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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

749 notes · View notes

sugusshi · 2 years

Note

6 and/or 54 with kakucho please 👉🏼👈🏼

➥ author's note: i hope you like this baby 🥺💕 I had lots of fun writing this one

- word count: 511

➥ prompt list used

TOKYO REVENGERS MASTERLIST

· · ────── · ·

Kakucho watches as you flutter around the kitchen, humming along to whatever song is playing on the speaker, the apron you’re wearing only warming his chest up more.

He remembers the day you came back after grocery shopping, a huge grin on your face. You were so excited to show him your impulse purchase, making him think you bought something expensive or what not. But it wasn’t.

“Look at it!” You giggled as you unveiled the apron, “It has Peach the Cat with a little chef hat! It only cost me $5!”

It was such a simple and cheap purchase, but it made him love you even more. Especially as he watched you dance around while you prepared lunch while he finished off some work. But how could he focus on work when you looked so cute? Your (hair color) hair styled in a messy bun, pretty face as flawless as always, your hips swaying to the beat of the music.

Can you blame him for tossing his paperwork to the side and coming up behind you? You’re too focused on cooking and dancing you don’t even realize his presence so close to you until he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, placing a soft kiss on the side of your head.

“Hey baby,” You coo, turning your head to kiss his cheek, “Enjoyed the show?”

“Mhm,” Kakucho hums as he starts placing soft kisses down your exposed neck, “Very. That apron really does it for me, you know?”

Your laughter is like music to his ears, only making him smile, “I’m almost done here.”

He doesn’t reply, too busy kissing up your neck now, nibbling on your earlobe making you shiver.

“Kakucho…” You whine, “If you start this now, you know neither of us will be eating soon.”

“Maybe that’s my goal?”

You let out a playful gasp with a light smack to his arm causing him to chuckle. He settles instead for resting his chin on your shoulder, watching you complete some finishing touches to the food.

Yeah, he thinks, I can get used to this.

“I want you to be a part of my future.”

He doesn’t even realize he blurted this out until he realizes you’re now facing him, his face held softly between your hands.

“Kakucho…” Your voice is soft yet a little nervous, “W-What was that…?”

He smiles, his hands moving down to hold you by the hips, “I said I want you to be a part of my future,” He leans in to kiss your forehead, “I can’t see my life without you anymore… No one has ever made me feel like this. I want you. With me… forever.”

“Y-You mean-”

“I want you to be my wife,” His voice is sure and steady, “Maybe not now, but soon. YN… You are the only one for me.”

“Kakucho-” You hide your face in his chest as he hugs you close to him, holding the back of your head gingerly. “I love you so much. So, so much.”

“I love you too sweetheart… so much.”

· · ──────────────────── · ·

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alwaysmarveling · 3 years

Text

The Incident, The Aftermath

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Warnings: Amputation, an explosion, hints at PTSD (it’s a wee bit sad but I promise it gets happier)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: So I finally got the guts to post something... If you like it, thank Camz :) If you don’t, sorry mi dude, I’m working on it (but constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!).

You’d slipped into the tank top and shorts easily enough, and here you were standing in front of your dresser. One look at the unruly mop atop your head caused you to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You carefully ran the brush through your hair, allowing the knots to loosen up one by one.

You’d been leaving your hair down every day since The Incident, but that was two weeks ago. Assuming everything healed properly, Tony and Bruce were going to fit you for a prosthetic in a week, but until then you had to work with what you had… which was one less arm than you were used to having your entire life.

The universe wasn’t being very thoughtful of your adjustment—it was supposed to get up to ninety-five degrees today—so maybe today would be the day to try putting it up. You had seen some people do it on YouTube, and it didn’t seem that difficult. Plus, if you had enough dexterity to wield a knife with one hand and still leave your opponent in pieces, you should be able to put up your hair with one hand easy peasy.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, unsure of what to really do with it. You didn’t see a braid working. You could pin some of it to the side so that it wouldn’t fall in your face, but with the heat, you wanted it completely up. A messy bun could work, though; it was simple, got the hair off of your neck, and it was meant to be a bit untidy. Perfect. With the style in mind, you pushed an elastic around your wrist and set off to work.

Twisting your hair was easy enough. Looping it around to actually form a bun was slightly more difficult, but you managed. When it came time to actually loop the elastic around the bun, though, things got more complicated.

You copied the video, pressing your head against the wall to hold your hair in place while you secured the elastic. However, looping the elastic around the bun without significantly shifting your hair was proving to be extremely difficult. Nevertheless, you managed to do it. The mirror then filled with your reflection as you examined your handiwork.

Handiwork was one word for it. Simply put, it looked like a toddler had done your hair. You weren’t sure how exactly you had messed up since you couldn’t really see behind your head, but you could see the result, and it wasn’t pretty. You let out a puff of air, pulling the elastic out and reaching for your brush. One glance at the clock told you you had enough time for two or three more attempts before you had to call it a day.

Five tries later, you were no better off than you were before. Sure, the bun was supposed to be messy, but there was a certain art to a messy bun. This just looked like a giant cat spit a hairball on top of your head. On top of that, you were now running late to meet Wanda for grocery shopping.

“Miss Y/N,” FRIDAY started.

“Tell her I’ll be down in five,” you sighed, your eyes brimming with tears. You supposed one more day of leaving your hair down wouldn’t kill you even if it was going to be hot, but you just wanted to be able to take care of yourself. You hated seeing the looks of sympathy your teammates gave you every time you had to ask for help for the simplest things, whether it be grabbing a plate at the bottom of the stack or setting up equipment for training.

Sure, things were getting a little easier, like dressing yourself without help. You could deal with the phantom pain. It was excruciating, but pain was one part of the job that you were used to. You had also managed to hide your frustration from the team pretty well since The Incident, but you weren’t sure if that made it any better; half of them seemed like they were walking on eggshells when they were around you.

When it came to the nightmares, though, that was much harder to hide, especially considering you shared a bed with one of the lightest sleepers in the world. You hated waking her up every night, your body soaked in sweat and chest heaving as you forced yourself to remember that it was all over, forced your mind to believe that you were safe even when your body didn’t.

Before you could really understand what was happening, your emotions from the last few weeks bubbled over. Anger, frustration, anguish, and countless others flew to the surface, demanding to be released. Your fingers dug into your hair, yanking on the elastic—along with several strands of hair—until they flew out, hitting the floor somewhere you didn’t care to find. The hairbrush was next, being snatched from the top of the dresser and chucked at the door as hard as you could manage.

“What the- Y/N? Are you okay, babe?”

The thwack of the brush hitting the door caused you to flinch even though you were the one who caused it. Not processing your girlfriend’s muffled words at first, your eyes widened as you stepped back, and for a split second you were transported back to The Incident.

---

You grabbed the last civilian who had fallen behind the others, practically tossing them out of the building before it could explode.

“Y/N! Get out of-” Before Steve could finish his sentence, the building burst into flame, and the blast sent you flying in the air.

When you came to, the only thing you could focus on was the excruciating pain radiating from your elbow. You couldn’t make out exactly what had happened to it, but, wow, to say it hurt was an understatement.

It was several minutes later before the ringing cleared from your ears and you finally realized someone was talking to you.

“Y/N! Y/N, love, please, where are you?” The familiar voice drove you to use the little energy you had left, lifting your head off of the pavement to scan your surroundings. The dust and debris from the explosion made it difficult to see, but you could just make out her shape a few feet away from you.

“Turn… around, you doofus… I’m… behind you,” you wheezed out before letting your head hit the ground.

“Y/N! Oh my god, I thought we-” The second the former assassin saw you, her mouth dropped.

“What is it, Natty?” you asked weakly.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just give me a second, okay? I’m going to get the rest of the team so we can get you out of here.”

“Liar,” you wheezed, half-teasing, half-panicked, but your girlfriend had already turned around. Squinting your eyes, you could just make out the small movements of her lips that told you she was talking, but the chaos and your pain and exhaustion—and probably blood loss, but you didn’t know that at the time—was making it impossible to hear what she was saying.

“Okay, they’re coming,” she reassured you, kneeling down next to you.

“What happened?” you tried again.

“You’re a hero, babe,” the redhead murmured, smoothing back your hair and brushing dirt from your face.

“Yeah?” Your voice was growing weaker, and you were becoming loopier than someone who had just come out of wisdom teeth surgery. Natasha knew it was only moments until you passed out.

“Yeah, you did it, sweet girl. You saved them all.”

“I did? I seriously hope Helen is a superhero too because someone’s going to need to save my arm. God, it hurts.” Natasha only let out a huff at your poor attempt at a joke, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

“Just hold on a little longer for me, okay? Can you do that?” Something wet hit your cheek, making you realize that your girlfriend was crying.

“Of course,” you scoffed. “Don’t…” You left her hanging.

---

After what felt like years, you finally regained your breath and returned to the present. “I’m fine,” you yelled out, your voice wavering. You knew Natasha wouldn’t believe you. Not only was she your girlfriend, but she was literally one of the best spies in the world. Sure enough, she tried to open the door, her efforts in vain since you’d locked it when you were changing.

“Hon, can you please open the door?”

“I’m fine, Nat,” you breathed out, your tone slightly more stable.

“Just let me in,” she pleaded. “Please?” Her soft voice made you sigh in resignation as you wiped your eyes. You tugged your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the bird’s nest on your head at least a little before showing yourself to her.

“Hi,” you practically whispered, not making eye contact with her once you had opened the door.

“Hey,” she responded softly, taking your hand in one of hers and using her other hand to lift up your chin. Rather than saying anything else immediately, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead as her second hand slid down to completely wrap your one hand in both of hers. The two of you stood in the doorway for a while, eyes closed and hand in hand. You weren’t a super soldier, but you were sure you could hear both of your heartbeats, yours slowing down to beat in tandem with hers.

“You okay?” she finally asked. You nodded slightly, your breathing now back to normal and the tears no longer streaming down your face.

