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80s4life · 3 years ago

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You Take Good Care Of Her Pt.2

Word Count: 1,440

Status: Requested!

Fandom: The Expendables {1-3}

A/N: This was just a little extra spice to add to the first part. A fluffy, happy ending for all the Lee lovers!

Relationship: Lee Christmas x Reader

Summary: When the mission goes south and leaves the reader injured, feelings arise to the surface in a swarm of feelings at the thought of losing each other, especially when the only things worth while is the other in their lives.

Warnings: mentions of blood, fluff OVERLOAD, language (We’re dealing with grown-men-children okay?)

Masterlist The Expendables Masterlist Part One

{not my gif}

Despite his attempts, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to resist her, and for that, he didn't care what he had to go through, he was going to have her. Because she was his, and he was hers, no matter who knew.

And now we continue...

With his newfound set of mind, Lee made it his priority to say hi to Y/N every morning, smile, wave, and even engage he in conversation. "You really are desperate aren't ya?" he thought, trying to be as gushy and nice as possible. He was trying to be so different he wanted to gag. Sometimes he wondered if this new act was something that Y/N would get used to and he would have to keep up this act for the rest of his life.

Y/N knew Lee was being weird. The first thought she had was that he was sick, but now, as he openly made eye contact with her, spoke to her, even sometimes winked, she found herself thinking of the knives expert more than she thought she ever would. He was sweet yes, but she's lying to herself if she didn't like the true Lee she knew. Back when he was very avoidant of her, she saw who Lee truly was, but at afar. He was snarky, mysterious, funny, British to the bone, and strong mentally and physically.

Barney saw this shit from the very beginning. But, even as he didn't want his baby sister falling in love and being left brokenhearted, he knew the two good enough to know that they needed each other. At one point, once he saw Lee start acting like a lovesick puppy, he started to secretly root for them, joining the ship Yin Yang and Toll had built months ago. This didn't mean he was going to make it easy for the man either though. They still all had a job to do and love is going to get in their way if they don't focus.

Dropping down in the forests below, the Expendables, clad in black suits, weapons to attack 5 states, and high tech gear to guide them through the thick forest. Barney, splitting the team off to get to the best views of the town under attack, tells the group where to go while giving them all ear pieces to keep up with communication. Gunnar, going along the outskirts where the forest meets the open town lands, squats, getting a visual on the sniper at the top tower, utterly excited to finally use his new toy: a big ass bazooka. Toll and Yin Yang sticking together to find shelters near one another but still separated. Barney, not wanting to leave his sister alone on a mission, appoints Lee to her, knowing the two have each other's backs while still not getting into Barney's dangerous line of sight.

As the group splits, its only natural for the foreign enemies to spot them. With the first cry, most likely to alert the opposing team's members, made Y/N's stomach tie up in knots, always an unsettling noise to be paired with the impending war ahead. Times like these make her go into a dangerous trance, back to the war and military she was a part of for 10 years. Even as the images flash through her mind, she tries hard to yank them away, focusing her for the time being.

As the war raged on, the pairs of teams the Expendables once had have broken up accidentally, communication soon being cut off during the blasts and explosions, leaving Y/N alone. She had dropped it as she was taking cover from the harsh blows. With her ear piece gone, she had missed Yin Yang as he had pinpointed the next blast of a missile, not their own, but the rivals as they aimed in her direction. The team screaming her name through the earpieces, not knowing if she could quite hear them. By the time Y/N saw her attacker, she only had minimal time to run away. Getting a great distance away, her lungs burned as he leg caught a rock. The missile falling seconds later, far away, but not far enough to stop her from the debris crashing and colliding with her small form.

Lee had turned a corner just in time to watch the horrific event play out in his eyes. Sprinting, he rushes to Y/N, seeing her bloodstained clothes, cuts, and bruises. Upon his arrival, she looked at him with such fear and pain, almost as much to make her cry as the adrenaline started to run out, the sheer intensity of the pain finally settling in. Lee held her tight, moving themselves to the closest form of shelter, plopping down, and cradling her body into his own. She was sitting in his lap, arms weak, and head leaning on his shoulder. She had made it out fairly lucky now that Lee had gotten a closer look, but not lucky enough for a piece of shrapnel to lodge itself within her torso.

"Your gonna be fine, I swear! You have to be okay! I should've never left you behind," Lee almost choked out, as tears threatened to fall.

"Lee, I'm fine. See? It's just this piece, if you don't touch it, it doesn't hurt, so can ya' please stop shaking me?" Y/N responded jokingly, trying to lighten the mood as she didn't want Lee to spike her anxiety even higher. "Do you have an earpiece on you? Please, get Barney," she asked, wanting her brother more than ever.

"Yeah...Yeah I can do that," he said as he contacted Barney, holding Y/N in an iron grip. "I was so worried you were dead...I didn't know what I would do with myself if you had. I- I-" Lee stuttered, getting lost in her Y/E/C eyes as they peered up at him.

"You what Lee?" she asked, starting to feel a little lighter with the amount of blood dripping.

"I love you Y/N," he admitted, now fearing for her life more now that he had admitted what he's wanted to say for forever.

With this, a lazy smile appeared on Y/N's face, chuckling lightly with delight, "I love you too Lee." He could only muster a look of utter disbelief before the rest of the gang showed up, the rest of the mission finishing out in a blur. At some point, whilst making their way to the hangar of the plane, Y/N had dozed in and out of consciousness, seeing Lee running her away from the mission's town, seeing the plane, the shrapnel being removed by Barney's concentrated and light hands, and later, waking up in a bed, in the hospital with Lee in the chair beside her. Both of his hands wrapped around her tiny one.

He wakes up once he felt the bed move slightly, Y/N stretching her long worn out body. Lee bounces out of the chair immediately, asking her if she needs anything, "The only thing I need is this British guy to sit next to me and play with my hair," Y/N responds playfully, Lee smirking as he takes off his boots, keeping his socks, and laying beside Y/N on the hospital bed, both dozing off together.

Click

A quick, almost blinding light flashes once as snickers and mumbling was heard in the direction of the hospital room door. With the pair now fully awake, and possibly more afraid than they were when Y/N was attacked, they both make eye contact with the res of the Expendables watching the pair, Barney front and center.

"Look, I-" Lee had started, trying to come up with an excuse for how they ended up like this, but ultimately coming up empty and out of excuses.

"No, ya' gonna listen to me. You take good care of her, ya' hear me? I'm gonna bust ya' balls if ya' don't, alright?" Barney answered defensively. "You have my blessing, but ya' better not fuck it up. I'm warning ya'," he continues, motioning for the team to give them privacy, Toll wiggling his eyebrows before he walks out.

Y/N, falling into a fit of laughter, moves to lay on her back, unable to flip on the right from where the stitches from the shrapnel were placed. She looks up at Lee, him blocking her from the edge of the right side, her falling in the blissful feeling of love.

"I'm gonna be walking on eggshells for awhile I guess..." he glances at Y/N before continuing, "but I know it's worth it."

With this, Y/N cups Lee's right cheek, pulling him down lightly to capture his lips with her own, sealing the bond they've spent forever building. Knowing that wherever, whenever, they are always a team, and are always going to be better as long as they are together.

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secondhand-trash · 4 years ago

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Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter.

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth.

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did.

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two.

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around.

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there.

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?”

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes.

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice.

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank.

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning.

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes.

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser.

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper.

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face.

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric.

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you.

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list.

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus.

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.”

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom.

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #kita x reader #kita imagine #kita imagines

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thhimble · 4 years ago

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baby don’t hold out(it’s cold outside), ii

Henry cavill x reader

part i: here

Warnings: none yet. A bit more cheese. A bit more nerdier. I tried to keep the reader as blank as possible, but i think she might be a bit of a nerd, so a heads up for that. Hopefully it doesn’t throw anyone out of the fic too much.

Tags: @harrystylesholland, @spideysimpossiblegirl , @laurakirsten0502

baby don’t hold out (it’s cold outside), ii

It’s not a big deal, you tell yourself, standing outside of room 208, your nose and ears burning from the warmth inside compared to the cold outside… from how long you spent lingering in the snow, trying desperately to figure out a solution that you knew, really, wasn’t there.

Clara was right, after all, you did help make the lists, you helped write and organise and plan… and your options are—

Henry pops into your head, pitch a tent? Camp out in the lobby?

Your options are basically zero.

And you’re an adult not a pre-teen girl screaming over a hot boy. You can do this. You can absolutely do this. He isn’t fucking Adonis.

With a snort, you bury a laugh into your scarf. He’s just a guy. Just a really attractive guy. With really nice hair. And shoulders. And eyes. And—

Ugh, you think and blow out a breath, staring down the tauntingly-silent, somehow loopingly-mocking numbers staring you down from the upper middle of the door.

Fuck you, 208.

If numbers could personally offend, 208 was well on its way.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt personally victimized by 208.

208 stays silent, cursive and nailed to the door.

You resist the urge to lift your hand, yes, hi, I have. Let me introduce myself—

With another snort lost to your scarf, you close your eyes and pull in a steadying breath—

And lift your hand.

“You got this,” you mutter into your scarf. “You totally, absolutely got this.”

You’re a rock. Captain America’s shield. Mithril.

Sam carrying Frodo up the face of Mount Doom.

You knock.

There’s a noise inside, a shuffle—

You are absolutely not at all interested in running away.

You glance at the stairs you came up.

The door opens.

You feel like Frodo, holding the One Ring over the lava.

Henry’s in the same soft, dark blue sweater, but the dark of his hair is a little softer than it was earlier and his sleeves are pushed up over his forearms and he’s in socks and it’s all so— so—

No. You’re totally Samwise.

“Hullo,” Henry says with this slow smile that absolutely does nothing to your insides. “Thought maybe I lost you to a tent after all.”

“It was a close call,” you lie, swallowing around your heartbeat. “But the ground’s frozen. For you know. The tent thingies. That go in the ground.”

You make a weird hammer motion with your hand, it doesn’t at all look like a jerking-off motion. It doesn’t.

His smile goes crooked, his eyes flicking from your face down to the shift of your hand. You tuck it back into your coat pocket and decide you hate him. Him and his stupid, crooked smile.

“Stakes,” he says, with that stupid smile that looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yup, those,” you say with a forced laugh. “Tent thingies.”

He snorts a laugh, but steps back, his hand spreading wide on the door, the thick of his arm holding it open for you as he tilts his head into the room.

“Come on then, girl scout. In you go.”

You hesitate before you remember you’re totally Samwise Gamgee and you heft your metaphorical Frodo and push past him into his— your— whatever— room; ignoring the heat of him, size of him, smell of him, so close to you.

(You’ve been here before, anyway, in the bar that first night, with his mouth to your ear; buy you a drink? But it’s somehow, no less staggering.)

Objectively, it’s a nice room, from the zero-point-one second you glance over it before your eyes land on the bed—

The bed you’ll be sharing with him—

No, nope. There’s no way you can get into that bed with him, you think. No way you can lie down and pretend that you’re not… at least a little bit attracted to him.

Like, a bit.

You glance down; the floor is a tanned-wood colour, but there’s a nice grey rug spread out in front of a gas fireplace, that’s not all that thick, but maybe…

Henry clears his throat behind you and you startle a little, lost in the maybe of camping out on the floor.

No stakes required.

There are plenty of pillows on the bed, you think, with a quick glance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“About earlier,” he starts, and your eyes dart up to his, startled out of your thoughts again. “I know you’re not…” he huffs something like a laugh, crossing his arms. “Well. You aren’t thrilled, yeah? But listen, I’m not in the habit of being a prick, so I’ve made a few calls, and there’s a chance one of the other hotels a town over can bring a spare cot by. They’re going to give me a call back. But until then, I have no problem sleeping on the—”

“I can take the floor,” you interrupt because really, he’s not— it’s not his fault, is it? You were the one dicking around outside and avoiding— not avoiding, just… circumventing the inevitability of him and what he does to… a large portion of the human population. Regardless of gender or orientation. Apparently.

What he might, maybe, sort of, does to you.

It’s not his fault, exactly. (Maybe his parents though, maybe you should write in a complaint, a strongly-worded letter: dear Mrs and Mr Cavill, how dare you?)

Henry pulls a face and scoffs. “You’re not. Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not daft,” you parrot back, pulling your own incredulous face. “I’m serious, you’re,” you wave a hand over him, a vague Henry-shaped circle. “All you, like. And I’m… good with a little pillow-pile on the floor. It’s like, you know, girl’s sleepover. But—”

But in the bedroom of a totally-not-Adonis.

“All me like?” he questions, his brow tilting up.

You make a noise in your throat. Pressing your lips together beneath your scarf. It’s too hot in here, you think, with the gas fire on and the whole— whole man in front of you in this stupid small room with its stupid one bed.

“You know. You’re like. Big.”

“Big,” he says with a slow-widening smile, and crosses his arms. It does nothing at all to his biceps. You totally do not look.

You roll your eyes, because muscles don’t just happen, and— and you know what? It is his fault, you think, he made the very conscious decision to become a brick shithouse.

That’s absolutely on him.

(Your metaphorical Frodo gets a little lighter, you think you might actually make it.) Blaming someone else usually helps lighten a load, doesn’t it?

This is his fault. Who cares what Clara says?

“Yup,” you say and pop the p with a finalizing sound. “So that’s settled then, yeah?” you say, copying the way he says the word, and step away from him to unwind your scarf and drape it over one of the two chairs in the room that sit in front of the fireplace and little coffee table; they’re actually sort of soft-looking, maybe you really could just sleep in that. You aren’t six-foot-whatever like he is, you have a much better chance at fitting into it in a comfortable sleeping position in one of them.

He absolutely isn’t going to out-nice you. No way.

Chair-bed or bust.

“This chair looks nice, look, the pillows are soft too,” you press your hand onto the cushion, it’s not as soft as you hoped but the pillow fairs better; it’s soft and there’s a nice little decoration of holly and ivy, too; the words Merry Christmas stitched in a looping cursive in the middle of it.

“You’re not sleeping on the bloody chair,” he huffs behind you.

“Well,” you start, floundering for something to say, unzipping your jacket and turning to look at him to buy time. “That’s your opinion.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but you think it was a very close call. “Listen,” he starts and pulls in a breath. “There’s no way I’m sleeping in that bed with you sleeping anywhere else. I promise I can sleep anywhere, benefit of having a big family an’ all.”

You shrug off your jacket, stealing a moment to gather your thoughts, moving back towards the door to toe-off your boots, thankful they were dry from the amount of time you spent lingering downstairs and then in the hallway before finding the nerve to even knock.

“And I promise I really don’t care about where I sleep. The tent? Totally could do it. It’s just the ground—”

“Is frozen, yeah,” he finishes for you. “I got that bit.”

You meet his eyes, it’s mostly an accident, you weren’t avoiding it, exactly, you were just… lowering the probability of eye-contact with him by avoiding his general upper face-area.

“Please take the bed.” His face does this… this honest thing that does something to your insides and you think, damn, he might out-nice you after all.

But screw that.

“Is this you trying to be a gentleman?”

He blinks and then grins, standing a little straighter. “I am a gentleman.”

You burst out a laugh and then cover your mouth to catch the pitch of it, grinning behind your hand. “Sorry,” you snort and shake your head. “I mean, okay. Sure.”

“I am. Private school, got all the lessons. Pulling out chairs. Door-opening. Arm-offering. Know all the proper forks and everything,” he teases and you can’t help but laugh as he grins at you. “My mum would literally kill me if she ever found out I took the bed and made a girl sleep on the floor.”

“Ah, so it’s a sexist thing?” you tease back, trying to kill your smile with a tsk. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”

“What? No,” he blinks and frowns. “That’s not— that’s not what I meant—”

You try to bite back a smile, but he must see it flickering on your mouth and huffs at you. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” you say with a grin and step around him to look for your bag, which you find by the bed, of course. Because he’s a gentleman, apparently.

You lift it up and over your shoulder, following where Henry points out the side tables with drawers and the closet near the door.

You set your bag on the bed, pulling out your toiletry bag and trying to ignore the feeling of him looking at you.

He pushes out a breath. “We could also just… be adults about this and share the bed?” he hedges, crossing his arms again and looking at you like he’s gauging you for something. You meet his eyes for a too-long moment where something prickles warmly inside your stomach before he shifts again, his lips quirking. “Then my gentlemanly ways would remain intact and neither of us will end up on the floor— or a chair—with a sore back.”

You hesitate, eyes flicking to the bed and then back to him.

“I snore,” you lie because the bed— any bed with him in it, is still a big, fat nope. “And I’m a cover-hog.”

He snorts, scrubbing a hand over his face and shaking his head. “Impossible is what you are.”

“It’s a character flaw.”

Henry huffs a laugh, pushing his hand through his hair and shaking his head. “How about we just wait to see if I can get a cot from another hotel? If I can get one, then this is all rather moot, isn’t it?”

Moot, you think. Probably.

Just like any and all attraction to him. That’s moot. Pointless. He’s probably so used to people looking at him like that, that he doesn’t even register it.

It makes you feel a bit better, honestly.

You shrug because you don’t want to keep arguing with him when ignoring him generally works so much better for you.

It’s a tried-and-true solution to the Henry-Problem.

“Sure. You think you’ll get one?”

He shrugs, tugging a hand through his hair; you like it, you think, the loose, slightly curling bits you haven’t seen before. He’d had his hair different last time, a bit shorter, a bit straighter.

“I promise I’m doing my best?” he offers with a half-wince.

That, and the lift in his voice carries enough meaning.

Not sure at all, then.

Well. He still isn’t going to out-nice you.

You’re Samwise fucking Gamgee.

The bathroom is nice, a bit small, but nice. You plop your toiletry bag on the vanity and glance at Henry’s stuff, already neatly set on one side of the sink. You touch the edge of a cologne bottle, resisting the urge to pick it up to smell it.

Yes, your brain supplies. Absolutely.

That would be creepy, wouldn’t it?

The bathroom already kind of smells like him, anyway; it’s distracting and you let your finger slide off the cool glass of the cologne and look at yourself in the mirror, instead.

There’s nothing going on tonight, no real distractions until tomorrow— you and Clara had planned it that way. It seemed like such a good idea at first, hadn’t it?

Arrive, unpack, relax. Explore a bit. Give into the comfort and mood of the holiday season at the inn while watching the snowfall from a safe, warm distance.

Have a bath. Read a book.

You stare at the shower accusingly.

You’re sure your room had a bathtub.

You mourn a little for the lost opportunity of your quiet room and your e-reader with a hot chocolate or a bit of wine and a bubble bath, before pulling in a breath and righting yourself, fixing your clothes before reaching for the door.

Back out in the room, Henry’s sitting in one the chairs by the fireplace, looking mostly relaxed, watching the fake-glow of the flames, his knees spread in that manspreading slouch so many guys do. You want to hate it on principle, but his thighs are—

Thighs, you think. They’re thighs, get a grip.

Henry looks at you, you look at him. The moment stretches out.

His eyes are… your belly does a little flop and you take a step backwards.

“I’m going to check on Clara and Sam,” you say and take another step back towards the door.

“Already did,” he says from the chair, a little frown between his brows as he sits up. “I thought maybe we—”

“Yeah, but I’m the Maid of Honour,” you interrupt and force a smile as you slip towards freedom. The room is way too small and warm, isn’t it? Unbearable, almost. “It’s like, my job.”

(You know the room isn’t that small. The whole place is rather decently sized. It’s why it won out, after all. The reigning champ of all the hotels and inns and lodges that had been potential venues over the months of planning.)

But it still feels too small. And he’s all you can smell.

You’re definitely not running but you ignore his countering: I’m the Best Man! that follows you out the door— because it just doesn’t suit the narrative of your excuse.

If he noticed your e-reader in your hands, he was nice enough not to say anything.

Ugh, you think as the door shuts behind you lean against the door for a stretch of a moment, standing in the quiet hall and hoping no one comes out of their rooms to see you standing there.

Thankfully, you’re granted that moment of quiet before you push off the door and head down the stairs and towards the main sitting area.

The stair railings are covered in garland, set with twinkling lights and you let yourself relax the further you get from the room and the problem you left in it.

See, you think, ignoring a problem always works.

Downstairs in the main lounge area, there’s a little area set up with carafes of coffee and hot water and hot chocolate.

You pour yourself a mug, slip into one of the over-large sofas in front of the burning, crackling, stone fireplace and wiggle your sock-covered toes towards the fire.

I can totally do this, you tell yourself, and pretend, for a moment, that you’re way more sure than you feel.

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #baby it's cold outside

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postapocalyptic-cryptic-hold · 4 years ago

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Writing Tips: Armor Edition

Good lord, it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. Regardless, what follows is a non-comprehensive, entirely subjective list of advice on how to write characters with armor. This is based on my own experience with hockey equipment and is largely geared towards Star Wars Mandalorian-style armor (including clones and storm troopers), but could hypothetically be helpful to anyone.

