter of minutes.

Gokudera hands you a wad of cash, and you pass over the coffee and cake.

“Keep the change,” he tells you, already taking a dreg of his drink.

And, because you’re so close to finally getting that electric mixer, you take the money.

“Thanks,” you say, with a smile, because you won’t be caught giving less than outstanding customer service ever again. “See you later then.”

Gokudera nods stiffly and heads for the door. Behind him, Lambo eyes you curiously, before giving a wide grin.

“Bye!” Lambo calls out, waving a hand, and follows Gokudera out the door.

xix.

Later that week, when you’re studying your grandma’s recipe for mochi, the door opens.

“Welcome,” you call out distractedly, closing your notebook and looking up. “How can I help - ”

You stop.

“Hi,” Lambo says, with a smile. It's a contrasting sight to the cuts along his face.

He walks casually over to your display, green eyes wide and bright. You try your best not to look at the red, thin lines on his cheeks.

“Can I have the lemon cake?” he asks, pointing to the dessert.

“Yes,” you say slowly, sliding open the glass wall.

You’re not sure if you should say anything. It’s not your business, and it’s not very professional to ask. You’ve certainly never gone after your other regulars and their less than stellar health.

But still - it’s very obvious Lambo is a teenager.

“Hey,” you say, before you can even stop yourself. You cut through the cake very carefully. “If you have the time - I can give you some antiseptic wipes.”

Lambo crosses his arms.

“I don’t need your help,” he says, almost petulantly.

“I know,” you say, then add, “I’ll give you an extra slice if you do.”

There is a long pause, and that tells you you’re driving a good bargain.

“Fineee,” Lambo says, huffing. He walks over to a nearby table and slumps into a chair.

You smile, packing up the cake, before grabbing a first-aid kit and heading over to Lambo.

“Here,” you slide over a plate of tiny, grape muffins. “You can have some if you want.”

Lambo’s green eyes brighten.

“Thank you,” he says, a muffin already popped into his mouth. Unwrapping the alcohol wipes, you pass one over.

Blinking, Lambo takes the wipe and, very hesitantly, taps his face. Unsurprisingly, he misses.

With a scowl, he misses again, then flinches violently when the wipe accidentally touches a cut.

You cannot bring yourself to watch this anymore.

You offer your hand.

“May I?” you ask quietly. There’s a mirror in the back you might be able to bring out if he says no.

Lambo looks at you warily. Then, after a long moment, he hands over the wipe.

“I’ll be quick,” you promise, dragging a chair over and settling down.

True to your word, you don’t linger over the cuts. You make sure to tap lightly and, when Lambo flinches a little too hard, you place your other hand under his chin to keep him steady.

“There,” you say eventually, cleaning up all the wipes you had used. You show him a tube of antibacterial cream. “I can put this on you too - it’ll be quicker.”

Lambo remains quiet, before saying, “Okay.”

You put the cream on just as quickly. Packing up your first-aid kit, you return to the counter to put it away and grab Lambo’s cake.

When you hand it to him, you tell him, rather seriously, “You can come here anytime if you need help - I’m not going to turn you away if you do.”

Taking the packaged box, Lambo gives a silent nod.

“I’ll see you later then,” you say, when you realize this is most you’re going to get. “Okay?”

Lambo nods again and, putting on his backpack, shuffles out the door.

When he’s out of sight, you collapse onto the counter, your body flopping uselessly over it.

“What am I doing?” you ask yourself, before letting out a groan, resting your forehead on cold granite.

xx.

From that point on, contrary to your original expectations, Lambo begins showing up at your shop more often than before.

“Hi!” he says, going straight to your display.

You pause from sweeping the floor.

“Lambo,” you say, as he plants his face into the glass. “This is the fourth time you’ve been here this week.”

Profit-wise, this is not a bad thing. At the same time, you’re beginning to understand why Lambo’s other companions seem so exasperated with him.

“So what?” Lambo asks unrepentantly. Which, fair - he’s a paying customer. “I want macaroons this time!”

Sighing, you pack up a set of macaroons, adding a few extra into the bag.

“Here,” you say, handing over the bag to Lambo’s grabby hands and accepting his cash.

The smile he gives is enough to relax your shoulders and, abruptly, you remember that one, terrible idea you had, weeks ago.

“By the way,” you say, as casually as possible. Lambo looks up at you, already biting into a macaroon. “You know the man you were with before?”

“Octopus-head?” Lambo asks, nose scrunching up.

You swallow down a choke. “No, the other one - with brown hair - ”

Lambo brightens. “Oh, you mean Tsuna!”

“Yes,” you say, because you don’t dare to use his name when he hasn’t been introduced to you. “Do you see him often?”

Stopping from taking another bite, crumbs around his mouth, Lambo looks at you curiously.

“I might,” he finally says, and eats another macaroon. “Depends on why you’re asking.”

You hum. You’re not too sure how to explain yourself.

Instead, you pull out your tupperware of dango (and poorly made mochi). Ever since your attempt weeks ago, you’ve been bringing a batch for yourself from time to time.

Lambo’s green eyes widen. “Is that - dango?”

“It is,” you say, somewhat impressed that an Italian like Lambo would recognize the dessert. When his eyes remain glued to the tupperware, you ask, with a smile, “You wanna try?”

“Yes!” like lightning, his hand reaches out and snatches a few.

“What do you think?” you ask, when he pops one straight into his mouth.

Lambo chews thoughtfully, then grins with a mouthful of food. “This is really good. It tastes like the real thing, actually.”

You smile at the compliment.

“So,” Lambo says, after eating another dango. “What’s that got to do with Tsuna?”

You pause, before saying, rather carefully, “Well, I know he mentioned Japan and their lighter snacks - ”

“HA!” Lambo interrupts, jumping up and down.

“I knew it!” he crows, pointing a finger at you. “You were mad!”

You blink slowly.

“I wasn’t mad,” you try to tell him. In the end, you took those words as an unnecessary challenge, but you don’t regret it. You’re not done recreating these desserts just yet.

“That’s what someone would say if they were mad,” Lambo shoots back, crossing his arms and sending you a smug look.

You’re not too sure how to respond to that, so you don’t.

“Either way,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “Would you mind giving him some?”

Lambo’s face turns absolutely gleeful.

“I would love to,” he tells you. “Are you going to pass on a note? Because you should.”

“Uh,” you say, not really understanding the demand. You just want to prove that you can make lighter snacks. “Sure, I guess. Stop by tomorrow then, okay?”

Lambo’s grin widens. “Okay!”

He exits the shop with a cackle, which leaves you far more concerned than you originally had been before.

xxi.

That night, you start preparing in a frenzy. You’ve been practicing your grandma’s recipe for mochi, but it’s a slow going process - you don’t have the right tools to get the texture you want.

Instead, you get a batter of dango ready. After some debate, you find yourself making a roll cake as well.

The next morning, you pack together a box of freshly made mitarashi dango and a slice of vanilla rice cake. It’s a nostalgic feeling - you haven’t made roll cake since you first learned how to in high school.

Hours later, after a busy rush hour, Lambo saunters into the shop and walks eagerly up to the register.

“Do you have it?” he asks, in a near whisper.

Bemusedly, you say, in a regular voice, “I do.”

Lambo motions for you to pass the box over. When you do, he squints his eyes at you suspiciously. “Did you write a note?”

You find it rather strange a teenager like Lambo is so invested in you writing a note.

“One second,” you raise a finger, before opening a drawer and pulling out a notepad. You swiftly write out a sentence to appease Lambo, ripping off the page and sticking it inside the cardboard box.

Feeling a little ridiculous, you can only smile when Lambo gives you a wide grin.

“This is for you,” you say, passing him another box full of the leftover roll cake. “As thanks for helping me.”

Lambo’s grin transforms into a 1,000 watt beam.

“Thanks!” he says, clutching both boxes close to his chest.

He then gives you a bow (which, what?) before dashing for the exit and running off into the streets, gone in a blink.

You look down at your hands, still raised from passing over the boxes.

“Huh,” you say slowly. Scratching the back of your head, you move on to help another customer.

xxii.

A few days later, in the early morning, as you finish wiping down the counter, the first customer of the day enters your shop.

You turn to find Tsuna, standing a strange distance away from the register, dressed in a well-fitted suit.

“Hi,” you say, nodding in greeting. “It’s good to see you again.”

There is a short pause.

“Uh, right,” Tsuna finally says, dragging his fingers through his messy hair. “Can I have a cappuccino?”

“Sure,” you say, already moving to get started on the order. The next few minutes are spent in silence, but you can almost feel a pair of eyes on your back.

You pour the milk into a cup and cover it carefully with a lid.

Turning back, you slide the drink over the counter.

“Thanks,” Tsuna says, picking up the cup and handing you some cash.

He waits for another moment and, almost hurriedly, adds, “I also wanted to apologize.”

“Sometimes, I don’t say the right words,” he continues, shifting the weight on his feet. “But I know it was probably taken the wrong way, so I understand why you’re upset. I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t mean anything when I - ”

“I’m not mad,” you say, interrupting the tirade of words. You smile bemusedly. “I’m not sure why you would think that, but I wasn’t ever mad, really.”

Uncharitably, you pin Lambo as the likely culprit for this fiasco.

“Oh,” Tsuna says, blinking once. He shuffles through the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a familiar, folded piece of paper.

You take the paper and open it. Immediately, you recognize your own handwriting.

I hope this is light enough for you - the note says.

Oh.

“Ohhh,” you say slowly, remembering the hastily written sentence.

Yikes, you think, already thinking of the several ways your note can be misinterpreted.

“Okay,” you say. “I can see why you would think that.”

“I’m not mad though,” you add, offering a smile to appease any worries. You’d hate for this string of service failures to continue. It’s clear Tsuna means well, at least. “You inspired me, actually.”

Tsuna blinks again, slowly.

“I,” he begins. “What?”

“I’ve spent years baking what’s comfortable for me,” you say, already searching for a better explanation. “But branching out was challenging and fun. It reminded me a lot of my childhood, because my mom’s Japanese too.”

You remember your mom’s bright laugh, the recipe passed on from your grandma, the memories you had, eating homemade dishes, your mom’s hand over yours -

“So, I’m grateful actually,” you continue, your smile relaxing. “I don’t think I would’ve ever realized what I was missing.”

You bring a hand to your chin in thought, looking into Tsuna’s wide, hazel eyes.

“Technically speaking,” you say lightly, jokingly, “I guess that would make you my muse then, right?”

A long silence enters the shop. It drags out, like a glacier, over several seconds.

You take this as a sign that you should never make a joke for the rest of your life.

“Uh,” you finally say, when Tsuna remains motionless. “You okay?”

Tsuna swallows, his fingers gripping his cup tightly.

“Yeah,” he says, before clearing his throat. “I’m, yeah - I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” you say slowly. And, pretending that nothing ever happened, you ask, “So, was the dango okay?”

“It was,” Tsuna says, moving his drink to his other hand. “It was, uh, it was more than okay, actually.”

You smile. It’s always relieving to hear when your products are approved by the locals.

You fold back the note in your hands, placing it on the counter, and wonder - did you miss out on a returning customer because of your actions?

Because it’s a good business move, you tell him, “I hope this won’t stop you from stopping by…?”

“I don’t think it will,” Tsuna answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s Tsuna, by the way.“

Your smile widens, “I know.”

Tsuna coughs, lightly hitting his chest.

“Right,” he says, and this time, you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling past your lips.

You slap a hand to your mouth.

“Well,” you say, after lowering your hand. You decide that the past ten seconds never happened, because you’re not supposed to laugh at your customers. “I’ll look forward to your next visit then.”

Tsuna looks at you, eyes nearly glowing in the early morning light, the sun’s rays spilling through the windows and across the shop.

“Yeah,” he says, lips curving upwards. You blink, and wonder if you’re imagining things. “That sounds good.”

He leaves soon after, waving a hand goodbye, before slipping out into the streets.

You smile again and glance down at the counter, ready to finish your morning sweep across the shop.

Only, a little too late, you find that the note on the counter is now gone.

-o-o-o-o-o-

no punchline (which, i want to believe is my specialty) but something even better! is this the turning point? is it even a turning point? who’s to say for sure?

our main characters today are Tsuna, of course, and Lambo! it’s getting harder to include every character in each chapter, which means i need to write more. i’m biting my fingernails because if this pattern continues, each chapter is going to get longer and longer and i am terrified.

#katekyo hitman reborn #fanfic #sawada tsunayoshi #gokudera hayato #yamamoto takeshi #lambo bovino #searchingforenadi #still don't know what to call this fic #hope you enjoy!

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elisabethsdoppler · 4 years ago

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Always See Your Face

a/n: this is set in 1911, one year after silja’s death and agnes’s birth.

pairing (s): franziska/magnus, mentions of bartosz/silja, noah/elisabeth if you squint, some franziska/silja vibes

warnings: miscarriage, bartosz not being a good father, a lot of angst,

the conversation between franziska and bartosz is a remake of a conversation written by @roseharker9 !!! go check out her works, they’re incredible

Franziska liked having Hanno around. It’s not that Magnus doesn’t, he just didn’t expect to see her with children. It had been Hanno’s seventh birthday yesterday, and Magnus and Franziska had made him a cake. it wasn’t a cake by 21st century standards, more of a large muffin, but Hanno had been so excited. Bartosz had never done anything special for Hanno, and now that Silja was gone, he really only had Magnus and Franziska.