Natasha always had a way of calming you down. You didn’t get frustrated or angry often, but when you did… the rest of the Avengers always joked that you were seconds away from becoming the next Hulk.

The former assassin slowly reached up to untangle your locks, noticing how you flinched when she first reached your hairline.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started with the faintest hint of uncertainty, “It’s been a while since I did your hair, and I saw this new hairstyle online that I thought would look really good on you…”

“Thank you,” you sighed quietly as you leaned into her touch.

“My pleasure,” your girlfriend smirked, pushing you inside your shared bedroom and closing the door behind her. She guided you to sit on the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed behind you. Brush in hand, Nat started sectioning off your hair. A small smile graced her face when you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully enjoy the contact.

Now halfway down your head, she spoke up again. “You know I’ll always be here for you, right?

“Nat…” you warned, although you had nothing to say afterwards, and the redhead took advantage of that.

“I can only imagine how upset you feel about losing your arm-”

“Nat,” you interrupted, your voice slightly harder this time. Natasha sighed as she continued to braid your hair.

“I’m just trying to say that I’m here for you. I was here for you before, and I’m here for you now. The number of limbs that you have doesn’t affect that. It also doesn’t affect your worth. You’re not useless, Y/N. You never were, and you certainly aren’t now.” Despite your best efforts, tears began to trail down your face. Natasha pursed her lips at the sight but continued, knowing that if she stopped now she wouldn’t have another chance to say what she needed to. “You are-” Nat’s fingers froze when you mumbled out something unintelligible, the hand over your mouth preventing you from enunciating. “What was that?” You sighed before speaking again.

“It’s not the arm. It’s not just the arm,” you corrected.

“Then what is it?” She resumed braiding your hair, her voice matching the tenderness in her hands.

“It’s- it’s the- god, this is embarrassing.”

“You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, love. I’ll never judge you for anything you’re feeling,” the redhead promised, pausing once again to brush her lips above your brow bone.

“It’s the fear, Nat. I can’t go one second without thinking about the explosion. About… losing it. I’m scared 24/7, Nat, and even if I could forget about it for even a moment, I have a constant reminder.” Natasha didn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes had flickered to the remainder of your arm that hung by your side. “And, god,” you laughed bitterly, “god, does it make me feel weak. What kind of Avenger constantly lives in fear and panic? How am I ever supposed to help anyone like this?”

“Y/N.” She stopped braiding your hair for the third time, pulling on it slightly so that you were forced to meet her eyes above you. “You are the strongest person I know. I know you’re scared, but guess what? You went through something super traumatic. It’s okay to be scared. Honestly, I might be more concerned if you came out of that and you weren’t scared at all. All of us get scared, and that’s perfectly valid because being scared does not make you weak. Being scared means you value your life, and that’s a good thing.” She paused her speech to relax her grip on your hair, but your head remained tilted, captivated by the passion and emotion that filled your girlfriend’s face and voice.

“And the Avenger that lives in fear and panic is the same one that was ready to give up her life to save people. You helped people in the past not because you had two arms or because you weren’t scared of stuff. You helped them for the sole reason that you made a commitment to helping others, to making the world a better place, and that is the sole reason why you will still be able to help others.” Natasha’s whole body was trembling. The hands that held your hair were white at the fingertips as she clenched them.

“I admire you more than anyone else in the world. You’re a hero, Y/N. Not ‘were,’ but ‘are.’ You’re the hero of every single person whose life you saved, and you’re my hero.”

“I didn’t-” Despite your interruption, the spy didn’t stop talking.

“You saved my life, Y/N, the second you walked into it. You give me a reason to live, to wake up every morning. And you’re my hero even more so now than before because you get up every day with a smile on your face, no matter what’s thrown at you.”

“Not much of a smile now,” you sniffed. Despite the tears that blurred your vision, you couldn’t stop the corner of your lips from curling up slightly. Nat laughed at the juxtaposition, finishing up the intricate braids woven in your hair before turning you around to face her.

“But look how quickly that changed,” she teased, pecking your lips after she wiped the tears from your face.

“Thank you,” you repeated for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.

“It was my pleasure. Plus, I was right, this hairstyle does look really good on you.” You bit your lip in embarrassment as you turned your gaze to the floor. “I’ll always do your hair for you, milaya.”

“I was actually thinking of shaving it off,” you smirked. As you examined your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but agree with Natasha. You looked good, missing arm and all. A little teary-eyed and runny-nosed, but amazing nonetheless.

“Don’t you dare,” your girlfriend scoffed. “I know I said I wasn’t leaving, but I might at that,” she winked.

“Hey!” You tackled her to the ground. Reaching for her abdomen, her eyes widened as your grin grew larger.

“Y/N, don’t you dare-” You talked over her, not paying attention to her threat.

“I can still tickle you with one arm.” The spy didn’t get the chance to respond before you pounced, smiling at the sound of her laughter.

“Stop, Y/N, please!” she managed to get out.

“Are you going to leave me then? Huh?”

“No, no! I won’t! I’ll never leave you! Please, just stop!” You let up on the tickling, gently brushing away the hair that was thrown over her face seconds ago. “Great,” Nat groaned, “now I need to redo my hair.”

“Sorry,” you giggled sheepishly. Seeing the pout on her face, you bent down and met her lips with yours.

“I meant it, though.”

“That you need to fix your hair?” Natasha laughed at the way your head had adorably cocked to one side.

“No, silly, that you’re my hero. That you’re the strongest, most admirable person I know. That I’ll always be there for you, and that I’ll always do your hair for you, even when you don’t need me to do it for you any longer.”

“I love you.” You kissed her again. “And I will always love you.” Noticing a slight shift in her face, you paused, studying her expression. “Don’t you dare start singing that song.”

“Miss Y/N, Miss Maximoff is wondering if you are alright.”

“Shoot, I need to go grocery shopping with Wanda!” You scrambled to get off of the floor, smoothing out your clothes before looking for your shoes. “Uh, FRIDAY, tell her I’m so sorry and I’m coming down right now.”

“One more for the road?” Nat pouted just before you reached the door.

“Of course. Thank you again, for everything.” Your lips melted together for a second before you pulled away.

---

“Wanda, I’m here, I’m so, so sorry!” You half-ran, half-slid down the hallway to meet your best friend at the door.

“Hey,” Wanda turned to greet you. “What took you-” She paused upon making eye contact with you. “I like your hair,” she grinned.

“Thanks,” you smiled back, “Nat did it for me.”

#I wrote something #oh gOD I actually wrote something #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #alwaysmarveling

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just-plenty-of-prompts · 2 years

Note

Hi, sorry, I really love your writing! You're very descriptive. Could you maybe do a character creation? I'd love to see what a character from you looks like.

say hello to character yellow, this is one I made a while back, I plan on making a character themed by each color, though my PC is busted and I'm waiting to fix it before I'd go on.

I hope you like her~

She enjoys watching leaves fall from a tree, she smiles when she hears kids laugh, she closes her eyes and hums softly when the music reaches her ears. With an eye for art and a love for nature Xania Sared is a happy soul

“Do you know what the word apricity means? It's a word that represents the warmth of the sun during winter, it’s my favorite word because it reminds me that even during the coldest winters, the sun is still there. It might be hard to feel but it’s not gone, just wait and the blessed heat will be back on your skin,”

Name: Xania Sared

Nickname: Nia.

Nia was a character in a popular children's show when Xania was young, it featured a teen who explored the world, and saved countless people through her travels, the teen was confident and cheerful. Xania’s friends always teased her about being similar to the character and started calling her by the last half of her name, due to it being the same as the character's first name.

Character Alignment: Lawful good, Xania is a good person by heart and was raised to hold the law in high regard, she’s not the type to break them for any reason and has a lot of faith in authority figures.

Eye color: A striking rich brown that shines hazel when it reflects light.

Body/build: Due to Xiania’s active lifestyle, she has a rather slim build with simple muscle mass, nothing over the top, and no abs but she looks fit and in good health.

Height: 163 cm Skin: Pale peach, she’s no snow-white but she burns pretty badly.

Face Features: She has an oval-shaped face, with high cheekbones and a small scattering of freckles.

Hair color: Brown Hair description: Her hair is rather long, this is due to the fact that all the woman in her family always grow their hair out until it hits their bum, it’s tradition. She keeps it tied in twin buns, you will scarcely see her with it loose. She loves her hair, but it’s a pain to wash and take good care of. It’s also really soft.

Resemblance: Xania is often mistaken for her father's sister, her parents had her rather early and she looks like a female version of him! Most tend to be shocked when they find out that she’s his daughter and not his sister.

Health: Xania is in great health! She does have a bee allergy and a cat one, which sucks because she loves cats. She hates bee’s though; those things are devils!

Clothes: She has a very colorful and artsy style, often seeming slightly vintage

Bedroom: Her room is a mess! A very organized mess, no seriously she knows there’s a paper clip on the floor by the corner of her desk that has been lying there for a week. She knows. There are some art things in there, plenty of posters, a bed, and eh things? Ohhh she has plants too! Can't forget those.

Mannerism: Xania swings her arms and pushes herself onto her tippy toes before sinking back down to stand normally, a habit she picked up as a kid whenever she felt awkward, if you catch her eye when she does this, she’ll smile rather stiffly and look away. She hops when excited or bored, it’s a more fast passed hop with a bright expression when excited and a slower hopping from place to place while repeating ‘hop, hop, hoppy’ to herself when bored, she does it to amuse herself. She'll fluster and stop with an awkward laugh if she catches you staring while she does it. She blinks repeatedly when she can’t understand what someone is saying.

Education: She was/is really terrible at school, she just can’t concentrate, there are so many more interesting things to see! She'll often forget she has homework and just does some art instead. She doodles in her books a lot.

Personality traits: Chipper, Hyper, Kind, Lazy, stubborn, stingy.

Fears: Desk jobs, no seriously how boring must it be? Xania doesn’t really have much or any fears.

Coping Mechanism: Crying, she cries when she’s angry, she cries when she’s sad, she cries when she’s happy. She cries a lot. It helps her release her pent-up emotions. She draws or paints to force out her emotions.