If it's your armor, it's going to be so comfortable you won't even know it's there.

Actually, on that note, you'd notice right away if something was different. You'd also be thrown off by the absence of the armor, either in part or in its entirety.

When you wear armor a lot, you don't need to think about putting it on. It's instinctual.

It takes five minutes to put a set of armor on and fifteen minutes to bitch about it, catch up on locker room gossip, and realize that the insides of your boots aren't as dry as you thought they were.

Again with the putting on armor being instinctual thing... If you're distracted, worried, etc., it's not at all uncommon to forget a piece of your armor. You put it on in the same way every time, so sometimes your brain just... skips, and you end up with shinguards and no skates.

There are several ways to put on any given set of armor. It's a pretty flexible process, but there are some things that have to be done in a certain order.

That being said, everyone has their own "right" way of putting on armor. It usually doesn't vary much within a team or squad, but get a bunch of strangers together and you can bet your ass someone will start a fistfight over the order you put your tops on in.

Armor usually has some sort of padding system inside, especially if it's stiff. This is the part that gets sweaty and gross. It does not dry quickly, but it does get cold and slimy quickly.

With the sweat thing, weearing armor for an extended amount of time gets gross. If you're working out, you're going to get hot really easily (example: 20F ice rink + 2 hour practice = 20 people complaining about how hot it is). There are always parts of your kit that get really itchy and sometimes, the best way to scratch is actually to hit. If your character is wearing a helmet, have them punch themselves in the head repeatedly to scratch an itch.

Even grosser, the sweat that accumulates has nowhere to go. Under a helmet, this means that it occassionally escapes captivity and runs down your face in CLEARLY VISIBLE streams that sting your eyes and taste gross. Under parts of the kit like shin gaurds, you will often find an accumulation of white slime on the skin, clothes, and armor. This is salt from your sweat. It's gross. It looks like ectoplasm.

If you've been working out and you take your armor off, you'll be visibly steaming.

Hair under helmets. GOD, this is always how you can pick out a writer who's never worn a helmet. Lots of people who wear helmets often will cut their hair short, but there's a set of rules to it. If your hair is long enough to tie up, it stays up. All the time. Best styles are low ponytails or braids, as anything too high will probably be uncomfortable under a helmet. The real thing to pay attention to, though, is short hair. If you've got a character with short hair, make sure it's short enough to stay FAR away from their face. Hair in your face is the #1 cause of insanity in helmet-wearers. Shit that's hanging around your ears or, God for-fucking-bid, your chin, is a major no-go.

Thick hair is also a fun thing with helmets. If you've got thick and/or curly hair, you'll need more helmet space for it. If you've got hair that's notoriously a problem, the helmet is going to turn it into snarls. When I had long hair, I would put it in two braids every time I put my helmet on. Every time I took it off, I had to cut the hair ties out.

Hair will also make you hot and itchy under your helmet. Some people will wear skull caps or some other form of tight hat under their helmets to prevent this. Then again, I had a teammate who regularly wore waist-length, THICK box braids under her helmet and never had a complaint. Some people are just built different.

Helmet hair is not cute and fluffy. It's a flat, greasy mess. That being said, the concept of helmet hair is hot, so please continue writing this as you wish.

Armor can be a pain in the ass, but ultimately, when you wear it all the time, you form a deep emotional connection to your kit. Obviously, this varies from person to person, but it almost always plays a key role in your identity and often revolves around themes such as safety, body image, pride, privacy, protection, or sense of unity/team/family. (Side note: depending on the character, armor can also be an expression on individuality, rank, affilitation, or superiority)

Armor smells really bad. That's all I'll say on that topic.

Actually, no it's not. Some people's armor smells REALLY bad. Like, extremely bad. It's a problem. Other people take really good care of their armor or magically don't sweat, so theirs smells better.

If your character is on the move a lot, they probably have some sort of bag for their kit. This bag will be full of the most random shit you can possibly imagine. Socks enter and never return. Some people carry around extra shirts. Isn't that my water bottle? Is that an orange or a rock?

Upgrading armor is a big deal. People agonize over what to get, where to get it, whether or not they can make it, how much it's going to cost, and whether or not to spend three months of pay on it for MONTHS.

Really old, ill-fitting, broken, or otherwise subpar pieces probably have a story to them. They might be good-luck pieces or a long-running joke. Sometimes, you just forget to buy a new jockstrap for four years (not that I would know from personal experience).

If your characters wear helmets a lot, they probably head-butt each other a lot. It's the easiest way to show affection through gear. Other ways include fist bumps, picking each other up by the back of the chest plate, and grabbing the front of someone's helmet (if there's a way to do that, of course). Fist bumps are less personal and helmet-grabs usually denote a superior-inferior relationship [think of it like "I could beat your ass" (affectionate)].

Some people like to keep their kit flawless. They don't like marks or dents. Other people (most people, actually) prefer the look of "broken in" gear. It's a mark of experience and also, it's actually kind of nervewracking to work with a new kit. No one wants to be the first one to scratch the $400 skates.

There will always be a piece of armor that pinches you. It's probably on your elbow.

There will always be a piece of your armor that comes unfastened. It's probably on your elbow.

Loose armor is much harder to move in and much less protective than tight armor. It might seem counterintuitive at first, but you want the most form-fitting kit possible.

That's pretty much all I've got to say about armor. As always, if you've got something to add, don't be afraid to leave it in a reblog or comment. I hope you all enjoyed me once again turning my skating into writing advice!

#writing advice #postapocalyptic-cryptic's writing tips #writing tips #advice #armor #writing armor #armor kit #the clone wars #star wars #star wars writing #sw #tcw #swtcw #character building #worldbuilding #writblr #creative writing #hockey #okay i'm tired now

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chaoticallysapphic · 4 years ago

Text

the great trial part four

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: lol I just realized part four of tgd is where it got smutty. What a pattern like I didn’t even try. Thank you @medeliadracon and @ladyxffandoms !

word count: 5k

You pick up reading again and sometimes Kuvira joins you, the both of you sit with your back resting against an armrest as your legs are tangled together.

Lily is asleep on the armchair and jazz music softly plays from the radio as the newly repaired domes shut for the evening. Kuvira is humming as you turn the page of your novel and dog ear the corner before snapping it shut, she looks up from her book with a quirked brow.

“I’m bored,” you groan out, tilting your head back in annoyance as you let the book slide onto your lap. “How are we gonna spend the rest of winter like this.”

“We’ll manage,” she replies, wedging a bookmark between the pages and softly shutting the book. “We should probably make dinner.”

Resting your head against the back of the couch you eye the kitchen with a sigh. “We could make bean curd puffs, those are fun.”

And so the both of you end up in the kitchen with Kuvira making the mixture as you roll the dough into a thick stick, the countertops and even the floors are covered in flour as you begin to cut the roll into twelve pieces. You don’t notice the way Kuvira watches you, a small smile that's reserved only for you as she watches you begin to spread the pieces out with the palm of your hand.

By now you're the one humming the song. Kuvira’s noticed how much you like this new song that plays on the radio, how you hum or softly sing the lyrics when it comes on. You catch her staring and raise a brow, a slight flush dusting your cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “You just look so beautiful.” You stop your movements, your mouth open in surprise. Neither of you has gone as far as complimenting the other, for the most part, an outsider might just think you’re roommates with how the two of you have been acting these last few months.

Abandoning the dough you try to fill your head with confident words as you turn to your soulmate and take the step to be closer to her. Kuvira’s grip on the spoon loosens as she watches you step closer and slowly bring your flour-covered hands to rest on her cheeks. “You look... Really pretty.”

And she does, she’s started to wear her hair down for you and she’s dressed in a white tank top and light green sweatpants which might not be appealing to some but it shows off her muscles and curves in a way that she knows you like.

Taking the chance you lean forward and gently press your lips against hers. You haven’t kissed since the hospital which was midsummer, the months have gone by so slowly and with it, your anger has dissipated into a dull flame within you.

Hesitantly she kisses you back, one of her hands goes to rest on your hip but she doesn’t hold it in fear of you pulling away. She’s had dreams of you finally kissing her again, none involve standing in the middle of the kitchen with flour covering one of you but she doesn’t care.

She just wants you. Slowly you pull your lips away from hers but don’t move an inch away from her body.

“I’ve missed this,” she admits, “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say what she’s sorry about but you know, there’s honestly too much for her to apologize for her to fit it into one simple sentence.

And you know you’ll need quite a few more I’m sorry‘s before you reach that next step but right now you won’t ask for more. Right now you wrap your arms around her neck and begin to sway to the song on the radio. It’s one of your favorites.

Kuvira slowly wraps her arms around your waist and tucks her face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like she hasn’t seen you in years. To be fair it’s felt like that to her.

A part of her wants to shower you in I love you’s but she doesn’t think it’s time for that just yet. Dr. Hanika said it’s best to let you make the first move this time around, to give you the control and decision making she originally took from you all those years ago. So instead she pulls you just a fraction closer to help keep her mouth shut.

You take the soft barrier of pillows down, neither of you moves to touch the other but it’s comforting to know that you won’t push her off the bed if her arm brushes against your own.

Your parents come over for the winter solstice with presents aplenty and grins on their faces. They pull you into their arms and press loving kisses on your cheek, your dad does the same to Kuvira whilst your mom simply sends a forced smile her way before going to love on Lily. She understands your mother's hatred towards her, she just hopes one day they can talk it out for you.

The two of you had spent the day making cookies and homemade hot chocolate to prepare for your parents, the house smells of cinnamon and sugar as plates upon plates of cookies are set at the counter waiting to be eaten. Your father replaces the wilting bouquet with one filled with red, white, and gold and your mother sets the presents down in front of the window.

You both felt bad for not being able to get them presents, but your father had assured both of you that they understood. Besides, they just wanted to make up for the lost time. So you all sit around the table eating the feast the two of you had prepared and drinking wine, your dad is regaling Kuvira with a story of your tenth winter solstice where you had accidentally drunk your mother's wine.

Your mom places her head in her hands and groans “I felt like the worst mother in the world.”

“Hey, you're not,” you say with a grin. “You held my hair back a few hours later and the worst mother in the world wouldn’t do that.” The table erupts into boisterous laughter as she playfully glares at you. Kuvira takes a sip of her wine as she chuckles, her cheeks hurt from smiling.

She turns a blind eye when she notices your dad slipping Lily a chunk of meat, knowing you're trying to train her to not beg. He pats the hound’s head as the conversation continues, this time your mom is telling everyone about some of her weirdest experiences with drunk people in Zaofu.

The night continues much the same until finally, you all decide to retire to the living room. Kuvira decides to sit on the armchair so the three of you can snuggle up on the couch. You surprise her by walking over and sitting on her lap, laying your back against her chest. She rests her chin on your shoulder and wraps her arms around your waist, a smile of contentment gracing her lips.

Your mother ignores the display and hands you the first present on the pile, explaining that it’s for Lily. You quirk a brow at that before ripping the paper off and opening the box up.

Inside is a knitted dark green sweater with the words “I’m the favorite” stitched across the chest in white. You snort, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and even Kuvira laughs at the sight. The I in favorite has been replaced by a middle finger, this is 100% your mothers doing, it has her humor plus your dad can’t knit.

“Thank you,” you say as you begin to calm down. “I think she’ll love this.” Your dad takes it from you to put it on Lily who wags her tail back and forth in excitement at the attention. It fits her perfectly and the words can be seen from your seat on Kuvira’s lap.

Next, is a cranberry sweater made for you that is super comfortable, a few pairs of thick socks for the both of you to share. New books and a new pair of gardening gloves. At some point during the unwrapping, you hear the shudder of a camera a few times, your father holding it up to capture memories for the two of you.

There’s only two presents left in the pile and this time your dad hands this one specifically to Kuvira, who pinches her brows together in confusion. You shift a bit on her lap to give her more room to open it up, watching with bated breath to see what it could possibly be.

Inside is a new sketchbook that’s leather-bound with a sleek metal clasp that locks. It’s wider and thicker than her current one which is running out of space and beneath the book is more charcoal pencils to add to her depleting collection.

She thickly swallows as her hand runs over the beautifully engraved leather that has her initials in swirly letters at the bottom. It’s simple and it’s hers.

With the Beifong’s it was usually things for sparring or extravagant gifts that anyone but Kuvira would prefer like fancy tunics and those massive metal necklaces they all wore. She’d sit in the back of the group staring at the gifts that felt like they didn’t really belong to her with a heavy heart.

But this is 100% hers. You brush a pesky strand of hair out of her face for her before turning to give your dad a thankful smile.

You knew he’d get her something but you worried about what it might be. Seeing her reaction is enough to know that your father's streak of perfect gift giving has not been broken. Carefully, as if worried she may break it, Kuvira places it back inside its box for now and looks up, offering your father the faintest of grateful smiles. He understands though and beams at her appreciation.

The last gift is also for Kuvira, it’s a heavy box that she slowly rips open, taking her time unlike you with your gifts. When she lifts the lid she’s met with soft emerald green fabric, slowly pulling it out you help her by taking the empty box, setting it on the floor. It’s a knitted sweater like yours. It looks like it’s a size too big for her but you once told her that’s how your mom knits, the bigger the better.

She doesn’t know what to say or do, you mentioned offhandedly how your mom makes everyone in the family sweaters for Winter Solstice, but she didn’t expect to get one as well. Not only is she not a family member, but she’s not even a friend. That nagging voice in her brain tells her that she probably didn’t make this. Maybe your mom bought it from a store or maybe you guilted her into making one.

But it’s soft and it’s beautiful and it’s hers. Nothing extravagant (although at times Kuvira does miss the finer things in life) or flashy. The emerald goes great with your cranberry, and she wonders if your mother thought of that or if it's just a coincidence.

Kuvira grips the fabric and looks up to see your mom watching with a pensive look. She takes a sip of her wine as Kuvira softly says “Thank you, for the gifts.” It’s directed at the both of them but her eyes stay on your mother who simply nods.

Shortly after, your parents call it a night and leave and you carefully extract yourself from her hold to hug them both. When you pull your mother into a hug you whisper softly “thank you, mom. It means a lot.” She nods, she doesn’t hug Kuvira, not ready for that, and offers her a nod of the head before leaving with your father.

As you're cleaning up the mess of wrapping paper and half-empty wine glasses, Kuvira shyly slips the sweater on to see if it fits and is surprised by how comfortable it is. The sleeves go past her wrist and graze at her knuckles and the sweater stops at the tops of her thighs. She looks down at the sweater, so many emotions that she can’t keep track of race through her mind and it’s so loud that she accidentally tunes you out.

Your back is facing her as you begin to wash the dishes, you're talking to her about what you’ll do with all these leftover cookies. When she doesn’t reply to your joke about having a cookie eating contest you look over your shoulder and stop scrubbing the dish in your hands.

The color makes her hair look slightly darker and brings out her eyes. She’s running her fingers over the fabric with a blank face and you wish to know what’s going on in that head of hers. She looks softer, less harsh with it on.

For so long you’ve seen her dressed ready to fight with a hardened look on her features, but right now she looks warm and cozy. She looks like safety and comfort personified, like if she wraps her arms around you a cocoon of soft blankets and loving whispers will encase the two of you.

You stop with the dishes and wipe your hands dry before walking up to Kuvira, when your hands go to gently touch hers it brings her out of her thoughts. Her eyes are clouded with emotion as you pull her into your arms. She wraps her arms around your waist and tightly grips at your shirt as she begins to cry.

To her, this is the first step in repairing a relationship she deeply misses, Kuvira and your mother were once close when she was in the guard. She sometimes brought her lunches which she now knows must have been made by your dad and always had her back. She cheered the loudest at her ceremony and even offered to have her come over for dinner to which Kuvira declined, not wanting to impose.

When she left those years ago she didn’t realize what she was severing, what she was destroying, and she knows she can’t change it, but she wishes she had stayed in Zaofu. They could have had three winter solstices together by now if she had just stayed put.

You wouldn’t be in the process of forgiving her because she would have left Baatar for you and you’d probably already be married or on your way to it. She knows that such a thing has been put on the back burner and won’t happen for a long time now, but she hates herself for destroying all those possibilities.

But you don’t seem to mind the past as you pull her closer and soothingly rub her back. Your embrace reminds her of the present and what will hopefully be the future. At this moment she’s realized how far the two of you have come within the past few months. It reminds her that Dr. Hanika said not to let the past consume you and that when Kuvira smiles you look so happy to witness such a thing. That despite all her wrongdoings you're still here which is more than she ever expected.

That night Kuvira falls asleep in that sweater with your arms wrapped around her. She dreams of a future where she’s gained your mother’s respect and your forgiveness.

Spring comes like a force to be reckoned with. Your garden is teeming with the buds of the seeds you planted last fall as you happily spend your days back outside. The sessions with Dr. Hanika have proceeded and all gone smoothly, today was meant to be your first couples session since last summer. Both of you are nervous about what might happen during it so you throw yourselves into separate activities to pass the time.

Lily is lying by your side, leisurely eating grass as you pull at the weeds that have attacked your precious garden. While you're doing that Kuvira is inside drawing with a cup of tea by her side, she’s gotten better but is by no means a professional, she hasn’t even shown you any of her work due to the insecurities she has regarding her skill. You understand thankfully, never once have you asked to look inside or pressured her.

When the doorbell rings, the both of you freeze, your nerves amplifying at the realization that there is no going back. Kuvira snaps her sketchbook shut, locking it with her bending before going to open the door. She’s been dreading this day the most. In her dreams last night she envisioned a session far worse than the last. In it, you verbally decimated her before saying it was over, that you could never love someone so monstrous.

To bring her comfort she’s wearing your mother's green sweater with a pair of your leggings. When she asked this morning if she could borrow them you didn’t seem to mind which eased her nerves a bit. You wouldn’t be willing to share clothes with her if you were planning to end it today. At least that’s what she told herself.

While Dr. Hanika is getting situated in the armchair you finally come inside and place your gloves on your herb shelves. Your pants have dirt-stains on them and you know it’d probably be best to change but you want to get this over with so you take a seat on the couch, next to Kuvira.

“Well, I can already tell you guys have been doing better,” she smiles. You tuck your hands under your legs as she begins to talk. She asks you both questions about your day like what does that consist of? How do you guys communicate now? Are you happy? You both take turns answering those questions and when you get to the last you answer honestly and say “Yes, I am.”

Kuvira doesn’t show it but inside she’s doing cartwheels at your words. She looks over at you and replies after you “I’m happy.”

“And what does your sex life look like right now?” That question stuns both of you. Kuvira just stares at the coffee table with wide eyes, not knowing how to reply as you flush a deep red.

“Uhm we haven’t…” You shake your head. “Not since before.” Before the end of my empire, Kuvira thinks. Not since that night almost a year ago where she thought you had finally left her, the night before it all went to shit. Not since your dream that finally made you snap, not that she blames you.

Not since “I can’t look at you right now!” and the crack in her heart that followed those words.

“Y/n, what is holding you back from taking that next step?” Dr. Hanika readies her pen as she patiently waits for your reply. Honestly, you’ve wanted to for the last couple of weeks but then you go to sleep and dream of her with him. Your mind keeps reminding you of her betrayal despite desperately wanting to move forward.

Nervously you wring your hands and let out a deep sigh. “Uhm, I just keep picturing him.” You try to keep your voice neutral, try to not spit out that last word even though every part of you wants to. Kuvira stiffens beside you and coughs. “I want to but every time I close my eyes it’s images of them together.”

“How does that make you feel, Kuvira?”

“Honestly? Awful…” Kuvira quickly adds “but not angry or anything. I just feel awful because I’ve done this to her and us.” She has to add that she’s not angry. In the past, she was almost always angry, and she needs you to know she’s not mad at you. This is her fault, and she’s aware of that now.

“From my understanding, your sex life was a bit complicated in the past. Kuvira you’ve told me that you’d withhold yourself as a form of punishment, is that correct?” She nods. “It seems like you used sex as a reward which is an unhealthy way to look at such an intimate activity. I think the two of you shouldn’t rush this and only do it once you fully trust Kuvira again.”

You nod, not being able to look at either of them at the moment. You want to trust her and for the two of you to be happy and in love but no matter how hard you try you can’t step over that line. It’s terrifying and you're worried that once you finally do trust her again this peacefulness will disappear and be replaced with the animosity that once used to rule your relationship.

“Okay…” You say. Kuvira nods in agreement. The session continues much as it did before that question was asked. It’s a bit tense now and the hour passes on with forced replies up until the end.

“I have some trust exercises. I want the two of you to practice for the next couple of weeks, maybe even months. You both need to be patient and understand that trust is a very hard thing to earn back and give to someone who’s deeply hurt you. The fact that both of you are still trying just shows how much you want to make this work.”

She begins to write a list of things on her notepad before ripping off the page and handing it to you. Both of you lean forward to read over the list together as Dr. Hanika packs up for the day.

Talk about your fears, be open, and accepting of what your partner has to say.

