#so as soon as my timer goes off I leave the staff room and the supervisor who always wonders off literally asked if I went on a 45 minute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tenspontaneite · 3 years

Text

The Ceracurist (Chapter 1/?)

Rayla has been at university for nearly three months, trying and failing to take care of her horn upkeep alone, before she admits defeat and goes to visit a professional horn salon.

It ends up being somewhat less of a terrible experience than she expects.

(“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body.)

(Chapter length: 6k. Ao3 link)

---

Rayla pushed through the doors of the salon with a bearing that would have been better suited for heading into battle. Regrettably, there was no one she could legally fight here, so she slunk cautiously in, grimacing at what she saw. She might have hoped to find somewhere to lurk and get her bearings unnoticed, but there was no hiding in that open and well-lit reception area, and no disguising the way that the bell on the door chimed cheerfully at her passing. It was altogether a terrible start to what she fully expected would be a mortifying experience.

A Sunfire elf looked up from the desk and smiled. Their dark skin and hair was typical enough, but the horns caught her eye; she stared for a second before she could avert her gaze. Far from the usual plain gleam of Sunfire horns, these had been carved into elaborate patterns and dyed in an astonishing gradient of red and purple. She’d never seen anything like it outside of the mageskein, or maybe the cover of a magazine. “Welcome!” the elf chirped, friendly. “Do you have an appointment?” Beside them, on the desk, a potted melodaisy sang a tune that she vaguely recognised. It was weirdly anachronistic to find melodaisy music in a place as modern-looking as this.

Rayla stopped short, tension locking her joints. Her neck prickled with self-consciousness. “...Do I need one?” she asked, after a moment, with an edge to her voice. She eyed the door, already wanting desperately to escape. Shouldn’t have listened to Ethari, she thought morosely. This had been a bad idea from the start.

The receptionist inspected her, and in that moment Rayla was entirely certain that they knew exactly what she was about. It was unnerving, the calculating weight of that look. Then it passed, and they waved dismissively. “If you wanted something complex done, yes. But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re here for.”

She gave serious thought to the idea of just...walking out. She could do that, right? But then she’d have to explain the cowardice, such that it was, whenever she next called her family. And what a stupid thing this would be to lose her nerve over. “No.” She agreed grumpily.

“Touch up?” The receptionist questioned. “Basic buff and polish?”

Her shoulders hunched. “Just the filing and buffing,” she relented, in the end. “I’m not here for anything fancy.”

“Polishing is part of our standard service, I’m afraid. Nothing fancy about it, as far as we’re concerned.” The Sunfire elf smiled at her in a placating sort of way. It grated. “Why don’t you go take a seat and I’ll see who’s available?” they gestured at the row of seats, smartly upholstered, arrayed along the wall. Again, Rayla eyed the door. This was apparently noticed. “It’s alright, we’re used to first-timers,” they assured her, already receding from the desk and heading for the door into the salon proper. “It’s really not that scary. Just wait a minute, alright? I’ll be right back.”

They couldn’t have known it. Or maybe they did? But Rayla heard ‘scary’ and stiffened before she could help it, setting her jaw. Very stubbornly indeed, she stalked over to one of the chairs and planted herself in it, staring grimly at the assorted posters and advertisements on the walls. They were, of course, largely advertising different things one could have done to one’s horns. Because this was a horn salon. A horn salon that her entire family had suggested, implied, or outright stated she desperately needed the services of.

It wasn’t her fault that it was hard to get to the undersides of her horns on her own. Even using a complex set of mirrors, working on what you couldn’t see was decidedly challenging. She’d filed off the nasty parts, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough, and she looked unkempt, and undignified, and how do you ever expect to follow your parents into their line of work looking like that, Rayla-

“Ugh,” she muttered to herself, disgruntled, and folded her arms. She glared at a poster that implored her to, in very bold and cheerful lettering, ‘Ask about horn art today!’. Rayla had absolutely no intention of asking about horn art today.

While she was waiting, a Skywing elf emerged from the same door the receptionist had entered, and approached the desk curiously. He turned to her, and as he did, the light caught on his horns. “Did the receptionist leave?” He asked, and Rayla tried very hard not to stare. Not only did this elf have elaborate patterns carved into the horns, but there was – some sort of silvery metallic inlay in there, gleaming bright and almost liquid in the daylight filtering through the window. She hadn’t even known people did that. It was startlingly striking.

“Er,” she said, and “yeah, I think they’ll be back in a minute, though.” The unfamiliar elf accepted this agreeably enough, and stood by the desk to wait.

Sure enough, the receptionist returned in short order, pausing briefly in the doorway to do a double-take at the man waiting there. “Oh, so that’s why he was free,” they muttered to themself, just about loud enough for Rayla’s excellent ears to pick up. More loudly, they said “Tairas! You look fantastic! Glad you decided to try the metallics after all?”

The elf, evidently some sort of repeat customer, chuckled at them as they strode back up to the counter. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure at first, but-“ he waved expressively at his horns. “-wow, right? You’ve got some serious talent working here.”

“We’re very glad to have him, yes,” agreed the receptionist, and then conducted what ended up being a rapid exchange of a staggering amount of currency. Apparently, fancy horn-decorating did not come cheap. Rayla glanced uneasily at the price lists on the walls to reassure herself that what she was here for wouldn’t be so extortionate. Finally, the customer with the fancy metal-patterned horns left, and the receptionist approached her again. “Well, you’re in luck, Callum finished up with Tairas just in time for you,” they told her. “So I can take you through now.”

“Great.” Rayla said, unenthusiastically, and the receptionist snickered at her.

With a friendly pat on her shoulder, they said “It’ll be fine, trust me. And Callum’s one of our best ceracurists anyway, so you’ll be in good hands.”

The words didn’t soothe her. They’d be stranger’s hands, no matter their skill; that was what had unsettled her. Of course it was what had unsettled her. What else?

Still. She supposed if she had to have a stranger’s hands on her horns, at the very least it could be a stranger who knew what they were doing. Rayla sighed, resigned, and followed the receptionist through to the treatment area. She entered a long corridor with yet more doors arrayed along it; some further down its length marked ‘staff only’, others nearer and unadorned. The receptionist took her into the closest, revealing a large room lined with curtained-off booths. The sounds were precisely what she’d expected; the buzz of a half dozen electric buffers in operation, the hum of voices, the shuffling of feet. She could smell keratin dust and horn polish on the air. Horn oil, too.

It ought to have unsettled her further, and it did, a little. But the sight of the curtains had soothed her at once, with all their attendant implications of privacy. Somehow, she’d anticipated something far more open, where she had the sight to go with the sound of however-many elves having their horns groomed. She’d anticipated that others would be able to see her, sat beneath the ministrations of a ceracurist who she didn’t even know.

It had been a stupid expectation, in retrospect. For all that it was more common in the larger cities for elves to see a ceracurist when they needed to, they still had their dignity. Of course there’d be booths. Of course they wouldn’t be able to see each other. Of course.

Her relief at the realisation sustained her until she was led a little further down the room. Only one booth was open and empty, and within it she saw what she expected: a chair, a basin, a mirror. A table of tools. There was no one waiting there for her, but she tensed regardless.

“He’ll be here soon,” reassured the receptionist, as if mistaking the source of her anxiety. “He’s just changing. The metallurgy is careful work, you know.”

She didn’t know, in fact. She didn’t particularly care, either. “Right.” she said, terse, and eventually allowed herself to be prodded over to the waiting chair. Stiffly, she sat. And then the receptionist left her there to wait.

It didn’t take long. On-edge as she was, her ears twitched at the footsteps in the corridor long before anyone entered the room; she traced their approach, staring at the sight of her own terse expression in the mirror. Then, finally, the person drew near enough to pause at the edge of her booth. She could see the edge of their body in the mirror, wearing some sort of dark apron over a uniform.

“Hey there,” he said, friendly, and there was the sound of a curtain being drawn. “So you’re my surprise appointment, huh?”

“Suppose so,” Rayla muttered, eyes on her hands as they tightened in her lap. She still hadn’t looked. She didn’t really want to look at him. This was the person who’d be handling her horns. A stranger. She wasn’t quite ready to put a face to the voice yet. But, ready or not…he stepped into view.

Startled, she blinked up at him, and registered several things in rapid succession. The hair was a little surprising; brown, but smooth in a way you didn’t often get with Sunfire or Earthblood elves, and his skin was pale. Eyes a pleasant forest-green. Cute, Rayla’s mind supplied after a moment, as though to distract herself from the far more obvious conclusion of-

“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body. The lack of horns, the rounded ears, the – the five-finger hands, so strange in their shape that for a moment she couldn’t pull her eyes from them. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen humans before. But these circumstances were weird.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He acknowledged. He stepped up to the table of assorted tools, inspecting them, and nodded before returning his eyes to her. Again that lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m good at my job, even if I don’t have my own horns to practice on.”

Her face burned, blood flushing hot in her veins at the sudden and abrupt reminder of what she was here for. Of what he was here for. “…Is that something people worry about?” She found herself asking, struck by how practiced those words had seemed, like he’d said them – or some variation of them – a great many times.

“Eh, sometimes.” He shrugged, then went over to pull the rest of the curtains closed. “It’s not something people expect, anyway. A human ceracurist, I mean.”

“I definitely didn’t,” she muttered, not quite under her breath, and he snickered.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” He offered a smile, and then – to her surprise – a short polite bow, in the human style, fist clasped over his heart. She’d not seen anyone do that since she was a child. “I’m Callum, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Thoughts suddenly muddled by some very old memories, she blinked, then nodded cautiously. “Rayla.” She hesitated. “Same?” Under the circumstances, she shouldn’t have found it nice to meet him. But, unaccountably, she did.

“Is it okay if we get started?” He asked then, nodding to his table of implements. “Don’t want to hurry you, but this does take a while.”

Whatever ease she’d managed to find in the brief conversation abruptly fled her, and she went still and wordless. She glanced at him, at his face, for all of a second before the mortification overcame her and she had to hide behind her hands. “Moon above,” she muttered, into her palms, shoulders hunching. “Ugh.”

There was a pause. “You alright there?” His voice was only half joking.

“…Yeah.” She said eventually, and forced her hands down. “Just…”

He sounded sympathetic. “Never had your horns done outside the family, huh?” She made some sort of affirmative noise, and he nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, we get a lot of that here. If it helps, just remember that it’s a professional setting, and doesn’t come with the normal implications, okay?”

She sighed. “I’ll do my best.” Despite that resolution, though, she still couldn’t help the embarrassed grumble when he draped a gown around her front and shoulders, ostensibly to shield her clothes from horn debris, and leaned the chair she was in back towards the basin.

“Do you prefer to have a hair-shield on, or to have your hair washed afterwards?” He asked, after a moment, and she balked. She hadn’t even realised that was an option. But – of course, otherwise people would have to leave the salon with their hair wet with horn-oil and full of disgusting keratin dust and flakes…

“Hair shield,” she opted, quickly, and he hummed his agreement.

“No problem.” He pulled something from the table with a rustling noise. “Does mean I won’t be able to get at the first centimetre or so of your horns, though, so keep that in mind.”

Worth it, she thought. It was something of a mercy, even. The horns themselves were just insensate keratin on the outsides…but the skin at the beds? That was sensitive. She’d be glad to avoid that particular intimacy.

Even as she thought it, the ceracurist lowered something over one of her horns, and then the other, perceptible by the light and gentle weight grazing over them. She went utterly still, and peered up to try to see in the mirror what he was doing. It was a kind of…hood, or shroud, with two horn-holes in it. And some sort of drawstring around both holes. She watched with a bizarre and anxious tension as he pressed the hood down and then tightened the drawstrings around the base of her horns until they were flush with the hornbeds.

Then, visible in the mirror, he paused and looked her horns over. His expression didn’t change much, but she could see the minute lift of his eyebrows. Her face burned. “Been a while,” she offered, by way of explanation for the state of them, and she saw his smile in the reflection.

“You’ve done a pretty good job by yourself, really.” He said generously, dipping something into the basin with a distinct watery splash. “The oversides are pretty neatly filed.” Briefly, there was the lightest sensation of weight on her right horn, like he’d touched a fingertip to it. A shiver of apprehension stiffened her shoulders. “You’ve done this ridge a bit flat, though. And the undersides…” He paused, like he couldn’t think of anything charitable to say on that moment’s notice.

Rayla closed her eyes, embarrassed and unnerved at once. “Ugh.”

“They’re hard to get to, I know,” he soothed, and then planted a wet soapy cloth on the horn in question. “It’s okay. I can fix it up.”

She sighed, neck prickling with tension. “Sure.”

The next few minutes she sat silently warring with her impulse to twitch at every touch on her horns. Given the ceracurist spent said minutes washing those horns, this was a considerable challenge. The sensation of heat from warm water radiating through the keratin wasn’t unfamiliar, and neither was the scrub of the brush – but she’d never experienced either outside the company of family before. It was unsettling. Reminding herself that it was professional didn’t help that, either – all it did was calm the flush in her cheeks a little.

“I’m guessing you moved here recently, then.” The ceracurist – Callum – said after a while. “Away from family.”

She startled a little, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. As best she could, anyway, with her head tipped mostly backwards. Her nose obstructed most of her view from this angle. “…Yeah. Few months back.”

He paused. “You’re a student?” He guessed, and she supposed it wasn’t a difficult leap to make. She was the right age, this part of the city was packed with students, and the first term had started nearly three months ago in March. The conclusion was obvious. She offered a vague hum of agreement to confirm it, and he was silent for a while. “That’s actually kind of impressive,” he said at last. “Most of the other new students with tricky horns gave up trying to do it themselves after like, a month. Not three. You’ve been managing pretty well.”

Rayla snorted. “Tricky horns?” She repeated, ignoring the rest for now, and he huffed at her.

“Moonshadow, Skywing, you know. Tricky horns.” He elaborated. She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “The Sunfire elves manage pretty well, theirs are simple enough.”

“And meanwhile we have the most annoying kind of all,” Rayla muttered, of her own race. “Stupid ridges and all.”

“Well, if you’ve not seen a Skywing elf when they’re casting their shells, maybe hold off on making that call.” He sounded amused. “But yeah, you guys don’t exactly have it easy. We get a lot of Moonshadow elves coming in here for horn help.”

“Students?”

“Mostly. But there’s other elves around who don’t have anyone in their personal lives they’d trust enough, too. So they come here.” He removed the brush, wiped her horns off, and went for a distinctive tool on the table. An electric buffer. Considerably faster and more effective than doing it by hand, she knew, but they were expensive enough that a lot of elves didn’t have one. Her family had, though. They all shared the tools. So she knew what to expect.

The noise of it started up, and accordingly their conversation dwindled. She felt the buzz of the buffer against her right horn a moment later, angled carefully into one of the ridges there. As always, the sensation hummed straight through the keratin to the vaguely-sensitive skin beneath; it tingled. The next while passed like that, with the ceracurist occasionally sitting her up and coaxing her to move her head this way or that to get better angles on her horns, paying particular attention to the neglected undersides. She didn’t even want to think about how many keratin flakes must be littering the gown he’d put on her.

Her inner-horn had gone thoroughly numb from the vibrations by the time he switched the buffer off and set it aside to get the cloth again. “I’ll just wipe this down and go for a second run, then do the same on your other horn, alright?” He said, soothingly, probably seeing how she twitched at every motion, uncertain what he’d do next.

She tried to relax a little. It was uncomfortable, yes, but…this was his job, and it – that was all it was. Plenty of elves had their horns done by ceracurists. It was fine. “Right.” She muttered, and tried not to flinch when she felt the weight of the cloth on her horn again. More to distract herself than anything else, she asked “How long have you been doing this?” Except, once she’d actually asked, she was curious. How did a human even end up working in a horn salon? Why was he in an elven city in the first place?

The ceracurist huffed, and said, impishly, “This? Probably coming up to ten minutes, so far.” He tapped her horn cheerfully, as if to indicate it, and went back to wiping. Her cheeks heated instantly; she couldn’t exactly help it, with that very direct reminder that he was touching her horns.

She rolled her eyes anyway. “Ha-ha,” she said, dryly, and he snickered at her.

“About two years, now.” He relented after a moment. “I’m only in a few times a week, but, eh. It’s a hobby. And I get paid for it, so.” He shrugged, then went for the buffer again. Accordingly, there was no more talking for a while, but in that interim her interest grew. He looked around her age, or maybe even younger…and he’d been doing this for years?

She’d assumed, from his accent, that he came from one of the human countries. Possibly even Katolis, though she wasn’t great at telling the different West Xadia accents apart. But if he’d been living here for years…was he a resident? Long-term? That was rare. The curiosity nagged at her enough that she half-forgot the embarrassment of having her horns handled by a stranger, and when he put the buffer down again, she said “You don’t have a Gullcrest accent.”

“That’s probably one of the politest ways anyone’s tried to ask me where I’m from,” he mused, and for a second she felt like an absolute racist boor before he waved dismissively at her. He explained “It’s fine, people get curious, I don’t mind. I didn’t grow up here or anything, I just came for the university.”

Rayla startled. “You’re a student?”

He smiled, and this time he looked decidedly proud of himself. “Mastery student, even.” He agreed cheerfully, and she stopped short, turning her head over her shoulder to squint at him. “You know, it’s hard to work on your horns if you’re facing me,” he told her, very reasonably, but she was busy inspecting his face. He had to be around the same age as her, surely. And he was on a masters degree?

“How old are you?” She demanded, suddenly completely uncertain of her ability to judge human ages.

The ceracurist looked pleased at the question, as if he relished every chance to show off the absurdly young age at which he was pursuing a mastery in…whatever it was he studied. “Eighteen.” He said, and then gently nudged her into turning around again. She made an incredulous face at him, but obliged after a moment. “How about you?”

“Nineteen,” she answered, distractedly, trying to parse the mystery of her ceracurist’s unlikely academic circumstances. Generally people were only allowed to pursue a mastery when they’d done an apprenticeship or undergraduate degree already, and those were never less than three years long. An apprenticeship, then? She couldn’t imagine a fifteen-year-old being let into the university…

Unceremoniously, the buzz of the buffer interrupted her thoughts and the conversation, so they fell quiet again. It was him who spoke first when he was done with the first pass on her other horn. “What are you studying?”

However logical it was as a follow-up question, it still caught her off-guard. “Er.” She scrambled for the name, mind suddenly blank. A moment later she supplied “Professional Security. And Tactics.”

“Huh.” He sounded bemused. “I know someone on that course, actually. He’s second year now.”

Rayla snorted. “How’s he finding it?”

“Says there’s way more math than he thinks is fair. And he thinks Professor Sadris is evil.”

That neatly matched her observations thus far, at least. “Sounds about right.” After that, the second buffing run silenced them again, and she was left in thought. What would a human be studying at Gullcrest at a mastery level? How long had he lived here? She’d seen a handful of humans at the university, but…well, they stood out. There weren’t a lot of them. Had she seen him before, perhaps? There was something weirdly familiar about him…

She was all set to come out and ask one of the dozen questions on her mind when the buffer stopped, but he just said “I’m about done with this now, so it’s onto the polishing next. That won’t take as long, but there probably will be horn-polish splatter, so…brace yourself, I guess.”

“Isn’t that what the hair shield is for?” She asked, neatly distracted, and was surprised to realise that most of her nerves had disappeared, somewhere between her curiosity and the human ceracurist’s efficient work.

“And the apron,” he agreed. “But it does still get messy. You want any colours?”

“Colour?” She echoed, disconcerted, and he seemed to understand what she was asking.

“Horn polish can come in colours, with dyes in it. It’s a really easy way to add colour to horns. If you’re just here for basic care, though, that’s fine.”

“Er.” She thought for a moment on that startling gradient of colour on the receptionist’s horns. Was that how theirs had been done, or was there some other method needed for something that striking? Either way… “No, no colours. Thanks, though?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’ve got a nice base horn colour, anyway.” He said, as if making comments like that was the most normal thing in the world. For a ceracurist, it might well be; but her cheeks flushed an instant and virulent red regardless. “It’s a good clear dark purple. It’ll look great when it’s polished up.”