It was strange seeing his wife seem so joyful. Over the years they had accepted the fact that they would probably be stuck here for the rest of their lives, but he knew that Franziska longed for her life before all of this. It was nice to see a glimpse of her old self. She sat across from Hanno on the rug in front of their fireplace, telling him a story about his mother. Hanno giggled when she explained how lovestruck Bartosz looked when he first saw her, and Franziska fake swooned in an attempt to make Hanno laugh. He did, reaching his chubby hands to hold on to hers.

Franziska looked up at Magnus, her eyes sparkling with joy. He smiled back, and glanced to Hanno, who was fiddling with Franziska’s wedding ring.

“Did my mama have one of these?” Hanno asked quietly. Franziska’s smile slipped away.

“Yes she did. Your papa gave it to her when they got married, before they had you.”

“Do you think I’ll get married?” Hanno asked, his big blue eyes gazing up at her.

“Of course, my darling boy,” Franziska exclaimed, reaching to pull Hanno into her arms. “One day you will meet someone you love very much, and she will love you just as much, and you two will be very happy.”

“Do you know who I will marry?” Hanno asks.

“No, but you mama did,” Franziska replies, stroking Hanno’s hair. “Your mama never told me who it was, but she said that you would be together for a long time,”

Franziska pressed a kiss to Hanno’s forehead, glancing up at Magnus again. He walked toward them and sat down on the rug.

“It’s getting late, we should probably bring you home to your papa and Agnes soon,’ Magnus quietly said, reaching out a hand to comb Hanno‘s hair from his forehead. Hanno nodded, letting Magnus help him up, and clinging to his hand. Franziska got up as well, and got their coats. She had tensed up at the mention of Bartosz, but she knew that Hanno had to be brought to his home.

It was pouring outside, and Franziska and Magnus let Hanno spin and jump in as many puddles as he’d like. Bartosz’s apartment was only a short walk away, and soon they found themselves on the porch. The door was unlocked, like it always was. Hanno’s father was sitting at the table, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

Magnus ruffled Hanno’s hair. “Run along and go to sleep. It’s late,” Hanno nodded, and Franziska bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek. Hanno smiled and kissed her cheek as well, and then quietly slipped up the stairs. Both Magnus and Franziska waited until they heard the door to the bedroom shut, and until they couldn’t hear Hanno padding around the room to check on Agnes.

Franziska turns to Bartosz, her expression one Magnus has seen her give Bartosz many times. “He’s just a fucking child, you idiot! How can you treat him this way?” she yells.

Bartosz doesn’t acknowledge her, just continues staring at the wall. “Just leave, Franziska ,”

“Your family needs you, your children need you. Silja would be ashamed of you!” she shrieks. Magnus tries to place a comforting hand on her arm, but she bats it away, still absolutely livid at Bartosz. “Do you honestly think she would be okay with you treating her children like shit?”

“You don’t know who he is,”Bartosz responds coldly and quietly, his back still turned to them. “Silja would understand if she saw who Hanno becomes,” Magnus shivers at the tone that Bartosz talked about his son with. Magnus would have never spoken of his children in that way, if he had them.

“I know him better than you do!” Franziska screams. She slams her hand on the table, trying to make Bartosz turn to face her.

Bartosz is seething with rage. Magnus is starting to fill with rage too, his judgement clouded by the way Bartosz speaks to his wife, at the way he speaks about that sweet little boy.

“You know him how he is now" Bartosz says slowly "But if you had seen him, really seen him, you… you would look at him differently too.”

Franziska is speechless, furious, but whenever she tries to shout at Bartosz no words come out. Her eyes fill with tears.

“What kind of man speaks about his son this way?” Magnus utters, as he reaches out to calm Franziska. This time she leans into his touch.

“The kind of man who has seen this sweet little boy as an adult ,” Bartosz says simply. “If you knew what he turns out to be, you would look at him the same way Ido.” He stands, glaring at Franziska and exiting the room quickly.

Franziska collapses into the nearest chair, putting her head in her hands, trying her hardest not to cry. Magnus kneels next to her, taking her hands in his.

“I hate that man,” she speaks, her face almost eerily calm despite the tears.

“I know.” Magnus says simply, reaching a hand to gently cup her cheek. Franziska closes her eyes, leaning into his touch.

Franziska had wished for children of her own long before Hanno was born. He knew that Franziska missed her family terribly, and he knew she wanted a family of her own. She had spoken to him about it on their wedding night. Franziska had said she wanted to have three girls. Magnus had laughed, and told her he hoped that they had a least one son, so they could name him Mikkel.

‘Fine!’ Franziska had conceded, ‘three girls and a boy,’

Magnus had told her he hoped their babies got her red hair. She had laughed at that, throwing her head back.

Not long after that, they thought they had got their wish. Magnus didn’t like to think about what happened.

For a long time it had been hard for Magnus to look at her face without seeing her face all those years ago, tears spilling out of her eyes, her hand trying to stop the bleeding between her legs.

That horrible night had been almost 10 years ago, 3 years before Hanno was born. Magnus remembers her trembling hands shaking him awake, he remembers her saying that it’s too early, that she couldn’t do it, that she didn’t want to die. He remembers her begging him not to let her die. Magnus had refused to leave her, his hands trying to stop the bleeding and try to remain comforting and calm. He remembers the noise waking Silja and Bartosz, who ran to find the doctor. Magnus remembers his hands being slick from the blood of his wife and unborn child, trying desperately to calm her.

He remembers when the doctor arrived, and Magnus had clutched Franziska’s cold hand and refused to let go. He remembers the doctor having to perform some kind of surgery, but he doesn’t remember what it was. He only remembers Franziska, and how absolutely devastated she had looked. Her eyes had been hollow, as if someone had taken a piece of her soul away.

For nearly two weeks after, Franziska didn’t move. She didn’t speak. she laid on their bed, quietly crying, her hand hovering over the bandages on her abdomen. She had lost the child, and the doctor said it wouldn’t be safe for her to have another. Magnus had sat next to her for days. He felt as though his heart had completely shattered. He simply sat, and willed that she would live. That she would be able to smile again.

Magnus knew how much it hurt Franziska to see Bartosz with a child. To see him treat that child in such a disgraceful manner. She had admitted to him a little after Hanno’s fourth birthday, that she wished Hanno was their child. That she could be able to love and care for him every day, instead of leaving him to sleep under the roof of the man she hated most in the world.

Franziska had started weeping, and Magnus gently pulled her into his arms. His hand came up to stroke her hair, attempting to soothe her.

“It’s alright,” Magnus softly spoke, stroking her back in an attempt to calm her down. “It’s all going to be okay,”

“Who could Hanno possibly grow up to be? And what if Bartosz treating him this way is what causes him to be that way?” Franziska mumbled into Magnus’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. He knew that all of them were basically trapped in eternal hell, so it was likely that something worse would happen to Hanno.

“I don’t know,” Magnus said. “But Hanno knows that you love him. That we love him. He knows we could never hate him, and we’ve been better parents to him than Bartosz has.” Franziska raised her head from his shoulder to look him in the eyes.

Franziska nodded, her eyes watery. “I miss Silja. She made Bartosz so much more ... bearable.” Magnus had chuckled lowly at that.

“She is in paradise waiting for us,” he said, “And when we see her again, she will thank you for being another mother to her son.”

#dark netflix #dark #franziska doppler #magnus nielsen #franziska #magnus #bartosz tiedemann #bartosz #silja tiedemann #hanno tauber #franziska x magnus #magnus x franziska #bartosz x silja #elisabeth x hanno #noah #elisabethsdopplerwrites

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ptw30 · 5 years ago

Note

Hunk tries to teach Shiro how to cook, Shiro owes Hunk Cooking equipment.

Sorry this took so long. I originally planned to have this up for Shiro’s birthday but…life. :) Thanks for prompting!

Fic: Cupcakes and Camaraderie

Relationships: Hunk & Shiro, past Shiro/Adam

Author’s Notes: Shiro is still the Black Paladin here…cuz.

Shiro flipped on the light in the mess hall kitchen and cracked his knuckles. Making a few cupcakes shouldn’t be too hard, right? With some whipped cream and what did Adam always put on top? Graham cracker crumbles?

Whatever it was, Shiro was positive he could figure out, and since Iverson was off grounds for a few days to oversee the launch proceedings, Shiro could take all the time he wanted in the Galaxy Garrison mess.

Finding the pans proved more difficult than he thought, and did he really need to use the mixer? Maybe he could conscript the blender. Just what was the difference between a tablespoon and teaspoon? Did anyone really know?

Okay, on his tablet, he found a recipe for “easy red velvet cupcakes with vanilla icing.” Easy. It was in the title. He could totally do this.

Less than ten minutes later, Shiro found himself wiping off an egg, flour, and water mixture from his nose. Maybe he couldn’t do this. He was seventy-five percent sure the batter shouldn’t be gray-green.

“What!” a new voice screeched, causing Shiro to whirl toward the doorway. “You-You did not just destroy my kitchen!”

Shiro paused from demanding, your kitchen, but it wasn’t like Shiro knew the garrison chefs well. Then again, Shiro didn’t remember ever seeing this cadet or officer before. Dark hair, an orange wrap, and a yellow-accented Galaxy Garrison uniform – what rank did that dictate? – he seemed out of sorts, standing in the doorway, glaring Shiro down.

Shiro dropped his tablespoon – or was it a teaspoon – on instinct and raised both hands. “Look, I didn’t think anyone would notice. I was just trying to – ”

“ – paint every single surface of this place in batter, if you can even call it that!” The man stalked forward, keen eyes glaring down at the green concoction as if it personally offended him. Then he looked up at Shiro – and froze. “S-Shiro?”

“Uh…yes?” He didn’t think he’d met this person before, but ever since the Kerberos mission announcement, so many people knew his name. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember…have we met?”

“…not yet, I don’t think.” The man straightened his shoulders and rubbed the back of his hair. “I…guess that wormhole wasn’t as harmless as we thought.”

“Wormhole?” Shiro echoed.

Before he could ask the person more, the yellow-clad officer replied, “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Allura and Pidge – um, some people I know are working on it. Anyway.” He seemed happier all of sudden, scrubbing his hands together and smirking at Shiro. “What’cha trying to do here? Don’t tell me. Muffins.”

Shiro smiled with a slight wince. “Not quite.”

“Brownies?”

“Getting warmer…sorta.”

The man huffed loudly. “Please tell me you weren’t trying to make cupcakes. You have pepper in this!”

Shiro glanced away. “I couldn’t find the salt.”

“No, nope. Uh-huh. This cannot happen.” He pointed a sharp finger at a stool near the counter. “You sit over there while I clean up the mess and make a proper set of cupcakes.”

“Can’t I help –”

“No!” The officer sucked a quick breath, offered a gentle smile, and patted Shiro twice on the shoulder. “I mean, thanks for the offer, but why don’t you watch me work for a sec and tell me why you were trying to make some cupcakes? I’m Hunk, by the way.”

“Shiro.” Shiro took his designated seat and plopped his chin upon his fist. “Had a craving. My…uh, ex used to make them for me, but…he’s now my ex, so…”

Hunk began to measure out the ingredients – eggs, milk, butter, flour, salt, and vanilla – and nodded along. “Hard after something like that. What happened…uh, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I’m, uh.” Shiro looked away, unsure why he felt comfortable explaining to Hunk this situation. It wasn’t like the entire garrison hadn’t been gossiping about it for the last week. “I was chosen for the Kerberos mission.”

“Oh, right! I’d heard that. Congrats, man! That’s awesome. Not sure why that means you have an ex. Isn’t he happy for you? Proud?”

“He didn’t want me to go. And I’m going, so…”

Hunk glanced around the room – looking for what, Shiro couldn’t tell – before reaching for a larger bowl with high walls to pour his current mixture into. “I’m sorry to hear that. Relationships can be hard. My girlfriend and I, we’re positioned on different sides of the…world. It’s hard to send a transmission to her sometimes, let alone actually see her. But she hangs in there, y’know? Good times, bad times. That’s how I know it’s forever.”

Shiro glanced away. “…I thought it was going to be forever. I’ve known Adam since…well, our first year at the garrison. We were flight partners, and then – y’know.”

“And I’m sure in some universe, you guys are still together, but in this one – you chose the stars and Adam chose to leave. That’s actually, really mature. You both decided what you could live with and what you couldn’t, and then you moved on and found someone who wants the same thing as you.”

Shiro blinked and sat up straighter, a knot in his chest unfurling. “No one – No one has ever put it like that before. Even Commander Holt said I should try to patch things up.”

“Can’t speak for Holt but it sounds like you and Adam want different things. And that’s okay.” Hunk hooked the larger bowl up to the mixer, and a high-pitched whirling added a soundtrack to their conversation. “Better to figure that out now than after you’re married.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess so.” He couldn’t deny he would miss Adam, though, couldn’t deny he already did.

“But y’know, might not be a bad idea to at least try to clear the air,” Hunk offered, separating the cupcake wrappers in the tin. “Maybe apologize that things didn’t work out, not that you’re taking the mission.”

Shiro leaned back on his hand and watched as Hunk poured the batter precisely into each cup, wiping the edge of the bowl with a napkin. “Maybe. It’s still a few months away. What about you? You said your girlfriend lives elsewhere? Are you looking to close the distance?”