Look into each other's eyes for thirty seconds, try to work yourself up to three minutes.

Tell your partner why you love them.

Ask for what you need to do in order to gain Y/n’s trust again.

Have a calm conversation where you ask each other questions

Compliment each other

“Next week I’d like to do one on one sessions and the week after that we’ll do another couple's session. I’d like for the two of you to work on these until then. Remember to not rush this, it’s okay to take your time.” She shows herself out, softly shutting the door behind her. Silence falls as the two of you anxiously re-read the words.

“Should we do one now?” Kuvira asks. You shrug and softly set the piece of paper on the coffee table.

“I guess? But I don’t know which one to start with. I mean there’s so many.” Kuvira rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. She looks over it again, that top one scares Kuvira, she doesn’t know if she wants to hear your fears or tell you hers.

“Number two looks easy, we could try that?” And so you do. The both of you twist around on the couch until you are directly facing each other, knees touching as you mentally psych yourself up. “Thirty seconds isn’t too long.”

You nod and take a deep breath before looking up and locking eyes with Kuvira. The first few seconds it seems easy and you feel silly for getting worked up at the prospect but as time ticks on you start to see why she listed it in the first place.

Prolonged eye contact is intimate. Staring into Kuvira’s eyes for this long makes you feel bare and you quickly realize how much you don’t like that. Ripping your eyes away at the 25 seconds mark, you tense up.

“I’m sorry.”

“No it’s fine, it’s okay.” Kuvira hesitates before placing a hand on your shoulder and offering a comforting squeeze. “It’s gonna take some time, I understand.” She wishes it didn’t, she wishes it didn’t pain you to simply look at her for only thirty seconds. But she swallows that down and offers you a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” you say, you don’t even realize the iron grip you had on your ankles during the attempt and release them with a shaky sigh. “We’ll get there, right?”

“Right.”

You mess up four days later. Continuing with the eye contact exercises you work your way up to thirty-five seconds which feels like such a victory. You try to compliment her cooking, and she compliments the way your garden is coming along. It’s going so well and you're so tired of this that you go too fast too soon and you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Both of you have a glass of wine with dinner which leaves you slightly buzzed but not tipsy. When you're getting ready for bed your eyes follow Kuvira’s legs that are starting to lose some of their definition.

She’s wearing a pair of shorts due to the recent heat with a tank top and suddenly that desire you’ve tried to ignore these past few weeks comes rearing up with no control. And so you sit on the bed with your knees tucked underneath you and grab Kuvira’s hand as she goes to grab the covers to pull back. She looks at you with furrowed brows as you pull her closer until she’s sitting on the bed as well.

In her mind, she thinks that maybe you want to practice eye contact again but is left in a state of shock when you place your lips against her own. Her breath hitches when your hands go to cradle her face as you shuffle closer. Kuvira desperately wants to kiss you back but knows she can’t, so she gently pushes you away, you reluctantly let her.

Panting, you ask “don’t you want to?”

“Of course I do but Y/n are you ready? Dr. Ha-”

“I’m ready, I promise,” you place a gentle kiss on her jaw, a place you know she loves. She lets out a shaky sigh. “I want you Kuvira, please.” And fuck, who’s she to deny you when you say please? So Kuvira gently grips your chin and presses her lips against your own. She doesn’t push you and leads like she used to so you thread your fingers through her hair and tug, eliciting a moan from your lover.

You climb onto her lap as you begin to pick up the pace and gently tug on her lower lip with your teeth. Kuvira wraps her arms around your waist, her hands resting on your ass to keep you close. That heat that you’ve missed begins to pool within you, your whole body feels like it’s been lit with desire and you don’t want that feeling to ever leave.

When Kuvira squeezes your ass, ripping a moan out of you it gives her the perfect opportunity to prod her tongue in your mouth. Your tongues meld together in a way that shoots right down to your core, it feels so right, so hot and maybe your therapist was wrong about waiting.

When Kuvira goes to pull away she sucks on your tongue and slowly lets go of it. You both look into each other's eyes as you pant before Kuvira attaches her lips to your neck. Tilting your head to the side you breathe out her name as she bites down on that spot that drives you up the wall.

The moan that leaves your lips is sure to wake the neighbors. Kuvira feels smug about it. Let them all know how good she can make you feel. When she pulls away she stops to admire her handiwork and smirks at the big purple hickey that could be seen from across a room. She leaves open mouth kisses up your neck and your jaw, before pulling you back into a bruising kiss.

You both make out for who knows how long, you just know that you want to feel every part of her after such a long time. The kiss is fiery and full of long contained passion that’s bursting at the seams. You only pull away for a moment to breathe before pulling her back in, not being able to take a second away from her lips. At some point, you push Kuvira down onto the bed and lay your body against hers.

You make sure not to fully put all your weight on her, placing a hand down above her head as neither of you pulls away from the other. Her hands trace up and down your sides, fingertips skimming the tops of your breasts in a teasing manner that has you grinding down for any type of friction.

You make yourself pull away from her, wanting to finally feel her body like you dreamed of. The sight before you has you groaning, her hair is a mess, spread out across the pillows and her cheeks are flushed. Kuvira’s lips are bruised, and she stares at you with eyes so dark with lust it feels like they're swallowing you whole.

“Beautiful…” You whisper, Kuvira continues to pant as she watches you. Your hands slide down her body, feeling at the muscles that are just barely there before reaching the hem of her tank top. You slide a hand underneath, your fingers running across her stomach.

Kuvira leans her hips up and glares. “Take it off,” she growls out impatiently. You grin as your fingers grip the ends of her shirt and pull it off, she leans up to help you and you toss it somewhere behind you. She’s not wearing any wrappings and spirits, she looks so beautiful.

“Fuck, I want you so bad.”

Her words seem to snap something into place that was askew this whole time. Suddenly painful images flash through your mind, ones you’ve tried so hard to bury.

Baatar’s above her as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth with that sickening grin. She moans out his name as a hand reaches up to grip his stupid hair. Kuvira arches her back in pleasure as his other hand trails down to her clothed sex.

Next thing you know you’re jumping off of her and scrambling off the bed as a pained whimper escapes your lips. Kuvira bolts up, confusion written on her face before she sees tears begin to fall. Her face drops at the sight. “Y/n…”

You shake your head, not being able to talk for fear of letting out some kind of ugly sound before rushing off to the bathroom where you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You stay seated on the floor with the bathroom door locked as you cry into your hands.

The next morning you can only maintain eye contact for ten seconds.

One step forward, two steps back.

#kuvira #tgt #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira fanfic #lok #lok fanfic #legend of korra

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

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Borscht and Khachapuri

Fic request for @gothlebedev

When the boys get a new student who is very pushy with her concern, they learn an important lesson.

Based on https://youtu.be/HZK2RHl5Whc by request

Johann Chu sighed softly, drumming his nails on his desk and slowing the natural rise in his pulse in response to the weather. The view outside his dorm window was white with rain. The sound of its hiss came in waves. When the wind blew, the large drops rattled heavy on the glass. Lightning flashed brightly and the thunder occurred close, like a wildcat’s scream.

A text popped onto his cellphone. “Severe thunderstorm warning has been issued for the Chicago area…”

Followed by “A Tornado Warning has been issued for the following counties…”

Followed by “There’s a legit tornado on the ground just a county over!” This text was from Luminous. He added a fearful emoji in his text.

Johann texted back. “We are not in any danger.”

“Yeah but still! Have you ever seen a tornado?”

Johann’s eyelids lowered in a slow blink. He didn’t respond to that. Of course he’d seen a tornado. After all... Shavee’s EX was...

“Never mind. I’m stupid. Forget I said that.” Luminous replied with a face palm emoji.

Another text, this one from the principal. “Forgive my poor timing. However, this is an emergency, I need you to come to my office right away.”

It was a group text to Caesar, himself, and Luminous.

Johann grabbed his coat, his umbrella and his sword on his way out the door. An emergency in this weather requiring his immediate presence had to be truly dire.

He arrived at the same time as Caesar. Caesar and he approached from opposite sides of the hall, walking confidently towards the principal office door on the left. Normal human interaction would dictate that one yield to the other and let the other enter first as only one could fit through the door at a time.

But their eyes met and they both matched their stride so that they would have to arrive at the door at the same time while neither was willing to yield to the other. The result was that they stood in front of the door. Lightning flashed outside illuminating their shadows.

Caesar was in a crisp navy blue suit and had somehow managed to stay untouched by the pouring rain outside. Nono had just informed him that she was leaving tomorrow so he had just come from the airport after seeing her off when he got this cryptic text from the principal. “What are the odds, meeting you here?”

Johann tilted his head. “100 percent. I was invited in the same group text as you.”

“That was a group text?” Caesar examined his phone and at that time, Johann walked in ahead of him.

The office was empty so Johann waited while Caesar caught up. The door on the far side of the room was open and the principal’s jolly voice could be heard behind it.

He was speaking to someone. “Oh, don’t be shy. Here, I’ll go first.” The principal was also wearing a suit with a button down tailored shirt with a frilled collar. He bit down on a fine Cuban cigar. His blue eyes were sharp and glowing with activity. Both of the young men stood up straighter. He only got in such moods when something important happened, usually when it came to dragonslaying. “Thank you for coming out on such short notice. I-...”

He looked back and forth. “Where is Luminous?” He checked his phone. Luminous had filled the text messages with objections due to inclement weather. “That boy. Ah. I suppose we’ll have to continue without-”

“We could have been hit with lightning?! Don’t you know there’s a tornado not far from us?” Luminous entered the Principal's office, being dragged by the collar by a soaking wet Finger Von Frings.

“Here he is, just sign here!” Finger held out his checkbook.

The principal pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and signed a big 0 on the check book. “I did not order delivery, but thank you for your service.”

“Brutal! Not a single cent!” Finger howled.

“Now go on. I’m afraid your grade is not high enough to take part in this meeting.” He shooed him away with a gentle wave of his hand.

Johann held out his umbrella to Finger who readily accepted it. “Thank you, brother. At least someone here is kind to me!”

Luminous whose soaked clothes were creating a puddle on the shining floors growled. “Don’t give him your umbrella now, he’s already wet!”

Anjou's eyes shifted back to the open door. “Oh pish-tosh, it’s just a little rain…”

"Seriously principal, getting struck by lightning is a thing! Why are you laughing? You like to laugh at the misery of others? What a sadist! This had better be good." Luminous shuddered, the air conditioning getting to him. “Is this a prank? Seriously?”

Luminous trailed off. Caesar and Johann both understood that the Principal's methods tended to be more educational than sadistic. He was letting Luminous voice his complaints without interruption because he had a reason. Luminous suddenly realized he was the only one speaking, like a warrior running into the battle shouting a battle cry, only to realize his army wasn’t behind him.

The Principal beckoned to someone. "I just couldn't wait to introduce our new student."

The click of small heels echoed against the rumble of thunder. Her heels were white with frilly ankle socks. Her pale legs had a gentle curve up to her knees. Her Cassell uniform skirt rested right where her thighs began.

She was below average height of 5'4". Her waist length hair was colored light lavender to match her grey eyes which tended to reflect the color of the room she was in, whether it was the blue of the sky, the silver of a sterile hospital or the Principal’s warm colored office which gave them a lavender hue. They were wide and earnest as she walked up to Luminous and looked up at him with an intense regret. “I’m sorry, let me dry you off!”

A thick plush towel was in her hands and she hurried to Luminous who leaned back in terror.

“No, I-!” Luminous tried to back away but she was too fast and too determined.

“You must be freezing. I didn’t know the weather or I would have asked the Principal to wait.” She spoke with a slight Russian accent. She dabbed at his face, his hands and his shoulders and chest, while he squirmed helplessly to escape. But where he moved he exposed another soaked part of his body that she firmly patted dry, brazenly invading his personal space with her female presence!

“Stop! You don’t have to dry me off!” He reached for her towel but she ducked under his arm and ran her hands along his side.

“Please, you’re going to catch a cold!” She snapped.

Anjou observed, his face as tranquil as a mirror pool. “This is MC, our new student. She’s just finished her 3E exam and has also come back S-ranked.”

“Another S-ranked student in so many years?” Caesar raised an eyebrow.

“The Dragon Kings are accelerating their awakening as well. I think it’s reasonable to assume these occurrences are connected. That’s why I called you here.” Anjou said gravely.

Chu Zihang lifted one hand to his chin, his eyes narrowing. Her earnest manner seemed completely innocent, but her moves were anything but. They were calculated, swift, and without any hesitation. Luminous could only vocally complain. He couldn’t catch her or her towel. She was only holding a towel, but if it was a blade instead of a towel, Luminous would be covered in stab wounds!

Luminous finally gave up resisting. His face was completely flushed with embarrassment as she patted him down cooing. “See? This isn’t so bad is it?”

They were quick to learn that MC was like this to everyone.

“Johann! Johann!”

Early one morning a week later, the man was on his way to school when he heard MC screaming his name. He turned to see her running for him full tilt. She made so much noise that people around stopped what they were doing. She halted right in front of him and held out a small Tupperware. “I made you some snacks.” She puffed twice and straightened, holding the box with both hands.

“I already ate breakfast but thank you. You shouldn't just do things for me without asking.” Johann turned away and started walking.

“You just eat that simple porridge for breakfast. It’s not enough! You’re going to wither away to nothing!” She grabbed his hand and placed the Tupperware in it.

Johann’s eyes sparked with irritation. He followed a very strict diet plan and what she put in his hand smells of eggs and bacon and possibly a baked good or two. It was far too much and he wouldn’t eat it. “It will get cold.”

“Put it in the uh… the uh…” She snapped her fingers to recall the word. “The oven. The one with the buttons on it. That turns it into a circle.”

“It turns it in a circle.” Johann corrected her. He also became pointedly aware that other people were starting to gather and watch. “Fine. Just this once. And it’s a microwave.”

She tilted her head. “A what?”

“Microwave oven. It’s the oven with the buttons.” He turned away to walk and much to his shock, she followed him!

“What’s a microwave?” She asked, looking up at him. Her eyes were so big, judging from the ratio they would fill at least a quarter of her face.

“It’s a form of radiation that…”

“Radiation?!” Her eyes widened even further. “Oh no, no no!” She shook her head, dismayed that the microwave was dousing her food in radiation.

“It’s harmless radiation. There are microwaves all around us. Microwave ovens move the molecules of food, specifically water molecules and that heats the food…”

Later that day, Caesar received a phone call. “Gattuso speaking.”

“...Gattuso?”

Caesar checked his caller ID. It was one of his Student Union people. In fact, it was the exact one he sent out to invite the MC to join the Student Union. “MC why are you on Marcus’s phone?”

“Who is Marcus?” She asked indignantly. “I’m calling Caesar…”

“I’m Caesar!” Caesar covered his eyes, laughing.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” She asked with a touch of wounded pride. “This man here says he wants me to joining some sort of Union. I am not interested in a Union. I don't have any money for fees and I don’t know what it's about.” Her voice sounded like she’d turned her face away to yell at him.

“Calm down. It’s a club. I run it. It happens to be the most prestigious club in Cassell College.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “So it’s not a Union?”

“Can I talk to Marcus please? The man who’s phone you’re using?”

“Oh… alright… Here Caesar wants to talk to you.”

“Oh thank god.” Marcus was gasping. “She attacked me and put me in the pantry! There are nothing but beets in here! I’m covered in dirt”

“You’re not hurt too bad around you?”

“She punched me in the stomach!” He whimpered! “Please! She won’t let me leave!”

“Her English is a bit limited. Let me talk to her.”

Marcus hands MC back the phone. “Did you work it all out?” She asked.

“Yes. There is a misunderstanding. Please let Marcus go. I think I’ll have to invite you in person.”

MC’s voice brightened immediately! “Good! Come over to my house for dinner, I’m making borscht and khachapuri. You like khachapuri.” Statement, not a question. “It’s egg and cheese in a bread. Come over to my house. I’ll teach you how to make it.”

“Fine, I'll come over. How does 7 pm sound?” Caesar chuckled followed by silence. “Hello?”

She’d hung up!

By the time Caesar got there, Johann Chu was already there. Johann looked bewildered as she struggled to help him understand how to knead the dough properly into a boat shaped bread. “Now, you need to …” She looked up and noted that Johann was looking at Caesar. “No, don't look at him look at me. You put this cheese here, okay?”

“Did you make this cheese? It looks fresh?” Johann said in wonder.

“Yes, only fresh cheese for khachapuri. Caesar! Close the door, you'll let out all the heat!” She yelled over the strains of traditional Russian music. “Take off your shoes!”

Lu Mingfei was on dish duty. He looked terrified and mouthed the words. “Help me…” At Caesar, who did not help.

“I brought some wine!” Caesar said brightly.

The woman looked it over and nodded approvingly. “Good. Please set the table.”

The oven was blazing at full power and sent out a wave of heat on opening that might have seared Johann if he wasn’t already used to much higher temperature. MC herded Luminous to the table that Caesar had already set with bowls and utensils.

In a few minutes, the MC had served them borscht and khachapuri. “Good thing I brought some wine over.” Caesar was always well prepared with a fine vintage for dinner invites. He even poured a confused Johann Chu a glass. “How did she rope you into this?” Caesar asked.

“She told me she needed help with homework. But this was actually home-work. Not… studying.”

Caesar laughed. “Okay, I see how that happened.”

Once everyone was seated, MC stood in her flour dusted apron at the head of the table. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were misty. She shocked everyone by suddenly dipping her head into her hands and sobbing quietly. Luminous hesitated but Caesar was at her side in a flash. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“No, it’s just… I’m so happy. I thought… I thought I would never have any friends any more.”

Caesar grabbed a napkin from the table. “Why would you think that? You’re such a sweet person.”

And then she told them. All her friends were killed. In front of her. On Christmas day. It turned out that she had been looking forward to a warm hearty dinner with friends as her last memory and was eager to recreate the feeling of gathering around a table for a home cooked meal. It was only after everyone was seated and the food was warm and served in front of them, that she could finally let go of her earnest desire. She did it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have to say such sad things and cry like this.”

Luminous and Johann Chu and Caesar stood around her, hugging her tightly in turn. Luminous regretted trying to stop her from drying him off. Johann regretted rejecting her food so harshly and Caesar regretted not understanding her intentions and laughing at what seemed to him to be strange behavior. They didn’t realize how much sorrow she was working under and that they were her replacement friends.

After that, Johann got into the habit of skipping breakfast and incorporating her rich food into his diet plan. Luminous let her care for his health even wearing the lumpy knitted hats she shoved on his head whenever it was slightly cloudy or breezy outside. And Caesar always showed up for dinner.

#Dragon Raja

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 4 years ago

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Motion Sickness Chapter 4 Snippet

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It was after the fourth day of tracking that it finally rained to wash our tracks away. We’d known it was going to happen, too. After the first crack of thunder, Ruby let out a low whine.

“No,” she just pleaded. It would still be hours before the rain came and washed most of our tracks away.

She was tired and wet and cold. And I really wanted to get her into the tent and into her sleeping bag.

I didn’t know what to do or say. We could both see the storm coming, feel the wind pick up and the humidity increase. I could do nothing but start to look for a good place to set up a tent.

Ruby and I had done some light training, but you really didn't push yourself or work out too much when you were trying to catch up to something like this. For my sake it was time to take watch and just to top my night off I had to be especially on guard tonight.

It was unusual for me to stay focused on watch, but I had to. I could feel something. It didn't feel like a person or anyone I knew so it was probably not nothing but the equivalent.

Grimm.

I waited until it got close enough that I was sure I could destroy it without letting my senses drift from where Ruby slept.

I was sitting out waiting for the creature to stop nagging at my range and actually enter. It was just pacing around the edge of my senses and eventually I'd had enough.

I kept my body low and my limbs out, but stealth wasn't my strong suite. It jumped through the bracket at me rather than I at it.

I moved in a burst, sweeping the long blade between us to stop its approach. It pushed me back a step and my ankle caught something.

I tripped and it fell on me. My armor held out it's claws but its teeth snapped at my aura. I grunted and threw it off of me.

It was an Ursa. a different bone structure for a different part of the world but that seemed to be all the difference between those here and those in Vale.

It landed but rolled towards me quickly with a snarl but as I stood, I held my ground. I already knew how to deal with these. I swept Crocea Mors downwards over my head and cut its face diagonally and deep enough that I'd opened up large sections of its ribcage.

It fell and began to dissolve. I stepped back warily. I felt nothing.

Nothing.

I listened and heard no song of Grimm. The animals had gone quiet, too. Fearing a battle between two distant predators might involve them, but it was already over.

Then, distinct in the cold night distant, the zip of the tent.

I sighed.

"Jaune! Jaune, what was that." She was in thick socks that probably didn't feel good in the wet, icy, muck.

She had Crescent Rose ready though. Her biceps and triceps stood out in her shirt. She had nothing on but her simple ‘T’ and some long bottoms in the night.