Family: Her parents are rather young, with her having been an accident when her mom was sixteen, they stuck together though. She has a great relationship with both, her father paints with her and he teases her about getting a grandkid often. Her mom loves to bake, and she has Xania taste test the food. She has plenty of extended family that she sees often, her entire family is very close with family dinners and weekends being spent together. They play boards games after dinner or watch movies together every night. Dinner is eaten around a table together and the chatter is always positive and relaxed. She has a little brother Jureth, he’s a studious little thing and she’s pretty sure he can kick her ass in school work even though he was like six years younger. She teased him a lot and often re-decorated his room, they pranked each other a lot, he gift-wrapped everything in her bedroom once, Xania was pretty sure her dad helped with that one, but she had no proof.

Optimistic or pessimistic: Optimistic, she could be falling to her death from the Eiffel tower and still be ‘I could totally land this and survive’ this girl does not know when to give up.

What would she change about herself? Her voice, she sounds like a wailing banshee when she sings.

Self-esteem: Xania has been called beautiful by well most people her entire life, she wasn’t striking but she was pretty, her self-esteem is rather high, she has a lot of confidence in herself due to her family’s constant support.

Hobbies: Listening to music, painting, bike riding, hiking, rollerblading, poster collecting, pranking, sleeping

Who are their important people: Her family, Xania’s most important people will always be her family.

What is their relationship with food? She savors every bite, Xania loves food and treats herself to new exotic things frequently. The way to her heart really is through her stomach.

How are they with Money? Saving? I'm sorry what’s that? She can’t keep money, the second she sees something artsy or yummy her money is gone.

Emotional or logical? Emotional, overly so, she won’t think through her responses until it's far too late, she gets riled up easily and her anger can distract her a lot. She holds a mean grudge.

What is their voice like? Her voice is chipper but a bit on the deeper side of the range, it’s not train whistle high but well it’s nice.

How do they talk? In fast-paced long sentences when excited or happy, her voice is bright and filled with emotion, she laughs a lot and makes excited or shocked exclamations rather often.

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

The Chance Meeting of the Black Cat Cafe

AO3

Prompt: Everyone is born with a limited number of words. Because of this, people thing more before they speak. In some cultures, it's even considered the god(s) choice on who gets how many. Those with the fewest words are pitied but accepted nonetheless.

Prompt by anonymous on Tumblr.

Author's note: This prompt has been sitting in my inbox for a shameful amount of time, but I had to figure out some baseline for this. Giving the characters the ability to use sign language or the ability to write seemed too easy. So I had to figure out a way around that <3

Word Count: 5866

Pairing: Analogical

Warnings: Flirting/Romantic contact, Prejudice, Very, very light hurt/comfort

---

Black coffee.

Two sugars.

Splash of cream.

That's the way Logan's coffee had always been served to him. As long as he could remember, he spent his morning getting ready for work, drove to his favorite coffee shop and went about his day. He'd been doing this for years. This was how his life had always been.

Until today.

Logan stood outside his favorite coffee shop dumbfounded by the ‘Closed' sign blocking the way to his daily routine. A small note was tacked to the sign explaining that a family emergency that had forced Anna, the shop owner, to close on this very particular day, but still the small sign stalled his brain.

This was fine.

Emergencies happen. The most important factor of the situation is that the owner was taking care of her family. His need to stay on his routine was of minimal importance compared to the safety and well being of the kind barista who'd been serving him his coffee for years.

Logan knew this was true. He shouldn’t still be staring blankly at the dark building, but he couldn’t seem to drag his feet away. The thought was irrational and he knew there were several solutions existed for this very simple problem he was facing. He forced himself to take a long breath, considering his options.

He could simply continue onto work without his coffee, but the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Dealing with his coworkers without caffeine as a buffer sounded less than ideal. Logan let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned towards his car.

Of course, the logical course of action was to simply go to a different coffee shop. It would be well worth the mediocre coffee and pitiful stares of the new shop's patrons if he didn't have to go without his daily dose of dark roasted stimulant.

Logan chewed on his lip as he slipped his key into the ignition of his car. He knew the dread building in his chest was an overreaction, but he couldn’t seem to trick his brain into releasing the anxiety constricting his throat. He'd spent years, slowly optimizing his daily routine to avoid the stares full of pity that he often received while out in public. Too often, well-meaning people would notice the lack of black designs on his body and their looks would immediately turned to pity. The very thought of the way people looked at him when they realized he had no words made his stomach twist.

Most people were gifted with at least a few decades worth of words, more if they were careful about how they used them. Everyday, he was surrounded by dozens of people whose arms and legs were covered in black designs, indicating the words they had left in there life. Some were more faded than others, especially among the older generation, but few people were like him. His arms were bare when he was born and one would assume he would have gotten accustomed to the way people without words were treated, but it never seemed to get easier.

He turned the key, humming as the engine suddenly jumped to life. Slowly, he let out a sigh as he backed out of the parking lot and turned back onto the busy streets. The sounds of traffic and instrumental music on the radio soon lulled him into an uneasy resignation as he scanned the road for the next indication of an establishment selling the much needed warmth and comfort of caffeine he was craving today. Logan had barely gone two blocks when a purple neon sign caught his eye.

Black Cat Coffee.

The branding left a lot to be desired. The faded logo was nearly unreadable under the purple glow of the neon circled around the cartoon-ish black cat logo. The design was garish and had too much of a Halloween vibe for Logan’s usual taste. Not to mention, something about the cat's eyes unsettled him as it seemed to smile directly at him. He wouldn’t even have considered it any other day, but he was already behind schedule, and the shop appeared to be nearly empty even as the morning traffic bustled past. Logan sighed, relenting to his need for caffeine as he pulled into the narrow parking lot and stepped out of his car.

He looked up as he stepped out, taking in the aged building as he made his way to the door. The bright purple paint on the building had faded with time, leaving behind a deep, muted purple that only seemed to retreat from the dark, green trim framing the building. He swallowed, nervous as darkened the doorstep of the strange establishment.

Logan pushed open the heavy door, almost jumping at the sound of the bell that announced his arrival. He quickly slipped through the entrance but his unease only seemed to increase as the sounds of the traffic we dulled by the thick walls. His skin prickled with discomfort as he stepped forward into the empty shop.

He hadn't thought to check for an open sign. After all, he'd hardly have assumed that a coffee shop would be closed on a Monday morning during prime business hours, and yet it appeared he was alone in the dim space. The natural light from the windows was muted by the large pine trees outside and the amber light cast down by the industrial style light barely seemed sufficient to light the room.

Logan had barely stepped up to the counter when a figure suddenly rose up from behind the register. He bowed his head quickly, ashamed by how much he'd jumped when the man stood up, marker in his mouth as he stared at Logan.

The man blinked, still staring at him as he pulled the marker out of his mouth with a knowing smirk. The man's long hair was pulled back into bun on the top of his head and he was wearing a dark colored hoodie with purple patches on the elbows. His smile twitched as he chewed on the piercing on his lips and Logan got the feeling that the man had enjoyed spooking him. The man chuckled at his disgruntled expression, pointing up at the faded menu board above him before slipping the marker behind his ear as he waited for Logan’s response.

Logan bit his lip as he raised his wrist into the air to showcase the purple band around his wrist. He paused, expecting the man’s expression to change as he realized that Logan wasn’t able to speak. This wasn't a new experience and he'd seen all the reactions before. Sadness, pity, and even disgust at how young he was to have lost his privilege to speak, but nothing could have prepared him for the casual shrug the man gave in response.

He couldn’t help but stare, dumbfounded by the lack of a reaction as the man turned to the espresso machine. His mind became a blur as he listened to the hissing of the machine, still shell-shocked by the man's nonchalance.

After a moment, the man seemed to catch him staring and he smirked as Logan started. He flushed, suddenly embarrassed by his distinct inability to function like a normal human being and follow basic social norms like not staring at the attractive barista who seemed to be taking pleasure in his incompetence. Taking a step back, Logan bowed his head as he tried to hide the red burn in his cheeks. He started to turn to find a table to wait, but the man almost jumped over the counter at him trying to get his attention.

Logan looked up as the man’s smirk softened as he leaned back holding up his hands in a gentle apology. He smiled, waving Logan back over as he turned to finish with his process. Logan stared for a moment before reluctantly returning to the bar. He watched the barista work and a moment later, the man slid the purple to go cup across the counter to Logan.

Black coffee.

Two sugars.

Splash of cream.

Whatever the man had handed him was most certainly not that, but Logan had to admit this drink was much tastier than what he'd grown accustomed to drinking. He'd been to dozens of shops and always been served the same drink. His lack of words had always meant he couldn’t order and that had left him at the mercy of the standard drink every shop had agreed to serve people like him.

Logan stared down at the cup, almost shell-shocked by the unexpected flavor. He didn’t even known coffee could taste this good. The flavor didn’t have even a hint of bitterness and the steamed milk was light and fluffy with a sweet caramel finish. The sweet drink was absolutely divine.

“Pretty decent, huh?”

Logan had just started taking another sip when the man's words startled him. He choked, nearly dropping his delicious drink in the process and his eyes turned up to the stranger's knowing grin as the man leaned forward on the bar. He hesitated a moment too long, shocked by the man’s casual use of his words, only to realize a moment too late that he was expecting an answer. Slowly, Logan nodded and he smiled as the man perked up.

“Name's Virgil and, um, I'm not busy at the moment.” The stranger leaned on the bar, glancing around the room with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think maybe you'd like to stay a bit?”

Logan hesitated, looking at the door. He knew he was already going to be late for work, but he couldn't help but be intrigued by the handsome man who seemed willing to throw away precious words on a complete stranger. His silence hung over them, even more deafening than usual as he pondered the stranger’s invitation. That was, until a soft fur brushed Logan’s hand and he startled once more, looking to see a purring mass of dark fur staring up at him with glittering amber eyes.

