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r6shippingdelivery · 3 years

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I saw someone on Twitter post about how they wanted to see jealous Glaz, and I was struck by inspiration 😄 This fic is mostly about Glaz's perception of his place in Rainbow after Kali joins, and the bit with Fuze can be read as friendship or budding romance, whatever your like better.

WARNING: While Glaz is an unreliable narrator here, and Kali is not outright demonized, I haven't been kind to her either. So if she's your favorite character, proceed with caution.

You can also read the story in AO3, as the latest chapter of the Discord Ficlets collection.

Hatred was a shallow emotion, one that lived at surface level and hid deeper and more complex feelings, ones that people found harder to confront or admit and thus resorted to hate.

Glaz experienced that during his stint in the South Ossetia War, when the hatred they all felt for the enemy was just a cover for their sense of helplessness at stopping so much unnecessary death. As always, art became a way to express and work out his emotions, and from what he saw it was far healthier than drowning his sorrows in alcohol like most of his fellow soldiers did.

Over the years, Glaz had acquired a reputation for being a pretty stable person, not letting his emotions rule him but not burying and ignoring them either. So it was a shock to realise he was letting his emotions rule his opinion of a certain person.

It would be unfair to say he hated Kali. The Nighthaven leader had done nothing directly unpleasant to him, in fact Glaz wasn’t even sure if they ever had a conversation. But fuck, seeing her smug face made his blood boil. Admitting he was jealous was a bitter pill to swallow.

Glaz felt sidelined since she arrived. At first it had been normal that Kali got so much action in training matches and different situations, Harry always did that to ensure new additions got properly integrated in the team. However, Kali stopped being the new one and she kept being requested more and more often. If someone devised a plan that required a sniper, it was always her that got the call, almost never Glaz.

Sure, she was an excellent shot, but so was he. So were the other operators who had marksman training. Yet the only requested sniper was Kali. Even for the strategies that relied heavily on stealth, which made no sense to Glaz since Kali’s rifle was extremely loud and she refused to use a silencer. She insisted it wasn’t compatible with her weapon, which was utter bullshit in Glaz’s opinion. Then there were the snippets of conversations he heard from her in the shooting range.

“Of course I don’t use a thermal scope, that’s a crutch, and those are for beginners, not professionals.”

“I don’t hide behind smoke curtains like a child clinging to their mother’s skirts.”

“I could give you some pointers, you’d benefit by learning from a real sniper, Dokka.”

The gall of that woman! Glaz had never wanted to wipe the floor with someone as much as he did then, but when he approached them to offer a friendly marksman competition, Dokkaebi happily accepted while Kali sniffed and declined. “I’m busy now, maybe another time.”

Glaz silently fumed for days. He didn’t give a damn about Kali’s opinions; he knew he was an excellent sniper and she could make as many snide comments as she wanted. Nothing would change the truth. However, Glaz also had the feeling she was trying to undermine him, and he didn’t like that. Most operators in Rainbow were competitive by nature, but except for a few rivalries, the trash talking had always remained upfront and somewhat respectful, never behind another operator’s back. Things remained as they were, somewhat tense but peaceful, for a long time. Until the Invitational rolled around.

When the teams were publicly announced, the Spetsnaz were collectively surprised some of them were chosen to participate, unlike the previous year. Glaz didn’t mind sitting among the public again, and privately he and Kapkan made a point of keeping an eye out during the event. The White Masks might have been mostly obliterated, but they weren’t the only terrorist group in the world, and a huge gathering like this would be a tempting objective for any group looking to make a name for themselves. So he was fine with not being selected, truly. However, what he wasn’t fine with was the way Harry said one particular thing:

“And to showcase Rainbow’s prowess in long distance combat, team Ash will have our resident sniper, Kali.”

Seriously? The resident sniper, as in the only one? Glaz grit his teeth so hard he was sure everyone in the room could hear it. He refused to say anything, though, he wouldn’t turn this briefing into a spectacle. However, that didn’t stop him from hoping Tachanka would teach her a lesson with his new fire grenades. That would certainly put a smile on Glaz’s face.