Hunk nodded. “Yeah, one day, but it’s kinda important the work we’re doing, my team and me. Shay understands.”

“Hm. Sounds nice.”

“It is, but not everyone has what we have. And not everyone finds it as quickly, either – or at all.” Hunk slid the tray into the oven and started the timer. “But when you do – when you find people who love you for who you are, not who they want you to be – you hold onto them.”

Shiro smiled as Hunk handed him the spoon to lick. “Sound advice.”

“Eh. I have a good team leader who knows his stuff.”

As soon as Shiro finished the spoon, he joined Hunk in cleaning up the thrown batter, despite Hunk’s disapproval. Hunk told Shiro he liked his kitchen a certain way, but Shiro wasn’t about to let someone else clean up his mess without any help.

As they worked, Shiro spoke about the mission, about Keith, about his days at the Galaxy Garrison, and Hunk talked about Shay, about his friends, and about meeting new people and learning new recipes.

The oven dinged not long after they wiped down the last surface, and soon Shiro was humming around a delicious set of red velvet cupcakes. They were the best he’d ever had, and he made sure to tell Hunk such.

Hunk blushed and took a bite of his own mini cake. “Hey, y’know, it might not seem like it now, but it sounds like you have lots of people who care about you, man. If you ever want them to bake you cupcakes, you just say the word. I’m sure they would.”

Shiro laughed, though it was hollow. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And maybe – you might want to tell Admiral Sanda or Commander Holt that when they start training on the Mecha Flex Exofighters, they should work with their best pilots, not cadets? That’s just…conducive to saving the world, y’know? Training the best rather than the youngest.”

Halfway through his second cupcake – screw his pre-mission diet – Shiro mumbled, “What’s an exofighter? I haven’t heard of those before – or flown them.”

Hunk winked. “Just trust me, all right? Mention it to Sam. Oh, and do the world a favor, Shiro. Stay out of the kitchen or only use it with adult supervision.”

Shiro would have glared, but he was too preoccupied with the cupcakes. He would do as many sessions at the gym as needed to finish off yet another two or three.

“Shiro? One more thing,” Hunk added just before he exited the room. “Happy Birthday – and many more.”

Shiro snorted. He didn’t know how many more there would be, but he was determined to enjoy the rest of this one. Hey, there was still a good half dozen left. Maybe he’d take a few to Keith and Matt.

One Mission, Many Wormholes, and Two Birthdays Later

The door to mess hall slid open, and Shiro looked left, then right, before stepping inside. Immediately, the lights flipped on, and Shiro barely held in his screech.

“Hunk,” he managed once he breathed again. “You don’t have to guard the kitchen every year.”

Hunk lifted a tray of expertly decorated and undeniably delicious cupcakes. A few sported little Black Lions while the rest had the head of Voltron. “Yes, yes I do. Trust me on that. Now come on. Get your first cupcake before the rest of the garrison arrives.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow as he selected his cupcake, finger sweep around the edge of the icing. “The rest of the garrison…?”

In less than ten minutes time, the mess hall upon the Atlas was packed with the various teams, including Admiral Allura with her ship crew, Commander Adam West with his MFE Squadron, Prince Lotor with his Sincline generals, and of course, Shiro with his paladins. Black rumbled in the back of his mind, and as he sat among his teams, Shiro smiled and snatched another cupcake or three.

Eventually, he collapsed to the corner of the hall, eyes roaming over the people he held nearest and dearest to his heart. Hunk came to sit next to him and smirked at the wrappers on the table next to Shiro.

“Having a good day?”

“Yeah, yeah. Y’know, Hunk, someone once told me that if I ever wanted cupcakes, all I had to do is ask the people around me.”

Hunk blinked and then shrugged. “Well, y’know, I’m more than happy to –”

“But there’s something special about coming down to a set of cupcakes already made just for me.” He clasped Hunk on the shoulder and smiled. “Thanks, Hunk. It is nice to have people here who love me for who I am, not who they want me to be.”

Hunk smiled. “It is a nice feeling. And my kitchen stays intact. I like that.”

“That’s best for all parties involved,” Shiro laughed.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t be able to form Voltron without its head.”

Shiro let out a quick laugh, which Hunk shared, and decided to assume Hunk was joking. Still, he’d stay out of the kitchen, just to make sure.

The End

#shiro #hunk #shiro's birthday #prompt #thehawkeyefan #answered #voltron #gen rhys #ptw30 pens #vld

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lunavadash-creates · 5 years ago

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Lost and Found

Finally, I decided to write something in English. It wasn’t easy, but I hope that you will enjoy this little prologue. This story begins only because of the support I received from an amazing author. @storytimefromthecreed pushed me through my doubts and insecurities. And the biggest hug for Baccano, who check this story, helped me and also pushed me to do this. Thank you both! So now - enjoy.

Also - sometimes I’m so damn stupid stupid so I accidentally deleted this story Now I have to post it again ;.;

Warnings: mention of death, Assassin’s Creed Black Flag spoiler

Prologue

The memory of the promise she made back then was still burning inside her as she slowly approached his house. It looked the same as the day she left it; absurdly big and weirdly symmetric, but… something was wrong, she could feel something dark and heavy crawling inside her guts making her feel uneasy. The whole surrounding of the house was full of armoured guards in unfamiliar outfits. She frowned and made a few steps back, hiding behind a corner. She walked from the port up here and her legs were already numb, she wasn’t in a position to start a fight with those men when her body was weakened, even if she wanted her answers right now. She was fully aware that time was moving differently when she was out but it couldn’t be that long, right?

Not too happy she decided to leave the mansion for now and found the information in a different way, starting from learning what year it was. She, of course, couldn’t ask a random person, it would be strange and suspicious but finding an abandoned newspaper wasn’t really hard. Not in a city like this. The hard part was seeing the date. March 1756. For a second, she felt dizziness, but the thought that she disappeared for twenty years was overwhelming. For her, it was like two or three years tops! And yet here she was, surrounded but unknown people, in a city that didn’t seem to be friendly to her anymore. She looked around finally noticing all the details of her surroundings, especially people that were looking at her with strange expressions. Her clothes were standing out, but what could she expect? In was two whole decades, of course, that fashion changed during this time! She really had no idea that so much time passed like in a blink of an eye. After a short while of insecurity, she decided to find another place, a calm spot where she would be safe enough to wait until the nightfall. With legs hurting and her conscience uneasy it was hard to wait those few hours, but she was taught patience and now she finally could use that skill. This once.

She found a little café where she used to sit in with her friends, at least this one place looked like time’s influence had missed it. She even ordered the same thing as twenty years ago, a cup of tea and a blueberry muffin. She sat at the table and again a little sigh escaped her lips, her thoughts were spinning like crazy around every memory connected to this place. It was so hard to believe that she missed… everything. When she rose her glaze from the tea, she saw that table in the corner, it was occupied at the moment, but she remembered the first time she came here. She sat next to the window and that little, adorable boy decided to sit on her knees despite his father warning. But that child was just so cute, she immediately fell in love with him. On that day he was like five years old and she was able to see him growing for some time. But how old he was when she left? Eight maybe, nine? Something like that. She hugged him and gave him a little pearl she had found during her travel. She hugged her best friend and his wife, then promised him that one day she will be back, hopefully very soon.

She was so happy for them and the thought that they might be… no. It couldn’t be true. They probably moved somewhere when situation here became dangerous. That had to be it. Soon she will find them all, and they will be laughing at her stupid insecurity. With a better mood, she finished her muffin and tea it was evening. She left the café to get ready.

When it was finally dark, she made her move, getting closer to the manor, she found a lonely guard, standing in the darkness. He looked tired and hangover, but it meant he was vulnerable. A good target to begin with. She took a gold coin from her pocket and stepped closer.

‘Freeze! No trespassing’ the guard shouted, pointing his gun at her. She slowly rose her hands, making sure that the man could see the coin glistened under the moonlight.

‘I only have a few questions. You will not regret answering them’ she ensured the man, who looked at her suspiciously, never putting his gun down. But he didn’t really stop her from closing the distance between them.

‘What happened to the previous owner of this manor? What happened to that family’

‘Dead. I heard that almost the whole family had been murdered.’

‘Almost? There were children, what happened to them?’ she asked much more hesitantly that she would like to. She couldn’t let her feeling betray her but… hearing his words were so excruciating.

‘I know for sure that boy was taken. He came here a few years ago before departed for the New World. That’s all I know, so that lovely coin of yours should definitely stay with me now’ the smirk on his face was terrible and disgusting, making her sick at the sight. She reached out her hand to the man and dropped the gold coin, but before the man could catch it, she stabbed him in the throat. His body collapsed on the ground with blood leaving his veins, his eyes still in shock as he didn’t even have time to make a sound. She quickly moved his body to hid it in the nearby bush, it would give her a little bit more time to explore the mansion. She denied to believe that her best friend was dead, she had to see this with her own two eyes, so what other choice did she have?

Breaking in was hard, there were a lot of armoured guards surrounding the mansion like it contained some kind of hidden treasure. And who knows, maybe there was something so valuable that needed to be protected at all cost. They looked like mercenaries so probably whatever was hidden inside was worth paying for protection. She frowned, hiding beside a pillar, waiting for the nearest guard to move away before she jumped inside through the open window. The room was filled up with darkness but it didn’t stop her from investigating the house. She was here a few times and still remembered the way to his room like it was craved in her brain. Up the stairs, turn right, second door on the left. But before she managed to make the first step, she seen the proof that man she killed and hid in a bush indeed told her the truth. This place wasn’t safe anymore, it was a lost cause and her best friend was dead. A huge Templar symbol was hung on the wall in front of the entrance like a trophy. Proof that this place belonged to them and no one could question their dominance. She felt sick on that thought and controlled by a silly rage she just ripped that stupid sign and tossed it across the hall, wanted it to disappeared from her sight. The sound of ripped material alarmed a guard who quickly came back to the room only to see a woman who shouldn’t be here. He was as heavily armoured as the rest, who were surrounding this place. Orders he got were clear – kill every person who tries to break in and so he intended to do. He attacked the startled woman without hesitation or mercy and soon she was forced to save herself by dropping a smoke bomb. Running for her life as fast as she could on legs that weren’t used to the effort like this anymore. Unfortunately, the detonation of the bomb created more commotion, so now quite a lot of people knew of her presence. She swore silently under her breath, it didn’t go as planned, not at all.

Soon all those people, guards, templars, some kind of a freaking gang of mercenaries, started to look for her, an intruder who might want to interrupt their plan. They were looking for a reckless assassin, who broke into the templar base in the middle of the night, created a commotion and just run away like it was all a childish play. She was angry at herself for this stupid rage but right now it was already too late to change it. Besides, every cloud has a silver lining, the same men who were looking for her were the one who kept the information she needed. And now, after killing bunch of templar’s dogs, she was finally sure – Haytham Kenway was still alive, living in New World far across the globe and now it was up to her to find him at all costs, to keep a promise made almost two decades ago.

Even though it was dangerous for her to wander around the city right now, she still decided to pay a visit to the local cemetery, to find a certain grave, before she will leave for the New World. Holding blue flowers in hands, she searched the area for a few hours until she finally found the one she was looking for. She crouched next to the grave, placing flowers, gladioluses, on the ground and released a great deep sigh.

‘I’m so sorry Edward that it took me so long to came back. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to save you’ she said silently. It hurt so badly and her heart was painfully clenched as she was looking at elegant letters forming into a name of Edward James Kenway. Died on 3rd of December 1735. Only a few weeks after she left. Hot tears started to pour down her cheeks as she held back a sob for a few moments. Soon it became unbearable and she started crying, hiding face in her hands. Edward was dead and she felt guilty and alone, he didn’t deserve a fate like this. He was supposed to finally settle down and live happily! Not be dead, lying in a cold grave! And children, he had children who were supposed to grow up with amazing father, surrounded by love and prosperity.

‘I promise you, Edward, once again. I will find your son and I will take care of him. Protect him like I couldn’t do with you. This time I will not fail you, my dearest’ she said determined and then she finally stood up. Her gaze was focused on the river and soon she was on her way again.

A few weeks later a man knocked on Haytham’s office door before he walked in. He looked scared, a piercing glaze of Haytham Kenway made him look away and shuddered a little. But he had a task, information, he needed to provide at once and the possible consequences of not fulfilling the order were severe.

‘My apologies Master Kenway. We got in information from London about a female assassin who is looking for you. She barged into your house, killed a few of our men to gain information about your whereabouts and now we are worried that soon she will be here. What should we do, what are the orders?’

Haytham rose an eyebrow and moved papers in front of him before he straightened on his seat. A silent sigh escaped his mouth. He couldn’t really consider this situation as a problem because of one assassin? Against whole Templar Order? Against him?

‘What do you think Master Cormac? Should I be worried about my well-being?’ he asked calmly, but he knew better than that, that he was safe, having next to him ruthless assassin hunter. Shay rose from the couch and stretched a little bit.

‘No. She’s a deadwoman if she thinks she can get to us. No assassin can stop the order’ and with a smirk, he departed with the man. Looks like soon another hunt will begin.