“That's Azazel.” The barista drawled lazily as Logan turned back to his smile. “I'd lie and say you were special, but the truth is she’s kind of a slut for anyone who's willing to pet her.”

Logan snorted, slightly embarrassed as he glanced nervously at the soft expression on the man's face and extended his hand out to the cat. The black mass lifted up to reveal her slender black legs as they stretched as she arched her back before pushing her head into Logan’s hand. He chuckled as she purred and allowed Logan to scratch under her chin, leaning her head in for more.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?”

Logan bit his lip as he turned his gaze back up to Virgil. He shook his head. He wanted nothing more than to stay with the stranger who had spared more words on him in this short conversation than he'd been given in weeks, but he couldn’t afford to abandon his job. He liked the job had now. It was comfortable and gave him more freedom than most places would, given his social status. Not to mention, the placement process for employment for those without words was an experience he wasn't eager to repeat. Reluctantly, he shook his head at the stranger, feeling the disappointment weigh heavy on his chest as he stepped back to leave.

“Now, just hold on,” Virgil raised a hand to stop him. Logan turned back, surprised to see the barista swinging around the counter. “This isn't a one time offer.”

Logan paused, shocked as the man reached out to take his hand. He stared in bewilderment as the man flipped his wrist over and rolled up his sleeve. Virgil pulled the marker from behind this ear and popped off its cap. Logan's mouth dropped open as Virgil took the black marker and started to write on his forearm.

“You know where that is?”

Canterbury Park.

Logan blinked as he looked down to read the words scribbled on his forearm. From what he remembered, the park was close to here and not far from his own house actually. He looked at his wrist, still mystified by the ink now decorating his skin for a moment longer before nodding up at Virgil.

“Good,” The man whispered with a smirk. “If you’re interested, meet me there tonight around 9pm.”

Logan nodded, still holding his arm and looking shell-shocked as he turned to go.

“Oh, and you best keep that hidden.” Virgil smirked, gently pulling at the piercing in his ear as Logan turned his head over his shoulder. “I don’t do parties. That invite's just for you.”

Logan felt heat rise in his cheek as he nodded and the stranger flashed him a coy smile. He quickly pulled his sleeve down and shuffled back out of the door, jumping again at the sound of the bell as he ducked out of the shop.

Logan was shaking as he dropped into the seat of his car. He quickly set his coffee into the cup holder immediately to avoid spilling the precious liquid as his hands started to shake. His hands found their way up to rest firmly on the steering wheel as he tried to steady his breathing. His eyes lifted up to the shop windows if disbelief as he tried to process what had just happened. Needless to say, this was not how he’d anticipated his morning going.

---

Logan's focus was all but non-existent for the rest of his day. He was fortunate enough that his reputation of reliability kept him out of trouble with his boss. In fact, she’d barely even looked up as he walked in the door nearly twenty minutes late. It perturbing how dreadfully normal the day was as it passed. It was entirely as though the encounter with the stranger was nothing more than a dream. He may not even have believed it happened, if it weren't for the black ink still scribbled on his arm.

Logan set the coffee on his desk and began to pull his pencils out of his bag. His drafting board was laid out in front of him. The numbers stared back at him in the only language that had ever come naturally to him.

He tried to set to work on his current drafting project. He'd been assigned to design a new public art house on the south side of town. It was a project he’d been lucky enough to land when so many people like him were simply placed into manual labor or food service. Not that he would ever belittle the importance and necessity of such jobs, but the opportunity to pursue creative work drove him to push the boundaries of what people like him should be encouraged to do. In a world of silence, this was his voice and he was ready to shout from the mountaintops.

Usually.

Yet somehow, today he seemed utterly speechless. He could barely put his pencil to the board without shaking. Every time he moved, his sleeve pulled up to reveal the black ink on his skin, and each time, the sight sent his thoughts spiraling towards the mysterious barista's offer. His coworkers moved around him, buzzing and humming as they worked productively, making him grow increasingly desperate to manage even to draw a straight line as his day dragged on.

I shouldn’t go.

He knew he shouldn’t even consider the man’s proposal. Meeting a strange man in the park alone at night was dangerous to say the least. His condition made him particularly vulnerable, and he knew it. If something happened, Logan couldn’t even call for help. It was the reason why he had always been exceedingly cautious in his previous ventures, so he couldn’t understand why he was even entertaining the idea now.

Logan sucked in a breath, slowly releasing the breath as he pressed his hand to his sleeve, thinking about the dark scribble underneath. He knew the answer was obvious. Writing on his arm was an intimate gesture. In a world where the spoken word was rare, the written word was nearly non-existent. A thousand spoken words would not fade the black designs on one's arms as with the same potency as a single written sentence. Even among those with the most words to spare, few of them chose to give their words the world through writing. To give even two written words to a stranger was an incredible gesture of generosity and trust and not one he should throw away lightly.

Oh, fuck. I'm actually going go.

Logan swallowed, leaning back in his chair as he dropped his pencil on his desk. He gave up on trying to focus. With a sigh, he rested his head in his hands on his desk. He just needed to get through the day without the curiosity killing him. Whatever happened that night, he would simply take his chances on the meeting being worth the misery.

---

The chill of the night crept up Logan’s neck as he turned into the dark park. He'd opted for a more casual outfit than this morning than he'd been wearing this morning. The choice had taken him longer than he would like to admit, but he'd settled on a pair of straight, black jeans, his canvas side bag and a blue sweatshirt he'd gotten a few years ago as a gift from a friend. The blue garment had always been a bit of a comfort item for him, even as the years started to wear it thin. He'd loved it and had managed to keep it in perfect shape, and though he’d admit in this particular moment he was craving something a little less threadbare, it still brought him a sense of ease he waited.

“You made it.”

Logan jumped at the sound of the man's voice, immediately feeling silly that he hadn't anticipated the man's appearance behind him. He smiled shyly, taking in the man’s appearance as he turned around. The man’s dark hair was covered by a slouch beanie and he wore a heavy leather jacket that was lined with a dark black fleece underneath. A plain back tee showed through the half-zipped jacket and the skinny jeans he wore seemed to be his signature shade of purple. Logan chewed his lip as the man stepped up to him, playing with the silver cuff on top of his right ear. Logan flashed a shy smile, shifting his feet as he tried to avoid staring.

“You can relax, dude. I promise I don’t bite.” Virgil dropped his hand from his hear, flashing a coy smile at Logan. “I mean, not unless you ask nicely.”

Heat rushed to Logan cheeks as he ducked his head to his chest as the man smirked at him.

Nope, this is too much.

He tried to turn away, only to be stopped as Virgil’s gentle grip caught his arm.

“Hey, wait. I'm sorry.” Virgil came up beside him, softening his grip on Logan’s wrist. “I'll cool it with the jokes, I swear—um, I didn’t actually catch your name."

Logan nodded, staring at the genuine concern in the man's eyes as he stopped him. He relaxed a bit, allowing Virgil to guide him back as he reached for his wallet. After some digging, he pulled out an old ID card, faded from years of use, and handed to Virgil.

“Logan King.” Virgil smiled, flashing a look up and down him as he handed back the plastic card. “That’s a killer last name, dude.”

Logan tensed slightly at the verbiage, forcing a smile as he shoved his hands in his pocket. Still despite his attempt to conceal his discomfort, the man somehow managed to pick up on the slight shift in his demeanor. His eyes immediately became apologetic as he held up his hands in gentle reassurance.

“Listen, I'm not a serial killer or whatever you’re worried about,” Virgil smiled, almost appearing nervous as he watched Logan's head turn back to him. “I’m nervous too. That’s all. I haven’t been on a first date in a long time.”

Logan blinked in shock, staring at the man with apparent confusion in his eyes. He was quiet as the man’s eyes suddenly filled with distress.

“Oh, god—” Virgil stammered, suddenly fidgeting under Logan’s stare for a change. “—Please tell me you knew what this was. If that’s not what you came here for, I can walk you home. I didn't mean to—”

Logan chuckled as he held up his hands to brush off the stranger’s worries. The man stilled as he watched Logan’s movements. He seemed to understand that Logan was not uncomfortable with the thought, but the stranger was clearly still unsettled by Logan's surprise. Logan's shyness abated slightly and he stepped forward, taking the man’s hand in his own.

Virgil looked down as Logan’s hand as their fingers intertwined together. His tension started to melt away as he tipped his head up to the gentle look in Logan’s eyes.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, teasing as he pointedly looked down at the man's hand curled in his own before turning playful eyes back up to Virgil.

“Alright, smart-ass.” The man laughed as he turned to pull Logan along the path. “I needed to check in with you. Consent’s important and all that.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smile as he nodded in appreciation of the gesture.

“Alright, then.” Virgil whispered, squeezing Logan’s hand as he started to pull him down the path. “Let’s go.”

His posture softened as they ventured deeper into the park. Virgil’s grip was gentle as he led him up the slight incline through the trees. Logan looked up as they hurried along their way and he could see the stars were starting to shine through the darkening sky when he noticed the trees suddenly started to thin out in front of them. Logan swallowed feeling nervous as Virgil pulled him up next to him, but his mouth immediately fell open as he looked out at the sight before him.

They stood at the side of a sheer drop that overlooked the shimmering lights of thee city. The light below had started to glimmer as the valley's inhabitants turned on their lights on and the sun above had dropped below the horizon, illuminating the sky in the most vibrant colors Logan has ever seen. Wispy purple and blue clouds shown brightly against the amber halo of the sun.

“Looks like we’ve got a good one tonight.”

Logan adjusted his glasses taking in the sight as Virgil walked him over to the bench at the edge of the small cliffside. Virgil let him sit and stare for a moment before Logan managed to pull his attention away from the jaw-dropping sight in front of him and look over to the kind man’s crooked grin. He blushed, looking away as he coyly tried to hide his embarrassment.

“So, I take it you’ve never been up here before?”

Shaking his head, Logan leaned back into the bench and lifted his head to the man sitting across from him. He furrowed his brow, tapping his own bare wrist with a questioning glance at Virgil’s sleeves.