I stared at her white clothes in the sleet before coming to my senses. “It was just a small Grimm. Everything’s fine.”

She breathed hard. “You're supposed to wake me up.”

You needed sleep and it was nothing I couldn't handle.

I looked her up and down. There was brisk and then there was being in PJs, in negative ten, with a wind chill, and at ninety-five percent humidity.

I walked over and dragged her into the tent. I flicked the flap open, but the inside was frigid. Just a few moments of being open had sapped whatever warmth was inside. “You can't act like this was my fault. You're supposed to wake me.”

I nodded and rubbed her hands in mine. I pulled her wet socks off too. Her feet were just chilled to the absolute bone. I was considering trying to start a fire.

“Say something!”

“Huh what? You're right. I should have woken you up. Come on get some new socks on and get warm.”

“I feel like I need a can opener with you; you’re just so it's like -ugh. Aren't you frustrated?”

“No, I am.” I assured her.

“Well why aren't you showing it?” Ruby wrapped her arms around her knees under her covers. “And your semblance too, you’re not excited at all when it activates when we train.”

“It only activates when I’m losing, doesn’t last long, and doesn’t do anything but make me glow.” I shook my head and laughed a little.

It was fitting though, if I’d had this power at Beacon I would have been just as able to help Pyrrha.

She hit me hard, enough sting. I gasped, my hand going to my chest where her hand hit my side, through some gap in all my armor she’d casually exploited to jab at just one of my ribs past a strap.

“You were thinking you were useless again. Weren’t you, Jaune?”

Fuck.

“I’m sure it does more than make you look good.”

Whiplash.

I waited.

“Well?” She wondered.

“Well to what in all of that?”

“All of it!”

“I was trying to keep up the pace and find it and be on our way to Haven.”

“So, it’s because I need to get to Haven.”

“Well that is your plan.” I laughed and turned to look at her.

“Ugh.” She murmured and looked down.

Huh?

“What is it? Is it something I said?”

She didn't look impressed by that. She crossed her arms confidently and set herself sideways. “Then what's it like? I forced you out here. To come with me to Haven and trek all the way across the world with me. Even though I had no idea how far that was.”

"Ruby I did know how far it was. And I did know that if you hadn't…"

If she hadn't what, exactly? I was trying to fight but it was hard. It was a little like Weiss had rubbed off on Ruby, in some of her best ways. I'd found that confidence and authority attractive before but when it was directed at me it was hard to fight.

What could I possibly tell her? That I needed her to tell me what to do and give my life direction?

She just told me how stressed she was. I couldn't add to that. I clicked my jaw in thought.

My teeth clacked together audibly.

She looked from my eyes to my jaw. Like I'd just bit her hard. “You shouldn't do that to yourself.”

I laughed. “That's what I mean. What would I do if I didn't have you right now? If you hadn't taken me in, I don't know where I would have gone.”

“You would have found something.”

No. My family. I stole this from them. I can't go back. And Nora and Ren they got in with like a scholarship for orphan hunters-to-be or something. They were homeless again. I think they thought I'd abandon them.

“No. So, when you asked me to come it was just-it was a no-brainer. What would I have done? What alternatives would I have had. And if I hadn't gone with you, would I have found Pyrrha’s armor, even? Would I know for sure what happened? It was like destiny. And this is too.”

“You really think so?” I watched her hands fidget through her hair, somehow plucking at the red tips even out of the corner of her eye.

“Well no, it’s more like I need to make this the timeline where I succeed, but we can. You know?”

She shook her head. “You think if we're smart and hardworking enough, it'll be enough? That's not like you.”

“Ruby this is just a setback. Even if it takes months. We have no timetable for getting to Haven. No tournament. No obvious target beyond the school and city which should be in a state of high alert.”

Supplies still got traded as far as here so we know the blackout-panic hadn't destroyed the place.

Haven was probably still there, Just waiting for her, even if it didn’t know it.

“But what about your semblance?” She pressed me. “You and me. Are we making progress there?”

“We’ll have to time figure out how to use it.” If it had a use.

“Tss” I let out as I clutched a rib. She jabbed me again.

“You and me,” she went on. “You butt.”

“Us?” I wondered stupidly.

“What are we, Jaune?” She glanced at me. “What am I to you?”

Good question.

I thought about it. It wasn't like I could just say she was my partner because that had connotations to huntsmen. If I just blurted out, she was my new partner it would hurt everyone.

Besides she had made it clear that Weiss was her best friend. Whatever that meant to her.

"You're my oldest friend for sure." I told her. I knew that much. Who was there before Pyrrha? Family didn't count. "Things are rough for me right now but it wasn't like I didn't think about you before, too.”

“That's not fair,” she whispered. “Pyrrha was…She made it clear she liked you a lot.”

Ouch. But…

“You were so nice and sweet to me when I didn't deserve it. I could always count on you for advice and it was always good. “

“I don't know…” she trailed off. She pinched her lower lip between her index and thumb. She was listening close, her eyes intense on my every word.

“Even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. So, it sounds dumb to say something like boyfriend, but you can if you want.”

“We're a couple.” Ruby translated listening closely. “You make things so complicated.”

“The thing about that is-“

“Do you love me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She smiled flushing, but she managed to roll her eyes and look right at me. For a moment I could hear nothing but the rain against the tent.

"Jaune I need you to better than 'uh yeah.'" she smiled adorably. It took me a second to realize she was teasing me. By the time I did so, my eyes flicked down to her lips and back up to her eyes. It was too late. Her smile roared across her face.

“You really want to kiss me, don't you? You can. You know. Maybe not all the time but you can kiss me.”

I did. I pushed her back against her thin mattress. I could feel her hip bone against my abdomen and the smooth curve of her sides. I put my hands around her back and pulled her in close to my and she let out a tiny sigh.

Her mouth opened in the slightest way and I couldn't help myself. My tongue went forward at the same time I rolled us more forward, pinning her more beneath me.

She groaned into it, smiling into the kiss as I sucked on her tongue, then lip, then pulled away.

Or tried to.

I drew back slightly but she had a tight grip on my shirt with her left hand. I hadn't even noticed. And her other hand became nestled in my hair.

She just… giggled at me, and, without so much as opening her eyes, dragged me down again.

She rolled her hips up into mine and wrapped her legs tightly around my waist. She pulled me into her and I could feel her pulse beat between her legs. I bit down on her bottom lip. And she moaned and through her thin pyjama bottoms I felt her against me. I mean I felt her core against my own. She ground herself hard against me in a bold and inexperienced fashion and I let out a moan that she devoured.

She whined a little up at me when I pulled back but she gave me a pleased sigh when I just took my shirt off. She reached out and ran a palm down my chest to my sides and kept her other hand buried in my hair and pulled me close to her.

Our teeth clicked together a little as I ran my tongue against her molars. She tried to push against my tongue with hers but I over lowered the wet muscle. She drew back with my tongue in her mouth and sucked on it gently but firmly. I throbbed in my pants at that. I imagined what it would feel like to have her mouth around a different piece of my anatomy and I groaned and grew harder at the thought. I reached a hand down to cup her little breasts through her sleeping tee. She moaned into my mouth as I did. I found her nipple and started to toy with it until it grew firm and erect through her shirt.

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#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #lancaster #ruby rose x jaune arc #motion sickness #smut

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confusednarcissistwrites · 5 years ago

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Scope It Out (D.M.)

(lol sorry for the photo quality)

Another request for the darling @thestarsaregivenonceonly that I took over to lighten her work load a bit 💛 I decided on Danny Middleton as I love the aesthetic of Hot Summer Nights and really couldn’t resist. I hope you enjoy, anon!

(cursing, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff to rot ur teeth)

You strolled up the driveway, quickly spotting Danny polishing the headlights of his car. Smirking, you hopped up onto the hood to get his attention.

“Dannyyyyyy,” you sang, posing for him. “Do I look like a good fake girlfriend?”

“Y/N, Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” he gasped, jumping up to his feet. He wiped his hands with the rag he’d been holding, his eyes scanning over you with a smirk. “You look great.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, much to your chagrin. You wore a high waisted, denim skirt with a striped sweater tucked in and yellow socks bunched above your red, hightop converse. You felt good.

“It will definitely get McKayla’s attention having you on my arm.”

You turned away a bit, trying to hide the way your face fell. You cleared your throat, quickly slapping on a smile. “Thanks! I thought so.” You slipped off of the car, hopping into the passenger side while he grabbed his coat and wallet and climbed in next to you. You briefly wondered how anyone could possibly not see him as attractive as you watched him fix his hair in the rear view mirror.

“What?” he asked, feeling your eyes on him.

You turned away, rolling your eyes. “Nothing. Just if you keep playing with your hair you’re gonna look like Travolta.”

“Shut up.” He started the car and sped out of the driveway, making you laugh loudly. You turned up the radio and sang along obnoxiously, your hair whipping in the wind. Danny joined in and you really didn’t think anything got much better than that moment.

When you arrived at the fairgrounds, the sky was just beginning to change colors with the sunset. He’d wanted to get there early to “scope it out,” in his words. You’d told him he was ridiculous, but decided you didn’t mind if it meant you got to go on more rides. He parked the car and turned it off, exhaling a heavy breath. “Show time,” he grinned, slipping out of the car and grabbing his stuff from the backseat. He circled around the car and helped you out. “Oh, hey. You should wear this,” he said, holding his bomber jacket up for you to slip into. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you did as he asked. He then offered you his hand, wiggling his eyebrows. “M’lady?” You laughed softly, intertwining your fingers with his. You couldn’t help but think how well they fit together. It was quickly dawning on you that all of this was going to be more difficult than you’d originally thought.

Leading the way through the gates, Danny bought you both thick stacks of tickets for games and rides. He’d insisted on paying for everything since you were doing him this favor. Some favor. You walked hand-in-hand through the groups of little kids and teenagers getting their fill of carnival food and squealing with glee. You smiled, feeling the summertime spirit fill you up. You could almost let yourself forget why you were there.

“Now, I don’t think she’ll be here till later, so do you want to get something to eat first?”

“Sure,” you responded, allowing him to lead you over to all the vendor stands. You guys made small talk while splurging on all the greasy food your stomachs could handle. Talking to Danny had always been easy. However, you were grateful to see him drifting further away from the mopey kid he had been when he first moved to Cape Cod. Despite his baggage, he was finding his place here, and you were grateful to have been one of the first people he’d had to help him make the transition.

“Ready to go do some rides?” you asked, biting your lip excitedly.

He groaned loudly, holding his stomach. “Now that you conned me into eating all that shit? Are you serious?” he laughed. “Let’s do some games first.”

You pouted, but agreed. You got up to throw away the garbage and he followed after you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. “You look good in my jacket, girlfriend,” he teased. You punched him in the shoulder, making him laugh. You laughed too, shaking your head at him.

The sun had almost set and the sky was stunning, especially with all the carnival lights twinkling against it. You suddenly felt Danny’s arm tighten around you. “Shit, there she is.”

You looked up, quickly looking away when you spotted the blonde already looking right at you. Danny sped up a bit, walking you up to a ring toss game. “Laugh at something I just told you,” he whispered in your ear. You played along, letting your head fall back as you giggled. You quickly realized that McKayla and her friends had gotten in line a few people behind you and Danny, making your heart rate speed up. You’d never spoken to her, but her reputation well preceded her. Danny grabbed a ring, turning to flex for you. You resisted the urge to mock him, letting out more girlish giggles.

“Just throw it, babe,” you laughed, the pet name feeling foreign on your tongue. He smiled and tossed it, making it the first try.

You threw yours too, but missed by a long shot. You both got three turns, all filled with unnecessary touching and flirting that made your cheeks glow. He’d won a teddy bear that he promptly placed in your arms, planting a sweet kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you. He tugged you away from the front of the line, though you felt more like you were floating along behind him.

“That was perfect! I don't think she looked away once!” he enthused once you were both out of earshot.

You felt a sick feeling settle in your stomach, but quickly nodded and smiled. “She looked pretty mad,” you said, though you hadn’t really looked.

“Seriously? Oh my god,” he chuckled. “I haven’t felt this excited about someone in so long, Y/N. She drives me crazy.”

Ouch.

You cleared your throat, looking away a bit. “Gross,” you replied flatly, giving in a bit of a look.

He just laughed, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s go see if we can find some more lines to stand in near her.”

Your chest ached. You wanted to yell and scream at him and tell him how stupid he was being. You didn’t know McKayla, but you knew no one could feel the way that you did about Danny. Even so, you forced a smile and allowed him to pull you around the carnival by your hand.

After searching for about 15 minutes, you spotted one of your favorite rides. “Danny, pleeaassee. I love the Gravitron; it’s been my favorite since I was little! Can we go, please, please, please?” you pleaded, sticking your bottom lip out at him.

He looked around for a moment before replying. “Yeah, I guess we can real quick.”

“Yesssss!” It was your turn to pull him through the crowd to the line climbing into the UFO-shaped ride. It was hot inside the enclosed ride and music was playing loudly, just like it was every year. You and Danny found two spots next to each other and leaned back, waiting for the ride to start.

“If I puke on your shoes, it’s your own fault,” he warned, turning his head to look at you. The dim lighting accentuated his freckled cheeks and warm eyes in a way that made your breath catch. Before you could respond, the doors were closed and the ride began to spin. You couldn’t stop grinning as dizziness turned into the delightful press of centrifugal force pushing you up the wall. You squealed as Danny grabbed your arm in panic as his own seat hit the top. With a bit of effort, you were able to turn your head to look at him and catch the expression on his face before you burst into laughter. His cheek was smushed against the seat and his eyes were squeezed closed as he fought to keep his dinner down.

“Watch this!” you called over the music. He squinted his eyes open just barely to watch as you flipped yourself sideways, your legs draped over his center.

“You’re fucking crazy!” he laughed, seeming to be getting slowly used to the feeling. You flipped yourself back upright, feeling your head spin from the movement.

“You try!” You watched as he tried to outstretch his arm, but was quickly overcome by the force, his arm falling across your chest with his open palm cupping your boob. His eyes turned to saucers and he quickly pulled away. Laughter bubbled up from your stomach as you began to belly laugh at his awkwardness.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he laughed nervously, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. You could see his blushed cheeks even through your watering eyes.

“It’s okay,” you giggled. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m your girlfriend tonight.”

You both stumbled out of the ride, Danny looking a bit green around the gills. It was dark now and the light show of carnie lights was in full effect, the ferris wheel acting as its feature. You couldn’t help but stop and take it all in. However, your thoughts were quickly interrupted.

“Hey, you feeling okay?” Danny asked softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. You smiled, nodding. “Okay, cool. I was thinking we could hop on the ferris wheel next so I can try and see where she went.”

How many times would you forget that that was the only reason he was here with you? You weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Yeah, lets go.”

His head was on a swivel the whole way, making you feel terribly alone despite his cold fingers tangled with yours.

Once you made it through the line, you climbed in across from each other in the small car, your knees bumping. You made your ascent slowly as they loaded the other passengers. For the first time that night, the silence between you felt heavy. You pulled his jacket a bit tighter around yourself, looking at him even though you knew he was looking everywhere but at you.

“God, I can’t see her anywhere now. Can you?” he asked, his brow furrow as he squinted at the ground.

“Danny, what the hell are you even looking for?” You even were a bit surprised at your sudden snap. But the words were already out of your mouth, hanging in the air between you.

He looked up at you, confusion written on his face. “Y/N, what do you mean? You know who I’m looking for.”

“I said what. Like, you’re at the top of the Ferris wheel with the most beautiful view of Cape Cod that you only get once a year, and you are busy looking at the ground for some blonde.”

“Some blonde? Where is all this coming from? Did you not come here to help me get her attention?”

Frustration ran through you as your voice rose. “For god’s sake! Can you really not see what’s right in front of you? Are you that unaware?” you cried incredulously.

“Yes, I see the fair. The lights are beautiful but-“

You cut him off, fisting his shirt and smashing your lips against his. He tensed initially, shocked by your brash action. However, suddenly all your words clicked into place in his head. His hand found the side of your face, kissing you back tenderly.

Fireworks.

It was more than you had ever imagined. His chapped lips gently pulled away from yours, his eyes fretting over your face.”Y-you meant you. Didn’t you?” he stuttered.

You let out a breathless laugh, leaning into his hand that was still pressed against your cheek. “Yes, you idiot.”

He leaned in slowly, awkward now in a way that made your heart flutter. You met him in the middle, kissing him again as you sat at the top of the ferris wheel; it felt too perfect to be real. Your hands let go of his shirt and slipped behind his neck to toy with the curls on his nape as you kissed him for all you were worth.

When you finally pulled apart, he was smiling like a fool, his cheeks pinker than you’d ever seen. “When d-did you..? How-“

“Not right away, but somewhere in the middle. Well before McKayla, but definitely confirmed once you started talking about her all the time.” It felt good to finally tell him all these things after so long.

“You were jealous,” he smirked, that signature smirk.

You pushed your palm to his face, pushing him away playfully. “Danny Middleton, so help me god-“

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” You stopped what you were doing, meeting his gaze. He was looking at you with a look you hadn’t seen before. He looked down, suddenly shy. “I-I mean will you- will you be my girlfriend?”

“I’ll think about it.”

#danny middleton #hot summer nights #danny middleton imagine #danny middleton fluff #danny middleton x reader #hot summer nights imagine #timotheé chalamet #timotheé chalamet imagine #timotheé chalamet fluff #timotheé chalamet x reader #timothee chamalet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet x reader #blurb #imagine #oneshot #drabble #confusednarcissistwrites

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lukatheselkie · 4 years ago

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HMC - Candle in the dark (2/2)

@hetaliamondaychallenge

Pairing: Possible future South Italy x OC Alrik; Fika

Warnings: Fighting drowning, attempted suicide, serious conversation about attempt, characterized depression, brief mention of a previous death

Lovino feels like he’s drowning. Maybe he is. It wouldn’t be a surprise to him, honestly. It’s been a weird few days. Weeks. Months. Years. Life. He sighs, letting out as much air as he can into the water on purpose. The people in his life would be better off without him. Of course they would. He only ever gets in the way. But there’s a tiny voice in the back of his head that tells him maybe, just maybe, someone cares about him. But that’s preposterous. ...Isn’t it? Whether he believes it or not, his mind catches on the words. Maybe somebody cares about you. It’s enough to get him to start fighting.

First, he needs to get as many clothes off himself as he can. He can feel them dragging down on his body harshly. He kicks off his shoes, pulling his shirt over his head at the same time. His pants are going to have to stay, but he thinks he can toe off his socks. He struggles with that as he searches for the surface with his hands. One pops out for just a moment, but it’s enough to give him a goal. He stops trying to remove his socks since it’s not working well anyway, and focuses on struggling toward the surface. Toward air he can breathe.

Both his hands are out now, but for some reason he can’t lift his head out. Just as he’s about to rest his flailing arms, his hand scrapes against something large and solid. That gives him a small energy boost, and he grabs hold of the thing. He tries pulling himself out using the solid object, but the waves around it are particularly choppy. He bangs his head into it quite a few times, but does eventually manage to drag himself up it. He pants heavily as he splays himself across the somewhat flat top. It occurs to him that he’s laying on a boulder somewhere at sea before his vision goes dark.

Blinding white. That’s the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. Within a second, two familiar faces pop into his vision as well; his brother and his crush. “Oh thank goodness! You’re finally awake! We’ve been so worried! I told you to be careful around the cliffs!” Cliffs? ...Oh. That’s right. He jumped off a cliff into the ocean as a sucide attempt. Why had he changed his mind? He closes his eyes tightly. “Did you trip on a rock or something?” His stomach twists painfully. He doesn’t want to tell them the truth. “Ah, it doesn’t matter! What matters now is that you’re awake.” Feli hugs him tightly. It’s almost crushing. It’s oddly reassuring. Someone squeezes his hand, and he opens his eyes to see which one of them it is. It’s Alrik, and his heart leaps into his throat at the sight and sensation. His eyes are filled with sorrow. Lovino wants to touch him, reassure him, maybe even say something. But when he opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

“Please don’t strain yourself.” His voice lacks its usual energy. He grips his hand tighter. “You’ve been in a coma for two months. Don’t try speaking yet. Let the doctors check that everything is alright.” He releases his hands, and shrinks into a corner. Lovino longs for the warmth of his hand back. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. Now he knows why he stayed. It’s such a selfish reason. Seeing Alrik for even a second is worth all the pain of existing. All the pain of being overshadowed by his younger brother, who seems worried to death about him. He doesn’t deserve a dead brother, especially since he’s not overshadowing him on purpose. It’s just something that happens. He nods, focuses on the sounds of the room, and eventually the sound of the doctors checking on him.

When they finally leave, he moves the bed into a sitting position. Most of his injuries healed during the coma, but he got a concussion that’s still affecting him. “Lovi.” Feliciano pulls him into a gentle, loving hug. “I was so worried!” He crawls onto the bed with him. “We were worried.” He motions at Alrik, who’s still tucked into the corner. The Swede nods, then looks away. He’s acting strange. Why? “Does your head hurt? Do you need a drink? Maybe more medicine?” He nods, pauses, nods again, then shakes his head. Feli practically launches himself out of the room in an effort to get him water as soon as possible. Lovino looks over at Alrik.