Alas, that was not meant to happen, even if it came pretty close to actually becoming a reality. In the end, Tachanka’s team was eliminated, same as Fuze’s, and the tournament went on. Glaz thought nothing else would happen, and aside from secretly hoping for team Mira to win, he largely lost interest in the competition. Yet the competition, or more accurately, Kali, didn’t lose interest in them.

When Fuze told them he’d been invited to train with Nighthaven, none of the Spetsnaz was particularly pleased, since they worked better as a team, but they didn’t voice any objections either. Glaz wanted to, he wanted to forbid Fuze from doing it, but he was a rational man and knew that was both unreasonable and a douchebag move. If Fuze wanted to train with others, he was free to do so, of course. Glaz kept repeating that to himself, even if deep down he was sure that Kali woman wanted to take everything that he had, from his position as a sniper to his friends.

Aware of how childish that sounded, Glaz grimaced at his own thoughts. He needed to calm his mind, and as always, he turned to art. Painting would surely grant him that state of inner peace he sorely needed while waiting for Fuze to come back from his session with Nighthaven. Losing himself in the process of creating something always helped Glaz exorcise his demons, and also lose track of the world around him. At least until Fuze came back.

Most people painted Fuze as unreadable, but he wasn’t to Glaz. The artist could see clear as day that Fuze was deep in thought. The curiosity and need to know was eating Glaz inside.

“How did it go?” He asked, aiming for a casual and carefree tone. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“Interesting.” As always, Fuze was succinct and straight to the point, going for the shortest message. However, Glaz knew that if one took the time to shut up and listen, Fuze would say more. “They’re an effective team, very competitive. It’s good to have them working with us and not against us, but I don’t think they feel part of Rainbow.”

It wasn’t the first time Glaz heard before some of those sentiments echoed around when it came to Nighthaven, but Fuze delivered with an admirable lack of judgement. The Uzbek relayed a blow by blow account of the training match, and Glaz wondered how Aruni felt at Kali’s call of her safety being expendable. It was just a game for now, but training built habits that one carried back to the battlefield. He was still pondering over what he heard when Fuze dropped a bombshell that shook him to the core.

“Kali offered me work in Nighthaven.”

Glaz saw red, and for a moment he couldn’t think. The looks in his eyes must have been a veritable maelstrom of repressed anger and jealousy, because Fuze looked taken aback. A burning sensation coiled in his chest, and Glaz clenched his fist hard to avoid unleashing a storm of swears, since Fuze wasn’t the target of his fury.

*crack*

The paint brush he’d been holding broke under the pressure of his clenched hand, but Glaz didn’t notice, and clenched his fist even tighter.

“Timur!”

It was Fuze calling out his name that finally brought Glaz down to earth, away from the dark spiral of what ifs where Fuze left the team, lured away by Kali. He opened his hands, revealing the brush he accidentally snapped in half, and how the jagged edge of the broken wood had sunk into his palm. Oh. He hadn’t even noticed that.

Glaz briefly mourned the loss of his favorite small brush, dropping the pieces aside and wiping the blood from his palm carelessly. “And? Did you accept?”

Fuze regarded him in silence for a few seconds, before shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe Glaz’s foolishness. “Of course not. I have my team. And I’m not going anywhere.” This assurance was a balm for Glaz’s turmoil, but then Fuze added with a smirk. “Besides, I know you always have my back and won’t put a bullet in me, not even a fake one.”

The laugh and lingering look they shared made Glaz feel that all was right in the world, at least for a little while. He knew he could always count on his team, on his friends, and having this belief reaffirmed soothed him like nothing else did. It had been foolish to think Fuze would leave him.

#rainbow 6 siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #glaz #fanfiction

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years

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'A little too closer' : New chapter for "Always for the greater cause..." is out !

Chapter Summary: Bell & the team arrived in Colorado for their next mission, not before two days, and for the time being, it will all be resting & preparing the plans for the future...while news fall...and things are done...

To read it on AO3, click here!