#actsquad #shay cormac #haytham kenway #shay patric cormac #assassin's creed #ac rouge #assassin's creed rogue #luna writes #fanfiction #oc

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tommyxhoran-blog · 5 years ago

Text

NH⁑ Fire Away

based off niall horan’s song “fire away”

italicized words are song lyrics, enjoy xx

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warnings: kinda sad, little bit of crying; fluff at the end

word count: 1.3k

summary: you have a horrible day and close yourself off from niall. he sings his song to you, and you break. (don’t worry the end is happy)

↯

you know those days where nothing goes as planned? well, today was that day. everything was going wrong. literally everything. this morning, your coffee-maker broke, you dropped (and ruined) your favorite eye shadow, and to top it all off, niall had to leave early to go to the studio. it started pouring down rain while you were walking to work, and of course you didn’t have an umbrella. when you finally got to work, your boss yelled at you for being late. even though you were only two minutes late. two minutes. basically, you were having a terrible day, and all you wanted was to go home. you counted down the minutes until the clock struck four o’clock, and you could finally be in the warmth and comfort of your shared apartment with niall.

alas, four o’clock arrived. you let out a sigh of relief and began your short journey home. the second you walked into the apartment, you could smell the soothing scent of niall’s cologne. his shoes were placed neatly on the mat next to your door, and his keys thrown on the table.

niall heard the door close and called out to you. “princess?”

you answered with a meek, “yeah, it’s me.”

“how was your day, pet?”

“fine.”

with that, you headed to your bedroom, where you planned to reside for the majority of the night if niall would let you. he wouldn’t. he knew from the minute you walked in the door that something was wrong. so so wrong. you always yelled a chirpy “i’m home!” but not today. you always went into grave detail about your day before asking how his day was and listening intently with small mhm’s and wow’s. this was so blatantly uncharacteristic of you that niall wasn’t sure what to do next.

slowly, he approached the bedroom door. he raised his hand to knock but stopped after hearing your muffled sniffles and quiet sobs. he swiftly walked to the kitchen, and he grabbed two of your favorite muffins and a glass of water. he then returned to the room in which you trapped yourself. he softly knocked three times, awaiting your soft acceptance for his presence. when no response came, he took it upon himself to enter the somber room.

the first thing he saw was your frail body sat against the wall. your knees curled cautiously into your chest as your head rested back on the wall. your eyes were closed and your earbuds were in, which is why, niall assumed, you didn’t respond. niall exhaled slowly and deeply, trying to push back his own pain that comes with seeing you in this state. he glided to your unresponsive body and carefully bent down on his knees so his eyes were level with yours, though you couldn’t see him at the moment. niall gently tapped your knee, and you jumped, startled by the sudden contact. you took your earbuds out of your ears and gave niall a small, but oh so fake, smile.

“princess, i know something’s wrong. you don’t have to smile like everything’s okay. just talk to me, yeah?” niall delicately stated.

“i’m fine.”

“that’s not true, and you know it. listen, i don’t know what happened or what’s going on, but i’m here for you. i’m gonna sit here with you until you’re okay again. i don’t care how long it takes,” he whispered, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

after an excruciatingly long moment of silence, niall began to sing. something he often found himself doing when he truly didn’t know what else to do. plus, it was a good way to fill silences like this one.

“you keep sayin’ that you’re alright, but i can see it through your fake smile, you’re not. there’s a reservoir in your eyes that you’ve been holdin’ back a long time. what’s wrong? darlin’ you don’t have to hold it. you don’t have to be afraid. you can go ahead and unload it ‘cause you know it’ll be okay, fire away,” niall sang to you. at this point, the dam holding back your tears completely collapsed, and you were left a sobbing mess, your tears slowly cascading down your cheeks. you leaned your head on niall’s shoulder, and he turned his body to face you. he pulled you into his lap and engulfed your fragile body in his arms. your head was hidden in his chest, and his chin found its spot on your shoulder.

“it’s okay, princess. i’m here,” he repeatedly assured. “i love you. it’s gonna be okay.”

when you finally calmed down enough to explain the happenings of today, you lifted your head up, and placed it in the crook of his neck.

“what’s goin’ on, darlin’?”

“i just had an awful day,” you sighed.

“i’m so sorry, hun. what happened?”

“i just kept messing up, i guess. it’s really not that big of a deal. i was overreacting.”

“hey, stop right there. don’t ever try to downgrade your sadness, y/n. it’s okay to be sad and have bad days. it happens, and when it happens, it’s okay to say that you’re sad. i don’t ever wanna hear you say that you’re overreacting or that your sadness isn’t a big deal. it’s a huge deal, okay?”

“okay,” you mumbled with a soft smile.

“and i’m sure you weren’t messing up.”

“no, i was. this morning i completely ruined my favorite eye shadow because i dropped it. i was late to work because of the rain, and my boss yelled at me in front of everyone. i forgot to grab my lunch before i left this morning, so i just had a granola bar from my bag. it was just a really sucky day, ni.”

“i’m so so sorry, princess. i don’t think any of those things are your fault, though. accidents happen. your boss is a prick, and he shouldn’t have yelled at you at all, let alone in front of everyone else. why didn’t you just ask me to bring you lunch, love? i would’ve done it gladly.”

“i don’t know. i didn’t really think about it,” you mumble sheepishly.

“well, now you know,” niall chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “i love you so much, darlin’. next time you have a bad day, please just come talk to me about it. i know it’s hard sometimes, but i’m here for you. forever and always.”

“i will, ni. i love you, too.”

niall quickly stood up from his cold spot on the ground and lifted you up. you were in a fit of giggles, which was the happiest niall has seen you since yesterday, and he thought to himself “job well done.” niall gently laid you down on the soft blue comforter and kissed your cheek.

“what are you doing, ni?” you asked, still laughing.

“we’re going to order pizza and watch all your favorite movies!” niall exclaimed triumphantly. right now, all niall wanted to do is make you smile, and so far, his mission has been successful. you grinned in response to his idea, and gave him a soft peck on the lips. niall chuckled and dashed downstairs to call the pizza place you love, then he grabbed a stack of your favorite movies before returning to your side.

“pizza is ordered, and i got your favorite movies. you ready?” niall questioned lovingly.

“i am. thank you so much, bub. it means the world to me,” you replied softly. he kissed your forehead and whispered, “i love you, princess. i would do anything for you, you know that?”

“i know, and i would do anything for you. i love you, ni.”

the love you two shared was one-of-a-kind, and everyone around you could see that. you both love each other with everything you had in you. and neither of you could ask for anything else.

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likethetailofacomet · 6 years ago

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Promises

So I tried to work on my nano story this afternoon but the characters were being little turd muffins and not cooperating. Luckily, Drake and Claire always do exactly what I want from them, so surprise! More Learning to Love Again!

Pairing: Drake x Claire

Warning: gun violence, NSFW (yeah)

Song Pairing: Fire and the Flood by Vance Joy

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @endlessly-searching-for-you @brightpinkpeppercorn @mind-reader1 @nekkidmolerat @cordoniantrash @natalievgoodehenry @gardeningourmet @indiacater @agent-bossypants @notoriouscs @endlesshero1122 @simmerbychoices let me know if you’d like a tag! :)

Alex's boots clomped heavily up the stairs as he eerily called out her name. She could hear the door creak open as he entered the cabin, could feel his presence invading their peace. She felt her heart racing and her blood go cold but she couldn't make her body move. Looking to her left she saw Drake still asleep by her side and she tried to shout for him to wake up, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. She panicked and tried to scream but still the only sound she could hear was the sound of something heavy and metallic being dragged along the hallway wall, and she knew without question that it was a gun. She lay there stuck in place as the door opened and the face of the monster peered through. Drake sat bolt up beside her, and was on his feet in nothing flat, rushing at Alex, strong hands forming fists. She tried to stop him, tried to tell him about the gun, but her shouts didn't reach him and then there was a sickening bang that broke the night and Claire watched as Alex's arm fell back to his side, pistol in hand, sickening grin on his face as he laughed. She snapped her head back to Drake just in time to see him crumple to the ground, a bright red pool seeping out from under him. She strained against her invisible bonds to try to get to him, tears pouring from her eyes as her heart ripped itself to shreds, but still she remained nailed in place. Alex raised his arm again and she closed her eyes just before the bang.

Claire sat bolt upright, breath coming in shallow gasps, hands clutching her chest. Shaking, she jumped as a pair of strong hands gripped her arms from behind her, letting out a frightened scream. She whipped her head around and was met with his dark eyes, full of concern. “Hey, hey, Berkley it's okay...shh...” he muttered softly, trying to connect with her and pull her from the nightmare. She inhaled a few ragged breaths, eyes roving over his face, his chest and arms, assuring herself that he was unharmed. Convinced that it hadn't been real, she collapsed against him, his arms circling around her as he pressed his cheek against her hair. “Shh...its alright, it was just a dream,” he continued to tell her, until her breathing evened out and the shaking subsided.

“Berkley?” he said her name gently and heard her hum an acknowledgment. “It was Alex...wasn't it. Your dream...” Drake felt an ache in his chest as he lightly rubbed her back. Claire nodded and the ache deepened tenfold. He closed his eyes and took a breath in through his nose. He hated this man. He thought back to earlier in the night, back in Liam's study when she'd told them about him. She'd said that he was abusive, that he'd hurt her, but she hadn't been more specific than that. Drake didn't need the details. He saw it in her eyes and in the way she physically made herself smaller when she talked about him, letting her shoulders fall, shrinking. This was the woman he'd been enamored with on the beach- who'd done cartwheels and climbed rocks, whose laughter danced through the air, who'd taken him by surprise and left his thoughts to rearrange themselves. She was vibrant and seemed fearless. Seeing her like this...it wasn't right. He'd stood there listening to her, trying not to react, trying to stay calm and not let her see the rage that was swelling inside him that this, this...excuse for a man, had thought that he had any right to hurt her... Look at her, she doesn't need that right now,he'd thought. She didn't need rescuing, she needed comforting. So he'd set his face into a calm expression, he'd been soft with his tone and he'd held her close. But under the surface he felt sick, bubbling, seething. He took another breath and pushed it all further down. “I'm not going to let him touch you, Berkley, that's a promise, you know that right?”

She picked her head up then, her eyes swimming with tears she seemed determined to hold back. “No, Drake,” she'd said, and the act of speaking proved too much to keep the tears back. They slipped out and she closed her eyes with a sniffle.

“No?” he asked, not sure what she meant. He continued to run his fingers up and down her bare back.

She opened her eyes and looked directly into his. “No.” she said again, firmly this time. “You don't understand...”

He took one hand from her back and brought it to her face, brushing her hair out of the way. It was sticking up in odd angles and he hoped that some day he'd get to hold her like this and brush her hair from her eyes like that without their pasts hovering over them, trying to keep them apart. “What don't I understand?”

“My...my dream,” she said, voice small and unsure. “In my dream, we were lying in bed together...like this... and then he...he came in and I knew he had a gun but my voice, I...I tried to wake you but I couldn't speak and then he...”

Drake tightened his arm around her body. “He shot you?” he asked, the idea of it sending a shock wave through him, almost knocking the air from his lungs.

She shook her head. “No he...he shot you.” It became clear to him then, her fear, the way she'd looked at him, as though trying to convince herself that he wasn't a figment of her imagination. “Drake...” she said his name with such feeling in it that it almost didn't sound like it belonged to him, “he shot you...and I...” she looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I can't have that...” she finished.

“Hey, look, I'm okay, I'm fine,” he said, lifting her chin to meet her gaze. He smiled at her. “Don't worry about me, okay Berkley? We're going to be okay, I promise.” She opened her mouth to protest but he continued before she could get a word out, “ask me the last time I made a promise.”

“Drake,” she said exasperatedly, trying to make him understand the desperation she felt to keep him safe from Alex.

“Ask me, Berkley,” she insisted, kissing her nose.

Claire sighed. “When was the last time you made a promise?”

“I don't even remember. I don't really make them, because I know how the world works. I know that no matter how you try to guarantee that everything will work out, or that you'll achieve a certain goal, or that you'll always feel a certain way...” his eyes flashed with desire as he gave that last example. “I know that sometimes life has other plans and even if you do everything right, your promise means nothing. But Berkley, this is something that I would never let happen, okay? I promise you.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep, Drake,” she said, and returned her cheek to his chest.

Drake sighed deeply, sadly. He wanted her to believe him more than anything. He knew how crazy it sounded- he'd told himself as much earlier when he'd thought it- but even though he'd only known Claire Berkley for two weeks, he knew that she was the one. She'd reached down into the depths of him and saved him from drowning in his solitude. She'd persisted against his pushing her away until he couldn't push anymore. He still couldn't say it out loud, but he'd started to let himself think it- he loved her. “I'm not going to fight with you,” he said quietly, “but I know in my heart that I won't let him hurt you. If he even lays on finger on you again Berkley, I'll kill him myself. That's a promise, too.”

Claire could hear the sincerity in his voice and wanted so badly to believe him. Against her better judgment she had fallen hopelessly for the complicated, contemplative man whose chest she was resting upon, his heartbeat answering hers, their skin stitched together. She'd known there was something different about him the very first night they'd met, when his smile caused an explosion of heat to burst throughout her, a deep tug in the very fiber of her being- like magnets being drawn together. She knew she was in for it when she got on that plane and flew to a foreign country off the cuff to chase a man she'd only spent a few hours with. She could tell there was no turning back when they'd kissed in the stable, and after the events in Lythikos, she knew her fate was sealed: she was falling in love with Drake Walker, even if she wouldn't say it aloud just yet, fearing that it would all come crashing down on her if the universe caught wind of it.