“Tack for not dying,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself. There’s tears on his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” His throat is a bit scratchy, and his voice comes out mostly hoarse. Alrik nods solemnly. “Come here. Please.” He scoots over a bit, so the man has a place to sit if he wants to be that close. He doesn’t, as he drags a chair to his side. “Can I wipe away your tears?”

“I’d rather you not.” Alrik bristles slightly. Lovino sighs heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I want to talk about.” He wipes at the tears on his face hard enough to agitate the skin. An awkward silence falls between them. A few minutes pass before Alrik lets out a groan. “Fine! If you want me to talk, Feli, I’ll talk! And I know you’re out there, listening! Go away. Please. I only want Lovi to hear this.” He presses his forehead into the bed, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’ve lost someone important to me before. I thought I did again.” He lets out a bitter, shaky laugh. “Opposite elements,” he mumbles. This leads Lovino to believe that maybe there was fire involved in the last one, and it breaks his heart a bit.

“I’m alive. I promise.” He lifts up his hand. “Can I run my fingers through your hair?” When he doesn’t get a response, he slowly lowers his hand into Alrik’s hair. He plays with his hair a bit, trying to be soothing. His breathing evens out after a few minutes, and he chuckles. “Feli, you can come in.” Feliciano pokes his head in, then walks over with a cup of water in his hand. He holds it out to Lovino, who gratefully downs it. “Thank you. That feels much better.”

“Sounds better, too. You’re welcome.” He looks down at Alrik. “Is he asleep?” A nod. “Then I have something to tell you.” He doesn’t like the sound of that. “I know you love him.” Lovino stiffens immediately. “Relax. Please. There’s much more to be tense about.” Of course there is. He forces himself to relax, though he doesn’t want to. “I think he’s in love with me.” He feels his heart drop. “However, he spoke with me about growing feelings for you.” His head snaps up to look at his little brother. “When you were found, he mentioned that he would have thrown himself after you had he been there to see it. He would have tried his hardest to keep you from those injuries, and from the coma. Even if it meant putting himself through it. He seemed to surprise himself with those words. He told me he’s only ever felt like that two other times. One with a human lover, and another with one of us. Since the one of us is much more recent, he compared that to what he’s feeling for you. He’s the protective type. He couldn’t look at me anytime he was speaking about this mystery person, so I feel like it must be me. He loves us both. He didn’t realize his feelings for you until you went into a coma.”

“Of course he loves you, Feli. Everyone loves you.” Lovino sighs.

“Not everyone. But that wasn’t my point. He cares about you too.”

“And he’s going to choose you. Go ahead and ask him out.” Feliciano shakes his head.

“I’m not interested in him. I realize now I may have been leading him on, but I never meant to. Besides, the two of you fit together better. I want you both happy.” Silence. It’s so thick it almost seems to dull the sounds of the hospital. It stretches out for a few minutes before he can’t take it anymore. “I know this was a suicide attempt, Lovi. Someone saw you jump off. Why did you change your mind? Why did you do it to begin with?”

“Sometimes it’s hard, living in your shadow. And I always seem to mess everything up. I just thought… Maybe without me, things would be more smooth.” He blinks rapidly, forcing the tears back. Felciano wraps his arms around him tightly.

“Please don’t think that. I love you. You’re my brother. You’re so so so important to me! And our people! And others. So many care about you. I’m sorry I never noticed your distress.” Lovino takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for not realizing the support and love I have. Or for seeking out help. I know it’s uncommon for us to…”

“You don’t have to say it. I know what you mean. And I promise, we’re going to get help. For both of us. I didn’t know you felt overshadowed. There’s probably more to that. So much more. But we can tackle that another day. Was he the reason you started fighting the waves?” He shakes his head slowly.

“Not entirely. I thought that maybe someone cares even a small amount about me, and it gave me enough hope to fight. I wasn’t thinking about anyone in particular. But he’s been the reason I’ve gone out before. Just seeing him for a second lights up my day.”

“I’m happy for you. Not everyone finds their light.”

“Their light?”

“You’re at a dark point, right? But he, and I suppose to a lesser extent I, are lit candles in that darkness. There will be others. We may light them, or others might come to. It doesn’t matter either way. The most important part is that more and more candles are being lit, until you can’t see the darkness anymore. If you think he’s going to light more of those candles, I think it would benefit both of you to date. At least consider speaking with him about it when you’re released.” He smiles reassuringly. “I love you. So much. Try not to forget that. I’ll say it as often as I have to. Believe it or not, I love you.” He buries his face in the crook of his neck. “Others do, too.” Lovino rubs a bit of Alrik’s hair between his fingers thoughtfully. Maybe Feli’s right. He should at least give it a chance.

#hetaliamondaychallenge #hetalia #hetalia south italy #hetalia italy #hetalia OC #Alrik Johansson

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altumvidetur · 5 years ago

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Haikyuu!! Fic Recs (MatsuHana)

Fic Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’ve decided to split it in a series of posts, starting with my OTPs. So here we go with some MatsuHana!

rated m for, by orphan_account

He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

of weather, of leisurely tensions, by b_minor

Two boys share an umbrella.

Don’t Lie, Bright Eyes, by tookumade

“Where do you see yourself in twenty years?”

It’s nearly one in the morning and Matsukawa, tucked up comfortably in bed next to Hanamaki, is on the verge of drifting off into blissful sleep when the question stirs him.

“Why are you trying to give me a late-night existential crisis?” he mumbles.

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 4 - leaving home)

Roses, by h_lovely

(Summary by me: slow burn, friends to lovers, things are kinky, I’m pretty sure this is the best MatsuHana I’ve ever read.)

You’re in Pink (and I’m in blue), by Hyeyu

Takahiro held his gaze a few seconds in silence before he sighed. "...It's only been a week, okay? S'not serious yet."

“Not serious yet?” Something jumped in Matsukawa’s jaw and he abruptly released Takahiro’s hand, sending the petals cascading to the ground. Takahiro was going to have to clean them up before the others started streaming into the clubroom, and wouldn’t that be fun. “You’re coughing up fucking flowers, Hanamaki.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

Hanamaki Takahiro has 99 problems and Hanahaki flowers make up 98 of them.

Good Bad Ideas, by tookumade

When Oikawa asks his friends to help out at his nephew’s birthday party, they get a little more than they bargained for.

(written for Haikyuu!! Rarepair Week - Day 1 - beginnings, celebration)

texting (with a capital S), by parenthetic

Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

Wet Your Whistle, by darkmagicalgirl

Hanamaki gets a job as a bartender. Matsukawa likes his uniform. (Alternatively: Matsukawa tries to ignore his huge crush on his friend-with-benefits. He fails.)

[obnoxious clucking noises], by parenthetic

On the last night of their last training camp together, Oikawa has a bad idea, Hanamaki goes along with it, Iwaizumi sort of wishes he had better friends, and Matsukawa proves himself to be particularly adept at intimidation tactics.

Love Doesn’t Come with an Instruction Manual, by plumtrees

Seijou 3rd years (now college freshmen) go to ToyCon. Oikawa has a spaz attack over Star Wars, Iwaizumi is his designated babysitter, Hanamaki is adorable, and Matsukawa doesn't know how to deal.

Here Today And There Tomorrow, by tookumade

A first meeting on opposite sides of the volleyball net, and chance meetings afterwards without it.

A Ring of Cream, by plumtrees

Hanamaki has never been one for grand romantic gestures, has never been one for romantic gestures at all, but Matsukawa's a stubborn guy.

Who can't bake for shit.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa (mostly Iwaizumi, really) to the rescue.

Morning Glory, by darkmagicalgirl

On their days off, Hanamaki and Matsukawa's mornings follow a sort of routine.

Even Though It All Went Wrong, by plumtrees

It hadn’t always been so cold. Matsukawa remembers a time where the sun shone high, its rays bright and its heat pleasant like a blanket against his skin. He remembers Hanamaki holding his hand, remembers his cheeks hurting because he’d been grinning so much. Hanamaki had opened his arms wide, and Matsukawa ran straight for them, like he’d been magnetized. He picked up Hanamaki easily and twirled them around, danced with him until they both tumbled along the grass, laughing like idiots.

He remembers because it’s all he can do now.

Crescendo, by plumtrees

Day 1 for MatsuHana Week: Online

The voice continues to feed him instructions, the deep rumbling purrs reverberating across his body, each hiss and click of a consonant like a sharp bite, each roll of his tongue a slide of silk against his overheating skin.

Fuck, he loves it.

Somewhat Well-Kept Secrets, by tookumade

“Why don’t they just… date already?” said Iwaizumi.

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 2 - cream puffs, in the background)

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, by plumtrees

Day 3 of MatsuHana Week: Tattoos and Flower Shops

Hanamaki, cheeks as pink as his hair, says, "I was drunk."

"Okay?" Matsukawa prompts.

"And it's way too expensive to laser something this big."

Holy shit. "Okay?"

"Look, can't we just go with 'I made horrible life decisions in college that are now coming back to haunt me' and move on?"

morning, noon, night, by b_minor

A day in the life of two losers in love.

on the anatomy of crushes, by carafin

A part-by-part dissection of their relationship. Medical school AU.

‘See you tomorrow?’ Hanamaki asks. He’s still smiling faintly, still carrying about his usual air of quiet self-assurance, but there’s no mistaking the hopefulness in his voice. ‘On the bus, I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ Matsukawa says, and tries not to make it sound too much like a promise. ‘See you tomorrow.’

(Falling in love is really, ridiculously easy.)

Dating Is Not A Nine-To-Five, by tookumade

“What if,” said Hanamaki in a whisper, “we walk in and there’s a yakuza member getting his tattoos done, and he tries to kill us because we saw his face?”

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 3 - tattoos and flower shops, coffee shop)

To Fit Myself In The Spaces Between, by tookumade

It's late, a boring movie is on TV, and the remote control is nowhere in sight—and that suited them just fine.

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 4 - midnight, no control)

It’s not even close to your birthday, by squidmemesinc

The shoes look like they could be some kind of gothic lolita item, with thick, tall heels and Mary Jane straps that have little silver hearts on them. The socks are simple except that they run all the way up to his mid-thigh; the crisp white makes enough of a contrast with his skin that the colors flatter each other, rather than subdue them. Then there's the dress. It's just plain black, short and slim, though the skirt flares out at the waist. Takahiro's eyes run up it, stalling where it cuts off around the shoulders and has a wide boat neck trim with a thick ivory collar. The final piece is a simple pink ribbon—not even a necklace, just a ribbon—tied around his neck with the bow in the back.

Where Was I, When The Rockets Came To Life, by tookumade

In a city like this, there wasn’t much of a chance that they would meet again, and given Hanamaki’s current career of choice, if they did, then it was more than likely to be because of a cruel joke set up by fate. He was not about to let his heart be broken now. He had more important things to think about…

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 5 - glasses, piercing)

not like the movies, by bravely

“Here,” he says, offering the thumb back to Hanamaki. Absentmindedly, Hanamaki licks it back off. “Thanks.”

Then he blinks.

“Wait,” he says. “Shit, wait. Was that supposed to be romantic just then?”

“ — Well.” Matsukawa clears his throat. “You tell me, I guess?”

No One Else Like You, by auber_jean

"It’s not at all liberating to finally have it said out loud, because it makes it all that more real, and Matsukawa was doing really well pretending that he wasn’t in love with his best friend."

With the turn of graduation, Matsukawa finds himself choosing between a future that he has planned or something more.

live it up, drink it in, by puny

Hanamaki's not a detective, just a wing spiker with a hangover, but he's gonna figure out who gave him all these hickeys if it damn well kills him.

Begin, by Karasuno Volleygays

It's the last day of their high school years and the first day of the rest of their lives. As they spend the night under a blanket of stars, they can't help but wonder where will they go from here?

Playing Doubles, by squidmemesinc

“We always said we were going to fuck at every possible time of day,” Takahiro says, rolling his hips gently over Issei’s.

“I do remember saying that once. Do you have the calendar on hand?”

Captured Light, by plumtrees

“The smile you’re wearing in this photo,” Hanamaki continued, just a little bit sad, “you haven’t smiled like that in a long time.”

Matsukawa looked at the photo again. It was awkward; it always was, seeing himself through Hanamaki’s lens. He’d never really focused on himself whenever he looked at the photos Hanamaki took of him, but now his eyes actively trailed over his face, the crinkle of his eyes, the twinkle in them from the light reflecting off of his cellphone, the smile wide enough to show an entire row of teeth.

He tried to emulate the expression, only to realize how foreign it felt on his face.

A love story like most love stories, stuck between busy days and too little time spent together.

Matsukawa learns to take it easy, and Hanamaki is his teacher.

Marks, by Andramion

The room is quiet when Issei gathers the pillows under his arms and lies down. He presses his nose into his shoulder, closes his eyes and focusses on the barely-there touch of fingertips to his skin.

Hanamaki always does this, every single time.

Sure, by kiyala

Beginning university brings a lot of changes with it. As Iwaizumi and Oikawa deal with going to different universities, Hanamaki thinks about his own relationship with Matsukawa.

nebulas, by tothemoon

“You'll have to let me think about it,” Hanamaki says to him while they're looking at soup stocks in the supermarket one evening, because he knows being with someone is not as simple as he'd like it to be.

(At this, Matsukawa does not fret. He goes for the snack aisle, instead.)

Settled, by kiyala

Hanamaki and Matsukawa go for a walk in their hometown in the middle of the night, and reflect on the things that have changed since high school.

Staking a Claim, by iwaizumemes

"Do you think they can tell?"

"Tell what?"

"That we've fucked in all their bedrooms."

something of a disaster, by latenights

“This is the part where you make a wish and blow.”

“Now, let’s not get too hasty—“

“I meant the candles you bastard.”

that’s you get (for waking up in vegas), by skittidyne

“There was an Elvis?” Hajime asks.

“He was the officiator. It’s the cliché, right?”

“…Officiator of what?” Tooru asks with a look down at Takahiro’s hand.

“You can borrow my phone to pull pictures from for our wedding album.” Issei reaches over and grasps the hand with the ring on it. Everyone is staring at their clasped hands like a three-headed lobster just crawled onto the table. “You were both the best men and I was very, deeply touched by how affected you both were at the ceremony,” he says in a perfect deadpan.

(( or: iwaizumi does not want to be the responsible one, and thus they suffer the consequences, or, perhaps, 'suffer' is a bit too strong of a word ))

Wilds, by AngryKitten

Makki waded back to him, two handfuls of stones dripping lake-water. He was grinning, like he always did, like their lives were one great joke that Matsukawa only occasionally understood. Hanamaki tipped his hand, and the rocks tumbled out into the bottom of their canoe.

“For later,” Hanamaki said.

Parting Words, by kiyala

Matsukawa confesses his feelings for Hanamaki at graduation, knowing that they're unrequited. Hanamaki's not so sure about that.

we could be the greatest team, by anyadisee

Oikawa mock-gasps. “Makki! You should know that I was genuinely planning on talking about strategy! I just thought it would be polite to wait for Iwa-chan and Mattsun to get back. But since you brought the topic up”—Hanamaki opens his mouth to protest, but is ignored—“have I told you how amazing Iwa-chan is? Like, he’s just the best boyfriend ever.”

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed what with, you know, how much you’ve been talking about it,” Hanamaki deadpans.

Oikawa waves a hand airily. “Don’t be jealous that my boyfriend is so sweet and romantic.”

Now it’s Hanamaki’s turn to raise eyebrows. “Excuse me, but did you just indirectly drag Issei?"

[in which hanamaki and oikawa get competitive, matsukawa and iwaizumi are good boyfriends, and the rest of seijoh somehow get involved.]

chocolate, by tellalie

“We have to do something,” Mattsun says.

Tides That Bind, by rubyfiamma

Matsuhana Fluff via prompt #19. Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were.

Room to Talk, by holdontoyourhulahoops

In which one snarky comment from Yahaba makes Hanamaki realize he's been a dirty hypocrite all this time.

The Best/Worst Places to Cry in the City, by AngryKitten

“Okay this is going to sound weird, and I get it if you want to say no, but I know a good place to cry and it’s only like a block from here. If you need to, um, let that out or something.”

Matsukawa gets hit on while crying in public and it might be the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Or it might be the best.

plus one, by orphan_account

"Did you know we're dating?"

"What? Says who?"

"Says everyone apparently."

"Oh," Hanamaki frowns for a few seconds before shrugging and turning his attention back to the chocolate fountain. "Nice."

Making Sense, by kiyala

Sharing an apartment does very little to help Hanamaki deal with his feelings for Matsukawa. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing.

and indeed there will be time, by plumtrees

Between volleyball and the looming end of their high school years, Hanamaki thinks he’s already dealing with more than enough, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, no one else gets the memo.

Alternatively: “I am not in love with my best friend!” says Hanamaki Takahiro. Nobody buys his bullshit.

snakes, meth labs and something like love, by orphan_account

"Did you know snakes can give birth to between ten and 150 babies at any one time?"

Matsukawa tenses. "And how many have you, um— How many have you found?"

"Four," Hanamaki sighs, voice shaking slightly with what sounds like pure, unadulterated defeat. "So far."

Flamingo, by JanaRumpandRCJawnn

Summary by me: series with Trans!Makki, dealing with transphobia, and a nice lovely characterization of Ushijima.

it’s cold out there, by bishounen_curious

Seijoh's parties are always a mess, but this one takes the cake.

he’s a looker but i really think it’s guts that matter most, by respectableflourish

His fellow first year loves volleyball, has a chill factor verging on glacial, partakes in the type of verbal repartee Takahiro has only ever dreamt of finding in another person, and just so happens to exhibit an eyebrow and eyeliner game that is on another fucking level.

my heart beats for contract law, by orphan_account

"You had an emotional breakdown in a McDonalds drive-through."

"Mmm."

"And proposed to me."

"Shhh."

"In a McDonalds drive-through, Hiro."

Takahiro huffs out a nervous laugh, keeping his eyes closed. "You love it," he repeats, nuzzling closer.

services i can provide, by commovente

“So, what’s this?” Matsukawa asks. “An apology?”

Hanamaki drawls the words out, but he’s rambling. “I mean, I was actually going for a bribe, but. You know what, Mattsun? I’m nothing if not adaptable, so. Yes. Consider this an apology.”

it’s easy being with you, sacred simplicity, by earlgrey_milktea

a conversation at half past three.

poolside, by tothemoon

At eighteen, it'd been a matter of wading.

At twenty-five, Hanamaki tries not to fall in headfirst.

need a little sweetness in my life, by orphan_account

The smell of freshly baked bread, watching his cakes rise, listening to customers endlessly praise his desserts? All that is great but, Matsukawa thinks as he shuffles closer to the counter to greet him, the best thing about his job is the man standing in front of him.

And he doesn’t even know his name.

Lemonade, by carriecmoney

“Seriously, after Oikawa’s Oikawaness, Iwaizumi with the shoulders and the intensity and the caring about people shit and you with…” Takahiro gestures at Matsukawa’s everything. “That. What am I?”

Sing For Me, by rideahorse

The first time he hears Matsukawa singing, it’s in the shower, post-practice, when Matsukawa is likely positive no one’s around to hear it. Takahiro doesn’t even know what to think at first; Matsukawa sings just as he talks, voice a low timbre, barely changing pitch as it navigates through some melody that is so familiar yet unreachable in Takahiro’s mind. It’s English, too, so Takahiro wouldn’t understand it anyways, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that the locker room suddenly feels ten times hotter and Takahiro feels like he might melt into a puddle of very gay and very confused sludge.

Realisations, by kiyala

In which Hanamaki realises that Matsukawa is a werewolf, and has a few other realisations while he's at it.

Magical Mishaps and How to Deal, by plumtrees

Hanamaki Takahiro loved Matsukawa Issei. Sometimes. Mostly. When he wasn’t being bull-headed or overly-difficult. Which wasn’t a lot of the time now that Hanamaki thought about it. Shit. But he digressed.

Demon-mating was a for life kind of deal. Certainly not a decision one could make out of the blue, without years of prior thought and much meditation. The day he asked for his mother’s blessing, the day he planned to ask Matsukawa to be his mate, she had told him If you’re sure you’ll be happy with him, then all I hope for is that he says yes and by some miracle he did and here they are now and Hanamaki could say with all the certainty in the world that he loved Matsukawa Issei with all his heart and soul(s).

But some days…dear gods, some days…some days he just made it really, really difficult.

Or: Matsukawa accidentally turns Kindaichi and Kunimi into babies and guess who has to help him clean up his fucking mess.