Taglist: @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart

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25th February 1981, 01H00

Owethu "Jackal" Mabuza, Mercenary hired by Perseus

Perseus safehouse 'Wolf's Den' in Colorado Springs, United States

The United States wasn't the country that I would have wanted to go in my life but since we were asked by Stitch himself, along with Naga to join the Perseus safehouse in Colorado Springs, we were obliged to comply, knowing that there was money in play for us and to say, we weren't going to refuse that at all, even Naga didn't flinch and was the first one to prepare his things when Stitch make us learn the news a day earlier.

To say, the place we were was...basic at my thoughts and very typical from the Perseus safehouse that I could have traveled to: always inside an abandoned warehouse and in the surroundings in the city but there was a little detail that I didn't take in account. Robert Aldrich himself was the one supervising the place for the moment, awaiting with us Stitch's arrival with his team as for me & Naga, we were making some distractions for ourselves...

"Come on, I'm going to do it," Naga said in a serious & struggling voice as we decided to make a little friendly competition of arm wrestling at one of the empty desks of the warehouse, and to be honest, it was the first time I was facing some difficulties to beat someone in arm wrestling. "Give up, I'm winning," He demanded in a funny voice as my arm was ready to touch the desk, my right arm trying to do its best.

"Don't speak up too quick, friend," I taunted him behind my red mask, seeing the veins of my right arm showing up for good, the strength I was putting in it was massive.

"That's what you think but..." Naga tried to scoff until his eyes behind his sunglasses that I was able to see went wide at seeing his arms, slowly going up and away from the desk. "Hey...how...dammit,' He started to panic as our both arms were getting back at their former positions. "Nope, ain't going to win, Jackal," He persisted as his arm was sliding slightly on his side.

"Not by looking between us," I stated, my right hand clenching at its best as Naga's arm was going to touch the desk, and then, in a fast move, I managed to slam his arm hard against the desk.

"Ouch, fuck!" He shouted, his voice echoing inside the main room and holding his right wrist with his left hand.

"Too easy," I commented, crossing my arms as I leaned myself comfy inside the chair I was, looking at Naga who was blowing air at his poor hand. "Told you that you would lose, Naga, you didn't listen," I told him, breaking a muffled laugh through my mask.

"You know, I wasn't going to back down to a challenge like that," He breathed, putting his left hand below his right one as he posed them on the desk, his eyes not removing themselves from his hands. "Another one?" He proposed.

"You want me to break your arm completely?" I raised an eyebrow behind my mask, sounding joking but not him. "Naga, a bit of advice, don't," I advised him, even using a serious voice to that.

"Are you backing down for a challenge?" He sounded surprised by that, raising his eyebrow to me.

"No, no one wants to have you with a broken arm...not even yourself," I reminded him well, knowing that we were the men for the dangerous jobs, and having a broken arm isn't really helping us. "You know well that Stitch is surely going to send you with that Bell on the mission in two days, remember?" I insisted on it, just as a friend.

"Yeah, he wants me to...control the asset a bit closer," He sniffed, getting his both hands away, palms of them against the desk. "And you know well that I volunteered for that, it's thanks to my drugs & Wraith's stolen file that I'm the third one to know how to deal with her," He affirmed before he decides to get up from his chair, walking towards the black coffee machine.

"Isn't a bit dangerous to...well, doing that to someone?" I asked him about the whole situation surrounding this Bell, having briefly heard of it.

"Is that the same Jackal that could strangle a man and getting him up, that could slaughter a whole army with just a machete that is asking me that?" He turned his head around to look at me, astonished.

'Fucking with other's mind isn't my part of the work, so excuse me if I'm curious," I pardoned him in a fake way, even putting my hand above my heart to express that fully.

"As long that we're getting paid, I'm okay with this...and to say, it's fun," He exclaimed before turning back to the coffee machine...and hit it with the back of his left fist in a wave of surprising anger. "You're going to work, you fucking stupid machine?" He was sounding a bit angry at this, seeing in his moves that he could take the machine and throw it away even if the guy was hurt, he would do it.