“You don’t have to worry. I have plenty of words to spare.” Virgil smiled at the concern in Logan’s eyes. “Honestly, I don’t think I have a limit, and even if I did, I don’t really talk to that many people to begin with.”

Logan blinked, glancing curiously down at the man’s covered arms. Virgil continued to stare at his troubled expression until Logan let out a sigh, raising his eyebrow as he reached a hand out to Virgil’s wrist with a question in his eyes.

“You want to see my markings on the first date?” Virgil smirked, cocking his head as Logan flushed. “That’s scandalous, Logan. What would people say?”

His face reddening, Logan pulled his hand back as he nodded an apology. He’d started to lean back when he felt Virgil touch his arm.

“Hey, I’m just kidding.” Virgil slowly released eased away from Logan’s arm as he cautiously turned back to Virgil. He held a wrist out to Logan with a gentle smile, inviting him to satisfy his curiosity. “Seriously, I wrote on your arm within minutes of meeting you. You deserve a peek.”

Logan was hesitant, staring at the man cautiously as he attempted to gauge his genuineness. When the man continued to smile at him, his curiosity started to take over and he found the will to lean forward. His eyes flitted carefully to the man’s arm as it curled around his shoulder in a smooth, though not subtle, movement. Logan smirked before relaxing into the bench behind him and turning his eyes down to Virgil’s wrist. The man’s skin was soft as Logan held his hand, gently pushing the sleeve of his jacket up so he could see the man’s forearm.

The sight of Virgil’s arm sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body and he automatically leaned forward in disbelief. He ran his thumb along the intricate design almost expecting it to disappear before his eyes. Unlike the black and grey designs he’d seen before, Virgil’s arms were full of intricate designs in all colors of the rainbow. Each line was clean and bright as one would expect of a newborn. The patterns swirled across his wrists in repeating lines and curves that formed such intricate patterns that Logan almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His mind went blank as he stared down at the beautiful patterns, running his fingers along the colors until a realization suddenly swept through his mind.

Logan turned to dig through his bag for a few moments before pulling out a small novel and pointing to the author’s name as he held the book out to the man in front of him.

Virgil Dark.

Virgil chuckled as he took the book from Logan with a knowing smile. “Oh, great. You’re a fan, huh?”

Logan flushed, suddenly shy as he suddenly made sense of the strange man’s identity. Virgil Dark, one of the few active authors in the world. His novels were a dark, genre of fiction, and like all authors, his novels were published and printed all over the world. His stories were coveted all over the world, though his own fame was clouded by certain shroud of mystery.

In a world where words are such a rare and coveted commodity, it was common for authors to tour with their books. The sacrifice of words to be printed for the masses turned them into celebrities, and most authors were all to glad to eat up the attention, but Virgil Dark had always been an enigma to the world.

Despite being one of the world’s most prolific creators, the author had never held a single viewing. He'd never even be seen as far as Logan knew. His stories just appeared on the shelves of bookstores one day, only to be gone the next as the masses greedily consumed his thrilling novels. Yet here he was, smirking at Logan as the gears turned slowly in his head.

“They say it’s rude to stare.” Virgil prompted, chuckling as he flipped open Logan’s copy of his book. Logan’s heart dropped slightly as the man’s expression shifted. Bright colors followed the lines of text as Logan watched Virgil scan the text he highlighted. “Man, you really got into this one. Is it your favorite?”

An embarrassed smile spread across Logan’s face as Virgil turned up to him. He nodded slowly as Virgil’s hand brushed his shoulder.

“What’s your favorite part?”

Logan bit his lip as Virgil handed the novel back to him. Pausing for a moment, Logan scrunched his face in thought before flipping through the pages. Virgil waited patiently as Logan dug through the pages, flipping back and forth through the pages until he found the right section. As soon as he settled on a section, pointing it out to Virgil as he handed the book back to him.

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, slowly scanning the section that Logan had presented to him. Logan’s skin prickled nervously as Virgil grew quiet, flipping through his own writing. His voice softened as he turned up to Logan. “This was one of my favorite sections to write. There’s not much exciting happening. It’s just a moment of humanity between in the midst of the storm. I, um—I guess I didn’t realize there were people who enjoyed these bits. I mostly wrote them for myself.”

Logan blinked at the sudden wave of emotions in Virgil’s eyes as he handed the book back to him.

“People are always clamoring for more action, but really what’s the point if you don't give a shit about the characters.” Virgil smiled as he dipped his gaze to the ground. “I always felt like I was just throwing those sections in for myself, so I’m glad to know there are people out there who resonated with them.”

A soft smile spread across Logan's face as he turned his head down to flip through the pages of the novel, humming to himself as Virgil stared at him.

“Do you read a lot, Logan?”

Logan let out a sigh and his smile faded slightly as he nodded down at the book. His gaze turned to the ground and he leaned his elbows down to his knees, flipping absently through the pages.

“Whoa,” Virgil leaned forward as Logan's expression shifted. “What’s that look for?”

Continuing to stare down at his book, Logan stared at the pages full of words with a forlorn look in his eyes.

“Come on,” Virgil pushed gently. He reached out to Logan's forearm, frowning as Logan winced at the contact. Slowly, he backed his arm away, watching the emotions flash across Logan’s face. “You can be honest with me.”

Logan snorted with contempt as he set the book to the side. He stared at the ground blankly as the man watched him carefully from his periphery. A moment passed before he turned back to Virgil. He stared up at the dark circles under the man's eyes reached forward, holding his bare wrists next Virgil’s colorful forearm.

Virgil stared at down at Logan’s wrist, glancing up at him as he took in the questioning look in Logan's eyes. He smiled softly as he curled his hand to take Logan’s arm. Slowly, his gaze dropped to Logan’s arm as he ran his thumb along his forearm. “I'm not so shallow that I'd judge someone based on how many words they have, Logan.

Staring at the man in front of him, dread dropped like a stone in Logan’s stomach as he attempted to pull his arm back, surprised as Virgil caught his wrist.

“I’m serious when I say this is the most interesting conversation I've had in months.”

Logan’s lip twitched with doubt as he looked away.

“I'm serious, Logan. I—” Virgil leaned closer as his hand closed around Logan’s, hesitating briefly. “Shit, dude. You’re freezing.”

Logan shrugged, not particularly concerned until Virgil pulled his hand back. The man started to unzip his leather jacket and Logan’s eye went wide as he tried to wave away Virgil’s attempt to hand him his leather jacket.

“Just take it, dude.” Virgil smiled encouragingly. “I'll keep the lining. The fleece is plenty warm for me, and the leather will at least keep the wind off your arms.”

The leather jacket was placed in his hand as Logan gave up his resistance. He nodded, reluctantly slipping the leather over his shoulders as Virgil’s fingers dropped to the zipper and he closed Logan into the jacket with a smirk.

Virgil’s hands hesitated at Logan’s collar and he sucked on his lip as he looked up and down at him. “Leather's a good look on you. You could actually be a proper punk if you felt so inclined.”

Logan glanced down at his chest, unsure of how to process the compliment as Virgil smiled at him.

“Seriously though, you’re the most interesting person I've met in years.” Virgil raised a hand to Logan’s cheek. “You may not have words, but you have a language all your own.”

Virgil raised his hand, guiding Logan’s eyes up to him. “Your eyes light up when you’re excited and I get to see the most endearing smile every time I so much as brush your hand.”

Logan blushed as Virgil dropped his hands to his lap. The man's voice dropped as he whispered to Logan with sincerity.

“You have a language, Logan.” Virgil as he wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulder. “I'm sorry no one seems to have bothered to learn it, but I want to. If you’ll allow me, of course.”

Virgil’s hand curled into Logan’s as the man's forehead leaned down to his own. Logan nodded stiffly as a lump rose in his throat, emotions filling his chest as he turned his head into Virgil’s shoulders as he stared up to the stars in the man’s eyes.

The deep blue sky wrapped around them as Logan relaxed. He smiled shyly as he lifted a hand to point at Virgil’s lips before bringing his finger back to his own.

“If you’re asking if you can kiss me, the answer is yes,” Virgil laughed, allowing Logan to lean closer. He paused, glancing at Logan with a cautious smile. “but if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, let me know. Push me away, squeeze my hand, whatever you need to do to get my attention. Okay?”

Logan nodded, hand still intertwined with Virgil’s as he leaned into Virgil’s lips. The man's breath was warm as he leaned into Virgil’s chest, curling a hand around the back of his neck. Logan’s body felt lighter as Virgil’s arm curled around his shoulder and they leaned into each other under the light of the stars.

When Logan finally pulled back, he turned up to see the soft look in Virgil’s eyes. He felt a warmth spread across his as he blushed, glancing down at the sleeves of the man's leather jacket around his wrists.

“I think I could get used to seeing you like this, Logan.” Virgil whispered, smiling at the blush on his cheeks as he sat up. He chewed his lip as he stared down at Logan's eyes as they glittered in the moonlight. “I know it's starting to get late, and I can walk you home if you like, but do you think maybe you’d like to do this again sometime?”

Logan lifted his head and raised a hand to Virgil’s cheek, pausing for a moment as he stared into the eyes of the mysterious man who fate had set into his path. Virgil’s eyes stared down at him, and he didn't see something broken. For the first time, someone looked at him with curiosity and wonder and suddenly he didn't feel the limits of his voice. Logan smiled as his body relaxed and he leaned in to kiss Virgil.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Virgil whispered, chuckling as he leaned into Logan's kiss.

---

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts virgil #ts logan #Analogical #romantic analogical #first date #coffee shop au #first kiss #tw kissing #tw romance #The Chance Meeting at the Black Cat Cafe #villain writes

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youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Sea [1/2]

Beta: @lillielil @aroseforyoongi @seokjinssymphony @kpooplifeforever @explosiveranga & my good friend Z (let me know if I left anyone out.) Rating: 17+ Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Fluff, Comedy, slow burn, slice of life. Words: 6.8k

Summary: After your plane to Korea takes an unexpected detour, you are stranded with someone you aren’t even sure speaks English. As the race begins to stay alive, emotions run high and tempers short. The unlikely contender in the survival race is love which snuck up on you both.