Pink and Yellow, by hotcocoa

Hanamaki is beautiful, Matsukawa is supportive, and both of them are the luckiest boyfriends in the world.

hang out fall in love, by carafin

In which Hanamaki's humble medical practice is threatened by an intractable asshole a witch doctor who's just moved into the shop down the street. Medical/Witchcraft AU.

As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your witch clinic right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or – yeah, the point is, this Matsukawa guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.

Baby It’s Cold Outside, by dancingwithwings

Matsukawa looks round. And – heaven help him – he’s greeted with the guy from a couple of apartments down, the guy who dyes his hair to look like a strawberry for reasons unbeknownst, looking so disgruntled, so bedraggled, so akin to a drowning cat, that it almost makes him laugh out loud. The guy is barefoot, wearing only a towel. And the look on his face might turn Matsukawa to stone.

In which the fire alarm goes off, Hanamaki is in a towel, and Mattsun just really needs to study.

Zenith, Nadir, by tookumade

A former god realises that it's time to say goodbye.

Parallel Lines, by orphan_account

Yesterday night, Matsukawa had told his parents that he was joining math club, which lead to several confused smiles from them as they tried to figure out his change of heart.

“Didn’t you say you were allergic to competitive math?” His mom had asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re very supportive of your decision, but-”

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they’d let it go because no sane parent prevents their child from joining math team, which is intellectually beneficial and looks very nice on college applications. This, in turn, prevents Matsukawa from having to explain that he’s joining- dear god- because of a crush.

this isn’t exactly how i thought i’d spend my adult years, by jadedpearl

When Hanamaki coughs–hacks–the guy, who's been near comatose this entire time, opens his eyes and looks over a little, seemingly with the least amount of effort possible. "Bless you," he says, but his eyes are still sleepy. Hanamaki turns his head and stares at him. "I didn't sneeze." The guy looks a bit surprised. "What?" "I coughed." "So?" "Who the fuck says bless you when someone coughs?"

The Courage of Stars, by FairyLights101

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Then again, not many things were.

sugar pink liquor, liquor lips, by h_lovely

His lips still taste like sugar and liquor; they’re rosy and plush as they fit softly against Matsukawa’s own.

What would you do (if I told you that I la, la, la, loved you?), by Frenchibi

5 IwaOi moments as seen by Hanamaki and Matsukawa ... +1 moment of revenge :'D

Shoulda Known, by fxvixen

He quickly composes his face to look concerned. “What’s the matter there, sport?”

The groan cuts off.

Hanamaki lifts his head, a few strands of hair flopping onto his forehead. He narrows his eyes at Matsukawa’s attempt of a poker face. “Never call me that again.”

~or~

matsuhana feels and cuddles

Time and Distance, by kiyala

Matsukawa is attending university in Kyoto. Hanamaki comes to visit.

Kaleidoscope, by tookumade

Fall in love in five cities.

press play, by airblends

“Makki, you want in on our intro?” Oikawa gestures with his hand.

“Nah, I already promised Issei we’d do one for his channel. There are only so many intros a man can film in a day.”

“Issei, huh?” Oikawa’s lips settle into a knowing smirk. Iwaizumi coughs into his fist, gently prying the camera from Oikawa’s hands to turn it off.

Hanamaki’s face burns up, his cheeks a fiery red. “We’re just friends,” he says, the phrase rolling off his tongue by sheer reflex. He has lost count of how many times he’s typed it into the comment section beneath his videos. At this point he might just start to believe it himself.

New Ground, by kiyala

About new cities and new relationships.

Trusting Things Beyond Mistake, by twinkrevali

"‘I–’ Hanamaki starts, then stops, turning to face the lake and frowning as the words fail to reach him.

Matsukawa pushes himself up to look at Hanamaki properly, hands resting in his lap.

‘You,’ he prompts, and Hanamaki looks at him, eyes shining.

This must be, he thinks, what they call a moment of clarity."

Would You Rather, by jadedpearl

“Y’know,” Hanamaki says, stretching his arms above his head, “I don’t even get why Oikawa is the popular one. If this was an anime, I’d be the main character.”

The setting sun burns his edges gold, alights the sharp planes of his face. Matsukawa looks away, faces forward, towards the houses that wind out of sight.

“What makes you say that?” he replies easily, because things have always been just that, with Hanamaki.

too scared to say (that i want you), by urieskooki

"How could he not hate me if he knew?"

Falling in love with your best friend sucks.

one-way ticket, by noyabeans

post-chapter 258.

in an alternate universe, they would be the ones on that screen, feet solidly planted on the smooth ground of the tokyo gym and the smell of air salonpas around them.

take my hand, take my whole life, too, by earlgrey_milktea

matsukawa and hanamaki, a few years down the road, and years to go, together.

all our stolen moments (i’d spend forever with you), by earlgrey_milktea

quiet moments between matsukawa and hanamaki.

it's all worth it, in the end.

Switched Jerseys, by chromyrose

After practice on an afternoon shortly before the Spring High tournament begins, they’re the last two people changing in the club room. The weather is starting to turn for the colder, and Hanamaki sighs when the cool air touches his heated skin after he takes his jersey off. He feels a warm hand on his back, and looks over his shoulder...

oh we’re fading fast / i miss missing you now and then, by earlgrey_milktea

It’s strange, missing someone. You find them in every thing you do, and you think you want them back, but you don’t. Not really. Not now, not like this.

issei and the quiet that hanamaki left behind.

i thought i could tame these memories to keep me company like a housecat, by earlgrey_milktea

So he stayed here, in a house that hasn’t been a home in a long time, with a cat that keeps looking out the window as if waiting for someone that isn’t coming home.

takahiro and the empty house and lonely cat that issei left behind.

those days are dead and gone (but we’re still here), by kythen

They're graduating today and Hanamaki doesn't want to get out of bed.

stranger things, by tinypersonhotel

In 2012, the men’s national volleyball team took home the bronze at the Asian Cup. Tokyo Skytree opened to the public. Also, the dashing Hanamaki Takahiro and painfully cool Matsukawa Issei started a radio show out of Aoba Johsai’s abandoned A/V room and accidentally became the two most popular guys in school.

Daily Password: [ ], by tookumade

“Neko Atsume?” Hanamaki says sleepily when he recognises the song coming from his phone. He opens his eyes with a mystified smile. “You’re still playing?”

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 1 - music)

tell them i love you, by tookumade

“Are you two serious about it, though?” Oikawa says dubiously after training when they’re leaving the clubroom together. “Could you seriously tell each other ‘I love you’?”

“Of course we’re serious!” protests Matsukawa at the same time Hanamaki says, “Of course we can!”

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 3 - romantic gesture)

like a river, by astersandstuffs

“Is that a confession? Are you actually confessing to me right now?”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Or, they still have a lot to learn (and maybe that's the thing about being together).

Baby(sitting), Maybe, by tookumade

“One day,” says Hanamaki, “we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

“Mm-hm,” Matsukawa hums.

“It’ll be a cute little story. We’ll tell our friends, and they’ll laugh along with us. They might even be sympathetic.”

“Mmmm…”

“You’re absolutely right, sympathetic is reaching way too far.”

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 6 - children, bonds)

Matsuhana Week 2017, by h_lovely

Day 1: music//relationship goals Day 2: competition//petty Day 3: romantic gesture//fairy tale Day 4: in danger//leaving home Day 5: food//science Day 6: children//bonds Day 7: on video//surprises

A God for Every Season, by timkons

Mortals have all kinds of foolish tales, like how Hades and Persephone's annual reunion causes the seasons. Matsukawa knows better.

Habenaria Radiata, by tookumade

Hanamaki turns onto his side so that they’re facing each other, and his smile is warm; Matsukawa feels his heart skip a beat, as it always does whenever this happens, and he wonders when he’ll ever get used to it, when it’ll become normal enough that he doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach every time Hanamaki smiles at him.

(Probably never, if he’s being honest with himself. He is content with this.)

take my heart and put it in your pocket, by Frenchibi

Issei blinks. “I ain’t drinkin’ any of your froofy Christmas Latte thingies.” “Orange Caramel Mocha.” “What?” “Vanilla Chai Latte.” “Ew.” “Cinnamon Hot Chocolate.” Issei rolls his eyes, resigned. “Fine. That doesn’t sound too awful.”

Remind Me, by tookumade

For Hanamaki and Matsukawa, their first meeting consists of a small accident, a terrible first impression, and the start of something new—maybe something better.

(In which they learn to keep trying, and to try again.)

like twinkling lights and the warmth of your hand, by earlgrey_milktea

mattsun and makki go on an impromptu date.

in a daze, by wyverning

The sound of a camera shutter goes off, and Issei lazily cracks open an eye to see Hanamaki grinning down at him, phone held loosely in one hand.

“That was the best Kunimi impression I’ve ever seen,” he says by way of explanation.

Clueless, by Elleh

If anyone had asked Issei how he’d thought his night would end, he’d have never said: catching my best friend moaning my name while fucking himself.

There’s an odd second, between Issei entering their room and sliding the door of the bedroom open, in which Issei is still oblivious. Skin prickling, a sudden dryness in his mouth, but oblivious. He’s taking his shoes off when the first moan catches him.

He stills right on the spot, a shoe hanging from his finger, the other hand half-way to opening the bedroom. Issei swallows, images of Hanamaki with a girl from the hotel, that’s why he didn’t want to come with us drink, the bitter taste that realisation leaves behind. Issei shouldn’t care Hanamaki’s having sex with someone, but the sourness turns into rage—and maybe disappointment. He’s gonna have a serious conversation about boundaries and, you know, could you let me know in advance, so I find—

“Issei… Mmmh, fuck.”

IOU, by Karasuno Volleygays

Matsukawa Issei goes in for a tattoo and ends up with an interesting new friend in Hanamaki Takahiro. Soon his visits to his tattoo artist's studio in the back of a restaurant become a highlight of his days, and that's before feelings start to wriggle their way into the picture.

take a screenshot, it’ll last longer, by h_lovely

It’s all fun and games until someone pops a boner in a staff meeting.

lapsus linguae, by astersandstuffs

“I’m literally your best friend,” Matsukawa says.

Takahiro pauses. “Shit. You’re right.”

Reflex, by hiuythn

Nobody likes to talk about how Hanamaki and Matsukawa met, which is a shame, because they both think it's the funniest fucking thing to ever happen to either of them.

my way home, by tookumade

Matsukawa has been sitting at their freshly-placed dining table and staring at his copy of their new apartment keys for at least an hour.

(Hanamaki checks his watch. Okay, five minutes; same thing.)

first light, by tookumade

Iwaizumi and Oikawa immediately break out into booing and gagging noises, because as much as they both think themselves mature and reasonable people, they are honestly idiots. Matsukawa just grins and takes a sip of his own beer, pleased, but Hanamaki is frozen, eyes wide and a blush creeping across his face in a way that had nothing to do with the beer.

Tactical Retreat, by Karasuno Volleygays

After years of getting their asses handed to them by the seemingly psychic Iwaoi bond, Issei and Takahiro opt to spend the rest of their paintballing trip engaged in other activities.

Mirror Flower, Water Moon, by h_lovely

Matsukawa’s gaze lingers on Hanamaki. He’s talking about something, ranting on and Matsukawa isn’t sure about what at this point. He should be listening really, how rude of him. But spring has just sprung and the little pink petals dotting the sidewalk match so pleasantly with the strawberry shade of Hanamaki’s short-clipped hair.

(Or, a study on timing and how to get it right.)

quidditch gloves, parchment, and custard cream, by h_lovely

After class, Matsukawa finds Hanamaki in the tall cushy grass by the lake.

#haikyuu!!#fic recs #matsuhana #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #otp: swapped jerseys #please warn me if any links are broken #and reblog it if you can so more people will see it

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misirosekisiro · 4 years ago

Text

Cop and Drug Dealer

You’re stop for pant, it’s so long since you do this long run. But just this time, it about you will be jailed or not. You know well about its risk, since first time you step on drug dealer’s track. Can’t be help it just good money. You looking around to check that you already escape from the cops that chase you. Yes, it seem you save now… but for how long.

“Damn…” you can just curse yourself, Even you always keep yourself below radar, but you know as long as you keep going it one day you will expose. But you will never believe it your friend who sell you to cops.

It’s quite routine job, you grab coke, go to his room. Give him and grab your money. But when the door opened, you can feel it not right. Thank you for your instinct. It may show on your friend’s face or else. You can’t really tell, but you just thrown your bag on his then just run.

You can heard the sound of door slam open behind you, and the word that you never want to hear.

“Freeze!”

But what on earth they think you will do that, you just run as fast as you can. When you’re looking over your shoulder backward, 3 cops were chasing. How it not fair!, you can just grin in your head. And just keep run as fast as possible.

Thank for your memory and your providence, you already check around when you come to this place before. So you know well where to run, where to hide. Not for long before you jump in to the crowd of people in the market. You know that it’s just slow your hunter, but that already good for you. Take some turn on small ally, you found yourself on the wood next to the market. With brush and tree, you can hide form cops more easily. You’re run a bit deeper then just hide in thick brush, pant on tired. You think to yourself that you may need to do more exercise if you can escape this.

You wait like 30 mins but you not any cops on your trials, they may just lost you, that would be best. Then you start to move, think about how you leave this province. It’s not safe to stay here anymore. And you sure can’t go back to your home, since there must be have cops waiting. At least you got some money with you. You start moving, When you almost to hit the road. Then you notice the cops’s pickup was drive around, with some cops on the truck. They try looking for you. Damn they’re not yet retired. So you step back inside. May you found another road to bus station or so. It’s just matter of time that those cops will start to search this wood, it’s just small one so when they got more people, you sure can’t hide here.

So you just move, deep in. it quite walk but not for long you found one house, it was alone, far form anything. You can see “For rent” sign over it fence, and it look empty.

You also not sure it good idea or not, but think it better than stay on open place. So you just break in, the house was empty, but it got some place to hide if the cops decide to check . So you open a empty wall dresser on the 2nd floor and just hide in there.

You just sit there in the dark, try to listen any suspect sound. But not for long before you end up nap with tired.

You’re wake with engine sound, you can notice that it come near to this house. The cops!? You can’t really sure. You can heard the fence’s gate open and engine just stop in a while. Then follow with the car door open, close. A footstep, then follow with house door open, close sound. Shit this bad, but you not dare to go out and make any noise. Since that will drag more attention. You put your hand over your mouth and nose, like it can silent your breath. You pray that they just come roughly check then go. But look like your pray was not heard. You can hear the footstep just come up to 2nd floor, it loud and closer. Then you can hear some word.

“Gezz, how dirty this place, it really can’t be help. I guess I need to fix it later. Damn, even it so cheap but I really think it so deep and aways form anything like this…. Sigh…”

You can heard the foot step just walk to your hiding place, so you kneel up silently and circle your fist, and prepared.

When the dresser is open, you just punch out to the shadow that you sure it someone face, as hard as you can. By some luck you hit on the man’s chin and with surprise attack, he’s fall back to and knock his head on the floor.

When you step out and try to do another attack, you found that man just knock out cold. Then you relax yourself. Now you notice it start to get dark outside. It may good time to move. Then… you looking to unconscious man, he just in the t-shirt with jean, and sneaker. On his one hand hold a boots, another one hold a big bag. No wonder he have no chance to fight since you surprise him and he not even have a chance to drop his belong. Then you see the man in detail, Yes he very same size and shape to you, that mean his bag must have some clothes that fit for you. It will good if you just change to his cloth before leave this place. But before that you must tied and gaged this man first just in case he recovered.

So you open his bag, to find some clothes to use as robe and gage, but you must cry on wonder, inside it was a cops uniform, yes together with other cloth you found cops uniform inside, you bring it out and place aside. You found everything in that bag, sock, cops t-shirt, belt. And you found a folder of document inside. It’s a document of this cops to assigned him to police station here.

Then you understand it, this man, a cops. He just shift from another province to station here. And he rent this house, That why he here with private clothes. You go to search the men’s jean pocket. And you found his wallet, it got his id, and police id. Then you found yourself on wonder, again. The picture on that id is very similar to you. Just if you shave your bread and cut your hair.

So you just think how gold opportunity, you bring some cloth and bind the cops, gaged him leave him laid helpless. Then you start to strip yourself, everything to naked, and thrown your belong inside dresser. Then you bring the cops’s bikini form his bag, you put it on your face and inhale deeply. It so nice smell, you can feel a man scent form it, can’t help but you cock start to hard on it. But it not time for fun, you tell yourself. Then you put your leg on his bikini, it’s spandex one and you feel so nice on it. Then follow with his pant, you know he and you was about same size, but you still abit larger than him. So his pant just a bit too fit on you. But when you look at the mirror behind dresser’s door. You think it just make you more sexy, then follow with his t-shirt and uniform. Same to the pant it a bit too fit but look perfectly on you. Then you grab the sock, bring to to smell, it may washed but you still can smell sweat form them. Your cock is just hard until you can see it under your fit pant. You put that sock on you. And follow with boots. In full dressed you stand in front of the mirror. And it can’t be help that you just excitement with what you see. If not count your bread and hair style. You look so nice on this uniform.

So you decide to just do it, you grab a razor form the cop’s bag, then head to restroom. You start to shave yourself. You just keep the bread for make you older, make you look tougher, and hide your face. In this line, you need to keep tough else you will get beat.

After you remove your bread, you look yourself on the mirror, wow look at that. You see a young cop just stare on you. You look well match to cops uniform. You start to regret if you need to leave it after you can escape.

Before you can use more time, watching how smart of yourself. You can hear another car sound heading. You run to the window and peak out, Damn it cops pickup! You start to panic, you run to dresser, thrown all your belong inside, pick up cop’s cap form cop’s bag and put it on, to hide your hair. You pick up the folder, Then thrown his bag inside before close. Then you just hear a door knocking.

You try to clam yourself. And walk down, tell yourself to act as cop. You’re head to the door, open it. 2 cops stand there, they look surprise to see another cop.

“O.Oh. Good eveing”

“H.Hello, good eveing.”

“I’m not familiar to you man, who are you?” the cop just ask you. Now it time for show, you swallow then say.

“I’m just here today, I was assigned to station here.”

“Oh, I heard form our boss also, so you’re the new one that he said, anyway can I see your document?”

“Sure, here you are.” I sent him a folder. He’s open it and read, open page by page, look at picture that attach on it and look on my face. After a bit while he sent it back to me and smile.

“Welcome to our station, pal!” then he lift his hand up, and I grab it and shake.

“Thank you.”

“No worry you will found it is good to stay here, just too bad that no room in polices’ flat is vacant so you need to rent this house. Not misunderstood it, this house is good and quiet, but it just so far and deep. But as a cop you sure not worry about thief right?”

“Ya, I wonder any thief will try to break in cop’s house.” I’m crossed my finger behind, ya I’m also wonder..

“Anyways, the reasons that bring we here is not to greeting you, but we chase for drug dealer who runaways and he may hiding around. Are you notice any suspect?”

“No, I’m just here like 30 mins, and busy on move in so I not notice if anyone pass nearby. But I checked every rooms in this house, it’s clear.”

“Good, less one spot to check…. Anyways, since you already in your outfits, and we still need more man on searching. Do you mind to join us? Since you will report in tomorrow anyways so it just one day earlier on duty.”

Damn, I just want to runaway as fast as I can, but it may not good if I deny it so I just

“Sure, I can help you, may I just report in after. It will just one day earlier anyways.”

“Cool man!, let’s go we must try get this man before it’s too dark around. Else he sure can escape.”

So you just walk together with them, jump up the truck. And while the pickup run through the wood for just wasted operation. You start think about this. Since no one really notice about you. It may not better than flee and hide all left of your life. But just take over this cop’s life. You also love to be on cop’s uniform anyways. So you can enjoy the bright side, and for the sleeping beauty on the dresser. It may good to have some slave to serve you. I may find some drug to feed him until he’s full addict it. Then he sure do anything you want. As long as you can keep yourself under radar, with cop’s life, you sure easy to cover it, you may even start new drug’s line again, if you really want to. Wow, you can feel your cock hard again for just imagine about it.

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dalimoor · 5 years ago

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So I went to the Pokémon Center

Yesterday me and my bestie @runeandmoon made the journey to the pop-up Pokémon Center in London. It was one heck of an emotional journey, but it was so worth it in the end. Because of how far away we live from London, and the horror stories about the queues, we had to set off at 5AM!

Blurry car selfie because I couldn’t hold the phone straight when we were moving, but hey. I don’t think we look bad for that time of the morning!

The time was 8:48 AM. We joined the queue, absolutely stunned that we’d got there before it had started snaking outside the shopping centre. But since the shop didn’t open till 12 PM, were in for a long wait.

Tragedy! Somewhere on the Tube, the Z-Crystal on my Mimikyu ita bag had got broken. How annoying! I had to bring my ita bag, though. I am the Mimikyu Superfan. I only really wanted the giant Mimikyu plush from the Pokémon Center. Would I get my prize? Only time would tell!