"Don't break it down, people are going to need it, Naga," A voice spoke up, entering the room and revealing none other than Aldrich himself, having spent the majority of his night in another room than us, to make calls and doing his preferred things: fuck up his own agency. "Seems that you two are getting along well here," He added.

"Didn't know that it was a bit hotter than Laos," Naga said, his hands on the collar of his jacket to slightly readjust it, meaning that he was hot and that feeling was shared by me even if my clothes are better for that climate...hopefully.

"Of course, it's hotter...if you two continue to persist to keep those masks on your face," Alrich scoffed, looking at me particularly.

"As I said, no one is seeing my face," I mumbled, predicting in Aldrich an urge to remove my mask. "You want to know what happened to those who saw it?" I demanded at him but also Naga who turned around to look at me in curiosity. "That's the last thing that they saw before I put my hands around their necks to shut their mouths, you don't want to be the one in my hands, do you?" I warned the two, using a rather threatening voice that instantly cooled down the ambiance of the room.

"Not at all, Owethu," Aldrich sighed.

"It's Jackal for you, Aldrich," I pointed him with my finger, him looking mostly unimpressed as he was moving towards the filled-up desk that he was owning, going to lean on it. "To change, any news from the others?"

"Stitch's team are going to be soon, he called me a few minutes from the airport at Denver," He replied, putting his hands on his lap in front of him. "You two should get either ready to greet them or going into another recon mission at Cheyenne Mountain," He suggested to us.

"We're going to go soon but...aren't you the one who has to give us everything about it?" Naga questioned him, staying near the coffee machine as he was struggling to make it work. "Like, you're CIA why we would beat our ass around if we're going to infiltrate one of the biggest bases in the whole US soil?" He continued, his voice getting a bit louder, his hands trying to find out what was wrong with that machine.

"Because the CIA is having suspicions on me and that's why I can't directly go inside Cheyenne Mountain to grab what we need," Aldrich responded, rolling his eyes around and sounding annoyed...typical. "So, be on the move, make your time here useful instead of doing arm wrestling or poker or....anything that isn't about work," He ordered to us in a clear voice as I & Naga were exchanging glares.

"At 1 AM?" Naga mumbled before he yawned, putting his hand in front of his mask...he did it...even with his mask on.

"At least, we're getting paid, right?" I hissed, going up from my seat and feeling obliged to leave the safehouse by Aldrich. "You heard the boss, Naga, let's move," I sighed, starting to walk back to the workplace I was temporarily using for me, gathering around what I needed to make that recon mission with Naga to the Cheyenne Mountain that was at the other side of the city...

"Fuck, I always hated the Americans...but I'm paid,"

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25th February 1981, 02H32

Yirina 'Bell' Grigoriev, Ex-KGB, Perseus

Arriving at the Perseus safehouse 'Wolf's Den' in Colorado Springs

The driving to reach the safe house in Colorado Springs was a bit long & boring to attend as the transport we were using was a white van where our seats were not very comfortable while Stitch & Bellamy were the ones having the perfect seats, me, Wraith & Knight having to use the wooden bench of the van behind along with Smirnov that was still with us, knocked out & drugged for the flight and...it was already exhausting me to be in that van as if my rest in the plane wasn't so useful after all.

And to add to that, Bellamy almost started to sing in the van to destress everyone...but he was only met in the few seconds by Stitch 'to shut up or his head was going to hit the steering wheel first' as he quoted and that was amusing me & the others, allowing the rest of the travel to be fine...except those damn uncomfortable seats and the fact that Bellamy was the one to drive, I didn't know if it could have been taken in account...

After finally 1 hour and a half of driving, we finally reached our destination that was an old warehouse similar to the one we were using in East-Berlin and when I stepped out of the van, after grabbing my bag, it was like the best feeling I lived today, having the impression to have been locked down in that small van.

"Bell, I think that we should be better inside," Wraith told me as she put her left hand on my shoulder while I was stretching my arms & legs a few meters from the van.

"Yeah, I was just getting myself better," I said and I took a quick breath before putting my hands on my bag on the ground, grabbing it to walk to the entrance with the others, seeing Knight holding the unconscious Zasha Smirnov in his shoulder. "They're still sleeping?" I asked him.