The thought of a thirteen-hour flight didn't bring you much joy. Why would it? Being trapped in a small box with wings, not to mention being stuck in said box with multiple people breathing recycled farts and eating some sort of wet styrofoam they called food that would most definitely give you food poisoning. Oh yes, what a joy it would be to be in a seat for hours on end, letting your skin slowly dry up.

Arriving at the terminal, you stood waiting for them to start boarding. You would have been sitting if there was a single seat free. Seriously, some asshole had even dared to lay across no less than five and a half seats, his bag resting on the empty chair at the end.

He was wearing all black and looked comfortable in his jeans and hoodie. His black cap pulled down over his eyes and you could see the bleached blonde hair sticking out from underneath. Big chunky headphones on his ears made it possible for this man to drown out the world around him.

You glared at his legs, growing tired, knowing that within a few hours you would be begging for the chance to stand up. If you were to take a mental count, there hadn’t been any nice experiences you could recall in regards to traveling on a plane.

Did that reflect the quality of service or your standard of air travel? No. Obviously, your standards were realistic, not expecting the flight time any shorter or the staff to give a foot massage or anything outrageous.

You really didn't want any extra luxuries other than what was offered in the pamphlet — and yes, that meant you chose first-class — because if you were to suffer, you would do so in the best environment.

Unfortunately, the reality of it was that there was no better or more comfortable way to travel. Checking in, you would be boarding first before the other passengers, not really a privilege. However you got in line anyway behind the young man who had previously been lounging across the airport seats. He was holding up the line having lost his passport and you were getting more and more pissed.

You were simply just having a bad day.

A woman behind you started openly arguing, exclaiming that this man was not allowed to ride first class as he clearly wasn’t fit for it. Bringing up his style of dress and the headphones around his neck. You turned, glaring daggers at the woman until she became silent.

Society taught people to judge based on appearance, that everyone fit into a category, never mind the old adage to ‘never judge a book based on it’s cover’. Stil, you were always respectful and treated others equally, maybe even getting to know a person that you wouldn’t in other circumstances. It always surprised you how much you enjoyed taking a risk and getting to know them.

Once you showed your ticket and passport, you traveled down the long hall towards the plane. You saw the man in front of you talking with another man. He seemed to respect him and was reading him a schedule from his phone. You raised your eyebrows and smiled at the young stewardess who welcomed you on board. Her hair was pristine in a tight bun and her crisp, dark blue outfit was paired with a red scarf.

Stepping over the small gap, you felt the cold of the air conditioning, yet the air still felt thick. There were three places you could go to feel this type of cold: the dentist, an airplane, or the movies. First class was spacious with only a single cubicle on either side of the aisle. You took your seat. It was like personal rooms where you could close a sliding screen for more privacy, even though you were sitting next to someone, you wouldn't be able to see them at all.

The seats were more like arm chairs that one could lay back completely in, made with a brilliant blue leather. The cubicle room was complemented in a similar shade but with red features. You had a tv and a tiny minibar that had a small selection of drinks and snacks.

The flight attendants took all the passengers through the safety instructions. You could practically write them at this point. However they added a few things you had never heard. You had never heard such in-depth instructions going beyond the general life jackets, floatation devices, and first aid kits.

Never before had they told you about the airbags that would be deployed if you crash in the ocean. Apparently the emergency escape slides doubled as floatation devices and could hold up to one hundred and thirty people comfortably. They even explained how they detach these rafts from the fuselage and that they have ropes that allow them to be tied off to each other or the airframe.

Distracted by a tired male sighing beside you, you wondered who would fall asleep during the safety messages. Sure they were boring, but even you pretended to care. When you turned to see the culprit, he was disappearing behind the plastic divider of his cubicle dragged by his long pale fingers.

Well, at least you had some privacy. It was something you were thankful for, you wanted to get comfortable, or as comfortable as you could.

Perhaps these new instructions and information were deemed irrelevant to domestic flights. Or perhaps it was for the very enthusiastic kid they led through the first class discussing more of the plane's anatomy. “What if a wing falls off?”

“The plane is really sturdy, the wing wouldn’t just fall off” She grinned, “Let’s see what the pilot is doing and we can get your mum a picture wearing the captain's hat!”

After the flight attendants thanked everyone for listening, the plane took to the sky. You closed up all sides of your cubicle and requested to be only woken for meals. The stewardess was very diligent and for that you were grateful.

The journey was nearing the six hour mark and all that one could see was clouds and the ocean. The collection of empty water bottles were a poignant reminder to relieve your bladder.

You stood up and waddled determined to go to the bathroom. It was inconvenient to drink so much water but you didn't want to get dehydrated.

Feeling much better, you took a few minutes to look in the mirror and moisturise as your skin was feeling particularly dry already. Startled from your self care routine by a light rapping on the door, you packed up your things and pulled open the door. Unfortunately, at that moment, the plane shook.

It was like something from a romance novel, the way you fell against him and yet, there was nothing elegant or poetic in the way you fell against him.

Your face slammed into his chest and his head hit the wall with a heavy thud. "Sorry, I'm sorry"

"Shibal" he said, his language was something unlike you have ever heard, it was rhythmic and sounded like a song. His voice was so low and rumbly it almost sounded like he was purring.

You weren’t well versed in other languages or cultures, so you didn’t know what he was saying. This was your first time leaving your country. If it wasn’t for the damn holiday raffle at work, you wouldn’t have even left your house. Every other flight you had ever been on was domestic and therefore your suffering was short lived, but this flight was long and you were getting rather bored. It seemed your mind was reeling trying to absorb all that it could and currently that meant the poor man you had body slammed into the wall was under your perusal.

His body was thin unlike yours which was curvaceous. His hair was dark and shaggy making his pale skin almost ghostly. He had sharp cat-like eyes that were quite intimidating as they glared at you and his small downturned lips were yet to speak. He seemed like a man of few words. All this coldness was juxtaposed by his cute round nose. You could tell from his features that he was from Asia, but you couldn't pinpoint where.

Grabbing your shoulders, he started to push you off of him, when the plane shook again and you both fell back into the small bathroom. Your back hit the toilet, and a searing pain bloomed from the impact causing your body to lock up as it radiated through you.

The seat belt light came on. You both scrambled to your feet bumping into the walls, sink and each other from the unstable winds shaking the plane. Struggling back to your seats when the cabin pressure changed. There was a creaking sound and the plane started shaking. You immediately felt a sick sense of dread. The pilot spoke calmly about turbulence and requested everyone return to their seats. But the pair of you couldn't move down the aisle to your seats.

There was a sound like a car backfiring and someone from economy class shouted about the wing being on fire. Your grip on the young man's coat tightened and a terrifying sound like metal groaning filled the cabin. That didn’t sound like regular turbulence, you were sure of that.

Sharing a horrified look with the young man, you got up the courage to try to push off from the wall. Unsuccessful, you were once more pressed against the wall. The plane was plummeting. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the emergency box. What was this emergency and what in that box could fix this situation?

"You need to return to your seats,” the stewardess said. The smell of smoke was strong and it filled the inside of the plane quickly. You hadn’t even seen the stewardess trying to climb through the plane. Her grip strained on the walls and seats as she fought against the force pushing her back. “We are making an emergency landing."

The metal sound was louder. Shrieking like nails on a chalkboard, it pierced through the cabin. You watched as the side of the plane ripped completely off with the ease of someone removing the plastic off a new fridge. There was a feeling of being weightless before a drop on a roller coaster, and then it was like your stomach was left behind. The stewardess was sucked out from the cabin behind you.

You and the young Asian man were sliding backwards down the aisle trying to find something to grab onto. The floor in first class was some sort of linoleum and gave you a nasty burn as you slid. It was like fire against your skin. As the pilot fought with the plane, you practically bounced off every seat.

It felt like you were weightless for a brief moment as you were lifted off the ground, your back hit the roof before you smacked the floor again. All the wind had been knocked out of you.

The pilots were fighting against the drop, so in the moment of calm before the plummet, you grabbed the leg of an economy class seat as it was bolted to the ground. You looked at the young man, watching the panic as he realized he was too far away to hold on and dangerously close to the large opening. He began slipping out of the plane, his hands flailing before clamping around your ankle. The two of you were almost hanging outside the plane.

Everyone in economy class was panicking and wearing oxygen masks. No wonder you couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath, you cursed yourself for liking all those action movies that made this look easy.

“Hold on!” You all but screamed more to yourself than the poor guy holding your leg. He was being completely battered by the wind. You felt his hands slipping and you reached down with one hand to grab his wrist and he grabbed yours. He looked thankful.

“Shibal,” he groaned, his voice straining. Your body was being stretched. The cold metal was unforgiving, and it tore apart the skin on your palm. Your eyes were watering in protest to the wind and smoke that was drying them out.

The drink trolley that the stewardesses had been moving through the aisles had gotten loose and went flying down the plane. It hit an old man in the back of the head. You knew he wouldn’t make it, and speaking of, it was headed straight for you. You watched in fear, like some horrifying game of chicken as the trolley came for you. Thankfully, it bounced on the floor inches from your hand and flew out of the plane.

It was a mix of flinching and the force of the wind that made your hand on the chair slip. You slid further out of the plane, grabbing the exposed shell of the plane with your free hand. Your other hand desperately clutching the young man's hand watching in horror as he smacked into the side of the plane unconscious. “Shit!”

His body was limp and you had to do something. With all the strength you had, you tried to pull his flailing form closer to protect him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the ocean quickly advancing. You were going to hit the water.

The breeze pressing against you was fierce. Your eyes were dry, making you think of your eyedrops in your carry-on luggage. You could see the water coming up quicker now; you tried to gauge what would be a survivable height. Knowing you had a higher chance of surviving freediving as opposed to hanging halfway from the plane, where you would both slam head first into the plane. You decided to take the leap.