Rayla wondered, amid her embarrassment, when she’d last seen her horns polished. Her parents did the buffing, sure, but polishing…not so much. It was a lot of work without the special oils and tools. She thought maybe they’d done it once, when she was pretty young, for one particular formal occasion. Aside from that, though… “I don’t even know what my horns look like polished,” she admitted, flustered, and he paused for a moment.

“Huh.” He said, just a little surprised. “Well, the colour goes darker, and a lot shinier. Looks really nice, I think. You’ll see.” And, with that, he uncapped the horn polish, the smell hitting her like a slap to the face. Her nose wrinkled, and she wondered how many times she’d have to wash her hair to get the residual stink of it out. The hair shield probably wouldn’t be able to keep all of it off, after all.

Her ceracurist seemed entirely oblivious to how awful the smell was at close range, but she supposed he’d had practice withstanding it. Either that, or he’d burned out his sense of smell in the first week of his alleged two years. She closed her eyes a couple of minutes in, the acrid reek of the stuff making them water and sting. It felt like she was dousing her sinuses with acid every time she inhaled.

Callum chuckled at her, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking. “The stuff we use is a lot stronger than what you’re probably used to.” He said cheerfully. “Has a pretty interesting smell, right?”

“It feels like it’s burning my nose,” she complained, lifting a hand to rub at it with annoyance. “And it’s making my eyes water.” The sensation was rather alike being too close to the epicentre of a very enthusiastic onion-chopping endeavour.

“Yeah, we have spells on to keep it out of our eyes so we can actually see what we’re doing,” Callum said, uncapping the bottle again. It decanted a fresh wave of acrid reek into the surrounding air. “It’s not harmful, though, just sort of stings. Plus, I’m only using the full-strength stuff because your horns haven’t been done in a long time. It’s a lot weaker when it’s just a normal touch-up.” Though she couldn’t see his face, she could practically hear the grin. “Come back a little sooner next time, and it won’t smell this bad.”

Come back? “Ugh,” she said, en lieu of addressing that statement properly, and fell quiet to ruminate disconcertedly on what he’d said. Come back? She hadn’t thought about it, but – of course, she’d need to come back. She was going to be at university for years, and would barely be home for any of that. If she didn’t want her horns to get disgusting again, trips like this would have to be an ongoing thing.

“Every month, is usually a good bet,” Callum said, as if she’d actually spoken the question that was suddenly on her mind. “Usually between half-moon and new moon is the best time for you guys. You get a lot more active keratin growth around full moon, so if you wait till later, the work we do will usually stay put until the next month.”

Rayla frowned at the mirror. “Do humans have some kind of mind-reading power I don’t know about?” Her tone was dry, for all that she was a little off-put at how well he could apparently read her. It…well, it was useful information, though. She hadn’t known that keratin grew faster around Full Moon, for all that it made sense. She wondered if she should be bothered by learning something about how her own horns worked from a human.

He snorted, but took a few seconds to respond. “Not me, that’s for sure.” He said, lightly, and finally put the stinking polishing-stuff down. “Can’t speak for other humans, though. I think we probably don’t have secret mind-reading societies anywhere, but you never know. Weirder things have happened.”

She thought of the huge scandal of a few years back and made a face. “True enough,” she sighed, turning her neck to inspect what he was doing. “Are you done yet?”

Having moved enough to have eyes on him, she was able to watch as his lips turned up in a wry smile. “You’re that eager to escape, huh?”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Escape the polishing? Yes. It stinks.”

He snickered, but nodded, and went for a more normal cleaning cloth that she was deeply glad to see. “Yeah, that part’s done. I’ll rinse off now and then put some oil on to dry, and that’ll be it.” He wrung the cloth over the basin and then coaxed her head around again, lifting his hands to her horns.

She blinked. “What, ‘it’ as in done?”

“Yep. I like to think I’m pretty speedy at the whole buff-and-polish thing by now.”

“…Huh.” Nonplussed, Rayla went quiet.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Wasn’t as bad as you thought?” He guessed, as on-point as ever, and she felt her cheeks heat again. It was quite a question for someone to ask when their hands happened to be on your horns.

Rayla folded her arms under the protective gown. “….Maybe,” she admitted, begrudgingly, and sat there while the warmth of the water and his hands crept through her horns. The gentle slide of the cloth was easily perceptible, a shift of weight and echoing sensation in the living core. A stranger’s hands, and she was just…sitting there. She couldn’t quite get her head around it. But he was right. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be.

“Make an appointment for next month, when you’re on your way out,” he suggested, setting the cloth back and uncapping some other sort of oil. This one, in sharp contrast to the polish, let off a surprisingly pleasant smell. Faintly sweet, and reminiscent of the lighter oils Ethari used on some of his woodcraft. A pang of nostalgia, just shy of homesickness, stabbed through her gut. “That way it’ll be all sorted for next time.”

“Mm.” She shrugged lightly, noncommittal, a little perturbed at the little secretive thing unfurling in her chest that wanted to come back. Not for the mortifying ordeal of having her horns handled, certainly not, but…

With the finishing oil applied, Callum released the drawstrings from around her horns and pulled the hair-cover away. “All done. Take a look,” he invited, nudging her head up, and reached out to remove the gown while she automatically looked where he’d pointed her. For a moment, she was utterly stunned, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sight of her horns gleaming darkly in the mirror, perfect to the every ridge. She was still silent when he spoke again, saying “See? Just like I told you. Your horns polish up really nicely.”

She looked up reflexively, expression unguarded, and could do nothing to stop the quicksilver flush that his words brought to her cheeks. He was smiling at her, wide and genuine and a little lopsided.

It took what felt like far too long for her to manage to speak. “I suppose?” She offered, averting her eyes to the mirror, where she watched herself schooling her face into something a little less transparent.

He patted her shoulder, friendly, then reached out a hand – five-fingered and alien – to help her up. She stared at it for a moment, then took it. His fingers were warm, and soft from horn-oil. She could feel a trace of it left on her skin when he let go. “It was good to meet you, Rayla,” he said, with that same smile. “Maybe I’ll see you next time.”

She averted her eyes for a moment. “…Maybe.” She agreed, finally, and managed to master herself enough to flash a tentative smile back at him. “Er. Thanks, Callum.”

Rayla was a little too busy trying not to look outwardly flustered to pay much attention to the next few minutes, but as she found herself escorted back to the reception area, she felt strangely disappointed to see the door close on her ceracurist. The receptionist was eyeing her appraisingly as she eventually summoned the presence of mind to go fishing for her money.

“Looks like he treated you well enough. You’re not all tense anymore.” They observed, looking pleased for some reason. “Good on you for not making a fuss, either.”

She blinked, drawn out of her reverie. “What would I make a fuss about?” She questioned, taken-aback.

“He’s human,” the receptionist said, like it was obvious. “People can be stupid about it sometimes. But you weren’t, which is nice, because otherwise we’d have had to throw you out with bad horns, and that would be embarrassing for everyone. I assume I’m booking you in for next month?”

Rayla was still trying to process the words and didn’t register the question for a moment. Distractedly, she said “Yes? I think?”

The receptionist eyed her. “Three weeks,” they decided. “We’ll book you in for waning crescent. Callum works weekends and Wednesday afternoons only, so if you want another time, you’ll need to go with a different ceracurist.” They looked at her expectantly. For a second Rayla was flustered by the implied suggestion, but then she realised that it was probably just standard practice for people to see the same ceracurist every time. Certainly it would be less uncomfortable that way. She couldn’t even imagine having to put her horns into the hands of a new stranger every month.

She cleared her throat, blinked, then tried to consult her mental schedule. “Three weeks…” she muttered to herself, thinking. “Er. Wednesday afternoon?”

They flipped through their papers, squinting. “Four-thirty? He’s pretty booked for the rest of that window.”

“That works,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal and not-flustered, and supplied her name to have it written into the schedule. It was another weird anachronism; most people would have written it into a computer, but here this elf was using a notebook instead. It was set aside by the potted plant once closed; the plant in question broke off from its recitation of music to mimic the sound of the doorbell note-perfect. That was the problem with melodaisies. You could teach them all the music you liked, but as soon as they heard someone whistling, they might well just start imitating that instead.

“Thanks for coming,” the receptionist said, after shooting an exasperated glance at their plant. “We’ll see you next month.”

Rayla took the hint, and went at once for the door. She escaped with the ring of a bell, a palpable sense of relief, and considerably shinier horns than she’d gone in with.

---

End chapter.

Notes:

Welcome to the first meet-cute I’ve ever written! Also the first story whose entire purpose is essentially romance. Because it’s me, there is a broader potential plot thread at work, as well as cool worldbuilding, but given I have no idea how much of this I’m actually going to write, I’m not really worrying about that too much at this point.

Hope everyone had fun with this first chapter, and that everyone is curious about what the heck is up with Callum.

Story notes-

Setting:

I’d loosely describe the setting as canon spliced with piaj twisted by most of a millennium of alternate history and technological development. Essentially, it’s sort of a modern AU, but not really.

Because this story is for fun, I’m wiping real-world-modern vibes over it wherever I want to/think I can justify it, and same goes for my own personal university experience vibes.

Worldbuilding:

A great, great deal of the worldbuilding is taken from my primary project – Peace Is A Journey – and adapted for the alternate historical context that this setting involves. I have even borrowed several elf OCs (at least three) from piaj and its sequel. History in this setting diverges from canon some time after the banishment of humans from Eastern Xadia – though I’ve not narrowed the timeline down precisely, it’s likely that the first couple hundred years of history went very similarly to how I’ve ironed it out in piaj, though this isn’t likely to be hugely important.

However, despite the similarities, this AU’s broader global history and foundational metaphysics are completely different to piaj. Worldbuilding and metaphysical specifics that aren’t incompatible with this difference, which is most of them, remain.

I’ve involuntarily put a fair amount of thought into the setting’s worldbuilding, and a lot of it is pretty cool, but considering it is a for-fun project, I’m not too concerned about specifics or ‘balancing’, so to speak. This means that I will be trying not to put huge amounts of thought into why some technologies are advanced and some aren’t. I am trying to keep the Worldbuilding Complexity setting to a dull roar, pretty much, and only develop the stuff that matters.

Glossary:

Ceracurist: a professional horn-salonist; one who cares for horns. From Greek ‘keras’, horn (same root as keratin or polycerate), and Latin ‘cura’, care (same root as manicure or pedicure or even cure). Technically this sort of root-mixing is sometimes seen as bad form, but it works just fine in context.

Mageskein: magic internet, pretty much. This is used almost exclusively in Eastern Xadia.

Gullcrest: an elven city located along the southern coast of Eastern Xadia. The majority of the story will take place here. The base concept and location of Gullcrest was taken from piaj worldbuilding and heavily adapted for the Ceracurist setting.

Extras:

A picture demonstrating an unpolished and a polished bull horn from the same pair, to demonstrate how much of a difference it makes.

#rayllum #tdp fic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #meet cute #modern AU #sort of #College AU #also sort of #Alternate history AU

69 notes · View notes

a-pretty-nerd · 4 years

Text

SO THERES THIS SCENARIO I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD:

Father!Tomura Shigaraki x Mother!reader

SFW, Wholesome content, Shigaraki being a family man!

Place: A high security prison somewhere. Time: I dont know, probably like 2 in the afternoon.

The heroes won, Shigaraki was thrown away to rot in prison for the hundreth-something time after years and years of cat and mouse.

Once again, the now aging man sits alone in the dark. His body held in place, sitting in a chair, by several machines intended to keep him at bay and unaware of his surroundings.

Outside his heavily guarded cell, security goes about their business, blissfully unaware.

Suddenly sirens begin to go off. Theres been a breach within the prison. Guards and other staff run around, trying to make sense in the panic.

Shigaraki smiles as he becomes aware of the mayhem.

The thick metal door of his cell opens with a loud thud and two figures stand in the doorway.

One a tall and muscular figure of a teenage boy.

The other, a smaller figure of a teenage girl.

"I'll get Dad, you be the lookout." The boy orders as he rushes into the cell.

"Why do I have to be the lookout? Why can't you do it!?" The girl objects as she follows him inside.

The two continue to loudly bicker as they work to set Shigaraki free.

"Hey you! Stop right there!" A man's voice calls from the doorway as he reaches for his gun.

Before the man can pull the trigger, he's met with a hard punch to the face. He's out within seconds.

"Hurry, there'll be more!" The boy turns and shouts.

"Don't rush me!" The girl yells back and she plants her palms on the machine holding her father captive.

The metal begins to warp and crumble under her. Slowly but surley setting Shigaraki free.

Eventually he wrenches his way free from the rotting mechanism and stretches with a loud grunt.

"You're late." He scolds them with a calm tone.

"We would have been on time if SOMEONE had woken up on time!" The boy yells at his sister.

"Shut up! My alarm didn't go off!"

"Quit fighting you two." Shigaraki comands as he garbs ahold of their wrists and pulls them into the cell before he places his palms just inches above the concrete floor below him.

"Get ready." He warns.

Later, that evening:

The hero, Deku, frustrated by the news that his mortal enemy has escaped from prison once again, looks over the paperwork in his hands.

"Are you sure this is right?" He asks the detective, again.

"We're certain. She's here. And by the looks of it, home alone."

"I just can't belive it. How have we never known of her before this?" Deku looks over the house sitting before them. The detective shrugs.

The house is placed discreetly in the suburbs. A well kept garden stretches out from behind a fence and gate. The whole thing makes Deku sick. Everything about it is just so, normal.

"Are you sure we can't bring her in?" He asks the detective. The man shakes his head.

"We don't have any evidence to suggest she has anything to do with it."

"But-"

"It's not a crime to be married to a criminal, Deku." He knocks politley on the door. When it finally opens, Midoriya's jaw goes slack.

There you stand, a kind smile stretched across your features as you wipe your hands with a rag. They stare at you for a moment in disbelief.

You're just so beautiful and so unassumingly wholesome. How could you be married to the world's most dangerous criminal?

When they don't say anything, you place your hands on your hip and give a smug look.

"That bastard slip through the cracks again?" You huff with a smile.

You let them in and sit them down at the kitchen table. You serve tea and snacks. Deku's heart races faster with every movement you make.

"You're welcome to search the place. I assure you I don't know where he is or what he's planning." You reassure as you sit down across the table from them. You watch the detective takes notes as you answer question after question.

"How long have you been married?"

"Twenty years."

"When was the last you saw your husband?"

"A few days before he was last caught."

"Has he contacted you before or since?"

"No. I never know when or where he's going to show up. He never calls. Sometimes he writes."

"He writes?"

"Yeah, I get letters from him occasionally."

"May we take a look at this letters?"

You pause and think about your answer. A blush forms on your cheeks as you answer.

"You're welcome to, but I think you'll find more than you bargained for." You chuckle.

Their attention is taken away from you when they hear a car pull up and the back door open and shut.

In walks a young man sharing a stricking resemblance to Shigaraki. He meets their gaze and freezes.

"Mom? Whats going on?" He asks as he approaches you. Standing tall behind your seat as his appearance grows more and more menacing towards Deku.

"This is our eldest." You tell the men.

"Is he out again?" Your son seems annoyed.

"He is. We were just wondering if you may have heard from him."

"No. We haven't. Now leave." He grips the back of the chair you sit in and grinds his teeth.

"Don't be rude." You tell him.

"You guys can't just barge in here and harass our family. We don't know, anything. We're not in on his shit." He growls behind you.

"Honey, please."

"No. They need to leave. NOW." Deku couldn't get out fast enough. The whole idea made him sick. Not only was Shigaraki on the loose again, but he had children, a whole family.

At this point Deku had children of his own to worry about. To think, Shigaraki wasn't so different from him in so many ways.

Weeks later, Shigaraki is still on the loose:

"I can't believe that idiot let them find you." Your eldest muttered in the passanger seat beside you.

"I'm surprised they hadn't found us sooner." You said as you glanced from the road to the gps.

"He's going to get you killed."

"You sound like my Dad. Grandpa would be proud."

"Why don't you leave him? He puts you in so much danger, he's never around, he's an asshole, a murderer-"

You slammed on the breaks, sending your unknowing son's head to gently slam against the glove compartment.

"Thats jackass! He's on his phone! Watch where you're going asshole!" You shouted at the car in front of you before you started driving again.

Your eldest son was always looking out for you. He was a momma's boy. He was smart, and caring, and protective. He was so much like his father, but you'd never tell him that. It'd only make him upset.

"Where exactly are we going anyways?" He finally pipped up after an hour of driving out of the city.

"The house isn't safe anymore. Now that the heroes know about us, we have to stay away for a little while."

"What? But they don't have any evidence-"

"That's not the point. It doesn't take evidence. I'm sure a warrant to search the property has already been approved. And if they don't find anything at the house, they'd take us in for further questioning and believe me, you don't want that." You warned him.

"But we don't know anything...right?" You fell silent. "Mom!"

"What!? You honestly think, even if I was uninvolved, they'd let us go? You think they'd let you, the son of Japan's most dangerous criminal, walk free?" You sighed. "Look, honey, I'm sorry. I know you never asked for this. This isn't your fight, I know. We've never expected you to be involved and I promise, as soon as everything blows over, we'll send you to that school."

His eyes lit up. He's always wanted to go away to school. Ever since his first year of high school, he's been interested in studying Science at this prestigious school across country.

"You mean it?" You nodded and held a hand out to pat his knee and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"Just be patient with us, alright?" A little farther and you had arrived at the destination. Middle of the woods, somewhere in the mountains. You checked and doubled checked the information in the letter he'd sent again.

Deep in the woods, there was a bunker hidden in the brush. You knocked on the bunker door, only to be greeted by a familiar face.

Well, a mask to be more specific.

"Mrs. Shigaraki." Mr. Compress smiled behind his mask.

"Hey old-timer." You smiled back and gave him a warm hug. It'd been so long since you'd seen the league.

"My goodness, how time flies. I don't suppose you remember me, do you?" He asked your son.

"Vaguely." He answered as they shared a firm hand shake.

"Are they here?" You asked.

"They're waiting for you in the parlour." You quickly made your way in the bunker, revealing itself to be a mansion in disguise as you made your way through.

Finally, you found them. Shigaraki stood tall, washed and dressed in a black turtle neck sweater and slacks. His hair, still long, framed his handsome face. He looked away from the twins, and turned to you. His heart leaped in his chest.

"Y/N." He whispered as you rant to him. He held his arms up to accept you as you threw yourself into his embrace He held you tight and rested his cheek on your head.

"I missed you." You told him with a smile that was so big it hurt.

"I missed you, love." He agreed and ran his hand up and down your back. You remember the days when this kind of affection was impossible for him.

Soon you felt two other hands on your back. The twins joined in to hug you both as your eldest wandered into the room. He paused at the sight and watched.

Tomura looked up at his son and gave a knowing look. He knew his oldest son, the one that was so much like him, had always had issues with him. He knew his absence was hard on him, and he knew no matter what he did, his son was still ashamed and embarrassed by him.

Regardless, he had always tried.

You remember the day when Tomura sent you away when he found out about the pregnancy. You remember how horrified and deeply afraid he was of becoming a parent. Hell, your relationship was a rollercoaster for him as it was. But by the time his son was born, he was determined to be better.

He was determined to be better for his family.

He reached out a hand to his son. He looked at his father, and thought for a moment. Without warning, a smaller hand, previously planted on your back, grabbed him and pulled him in. Your daughter had always found her older brother's resistance to be thoroughly annoying.

So there you are, reunited as a family for the first time in a long time. But definitely not the last time.

#mha #bnha #Tomura Shigaraki #Tomura Shigaraki x reader #Shigaraki #LoV #Father!Shigaraki x Mother!Reader #Wholesome Shigaraki

187 notes · View notes

olivish · 3 years

Text

Here it is! Part 3 of the "Who was Alex's father?" / "Melanie becomes friends with Ben" story. (I really should make a title at some point.)