"With the dose that Stitch gave them, guess that we could call them soon the 'Sleeping Beauty," He laughed, keeping his head in front of him, his voice sounding amused.

"No one wanted to have a flight & drive where we could only hear them screaming, crying and cursing," Bellamy stated, near Knight and for a first, the two weren't launching things that could irritate the other...hopefully.

"You will be the one to have this job of keeping them...in shape to interrogation," Stitch told him, pointing his hand at Bellamy before the whole group arrived near the big garage door where Stitch knocked at it three times, and a few seconds later, the door was getting opened. "Everyone, welcome to the US of A," Stitch half-joked about it as he got his head to look inside, a man with a grey sweater arriving near us.

"Stitch, hope you did a good travel," The man started, gesturing at Stitch with his head who nodded before letting us enter inside.

"Of course, Aldrich...if we don't mention some details," Stitch exclaimed, exchanging a gaze with Bellamy himself, stepping inside the building with the others. "You remember everyone, do you?" He asked Aldrich who was going to a control panel, supposedly for the garage door.

"Yes, Bellamy Petrov, Freya Helvig, Roman Gary...and Yirina Grigoriev..." Aldrich divulged, his finger pressing on a button that was getting the garage door shut down behind me and I was a bit uncomfortable in me...the first time someone addressed me by my name and not by Bell. "But as you prefer for some, Wraith, Knight & Bell,"

"Don't forget Azrael for me...or Cerberus...or Oni..." Bellamy raised his voice, looking that he wanted the attention on him as everyone looked at him a bit confused. "Or...Uhm...for the moment, it ain't official but... never mind," He stopped himself, pulling himself back as he put his own bag on an empty desk as I was keeping mine in my hands, along with Wraith and also Knight who was still having Smirnov on his shoulder.

"Knight, Bellamy, get Krypto in the designated room, better for you," Stitch suggested and Knight nodded before he starts to walk in a direction, opening a door and disappearing from our sight after he closed the door behind him. "So, Aldrich, you said that you have news," Stitch moved near a desk that was filled up with a lot of things.

"Yes, first: I send back Naga & Jackal for another recon at Cheyenne Mountain, they should be back in the morning," Aldrich started, crossing his arms as he was walking near a little dashboard near the desk Stitch was. "And the major...& bad news, Volkov was captured hours ago in East-Berlin,"

"Shit, what happened?" Wraith asked, getting her bag next to Bellamy's one.

"It said that the CIA, the BND & the MI6 did an operation to get Volkov at one of his warehouses and they succeeded: Ritcher managed to escape but not Krauz," He replied, not looking at her and more at the ground before he switched his eyes on Stitch. "The Greenlight documents fell back into the CIA's hands, Stitch,"

"No think to worry about that, we got what we needed," Stitch reassured him in a good voice despite that the situation in the East wasn't looking good to hear about.

"There's nothing else?" I spoke up and by the look on Aldrich, my voice kinda surprised him and the others as if they were hearing my voice for the first time.

"Well, now, Volkov is said to be in the MI6's hands and as we're fearing, he might be going to speak," Alrich responded to me, his face looking a bit unsure to speak to me and that was getting me a bit confused & questioning about why he was like that, maybe that he wasn't a trustful person...maybe..."I guess that we can't start until Naga & Jackal are back from their mission,"

"You're right and as I thought, everyone will need some rest, the flight wasn't so easy to live with all the turbulence," Stitch exclaimed, his hands against the desk behind him as his eyes were drifting around the warehouse to look at it before they went on me. "You should get some rest, Bell, you're looking tired,"

"I...yeah...I think so," I admitted, adding seconds later a silent yawn coming out of my mouth.

"Wraith, you know the place, take the lead for Bell to her room," He ordered, making a sign with his head to Wraith who nodded.

"Understood," She smiled at him before she moved to grab her bag back on the desk. "You're coming?" She demanded at me and I quickly nodded at her before she starts to move away, following her closely.