“Alex is sick,” she said. “He's demented, Drake, and he won't stop until he finds me. And no one that I care about is safe until he does.” Her voice broke on the last few words as she thought of all the people that were at risk right now: Daniel and Ruby, Liam and Drake and Maxwell and Hana...everyone. “And it sounds like this guy, this Anton has a pretty big bone to pick here...I just,” she took a big, shuddering breath, “I can't lose you, okay?”

Drake took her by the waist and lifted her up, sitting up himself. She laced her long legs around his torso and placed her hands on his chest, looking directly into his eyes, noses touching. “You're not going to lose me, Berkley. You're never going to lose me,” he crashed his lips to hers then and the room swam around them as they breathed the air from each other's lungs and tasted the want on other's tongues. Claire's hands wound themselves in his shaggy bedroom hair, pulling him closer as his hands squeezed her hips, pushing his own against her. She whimpered as his mouth traveled to her neck, kissing, sucking and lightly dragging his teeth across her skin, getting drunk on her. Without warning, he flipped her onto her back and his lips were on her again, this time trailing down her throat towards her chest. She tilted her head back, giving him more access, as she ground her hips up against his growing hardness.

He couldn't remember wanting anyone this badly in his entire life- certainly not Kiara or even Isla had made him feel like he'd stop breathing if he couldn't have her. He lavished kisses across her soft breasts, delighting in the sounds she made as he did. His lips roved further south as he moved down her body, stopping to place a kiss on each of her pointy hip bones. He propped himself up to look her in the eye before continuing. “Berkley,” he said, voice thick and heavy with need.

She cut him off with a searing kiss, her tongue delving so deep into his mouth that he growled against it and gripped the back of her neck. She broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against his. “Drake, I don't want to talk anymore, I want you.”

It was all he needed to hear. He fused their lips together once more, his fingers flying to dip under the waistband of her underwear. She lifted her hips and he slid them off. He met her eye for a fraction of a second- lust clear and present- before grabbing each thigh and spreading her legs. He brought his head between them and she gasped as his hot tongue made contact with her wetness, licking and swirling against her as all thoughts of Alex and Anton faded into the background. He flicked his tongue against her clit before sliding it into her entrance and she couldn't contain the sweet sigh that slipped out. He smiled against her and leaned back to adjust himself, once more meeting her eyes. Breathlessly she nodded and he lined himself up with her entrance, slowly filling her. He wrapped one arm under her body and around her shoulders holding her close as he thrust gently into her, pleasure he never knew existed coursing through him. She bit his shoulder and he groaned into her ear, goosebumps cropping up all over her. “Berkley,” he breathed her name, kissing the side of her neck, “you feel amazing...” He knew he wouldn't last long and he wanted to tell her while he was still inside of her.

“Drake,” she answered, “Ooh,” her wanton sigh interrupting her, “I think I...” she stopped herself from saying I think I'm falling in love with you.

The sound of her voice saying his name was all it took. He pulled out of her and spilled himself on the sheet next to her, panting. He brought his fingers to her core and brought wave upon wave of pleasure crashing over her as she came undone. They tangled themselves together and lay there, silently wrapped up in each other as the sun rose outside and filled the room with early morning light. Twice now, Drake thought to himself as his eyes scanned the incredible woman in bed with him, twice I've held her in my arms in the light of morning. A fire roared inside of him, a flood of warmth as they dozed lazily in and out of sleep until he kissed her softly on the cheek and said, “Come on, beautiful, let's get cleaned up.” He scooped her up and she giggled as he headed toward the bedroom door.

“Where are we going?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Shower,” he said, thoughts of their wet, naked bodies pressed together in that tight space making him feel anything but clean.

Later that afternoon, after Drake had surprised her by making eggs and bacon, they lounged on his couch. She was wearing a pair of his sweatpants and a big, wooly pair of his socks. Their feet were tangled together, her back against his chest, grateful for the distraction they'd found in one another that morning. But as the day turned to evening, they both knew they'd have to talk about it eventually. “Hey, Berkley?” he said, softly stroking her arm.

“Hmm?” she answered.

“Will you stay with me...here? At least until the Regatta this weekend?” He wanted to keep her with him, to keep her safe and away from the palace, from where Alex thought she was.

“Drake, I...” she started to explain that she didn't want to make him a target, but she dropped it almost immediately, knowing that it was a losing battle. “Yes.” she said, “Yes, promise.” She turned her face to kiss his bicep. “Drake?”

“What, beautiful?” she could hear him smiling and knew he was pleased that she said she'd stay.

She swallowed, preparing herself to say what she was about to say. She'd thought about it all morning; while they were in the shower together, when he wrapped her in a huge towel and dried her off, kissing her the whole time, while he cooked them breakfast, the daylight streaming into the tiny cabin kitchen. She needed to tell him how she felt, in case Alex saw to it not to give her a chance to. “I think I'm falling in love with you...” she said finally.

Drake felt his heart quicken and his cheeks pull up involuntarily. “Well that's great news, Berkley, because I know I'm falling for you.”

#drake x mc #drake x claire #drake walker x claire berkley #drake walker #claire berkley #trr #trr au #learning to love again #the royal romance #choices #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction

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gloster · 7 years ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! To my good friend Maia aka @oh-my-fancan who requested a fem-drarry story for her birthday. Thus my newest story, The Struggles of Spring Cleaning, which was sooo much fun to do. Maia, I hope you love your gift.

The Struggles of Spring Cleaning

It was a perfect Saturday morning. The sun was golden-bright and shining, the sky was a clear blue with not a cloud in sight, and from the distance the sounds of birds chirping happily could be heard-

“YOU ARE A SICK, SICK SADIST!”

Of course, the sounds of the birds’ happy chirping were easily overshadowed by the ear-killing, head-splitting shriek.

The answering response to the allegation was a simple but well-effective (and deserved) double dosage of bright, bright emerald-green eyes rolling in annoyance.

“A sick, twisted, cruel sadist with a dead, cold heart!”

Just the thing every girl wished to hear at the weep, early hours of the morning. “You always say such the sweetest things, Nisa.”

Piercing, dove-gray eyes flashed angrily at her, clearly un-amused by sarcasm. With a scoff, the owner to those eyes that could be harsh as ice or gentle as a stream (depending on her mood) dismissed her with a flip of her platinum, white-blonde hair and turned her nose the other direction, crossing her arms against her chest. “Sure, Potter, mock the girl you claim to love. Laugh at my expense. My woes are clearly your source of entertainment.”

Aria groaned, massaging her temples, feeling a migraine that was seconds away from erupting. Caused by the one and only Draconisa ‘Nisa’ Malfoy.

It was no secret that Nisa was a drama queen. It was a fact Aria quickly caught onto during the full year Nisa visited the Starbucks she worked at, watching Aria like a hawk with her nose scrunched-up as she fixed up her usual frappunico and blueberry muffin combo, always making a point to wipe the mouth-lid before she drank it, as if she feared someone was out to poison her. And always requesting that Aria be the one to handle her order, never minding the fact there would be three other persons working behind the counter or that she was on storage duty in the back. During the two years they’ve been together as a couple after Nisa stormed up to her as she was closing up and demanded not only to give Aria a ride home, but to also see her seven 'o’ clock on the dot tomorrow night at her favorite restaurant.

Sometimes Nisa’s dramatic tendencies were actually amusing, endearing even. But most times they were a pain in the ass that always brought on headaches and the deep need for coffee.

Or liquor if Aria felt like her head was about to explode.

Today was one of those days. At first Nisa was pleasantly surprised, happy even, to see her girlfriend standing outside her impressive penthouse suite. Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously when she noticed the sheepish but unapologetic smile on Aria’s face, and then widened in fear when she noticed the big empty boxes she had with her.

“Wh-what are those for?” Nisa asked, voice tight, as Aria kicked the boxes inside before letting herself in.

“Those are boxes.” Aria calmly answered.

“I can see that, Potter. I didn’t ask what they are. I asked what are they for.”

Aria already knew the vicious drama queen was going to be unleashed before she coughed up the answer, bracing herself. “They are for the clothes we’re either gonna put away in storage or give away.” At the blank look in Nisa’s eyes, she took in a deep breath and delivered the final blow. “For spring-cleaning.”

“Over my dead body!” Nisa snapped.

Close to an hour later, Nisa was still glaring at her like she was a heartless criminal and the empty boxes lying at her feet were her instruments of torture.

“Nisa,” Aria tried to make her voice as light as it could be. “Keep in mind that your dear girlfriend out of the goodness of her heart is here on a Saturday, quite early may I add, to help you out when there are a number of other things she could do. Like, oh I don’t know, sleeping.”

Nisa shot her a look that could have been a full-grown man piss in his pants. “Don’t you dare patronize me, Potter! I’m not a child.”

Sure acting like one. Aria bit her lip to keep the thought from being voiced out.

The way Nisa’s glare darkened, it was like she could hear her thoughts. “I am perfectly capable of cleaning out my own closet, thank you very much.”

“Not according to your mother who thinks you’re long overdue for a spring cleaning,” Aria said. “Or Parkinson who texted me, terrified that your closet was going to collapse on her like an avalanche.”

“Traitors,” Nisa muttered under her breath.

Aria fought the urge to roll her eyes again. She glanced over at the window, where the morning sun was shining bright in the clear blue sky. The perfect spring day. Then glanced over at her girlfriend who wasted nearly an hour of that nice day arguing.

“Nisa, look. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can kick back and relax.”

Nisa was on the verge on rolling her eyes until they widened halfway through, an idea stuck. Annoyance was wiped off her face as a smile curved her mouth.

“Or…” Nisa leaned forward on the couch, reaching out to hook her fingers onto the belt loops of Aria’s jeans, reeling her in. She gave Aria her favorite smile, soft and sly as a cat. “We could forget about spring cleaning and do this.” She captured her lips in a slow, sensual kiss that caused that all too familiar warmth to fire through Aria’s veins.

Damn her, Aria thought, melting against her willpower.

She doesn’t play fair. Smiling, Nisa slipped her tongue into Aria’s mouth, brushing it against her own.

She really doesn’t play fair. Aria was pulled onto her lap, straddling Nisa, as the blonde devil nibbled away at the tender spot on her neck, her hands slipping underneath Aria’s purple STAR WARS t-shirt and stroking her bare skin.

Aria’s willpower was crumbling into mush with every touch and kiss.

“Still interested in cleaning?” Nisa murmured against her skin. “If so, I can think of a number of things that could use some real tidying up.”

If her point wasn’t clear enough, the hand was stroking Aria’s bare skin slid up to her chest, fingers toying with her bra-clad nipple that hardened underneath Nisa’s touch.

Dear God, she really really didn’t play fair. Lying so sultry underneath her, blonde hair mussed from their snogging session, lips red and bare, eyes mischievous and bedroom-inviting, the tie to her short night-robe falling apart and revealing the even shorter dusty-blue nightgown underneath. Aria was so tempted to take Nisa up on her offer, to forget the cleaning and continue where they left off, but…

With all the strength she had, Aria straightened herself up and pulled away from Nisa. “After we get your closet organized.”

At the words, the sly seductress vanished and the drama queen returned. Nisa let out a long, suffering groan and slumped against the couch.

“Okay, look, how about we make a deal,” Aria proposed. “We get this done and I’ll treat you to a large Java Chip frappunico.”

Nisa stared at her, left brow arched.

“Okay, fine, I’ll treat you to lunch.”

The arched brow went higher.

“Fine, I’ll personally accompany you on your next shopping spree.”

The brow went higher, accompanied by the slow scan Nisa did on her, taking in the faded but well-loved purple STAR WARS t-shirt, the red plaid shirt tied around her waist, her dark-denim jeans, and ratty black sneakers.

“Fine,” Aria groaned. “I’ll be your little fashion doll and won’t make a fuss over the clothes you decide to get for me. As long as they’re not too pricey. Or tight. Or girly.”

“Deal.” Nisa grinned, leaping from the couch, renewed with energy.

The look on Aria’s face must have been dreadful because Nisa’s was too delightful as she dropped a kiss on her lips, saying “Cheer up, Potter. You get to clean, I get to shop. With a new doll to dress up.”

Why did Aria somehow feel like she’d just been played? She couldn’t shake the feeling, but decided to save that for another day, grabbing one of the boxes and following her girlfriend upstairs. When Aria nearly turned down the left to Nisa’s bedroom, she was pulled back by her braid.

“What the…” She shook Nisa’s hand off. “What the hell? We’re here to clean out your closet, which involves going to your room.”

“Um, not exactly.” Nisa said.

Aria’s brows rose. “What do you mean?”

“In the room, there’s a fraction of closet space devoted to clothes I plan on wearing every two weeks.” Nisa linked her arm through Aria’s and led her down the hall, to the opposite direction. Down to a room that was usually locked whenever Aria stayed over. “This is my full closet.”

Full closet? Nisa only smiled at her, as if to say You’ve been warned. She turned the knob, pushing the door open.

The box dropped from Aria’s hands, just as her mouth dropped wide open.

Holy…

Clothes.

Mother…

So many clothes.

Fucker….

Too too many clothes.

What she was seeing…was the result of a daddy’s girl who’s never been denied anything, with unlimited credit cards at her disposal that went spent regularly on huge shopping sprees, and still wasn’t used to living without a maid.