Part 1 Part 2

Quick Recap: 8 years pre-Freeze, in the leadup to launching Snowpiercer's first commercial iteration, Wilford sent Melanie to oversee track completion between Jerusalem and Tehran. While she was overseas, she fell in love with a photojournalist who was covering the refugee crisis in Lebanon.

On the day Melanie was supposed to return to Chicago, there was a massive earthquake in which he was killed and she was badly hurt. We pickup the story from Ben’s point of view:

Part 3

1. When Ben found out that Melanie was alive and expected to make a full recovery, he stopped calling. He considered visiting in the hospital, but one of his coworkers tried that and ran into Wilford, who flew into a rage. He demanded to know if his engineers really had nothing better to do than deliver teddy bears.

“She’s doing more work than you are,” he said. “Now go away!”

Day and night, Wilford guarded Melanie like a gargoyle.

“That’s his guilt,” went the chatter in the breakroom. “Guilt? About what?” “He sent her over there.” “You’re nuts. Wilford doesn’t feel bad about anything.” “And yet, he won’t leave her room.” “Here’s a thought. Maybe Melanie’s really dead, but he doesn’t want us to catch on. Figures we might try and bail before the ship goes down.” “Weekend at Bernie’s?” “She’s fine! She’s fine! Melanie says get back to work!” [chuckles] “Seriously, though. Is she okay? Should we send a card?”

2. Nobody sent a card. In five years of development, Melanie had never given anyone a card, for anything. She once told Ben, cards are a pointless waste of paper. “And the glitter,” she went on, rubbing her fingers together with a grimace. “They all have glitter.”

“They make cards without glitter.”

“Doesn’t matter. They sit next to the cards that do have glitter, and it transfers. And card shops always smell like scented candles. Have you noticed that? The miasma of rose hips and vanilla?”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Also, he wasn’t sure what a miasma was. Ben watched as Melanie went back to work. She seemed to have forgotten why they were talking about greeting cards in the first place.

“So, I’ll just sign your name to this one?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“There’s a party. With cake. And booze.” When she didn’t say anything, he offered, “You should come.”

“Oh. Well. Sure. Maybe. If I finish this work in time.”

Ben knew what that meant. Melanie hated staff parties. If the idle conversation weren’t enough to keep her away, Wilford had started bringing Audrey along as entertainment.

And there was nothing more glittery than Audrey.

3. When Melanie came back to work, her coworkers didn’t find it strange that she kept to herself. She’d always been like that, after all. People welcomed her back and asked how she was, but with Wilford always looming, there wasn’t much opportunity for conversation.

“It’s just a few broken ribs,” she said. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look fine. It was obvious to anyone with eyes, she wasn’t revealing the half of her injuries. Most glaring of all was a crushed right hand, which Ben knew must be killing her. Not just in terms of pain, but Melanie was a notoriously tactile person.

“You can’t understand something unless you put your hands on it,” she once said. They were testing a new diagnostics program he’d written, and she was sure the readings were off. She could feel it. He disagreed, and when it turned out Melanie was right, she gave him a little lecture.

“Fingertips over sensors,” she said. “Get your hands dirty once in awhile, you’ll have better instincts.”

Ben chaffed at the criticism, but there was no arguing with someone who was always right. When it came to machines, Melanie had the magic touch.

Now, maybe half the magic touch.

But Ben couldn’t bring himself to be cute or ironic about it. Melanie losing her dominant hand only a year from completing her magnum opus seemed like a kind of cruel, cosmic joke.

4. Wilford pulled out all the stops as he tried to help Melanie adjust.

“You haven’t got one hand,” he said, standing close behind her, bringing his arms forward, palms up, fingers wiggling. “You’ve got three.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But really, I can manage on my own.”

“And miss your chance to command two of the devil’s finest playthings? Nonsense! It’ll be just like old times. Perfect sympatico.”

Wilford gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and while he was still behind and unable to see her reaction, Melanie seemed to slip. She was... repelled. Then, her eyes snapped up, realizing for the first time that Ben was standing there.

“Oh, bother,” Wilford sighed, still not releasing her arm. “Can we help you?”

“I have upgrades for the harmonic module,” Ben replied, presenting a thumb drive. “It’s a secondary system, designed to kick in for high volume calculations. It’s stochastic, so it should give us faster results, without-"

"-without a statistically significant impact on accuracy," Wilford finished his sentence. He smiled, impressed for once. "Well, well, Bennett. At least someone was working while the bosses were away. How about it, my dear? Are you in the mood for some nondeterministic computational theory, or is that too dull for this, the week of your triumphant return?”

Again, Ben met Melanie’s eyes. And again, every neuron in his brain screamed, something was very wrong.

Down the assembly line, a forklift dropped a pallet of supplies and Melanie flinched, though her facial expression remained unchanged. Blank. Empty. Not like she was somewhere else, but like she existed nowhere at all.

5. That night, for the first time in fifteen years, Ben dreamed about the car crash that killed his youngest brother.

Everything came back, as vividly as the day it happened. The bang-and-ring. The sickening spin. Shattering glass. Inversion. Crunching. The smell of gasoline and the taste of blood. And little Ian, just 8 years old and perfect, lying in the back seat next to him, his eyes open but unseeing. There were no final moments. He was just gone.

Ben awoke gasping and sweating. He ran to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. “Fuck!” he yelled into the towel as he dried off. What the fuck was that!?

But it didn’t take a genius to figure this one out, did it?

“Christ,” he mumbled, pulling out the bourbon. He poured a double, but stopped with the glass an inch from his lips. With another curse, he pitched the amber liquid down the sink. He filled the kettle, boiled water, and made tea.

As it steeped, he closed his eyes in meditation, counting every breath until his timer went off. 4 minutes.

When he opened his eyes again, it was snowing. Thick flakes, landing softly on the balcony. The Chicago cityscape twinkled in the background.

He thought about Melanie.

He thought about the vacant expression on her face. He’d never seen her like that before. But he recognized the look, from his own reflection, many years ago.

He remembered being numb, exhausted, white knuckling every moment, startling at the slightest sound. After the accident, his older sister, Cecelia, took care of him. She slept next to him at night. She taught him breathing exercises. She took him to a doctor when things got really bad. And then she took him to another doctor, when the first one turned out to be useless.

Cee probably saved his life.

Ben wondered if Melanie had her own Cecelia, or if it really was just Wilford. To his credit, the master engineer seemed to be doing everything in his power to put his broken protégé back together. And yet.

Ben frowned as he watched the snow come down. He just knew, something was very wrong.

There is a Part 4, it's coming soon...

#snowpiercer #fanfiction #Alexander(SP)

7 notes · View notes

twomoonstwosuns · 4 years

Text

right the wrongs.

back to you [series masterlist]

previous part · next part

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warnings: swearing, angst/pining, age gap (reader over 18)

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i wanted to incorporate a little Poe POV, so hopefully this turned out ok! feedback is welcome and very much appreciated (thank you to all who have given me feedback so far, it truly makes me happy to know you’re enjoying this story).

i get to go to work thursday-saturday to prep a store for re-opening, so if you don’t see an update in my normal 3-4 days after this update, that’s why!

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

Poe sat at the desk in his office, twirling the pen in his hand as he rocked back in his chair. His office door was locked, any knocks by students and staff met by complete silence. There was work to be done, papers to grade, lesson plans to arrange, and an interview to prepare for. The hope was that he’d be able to get some work done, but it wasn’t effective. He had tried working at home and that didn’t work either.

All he could see when he looked around his apartment was the fight you two had.

Poe was a little surprised to see you in class. He wouldn’t have blamed you for skipping; he didn’t feel like going to class that day either. It took every ounce of strength he had not to look at you during class. He naturally glanced around the room as he taught to make sure his students were paying attention, so he did have to look in your direction a few times. He was glad to see that you were avoiding looking at him. Poe didn’t think he’d be able to bear seeing the anguish on your face. It probably matched his, though he had to do a better job of hiding it.

Truth was, he was miserable being in a fight with you.

This was one of the cons of being in a relationship with you that he dreaded. Besides the fact that it was veryagainst the rules, if there wasany animosity between you, it couldn’t exist in public. Couples fought, it was natural, but you had to fake it. And it was much easier said than done.

Poe knew you didn’t mean what you said, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. He wasn’t proud about his behavior either; of the comments he made towards you out of jealousy and frustration. You had been honest about your ex and he really appreciated that, yet he couldn’t help but get jealous. Was it the fact that you could be seen in public with him and have it not be a big deal or the idea that another guy could think of you the way he did that made him jealous? Poe didn’t know.

The only thing he did know was how quickly the evening had turned into a disaster. He had been excited to see you. He should’ve kept his jealous feelings to himself and let you show him the surprise you had underneath your dress. If Poe hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have said anything and neither one of you would be miserable. But the fact was, words weresaid and there was no way to take them back. He was stubborn; he wanted to see you so badly, but he also wanted you to be the first one to apologize.

There was something to be said that even though he was upset with you and had been hurt by you, all he wanted to do was see you, make up with you, and hold you.

He missed you. Plain and simple.

》》》

“Hey, it’s Jannah, leave a message after the beep!”

“You’ve reached Rose Tico. I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

“Damn it,” you whispered, tossing your phone onto the counter. You’d never felt more alone than you did at that very moment. Karé was out of town for the weekend, you were barely speaking to Jessika, and neither of your best friends from high school was answering their phones.

You really needed someone to talk to.

It had been two days since you left Poe’s apartment and you didn’t know whether or not you’d get to go back. You almost didn’t go to class because you felt too cowardly to face him. But you did go and you could barely focus. You kept your head down the entire time, only looking up if you had to take note of something. At the same time, all you wanted to do was go up and hug him and not let go. You felt ashamed, hurt by the things you both said and even more hurt when he seemed to ditch his office hours after class. You could only assume it was because he wanted to avoid you.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what you said, how wrong it was for you to say. Of course you didn’t mean it; you could never mean it. Except you did say it and now there was nothing you could do now but apologize.

But you couldn’t bear the thought of Poe looking at you with disappointment again.

That image of Poe was stuck in your brain, taking away your sleep and your sanity. A dull throb beat against your forehead from the crying and lack of sleep.

So you tried to distract yourself with baking.

The smell of chocolate chip cookies filled the kitchen. You’d been at this for hours, making batch after batch. There was something so satisfying about mixing ingredients together, pent up frustration coming out with each twist of your kitchen utensils. When you talked to Poe, whenever that might be, you planned to bring a batch as part of your apology, or to use as an icebreaker for what you knew would be a very tense and uncomfortable conversation.

A knock on your door brought you out of your reeling thoughts. Part of you wished it was Poe, but deep in your mind you knew he wouldn’t risk coming into an apartment building full of students. You opened the door and saw the last person you’d expect on the other side.

“Ben! Wh—what are you doing here?”

Ben, all tall and broad, leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “I stopped by to see my mom and thought I’d take a chance and see if you were out of class.”

“How’d you know where I live?”

“I kind of asked your mom.”

You shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Ben was nice. Ben was a friend. However, this was a little weird. His eyes wandered around behind you.

“Um, I’d invite you in but my roommate isn’t feeling well and she’s sleeping so I don’t want to disturb her.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Jessika had skipped her classes and stayed home with the beginnings of a migraine. With Ben showing up and saying these things, you weren’t comfortable letting him into your home.

“Would you want to go get coffee then?”

The idea did sound enticing. It would provide a distraction from Poe, if only temporary. And with all of your friends gone or not available, you could use a friend right about now.

“Sure, but I’m in the middle of baking right now. Could I meet you somewhere in like an hour?”

“If you don’t mind driving, there’s a coffee and tea bar about thirty minutes away that’s supposedly really good. My mom goes there all the time, I guess.”

You nodded. “Sounds good, text me the address.”

You bid him goodbye and shut the door, walking back into the kitchen and taking the cookies out of the oven just as the timer went off. You turned the oven off and leaned forward against the counter.

“Everything ok?”

Jessika emerged from her bedroom, hair still disheveled from lying in bed.

“Everything’s fine,” you answered, your tone colder than you intended. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

If Jessika did notice your attitude towards her, she didn’t mention it, instead shaking her head and standing directly across from you. She glanced behind you at the cookies. “You usually only bake when it’s a holiday or you’re trying to distract yourself.”

There was no answer from you, but it wasn’t a silence that told her to back off.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Poe and I had a fight.”

You blurted it out before you even processed the thought, the need to talk about it becoming so overwhelming. But you weren’t going into all of the details, the trust between you and your roommate still very fragile.

“We fought about my ex and then I said something terrible.” You took a deep breath, the exhale shaking a little more than you anticipated. “I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person,” Jessika immediately interjected, nearly cutting you off. “I don’t know what you said and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but people say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment. That doesn’t mean they’re terrible people. We’re human and we make mistakes.”

Glancing up at Jessika, you noticed her looking back at you, the first significant eye contact you’d made with her in weeks. The double meaning didn’t go unnoticed by you and you gave her a half smile.

“Thank you,” you said softly, earning a small smile back from Jessika. “I picked you up some ginger ale and crackers when I was at the store. And help yourself to cookies.”

Jessika gave you a grateful smile before grabbing a glass of water and retreating back to her room.

It was dim, but a little bright light was peaking into your dark cloud. Maybe there was some hope for the both of you.

》》》

The café that Ben found was a family-owned, hole in the wall place with a cozy atmosphere. You always imagined these kinds of café’s in small towns across the different countries of Europe, which may have been why Ben had been drawn to it.

It was the kind of place you’d wish you could take Poe to.

Ben bought a cup of tea for you. You teased how much space he took up as he sat down across from you. Ben had always towered over you, even when you first met him in middle school. It wasn’t until high school when you became friends and became comfortable enough to make light-hearted fun of him for it.

You picked up where you left off at the restaurant, having Ben elaborate more on his travels since you had gotten through all of the reminiscing and catching up. As hard as you tried to stay engaged in the conversation, it got increasingly harder. You felt bad, enjoying yourself while you were supposed to be feeling guilty about the things you said. You kept glancing at your phone, having sent a text before you sat down telling Poe you missed him and wanting to know if you could talk.

You started to regret leaving your apartment. It was so much easier to wallow in self-pity when you were curled up in a blanket in the comfort of your own home.

“Earth to Y/N!” Ben snapped his fingers in front of your face and snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry.”

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah.” Ben tilted his head in concern, the look on his face saying he didn’t believe you one bit. “Really, everything’s fine. I’m just tired. And a little stressed.”

“Do you want to get dinner tonight? Talk about it?”

Shaking your head, you gave him a sympathetic half smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“That’s ok, maybe another time,” Ben said. He eyed you cautiously. “Do you…ever think about what went wrong between us?”

You were waiting for this topic to come up. Truth be told, though you anticipated this conversation being a little on the uncomfortable side, you were happy it was brought up between the two of you and not when you were at dinner with your families. Your tongue pressed against the back your teeth.

“I don’t think anything went really wrong,” you answered after careful consideration, your fingers drumming against the side of your cup. “We didn’t fight, there wasn’t cheating…we were kids with our whole future ahead of us. We’d only been dating four months, whatever ‘dating’ meant as a couple of teenagers. And the marriage thing…”

“Yeah, not my greatest moment.”

You gave a light laugh, glad that there were no hard feelings between the two of you over your breakup. Ben suddenly placed his hand over the one that was wrapped around your cup of tea. You felt your whole body freeze.

“I want to try again,” he said softly, holding your gaze. “Us.”

You gulped as your smile fell. “Ben…”

“I’ve been thinking about it since I got back.” The pad of this thumb gently ran over the back of your hand. “We were good together.”

You pulled your hand back quickly. This was the last thing you needed to hear, your mentality already delicate between all the fights you had in your life right now.

“Ben, I have a boyfriend.”

Ben sat back in his seat, studying you carefully.

“You didn’t say that at dinner,” he finally said after a few seconds.

“It’s still new. I didn’t want to share it quite yet.”

“You haven’t posted it on social media.”

“Stalking my social media now?” What was meant to be said in a joking manner instead came out irritated. “I’m not obligated to post my relationship status online.”

“No pictures either.” You knew Ben was testing you and you felt exasperation bubbling inside you at having to defend every statement you made.

“He’s a private person.”

“He a student?”

“No, he’s graduated already.” You crossed your arms defensively, leaning back in your chair. “Why the interrogation?”

“I’m starting to think this boyfriend doesn’t exist.”

“Well, he does.”

“What’s his name?” You kept your mouth shut. He could coax this information out of you, but you weren’t giving him anything else. “You’re not going to tell me his name?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s my business.”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Yes he does.”

“Then why won’t you tell me his name?”

“Because it’s my business, Ben!” You repeated, voice growing louder. A couple of other patrons turned to look at the sudden outburst. “You don’t need to know everything about my life. We are completely different people now.”

“Why’d you agree to this coffee date then?”

“I thought I was just getting coffee with a friend. Usually when two people are on a date, they both know it.” You stood up, quickly putting your coat on. “I think it’s best if you stop texting me.”

“Why? You’re boyfriend going to get jealous?” Ben was irritated. You were irritated. And you were done.

“He doesn’t control who I talk to,” you explained. “It’s because I’ve told you I have a boyfriend that I want to keep private and you don’t respect that.”

You stepped away from the table, but decided to turn back with one last thing to say. Ben had been watching you.

“You can believe he’s real or not, I don’t really care. But even if he wasn’t, the answer would still be no.”

With that, you walked out the door, the care you were taking to not slip on the slippery sidewalks preventing you from storming to your car like you wanted. As your car warmed up, you looked at the previous message you sent to Poe an hour earlier, telling him you missed him and asking if you could talk. It had been delivered, but not read. You texted him again, telling him you were coming over before tossing the phone into your purse and pulling out of the parking lot.

The wintry roads made you drive slowly, which gave you plenty of time to think of what you were going to say when you got to Poe’s. He had been right. There was no way he could’ve known, but he was right. And you were angry that he was right.

Had you led Ben on? You went over the conversations you had with him, trying to pinpoint where you might’ve been a little too flirty or accidentally touched him a little too friendly. And meeting up for coffee – you were practically on a date with your ex while you were fighting with your boyfriend.

You felt guilty, even though you were pretty sure you didn’t have to.

You were going to tell Poe everything. Honesty didn’t get you very far the last time you decided to tell the truth, but you didn’t know how much more you could keep bottled up. As messed up as it was, even if you got in another fight with him, at least you were in the same room as him.

Being upset was exhausting and distracting. You barely registered the music coming from the radio. You were only aware of other cars on the road when their lights blinded you as they drove in the opposite direction as you. You were consumed by your thoughts, consumed by guilt, and consumed by heartache.

It wasn’t until you slammed on the brakes and your car started spinning out of control that you realized how distracted you truly were.

tag list [open!] - @ah-callie @darksideofclarke @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies @spider-starry @krazykatkay456 @fanfiction-trashpile @afootnoteinyourhappiness @easterncryptid @my-child-gaara @myrandom-fandomlife @onebatch--twobatch @the-cry-of-youth @p3nny4urth0ught5 @porgiez @umchrisevans @galaxy-of-stories @seeking-a-great--perhaps @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @dameronsgalaxygal

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron #poe dameron angst #poe dameron x reader insert #modern au #modern poe dameron #back to you series #angst

189 notes · View notes

lowkeyleaffan · 4 years

Text

Doctors Orders - Morgan Rielly part 3

A/N: Again no one asked but here’s a part 3 :)

Word count: 2322 words

Warnings: just some swear words.

Mon Nov 18

You woke up the morning after your date smiling. You sat up and checked your phone, as soon as you checked it you can’t help but smile.

From Morgan: Hey, just got home. I had to help Tyson to his room and make sure he stayed in bed, that boy owes me big time.

From Morgan: Good morning

To Morgan: that’s poor boy haha, and good morning

From Cournty: hey! Do you have the day off? I’ve got some running around to do/doctor's appointment and don’t wanna brag Luna around

To Cournty: yeah, just have Jake bring her by before he leaves for the airport

You put your phone down before you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. You return to your bedroom and grab your phone before you go to the kitchen and your phone goes off.