It was true that the sleep I did on the plane didn't help me at all as I was looking more tired than when I closed my eyes inside the plane and thankfully, I could finally go to sleep on a real bed and not a wooden bench. Wraith was leading the way inside a little hallway where some doors were present, observing her moving like...to say, she was looking very beautiful on all sides and that was quite astonishing for me to think about it now, my thoughts trying to get away as we reached a door which Freya stopped in front of it.

"Here we are," She exclaimed, getting her hands on the door handle before she opens the door, revealing the bedroom...

"Wow, that's looking more...changing from the look of the warehouse," I said, amazed by seeing how much the room was more looking great than the warehouse itself the bed was a king-sized, enough for two. "Is it like the same thing for the other room?" I demanded.

"You know, people need comfort and it's not because that place is an old warehouse that it has to be old inside," Wraith replied, moving to reach the empty table that was near a door, leading to a little private bathroom as she opened it along the way. "I hope that you don't snore too much," She said in an amused voice.

"Uhm...why are you asking that?" I questioned her, narrowing my eyes at her as she was unzipping her bag on the table

"They didn't tell you, of course," She told me, slowly turning around to look at me. "Aldrich took one of the bedrooms as he wasn't supposed to be here and since, I volunteered to let him take the room I was going to take," She revealed to me, full of curiosity on the inside. "What? Do you want me to sleep outside? In a motel or in the van?" She raised an eyebrow when she saw me and my confused face.

"No, no, no, that's...well, it's better that you stay here..." I responded in full honesty to her, not wanting to be a dork to her like that. "Of course that you can sleep in this room...with me...uhm..." I scratched the back of my head as she was turning around...starting to remove her top without any shame, causing me to look around, my eyes tempting to look at her.

"You know, you can look," She spoke up, his voice sounding good & reassuring to me.

"It's just that..."

"Come on, it's not because we're soldiers that we can't know each other, and to say, we're the only girls around, what can be better than this?" She proclaimed after cutting me gently in my words and...I couldn't resist anymore, turning to see her with only a black bra covering her top as she was getting her hands on her jeans. "You should get to sleep quick, Bell, for your own good," She advised me/

"Uhm, yeah, of course," I complied, starting to get my hands around my waist.

To say, I was a bit distraught to undress with someone else in the room but Wraith was like...putting some confidence inside of me with her words that caused me to do what she said and I was slowly removing my clothes, keeping only my shirt and removing my pants, shoes but still, I was afraid, each time, to turn around and meet Wraith's eyes, not actually wanting her to look at me in shame and I did...she was already in bed, her eyes on me.

"Please, don't look," I demanded at her as I was gathering the clothes I took off me on a chair nearby.

"Bell, it's okay, you don't need to be afraid," She said in a calm voice, already under the blanket.

"Hey, I'm going to sleep with someone else like that, don't know if I need to be afraid," I exclaimed at her, tapping on my now pile of clothes before I turned my back to get next to my side of the bed. "It's not something that happens to me a lot...or...I don't know, it's just weird for me,"

"Don't worry, you will be used to that," She told me as I was getting myself on the bed, raising up with my hand my part of the blanket to get under it.

"Yeah, we'll see about it," I mumbled, laid down on the bed before I shut down the light of my nightstand and stay to look away from Wraith "Good night, Wraith," I whispered in a low voice as her light was staying on before I closed my eyes.

She then closed her light, plunging the room in the dark, only enlightened by the outside, the window at Wraith's side of the bed and I was trying my best to get to sleep without thinking of having a colleague of work in the same bed as me, knowing her for only 4 days and that was so strange but only 5 minutes after she closed the light that I started to feel something wrapping around my waist...her hands...

"Wraith...Wraith, your hands," I muttered, feeling the cold palms of her hands touching softly my skin and that was frightened me, her hands slowly making circles on my chest. "Wraith...Wraith!" I spoke up, trying to wake her up from her sleep but she wasn't waking up. "Shit, Wraith!" I raised my voice again a bit scared but again, nothing was said or done to stop that to happen...