Sunlight poured in from the wide, glass windows that were posted on the upper walls. Below the windows were wide, in-the-wall closets that stretched from wall to wall with shiny clear-glass exterior for doors. Tall, multi-shelved dressers stamped in between three glass closet doors, with five lined up in front of them. The room was almost the double the size of a master bedroom, and every inch of it was taken over by clothes. Clothes spilling from the dressers, as if they were hit by a tornado, pouring from the closet like upchunk vomit, carelessly flung and piled up onto the lounge chairs like trash. Tops, dresses, jeans and shorts and pants, skirts and dresses, shoes, pursues loose hangers. All scattered over the room. So many clothes that the mess nearly reached their knees, looking like some kind of fabric ocean.

Once Aria managed to pull back up her slacked jaw and find her voice, she stammered, “Never ever are you to call me a slob!” A quick glance at the clutter, and her body broke into a shudder. “Never again.”

Nisa rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Potter. It’s only a little…small mess.” She made a point to look away, twirling a lock of her hair.

“Sure,” Aria nodded. “And World War II was just a small misunderstanding.”

*for more click on the llink: ff.net*

#drarry #harry potter #fem!drarry #fem-drarry #female harry potter #fem-Harry Potter #female Draco Malfoy #fem-Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy #Blake Lively #emeraude toubia #they honestly are the perfect fem-drarry #spring cleaning #messy closet #closet unhaul

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yay-yas · 8 years ago

Text

Platinum

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The metallic click of the scissors cut through the heavy, summer air. Katsuki Yuuri’s face contorted in concentration as he carefully trimmed the hair of the little boy that was currently at his station. Low jazz music travelled through the humidity from the round brass speakers mounted on the wall, complimenting the speakeasy style of the barber shop. Dark, damask wallpaper was interrupted at intervals along the wall with large, gold-framed mirrors, in front of which sat a variety of different, vintage-style barber chairs. All of this made the summer heat feel all the more intense, and the classic 1920s feel was counteracted by the casual summer clothes the barbers were wearing beneath their dark grey aprons.