From Jake: ill be at your place in 10

To Jake: okay

From Leah: i’m on my way home, coffee?

To Leah: yes please

You go and sit on the couch before you turn on the TV and watch the news. You were messing around on your phone texting Morgan about your plans and what time he’s planning on heading to the airport. You weren’t paying attention until the door opens.

“I found someone.” Leah says and you turn around to see Jake standing there with Luna in his arm.

You jumped up and ran to the door before you take Luna from Jake and give her a hug. As soon as you hug her you move her to my hip and hug Jake. He gives me a kiss on the cheek before he puts the diaper bag down.

“So, as your big brother I feel like I need to ask about your date.” he says and Leah comes and takes Luna to the couch.

“What do you mean?” you ask forcing a smile.

“I mean, you’ve been on two dates with him. Is it getting serious?” he asks.

“I don’t know J, you’re not meeting him if that’s what you’re hinting at.” you say.

“Y/N, you never let me meet any of the guys you date!” he exclaims.

“Because you scare them away! Let me get comfortable before I introduce him to Jake Muzzin.” you say and he nods before he puts an arm over your shoulder.

“Meet me halfway. What’s the guys name?” He asks and you can’t help but bite your lip.

“Morgan.” You say and you can see Jake eye you as if trying to see if you were talking about Rielly. Of course you were but no way in hell you're telling Jake that.

“Weird. Mo is seeing someone named Y/n who’s also a doctor?” He says looking generally confused.

“Y/N is a common name. I’m sure there’s more than just me.” You say and he just nods before he drops it.

“Before I forget. You’re coming to the game on the 30th if you’re not working over night. Alex and Morgan want to meet you, I’m pretty sure Morgan thinks you’re fake because he’s never met you.” he says and you tense for a second.

“Sure.” You say.

“Okay, I gotta go I’m picking Mo up.” Jake says and you just nod as Leah brings Luna over.

Luna puts her arms out to Jake who takes her a kisses her cheek.

“Bye my sweet girl.” He says says before he gives her back and I give him a hug.

“Be safe please.” You say and he nods before he kisses your head.

“BYE LEAH!” He calls out.

“BYE JAKE!” She yells back before he leaves and you take Luna to the couch.

Luna was on your lap as you put The Little Mermaid on and Luna giggled. You smile as your phone goes off signing a text from Morgan.

From Morgan: So has your brother dropped his daughter off yet?

To Morgan: yup and we’re about to start a Disney day!

You put your phone away before you cuddle Luna close to your chest as she giggles.

The rest of the day was easy. You just watched Luna and talked with Morgan until his flight. Around 5:30 pm Country walks in the house, she comes right over to the couch and sits down before you hand her Luna and she looks at you.

“What?” You ask and she just smiles.

“Just because Jake is dumb as a sheet of paper doesn’t mean I am.” She says as your jaw drops before you quickly recover.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say quickly.

“Oh please Y/N, Morgan is seeing this young doctor named Y/N and you’re seeing a guy named Morgan?” She says and you just roll your eyes “so it is Rielly!”

“you can’t tell Jake!” You exclaim.

“I won’t, but you should.” She says and you sigh.

“I want to figure out what Morgan and I are first.” You explains and she nods before she gets up and walks towards the door.

“Don’t wait too long though y/n/n.” She says before she gives you a hug and leaves.

You head back to the living room and sit back on the couch. At about 7 pm you decide to get up and go make some dinner. You began to make yourself mac and cheese when Leah walked in the room. She jumped up on the counter and looked at you.

“Yes I’ll make you and Carter dinner.” you say rolling your eyes.

“Not what I was going to ask but thank you!” she says smiling.

“Whats up?” you ask as you start to grate cheese.

“I’m not going to be home this weekend.” she says and you nod as your phone goes off.

You decide to ignore it until you finish making dinner and putting it in the oven. You sat at the table before you open your phone and see Morgan texted and snapchatted you. His snapchat was just a goofy tired smile with the Vegas location tag, you smile and just send one back before you answer his text.

From Morgan: hey we just got back to the hotel

To Morgan: got back?

From Morgan: Muzz and Bears wanted to go to the strip

To Morgan: oh fun

The idea of Morgan and Jake hanging out wasn’t odd to you. You knew they did it but now that you’ve gone on dates and are talking to Morgan it made you feel uneasy. You pushed the thought to the back of my head when you heard the timer go off. You go take the Mac and cheese out of the oven and get yourself a plate before calling Leah and Carter. The two of them grabbed plates and sat at the table.

“So y/n, does Jake know?” Carter asks.

“Nope.” You say before you start to eat.

“Is he going to find out?” He asks

“Nope.” You say again and he just nods.

The rest of dinner was silent until Leah offered to do the dishes in which you agreed and went to your bedroom. Looking at the clock that reads 9 pm, you put your phone on the charger before you go and get a shower.

After showering and doing your nighttime routine you put on an over sized shirt and get into bed. Right as you were about to fall asleep there was a knock on your door before it slowly opens and Carter sticks his head in. He sees you in bed and he sighs.

“Do you have tampons?” he asks.

“Does Leah not have any?” you ask and he shakes his head “well, I hate to break this to you but looks like you’re going to the store.”

He just sighs and goes to shut the door but you stop him making him turn around and look at you.

“Yes?” he asks

“Did Morgan say anything to you about last night?” you ask and he smirks.

“What was last night Muzz?” he asks raising an eye brow making you roll your eyes.

“Dumbass, go to the store.” you say and he laughs.

“Fine, he did. He didn’t give me much just said he had a good time and can’t wait until they’re back.” he says and you nod smiling to yourself.

“Get me some Gatorade for tomorrow please.” you say and he nods before he leaves shutting your light off and shutting your door.

TUES NOV 19

You had woken up to your phone going off. Sighing you look at the time and see it was only 4 am and the hospital calling. Sighing you answer the phone.

“Hello?” You say.

“Doctor Muzzin! I know you’re supposed to be in at 6, but Doctor Jay has asked me to call you early because he’s concerned with Alexis.” Allison explains and you nod knowing she can’t see you.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll be right in.” You say before you hang up and get out of bed.

You quickly get up and put on your scrubs before you throw your hair into a bun and put your glasses on. You unplug your phone before you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Once you’re done you quickly go to the kitchen and grab your lunch before you get your keys and head out.

You make your way to your car and start the drove over to sick kids. Seeing how it’s 4:15 am the streets were dead. You parked the car, grabbed your lunch bag and got out. You lock the car before you you head into Sick Kids and go to the 5th floor. You drop your bag in the staff room before you go to the nurses desk and punch in before you see doctor Jay. The second he sees you he thrusts a chart into your chest and you sigh.

“Good morning to you too doctor Jay.” you say as you open the chart and look at it.

“Good morning doctor Muzzin.” he says.

As you look at the chart you don’t see anything wrong. Sure her numbers are slightly elevated but nothing that concerned you, they’re actually lower than when you left the other day.

“Chris, what exactly is wrong with this?” you ask.

“Her numbers are high.” he says and you sigh.

“Did you look at her previous charts before you told Allison to call me?” you ask annoyed.

“No.” he says slowly.

“Chris, these are things you need to look at.” You say sighing “I understand you’re filling in for doctor Jasper tonight but you’ve been a doctor for long enough to know that you need to check her charts. Do you even know what medication she’s allergic to?”

“She's allergic to something.” He says and you look at him with your jaw dropped.

“You didn’t even look to see that she's allergic to Ampicillin?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Doctor Jay you’re done for the night, thank you.”

“You can’t send me home.” He says and you look at him

“Excuse me? Yes I can. I am the shift doctor making what I say go and you called me in therefore relishing your authority. Plus I have more experience than you as a doctor on which automatically makes me take over when I start. Now this will be filed to doctor Montgomery who will look at it so would you like to add not listing to a superior to the list?” You ask and he shakes his head “I didn’t think so. Goodnight doctor Jay.”

With that he walked away and you went to sit down but Allison stopped you.

“He kinda freaked out in the room and called me to ask me to call you in so Alexis parents are kinda freaked out.” She says smiling.

You sigh before you grab her chart and walk off to her room. Once you get there you knock softly before you poke your head in. You see Alexis' parents look at you before they get up and meet you at the door. You stood back so they could join you in the hall.

“First things first good morning. I would like to apologize for doctors Jay's actions this morning when he freaked you guys out. I want to assure you there is nothing wrong with Alexis. In fact her numbers went down so I would like to run another test today to see if they’re back up or if it’s finally going down for good.” You explain.

“Thank you Doctor Muzzin.” her mom says and you nod.

“Of course, I’ll come back around 8 for that lab okay?” You say and they nod before you leave them and go back to the nurses station and start writing an email to the head of pediatrics.

As soon as you finished the email your day started and things got crazy. By the time 6 pm rolled around you were exhausted. When you rolled into your apartment you dropped onto your bed. You were about to fall asleep when your phone went off.

“Hello?” you answer half asleep.

“I haven’t heard from you all day so I wanted to make sure you didn’t die.” you hear the voice say and you instantly smile.

“Nope just a 14 hour nonstop day.” you say.

“14 hours? Y/N that’s crazy!” Morgan says and you sigh.

“It is what it is Mo, It’s my job.” you say.

You end up talking with Morgan about your work and how he’s stressed that Babcock might get fired and how it’s a lot of pressure on him. The two of you talked until had to leave for pre game and you were about to fall asleep. Morgan promised to call you after work tomorrow. You went to the kitchen and reheated the mac and cheese from last night. You quickly ate before you went to your room and passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

#doctors orders #morgan rielly imagine #morgan rielly #morgan rielly x reader #Toronto Maple Leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #jake muzzin #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

47 notes · View notes

write-like-you-mean-it · 4 years

Text

A Teacher’s Job is Never Done: Haikyuu Coffee Shop AU

The early morning shift at the No Doze Cafe always seemed to bring an array of variety of characters. Usually there are the sleepless, shy students that come to the cafe to get a quick drink and bite to eat. Sometimes there’s the brute businessmen who down three cups of coffee before they finally get off the phone. But my personal favorite are the exhausted teachers who stop by to get a quick coffee before sitting down to grade. Our shop is located near a preparatory school for school aged children.

If I was being honest, morning was my favorite time of the day which always made the morning shift the best. Today, the gods decided to create a deluge of thunderstorms. I found myself covered in wet rain splotches as I entered the key into the door. I was the morning shift leader so I had to be there early enough to start heating up cold pastries or make fresh vats of coffee.

My wet hair clung to my neck. It would be an unholy mess come the next few hours. Once inside, I praised the heat from the furnace in the corner. Carrie must’ve stocked some of the inventory early this morning or the heater would not be on today. Before starting on getting things ready, I dried off my shaking body by the fire. My body temperature finally increased until I wasn’t shaking anymore.

A knock at the door took me away from the furnace. I turn to see a group of high schoolers trying to get into the cafe. I rolled my eyes, put my hair back, and went to fix a vat of coffee. After a few more incessant knocks at the door, I went to turn on the open sign.

“Finally!” cried the group of drenched high schoolers. There were a few more cheers of adulation until they walked to the same furnace I was at only a moment ago. “I thought you weren’t going to open the door for us Ms.,” said one of the older ones. “The rain started to pick up.”

“You’re lucky that I even opened the door for all of you,” I joke while walking behind the bar. “I could’ve let you soak.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” joked one of the girls called Harper. “We’re your best customers.” I roll my eyes knowing that they were right. These teens were our bread and butter of the business. Most of their studying took place at this cafe rather than anywhere else.

The timer on the vat of coffee dings to signal its done. I grab the pot before placing it on the counter. One of the students comes up to ask for a black coffee. “Good thing I just made some,” I smile.

The front door swings open to see another one of the regulars. “Good morning Sensei,” said Eichi, the youngest of the group. He helped out with the elementary schools after his high school classes were done for the day.

“Good morning, Eichi,” said the light-grey haired man. “Are you going to stop by the school on your walk home today? The kids keep asking when the ‘pretty high school boy’ is coming back.” A slight blush was on the cheeks of the younger boy.

A few of the girls teased their friend as they went back to talking about classwork for the day.

The teacher walked over to the counter. He placed his large messenger bag on the counter before shaking off some of the rain from his hair.

“Hey, don’t get our system wet.” It was a jest by myself as I wiped off any extra water from the till. “You know I’d have to take it out of my paycheck.”

“You and I both know that Carrie wouldn’t do that,” he said. “She may tell me to take it out of mine but that’s a whole different story.” I could’ve sworn the room became brighter when he smiled. I mirrored him as I put in his normal black coffee with 2 pumps of vanilla.

“How are the children, Sugawara?” I ask while going to pump the vanilla. He reaches into the bag, pulls out some cash, hands over the three dollars and places it on the counter.

“I thought I told you to call me Suga,” he said while adjusting the messenger bag back on his shoulder. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “They’re doing alright. Testing season is coming so they're all a little worried.”

“I still can’t believe they test your little third graders. I feel like they should push it back a little. Let the kids be kids.” I pick up his coffee and hand it to him. “There you go. One coffee with two shots of vanilla.”

“Thanks,” Suga said. A few of the teenagers started whispering quietly while giggling. We turn our attention towards them. Their conversation stops only for a second before returning quiet whispers. I turn my attention back to the regular.

“So, Suga.” His name feels nice on my tongue. “Are you going to stay for a while or do you have some meeting at school?”

Suga adjusted his bag as it started to fall. Our eyes meet once again. A small blush fell on my cheeks which made me turn away. “I can stay for a little while. Our staff meeting doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.”

“Oh don’t stay on my regard,” I say while watching one of the girls jokingly hit Eichi. “I don’t want to keep you from your job. Your kids would be nothing without you.”

“No. I can stay.” Suga took off his coat and messenger back. “As long as I could get another coffee to go then I’ll be alright.” He places his bag back onto the bar and takes a seat at one of the bar stools overlooking where we make our coffee.

A couple of the girls giggle until Suga looks over his shoulder once again. The girls suddenly turn away. “I think they’re talking about us,” I comment.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he responded. “I bet they think we can’t hear them.”

I roll my eyes before starting another pot of coffee. It was getting to be later in the morning and a few more students were going to join the crowd soon enough. “I wonder what they would be discussing.” My voice was loud enough for them to hear. Suga only chuckled before pulling out some papers. He always had papers to grade.

“Oh you know Ms,” said the tallest and most abrasive of the boys in the group: Kisho. He was a troublemaker at school but great at comedy nights. My only response was to shake my head. A few of the outcasts of the group order some drinks for the road. The high school would be starting soon.

“Bye Ms. and Sensei,” called Harper.

“You two should kiss already,” Kisho calls before running out the door.

“Kisho!” exclaims one of the girls before chasing after him.

“Teenagers,” I groan. Grabbing a rag, I clean off any surface the teens may have touched.

“They’re right though,” commented Suga. I hadn’t realized he got out of his chair and followed me to the furnace. “Huh?” I questioned. “Maybe not the kissing part yet, but I’d love a date with you.”

I turn and stand only to be face-to-face with his hazel eyes. I stutter out a “a date with me?”

“Yes,” he shrugged while moving a small piece of damp hair from my face. “I can pick you up after school.”

“Oh.” Pink blush was on both our cheeks. “I’d love to Suga.”

“Suga or Koshi. You can say whichever you’d like.” Our faces were only inches apart. He rested his hand on my face. I’d be easy to lean into any touch he’d give but I only smiled as he pulled away.

“Koshi. I like it.”

An alarm goes off in his bag. I watch as he checks the alarm and quickly picks up the phone. It must’ve been something at the school because Suga shoved the papers into the bag before heading to the door.

Before leaving, he puts the phone to his chest, smiles at me and says, “I’ll see you after school.”

Haikyuu Masterlist

(This series is a choose your own adventure. Pick your favorite man or all of them. I will try to make as many of them as possible with continuations. So far, there is Oikawa, Sugawara, Tuskishima, Kageyama, Hinata, and Akaashi. If you have a suggestion or comment, please message me!!)

The date can be found here!

#sugawara #suga #sugawara x you #sugawara x reader #hq #haikyuu #one-shot #coffee shop au

20 notes · View notes

fallinfor-youreyes · 4 years

Text

Catch Me Off My Guard

Dani forgets her lipstick, and ends up learning something new about Malcolm. Post 1x05. Ao3

She forgets her lipstick at his house.

Dani’s not sure how she does it, but she assumes it something to do with sleeping on the counter and dealing with a highly drugged Malcom Bright.

And honestly, if it were any other lipstick, she would have already forgotten about it. But it’s not any other lipstick. It’s her favorite lipstick. Her favorite lipstick that is no longer sold anywhere, that she had bought as many as she could when she heard it was being retired. It was the last tube of her favorite lipstick, and she had been an idiot and decided to wear it out that night because she hadn’t been out in ages. Even if it was for work, and a very stupid idea in the first place.

She had looked literally everywhere else for it, but she remembered seeing it in her bag on the subway to Bright’s, which meant she probably lost it as his place.

Which is why she was here, standing outside his building on a freezing Saturday morning, because she couldn’t bring herself to text him about it, and apparently just showing up at his apartment made more sense in her mind.

If she hadn’t already rang his doorbell, she would already be walking back home. But she had, so she was here, hands stuffed in her pockets, hoping he was actually home so he could let her inside before she got frostbite.

“Hello?” His voice crackles out of the speaker just as she’s about to turn around, and her stomach plummets to the floor. She should have never left her apartment today.

“Bright, it’s Dani.”

“Oh! Hey, come on up!”

The door buzzes, and then she’s inside the blissfully warm hallway, and Malcolm’s head pops out from the top of the stairs, and this is a bad idea, she thinks. They are work friends, people who see each other in the office and sometimes at home when he needs someone to take him there, but it’s a Saturday, and this has nothing to do with work.

She should have just texted him.

“Hi!” His hair flops into his eyes, but he’s smiling at her like nobody’s business, and a weird feeling settles in her chest.

“Hey,” She says, making her way up the steps, taking in how the hall looks different in the early morning sunlight. The colors are different, and she can see the pictures on the wall, and then way too soon she’s turning the corner and almost running straight into him where he’s waiting for her at the door.

Saturday morning Malcolm is different from any other Malcolm she’s met before. His hair is soft and falling in his face, not arranged in the way she’s used to it.

He’s also wearing sweatpants. And a faded Harvard sweatshirt, and it's almost too much for her to handle.

She shrugs off her jacket and he takes it from her before she can hang it up herself, so she busies herself with unzipping her boots so she can leave them at the door, not wanting to track the gross half-snow-half-mud slush through his apartment.

“I don’t mean to barge in, but I think I forgot something here the time I was over.”

“What did you forget?”

She pauses to say hi to Sunshine before making her way inside. “My lipsti-“

Dani freezes, her eyes falling onto Malcolm standing in the middle of the room. His entire kitchen is covered in pastries. Desserts of all sorts sprinkle every available counter, and the oven timer is slowly counting down to whatever is next.

“Lipstick?” He asks, casually as he’s pulling on a pair of oven mitts, like the scene in front of her in completely normal.

“Yeah.” Dani stops at the edge of the counter and tries to count the amount of different food in front of her but she can’t. She’s pretty sure there’s more dessert than weapons on his weapons wall, and it’s making her question everything she’s ever know about Malcom Bright. “Wait, sorry, I didn’t know you baked.”

“Oh,” his cheeks flush pink, and Dani likes the sight of that way too much. “Yeah, I’m what some people might call a stress baker.” He offers her a plate of cookies, and she’s so confused that she takes one.

“I thought you couldn’t eat most foods.”

“Can’t.”

“Then what-“

“Edrissa like brownies,” he says, pointing to the corner full of brownies and cookies. “Ains likes fruit pies and tarts, Gil loves breads, J.T. like donuts, my mom likes cupcakes, and I occasionally can get through a whole slice of crumble.” He opens the oven and glances inside, frowning at whatever is still baking. “Everything else ends up in the break room at work.”

“So you’re the reason the break room has been incredibly popular the last few weeks?”