Screaming in absolute terror as you watched the fast approaching water, you let go just in time. It was equivalent to a few stories on a building from the ground. Wrapping him in your arms, you pointed yourselves down deciding to break the fall. Lifting your free hand above your head like you were doing a high dive, you hit the water. It was such a shock, the liquid was so cold it caused your muscles to lock up.

Your adrenaline was pumping, and one of your arms felt numb and unresponsive. You swam oddly to the surface, gasping when you felt the air on your skin. He was unconscious, and you held his face out of the water.

The plane wasn't too far away and for now was on the surface of the water. The emergency exit inflatable slide, which doubled as a raft, had been deployed but no survivors seemed to climb out.

You swam in a side stroke to keep your damaged arm and the young man's unconscious form out of the water. You hoped he was going to be okay. The only thought in your head was making it to the raft and you were doing everything in your power to get there, even contemplating leaving him behind. But you weren't going to give up, a part of you wanted to prove you could do it.

Reaching the raft felt euphoric. Taking a deep breath you pushed him into the raft. Doing a quick check of his head and body, you noticed he was breathing oddly. You turned him on his side and tried to clear his airway. A little bit of water trickled out before you performed CPR. Your saving grace came when he coughed and spluttered, placing him in the recovery position and hoping he would be okay on his own for a moment. You looked around for any more survivors. There was luggage floating around, and you picked up all you could from the water.

Walking along the inflatable back into the plane, the water was not as high in first class. This was probably due to the hole in the plane in the economy. The right side being the only one of the inflatables that had inflated beside the plane. Keeping the plane precariously afloat balancing on two inflatables which had malfunctioned and inflated under the plane.

Moving quickly and wading through the icy water, you grabbed the emergency kits on the wall. You had passed by deceased passengers and tried not to look. It was eerie and unbelievable even though it had only just happened.

Bags littered the water and you guided them towards the exit and put them on the raft. You could save these people's possessions for their family, or there could be items inside that could be of use and save your life.

You also noticed the flight attendant area and raided the cupboards as quickly as you could. You grabbed the medical kit, some slippers, a range of very thin blankets that were wet and even some snacks carrying everything back to the floatation rafts. As an afterthought you braved a second trip back into the plane to grab your and the other man’s overhead luggage as you knew he would likely appreciate it.

Finding a bunch of cell phones floating around the cabin. You grabbed them all hoping one would be waterproof. You found a few that were still turned on, but only one seemed to have some sort of signal. The plane creaked as you started making the emergency call.

“Come on” you begged the phone to connect. The whole plane creaked again and tilted; it wouldn’t last long. You had desperately searched for survivors but there was no one obviously alive. You tried your best to check their vitals, but time was running out. Hopefully, you wouldn’t be cursed for pronouncing everyone dead.

"Hello, this is an emergency service hotline?" A voice cut through the silence, you looked at the phone about to cry in relief "fire, ambulance or police"

"Hello, we were in a plane crash, my name is y/n, we were on a flight from Los Angeles to Seoul"

"What is your location?" the woman said, confused by your description.

"The ocean" you hissed "we are on a life raft"

"How many people are with you, what are their names?"

"Just one. I don't know his name. He is asian. Um really thin, um, has dark hair and—”

"You seem to be breaking up" the emergency operator said with the voice cutting out. You looked down at the phone in your hand and sighed. Of course, if everything was going wrong, a phone in the middle of the ocean apparently won’t save you. You thought to yourself, ‘it is 2021 so why isn’t service available everywhere?’ Pocketing the phone you began making your way out the plane.

You headed back to the inflatable and made the decision to cut the plane free. Scared that it would bring the raft down with it. Grabbing more luggage from the water, you thought it best not to watch the plane sink. It would only make you feel worse.

The time went by slowly. It took hours for the plane to disappear. Even though you had promised yourself not to look, you had. Taking glances as the plane slowly sank and you drifted further away.

The moment the plane was no longer in sight, you curled up and let the tears fall. The sun began setting and the heat turned into a bitter cold. Your wrist was still quite swollen, and you decided to wrap it as you drifted along. You had been so sure that there would be something or someone to see you drifting, and you would be saved.

However one cold night became two, and then three, only breaking for the scorching heat of the day.

You thanked yourself for watching all those ‘lost on an island’ movies and television shows; you had learned some things along the way. You also had your father to thank for always dragging you along to the volunteer emergency services programs, ones where you learned how to survive in a forest. At the time you thought it was super lame for your friends to go to nice hotels by the beach for their holidays and you were making some sort of mealworm dish while making stick shelters.

Going over the information you had in your head, you knew water was the priority. The instructor had said humans can go three weeks without food, three days without water, three hours without shelter and three minutes without air.

The sun would dehydrate you quickly. You had made a small shelter with luggage and blankets to protect you from the sun.

If you didn’t find land, you were going to have to make some sort of man-made evaporation device to create water. As it was, you were slowly getting the unconscious young man to drink little amounts of bottled water, for he too needed to stay hydrated.

The man you were with had awoken the third day. He seemed a little freaked out about being alone at sea. You explained calmly, not wanting him to do anything drastic and he sat there processing things.

You gave him a bottle of water and something to eat. The two of you continued drifting, not speaking a word to one another. You spent most of the time trying to craft something to float on the ocean and create clean drinking water.

(This evaporation device floats on the ocean and mimics rain by the water droplets sticking to the plastic cover over the whole device when weighted in the middle it then drips back down into a bottle. I can find a reference picture if you need. [Here] [Here] [This one is like what I made in 7th grade camp])

But you couldn’t get the water to land in the bottle and the bottle to stay upright. He was no help, just laying in the shelter out of the sun. The raft was big enough for about one hundred and thirty people. And yet, the two of you sat close by and didn’t say a word.

You were covered in sweat and felt absolutely disgusting. It was time for you to get changed. What a stupid way to die, not from dehydration, or malnourishment, or even sun exposure, but from lack of hygiene. It was decided.

“I am getting changed, don’t look,” you breathed, opening your carry-on bag.

“I don’t want look,” he muttered back in English and turned away. You quickly put on something that covered your shoulders and tried getting some rest. You didn't want to alarm him, but you both had consumed the last of the water and food rations.

It was late that night when you heard a different sound. The raft was moving a lot more. These were big waves and a part of you hoped it was not a tsunami or whale activity.

When the sound got louder, you were reminded of the beach when waves crashed on the sand. Looking up, you saw something big approaching. It was a body of land. Suddenly, your chances of survival greatly increased, now that you had a way to get out of the water. Nervous about putting your hands in the pitch black water, you looked at your companion peacefully sleeping and made the decision to paddle slowly. Anything to increase your chances of getting to safety. You eventually washed up on the beach, arms aching and stepped out to drag the raft onto the sand.

It was late and still dark, but you had to do something. Thinking that perhaps if you found someone, you would both be saved straight away. You waited on the raft until the sky lightened, and then you got to work collecting sticks and starting a small fire. You took the empty water bottles, hoping to find a clean water source or some fresh water that you could boil.

You walked to the highest point in sight, not seeing any signs of large predatory animals was a good sign. When you reached the top, you felt a sense of satisfaction as you had overcome the many trials and tribulations. You made it through a plane crash, survived on the water, and made it to land.

Looking around, you saw something bone-chilling. This was an island and judging by the lack of people, houses or establishments, it was uninhabited. There was no civilization to be seen. You saw the tufts of smoke from your fire and tried not to cry. You were stuck here until someone could rescue you.

Pushing the minor breakdown aside, you thought about water, it was important. Scanning the island, there seemed to be a small waterfall and tiny lagoon at the bottom. Since the rain, the waterfall was running pretty fiercely. You mapped out a path back to the beach which would detour past the waterfall.

By the time you reached the beach, your arms were exhausted with the weight of the now filled water bottles. He was awake and briskly brushing his reddened cheeks with his sleeves, turning his back to you. Sympathising with the man who probably thought you died, fell overboard or abandoned him.

You pulled out the metal pot from the plane and began boiling the water, in an attempt to kill any bacteria in it. The tide was going out. you knew you should be thinking about food as the next priority, but you wanted to sleep. Being primarily awake for a few days was taking its toll.

It took everything in you to get yourself to move and get to work. Taking large rocks, you carried them into the water until you were knee-deep. You were building a V- shaped wall, so when the tide came in, it brought with it fish and when the tide went out, they would be trapped.

Pouring the now cooled water into the bottles, you started thinking about your plan. First, you thought about short-term needs, in case you were rescued soon, and then long-term needs, in the event you weren’t rescued for months or perhaps years. You paused, forcing yourself to think and accept the fact that there was a chance you would never be rescued.

The Asian man had gotten up and looked around hopefully. Handing him a now clean and sterile bottle of water, you frowned looking around with him. "There is no one here." He didn't say a word, staring at you while drinking slowly.

You huffed, trying to figure out how you two could survive on an island. He watched you fuss around trying to make a shelter out of sticks but it collapsed everytime.

“Just no,” he muttered. You tried not to openly sneer at him. Grabbing the raft, you dragged it across the sand. As the raft was built for a large group, it seemed all you were doing was digging your feet into the sand. But little by little it was dragged up the beach thanks to the tide. It took some convincing but you had gotten help from the young man. The two of you madly struggling to lift the inflatable slide to a tilt against a tree. It was still inflated so you hoped you could use it for something else if needed.

Before the tide came in that evening, you ran out to the water. Your hopes were crushed when you found no fish and saw that the wall had broken. Carrying more large rocks into the water and making the V bigger and stronger, things weren't looking great, but you were trying to do your best. Cold from splashing around in the water, you went back to the shelter, but the fire had gone out by this point.

Looking at the young man, you let out an exasperated sigh. Did he not care for his life or yours? Contemplating while gathering more wood, you realized that you had been doing all the work, while he was just lazing around. “We need more wood, come help,” you gestured for the young man to follow, but he sneered at the thought and leaned away from you.