Queuing was boring, but we had some great conversations with cool people in the line in front of us. These two dudes were awesome people. Thanks for making the unbearable wait less unbearable, guys!

The girl and guy here were also pretty awesome. Especially when we started to edge forward ever so slightly and it got more and more busy. The queue was closed off at 11:31 AM, a full half hour before the shop even opened. I was glad we got in before that happened!

It was around here that some guy got caught queue-jumping and was thrown out by security. Wild. All in all, the security were all pretty cool, even though they were very keen to pack us in as tightly as possible. Every time the tiniest gap opened up in front, they’d hurry us forward. One guy was like ‘c’mon, move up. Don’t you want to get into the shop?’ Too soon.

The first appearance of Dapper Pikachu! I wasn’t near enough to get a proper photo. :(

There it is! The legends were true. The first glimpse of the Pokémon Center. It’s there, waaaaay in the back of the photo, You have to squint to see it, but it’s there!

youtube

Dapper Pikachu came out again. I still wasn’t in the right place to film or photograph him properly. But check out the guy desperate for a hug! As we were getting closer to the Pokémon Center itself, we needed all the joy we could get. The tweets were coming in thick and fast of everything that they were selling out of. London Pikachu crest pins sold out within the first 20 minutes of trade. Keeping my hopes up for my Mimikyu...

Playing Pogo kept me entertained for the majority of the queuing. During the wait, I got enough coins to buy the new Mimikyu backpack which I had to own.

@runeandmoon was playing Pogo to pass the time, too, and got this cutie for her trouble. Lucky!

The final furlong! 3:19 PM. Just shy of seven hours later, we’d made it.

We did it! We got inside! There was still a lot of stock, but the lion’s share of the exclusive stuff had already gone. No Londonchu hoodies, socks, plushies or pins. Shelves and shelves of Ludicolo, though. Who even wants Ludicolo? We did overhear a small boy being absolutely thrilled they had Alakazam plushies, though, which was really sweet. Every Pokémon must be someone’s fav.

But to my absolute dismay, there were no giant Mimikyu plushes left on the shelf. The only ones were already in other peoples’ baskets, waiting to be purchased. The staff said they had no more. I was devastated.

I’m smiling, but I’m about to cry here. It’s crazy, but I’d been up since 4:30 AM, queued for an ungodly amount of time and seeing other people with the one thing I wanted and couldn’t have was just too much.

But then. A miracle happened. Just as I was queuing to pay, a member of staff came out of a side door. They’d just had a delivery...

MY CHILD.

I absolutely bolted out of the till queue, elbowed past the people standing around the shelf that was being re-stocked and was like ‘I’M SORRY I NEED this’. I took one from the staff member and marched back to the till with my prize held high, shouting ‘WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER’ because I was so sleep-deprived and a little bit insane at this point. But look how happy I am!

The staff in the store were all really friendly and doing their absolute best to make people happy. When I initially asked about Mimikyu stock, the guy who said they had none seemed genuinely gutted I’d missed out on my chosen item. The lady who eventually served me on the till was particularly sweet and clearly loved her job. Everyone was clearly trying their best and I’m not sure how they could have done anything better with the way things have been set up. The people working there can’t control the stock deliveries or do much more to deal with the huge, huge demand. The only thing they could do is put a time limit on how long you’re allowed to browse in the store, but I suppose that would be hard to police.

The rest of my swag! Since a lot of the Dapper Pikachu stuff had sold out I had to get other things from what I initially wanted. I did want a crest pin for myself and a plush for a friend who had missed out on when he went, but neither were there. The only had one size left of these shirts, too. I hope it fits!

#TeamScorbunny.

How could I not? Scorbunny is super duper cute.

Was it worth it? Yes. It’s really weird how I don’t feel frustrated or upset about how long I queued. I did get a little bored, but not as much as I thought I would. I’m super happy I got my Mimikyu, so I guess that made it all worth it. Would do it again? Not this particular shop during the rest of its run, but a similar one in the future, sure. Because I’m apparently insane. I’d probably book a hotel the night before so I could go queue extra-extra early.

For anyone planning on going, I have some tips:

Get there as early as you can. The queue closes off well before the shop’s official closing time, often even before the shop opens. Unless you’re starting to queue at like 1 AM and you’re first in line, you’re generally looking at at least a six hour wait to get in. Basically, if you can’t get there early to mid-morning, don’t even bother.

Go with a friend. Company makes the wait so much better. Also, chat with the people in the queue around you. They’re stuck in the same situation, they’re Pokémon fans too and are probably cool people with interesting stories.

If you need the toilet, there ones near the queuing area. If you let security know, you’re able to leave the line to use the facilities. It’s even easier if you have the aforementioned friend to more easily keep your spot in line.

Bring snacks and drinks. It’s a long wait. You can slip out of the line to buy things, but the less you have to leave the line, the better. If it moves forward when you’re not in it, it’s easy to lose track of where you were.

Bring something to keep you entertained. Games console, phone, book, whatever. Again, it’s a long wait.

Watch the Twitter feed for the shop - they give a running update on stock levels, whether the queue is still open, etc.

And that was my crazy PokéCen adventure! Now I’m going to sleep for the next 3000 years.

#pokemon #pokemon center london #london pokemon center #mimikyu #pokemon mimikyu #dapper pikachu #london pikachu #scorbunny #pokemon scorbunny #hangingwithkayru #i love my mimikyu plush #it made everything worth it

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jafndaegur · 5 years ago

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The Cowboy

A continuation of the Sneak Peek Chapters for @mrs-han‘s Christmas present: IRtL. uwu

Darkest | x

minor trigger warning: some racial slurring? racist name calling

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Smoke Bay, Port of Los Angeles, 1873

Underneath the shade of the gat, Jumin messed with the short fringes of his hair. The choppy brief length did not suit him. He gave a slight tug to the ends, hoping he could somehow make them longer. After more than a month at sea, he would have thought the cut to settle into at least tolerance. But in Jumin’s eyes, it was only a sign of their plight form their homeland – away from his retainers, from Jihyun, from his father. If nothing, the whole entire journey on dark tumultuous waves and sometimes unforgiving waters made the rage in his stomach dwell on the fact that he had been forced against his will.

The prince could not remember the last time he had held a full conversation between him and Hyun...or with anyone for that matter.

He stared out at the waves, watching glittering rays bounce off the surface like flickers of lighting. Near translucent at the at the top, and bluer as the depths folded in on themselves, Jumin certainly admired the ocean and its self-provided liberty despite the many days on end of seeing it. The rocking lull of its enormity helped him reel in his thoughts, train his breathing; the threads loosened to the beat of the sea. Footsteps creaked along the wooden deck floor, and the soldier sidled up next to him. For a while, Jumin kept his sights on the horizon where the blue met cerulean. Somewhere in the direction behind them, along the pale foam wake of the boat, laid the corpses of everyone he knew and cared for. There was nothing but cadaverous forms behind them – they had formed the bridge for his escape. He should have never left the library that day. If only he had escaped through the back room.

“There’s a dark line up ahead, on the horizon,” Hyun said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The navigators say it’s port.”

Jumin clenched his jaw.

“I hope your English’s well practiced, my prince,” the soldier egged on. “All of us are depending on you.”

“Do you take delight in provoking me?” He finally growled out.

“Not in particular – although it certainly is a perk.”

“Don’t forget your place, soldier.”

“Currently we don’t have a place.” Hyun’s fingers drummed on the pommel of his saber. “I hope you don’t forget that.”

Jumin relinquished and shook his head with a conceded sigh.

Hyun leaned up against the side rail of the boat. “I know, my prince, that this isn’t ideal, but I hope…well I hope we can make the best of the situation.”

“What’s to say whatever waiting here for us is any better?” Jumin raked his fingers through his loose strands of hair. “Back when the explorers visited, they spoke of civil unrest – just like within our own home. Who’s to say that this is better.”

“Optimistic as ever, highness.”

“I’m practical.”

“Practically a morale dead-weight,” Hyun huffed before gesturing to the deck. “The crew have been looking forward to landfall for as much as you’ve been dreading it. They went through hell to get you here, my prince. Could you not smile and alleviate their anxiety about this by bending your words a bit?”

“And give them false hope? I think not. That would only make things more difficult should we land and meet any obstacles.” Jumin lifted his brow. “At this point, optimism would be a distraction until we have garnered more information.”

Hyun growled and pushed himself away, his expression plainly descriptive of his distaste for the conversation. With a sharp throw of his rattail over his shoulder, the soldier stomped away to help prepare for docking. The closer they sailed to the mouth of the bay the more ships began to litter the water. Small wooden ones for fishing, larger hulking ones for cargo, and the ludicrously huge ones built entirely of metal that spat smoke and chugged through the waves like sea monsters.

Jumin felt his stomach pitch. He needed to turn their ship around. As he thought about giving the order, however, he paused and fisted his hands in the drab material of his dopo. They had traveled so far. The seas had not been kind to them. Staring out at the growing swell of land and past the jaw of the bay they’d been swallowed into – the prince knew he would not be turning back. Hyun had been right about one thing; his crew had worked tirelessly. Without relent. They scurried around like ants to make sure their impossible journey in their small ship barely fit for deep sea scooted along thousands of miles. In his heart of hearts, Jumin faced the bustling and unfamiliar land without fear. He just did not want to. Moving past the crew and down to his cabin, he folded his gangsapo – which he had laid out on his bed earlier – the only heavy coat he’d been able to bring and stowed it away in his traveling satchel. He drew on his gat and wondered if he should pack another pair of socks. Whatever they had left on the ship after embarking to find the Cowboy, more than likely he would never be able to see it again. He had packed a warm blanket, his coat, and a gilded pen gifted from his father. He was practical, he knew extra weight would only slow down their already extensive journey to Denver City. Inhaling deeply, he walked back up to the deck only to find a thins schooner pulling up beside them. A few men from that ship tossed ropes across so they could hop down from their ship to his. The crew had paused, and Hyun had slipped away since the earlier argument. That was probably a good thing.

One of the men had a thick curled mustache that he twirled between his fingers. “Which one of ya yellow skins is the leader? Lea-der.”

Jumin stepped forward without hesitation. He stared down at the man, already a few good measurements taller. He gave no sign of intimidation to the intruder.

“I guess that’d be you.” The man glanced up and down. “You’re sure pale for a yellow fella. Can you understand me?”

“Quite.” Jumin’s nose scrunched at the harsh smell of tobacco.

“You all look too posh for the rail way works. You got your docs?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ya gave quite a few fishermen a scare on your entry. People ‘round here ain’t overly fond of…foreign things.”

“Docs?” The prince was regretfully was not familiar with this phrase. “Yes, we would just like safe passage to the docks. We are here to meet a correspondent.”

“Correspondent?” The man snorted before grabbing Jumin’s forearm. “Sounds fishy. You part of the opium trade from the Western Passage?”

Jumin set his jaw and realized they had approached a problem he had not prepared for. Opium? Ha!

“Well?” the man demanded, watching as the prince’s crew inched towards them with a dangerous growing aura.

“Hyun, find our informant! Wherever they will take us, surely he will be able to find and help us. Men, back off.” Jumin’s gaze flickered calculatingly as he returned to English. “My name is Jumin, prince of the Joseon province. We have traveled far and would like to meet with our American correspondent to clear things up.”

“Well boys,” the man called out to his own crew with a gleefully maniac expression. “Looks like we got ourselves a yellow prince of the poppy trade.”

A nerve twinged at the corner of the prince’s mouth. “Round ‘em up. We’ll take ‘em back to holding to figure out what they’re doing here.”

Jumin was grateful that his crew gave up feigned outraged prattle so that it masked the faint splash into the bay.

– 0 –

Dragging himself up onto the beach, Hyun gasped for air. His clothes were sopping while the hems were laden with sand. The saber at his hip clattered and dragged. But he forced himself up to his feet and took off toward the town. Without his prince’s learned vocabular of English, he was limited to if he could find the Cowboy. He ducked in and out of alleys, between buildings. Afterall, how many cowboys could there possibly be? He himself wasn’t even sure of what a cowboy was. That annoyed him. His eyes scanned the long dusty road that gradually became cobblestone the future into the city. Surely this Leq or whoever was waiting closer to the wharf. The soldier didn’t know just how long ago the last bit of communications had been relayed between Lord Jihyun and he, but hopefully the American had to be waiting nearby. He had to be expecting them. Watching a carriage hobble by, Hyun shook out his sleeves and slunk out into the open. He kept his chin tucked down and eyes trained on the ground, his gat casting a shadow onto his face. He didn’t want to draw attention.

His eyes wandered off a bit when he noticed a pair of boots stuck out from the side of the road. Following the offensive feet, much to his disgust, he realized that passed out underneath a fencing post – that horses were presently tied to – a man laid underneath it, utterly drunk sleeping.

A stained, dark Cowboy hat covered and muffled his snores, but Hyun faintly wondered what sort of idiot would expose himself like this. Honestly. Some people truly held little dignity. Scoffing and shuffling out of the way, Hyun felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw one of the horses tied to the post. Once would have thought it tacked with a normal blanket and saddle, but upon closer inspection, Hyun realized that the grey cloth and purple details were familiar for a reason. It was a gangsapo from his prince’s family. Being used as a saddle blanket. Staring at the man blacked out the ground, the soldier cringed. Surely his luck couldn’t be that misfortunate.

Please don’t let that be our idiot, he begged before kicking the man’s leg. “Hey, get up.”

The man growled something out and lifted his hat off his face, a bright flash of golden eyes peeking from narrowed long lashes.

Hyun tugged at the gangsapo. “Is this yours?”

The man said nothing but at least sat up.

“Cowboy?” Hyun tried, the words feeling awkward in his mouth. “Leq?”

The man glanced at him fully before recognition shot across his expression. He stood up quickly, rocking on his feet as he swayed unevenly. Long black hair, tanned skin, so far this man looked nothing like the others from earlier.

“Prince?” He coughed out in absolutely terrible Korean.

“Taken.” Hyun pointed back to the beach.

“Taken…” The Cowboy repeated the word over and over again, gazing groggily out in the direction the soldier had pointed toward. Genuine confusion laced his brow and he scratched at the beard. His glance darkened and he untied from the post the horse with the robe-blanket. The Cowboy easily swung up into the saddle and snapped at the reins, shouting something over his shoulder as he galloped off toward the wharf.

Hyun really tried to think of a good reason not to walk all the way back to the beachfront.

#mysme jumin han #tw: racial slurs #mysme #jumin han #mystic messenger #gift fanfic #jumin x oc

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danfanciesphil · 6 years ago

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too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

Chapter Six

For a moment, no words will come. The blood in Dan’s wrist pulses in odd, shifting patterns beneath the skin. He swallows, caught on the edge of a gelid blue stare. “I… can’t.”

“You can’t ski?” Phil asks, his sneer an anchor that yanks Dan back down from the astral plane into which Phil’s touch had propelled him.

“Of course I can ski,” he retorts, bristling. He chooses not to mention that he hasn’t skied since he was fourteen, when his family went to Chamonix for a week, and his mum and dad complained the entire time that it was too cold. At a ski lodge. “But I have to… y’know, work. Hotel stuff.”

Mesmerised by the slight twitch of the corner of Phil’s mouth, which still doesn’t quite count as a smile, Dan’s hostile stance falters, then wanes. Like it’s a perfume wafting from Phil’s skin through the air between them, in the next second Dan smells the imminence of his own surrender.

“Come on,” Phil says, his voice quiet, like it’s just for Dan. It doesn’t seem to matter that nobody else could have heard him anyway. “What else are you gonna do all day? Cook lunch for the hotel ghosts? Sit at reception and pretend you’re not playing on your phone?”

A spurt of blood shoots into Dan’s cheeks; he’d thought he was so stealthy, hiding his phone under the desk as he attempted to load a single meme at a time on Tumblr mobile, using tenuous 3G.

“I- I don’t have any skis,” Dan says lamely.

“Lucky for you that my old ones were repaired by the elusive hotel elf, then,” Phil quips, already stepping away. “I’ll meet you by the front door, shall I?”

He’s gone before Dan can muster up a further refusal. He stands gormless in the middle of the kitchen, gazing around at the pristine surfaces. If only he’d resisted the urge to clean everything already, then he could at least have the excuse of needing to scrub the day away. Perhaps he could quickly throw open all the cupboard doors, ransack the fridge and hurl ingredients and coffee everywhere, feigning a wolf had snuck in somehow, or a snow leopard.

An image flashes into Dan’s mind, of Mona’s deepening frown as Phil explained to her that not only did Dan let some wild animal break in and contaminate the kitchen, but that he also refused to grant the one request of the only guest. He shudders, closing the door on that image before it can develop. Mona is already far too close to a stark realisation of Dan’s utter hopelessness; despite the words of any fortune-telling crows, a voice lingers at the back of Dan’s mind, assuring him that it’s only a matter of time before he slips up and disappoints everyone. His only hope is to stall that inevitability for as long as possible.

Plus Phil is, annoyingly, right. There is nothing else for Dan to do today; he and Mona did a deep clean of the whole hotel before she left, and the place is spotless. With no guests to look after, and a low chance of anyone phoning given that the Swiss news helpfully predicted a terrifying blizzard, Dan really is at a loose end.

It takes about two minutes of dithering in the kitchen before he has to admit defeat. Dan lets out a dreaded sigh, pushing all the air from his lungs, and then goes to wash up the two mugs he’s still holding. As he’s scrubbing the coffee stains, he decides that caffeine is the only acceptable (or available) drug he can utilise to get through whatever lies in store, so he places the mugs on the drying rack, and rinses out a thermos flask he finds, along with Louise’s percolator. He makes the coffee very strong, pours it into the flask, then thinks for a moment, and adds a dollop of soya milk.

As soon as he opens his chest of drawers, Dan is struck once again by how ill-prepared he is for a sudden, impulsive foray into the snowy wilderness. As he lacks proper ‘ski-wear’ - whatever that might be - Dan Instead chooses to go for layers. A clingy t-shirt that barely fit him when he was sixteen, then a baggier, long-sleeved t-shirt. He covers these with a shapeless grey jumper, then a black jacket, and then, finally his warmest coat. He adds thick socks, a hat, boots, sunglasses, gloves and a scarf. By the time he feels he’s ready, his arms stick out stiffly from his sides, but he figures that a little loss of movement is a fair price to pay for not getting frostbite.

He slots the flask into one of the deep pockets of his coat, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do. Or with whom. He deliberately takes his time getting down to the lobby in order to prolong the inevitable, and also because he likes the idea of the Fresh Prince of the Alps having to wait for him. Phil lowers his phone as Dan approaches, pushing off from where he’s leant against the wall. It takes a moment for him to drink in the sight of Dan, and then his eyebrows shoot up, and he seems to swallow something suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Err, think you’ll be warm enough?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “I didn’t exactly pack for extreme sports.”

Phil just makes a ‘hmm’ noise, turning to the collection of skis and poles leaning against the wall. “Not sure cross-country skiing could be classed as an extreme sport, but you do y- er, suit yourself.”

If Dan tries to reply, he’ll probably swear, so he clamps his mouth shut, and sticks an arm out to grab for the the red skis. Phil snatches them up first.

“I’ll wear these,” he says. “You take the new ones.”

He doesn’t look at Dan, just pushes the shiny new skis into his hands. Bewildered, Dan stares at his warped reflection in the electric blue varnish.

“What? Why?”

It takes a minute for Phil to respond; he’s tugging at the repaired bracket on the red ski, seemingly to test its durability. This alone is enough to make Dan want to slap it out of his hands. Then, he turns to Dan, that vague almost-smile still tucked beneath his smug expression.

“Haven’t tested the new ones out yet,” he says with a shrug. “Reckon it’d be better for my caddy to fall on his face than me, right?”

Dan splutters, outraged. “Caddy?”

“Grab those ski poles for us, would you?” Phil asks, a spritz of amusement perfuming his words.

Dan might be intrigued by the lightness of his tone if it weren’t for the fact he were quietly steaming inside his many layers. The heating in this place does not fuck about. Worried he’ll boil alive unless they get outside soon, Dan chooses to just do as he’s asked. If Phil insists on calling him a caddy again, at least Dan will have four long weapons to wield. Dan gathers the four poles up in his arms as best he can, along with his own skis; on the verge of dropping everything, he opts for speed, and scurries after Phil out of the front door.

“If you expect me to haul all of this up some peak or other-”

Dan can’t see, as he’s got a number of pointed objects obscuring his view, so he doesn’t realise that Phil has stopped directly in front of him, a few paces beyond the door. Dan bumps straight into him, and instantly everything he’s holding drops to the ground. When he looks up, Phil is aiming an exasperated gaze down at the pile of poles and skis, as if he’s already regretting inviting Dan along.

“No, I don’t expect you to actually be my pack mule. We’re going to wear our skis,” Phil explains slowly, like he’s talking to a child.