He shrugs as he closes the over door, pulling out one of the fanciest toothpick holders she’s ever seen.“What about you? I haven’t figured out your favorite dessert yet.”

Dani settles herself into the chair she unfortunately slept in a few weeks ago, right in front of an apple crumble. “I’m known to like a bunch of different things.”

“Good to know.” He flashes her a smile and then moves to wrapping up one of the pies with tin foil. “So, you were saying you lost your lipstick?”

“Yes!” She pushes herself off the chair, because she is not supposed to be getting comfortable here. “I have looked everywhere else for it, and this is the only place I can think I left it.”

“It might be in the bathroom cabin-“ the timer goes off and he glances between her and the oven and his ridiculous fancy tooth picks, and she can tell he’s going to choose the currently unknown pastry, so she nods, and starts making her to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure though. My mother sends her cleaner over here because she doesn’t think I can take care of myself and most of the time, I end up not knowing where anything is.”

Dani opens the cabinet, and it’s surprisingly bare, considering the rest of his bathroom is a full of things. Surprisingly bare, except for a perfectly sized tube of lipstick. Her lipstick. A sigh of relief falls from her mouth, and its a little ridiculous how happy she is have found it, but she has her lipstick and now she can stop feeling weird about coming over to Malcolm’s apartment on a random Saturday morning.

“Found it!” she says, when she comes back into the kitchen, and she’s about to go and get her boots and be out of his hair when she sees he’s placed a cup of tea in on the counter for her. He’s resting on the other side, his own cup of tea and plate of still steaming lemon bars cooling in the space between them.

And she knows she should leave. She got what she came for, and staying would that turn this trip into something else. But she’s curious. She has questions. She puts the lipstick in her pocket and drops herself into the world’s most uncomfortable sleeping chair, and grabs a lemon bar.

“So, where did you learn how to bake?”

“Technically, my mother.”

Dani can’t stop her face being surprised, and he laughs at that, and it makes that stupid dumb feeling in her chest grow a bit more.

“See, you’ve met my mother.” He takes a sip of his tea and plates her a bar. “She would never cook or do anything when we kids. Or now, for that matter. We always had staff for that. But on Christmas, she would always make this apple crumble, and Ainsley and I would sit in the kitchen with her. It was the only time she would ever talk about her family.” Malcolm shrugs and cuts piece of his bar. “And then when everything happened with my dad, she would start making them all the time. It became the only time I didn’t feel like the world was falling apart around us.”

He pauses for a moment, the weight of his words just hanging between them, and Dani doesn’t know what to do say. “Bright I-“

“But mother only cooked crumble, and only for a few months, so then I started sitting in with our cook when she would bake. And then whenever I was over at Gil’s house, I would ask Jackie to teach me everything. So I have a rather rounded baking education.”

“Crumble’s your comfort food?”

Malcolm blinks. “Hmm?”

“You’re comfort food. When you were high you wanted to make crumble. And I made you grilled cheese, because that’s my comfort food.” Dani tucks her hair behind her ears and grabs a bit of the lemon bar. “My mom would make us grilled cheese whenever we had a bad day, and it’s like the only meal I can make without fucking up.”

“From what I remember, it was a pretty fantastic grilled cheese.”

She stuffs the lemon bar in her mouth to shut herself up, but it’s a mistake. She wasn’t really expected anything much, but she can’t help the moan that escapes from mouth.

Malcolm laughs into his tea, and Dani can only nod and try to not stuff the rest of the dessert in her mouth.

“That’s not fair. How can you be so good at this?”

Malcolm’s smile grows. “I’ve been stressed since I was 8 years old. Lot’s of practice.”

Dani grabs another bite so she doesn’t have to say anything right away. There’s a lot about Malcolm Bright that she doesn’t know yet. And there’s a lot about her that he doesn’t know. But she does know that this conversation could be about a lot more than baking, but she needs to know if she’s prepared for that.

They are sort of friends. She remembers his face when he asked her if they were really friends, and how it fell when she said no, because she’s not good at friends. She’s not good at the trusting people and letting people in, and she has zero filter which gets on people’s nerves, and she’s been through a lot. A lot that can scare people away and a lot that has, so she guards herself.

But he looked so crushed when she said they weren’t friends. And against all odds, she likes him. He’s one of the few people she’s met who has been through even more than her, who knows what it’s like to scare people away. They haven’t know each other for long, but for some reason, she knows she trusts him. Which is pretty big for her.

“You know, if you ever need someone to talk to about whatever’s stressing you out, I’m always down for a lemon bar. Or a blueberry muffin,” she grabs her cup of tea, the scent of earl grey greeting her as she pulls it closer. “Or just a cup of tea, with a friend.”

Malcolm ducks his head and tries to hide his smile, but he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. His face is an open book of possibilities. That’s something she knows about him. She wouldn’t mind getting to know more.

“Thanks, Dani. And speaking of thanks, I want to take you out to dinner, to properly say thank you for taken care of me. Twice now,” he says.

She stuffs another piece of lemon bar in her mouth instead of answering.

Dinner outside of sharing a hotdog on stake out is more than just coworker things. Dinner on a Saturday is so much more than just coworker things.

A part of her feels like it could even be a more than friends thing. That part of her also kind of likes the idea of it being a more than friends thing.

“It’s not even 11:30 yet,” she says, because it’s the first rational thing that comes to her mind. She should have waiting for the first smart thing to come to her mind.

Malcolm nods, like what she said was an actual response, folding his hands together so he can place his head on them.

“What about brunch then? I know a great coffee place that has one of the most impressive tea walls I have ever seen.”

She should say no. She should have left as soon as she had her lipstick, but she’s still here, sitting at his counter on a freezing cold Saturday morning.

“You don’t have to take me out to thank me,” she says, trying one last time.

Malcolm’s face brightens. “But I want too.”

And it shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, but it makes her heart jump in her chest. It make her cheeks heat up, and she tries to squash the smile from erupting on her face, but all it does it make her entire face scrunch up like she’s some 16 year old with a crush on a boy who just told he he thought she was pretty.

But maybe that’s what she is. A 25 year old with a crush on a boy who she trusts more than she should. A boy that smiles at her and has even less of a filter than she does, a boy who is currently watching her like whatever she says next going to determine the fate of the universe.

“Okay, I could be down for some more tea.”

“Great!” Malcolm’s up in the next instant, and then he’s holding out her jacket for her once she’s finished zipping up her boots, and when she turns, he’s close to her. As close as they where when he was high and wanted to dance with her.

Close enough that she can feel his breath wash over her skin he breathes out.

Close enough, that the part of her brain that she’s allowing to have a crush on him is now thinking about kissing him.

But she doesn’t. She’s not good at friends, and she’s definitely not very good at relationships, and the last thing she wants to do is mess up whatever fragile thing they have between them right now.

She she takes a step back. Tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Turns to the mirror in the hall while Malcom pulls on his jacket, and grabs her lipstick from her pocket before smoothing it over her lips.

“It’s a good lipstick,” Malcolm says, as he finishes zippering his coat. Dani raises an eyebrow at him as he pulls on his gloves. “I understand why you came back for it.” He offers her his elbow, and it’s so very upper class New York of him that the only she can do is roll her eyes and take his arm.

When she gets into work on Monday, there’s a blueberry muffin sitting on her desk.

And if a warm feeling settles in her chest at the sight of it, then that’s her problem to worry about later.

Right now, she has a muffin to eat.

#prodigal son #prodigal son fic #malcolm bright #dani powell #brightwell #post 1x05 #look baker!malcolm got stuck in my head #and then this disaster happened #i miss them already

119 notes · View notes

squidpro-quo · 4 years

Text

AN: PROLOGUE|| Part 1 || Part 2 Pardon the tardiness! Here’s my words as part of the Pandora’s Tears au, Kaito’s POV

By now Kaito’s used to the exhaustion, the weariness dragging at his bones and rattling his lungs with every heaving cough, while the timer on his life ticks away ever so patiently. It’s a race against time and his own life, a gamble that he plays against himself while he burns away his hours and days on the chance to have more in his future than a finish line at only twenty-five. His chips are down on red, the life-saving red that will be his prize if he comes out alive, if he makes it out without dying. Because his demise can come from a bullet, or from his own body.

But the cold wind on the rooftop is bracing and he doesn’t have time to waste on those kinds of thoughts right now, not when he’s holding himself together by the knot of his tie and the threads of his cape. KID has no earthly troubles holding him, he’s not shackled to death by any kind of burden; the fact that KID survived his father proves that. That’s the kind of immortality he’s looking for, though in a more permanent fashion.

The High Tide Hotel looks serene from outside, hiding the frantic anthill of activity that has taken over its corridors and main ballroom. It’s a beautiful building, expensive and situated next to a park that livens up the block with its colorful bouquet of leaves in the prime of fall. He’s not a fan of their theme, too much emphasis on the sea for him to appreciate the high quality of the place, but it’s doubtless as good a place as any to find what he’s looking for.

It’s almost too easy to infiltrate the police squad on guard around the gem and Kaito slips in unnoticed, reporting for duty late due to illness. His wheezing breaths are entirely authentic, but he reigns it back in just enough to be kept on the task force; there was no point to displaying his weakness this early on, especially when they’ll eventually realize it was him. Nakamori’s face if he ever found out—with his characteristic gasping surprise—that the dying boy next door is the same one he’d been ordering his officers to dogpile on at every opportunity, would be priceless.

“Be alert!” Protect the Song of the Sea at all costs!” Nakamori yells from just a few feet away, jaw clenched tight as he stalks the tiled room with brisk steps. “Get into your positions, men! KID will appear soon, so make sure to keep an eye out!”

It’s just too easy. Kaito smirks, standing at attention alongside the rest with his arms held conveniently behind his back. After how many times that’s aided him in him in a heist, you’d think the police would take notice and change their tune, but instead it keeps giving him the perfect place to pull off his tricks. Flicking his wrist, the smoke bombs drop into his palm with a quiet click he disguises with a discreet, but noisy, cough. He counts down the seconds as he works the smooth marbles between his fingers idly in the meantime.

Three.

One almost drops from his grip when a shot of pain spasms down his arm.

Two.

Letting go, he breathes a short sigh of relief as his muscles don’t protest the movement and the smoke bombs roll away down the row in gentle arcs. He’s in the clear.

One.

Smoke blossoms from the marbles in plumes of violet, hiding the aquariums displayed along the walls as well as the other officers, both of which he’s very glad about. While the squads scramble out of the way of the sleeping gas, he makes a beeline for the jewel, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. These were the moments he lived for now, the anticipation on the edge of success was the only drug that worked on his condition, even if it was a placebo that did nothing but give him the impression of hope until it wore off.

The Song of the Sea, pale blue and heavier than he expects, dangles from his fist as he races past Nakamori with a quick tip of his hat and rushes up the stairs. In the past, he’d been faster during these chases, able to jump the gap and run the distances that left the task force panting and him still grinning from above. But now he’s joined them in feeling the burn of his breaths as he skids around a corner, his cape swirling behind him in his wake like a riptide drawing the officers after him. They certainly have a better chance of catching him now than they did before.

Nevertheless, he reaches the cafe at the top of the hotel with no one else in sight, vacated a short while ago to leave the lights off and the room bathed in moonlight. Holding it up, he tilts the Song of the Sea this way and that in an effort to exhaust every possible angle that it could be hiding inside, but comes up empty regardless. And there’s the crash from the brief high, the reality of another failure settling on his shoulders and he stares out the window, past the beautiful view of the brightly lit city. His mother is meant to report in tonight, some paltry reassurances on her own search and the answers she’s chasing too, and he’ll smile as usual, wave off her apologies for her absence and hope that perhaps next time he sees her he’ll have the solution in his palm.

“Hand it over.”

Kaito doesn’t turn immediately, tossing the Song of the Sea into the air idly and thinking over Snake’s offer. The click behind him doesn’t put him on edge either, it feels like an empty promise when he knows death is growing inside him already.

“It’s not what you’re looking for, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Hand it over,” Snake repeats, making Kaito glance over his shoulder to meet the man’s glare.

“I’ve already told you, did you not listen?” He doesn’t have the patience for this tonight, not after the disappointment that’s reared its head yet again. He’s had fewer encounters with Snake than he can count on one hand, all of them lasting not much longer than the initial question and a vehement refusal, but he has no interest in continuing the conversation today either.

“The shard. Hand it over.”

But that gives him pause.

“Shard?” Kaito searches his memory, the scraps of paper left in his father’s study and the meager amounts of research he’s managed to scrounge up from irreputable sources. The implications send his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what he knows so far.

“Of Pandora. We know you have it, stolen twenty years ago.”

Struggling to maintain his mask of indifference, Kaito twirls the Song of the Sea between his fingers as he searches for how to answer that kind of accusation. Pandora in pieces had never crossed his mind and it seems unlikely, considering the uncharacteristic nature of the gem itself. If it could grant immortality, would it not also be logical for it to keep its whole form ad infinitum?

His silence stretches too long, it seems, for Snake and the gun in his hand swerves to aim at his chest. A second before the trigger twitches, the sound of footsteps rings from down one of the service halls that the hotel staff utilizes for expedited efficiency.

“Get this floor surrounded! No one leaves until I’ve dealt with them myself.” Nakamori’s voice is a welcome relief from the confusion clouding Kaito’s thoughts and he throws himself to the side as the sound of a gunshot rings out a moment too late. He rolls to his feet, the movement slowed by his lingering exhaustion from the stairs and the revelation that had shaken him not a minute before.

“We’ll have it, one way o r another,” Snake threatens, his last words swallowed by Nakamori’s continued shouts.

“Guard the exits! Pair up, no one goes alone!” But despite the familiar cadence of the vigorous yelling, Kaito can hear the slightest scratch of static underneath the voice’s register, not to mention the dear Inspector’s never thought to pair his officers up in the two years that they’ve been playing inept cat and the vanishing mouse.

Straightening up as Nakamori’s approach reaches the entrance to the hotel cafe, he stifles a groan at the way his bones protest the motion.

“Eavesdropping, are we detective? I would think conversations between thieves and assassins are private business,” he says, proud of the way his voice still retains the usual smooth ease of KID’s teasing despite his weariness with the night. “What brings you here, so late to tonight’s game?”

|| Part 4 ||

#dcmk #kaito kid #Kuroba Kaito #Pandora's tears #Kudo Shinichi #my writing #my humble contribution to this au populated with amazing art

137 notes · View notes

stonyiscanon · 4 years

Text

Milkshakes (Bucky Barnes x Reader) CAFÉ AU

Notes: okay but busboy! Bucky makes me want to drown thank you very much. To the person who commented that I should do a Bucky fic, thanks lol, I hope I did okay, this is my first Bucky fic *cue gasp*

Warnings: angst if you squint, insecure! Bucky, oh no! a few bucks in the swear jar, SHITTY WRITING LET’S GO

Words: 4.0k

Summary: The evolution of Bucky’s relationship with you over time.

You come into this café Bucky works in every day. It’s only now that Bucky’s worked up the courage to take your order. (The Avengers working in a café, that should be enough for you to read this.)

WE LOVE A GOOD STRANGERS TO BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

Bucky clocks into Sugar & Spice, the café he’s been working at since he had started high school with his best friend and roommate Steve, every morning at 7:45, since they open at 8. Well, he’s really supposed to clock in at 7:30, but he can’t be bothered to wake up that early. So, when he comes in, all the staff are already getting ready for the day.

Normally Clint and Thor are together doing something stupid, (Bucky doesn’t know how they’re not fired yet), whilst Steve frantically tries to fix whatever the hell they inevitably broke. (This morning, it was a kettle the staff uses to make tea.) Natasha is always calmly wiping down the counters, and it’s all accompanied by Tony screaming at them to do work with shitty café music playing, as Sam and Wanda sings terribly from the kitchen while cooking up their breakfast menu of the day.

Even though he’d never admit it, Bucky loves this place and the dim yellow lighting everyone’s always complaining about. He takes a deep breath and smells the mixture of everyone’s morning coffee, Tony’s obnoxious cologne, and Sam’s infamous breakfast pancakes everyone came to the café for, and he smiles. He’s home, after all.

That smile lasts for about three seconds before Bruce yells something about Bucky being late. So, he claps Steve on the back, hastily ties his apron on, and whizzes around the room, setting cutlery and jugs of water down, getting ready for the breakfast regulars.

Every day at the café is pretty much the same. Everyone universally refers it as ‘The Cafe’, since everybody knows that Sugar & Spice is a dumb name. The morning goes by rather quickly, it’s his turn to deal with annoying customers every other day, pretty much all the same people come around, and the part-timers, Peter and Shuri, comes at around 3, by the time school ends for them.

So Bucky knows exactly what he’s doing on the dot. By 8:30, the café is pretty much packed with early risers. Pepper, Tony’s wife, drops in for a break from her morning jog to say hi, and sometimes she’ll have a coffee, but she’s always out by 9. Stephen Strange and T’Challa are both morning regulars, and Bucky knows their order by heart, and he always has them ready before they even get to the café. They’re both lame as fuck anyway, getting black coffee, a plain croissant and reading the papers every morning.

Why you would have a croissant without chocolate, Bucky will never understand.

Around 10-ish, the people who drank too much last night will usually come in for Nat’s hangover cure in a cup. Except nobody really asks what’s in it, because nobody really wants to know. Bucky tries to ignore the fact that this café attracts a ton of alcoholics. Usually Peter Quill comes around now, more often than not because he got too drunk last night, and Thor always takes his order. (Just to spite him, since Peter clearly hates Thor for being perfect.)

The rest of the day goes by really fast too, and before he knows it, Bucky’s saying his goodbyes at around 9pm, with Steve, and they both go home on their bikes.

The only thing Bucky’s never sure about is you. You’ve been coming to the café for maybe around half a year now, sometimes just for a drink, a coffee in the morning. Sometimes you’ll drop by during lunch, grabbing a sandwich and running out quickly. Bucky doesn’t know why you leave so soon during lunch. Probably work. Sometimes you’ll drop by after a long day and you’ll have a drink with Nat. You don’t come with friends very often, but sometimes you do, bringing them along for dinner, usually.

In the winter, you’ll come in shivering, bundled up in massive coats and scarves, and getting a hot chocolate. Every time that happens, Bucky physically swoons.

No matter what, you always take a seat at the bar with the high chairs that are almost annoyingly too squeaky that everyone complains about, even though no one actually can be bothered to fix it. You’ll laugh with Nat, as she’s usually at the bar, preparing drinks, and Steve will often take your order. To be quite honest, Bucky pretty much knows nothing about you, but here are the things he does know.

He knows your name is Y/N, since apparently, everyone else is pretty close with you. Guess that’s what happens when you come into a place daily for two years. He knows all your usual orders by heart, even though he’s never the one to take your order, since he’ll force Steve to do it every time. He knows you’re funny, sweet, kind and charming.

He also knows that looking at you makes him act like he’s a fucking sixteen-year-old on prom night and he hates it. Whatever happened to the charming, sweet, womanizer Bucky Barnes? Down the fucking drain, that’s for sure. For two years, he’s tried to approach you and talk to you. And for two years, Steve has called him a coward. Bucky doesn’t know what washes over him when he sees you. He’s normally great with the ladies, if he does say so himself.

But every time you come into the café, whether it be in the morning, afternoon, or night, his heart jumps and his mouth freezes and he can’t do anything but stare at you as all the other staff members greet you with a smile.

He hates it so much.

So, this morning, when he clocks in, and doesn’t hear his stupid friends freaking out as usual, he knows something’s up. Everyone grins at him like they know something he doesn’t and Bucky has to touch his forehead, wondering if they drew something on his face without him knowing again.

“What is it?” He asks, looking at everyone suspiciously.

“Guys, what did you do? I swear, if I go over to my apron to find that Tony drew dicks all over it, I will kill all of you in your sleep.” It’s kind of sad how no one reacted to what he said. Bucky decides that he probably threatens people too much.

Everyone smiles at him again, going back to work, and in two seconds, the whole café is back to normal, topping it off with Sam screaming his horrible rendition of Marvin Gaye in the kitchen.