The air con had cut out on them two days ago, and working in New York City in this heat was virtually impossible. But this was a family owned business that couldn’t afford to close while they were placed on a 4 day waiting list for an engineer to sort out the problem. Instead, they compromised; Celestino, who owned the shop, allowed the barbers as many breaks that they needed, and they didn’t have to wear their usual, stifling, smart uniform. It was mid summer, and of course the shop was fully booked. So far today, Yuuri had had at least seven clients, and it was barely afternoon. He wiped the sweat from his brow, before kneeling in front of the blonde head in his chair. The little boy stared deep into Yuuri’s eyes, making him feel slightly uncomfortable as he gently pulled the front strands through his fingers, using a thin blade to graduate a fringe. The kid wasn’t older than five; Yuuri knew this because he was a regular. His name was Leo, and he was adorable. Every time he came for a cut, Leo’s mother insisted on this same choppy hairstyle that was much older than the child. Still, the mother was adamant that this was the style his hair was to be. In this heat, Yuuri would have opted for short hair on the sides, leaving a longer mop on the top. Leo’s hair was naturally wavy, so it would have looked stylish without looking thin. But the mother, who was in charge of the entire operation, demanded the boyband hair style, so of course Yuuri had to oblige. Still, he tried not to make eye contact as he trimmed the currently straight, wet hair, nodding his glasses back onto his face so that he didn’t accidentally snip at the poor child’s nose. The frames were hot, and slid too far down his nose purely because of the sweat. Yuuri felt disgusting, but he tried to push the thought aside as he finished up the trim. The blades in his hands were slipping, so he wiped his hand on his apron to try and retain some grip. He had been putting off the inevitable, but now he had to fully style the poor boys hair. The hairdryer whirred into life, pumping more uncomfortably hot air into the surroundings. Yuuri’s hands worked quickly, shaking the soft strands as fast as possible, the hot air burning his fingers. God knows how the kid must have felt, but after five long, sweltering minutes, the hair was finally dry. Leo cheered, squirming on the leather seat, eager to finish up. He knew he was coming to the end, and Yuuri, though not visibly squirming himself, was looking forward to his break afterwards. “Now, what comes next?” Yuuri kneeled down to speak to the child, who pondered the products that were lined up in front of the mirror. “Erm… green one?” His stubby little finger pointed at a tub of styling gel, and Yuuri nodded. “Yep, and the purple one,” he grabbed the purple spritz bottle, spraying cool conditioner into the sandy strands of hair that he shook out with his fingers. The boy still squirmed, his bare legs sticking to the leather seat. “Almost there, Leo. Maybe your mom will get you an ice cream after?” Yuuri smiled, carefully teasing the bangs downwards. He nodded, confirming that he was done. Immediately, Leo jumped out of his seat and dodged the other barbers to meet his mom, who had moved one of their seats just outside the door. He jumped into her arms, and shook away all the careful styling Yuuri had attempted. He wasn’t too mad, though. Leo was only five, after all. “Thank you so much, Yuuri, it’s perfect as always. But I bet you’re just exhausted working in this heat,” Leo’s mom fanned herself with a leaflet from the shop, while she fished through her purse for a little wallet. Her short red hair fell down in front of her sunglasses, and Yuuri noticed her roots needed a touch up. Shaking the thought, he just shrugged. “I’m on a break now, and I’m planning on sticking my head in a bucket of ice,” he half-joked as she slipped a couple of $20 bills into his sweaty palm. “That’s for you, not the tip jar. Go and get a frappe or something,” she waved off his attempt to hand one back, taking her sons hand and walking from the store. “Thanks again,” Yuuri called, slipping one of the bills into his back pocket before handing the other over to Sara Crispino, the girl working the register. “Another happy customer. I’m sure she has a crush on you, she won’t let anyone else cut her baby’s hair,” Sara giggled, slipping the note into the large, antique register. It dinged as she did so, and she started writing a note on the open plan calendar that stretched the length of the desk. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a clumsy braid that stretched down below her shoulders. Some strands had fallen loose, but she tucked those behind her ears as she scribbled. Yuuri was constantly offering to style it for her, but she always refused. After a long, hot moment, Sara nodded a confirmation to herself. “You’ve got ten minutes until your next client. It’s a bleach, but given the heat situation, take 20 and I can get Emil to prep,” she had already waved over the intern, who had been sweeping away the hair that was scattered around Yuuri’s station. Yuuri nodded gratefully, dropping his apron on the counter and ducking out of the store onto the busy sidewalk. He took a left, walking towards the cafe where his best friend worked at the end of the street. Heatwaves bounced off the tarmac, yellow cabs emitting their own radiation as he walked past. Still, there was at least a light breeze out here, and it did cool his sweat-covered skin slightly. The coffee shop was empty. Across the street, Yuuri could just see through the fence into Central Park, which was heaving with families and professionals enjoying a sun-soaked lunch break. The heat was hurting his head. He pushed open the heavy door, stunned by the cool blast of air that hit his face when he did. His shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the cool, granite space. There were a couple of people scattered around the shop, one typing feverishly on a laptop, the other quietly sipping a steaming cup. A pop song travelled over the counter, which was deserted. Yuuri stepped up, and leaned over, calling out into the open storage cupboard. “Phichit?” He asked. He was tempted to rest his head against the counter, which was cool on his palms, but he refrained, sure that it was some sort of health code violation. After a crashing sound, Phichit Chulanont hopped out of storage, two milk jugs in hand. His hair stuck up slightly, and his bright grey eyes beamed at the sight of his best friend. “Hey. Usual?” He didn’t have to ask, and had already started pouring out the coffee. Yuuri helped himself to one of the muffins on the counter, and while Phichit blended, he took a seat and closed his eyes, resting his head on the table. He loved working as a hairdresser, especially as it kept him busy. He was one of the most talented barbers in New York, as proudly displayed in the shop by the first place certificates he had won in various competitions across the city. Yuuri’s days were always fully booked, but he had had to pass on a couple of clients during the heatwave. It was impossible for him to work at his usual pace, and it was frustrating but necessary. He would rather give 100% to fewer clients, than collapse by 3pm having ruined two dye jobs and a close shave. Today had been the exception to the rule, though, as his boss was off for the day. Phichit placed two large drinks in front of Yuuri, one was an iced macchiato, the other a vanilla bean frappe. After ringing him up, Phichit handed him his change, and rejoined him at one of the tables closest to the counter. “Won’t you get in trouble?” Yuuri asked, gratefully sipping the iced drink. The cool liquid sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, cooling him instantly. Phichit just laughed. “You know I’m already done, just waiting for Mila to take me off shift,” Phichit shrugged, helping himself to a sip of Yuuri’s frappe. “Still no air con?” Yuuri shook his head, agitating his headache. It felt like his brain was rattling around behind his skull, and an uncomfortable pressure was building behind his eyes. “That’s awful, surely it’s against the law?” Phichit rummaged in his apron, before pulling out a couple of loose aspirin without being asked. Yuuri begrudgingly took them dry, before shaking his head again. “We can’t afford to shut up for two days, and it’s not that bad. Celestino is the best boss I’ve ever had, we’re taking it easy,” Yuuri mused, again sipping his coffee. “That won’t matter if you all collapse. So, what have you got next?” Phichit stood up as he asked, slipping behind the counter to serve the couple that had just walked in. “Bleach, god knows why in this weather. I’m sure it won’t take properly in this heat,” he replied, glancing at his watch. He still had ten minutes of his break. “He’s there now, waiting, but Emil is prepping.” “How is the new kid?” Phichit asked as he poured out the smoothies he had blended, handing them over carefully. Yuuri shook his head. “He’s alright. Some days he’s super confident, the next he looks like a lost puppy. And he has a major crush on Sara, and you know what Mickey’s like. Remember when I brought her here?” Yuuri chuckled at the memory of Michele Crispino, one of the other barbers in the shop, practically smashing through the glass doors of Phichit’s cafe because Yuuri had dared to bring his precious sister out for lunch. After teasing him about it for a week, Sara managed to calm him down enough so that he didn’t threaten to cut Yuuri with his razors whenever he made eye contact, but that didn’t stop him from glaring protectively whenever anyone approached his sister. Phichit also laughed, recalling the barrage of Italian swear words both he and Yuuri had been subject to last September. He had finished serving now, and slumped in the chair opposite Yuuri, who had finished his muffin and was almost finished on his first iced drink. Running his fingers along the edge of the plastic cup, collecting condensation, he sighed. One more client, the longest of the day. And it was a dye job, not only that, a bleach. He wasn’t looking forward to the next couple of hours, sucking in the awful fumes in the stifling shop. When Yuuri had finished his second drink, Phichit grabbed him one of his stashed water bottles that he had frozen during the day, ringing it up on his employee card, before dropping his apron on the counter and leaving with Yuuri. As they left, Phichit’s red-haired colleague bolted past, sweeping past them and into the green apron before the door had even swung shut. Together they walked lazily back to the barber shop. Phichit was scrolling through his social media, while Yuuri mentally prepared for his next client. It had been a while since he had been booked for a full dye, but he was sure he could still remember the measurements despite the mild heatstroke pressing in his temples. Before either of them had started talking again, they were outside the shop. Phichit glanced into the open door, and let out a gasp when he caught sight of who was at Yuuri’s station. Yuuri blinked, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose, taking in his next client. A tall man was stood behind his chair, admiring the leather with his slender fingers. He was wearing a pair of stone grey shorts, with a white polo shirt buttoned right to the top. On his head sat a pair of tortoiseshell Raybans, and he was lazily scrolling thorough his iPhone, patiently waiting for his hairdresser. As he did so, his slender arms flexed involuntary, hinting at muscular. He was beautiful, truly stunning, pale against the shadows of the store. And Yuuri vaguely recognised him. “You do know who that is, don’t you?” Phichit had grabbed Yuuri’s arm, but immediately regretted the transfer of heat. Yuuri looked again, before turning to Phichit. “It’s not, it’s not that Russian guy? On TV?” He glanced back into the shop briefly, ignoring the noises of disbelief from Phichit. “That Russian Guy? Yuuri, that’s Victor Nikiforov. He’s a world renowned fashion designer," Phichit said incredulously. Yuuri clicked his fingers. “He’s on those shows we watch on a Sunday morning?” Yuuri glanced again. Unfortunately, Victor also looked up at that time, and raised a hand in greeting. A blush that had nothing to do with the heat crept up Yuuri’s neck, and he decided he couldn’t well stand on the street for the rest of the afternoon. “Please, please, can I come and get his autograph?” Phichit tried to follow Yuuri into the shop, but Yuuri blocked his path. “No,” he asserted, nudging a disgruntled Phichit back onto the sidewalk. Pouting, he walked out of view, and Yuuri turned to Sara. She was trying hard not to keep staring at Victor, and there was an unfamiliar hush on the shop floor. The other barbers and their patrons were glancing in the mirror occasionally, but for the most part Yuuri could only hear the whir of the two large fans and the hip hop beat now resonating from the speakers. “He insisted on waiting for you,” Sara whispered, handing over an apron. Yuuri nodded. He didn’t even realise this guy was a celebrity until Phichit mentioned it, but now that he recognised him, he felt nervous. True, Phichit knew a lot of ‘celebrities’ that Yuuri didn’t, but the hush in the store made him feel uneasy. It didn’t help that he was incredibly attractive, either. Slipping the apron over his head, he willed the flush in his cheeks to die down as he fumbled with the straps. As he approached his station, and Victor looked up at him, the butterflies in his stomach erupted into life, rising in his chest. His fingers gripped his ice water, grateful for the cool pressure. “Good afternoon. I’m Victor Nikiforov,” he held a hand out to shake, which Yuuri took. It was warm, but not clammy, unlike Yuuri’s. “Nice to meet you. I’m Yuuri Katsuki. Sorry I kept you waiting,” Yuuri said, surprised that it didn’t come out as a mutter. Victor just waved his apology away. “Not at all. It’s too hot to be mad at you. Why is it so hot in here?” He asked, looking up at the large vents that usually provided the air con. “It broke a couple of days ago. We’re waiting for an engineer,” Yuuri pulled the plastic cover off his seat as he spoke, and gestured that Victor should sit down, which he did. Gracefully, Yuuri threw the cover over Victor, carefully fastening the clasps at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t help but brush the skin with the back of his fingers. The skin was soft, Yuuri could tell that even in the brief contact above his coarse collar, and it recalled the flush in his cheeks once more. He was acting like a schoolboy, and he needed to snap out of it. “It sure is warm in here,” Victor laughed, playfully pulling at the plastic around his neck. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stain your clothes or your skin with the dye, and it drips,” Yuuri apologised for the second time in two minutes. He turned and waved Emil over, pointing at the fan he wanted him to bring to his station. Emil just turned on the spot, glancing behind him to see what Yuuri wanted. This did not go unnoticed by Victor, who let out a low chuckle to himself. “It’s okay, I don’t need that big thing. I’ll survive,” he insisted, but Yuuri shook his head. “I need to make sure the mixture doesn’t do anything weird in this heat,” he smiled in the mirror, briefly making eye contact before stalking towards the fan. “Oh, you wanted the fan? Why didn’t you say?” Emil placed his broom against a wall and helped Yuuri drag it across the floor. It made a terrible noise as the metal scratched along the stone floor, causing the entire room to wince. Eventually, Yuuri was satisfied with the angle of the fan, grateful that he could use the dye as an excuse to be near to it. It didn’t offer much cold air, but it did help slightly. The aspirin had kicked in, alongside his double caffeine intake, so he could focus more clearly on the task at hand. Gently, his fingertips brushed through the surprisingly soft grey hair on top of Victor’s head. It was in a fantastic condition, considering the colour it was dyed. While the ends were a little dry, the main body of the hair retained its volume and thickness while yielding slightly to Yuuri’s touch. The roots were slightly darker than the rest of the platinum hair, and close to the scalp Yuuri could see the yellow blonde tones that Victor wanted covering. “Your hair is in a fantastic condition,” Yuuri confirmed, gushing slightly. “Thank you. I take great care to maintain it,” Victor nodded. He made eye contact in the mirror again, smiling when Yuuri’s eyes darted back down to his hair. “So, do you do this yourself?” Yuuri turned to beckon Emil back over as he asked, so he missed Victor shaking his head. “No, but my hairdresser has had to go back home for a couple of weeks, and I have a promo shoot for my new show next week, and, well, you were featured in GQ last month as a rising star, and I just had to see for myself. Besides, you were the only barber willing to touch peroxide,” Victor laughed, the sound ringing loudly above the music. Of course, the only feature Celestino insisted on accepting to promote Yuuri’s 4th consecutive national award was in a prestigious magazine read by millions. Yuuri had posed in front of this very seat awkwardly, pretending to cut his boss’s hair for the photographs. He had hated every minute of it, but it must have done the trick, as the clientele had shifted slightly. Vaguely familiar faces had started trickling through the doors, and of course Yuuri was always fully booked out. Victor, however, was by far the most famous face. Emil now appeared at his arm, pulling on his apron strings, urgently nodding towards the mixing room. Yuuri sighed and excused himself, following Emil, who had prepared four separate bowls of bleach, none the right consistency or colour. “I can’t remember,” he said, flipping through the ratio book. Yuuri closed the book for him, and pointed at the correct powder container. “This one, and then this one. Make sure you don’t overfill with the powder, because it expands. And it must be this colour,” he said gently, swiftly combining the ingredients and creating a pale blue, powdery foam. Emil nodded, but still held his head low. “Don’t worry,” Yuuri insisted. “I wish I still had the photos of my sister’s hair when I was practising. You’ll get the hang of it. Why don’t you mix me some platinum? 10,2, on the top shelf, three to one ratio,” Yuuri clapped Emil’s shoulder, and the apprentice smiled. “Okay, I’ll try,” he nodded. Yuuri continued to mix as he walked back to his station, trying to breathe through his mouth. The heat intensified the chemical smell from the pot, and he wished he had grabbed a mask. Still, with hair as light as Victor’s, it probably wouldn’t need that long to take properly. Carefully, with one hand, he used a thin comb to part Victor’s hair, alternating between the brush and the comb to quickly coat Victor’s roots with the bleach. It took him ten minutes to completely cover the yellow, and the second he was done, he pulled his phone out to set a timer. Victor started panting, shaking his head, causing Yuuri to almost throw the chair back in blind panic. Michele glanced over, clippers buzzing against the air. “V-Victor! Your notes said you used Scharwzkopf, what-” he froze when he saw the mischievous glint in Victor’s eye, and he threw his head back laughing again. “Got you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he smirked, wiggling to pull his phone out of his shorts pocket under the apron. Yuuri blinked, brows knitted together in confusion. “Oh, right,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed. “Would you like a drink?” “Water, please, thank you,” Victor was scrolling through his emails when Yuuri left. Michele touched his arm as he passed and raised an eyebrow. Yuuri shrugged, rejoining Emil who was proudly mixing the dye together. “Hey, look at that!” Yuuri grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “Is it right?” He tilted the bowl, and Yuuri was impressed that he had remembered the ratio. He nodded his approval, and grabbed a water bottle from the ice bucket in the corner. When he returned, Victor was leaning on his elbow and admiring the mirrors. “I’m sorry, I was just messing with you. I always used to get my old hairdresser like that, but he used to play along,” Victor smiled apologetically, and it was Yuuri’s turn to wave him off. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit off today. It’s so hot in here, but it’s no excuse,” he reached over Victor to grab his half melted ice water, chugging half the bottle. “It is warm, but the decor doesn’t help. If you had whitewash walls, and perhaps light, plastic chairs instead of these large leather ones, it would feel less stifling in here. But this works really well for the in between seasons, particularly because of the high ceiling,” Victor pointed up. Yuuri had never thought about how the shop was designed. “Yeah, Celestino loves all things '20s. He calls it vintage revival or something, even our uniforms match. Not this,” he motioned at his blue t shirt and denim shirts beneath the apron. “What do you usually wear?” Victor cocked his head, and Yuuri fished for his phone in his pocket. “I couldn’t ever explain it well enough, but, hang on,” he scrolled quickly through his Facebook profile, which was mostly hair-related posts. He found the photo he was looking for, and held the screen in front of Victor, whose eyes flitted between the screen and Yuuri in the mirror. “Wow, they look amazing, and I can totally see it,” he nodded, impressed. Yuuri did like the uniform, which was a pair of black trousers, a purple shirt and either a grey waistcoat or black braces with gold fastenings. Celestino had spared no expense in building his image, and it had paid off. Suddenly, the phone buzzed to indicate the dye was done, so he led Victor to the sinks. When Victor stood up, Yuuri realised he was a whole head shorter than him. When Victor sat down, Yuuri turned the water on and gently sprayed his head with the cool shower. Victor sighed when the water hit his skin, closing his eyes as Yuuri worked shampoo into his scalp, gently massaging the lotion into suds. It had never really crossed Yuuri’s mind to consider how intimate his profession was, but here, now, on this sweltering August afternoon, while he delicately worked the bleach out of this man’s hair, that was the only thing he could think of. He must have washed thousands of people’s hair, but never had he felt like this. Victor didn’t help by sighing a couple of times, relaxing into the dip of the ceramic and looking incredibly relaxed. Yuuri tried to focus on the bleach, but even when he realised he had scrubbed it all away, he continued to work Victor’s hair. After slowly rubbing the conditioner into the roots, and deliberately took his time in making sure it was clear before switching off the water. When he heard the shower head had stopped, Victor squinted up at Yuuri, mouth curled up slightly. “Yuuri, I wish you could wash my hair every day,” he pushed himself up, shaking his hair with the towel that Yuuri offered. Luckily, Yuuri seemed to be the only one who heard this, so he was spared the embarrassment. “Thanks,” he muttered, busying himself with the towels as he gestured that Victor should take his seat. He did, and patiently waited while Yuuri collected the dye from Emil. He sipped the water bottle Yuuri had handed him, and admired his new roots in the mirror. His own hairdresser was being given a run for his money. When Yuuri returned, he had a tray, so he could use both hands to carefully separate the hair and cover it evenly. They sat quietly while he worked, Victor’s blue eyes tracing the delicate movements of Yuuri’s fingers. Involuntarily, Yuuri leaned over him to tilt his chin back, briefly brushing the soft skin of his neck, and Victor held his breath. At this point, most of the store was watching the award-winning hairdresser avidly, including the other clients who were just in for a trim. Sara snapped a couple of photos for Celestino, which she accidentally sent to the rest of the barbers in the store. Yuuri felt his phone buzz but ignored it, focussed as he was on ensuring the colour was even. “Does it burn?” He asked, swiftly wiping a smudge off Victor’s forehead before it settled. Victor shook his head once, and Yuuri nodded. “Good.” It took about fifteen minutes this time to achieve the coverage Yuuri was happy with, so again he set the alarm on his phone before clearing up. As he pushed the colour trolley out the back, he felt the eyes of the room on him, and he nearly ran Emil over, who was walking directly towards him. “Oops, sorry Yuuri,” he chirped, sidestepping the Japanese man as he continued through the store. When in the privacy of the mix room, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the notifications that popped up. The first was a message from Celestino, telling him he needed to keep Nikiforov at the store until he got there. But how did he know? This was when he saw the work's group chat, which was blowing up with the news that the hottest TV personality was currently in their store, looking rather comfortable with their star barber. Yuuri zoomed in on the photo and nearly dropped the phone; Sara had caught the most intimate moment of the styling. The photo had captured the moment Yuuri had tilted Victor’s head back, their faces visible in the mirror. Sunlight reflected off his glasses, so it wasn’t clear what he was looking at, but Victor’s large eyes were solely focussed on Yuuri. His cheeks were pink, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. Yuuri’s stomach flipped. He typed out a plea for this to remain strictly between them, and only Sara responded with a winky face. The more he looked at the photo, the more he grew to realise it wasn’t all that intimate. Or so he tried to convince himself. Being a hairdresser meant you got up close and personal with your clients, it was an intimate career, he reasoned, and the thought calmed him slightly. After drinking another bottle of water, his phone rang with the final alarm, so he stepped back out onto the shop floor to lead Victor back to the sinks. He worked quicker this time, scrubbing the hot dye deep into Victor’s scalp so that it washed out of the hair faster. He tried to keep his movements soft, but he knew he had to scrub harder to completely remove the foamy dye. Dark grey washed down the drain, revealing the deep grey hair and roots it had just dyed. Emil really had done a good job with the dye. Yuuri towel dried Victor’s hair himself before blasting it with the high power hairdryer, shaking strands through his hair delicately. Combined with the fan, the hair was dry fairly quickly, but it had poofed out slightly. Yuuri considered it for a moment, amused at the frizziness he had created. Flicking the switch for the straighteners, he quickly spritzed a heat protection at Victor’s head before carefully dragging the ceramic over the hair. He was close to Victor’s face now, gently separating strands and pulling them down over his face. Victor just watched, his eyes following Yuuri’s as he worked. The smell of burnt hair replaced the chemical smell burning in Yuuri’s nose, but it was a smell he liked, weirdly enough. To him, it was the mark of a job well done, and he could actively see the progress he had made. There was a new vibrancy in Victor’s hair, the platinum retaining some semblance of the ash blue colour powder, leaning towards a very, very gentle lilac in the sunlight. Only Yuuri would notice this, of course, and he examined the roots to make sure they had taken the colour correctly, which they had. He was impressed with his work; he never expected it to turn out as well as it always did. After smoothing the final strands of Victor’s hair, he was satisfied with his work. Although there was a nagging feeling in the far reaches of his mind that he had forgotten something important. He ignored this, instead choosing to quickly sprayed over Victor's head with sticky hairspray, gently teasing volume with his fingertips, before slapping the top of the chair. This was the part he loved, watching the client admire the handiwork, especially those that he had never worked with before. Victor leaned towards the mirror, carefully pulling strands in front of his eyes and out into the light to examine the colour. A moment passed before he actually turned in the chair to beam at Yuuri. “Oh it’s wonderful! And the colour, it’s so different,” his eyes lit up as he spoke, and Yuuri smiled sheepishly. “Im glad you like it,” he said. He leaned forward to unclip Victor’s apron, carefully peeling it off his chest. It was hot, and fluttered in the wind from the fan as he shook it out. Victor pulled his phone out and turned back towards the mirror. “Can I post a picture on Instagram? I’ll be sure to tag you, of course,” he had already opened the app on his phone, watching Yuuri in the mirror as he asked. “Erm, sure, I’m usually not in the photos,” Yuuri mumbled, standing carefully to the left but behind the chair. In one swift movement he had slicked his hair back, using some residue from the products he had used on Victor’s hair but ultimately relying on his glasses to hold the sweaty hair back. There was nothing worse than a hairdresser with awful hair themselves, and he could see in the mirror the heat of the day had taken its toll. He smiled, falsely, actively posing for the photo, his eyes looking in the general direction of the blurry reflection of the phone in the mirror. He heard the shutter sound a couple of times before Victor nodded, satisfied. “Fantastic. Well, Yuuri, I’m impressed. You may have put my own barber out of business,” he laughed, standing up and starting towards Sara. “How much?” “That’ll be $90, Mr Nikiforov,” she smiled, inputting the amount into the register. “Ah, well, here, keep the change,” he winked, handing over two crisp $100 dollar bills and turning to Yuuri, who was still at his station. “Thanks again, Yuuri,” he waved, and left the store, crossing the street and turning right. Yuuri hadn’t even noticed that he was the last customer, but he was relieved. Slumping into his chair, he pulled his phone out just as Celestino ran into the store, panting slightly. “You’ve just missed him,” Sara said, not looking up from the register. “Dammit! How was he? Did you do it right?” He demanded of Yuuri. “Yeah, he loved it,” Yuuri smiled. “He loved more than the dye job,” Michele teased, laughing as he unhooked his apron from around his neck. Celestino looked quizzically at Yuuri, who was now blushing slightly. “He’s just enthusiastic, he is on TV,” Yuuri reasoned, earning him a nudge. “Hey, maybe he’ll come back!” Celestino beamed. “His own hairdresser comes back in a couple of weeks, I doubt he’ll be back, but he was lovely,” Yuuri mused, absentmindedly scrolling through his Instagram, searching for Victor’s username. He would have to ask Phichit when he got home. “Well, he left a $110 tip, so I hope he comes back,” Sara dropped the money on the counter for Yuuri, who stared at the notes. “Wow, he must have liked you,” Celestino laughed, grabbing the notes and handing them to Yuuri. Yuuri just shook his head. “Tip jar, we can go out Saturday, if we make it that far. How long until the engineers-” Celestino shook his head, cutting Yuuri short. “Pushed us back til Monday, said that if we’ve managed the past couple of days, a few more won’t hurt, and it’s supposed to cool down by Thursday,” he looked visibly annoyed at this, so Yuuri decided not to push it. Instead, they sat quietly waiting for the clock to hit 5:30, which meant they would be free to leave. Michele had finished cleaning, so he chose to stand at the till with his back to Emil, who was stood near the front, glancing up from his phone at Sara every so often. The other barbers had left halfway through Yuuri’s final job, and they would be in an hour earlier tomorrow to compensate. The second hand slowly crept past the 7, then the 8, guiding the minute hand as it stretched towards the 6. Now they had stopped, the heat grew unbearable, and the final seconds of the day dragged longer than any other. All eyes were now on the clock above the door, watching as finally, the second hand hit 11, and then 12, the minute hand closing the small gap to mark 5:30. “Well, great job. Tomorrow, bring all the water you want, and don’t hesitate to take a break. That means you, Katsuki. I know you hate stopping but I don’t want to be sending you to the hospital with heat stroke, okay? I appreciate you guys keeping us open. I’ll be in first thing, so if you feel unwell please call and let me know,” he looked around at his employees with a soft smile on his face, proof that he genuinely did care. The barbers and Sara barrelled out the door, Yuuri in particular keen to get home. It had been a long day, and tomorrow he knew he had much of the same to look forward to. After walking the short distance to his apartment block, and taking the elevator to his floor, he fumbled with his keys. As he stood in the doorway, his limbs ached for the cool shower that was waiting on the other side of the door. The metal slipped between his fingers, but he eventually managed to push through the fog to open the door. As he stepped into the apartment, grateful for the cool air that hit his face, he paused. Then he remembered. “I forgot to cut his hair!” -!- When the sun came up the next morning, it was hidden behind a thick blanket of heavy, humid cloud. Yuuri woke to dense raindrops tapping at his window, and grey light shining through the glass. He blinked at the orange numbers on his digital clock, which stated it was 10:17am. 10:17. He was late. He scrambled to pull on his work uniform, rummaging through his wardrobe panicked before he remembered he didn’t actually need it that day. Throwing on the shorts he wore yesterday, and one of the white t-shirts now scattered on his bed, he grabbed his phone, glasses, and keys before shoving his feet into his tattered Vans, and running through the apartment. A voice called a good morning from the bathroom as the door clicked shut behind him, but he didn’t have time. He ran the whole way to the barber shop, ducking and weaving amongst the bustling street. Celestino was in this morning, and he was sure his first appointment wasn’t until half 10, but he was panicked. Rain spattered against his glasses, and he could barely see when he arrived at the store. Despite the storm, the air was still thick, and Yuuri had sweat straight through his fresh shirt. He was panting, leaning against the shop window to catch his breath. The front door was shut, which was strange, given the fact that the rain actually intensified the heat. As he pushed the large gold handle, he was surprised to be met with a blast of cooling air ruffling his hair. The music was muffled slightly by the whir of the large air con fans above them, generating this refreshing air. Celestino stood behind the counter, leaning over Sara as he talked her through the clients for that day. He looked up and smiled as Yuuri walked in, pointing to the fans. “And thank you for this,” he grinned, clapping his hands together in joy. Yuuri was still confused. “How-?” One of the other barbers piped up. “Your famous friend yesterday organised for his own personal air con guy to come and fix it for us,” JJ said, turning from his clean shave customer. He had foam on his arm, and the knife gleamed as he waved it about. Yuuri noticed that he was in his uniform. In fact, so we’re the other barbers, including Sara, who’s uniform was the same as the barber’s with the addition of a loose silver and purple tie. Yuuri was the only one in his regular clothes. “I see you didn’t get my message, then,” Celestino chided lightly. “I’ll go and change-” again, Yuuri was interrupted. “No time, your next appointment is here,” Sara nodded behind Yuuri at a sombre figure in the rain. He sighed, and reached over the counter for a protective apron. At least that matched. -!- The rest of the day passed without incident, and the next day was essentially the same. Same old clients, with the same old requests for the same bland hair style. Yuuri found himself watching either the clock or the door, waiting for someone interesting to walk in. Someone who he had only half finished the job for. Somebody who, apparently, spent the whole time he was in the shop flirting with him. He sighed, and leaned against the cool shelf just below his mirror, watching the barbers behind him working at their stations, when his vision into the room was blocked by a tall, slender figure. It was Victor, standing with his arms folded and leaning against the back of the chair, pulling it back slightly and lifting Yuuri with it. “Hello, Yuuri. I was on my way home the other day and I realised I’d paid for a cut and colour but only had my colour done! Must have been the heat," Victor laughed, narrowing his eyes naturally with his smile. "Anyway, if you have a minute, I’d love for you to cut my hair." Victor smiled as he spoke, his mouth forming a heart shape around certain words. Yuuri jumped out of his seat and glanced at the clock, before looking at Sara. She searched the calendar, before mouthing that Yuuri had ten minutes. Ten minutes. He’d completed a cut in less time. “I am sorry about that, I realised when I got home but we had no way of contacting you to invite you back,” he said. Victor took his seat, and Yuuri could fully appreciate the light grey jeans, and blue and white striped v neck Victor had chosen to wear. They were both tight fitting, particularly the jeans, and he was wearing the same loafers he had worn the other day. Yuuri threw the same cape over him, and fastened it in the same way he had last time, fumbling slightly with the loose clasp on the end. Again, Victor smiled at him in the mirror, and Yuuri was struck with a weird sense of déjà vu. “I’m glad you didn’t, because now I get to see these dashing uniforms of yours,” Victor nodded his approval at Yuuri’s uniform, slightly concealed beneath his apron. “Oh, thank you. And thanks for the air con,” Yuuri motioned above him with his free hand as he sprayed Victor’s hair with water. He had eight minutes left. “I’m sorry, this might be a little rushed,” Yuuri apologised, pulling strands of Victor’s prominent fringe through his fingers. He pushed his glasses off his face and started to trim, holding the hair between his fingers as he clicked the scissors together. He was close to Victor’s face. Although he could feel his breath on the back of his hand as he worked, the time pressure ensured that he was focussed. He glanced behind him at the clock; six minutes remained. As snippets of hair fell across his shoulders, Victor just watched Yuuri work, amazed that he could work so well at such a speed. His hands worked flawlessly, always threading the right amount of hair through his fingertips before cutting through the split ends. Celestino appeared behind the chair when Yuuri had four minutes left, sweeping as Yuuri moved around the leather. He shaped the hair above the ears, finally brushing the front through his fingers again, feeling for any rogue layers. There were none, so he gave it a quick blast with the hair dryer, shaking with his fingers through the final two minutes he had left. The doorbell chimed just as Yuuri clicked the hairdryer off. Sara clapped, and Celestino patted him on the back as Victor pulled the apron away and admired his reflection. Again, Yuuri had done a flawless job. “Wow, thank you, Yuuri,” Victor grinned, his mouth forming that heart shaped smile over Yuuri’s name. Yuuri shrugged, and Celestino pulled him into half a hug. “Thank you so much for choosing Fitzgerald’s, Mr Nikiforov,” Celestino extended a hand for Victor to shake, which he took. “Would you like a photo? You could put it onto your website, or whatever,” Victor held his phone up, and Celestino clapped Yuuri on the back again. “Yes, let’s. Sara,” Celestino called, beckoning her forward. “A photo, please.” Victor stood in the middle, his arm around Yuuri’s neck as he pulled him closer for the photo. Again, Yuuri pushed his glasses over his head to sweep his hair back, holding the same half smile he had had for the previous photo. Celestino beamed, and Victor flashed his trademark smile. Yuuri could smell Victor’s cologne, recognising it as the one Phichit had bought him for Christmas last year. He flushed a little at the thought, pulling away from the embrace in order to tend to his next customer. “Until next time, Yuuri,” Victor called, waving as he left the store. Yuuri watched him walk out of view beyond the window as he swept the seat of hair. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with that. Celestino wasn’t too mad, but it was such a big risk to have taken. He couldn’t dwell on it for too long, though, as his next client had taken the seat, waiting to be styled. -!- The latter part of the week flew by, as it always did for Yuuri. Thursday through to Saturday saw him fully booked with only 20 minutes for lunch. He still watched the door between clients, or washes, hoping that Victor had forgotten something or that Yuuri had forgotten something, but he never did. Instead, Yuuri settled for following his Instagram and Twitter posts, scrolling through the feeds during his lunch break and at home, admiring the work of the designer. His clothes were elegant, and a little eccentric, and for the brief encounters Yuuri had had with him, he could see his personality in the fabric. Most of the models wore the over the top catwalk styles, but links to his website showed the same simple style that Victor had worn himself. A small tab on the inside label with an elegantly embroidered 'V' signified a genuine product, according to Instagram, and his clothes had been sold all across the world. One model consistently popped up in Victor’s photos, a sullen looking teenager with the same name as Yuuri. He very rarely glanced at the camera, often staring broodingly just beyond the lens. Yuuri scrolled past most of these, more interested in Victor’s personal posts, which were few and far between. The most recent was, of course, the photo he had taken post dye, which had accumulated over 20,000 likes, including one from Phichit’s account. By the end of the week, the barber shop was fully booked for a solid month, and they were turning down as many bookings as they were making, all because of a recommendation from V. Nikiforov. The tips that the staff had made throughout the week were spent on Saturday night, as the shop closed an hour early and the barbers were allowed to let their hair loose. That Saturday they decided to hit their favourite bar across the street from the shop, which served delicious cocktails at a reasonable price. Celestino always bought the first round before leaving, allowing the barbers a night to wind down properly. After a couple of drinks, and a long day at work, the barbers were tipsy. The hot, summer night did nothing to help their situation. JJ was teasing Seung Gil, the latest addition to the team, because he had accidentally shaved one boys hair a little too short. Seung Gil was a man of few words, so he simply chose to ignore JJ, who quickly got bored of his game. This lead him to teasing Emil about his obvious crush, and the fact Emil had a large black X across his hand to stop him from drinking in the bar. It didn't help his case with Michele, who usually drank way to much and ended up swinging for anyone who even looked at his sister. Yuuri did get along with the other barbers, and did enjoy their company but he tried not to get roped into the drama. Tonight, he was sat on his phone, just away from the group so that no one could see how far he had scrolled on Victor's profile. As the night wore on, the group broke apart. Emil was the first to leave, and Sara offered to walk home with him. She also had a black mark across the back of her hand, so they were too sober to deal with the rest of the group. They slipped away, unnoticed for the first half an hour of their absence. Seung Gil was next, after JJ latched back into him for attention. He just rolled his eyes and stalked out of the bar, shoving through the crowd rather aggressively. Yuuri tried to make a mental note to try harder with the newest barber, before downing the shot that JJ had just called over for them. Michele refused to do his, instead choosing to call his sister and yell over the loud music that she was stupid and shouldn't have left with Emil. She couldn't hear him. And then Yuuri. His friends were too drunk to notice that he should not have had that final shot. Or taken Michele's. When he was drunk he was prone to making stupid decisions, ones that he would regret the next day. Like the decision to send Victor Nikiforov a direct message on Instagram.

#yoi #Yuri on ice fanfic #barbershop AU #I'm a sucker for an AU okay and I'm sorry not sorry

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