He’s already got his skis laid neatly out in front of him - two bright red parallel lines striking through the snow. As Dan watches confusedly, Phil pushes the tip of his right boot into one of the skis. Dan’s stomach squeezes with discomfort; he’d been correct before, when repairing the skis. The fastenings are not the same as he’s used to.

“Erm,” Dan says, moving his attention to one of his own skis, laying at an angle in the snow. It has the same unfamiliar fastening, much to his dismay.

Mind racing to figure out every option available to him that doesn’t involve swallowing his pride and asking Phil for help, Dan moves to inspect the contraption. As if he’s sensed Dan’s incompetence, Phil drops into a crouch anyway, and reaches for Dan’s boot. Instinctively, Dan jerks his foot away. Phil lifts his head to look at Dan. Viewing him from this angle is strange. From this perspective, he seems hunched, small, insignificant. He has none of his Lordly airs about him, hunched down in the snow near Dan’s feet. Phil doesn’t say anything, he just waits, hand calmly outstretched towards Dan’s boot. Wordlessly, Dan moves his foot back into Phil’s reach, and watches as Phil carefully rights the ski, then pulls his foot towards it. He fits the toe of Dan’s boot into the unusual strap.

“They’re telemark skis,” Phil says, tightening the strap around the ball of Dan’s foot. “I’m guessing you’re more used to Alpine skis? They’re the ones with the strap at the back as well.”

Dan bristles again at the condescending tone. “I’m familiar with both,” he says, because he’s a stubborn moron. Phil says nothing, but that near-smile returns as he reaches for Dan’s other foot; Dan wobbles slightly as Phil guides it into the left ski. “But, uh, it’s been a while. So... remind me again of the difference between, er, telemark and…”

“Alpine,” Phil supplies, standing up. He holds Dan’s gaze for a moment, and then laughs, short and quiet, but just enough for Dan to catch a glimpse of two rows of pearl-white teeth, with a flash of pink tongue caught between them. It’s the most Dan’s seen him smile yet, though he’s obviously laughing at Dan which isn’t ideal. “Telemark skis are designed so that you can wear them for both hiking and skiing. You can move your ankle in them, see?”

He demonstrates, twisting his un-strapped heel to and fro. Dan tries to do the same, and almost falls over. “Why do we need to use our ankles, exactly?”

Dan doesn’t remember skiing requiring a lot of joint movement. From what he can recall of his brief experience as a teenager, he strapped the skis on, let the lift drag him up a big hill, and gravity did a lot of the work getting him to the bottom again.

Phil is full-on smirking now. Dan thinks he preferred the non-smile. “You may have noticed that we don’t have chairlifts up here. We’ll be hiking to the slopes on foot. I’ve put skins on the bottom of these to give us more grip, but we can take them off when we get there.”

Dan tries not let the alarm show on his face. They’re going to be walking up hills? In skis? “And... I suppose once we ski down the slope we’ll be having to...”

“Walk back up again? Yes. Unless you fancy setting up camp down there.”

An ill-timed image of the Brokeback Mountain tent attacks Dan so viciously it nearly knocks him sideways. “No! No, no. Walking back up. Cool. Good thing I’ve been practicing with those bloody hotel stairs, right?”

Dan forces a laugh, but this time Phil’s face remains unmoved. Clearly it’s only Dan’s unintentional idiocy that can procure a genuine smile from him then, right.

Phil looks to the sky briefly, seeming to assess something in the heavens themselves, and asks, “ready to go, then?”

He doesn’t wait for Dan’s reply. He picks up his ski poles, then turns and begins sort of slide-walking away from the hotel, in seemingly no particular direction. There’s a large thicket of trees ahead of him, but then there are thickets of trees in a few other directions too. Nevertheless, Dan has no choice but to trust this man’s sense of direction, so attempts to move after him; to his horror, his legs immediately split apart in a move he is certainly not flexible enough to achieve. He manages to stab his ski poles into the earth and rectify himself before pulling anything, but in doing so he flails, and almost falls. Luckily, he’s gotten back into a reasonably dignified standing position by the time Phil turns to him, wondering what the hold up is.

“Sorry,” Dan says, making a valiant attempt to copy Phil’s movements exactly as he inches forwards again. It works, sort of, though he doesn’t do it anywhere near as gracefully as Phil seems to be able to. When he gets to Phil, he shrugs, like he’s totally fine. “Just… admiring the view,” he explains. “Lead on.”

It takes over thirty gruelling minutes to cross the plains of the mountain in pursuit of a supposedly safe ski-area, but eventually they reach an abrupt dip, where the mountain begins its gradual slope downward. This close to the edge of the mountain, the view is breathtaking. Dan can’t focus on it, however, because his thighs ache, the moisture in his lungs has turned to ice and is freezing him from the inside out, and for the last twenty minutes, Phil Novokoric has been unhelpfully telling him everything he’s doing wrong with the stupid ‘telemark’ skis.

“Is this where we do some actual skiing then?” Dan asks crossly, jamming his poles into the snow.

He’s so glad to get to a point where he actually knows what he’s doing that he’s already shuffling up to the edge of the slope, more than ready to get this over with. He’s so keen, in fact, that he’s only just about saved from teetering over the edge and hurtling down in an enormous cartoon-style snowball, by a far more sensible Phil. He grabs Dan by the hood of his coat before he can topple to his untimely death.

“Careful!” he exclaims as he yanks Dan backwards. Yet again, the irritating warning is at least ten seconds too late. Dan has already been an idiot; unless Phil expects him to travel back in time to ten seconds ago, and take heed of Phil’s caution. Phil pulls him so sharply that Dan jolts backwards, skis slotting between Phil’s as his back crashes against his chest. His heart pounds incessantly. Or maybe that’s Phil’s heart. “Are you some kind of moron?” Phil asks, then pauses, like he’s actually waiting for an answer. “Just wait a minute, we’ve got to take our skins off. Then I’ll lead the way.”

“Remind me why I agreed to this,” Dan mutters, carefully sliding away from Phil whilst trying not to accidentally fall down the slope.

Sulkily, he stands to the side and watches as Phil removes one ski, and peels a thin black strip from the underside, then does the same to the other. Dan copies his action in silence, though he has no idea why on earth this is necessary. Phil monitors Dan wordlessly, but thankfully makes no judgemental comments.

“Ready?” he asks once Dan has his de-skinned skis back on.

Dan shoves the bunched up skins into his jacket pocket. No. “Yep.”

And then, with enviable ease, Phil pushes himself over the edge of the slope, and begins drifting downwards, swaying gracefully to and fro as he descends. Somewhat alarmed by how quickly that just happened, Dan swallows his nerves and shoots after him. It’s terrifying.

Dan hasn’t experienced this level of self-propelled velocity for years, let alone the searing chill that whips his cheeks, or the sensation of being at once in control of his own speed, and simultaneously ill-equipped to do so. He grips his ski poles tightly, attempting to copy Phil’s swooping motions up ahead, leaning left and right as much as he dares in order to slow his pace. The slope had not looked particularly steep from the top, but Dan should probably have been more concerned about the amount of debris on the path that he has to keep swerving to avoid. Annoyingly, Phil was completely right in insisting he went first, as otherwise Dan would have crashed several times into boulders and tree stumps and icy patches.

It can’t last particularly long, but it seems to Dan that he’s skiing, teeth gritted, eyes frozen open, for hours. Eventually however, the slope evens out, and flattens enough that they slow to a stop. Somewhere in the recesses of Dan’s brain, he scrounges up his knowledge of how to point the tips of his skis together to halt himself. Phil does some kind of impressive, sudden, 90 degree turning move, but he doesn’t outright laugh at Dan’s less stylish method, thankfully.

Dan is just about to collapse to the floor and weep, relieved he survived that and didn’t so much as fall over once, when Phil pulls off his sunglasses, and gives Dan the widest, most brilliant grin. His teeth are as white as the snow surrounding them. Seeing such animation on his usually sullen features is so unexpected that Dan swears his heart literally skips a beat, though that might be on account of all the adrenaline from plummeting down the side of a mountain. Dan removes his own sunglasses, somewhat shakily, and aims a tentative smile back at him.

“Not bad,” Phil says, eyes bright and crystalline in the light. “If you did some fitness training, you might be halfway decent.”

The smile wipes itself away again. “Thanks,” Dan mutters.

“What did you think?” Phil asks, elbow resting on one of his upright ski poles. He’s a tiny bit breathless, which gives his words a whisperish quality. In another setting that wasn’t as eerily silent, it might be difficult to hear him. “Fun, right?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Dan replies, heart still pounding at double his normal rate.

Phil chuckles. “This is probably the gentlest path I’ve found.”

“Found?”

“Yeah. I can’t be certain of course, but I doubt anyone else has ever skied up here.” He grins again, jarring and hypnotic. “I’m the Columbus of the Alps.”

This seems highly unlikely. Dan’s no expert in mountaineering, but surely other adventurers have come up and explored the mountain before now. Phil being the first one to ever scope out reasonably skiable pathways seems incredibly dangerous, and probably illegal.

“Are you, like, allowed?”

Phil shrugs, slipping his shades back on. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

It’s this offhanded, entitled flippancy that Dan detests about the rich. He chooses not to respond to such an irritating question, and instead asks, “so, what now?”

“Climb back up,” Phil says, already pulling his skins from his pocket. “Unless you wanna check out one of the trickier slopes?”

“No, thank you,” Dan says tightly.

Phil chuckles again. “Alright then, skins on, Howell.”

In hindsight, Dan should really have given more thought to the idea of climbing back up the hill they’d just skied down, in skis. To say it was difficult would have been generous. By the time they reach the top (it shouldn’t go unmentioned that Phil was much, much quicker than Dan at getting back up, and then shouted helpful suggestions of how he should turn his heels, or dig his skis in to the snow from the summit) Dan is so exhausted he never wants to lift another limb in his life, let alone slide down a hill just to climb it yet again. Phil is raring to go, of course, but Dan simply unfastens his skis and falls back onto his bum, unconcerned that the snow immediately begins seeping into the seat of his trousers, and gestures for the other man to go on without him.

“Suit yourself,” Phil says, snickering, and pushes over the edge.

From his position, Dan is able to watch as Phil airily glides down. It’s obvious, from this vantage point, that skiing gives Phil an air of freedom that he lacks in everyday life. His limbs are loosened of their usual tension, and even from a distance Dan can see that he is calm and happy. As Phil re-climbs the slope, Dan peels off the weird skins from the underside of his skis again and studies them for a bit, then stuffs them into his pocket, deciding they’re just flaps of fabric you could make in five seconds, probably sold in sports shops at an absurd cost. He then attempts to browse the internet on his phone, though given that they’re currently in the middle of absolutely nowhere, this does not go well. He quickly abandons any attempt to check his Facebook feed, and plays Crossy Road until a shadow washes over him. He looks up just as Phil slumps down beside him, panting.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” Phil says between breaths. “Usually I do this about twenty times, up and down. On the steeper slopes, too.”

Dan snorts. “Excuse me, but screw that. Nobody told me there’d be climbing involved. Give me a terrifying ski lift any day.”

“Anywhere there’s a ski lift there’s a hundred tourists crammed on, waiting to dawdle in front of you on the slope on the way down.”

Again, Dan doesn’t remember this being particularly true from his previous skiing experience. On the red and black runs, there were only a handful of other people to avoid. He can see nothing wrong with something being made safe by professionals. Deciding it’s probably wise to keep this thought to himself in order to keep the peace, Dan instead digs the flask of coffee out of his pocket, pulls both the plastic cups off the top, and hands one to Phil.

“So you’ve skied in a lot of places, then?” he asks.

Phil is looking down at the cup like Dan just pulled it out of his rear end. “Er… yeah. Quite a lot.”

Dan ignores the curious expression being aimed at him, and just focuses on pouring out the coffee. He’d remembered at the last minute to bring sugar for Phil, so he digs out the packets from his pocket, and presses them into Phil’s free hand along with a wooden stirrer.

“Cool,” Dan says. “Where abouts?”

For a moment, Phil says nothing. It’s as though he’s forgotten how to move, or speak. Dan just waits, the warmth of the coffee cup in his hands starting to spread through his gloved fingers, melting the stiffness. He sips his own coffee until Phil regains composure and pours the sugar in.

“Uh, lots of places. My family used to go every year at Christmas.” He stirs the coffee slowly, gazing out at the thick, snow-frosted trees lining the slope. “I’ve been to Andorra, Saalbach Chamonix…”

This peaks Dan’s attention. “Chamonix? I’ve been there.”

Phil’s eyes go round. “Oh my God… I knew I recognised you.”

Dan’s stomach drops. “W-what?” Surely this cannot be happening.

“The New Year’s Eve party…” he gushes, placing a hand on Dan’s shoulder. Fuck, fuck, fuck, abort, abort, abort. “There was karaoke... we were dragged on stage to sing a duet…”

For a split second, Dan’s mind is hurtling in circles as he tries to remember any such awful event, and then he notes the twitch of Phil’s mouth, the glimmer of obvious teasing lurking in his expression. Right as Dan’s about to grab a handful of snow and smash it into that obnoxious mocking face, Phil clutches his chest and belts out, “this is the start of something newww!”

Dan groans, eyes rolling so far backwards he can see the folds of his brain. “As if you’re making an actual High School Musical reference right now.”

“Hey, you’re the one that got it,” Phil points out, giggling softly.

“You’re so irritating,” Dan mutters, sipping more coffee.

The snow has officially soaked all the way through his trousers, and his bum has gone entirely numb from the cold. If he has to sit here and listen to Phil’s annoying, posh-boy teasing for a second longer, he’s going to ski directly into a nearby tree.

“Are you supposed to call your guests irritating?”

Dan fights a smile, hiding his mouth in his cup. “Depends how much they piss me off.”

This makes Phil laugh; a sound Dan is sure he will never grow used to. “At least I have a dry bum right now. Your idea of appropriate ski attire is as shocking as your technique.”

“You know what?” Dan says brightly, and stands up. He pretty much instantly regrets doing so as the cold water that’s been soaking his bum for the last half hour trickles down the backs of his thighs. He chucks the remainder of his coffee into the snow, and pockets the cup along with the flask. “Being the official laughing stock of the slopes is not part of my job description. It’s been a blast, Mr Novokoric, but I have a hotel to run, so if you’ll excuse me-”

“Ooh, back to Mr Novokoric, is it?” Phil asks, standing up as well. He drains the last of his own coffee, and gathers his ski poles. “Hang on then, let me-”

“No, no,” Dan says, swishing his ski pole at Phil as he tries to slide closer. “I’m clearly stopping you from throwing yourself down some more death-defying hills or whatever. I can get back to the hotel on my own just fine.”

He shoves his feet back into the skis one by one, thankfully able to tighten them to his feet without help this time, and then awkwardly shuffles around to face the direction they came from. There’s a bit of a hill ahead, but in comparison to the one he climbed up not long ago it looks tiny, so he slides towards it with determination.

“Dan, hold on,” Phil says impatiently, still strapping himself back into his own skis. “You can’t just-”

“I said I’m fine,” Dan says through gritted teeth. In truth however, gaining any sort of momentum on this incline seems a lot harder than it had been previously. “Just go do your thing.”

He’s about halfway up the small hill, and he feels alarmingly unsteady. The skis seem to have a mind of their own, and keep threatening to slide out from under him. Dan just shoves his ski poles into the snow as hard as possible, using them to help drag him upwards.

“Dan,” Phil is calling from somewhere behind him. “Can you stop being so pig-headed for a minute? You’ve forgotten-”

Dan cuts him off with an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp as his right ski slips sharply backwards, splitting his legs wishbone-style. With the help of his ski pole, he manages not to rip his own crotch in half, but the back of his right ski crosses over his left, and in trying to correct it, Dan falls backwards. His right ankle seems to not want to cooperate with the angle Dan is toppling, and twists beneath him; his boot still being attached to the ski, this hurts like a motherfucker.

“Shit! Ow, ow ow-”

Pain, scorching and sudden, shoots up Dan’s leg. His ankle is bent somehow beneath him, and it’s agony. He only has mere seconds to revel in the pain however, as then hands are on the strap of his ski, scrambling to unattach him, and blissfully his ankle pops free.

“I told you to wait for me!” Phil shouts, though the sound is fuzzy and distant from the leftover cloud of pain hazing Dan’s senses. “You forgot to put your skins back on, you idiot.” Dan barely understands, too focused on his throbbing ankle. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes it bloody hurts!” Dan snaps, clutching the ankle. "What kind of idiotic question is that?!”

“Let me see.”

“What? No!��

“Dan, I need to see how bad it is.”

“It’s fine,” Dan protests, but Phil is already picking at the knot of his laces, clearly not listening.

As he reluctantly surrenders to Phil’s insistence on acting the hero, Dan realises for the first time just how… close he is. At this level of proximity, it’s possible to detect notes of the shampoo Phil uses dancing on the thin, icy breeze. Coconut, possibly. Or watermelon? In the distraction of trying to place the smell, Dan doesn’t realise what’s happening until his laces are untied, and Phil begins carefully pulling off his boot. He removes his gloves, and blows quickly on his hands before reaching out and rolling down Dan’s thick sock. Something about this whole scenario is so intimate that Dan wants to squirm. Presumably, he’d only blown on his fingers to warm them - to ease Dan’s discomfort. Dan wouldn’t expect such consideration from his own mother, let alone this dick-brain. To stifle his drumming heart, Dan bites down on his lip, and turns his face away.

“Looks swollen,” Phil mutters as he pulls the sock down. Gently, he presses the pads of his fingers to the puffed, pink skin around Dan’s ankle. It doesn’t hurt any more than the existing pain, but Dan twitches nonetheless, and Phil’s blisteringly blue eyes flick up to his. “It doesn’t feel broken. Do you think you could stand on it?”

Experimentally, Dan tries wiggling his toes. It’s unpleasant, sure, but not completely unbearable. “I’ll try,” he says, attempting bravery.

Phil begins rolling his sock back up. “Good choice,” he says, reaching for the boot. “It’s just you and me up here, so unless you fancy spending the night in minus six degrees under the stars, I’d advise hopping if you can. It’ll start getting dark in a few hours.”

“Gee, thanks for the sympathy,” Dan snorts, batting Phil’s hands away to re-tie his laces.

Phil waits, saying nothing, and when Dan is done, he holds out his hand. For a moment Dan just stares at it. He’s seconds away from slipping his own hand into it, when Phil says, “your skins? I’ll put them back on for you.”

“Oh, right,” Dan says, hoping Phil doesn’t notice his odd behaviour. He has no clue what the fuck this mountain air is doing to him recently. He digs in his pocket and pulls out the skins, then shoves them into Phil’s hand. “Cheers.”

“You’re much more… bony than you look,” Phil huffs.

They’re about halfway through the hideous journey back, as far as Dan can tell. Approximately three minutes in, Dan had realised that attempting to walk on his own, wearing the damn ‘telemark’ skis, was not an option.

“I apologise sincerely for having bones,” Dan replies scornfully. In truth, he feels like a pile of boneless goo, so it’s surprising that Phil seems to think he’s the opposite. His arm is wound around Phil’s shoulders, allowing Dan to lean a great deal of his weight onto the other man. He’s got one ski on, the other is in his right hand. Phil is carrying all four ski poles, tucked under his arm.

They’ve been moving at a torturously slow pace, so the sun is already dipping towards the horizon at their backs. Even in the space of a few hours, Dan can feel the drop in temperature, and it wasn’t exactly warm before. They were lucky, in a way, that Dan’s little accident had happened whilst there was still a lot of light left. He leans closer into Phil’s body heat, hoping the other man doesn’t notice.

“Are you cold?”

Crap. “Um, a bit.”

They hobble further on in silence. Dan wonders what the purpose of Phil’s question might have been, as now he seems to be deliberating something silently. Please, God, don’t say that Phil Novokoric is about to hand over his snow jacket to invalid-Dan so he can tell the story of his chivalry to some doe-eyed journalist months from now.

In a way, Dan is almost glad when Phil, predictably, says, “another reason to invest in some proper thermals. Might have been an idea, considering you’re living up a snowy mountain.”

“Noted,” Dan says through gritted teeth. Finally, the sight of the hotel crests the horizon, some way off still, but at least within view. “Thank the fucking Lord,” he mutters under his breath.

“You could get on my back for the last bit, if you like,” Phil suggests, tone lilting into something like a tease.

“You’re alright, thanks,” Dan replies tersely. He sincerely wishes he could extricate himself from this infuriating human and sprint the rest of the way back, but unfortunately he thinks he might snap his own ankle off, brittle as it is now from the cold. “Can we just focus on getting to the hotel without any further injuries, please?”

“Sure,” Phil says, then effortlessly hitches Dan’s arm a little higher across his shoulders, taking on significantly more of his weight. For a reason Dan refuses to analyse, this action makes his stomach flip multiple times, but he has no time to dwell on the how’s or why’s, because Phil has doubled the pace now, near-dragging Dan along.

(Chapter Seven!)

#phanfic #phan #too high #enemies to lovers au

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