They clearly had been talking about him before he came into the café. Boy, Bucky was really regretting sleeping in now. He marched over to Steve, and hissed in his ear.

“What the fuck is going on? If this is a stupid prank I swear to God, Steve--”

Steve smiles weirdly, and he sighs, saying, “Go back to work, Buck, you’re imagining things.” Steve is almost too much of a good person, and how bad he is at lying makes Bucky wince, because it’s way too obvious that he’s not telling the truth. The bead of sweat trailing down from his temple gives it all away.

So Bucky sighs, deciding to torture the information out of his friends later, and get to work. Everything seems to be in order, and he almost forgets the events of that morning, all up until three o’ clock, when Shuri and Peter come in, and even they seem odd. Peter’s maniacally grinning about twice as much as he normally does, which is alarming, because nobody ever knew that lips had the capability to even stretch that far.

At five forty-five, there’s a slight ring from the door that Bucky doesn’t notice. Everyone else does, though. Clint almost pushes Bucky to the front cashier, and yells out some sort of excuse that Bucky can’t hear and Clint speeds off into the kitchen. Steve runs to the staff bathroom, yelling something about really needing to go, and Nat almost flings the wet towel she was using onto the counter with the high chairs, and yells to Bucky that she needs a drink, and asks him whether he would clean up while she was gone.

Begrudgingly, he agrees and extremely confused, he turns around to see which customer he had to seat only to see you standing there, bundled up in a scarf with a soft smile on your face.

Oh, those fuckers.

Swallowing his fear, Bucky attempted to speak up, you know, bring on the usual Barnes charm, but he probably looked more like a frog, opening his mouth like he was gaping.

“Are you alright?” You asked, seemingly worried, because of course you are, Bucky thinks, how fucking adorable.

“I don’t think I’ve spoken to you before, but I’m a regular here.” You smile, and introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N.” You peeked at his nametag, and smiled, holding out your hand.

“Hi, James.”

“Bucky.” He flashes a smile, hoping he doesn’t look as terrified as he is on the inside. “Call me Bucky, doll.” He reaches out and grabs your hand and almost melts. Damnit, how gorgeous. Yeah, that confidence didn’t last very long when you moved forward and sat at your usual spot, and Bucky tripped over his own feet following you.

Shuri throws a towel at his face and gestures to the counter you were sitting at.

‘Clean.’ She mouths, and Bucky’s so very tempted to throw it back to her, but he stalks over to your chair and starts to wipe the countertop, awkwardly averting his eyes from you and the counter, thinking of all the ways he could kill his co-workers after this.

“Are you new?” You ask, completely oblivious to how weird the Café was today. Bucky noticed though, and he glared at all his friends, who were hiding behind the kitchen door, spying on them.

Bucky suddenly realized why Steve wanted to watch The Parent Trap yesterday night.

“No, I’m not. I guess we’ve just never met before.” Bucky’s heart stops when you smile at him, and his body releases tension that he didn’t know he was holding in his muscles. Deep breaths, Buck. He thought to himself.

He flashes a sharp smile at you as you look up from the menu.

“Yeah, Probably. Nat or Steve usually takes my order, but I thought I knew everyone who worked here. You do seem familiar, though.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, with a nervous look on his face. “You seem familiar too.” He can almost hear the entire staff face-palming behind him, but he desperately attempts to ignore them.

“What milkshake flavors are there? I’ve been coming here so long, for some reason I’ve never sat down and had a milkshake.” It takes Bucky a full five seconds for him to tear his eyes from your face and realize you had asked him a question.

“Chocolate, vanilla, caramel and strawberry.”

You groan, pouting a little bit, and Bucky can’t decide whether his heart just broke because of you showing any sign of sadness or just how goddamn adorable you were.

“I can’t decide,” You say, still pouting. Bucky’s about to suggest Vanilla, since that’s his personal favorite, but you speak up again. “Is there any possible way you can just take all the milkshake flavors and put it in one cup with a straw?”

Bucky breaks out a smile. He knew there was a reason he liked you so much.

“Sure, doll. Is that it?” You nod, smiling at him. That smile. Bucky spent a minute behind the kitchen doors with a goofy smile on his face until Natasha slapped him and told him to get his shit together.

“I guess we’ve just never met before” Tony says mockingly, popping out of nowhere and laughing his ass off. Sam shoots him a toothy grin.

“Oh, yeah, doll. There’s that infamous Barnes charm, huh?”

If Sam Wilson and Tony Stark ended up dead the next morning, Bucky definitely didn’t have anything to do with it. Peter Parker, a ‘literal angel child’ according to Tony, says something sweet about how you seemed really into him, but Bucky pays no attention to him. He’s more focused on how he’s so whipped for this girl he doesn’t even know, that a fucking fifteen-year-old is expressing sympathy towards him.

He sighs, scooping a small scoop of every single ice cream the café had and dropping it in a blender. Maybe tomorrow he’d be less awkward.

He didn’t get more comfortable the next day. Bucky actually somehow managed to trip over your shoes when you came in for lunch, and landed on Steve, also effectively covering himself in the spaghetti Steve was holding, all while Clint and Thor laughs their asses off about it as he’s wiping spaghetti away from his eyes.

You giggle, but only for a second, as you help him up and pluck away a few pieces of spaghetti in his hair that was sticking out.

“You’ve never looked better.” You tease, a playful smile gracing your lips.

Bucky decides that being covered in spaghetti wasn’t the absolute worst thing after all. Well, until he finds out Tony filmed the whole thing and posted it on YouTube where it already accumulated over three thousand views before Bucky persuaded (read: forced) Tony to take it down.

Bucky does, however, get more comfortable around you over time. The week after the spaghetti incident, he cracks some joke about Nat that he can’t even remember anymore. The only thing he remembered was how damn melodic your laugh sounded. Were those stars in your eyes?

Jesus Christ, he was whipped. The entire café watched every single day as Bucky scrambled to take your order with that goofy smile on his face. You both exchange numbers after you complained that you only got to see him when you were at the café, and ever since, Bucky checks his phone periodically every 10 minutes, just in case you send something he doesn’t want to miss.

You start traditions like every other Friday was a movie night, and every Tuesday was a takeout board game night. You slowly wormed your way into his life and Bucky would be a liar if he said he didn’t love it.

“Bucky!” You squeal as he throws the leftover popcorn kernels from the bowl at you.

“You asshole! I’m going to have to vacuum this later!” The long forgotten movie about a superhero named Eagle or something was playing in the background, but Bucky had already stopped paying attention to that a while ago.

Watching you watch a movie was quite possible the most entertaining thing Bucky’s ever seen. Sometimes you would get so entranced, you’d shove popcorn in your mouth and miss, leaving some popcorn bits on your nose and the rest falling in your lap.

Bucky smiles, and he doesn’t know it, but this was the start of your forever.

“Oh my god,” Steve says in-between laughs and his seventh beer one night at some random bar they stumbled into.

“You’re falling deep, Buck.” Even drunk Bucky, who had already consumed God knows how many cans of beer, tried to deny it.

“Of course not!” He says, but Bucky has a sinking feeling in his gut and he can’t decide whether that’s a good or bad thing.

He misses Steve and Nat exchanging knowing looks every time you come to sit down for another every-flavor milkshake. Over the span of the next half-year or so, you and Bucky chatting whilst you sipped on a colourful milkshake underneath the dim lighting became a regular in the café.

Bucky remembers almost everything about your relationship. He was introduced to you as a stuttering mess and slowly became your best friend who crashed many nights at your apartment when Steve started dating Peggy. He calls you things like doll, or baby, or sweetheart, attempting to act like that’s normal for best friends to do, even though he knows damn well it’s weird. Sometimes he looks in your eyes, and he knows you feel the same feeling in your gut when you stare at him. He’s sure of it. But every time Bucky opens his mouth to say something, he freezes.

More often than not, some old lady would stop you in the streets, crooning about what a lovely couple you both were, and Bucky knows it’s definitely not normal for best friends to be acting like a couple.

No matter how many times his friends urge him to ask her out, he always hesitates. The words ‘She doesn’t feel the same’ and ‘Just best friends’ would usually come out of his mouth. But in the end, Bucky’s just a coward. Whenever he tries to be the confident, normal guy around you something goes wrong.

Because you make him feel like a person, and he’s so afraid of asking you out and ruining everything he’d rather than tear his own heart apart, so it doesn’t get broken by you. ‘She’s happier like this’, Bucky would think. But he’s not happy, and doesn’t he deserve to be happy too?

Bucky doesn’t know why he’s always so willing to put himself in pain. He tries to ask you out almost fifty times before he just didn’t bother counting anymore. It’s not that he doesn’t like your friendship, this is possibly one of the happiest times in his life. And at the same time, he’s miserable.

“Hey, doll?” He says, coming into your apartment with the spare key that you leant him.

“Hello? Hey, if you’re in the bathroom, can I crash here for the night? I don’t even want to know what Steve and Peggy are up to in our apartment right now.” Bucky gets no answer, and he’s confused. It’s Wednesday night. Where could you possibly be? He sends you a quick text and he hears a slight ding coming from your dining room table. Your phone sits there, his text illuminating the screen. Wherever you went, you didn’t bring your phone with you. Bucky had a bad feeling.

He’s about to have a breakdown when you come into the apartment, clearly puzzled.

“Buck? Why are you here?” You say, your arms together holding a large package.

“Oh, thank God. I came to stay the night, but you weren’t here, and you left your phone, I thought something must’ve happen- ” He stopped, noticing something.

“Y/N? What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the large, colourful flowers wrapped up in your arms.

‘Oh!’ You say, seemingly glad that he asked.

“Ryan from the next door gave me these. Aren’t they gorgeous? He’s a nice guy.” You say, humming about as you fished an old vase from the bottom of your sink.

“That’s why I left my phone here. I just went over to pick these flowers up. You really shouldn’t worry so much, Buck. One of these days you’ll get a heart attack.” You’re softly singing as you fluff out the flowers and place them into the vase that’s filled with water.

“Perfect.” You murmur, then you turned to him, throwing the TV remote and a pack of microwaveable popcorn at him.

“Come on, old man., We’re going to watch Inception. I still can’t believe you haven’t watched it. It even won an Oscar for something I can’t remember.” Bucky stays behind in the kitchen for a bit, clutching at the bag of popcorn that was threatening to pop in his tense grip. He had a terrible feeling sinking deep in his chest as he looked at the flowers that you set on your kitchen countertop.

“You don’t even like dahlias.” Bucky says, plopping down onto the sofa, hands full of popcorn. You frown, reaching out and grabbing a handful and stuffing it in your moth before saying,

“Yeah, but it’s still sweet, isn’t it? Besides, how the fuck you know so much about flowers? Didn’t even know they were dahlias, I just remember telling you I don’t like the look of those big, poofy flowers.”

“Yeah, but dahlias aren’t romantic. He should have gotten you roses, or beautiful lilies, or-” Bucky caught sight of your weirded-out look and thought he’d better shut up before you found out he liked spending time in a flower shop during middle school.

“Whatever. Never mind” He grumbled instead, ignoring the confused look on your face, and pressed play, beginning to watch what apparently was ‘Leonardo DiCaprio’s third best movie’ Obviously behind Titanic and Wolf of Wall Street.

That terrible feeling remained in his chest.

It’s 8:00 PM and Bucky’s about to clock out, he hangs up his apron, about to close up when you come over running, and for a moment he’s absolutely stunned you exercised willingly.

“Are you guys closing up already?” You say, panting. Bucky wonders whether you ran all the way from your office to the café.

“Ugh. My day went terribly. Can we go inside so I can rant? Actually, I’ll just tell you on the way to your apartment.” You’re rambling, and you look so cute bundled up in all your coats, facing the bitter Brooklyn cold. Bucky stares at you and he swears he fell in love in that moment. What was so special about it, he didn’t know. Looking at you, wrapped up in all your layers. You breathed out, smoke coming out from your lips from December’s freezing temperatures. You ran all the way from work, to tell him about the bad day you had, Bucky liked that he was the person you went to.

“God, my lunch date was terrible, you were right, Ryan is a douche and I hate dahlias. I detest them. You were completely right, lunch dates are awful, and he’s a terrible person. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen, remind me to always do that. My boss was in a horrible mood and he must have-“

Bucky steps towards you, and cuts you off, by placing his lips on yours. He can tell you’re taken back, but he’s so angry at himself for not doing this sooner, because kissing you must be the best thing he’s ever done in his entire life. Your hands are stopped midway, about to stop this madness, but then your frozen lips begin to melt and turn warm against Bucky’s.

And before you know it, your hands are slowly sliding up to his hair, tangling your hands into his hair and his arms are wrapped around your waist. He kisses you passionately, none of you even seem to realise you’re in the middle of the street. Bucky was making out with you in the middle of Brooklyn, and he doesn’t give two shits about who was watching them. The end of the world could happen right now and he’d continue kissing you like his life depended on it. He feels you smiling into your kiss, and he feels downright giddy. You almost push against him, almost as if you’re making up for lost time.

You bring your hands down and push his chest away, still processing what just happened. Bucky runs his thumb over your lip, and for a second he’s feels scared. Why did you push him away? Oh, shit, was I not supposed to do that? You smile, leaning into his touch and relief flushes into Bucky. You speak, so quiet Bucky barely hears you and your voice is hoarse.

“Took you long enough, huh?” Your hand is placed on his cheek, and your hands are so cold Bucky’s surprised you haven’t gotten frostbite yet, but he doesn’t care. Bucky blinks, feeling something land on his head, and he laughs as he spots the small flecks of white landing on the ground.

“As if this couldn’t get any more cliché,” He muses, whispering into your ear. “It’s snowing, doll, look.” You tear away from his body but he keeps one arm pressed against your waist as you walk home to your apartment. Boy, was Steve going to get a surprise when he woke up the next morning.

84 notes · View notes

365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty-Five: Timer ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

She’s always thought of it as some kind of pseudoscience, like astrology or basing personalities off of blood types. While many of the other girls she grew up with looked forward to their sixteenth birthdays like it was some kind of rebirth, Hinata just...couldn’t bring herself to put much stock in it.

“Everyone in my family swears by it!” Ino gushed at one point. “It’s how my mom met my dad, and several of my aunts and uncles! And guess what? My cousin’s timer is up in like...three weeks. He’s so nervous he can barely stand it!”

“Doesn’t it seem a bit, y-you know...self fulfilling?”

At Hinata’s quiet interjection, several girls turned to her with disbelieving expressions. “...what’s that supposed to mean?”

Squirming a bit under their gazes, she’d gone on. “...it’s just...people look at their countdown, and they trust it implicitly. Doesn’t anyone t-think for themselves? Or...or want to find love on their own, rather than be shoehorned into it…?”

Ino scoffed. “Y’know, ever since they figured out how to make these timers work, divorce rates, like..cut in half! People are meeting those they’re meant to be with and staying with them!”

“...if it’s so great, then...why are there still divorces at all?”

That earned a cacophony of squawking replies about disbelievers ruining the statistics, and...Hinata quickly removed herself.

She just...had her doubts, was all.

Her parents, and her only aunt and uncle met through their timers. Her uncle, sadly, died when his son was only four, and Hinata three. Therefore, she has no real way to know how their marriage had worked.

Similarly, her mother died not long after having her sister. Hinata was five. All she really has to go on are blurry childhood memories...and her father’s current attitude.

And she really can’t see how the woman she recalls being so kind, so soft, so gentle...could love and marry a man like Hiashi. Cold, calculating, and seemingly emotionally stunted. He rarely if ever smiles.

...she remembers her mother’s smile. So warm…

...so how…?

It’s why, as her sixteenth birthday looms closer, Hinata gets more and more knots in her stomach. The implant isn’t required, but her father has made it very clear that she’ll be getting hers. Likely so he can marry her off as soon as her timer hits zero, and be rid of her.

While so many girls in her year have looked forward to their birthdays...Hinata can do nothing but dread hers.

Like many young people, she attends a school segregated by gender. It’s meant to help avoid fraternizing with the opposite sex and therefore affecting a timer’s readings. Of course...not everyone is attracted to said opposite sex. Hinata herself doesn’t really mind if a person is one or the other, but...she keeps that to herself. Admitting as much would make just about every girl who isn’t highly uncomfortable.

...and yet she wonders what will happen if she’s already met her soulmate.

Will the timer just...not work? Will it already be at zero? If so...then how is she ever to know who they are? Not that she believes it...it’s really all a bunch of nonsense…

...and yet…?

Each day that passes in December sees her more and more anxious - more and more depressed. Hiashi has already arranged for her to have the day off from school, her surgery to implant the timer set for early in the morning. Set into her left wrist, it will allow her to return to school the next day, her dominant hand unaffected and allowing her to write.

The day before, she finds herself at the last stage of grief: acceptance. There’s no fighting it. No use in trying to say no.

This is just how things are.

“Good luck with your procedure!” Ino and Sakura call as classes let out for the day. “See you Thursday!”

She doesn’t answer, just waving farewell. While there’s excitement in her friends’ voices...she can’t bring herself to feel it, too.

Just...get it over with.

Once home, she works on her assignments, numbly browsing social media and not really taking anything in. All she can think about is the surgery. The stupid timer…!

Part of her wants hers to be broken. To prove that it’s wrong. But the rest - despite her stubborn belief that it’s all rubbish - is afraid, so very afraid that it won’t work.

That she’ll always be alone.

Too restless to do much else, she finishes the entirety of her homework, turning in to bed early...and yet unable to sleep, mind too full. Worries eddy in her mind like a slow-moving whirlpool: around and around, always circling back and starting all over again.

By some grace she falls asleep for a few hours, snapping awake at her alarm. Heart fluttering and stomach churning, she gets up, has a light breakfast...and then gets in the car for Hiashi to drive her to the hospital.

The ride is completely silent. Only once they park does he turn to her, expression - as always - unreadable.

“I know you’ve been dreading this...but best we just get it over with. Best to know for sure.”

Hinata doesn’t reply, just exiting the car and following him inside as they check her in. Prep doesn’t take too long. Dressed down in a powder blue gown, she’s wheeled into the surgery suite, given anesthesia...and then goes blissfully blank.

Waking is a slow process. First thing she notices is a dull ache in her arm, eyes dragging open to peer down at her wrist.

It’s wrapped in gauze, her IV in her other arm. The urge to peer at it itches like the skin beneath the wrappings.

Looking groggily around the room, she finds herself alone. Of course her father wouldn’t be here - probably off hounding a nurse somewhere, badgering them about releasing her so he can head home.

...the hospital has bitter memories, after all.

Going lax with a sigh, Hinata stares up at the ceiling. Well...it’s done. No going back now, unless she wants to try digging it out. But she’s not that desperate. She could keep it covered...never look at it...but even now, the temptation is great…

Why does it have to be so repulsive, and yet so enticing? It isn’t fair!

“Hinata.”

Glancing to the door, she finds her father. “...yes?”

“Once the anesthetic has worn off, we can go home. The nurses say an hour or two. Do you...need anything?”

The question surprises her, even more so given his awkward tone. “...no, I’m all right. Um...thank you.”

As he goes, she wonders if he’s been made aware of what her timer said when it was fully implanted. Or maybe they weren’t allowed to tell him…? But something about him just now seemed...odd.

With nothing to do while she waits, Hinata does her best to doze and make up some of her lost sleep. After nearly two hours, a nurse checks on her status, and gives her the clear the go. Hinata changes back into her clothes, moving to leave on her feet...only to have another nurse approach with a wheelchair.

She immediately balks. “Oh, I...I don’t need that -?”

“It’s a precaution for anyone coming out of anesthesia to prevent falls. Just until you get to your car, miss.”

Rather embarrassed - it’s not like she can’t walk! - Hinata sheepishly obliges, head ducked as they pass by other patients, visitors, and staff. As they go, her bowed face is turned to her wrist. Maybe she can just…

Carefully fiddling with the gauze and trying not to be noticed in case she gets scolded, Hinata nibbles her lip as they approach the elevator to the main floor. Easing the material back, she doesn’t look up as the door opens, two other figures in the lift already.