“I just lay uh here and wait to…” he thought over his words, slowly forming an English sentence “die or be rescue,” he mumbled. You were too exhausted to argue. It could wait until tomorrow, and you would both freeze tonight. Maybe then he would understand the importance of working together towards a goal.

You felt absolutely disgusting. hearing the loud patter of rain, you walked down the length of the shelter. On one side was the raft, and on the other was the luggage, built into a wall. You took out some clean clothes and stepped into the rain. Peeling off your seawater and sweat drenched clothes, you stood in the dark and tried washing your body with a tiny travel soap you had found in a bag.

You scrubbed your body of sweat and turned back to the shelter. Grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around your body, you stepped inside. He was laying on the makeshift bed you had prepared. He looked over, and when he saw you just in a towel, he rolled away. It was embarrassing, you who loved privacy and comfort were showering all exposed in the rain and getting changed in the same vicinity as a stranger. That night, he took the only dry blanket, so you laid there with wet hair and damp skin, shivering.

You were thankful for the sun rising, and it took a few minutes for you to thaw enough to move, but when you did, you deemed it time for him to do some work. The two of you gathered sticks and leaves. He barely helped, and when he got back, he laid back down and fell asleep in the shelter.

Building a fire, with the wood, took some time as it had rained the night before. The leaves helped fuel the flames. The fire didn't have to be amazing, you just needed it for warmth. You also hoped some rescue teams might even see the faint smoke.

At the sound of your stomach calling for sustenance you got up and went to check the rock wall you made and found a fish swimming in the shallow water. You grinned, carrying it back making sure to stoke the fire. You were doing your absolute best with the emergency kit knife.

You must have looked pitiful, as your companion took over, filleting the fish with ease, and he even cooked it. The two of you had fish for breakfast and you felt satiated. You took some of the supplies and got ready to set out for food and fresh water. He was dressed and trying to follow you, so you let him carry some of the empty bottles.

Except he wasn't cut out for endurance, he got winded quickly. It reminded you of the time you passed out during a school marathon. Yet you made the best of the situation that you could, walking slowly until you came across some sort of fruit that the birds were eating.

You took a couple of pieces of rotten fruit and then carefully dug up the small plant and began carrying it back. He followed you back. You placed the plant down. Using your hands you tried to shift the dirt until you had a decent hole where you could plant the little fruit tree. Watering it with some of the water you had collected from the lagoon, internally wishing the plant would flourish. It was hard pouring the fresh water on the plant but you had to if you wanted food.

You mapped out an area and put sticks in the ground in a box-shape, in hopes of starting a garden of any edible plants found throughout the island.

You took the old fruit you collected off the ground, put it around the bottom of the tree, and gave a small hopeful sigh. “Hopefully it will break down in the soil and feed the plant. Our fate is in your hands little plant”

You spent another night sleeping in the makeshift shelter and had to decide on what to do, so you sat up and turned to the young man.

"Hey, are you awake?" He sat up, his eyes narrow, "what do we build? Shelter? or a garden for food?"

He blinked before choosing "Shelter?” you giggled at his confusion, not trying to be rude. He knew more English than you knew Korean and that was definitely a feat.

“A home”

“Home, food later" he shrugged

It rained heavier, bringing with it a sense of sadness. There was no one waiting for you, no one looking for you. The tears began falling and you tried to stifle the sounds. He was still and you hoped he didn’t hear the breakdown. You hoped he was sound asleep as this seemed to be his skill. You were sadly mistaken; he wasn’t asleep. He moved and draped a blanket over you. He only drifted off when you exhausted yourself from crying.

Waking up with your back pressed to his back, the two of you had shared a few airplane blankets. Your body was aching, from sleeping on the ground. It was time to build the shelter both of you had been discussing. You needed someplace safe from the elements and a place with some sort of makeshift bed. Sand felt so soft, but was uncomfortable to sleep on.

Standing in the morning breeze, you began thinking: “How does one even build a house?” If people can make houses with only the land, then so could you. You had no excuse.if it didn’t work, you could try again until you figured it out. You knew there should be some sort of foundation. You could build between two trees, or with a big pillar in the middle, or four walls like a traditional home. Whatever you were going to do, you needed the materials, namely wood, but it’s not like you could just rip a tree out of the ground with your bare hands. You needed tools. Unfortunately, this island didn’t have a hardware store. This wasn’t like minecraft; you couldn’t just create perfect tools from nothing. Or, could you?

You got to work trying to make some sort of mock Stone Age axe. It gave you blisters, but you had successfully chopped a single tree down. Getting the hang of chopping the trees with your primitive tool, you had four trees ready on the seventh day. You dug holes in the sand, but it wasn’t holding the trunks at all. They kept toppling over. He told you it wouldn’t work, and you only huffed in response.

You would have to dig, until you found harder ground. This took another week, but you had four tree trunks in the ground in a modest square. You had started feeling dizzy while working, and your head felt clouded. It had been raining ever since you arrived, every night and lightly throughout the day, you didn’t think you had felt warm in a few days.

While making a wall frame out of trees, you started to feel dizzy again. You tied together the thin logs with multiple vines, and you hoped they would stay. The more you worked, the more your hands got torn up.

You were tying the last of the frame, when you felt your body grow heavy. You were so tired. You thought you would die by the hands of the lazy man. With that, all other thoughts left you as the darkness crept in.

The shelter was warm. There was a fire, and the blankets were wrapped around you, keeping you warm. Beside you was a bottle of water and a packet of painkillers. “Fever,” he sighed, “all work makes you uh… quick death?”

“Well, at least I am doing something. I have kept you alive, in the plane, in the water and now. I have done everything and what have you done other than act arrogant and lazy?” You said, “You haven’t even told me your name. We are stranded on an island. Maybe we will be rescued tomorrow, and it will be all in vain but what if it’s not tomorrow? What if it's months or a year from now?”

“What if never safe?” He argued, not looking at you.

“The point is, I don’t want to die in my twenties. I don’t want to die in general. I had dreams, to get married, have a family and be a loving wife. I was working a stupid office job, and I loved it. I won’t give up that dream. I will live with the hope that one day we will be rescued, and I will keep us alive goddamn it.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” He gave a dry laugh, “I have no care. I was not… supposed be on the plane.”

“I need you alive. I can’t do this on my own. If-” You took a deep breath, “If you die, I might do something stupid. I can’t live an undetermined number of days on my own”

He went quiet.

“Think about someone else for a change, it’s not all about you, Mister Asshole.”

“Yoongi,” he mumbled

“What?” You asked, too tired to be mad.

“My name is Yoongi.” He left the shelter, and you were left sobbing in the dark.

You woke up to Yoongi cooking fish on the fire; you were not expecting it. He hadn’t really done anything to help you. He mostly sat around, but the two of you ate together before you got to work. It was after a few hours you noticed Yoongi was gone again. It disheartened you that he was off doing whatever again, while you were working. You were completely exasperated by the young man, he maddened you, always on your mind. He was hot and mysterious and you hate that you couldn’t stop thinking about him because he acted nice once.

You began opening the suitcases hoping you wouldn’t offend anyone by going through personal belongings of the deceased. Clothes in all different sizes mens and womens, all different styles and one suitcase broke you, filled with tiny onesies and cloth diapers, dummies and ointments and medicines for a tiny baby. A pretty purple rattle with a cute butterfly on the handle.

You slammed the suitcase shut and pushed it across the sand to look at another day but for now you needed to step aside, the wound was too fresh. These were real people who died and yet why did you two survive, the most unlikely pairing with the worst odds and yet you survived when countless innocent lives were lost. It wasn’t fair.

A few days had passed, and you were trying to create something sturdy enough to withstand wind and rain with a roof and walls. You had plenty of resources, but you had to pick the right ones that would last.

You thought about it and decided to use the raft to line the inside of the house in the tarp-like material. It was super long, so you could do the roof and the four walls and still have the whole underside left over. You would weave leaves and sticks together to make them sturdier and layer them on the outside.

Putting your plan to action seemed easy yet tedious. You collected long palm leaves, removed the spines, and weaved the leaves tightly together, and laid them on the floor. The more you weaved, the faster you got. Painstakingly working every day, you rejoiced when all four walls, roof, and floor were finished and stable.

While you were doing all this, Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. He returned at night, as he always did. He looked unbothered by all the work you had accomplished that day. You finished up, and the two of you ate and went to bed, which was just a collection of woven leaf mats covered in some of the leftover tarp from the raft.

You had moved the items from the shelter into the new house area. The two of you sat on the remaining raft fabric. “I made a bed out of leaf mats and covered it in the leftover material.”

Yoongi seemed impressed looking around, “잘 했어.”

“Jal haess-eo?” you repeated the sounds “What does that mean?”

“Uh… good work” He took your hands and pulled out a small succulent leave from his pocket snapping it and squeezing out the liquid inside. Applying it to the cuts and scratches on your hands gently. You noticed his hands were rough too, for he had cuts and blisters littering the his palms as well.

“Where did you find aloe vera?” you asked curiously. What had he been doing?

“Near the…” he made an action with his hand “폭포”

“The what?” You laughed, and he cracked a slight smile.

“Water shaaaa!” he made the sound and gesture of water falling. You laughed hysterically. He was so cute, when you got to know him.

“Waterfall?” you prompted, checking that was what he had meant.

“Ah waterfall!” he nodded, “Near the waterfall”

“What did you call it?” you said. You were genuinely interested. He had been trying his best to communicate with you in your language, so maybe you could learn some of his to ease the burden “Pog-o”

“폭포” he corrected.

“Pogpo” You smiled at him. he seemed a little happy that you were giving his language a try. “How do you say good night?”

“안녕히 주무세요” he said and you blinked shocked, so he grinned,speaking slower in syllables “Ann-yeong-hi ju-mu-se-yo.”

“Annyeonghi,” you repeated. He seemed eager to teach you more, so you stayed up as long as you could, learning Korean phrases until you both fell asleep.

[Part 2/2] coming soon...

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