That’s when it happens.

With a soft series of beeps, Hinata flinches back from her arm, holding it aloft as though it’s suddenly on fire. Both Hiashi and the nurse balk, turning to her in question.

And inside the elevator comes a responding chorus of sound.

Time seems to slow.

Looking up, Hinata finally sees the other occupants of the lift. At the front is a young man in a wheelchair like herself, arms loosely folded atop his lap. And behind him, pushing the chair, is a boy more her age.

But he isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at his wrist, which is rapidly trilling.

...oh...you’ve got to be kidding.

The little group remains frozen, half in and half out of the elevator. Hiashi’s face is aghast, looking between his daughter and the stranger opposite them.

Said stranger then looks up, clearly just as taken aback.

The only one calm is the man in the wheelchair, who simply quips, “...Sasuke, I believe you should introduce yourself.”

.oOo.

So it occurred to me that I've never written a soulmate AU. Like...ever. At least that I can recall? Admittedly I have a slightly sketchy memory, but...yeah. As soon as I saw the prompt, I remembered seeing this AU floating around, and was like...okay sure, lmao I know it's a cliffie, but I think I can make tomorrow's prompt work for a part two! So you won't have to wait long, lol - also...with this one done, we're officially down to just ten days left to catch up. It feels a bit weird, admittedly, but I know it'll be even weirder when we're all caught up! Finally xD It's honestly a bit embarrassing having it drag on this long, but...well, couldn't help Life's interruptions. On that note tho, I really need to get to bed! Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #hyūga hiashi #uchiha itachi #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

22 notes · View notes

yozokai · 5 years

Text

Time for more Rivaere Recs.

Ink of Love - Levi has been pining after Eren ever since the boy started working at his tattoo parlour as a part-timer, but it takes a game of spin the bottle for the brunet to get his flirting.

Irresistible - Levi comes home from a yearlong trip to France with a plan to surprise Eren. What he doesn't know is that Eren will be the one who surprises him instead.

Triumph - Eren's got a job as a busboy at a local diner. Turns out the dishwasher is an ex-con and cute as hell. The man wants nothing to do with Eren, can the younger man change his mind?

Wing Mom - Levi Ackerman is an average college senior who loves his mother. He visits, he takes care of things around the house, and he enjoys his time off campus. When he isn't able to keep to his previous arrangement his mother hires someone to take care of things around the yard. Unfortunately, after a scuffle over her scalped petunias, Kuchel is left without help. When the new neighbor's strapping son offers to help out she readily agrees. Attempting to tell as much as she can about her son to this new, cute, boy, she lies in wait for her son to arrive so she can no so secretly push the two towards each other. What she didn't expect, however, was for the dinner they were having together to turn into a series of inappropriate comments and actions beneath the table.

Ink Me Up - Eren Jaeger is a doctor who just wants to get a tattoo. Yes, he wants to piss Grisha off because fuck him and his Harry Potter glasses. But no, he's not fucking drunk. Or, maybe Dr. Eren Jaeger is drunk because there's no way in hell a tattoo artist would be more beautiful than the Mona fucking Lisa.

Taking What You Want (having trouble linking it) https://archiveofourown.org/works/12974037 - Gulping heavily, Eren slowly crawled closer to his target; eyes focused on the prize that lay before him. Tuning out any doubts that his boss might not want this or that they were basically in a semi-public setting, Eren took a deep breath and placed both hands on Levi’s thighs, effectively pushing his legs apart to get better access. The raven's entire body seemed to tense in surprise underneath him. Feeling bold Eren gently traced the outline of Levi’s crotch with his fingers, ghosting over the fabric with enough pressure to feel the effects taking hold on his boss, before looking up into the piercing silver orbs that were staring at him intently. With heavily dilated pupils, flushed cheeks and a tongue peeking out to lick over his lips he stared up at the raven; eye-contact not faltering for a single second while he mouthed silently ‘Taking what I want’ before his lips ghosted over the clearly visible bulge that had formed in his superiors tight dress pants.

Charmeur - Viridian orbs widened at his unexpected use of French, hunger creeping into the turquoise irises that had retracted to a thin rim from the heavy dilation of Eren’s pupils. The low “Scheisse, seit wann ist Französisch so heiss?” that tumbled over those kissable lips, had Levi’s mouth curl into a victorious smirk. Seemed like he had just unraveled a language kink for the brat, he mused. The coffee shop was closing soon anyway, and Levi wouldn’t mind taking Eren back to his hotel room. Under normal circumstances he would be shocked by his own eagerness to lure the brunet into his bed, but there was something about Eren that was different. Something that made him want to throw all his principles overboard. The thought alone of the stunning brunet splayed out beneath him; honeyed skin on full display; his marks the only thing tarnishing the tanned glory, teal eyes blissed out in pleasure; writhing and moaning for more, desperately begging for his cock; for Levi to finally give it to him good, to fill him up nice and deep, was enough to have his dick twitch with interest.

A Special Cleaning Service - Eren is a doctor that struggles with keeping his loft clean, so he decides to contact a cleaning agency whose employees work naked.

Homo Homini Monstrum - When Levi has a bad day, he knows just who to turn to.

Plain Porn - The title says it all; just smutty smut smut with absolutely no plot. I've decided to turn this into a series of one-shots, full of fluffy and smutty stories

Eren Doesn't Like Dates - Despite Eren's previous attempts at getting Mikasa on board with the fact that he’s perfectly happy being single, she still took things into her own hands and set up a blind date for him. A modern day, blind date (gone wrong) au.

Drawing My Husband - Eren Jaeger is a very special boy! Ever since he was little he noticed that he has a special gift, whatever he draws and signs his name on, comes to life! He can draw food and have it become a 4 dimensional item in a matter of seconds! So one day when he's horny, he decides to draw the perfect man to fuck him straight into the mattress. Little does he know that the perfect man for the job ends up becoming his husband... Written for my Senpai Hidansbabe530! I hope you like it senpai!

In Need of a New Roomate - Seriously though, maybe he should talk to Jaeger about taking his new found hobby elsewhere for a bit or at least taking a short break so that Jean could breathe freely without the fear of suffocation on sweaty air. This is a matter between life and death because now his dorm room is always smelling of sex and Jean can't help but feel a bit jealous that Eren is getting some apparently almost everyday while he is suffering catching a break with Marco. Why Marco? Why did you have to decide to be a nurse of all things? Jean eternally cries.

Caraphernelia - Caraphernelia; A broken-heart disease whenever someone leaves you but leaves all their things behind. Levi's an asshole, Eren knows, in the same way he knows that he should not have let his hopes up; though he still can't help the crack he definitely feels and hears inside is chest as he leaves, and nobody follows him. He knew this would happen; he wast too much of an idiot to accept it sooner and spare himself the pain. Now he has to live with the consequences that come with dating (or attempting to date) someone like Levi.

Just a Taste of Pleasure - A little bit of the usual entertainment takes a turn they both waited for with baited breath.

Pink Grapes - Eren and Levi have a comfortable domestic setup. On most days, they wake up at five and eat breakfast together before Levi goes for a jog and Eren washes the dishes. Levi takes a shower, they both get dresses and kiss goodbye before they climb into their cars - each with a cup of coffee and ready for the day. Levi works odd hours at the hospital from time to time, but on most days, Eren comes home to a home cooked meal and a barking dog. He walks Jessie around the block before sitting down to eat with Levi and chat about their day. Then they usually do the dishes together, take turns in the shower and go to bed. Usually. But on some days, Levi would offer Eren pink grapes and he would always say yes.

Will Your Mouth Still Remember the Taste of my Love - He can’t pinpoint when it started, how it happened. When the need to strip away everything; the words, the need to push each other further and take each other in ways they’d never done before became almost necessary, essential. When all that is left is the two of them, just feeling each other, and nothing more.

The Ugly Tree Mug - The one time when Eren calls Levi 'Daddy' and they both find out he actually enjoys it. It turns into a thing.

You're the Only Thing I Want to Keep Me Hydrated - Levi couldn’t resist Eren. His eyes, his body, his smile. Everything about Eren utterly entranced him. He wanted to feel the smooth skin under his hands, wanted to hear his sinful voice moaning underneath him, wanted to taste every single inch of his body. Levi wanted Eren bad. Or, in which Eren is the new guy working at Trost’s local swimming pool and Levi desperately wants to fuck him in the staff change rooms.

Fan Service - Hello Customer Services, My Titan 845 ceiling fan crapped out on me last night resulting in sweaty ass sheets. Please help. Kind Regards, Eren Yeager. A one-shot of pure Ereri/Riren porn. Eren's fan breaks, Levi comes to... service it.

More here and here.

#fic rec #levi x eren #riren #rivaere #top levi #bottom eren #aot #snk

53 notes · View notes

yergink · 4 years

Text

countdown timer

all my thinking about colress has manifested into a fic.

Crossposted to Ao3

---

A megalomaniac and a scientist discuss evil plans over coffee and cheesecake. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

How Doctor Achroma joins Team Plasma.

--- In a rooftop cafe in Castelia City, Doctor Achroma waits patiently for his coffee to arrive. He sits alone at a window side table, his chin resting in a delicate hand as he watches the movement of the crowded city streets below.

Achroma is an accomplished young pokemon researcher, who has rapidly gained fame in the recent months, and who is known well by the general public for his papers discussing the nature of a pokemon’s strength. His name is often passed around university circles, and his work in recent years has only caused him to have an even greater public presence.

This is how the waiter at the cafe recognizes him, setting down his ordered cup of dark espresso with a shaky hand. Achroma gives him a smile, and the waiter works up the nerve to ask in stumbling words if the doctor would look over some of his notes for him.

“An up and coming researcher, are you?” Achroma asks.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter replies, holding the platter he’d delivered the coffee on tight against his chest. “And your work has just been such an inspiration.”

As he draws the cup closer, Achroma responds amusedly, “So I’m told.”

He goes silent for a moment, turning back to the window and gazing at the skyline. The waiter’s knuckles clench tighter around the platter, gut churning in a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Then, Achroma laughs. It’s abrupt enough to startle the young server.

“You know, the person I’m meeting with was supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” the doctor drawls, producing a red pen from a pocket and setting it down next to his cup. “I think I have some time to kill. Do you have your work with you?”

Almost dazedly, the waiter nods, hurrying to the back room to fetch his notes.

The bell above the cafe entrance chimes. It is the third time it has done so since he has arrived, and Achroma does not look up.

He can hear one of the wait staff flustering over the new customer, who grumbles rather loudly, “I’m meeting someone here. You don’t have to seat me.”

“Sir, please--”

“Out of my way.”

A short yelp bursts from the attendant as the cafe’s new arrival shoulders past her. Achroma can just see it over the top of the notebook he’s holding. He sighs, knowing what’s next.

Ghetsis slides into the seat opposite Achroma, immediately clattering his cane against the table and hissing, “I believe I requested we meet somewhere more discreet.”

Indeed he had. But Achroma had figured that allowing Ghetsis to choose the location of their meeting would give him a little too much control of the situation. Plus, he was bound to pick somewhere creepy, and no matter what anyone said, Achroma prided himself in having standards.

In response, he simply hums, eyeing Ghetsis over. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t realize you’d be coming looking like that .”

Ghetsis’ outfit is what Achroma would not-so-lovingly refer to as a ‘Manic Cult Leader Uniform,’ complete with high collared cloak and elaborately decorated cane. It seemed almost as if he wanted to be clocked as a former Team Plasma leader. Not that regular clothes would have done much to hide his identity anyway, with a face like the one he had.

Achroma gestures to his own attire: a sleek black turtleneck and gray slacks. “It could have been discreet. If you’d taken a bit more thought.”

Instead of trying to refute Achroma’s smug comment, Ghetsis just scoffs. “It’s fine. Can we get to business now?”

Achroma taps his pen to his chin, looking down the page before him. “We can. Just as soon as I finish looking at this.”

“Excuse me?”

The sound of the pen scratching is Achroma’s only reply. Ghetsis slams a hand onto the table, and the force of the blow causes the doctor’s coffee to spill from its cup and for his pen to slash a jagged line across the paper.

“This is important business, Doctor,” he sneers.

Silently, Achroma puts down the notebook and reaches for a napkin, mopping up the spill. “I had to wait nearly twenty minutes for you to arrive,” he informs Ghetsis, his tone frigid. “So you’re going to have to wait a little while for me.”

Ignoring how his statement leaves Ghetsis fuming, Achroma resumes his reading. In the end, it only takes him a minute more or so. A ridiculously short wait time for Ghetsis to get so fussy about.

When he’s finished, Achroma caps his pen and sets it down, waving the server over once more. Nervously, the young man approaches the table.

“What did you think?” He asks, clearly anxious about the doctor’s response.

Achroma hands it back to him, and says, “It’s a solid start, but you need to step out of the hypothetical and put some of your theories to the test. Other than that, I can see that you certainly have a lot of passion for your research, and I'm sure you'll be able to find success."

Practically beaming, the young man stammers, “Thank you sir!” He marvels at the page for a moment, as though he’s been handed some sort of prize rather than his own notes.

It’s only then that he seems to notice Achroma’s companion. He turns to Ghetsis, pencil ready, and asks, “And, um. Can I get you something?”

“You have cheesecake?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That, then. And make sure it’s cold.”

The waiter nods, jotting it down before scurrying off, leaving the two men alone. Achroma sips his coffee.

“I didn’t take you for a cheesecake type. Always thought you were more into danishes,” he comments.

“It’s been years, Doctor. You think my tastes have all stayed the same?”

“I suppose not,” Achroma muses.

A brief bout of silence descends upon them, broken when the waiter arrives once more with the cheesecake. When he sets it down, Achroma can see it is chilled enough that the top is coated in a sheen of ice crystals. Ghetsis does not thank him for it, and the waiter takes his leave.

“Can we get to it now?” Ghetsis asks with poorly concealed impatience, picking up his fork and cutting into the slice.

Achroma has never seen anything more ridiculous than the overwhelming figure of Team Plasma’s former leader delicately eating a slice of cheesecake. He smiles in amusement and pretends it’s agreement instead. “Of course. With pleasure.”

Ghetsis swallows a bite of cheesecake before speaking. Achroma’s eyes follow down his throat.

“Now, I’ve gotten together nearly fifty of the old members. A great number were taken in by police, but I believe that we can begin recruitment again. With a little rebranding, it won’t be difficult. Of course, there is nothing that can be done about our runaway sages, but I believe…”

Slowly, Achroma’s eyes begin to glaze over as he listens to Ghetsis spew statistics about membership and plans and incomprehensible ideology. He realizes, quite suddenly, that he honestly couldn’t care less about the activities of a failed cult, and there were plenty of other things he’d rather be thinking about.

For example, as he watches Ghetsis speak, he finds his gaze trailing down at the half-eaten cheesecake, where the ice coating has begun to melt, moistening the surface. He thinks about a recent event he’d heard about, where an ice type trainer had developed hypothermia from prolonged proximity to his pokemon. He figures that you could craft an effective freezer from just the use of a few ice types, and then realizes that the idea probably wouldn’t fly with most manufacturers.

He glances outside, where the light of the midday sun reflects off the tops of skyscrapers, coloring them white. A flock of pidove fly by, chattering and cooing. One of them nearly grazes the window. Achroma thinks about how the top recorded speed of a pidove in flight is 92.5 miles per hour and wonders if there was a way he could increase it.

“Are you even listening?” Ghetsis asks suddenly, pulling Achroma out of his thoughts.

Not in the slightest, he thinks but doesn’t say. Ghetsis is glaring at him now, his one good eye narrowed and suspicious. Achroma takes his time answering, allowing himself a sip of coffee before cracking a reassuring smile. “Of course, my friend. And you’ve brought up several fantastic ideas,” he says and nods, as though he has any clue what nonsense the man in front of him has been rambling about. While his response is somewhat thin, it seems to do enough to convince Ghetsis, who calms and settles back down with a grunt. It appeared he’d gotten so worked up at the possibility that Achroma hadn’t been paying attention that he’d actually risen from his seat.

“Good. You always were a bit of an airhead, so I just had to make sure,” the villain grumbles.

Achroma doesn’t even waste his time thinking of a comeback to that one. Although, he does find Ghetsis’ needlessly emotional reaction amusing. He wonders idly how in the world Ghetsis came so close to becoming the most powerful person in Unova when he clearly had no capacity for complex thought.

In fact, he doesn’t know much about Team Plasma’s first attempted takeover at all. He’d been traveling in Sinnoh at the time, and now that an entire two years had passed since the event, it seemed like most of Unova were hesitant to speak on the subject.

Before he can spend too much time following that train of thought, Ghetsis says, “And I assume you’ve thought over my proposal?”

Ah, there it was. Finally. The reason Achroma had agreed to this meeting at all.

“I have,” he starts, carefully. “And I can’t express how intrigued I am by it. I mean--” he lowers his voice, leaning over the table. “Capturing Kyurem? Using it? As a weapon? You know me too well, old friend.”

“I figured you would be interested. Yes, that is the plan. And you’re the only person I know who I believe would be able to do it.”

Achroma hums. “Yes, I believe so too. It’s not something any self-respecting scientist would want any part in.”

“It’s very lucky then, that you have no self respect.”

Achroma laughs. “Well, no respect for the ethics of science, at least.”

He pretends to think for a moment, as if he didn’t already know exactly what he was going to say.

“And, as Head Scientist, I assume I would have full reign to do whatever I want with Kyurem? As well as the other captured pokemon?”

Ghetsis chuckles. It’s a dark, scathing sound. “Oh, yes. About that. I don’t want you to be Head Scientist, my friend.”

“No?”

“No.” A malicious grin crosses Ghetsis’ face. “I want you, Doctor Achroma, to lead Neo Team Plasma.”

Out of everything else, that’s what startles him. His eyes widen, and Ghetsis looks incredibly self-satisfied at having caught him off guard.

“Leader of Team Plasma, huh,” he considers the sound of it.

“It would suit you,” Ghetsis offers. “You’d have free reign of the entire operation. No limits as to what experiments you can conduct. As long as, of course, you also work to forward the overall goal of the team…”

“So you would, what, lead behind the scenes, then? Make me a figurehead?”

“Not quite. No figurehead this time. I’m not repeating my failures.”

Achroma doesn’t know what he means, but he decides it doesn’t matter. This opportunity was a good one. It would certainly suit his needs. Of course, he understood what Ghetsis was doing. Always ready to throw the blame onto someone else. But Achroma was smart. He wouldn’t let himself be so easily duped.

He’d take the bait and use Team Plasma, and by extension Ghetsis, for as long as he so desired. And then, once he’d tired of his playthings, he would see to it that the team was destroyed, and Ghetsis put away.

It would be easy.

He smiles warmly, extending a hand. “Alright then, old friend,” he says. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#pokemon #colress #colress fic #achroma #pokemon black and white #pokemon black and white 2 #pokemon fic #fan fiction #my writing #marine blogs #reblogs appreciated !

13 notes · View notes

aftgficlibrary · 5 years

Note

best fics of 2018?

This is so subjective so some of our staff are gonna put our 2018 favs here below!!

Cassy

This is my favorite fic ever and the author just started updating it again so im in tears all the time

i’m here right now (just be here right now with me) by Talls (M | 27,606 | 3/7)

Neil first meets Andrew with a racquet to the stomach in a locker room when he’s eighteen. Andrew first meets Neil with a hushed conversation on a beach in California when he’s five. They still manage to meet on rooftops, fall in love, find family, and heal together, just not quite at the same time and definitely not in the same order.

(In other words, Andrew is the Time Traveler’s wife.)

This fic is so soft and pretty

Translation Errors by SensationalSunburst (Not rated | 3,127 | 1/1)

“Andrew doesn’t love me,” Neil said simply, “So if he has a love language, I don’t know it.”“Oh, honey.” Allison drawled, “You don’t actually believe him when he says he hates you, do you?”

Lucky by sunrise_and_death (T | 4,328 | 1/1)

At thirteen, he’d lived in eleven different cities, gone by as many different names, and seen his reaper twenty-eight times. Some people would have called him lucky.

Live Once More (This Time Will Be Better) bypurpleeyesandbowties (T | 2,457 | 1/1)

Very carefully so as to not wake his roommates presumably sleeping off a night of regrettable choices, Andrew pulled a notebook towards him and opened to a fresh page to make a list. Two lists, actually. Changes to make and things to keep the same. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to sort out what was important.

To change:get off pillsno Kathy no Seth dying (Neil was upset)no Thanksgivingno winter at Evermoreno Baltimorekill Riko soonerkill Nathan myself

Keep the same:get Neil to the Foxes

Maz:

changing tides - titanic au by missbolton (M | Incomplete | 4/5)

When Nathaniel Hartford boards the RMS Titanic, it is a death sentence. He will be shipped to New York with his brutal father and his soon-to-be wife, Lola. There’s no escape.

Until he meets third-class artist Andrew Minyard.

if you’re lost you can look (and you will find me) by paleromantic (T | Incomplete | 5/?)

Neil Josten jerked awake, his cigarette falling from his fingers as he did. The frigid air bit at his arms, his neck, his face, but he didn’t notice, too busy looking around.

“What the fuck.”

Neil and Andrew wake up back in Millport, and get the chance to start over.

I’m Just Killing Time by thesaroscycle (T | 10,666 | 1/1)

He was sat in the most comfortable armchair in the back, the book in his lap closed but well-worn and dog-eared, one of the things that annoyed Bee to no end. His glasses sat on the table next to him, along with the hot chocolate Bee had made earlier in the morning that had gone cold. He stared out the window into a cloudless blue sky, squinting at the late morning sun and blurry trees. It was getting warm enough outside for the frost to melt on the grass, and late enough for people to start coming in. He couldn’t wish more for fall, when the sky would be gray and the chill would last all day rather than just early morning. Everything seemed to be holding its breath for the coming summer, for longer days and warmer mornings. Andrew couldn’t be less excited for summer; of all their town’s 70-degree-high summers, it was still hot enough for Andrew to melt in his stubbornly consistent black wardrobe.

Paper Skies by exybee (T | 4,662 | 1/1)

Andrew’s a quiet librarian who treats his library much like how he treats his person. He spends his time searching for the color blue in hopes of finding something real, but when he meets Neil Josten, he finds that maybe blue isn’t the only thing out there.

Or, Neil’s a kaleidoscope of colors, and Andrew gets a lesson in self-care.

Atlas:

Honey, we should run away by allyasavedtheday ( T | 8,836 | 1/1)

“We’re moving on soon,” his mom says casually as she’s plating up their food. As if it’s an inconsequential detail and not something that rocks Neil to his core.

“Why?” he asks, keeping his voice calm and measured like she taught him to do if he was ever taken.

“We’ve been here too long,” she says like it’s obvious, setting down a plate of pasta in front of him.

“It’s only been ten weeks,” he can’t help pointing out. Ten weeks with Andrew. Ten weeks that aren’t enough.

“That’s over two months,” she retorts, neatly spearing a piece of pasta with her fork. “Two more weeks and we’re leaving. Just as soon as I have everything organised.”

Andrew and Neil meet when Neil is on the run with his mother.

Show Me How You by smokesprite ( Not Rated | 6,825 | 1/1 )

“They thought they would stop the show; they thought they could cut the act, but Neil had been sulking around too long now to not know where all the necessary equipment was. He was a ghost, and he would do the ghost dance, goddammit.”

Neil is a ghost with a house to haunt, but the Moxie Foxy Burlesque Troupe refuses to be chased off. If you can’t beat em…join em.

Aaron:

stay as long as you need by lolainslackss (T | 2,955 | 1/1)

The soulmate timer counts down to your soulmate’s death. Apparently, Andrew’s soulmate doesn’t have long to live.

Oh, Catastrophe by TheKingIsDead (witch_lit) (T | 1,447 | 1/1)

Aaron and Katelyn are at a concert and Aaron can’t shake the feeling that the drummer is familiar.

it’s a long way down byionlyloveyouironically (T | 6,506 | 1/1)

The sound of rushing water, the moon overhead, bare feet on a muddy riverbank, and a weeping woman reaching a dead hand out.

Scout

A Mewment Like This by fuzzballsheltiepants (T | Incomplete | 9 Works)

tenuous by undertow (cendal) (M | 7,431 | 1/1)

Neil Josten is trying to learn to be a normal person. He has an apartment and a cat. He goes to therapy every Wednesday. He has friends and attends their study group regularly. He eats lunch with his best friend’s brother.The hardest part is letting people in, but he thinks that one day he’ll get there.Series: Part 1 of all of me wants all of you

The Continuing Adventures of the Nine-Nine by gluupor (G | Complete | 10 Works)

A series of short, ridiculous, mostly plotless stories featuring the Foxes as the cops of the Ninety-Ninth Precinct.

Back to the Start by fuzzballsheltiepants (T | 29,277 | 11/11)

Andrew has been on his pro team for 6 months when he takes a ball to the head. Neil flies to Boston to see him - only to find that Andrew doesn’t remember him.

Rachel

Funky Happenings with the Fox Family by dobbypussypopper (Not Rated | Incomplete | 17/?)

naughtygayweedcrime: did I rlly just see neil say woke

naughtygayweedcrime: what a surreal timeline we live in

dumbfool: allison is trying to teach me how to meme so I can get hip

naughtygayweedcrime: bless your poor soul

davidwymack: sometimes I regret living

davidwymack has muted exyllent, damnwilds, + 7 others for 30 minutes

The Real Folk Blues by moonix, nefelibata (E | 42,365 | 4/4)

Captain David Wymack and the bounty hunter crew of the Bebop spaceship might be a little out of their depths chasing down the infamous hacker and notorious runaway Neil Wesninski, whose bounty exceeds even Kevin’s wildest dreams. Worst of all, Andrew might actually enjoy it.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

a world alone by ephemeralsky (T | 54,850 | 6/6)

“It will not be cheap,” Andrew finally says.

“I know,” Wymack says. “Two bottles of Johnnie Walker sound good to you?”

“Four,” Andrew says without missing a beat. He thinks about having to deal with Nicky later on, about the additional work he has to do, and decides that he will not do anything for less.

“Three,” Wymack argues.

“Four or we have no deal.”

Wymack mutters something about blood-sucking hooligans under his breath before he concedes with a, “Fine.”

(or: a High School AU where only some of them are high-schoolers)

#andreil #aftgfl ask #graphic depictions of violence #theme:bestOf2018

224 notes · View notes

lemonjoonah · 5 years

Text

Grim Love: Loss

Masterlist | NEXT Grim Love: Memory >

Title: Grim Love: Loss Word Count: 3K+ Rating: M Genre: Reaper AU, Drama Warnings: Suicide, Character Death Pairings: Reaper!Namjoon x Reader x Yoongi Inspirations: Spring Day, Guardian: The Lonely and Great God (AKA Goblin), Norwegian Wood

Summary - Two weeks by your side... Two weeks to save you from yourself... His mission and goal conflict when it comes to your fate.

The Grim Love series is a Reaper AU, featuring each of the members as Grim Reapers. Loss is Namjoon’s story...

AO3 Link - Here

A/N - Please pay attention to the warnings. This story took a lot out of me to write, if you are easily triggered do not read it! This is the first instalment in the series. It will probably be a couple months between each update as Under Fire is my top priority. I hope you enjoy this sad little story of mine, and if you really want to destroy your soul might I suggest listening to Can You Hold Me (feat. Britt Nicole) by NF as you read...

POV Namjoon

You’re too young... That’s all I can think when I see you after receiving my assignment. I want nothing more than to go back to my elders and have them rewrite fate, but I already know their answer. They would simply reiterate their last words to me.

“This is our kindness, sending you.”

They had the decency to give you company for your last journey. I’ll be the only form of goodwill you will receive in the end.

In my few years I had never been assigned to someone younger than 30. You will be my first. Despite your given time frame you seem so full of life. You sit in the booth of a coffee shop, your foot shaking anxiously as you watch the door. One of the wait staff approaches you.

“He’s really late today isn’t he?” She asks taking your empty cup.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind waiting.”

I sit down across from you on the bench. You can’t see me, but I don’t like the thought of you sitting alone.

When we are given a new soul to guide, we are told nothing other than a name before appearing in front of the ill fated. I have no notion as to what your cause of death might be. You could pass on at any point during these two weeks, preventing me from straying far from your side.

I watch your eyes light up as you look to the door. I remove myself from the seat, to make room for your friend, placing myself behind you in your shadow.

“Yoongi!” You call out waving to the boy in the doorway. His slumped appearance straightens as you call his name. His lips curving into a small smile.

“Sorry to make you wait. Can I get you a coffee?”

“I’m fine, I just finished my cup.”

He glances at his watch, falling into the seat I had just vacated. “I’m later than I thought. I’m so sorry I got side tracked at the studio.”

“Really it’s okay. Are you working on something new?”

The boy named Yoongi mumbles nervously. “I’m finally piecing the album together. It’s been tough, but I know it’s what he would have wanted.”

“I’m sure he would have loved it. When do I get to listen to it?”

“When it’s perfect, you deserve no less.” His voice is quiet, but I can tell he truly means it. He likes you, that is beyond doubt. It will be a bitter task to tear the two of you apart.

“How have you been?” He asks tentatively.

“Good.” Your answer is short and forced. Your mouth painted with a fake smile.

“Come on don’t give me that. I know what day it is. It’s been two years, I know it still hurts.”

Your expression falls. “I’ve been getting by... I’ve been writing again. I find that helps.”

The boy reaches across to hold your hand. “I’m only a phone call away, don’t forget that okay?”

You nod with a sad smile.

Yoongi switches the conversation to lighter topics. I observe you relax back in your seat as you laugh at his stories.

An hour later, as you are putting your jacket on, you ask if he would like to join you for dinner.

“Sorry, I have plans.”

“No problem maybe another night.”

“That’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually. My plans tonight are with Seoyun.” The boy’s nervousness has returned. “We’re back together.”

I notice your eyes flash with a sadness, before recovering with a smile and a happy sentiment. “That’s great, you guys always made such a cute couple.”

This makes no sense to me. I can’t remember my own experience with love, but it’s clear that this boy cares deeply for you. Why would he date another?

...

The second you step into your apartment you make your way to a cabinet pulling out a bottle of spirits... an hour later pulling out another. The more you drink the more you weep.

You scribble today’s date off your calendar, and pull the page from your agenda. I watch as you beg for this day to be erased from history.

I wonder if my first night at your side might be your last. I can only remember flashes of my own death. Surrounded by water and struggling to breath. Watching you pass out reminds me of those scenes, only you’re drowning in your own pain.

“He’s not worth it.” The words fall from my mouth. I know you can’t hear me, but it needs to be said.

...

You spend the next several days in a haze barely interacting with the world around you. The more you fade from this life the more tangible I become. A few select objects start to react to my touch, when before my hand would pass right through them. I know this feeling well, your time is drawing closer, the bond between us growing stronger. The bond that would allow me to ferry you across the void.

You sit in bed crying clutching a well loved orange bear. Your eyes every now and then glancing to the pill bottle beside your bed. You reach out to your phone instead, calling the boy named Yoongi.

The ringing is cut short by his voicemail. Did he really just decline your call? Your shaky hand places the phone down in front of you. I know where you’re going to reach next. In a moment of panic I manage to knock the bottle away from you, spilling the pills to the the floor.

Your hand retreats, a mixture of fear and shock written on your face. I seemed to have snapped you out of your dangerous thoughts. Your tears flow again, probably in realization of what you had almost done. I sit beside you. Wanting more than anything to reach out and touch you, to have you hear my words. “It’s not your fault, this pain is not your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault... please tell me it wasn’t my fault...” You mutter to yourself.

I tilt my head in confusion as I look at you. There was no way you could have heard me.

You pick the pills off the floor, getting on your hands and knees you lift the bed skirt. I can only assume to make sure you had collected them all. But instead finding more pills your hands pull out a journal.

Grabbing a pencil you start to write. I read over your shoulder as you spin the tale of a Prince who wears a mask of perfection. A mask that becomes more and more burdensome each day. A love interest appears by page five, a women who sees his suffering and watches as he escapes the castle. Each day he hides himself beneath a bridge to take his mask off for a few moments. One day she approaches him in his vulnerable state, begging him not to put it back on.

Your body visibly calms after you finish the passage between the two.

You run your hand down the written words as if wishing you could join the characters among the pages. You whisper to yourself again. “I miss you.”

“He’s not worth it.” I answer back.

...

Your writing continues every day although you haven’t gone back and finished the story of the Prince yet.

With each new story I watch your health improve. It gives me hope, but the bond continues to strengthen.

We reach the last night of my two week assignment. In the past there have been people who have had their fates changed. It was a rare occurrence but it happened.

If that’s the case I will be summoned back tomorrow. The thought of not seeing you again causes me pain, I have grown attached to you and your tales.

Your story tonight does nothing to ease that pain of loss.

This story centres around you and an invisible friend. The friend would come out when you were crying or sad. He would try to make you laugh with his lack of coordination, knocking over pill bottles, and wine glasses.

I think about the wine glass I broke yesterday as you continue to write.

Many people would be scared of an invisible friend who causes such mischief, but he makes you feel less alone. Why should you be afraid of him if he isn’t afraid of being around your despair. Your friend that saves you from your poor choices, holding you close and whispering in your ear when you need it most.

The irony doesn’t escape me. What would you think of your invisible friend knew the truth? Here I am the personification of death, giving you comfort. The reaper looming in your shadow, keeping you alive. But if I leave you tomorrow, will I have to return before long?

...

Tomorrow comes and goes but I stay. Another week but still no summons to go back.

One night while you are asleep I return to my elders curious of your situation.

“Her clock has been resting, but each time she is still no more than two weeks from death.”

A feeling of hope enters me. “If it can be reset there must be a way to add more time? She doesn’t need to die so soon, there is no reason for it. Please have mercy on her.”

“This is our mercy. This is our kindness, sending you.”

You need time to heal. It’s clear that my interference is resetting that timer. I will reset it as many times as I need to before this cycle stops.

...

A week later you are walking through the city when you spot a poster for a concert. Your face lights up with a smile that I haven’t seen since the day I met you. The day that you last saw Yoongi.

You take a picture of the banner and text him the photo along with the message:

...We should go! I’ll get the tickets, consider it an early birthday gift...

You wait for his reply but an hour later there’s still nothing. You buy the tickets anyway before heading home.

Two days before the concert and he has still not sent word. You text him again. He answers back quickly this time.

...I can’t make it...

I thought that his words would send you into another spiral, but instead you reach out for your journal. Continuing to write my favourite story of the Prince.

Even with her pleas he continues to wear his mask. It continues to grow heavier, to the point where the strap holding it breaks. He tries to fix it but to no avail, there’s no material strong enough to keep it in place. He hides away in his room pulling away from everyone around him, including the girl. She still goes to the bridge everyday with the hopes of seeing him, but he never appears.

Our bond has grown stronger than any other than I have had before. I sit behind you as you write my chest against your back, I can actually feel the warmth of your skin.

Despite your strength I am still not called back, my task nor my goal complete.

...

To my surprise you go to the concert. Others might think you’re alone, but I still follow in the shadows. The venue is small, allowing me to spot a familiar boy a couple rows over. His arm around another girl. I step directly in the path between you and him, wishing, hoping that I could shield you from the sight. But you see right through me, you watch him smile at her, you watch him embrace her.

You flee the concert before the second song. Your tears not even having the decency to wait until you reached your apartment.

“He’s not worth it.” I repeat over and over.

You fall into your own whispers again holing yourself as you fight back the sobs. “I miss you... Why did you leave... I’ve felt so alone the past two years... seeing that makes me miss you so much more.”

You open your journal finally finishing the story.

The Prince leaves his room in the shadows, telling no one, greeting no one. He makes his way to the bridge, but instead of hiding at the bottom he climbs to the top. Looking to the water beneath him with longing. He doesn’t see her as she waits in their usual spot. She doesn’t get the chance to call out to him before he takes his leap.

This time the story brings you no comfort, you are more distraught than ever. You pull on your coat once again heading to the door. I try to reach out for your hand feeling only the warmth as my fingers passed through yours.

You leave not even bothering to lock the door behind you.

You walk the dark streets with determination. It’s now one in the morning and I can’t think of any good reason you should be out here at this time. A bridge appears in our sights. You keep walking towards it, stopping halfway across to look over the railing.

Something about this place seems so familiar. I mimic you looking down to the rushing water. I’ve been here before. Surrounded by water, struggling to breath.

You take a step up onto the railing.

I had taken the same step on the this very railing. I remember... I remember you ... You were running... calling out my name as I fell. I’m the Prince of the story, this was where I took my leap. It was never about Yoongi. I’m the one who left you. I’m the one causing you pain.

Your other foot steps onto the railing.

“No please!” I shout out pleading with you, hoping you can hear my cry. I reach out expecting to grab only air, but my fingers firmly grasp your arm. I pull back with such force that you fall backwards. As I move in an to catch you, your head hits the opposite railing, pulling your conscious self under.

“I’m not worth it, I’m not worth your pain,” I sob while clutching you. Finally able to hold you properly for the first time in years. “I’m sorry I left you. I promise you, it wasn’t your fault.”

You must have crossed far enough into the void enough for me to push you back, but in doing so you had pulled me fully into this world. I knew it wouldn’t last long, I didn’t belong here. With my limited time I pick you up and carry you home.

POV Yoongi

My phone blares out waking me. I look to the screen hoping to see your name, but this number isn’t listed under my contacts. Who the hell calls at two in the morning? I answer ready to give them a piece of my mind.

“Get over here you idiot. She needs you.”

“Who the hell is this? What are you talking about?”

“(Y/N), she needs you. Stop ignoring her and get your ass over here.”

“(Y/N)...” I whisper, but she had been the one ignoring me... “Is she okay?”

“You made me a promise that you would look after her. You almost lost her tonight.”

My heart stops. I remember making that promise. I remember him awkwardly asking should anything happen to him that I would look after you. I had scoffed at the idea knowing that no one could be more perfect for you than he is...was. I had never told anyone about that agreement.

“Namjoon?”

“I can’t be there for her anymore. This is my kindness, sending you.”

He hangs up the phone.

I look for her contact and hit dial, finding it odd that the phone next to the sleeping Seoyun starts vibrating at the same time. As I end the call and her phone stops as well.

I reach out and grab it, sending a text from my my own phone.

...(Y/N)...

Seoyun’s phone displays the text a second later.

“Yoongi, why are you wake?”

“Unlock this fucking phone right now.” I seethe throwing her phone back at her.

She hesitates before inputting her password. All of the messages I had sent you in the past month had gone to her. All of the messages I had received back telling me to go away, to stop texting had been from her. She had changed your contact info in my phone, The number that had called just now, the number I had ignored in the past because I didn’t recognize it... that must have been you.

“When I would leave my phone here...when I would head to the studio... did she send me anything. Did you delete any texts from her?” My voice is toeing the line of rage.

Seoyun doesn’t bother to deny it, knowing that I have caught her red handed. She nods, “But I did it for us! You were always texting her and calling her. You care about her more than me.”

“And I always will,” I growl back. “Get the fuck out, take your stuff and go back to the hell you crawled out of.”

POV Namjoon

I have receded back to the void. After taking you home my grasp on you only lasted long enough to lay you down on your bed.

Yoongi barges through the unlocked door only a few minutes later, not even bothering to knock. I watch from the shadows as he goes to you. You wake to the sound of his apologies. Comforting him as he breaks down during his confession.

It’s at that moment that I feel the tug back to my world, my summons back. As much as I want to, I know I can’t stay, but this time I am parting with you for the right reasons.

This is my kindness, leaving you.

#bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts grim love series #bts grim reaper au #bts reaper au #reaper namjoon #namjoon x reader x yoongi #rm x reader x suga #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts x reader #this story destroyed me #bts reader insert

387 notes · View notes