I tried to move her hands away from me but each time, her hands were coming back around me, residing myself to give up...and to let her hands around me, finding it so strange & weird...as if she wanted to keep me with her, why was she doing this? That was at first scaring me & sending me chills in my arms but then, I started to stop thinking about that part, feeling suddenly secured until I put my both hands on her...

I didn't know but it was making me secure...and somehow, happy...

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #call of duty cold war #cod cw #call of duty #cod #cod bell #black ops cold war #fem!bell #freya wraith helvig #owethu jackal mabuza

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brightmoonprincess · 4 years

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Scorpia/Adora Coffeeshop AU for @blackbyakko for the @sherawintergiftexchange!

it’s very cheesy and rushed, but hope you like it!

paring: Scorpia/Adora rating: G length: 2.1k words

- - -

For my best friend Entrapta! Good luck on ur robot! (^ ᴗ ^)/

Since her first day working at the cafe, Scorpia has always written kind and encouraging messages onto every single customer’s cup. Sure, her coworkers complain about not being to find the name quickly enough when it’s time to call it out. And sure, sometimes the queue of customers get irritated by the longer wait...

But it’s fun! And it keeps people happy! It’s part of the reason why Scorpia loves her job. It makes the coffee shop feel more like family, rather than business.

For some quirky reason, Entrapta insists on her espresso being served in the smallest sample-sized paper cup that’s available. It’s made it difficult for Scorpia to write out her message on it. Her hands aren’t exactly danity, and neither is her penmanship.

(These meaty claws were meant for sweet sweet loving, not for writing tiny tiny letters.)

The bulky, fluffy letters cover almost the entire surface area of the cup. The emoji at the end barely makes the cut, but she manages to squeeze it in.

“Another mini espresso, coming right up!” Scorpia says, setting the cup down at the end of the line of pending orders. “Hey, uh, Entrapta… Do you think you should slow down a bit?”

It’s the tenth coffee in a row that her eccentric pig-tailed friend has bought, and Scorpia is starting to worry about her caffeine intake… Can baristas start cutting people off? Or is that only a thing for bartenders?

“What? And waste my precious time unconscious when I could be working? Never!” Entrapta proclaims when the notion of “slowing down” is suggested to her. She’s practically vibrating.

Scorpia sighs.

After Entrapta goes to wait for her drink, Scorpia takes the next customer’s order-- but she notices that her trusty marker is almost out of ink. Man, this things really go quick-- this is the third one this month!

“Mermista! Do you know where we keep the markers?” Scorpia calls out to the other side of the bar.

Her less enthusiastic coworker groans in response. “You do know that we’re getting paid minimum wage, right?”

Just as Scorpia is about to remind her about the importance of kindness and customer service. Mermista holds up her hands and says, “Hold up, forget I asked. I’m clocking out in two minutes.”

“Already? I thought you were working until closing with me!”

“Oh, right. You don’t know yet,” Mermista realizes. “We have a new girl. She started yesterday, and she’s taking over the rest of this shift.”

Scorpia’s eyes light up. A new coworker! This could be a new friendship opportunity! Not that Mermista isn’t great, but sometimes she can be a bummer when working. The Etheria Coffee Co family could stand to gain another member who has the same passion for the art of barista-ing that Scorpia has!

Right on cue, another person comes in from the back room. She greets them joyfully, “Hi!”

Immediately, Scorpia’s excitement turns into huge disappointment.

Really? Really???

Of all the eligible working young women in this town, they just had to pick the most irritating person to ever exist, with the most obnoxious personality and the most ridiculous forehead-enlarging hair poof.

They make eye contact, Scorpia’s sharp glare battling against Adora’s wide-eyed surprise, and the two buff baristas say in union--

“Oh.”

/ / / / /

“Two non-fat peppermint mochas, a sixteen-ounce americano, a salted caramel latte, and a orange-mango-agave smoothie are on the bar!”

It’s been a week, and Adora is absolutely insufferable.

She somehow manages to make six drinks simultaneously, putting together even the most complex drink orders as if she’s made them all a million times before. It’s like she’s some kind of latte-making superhuman!

Of course, she’s great at the job. Why wouldn’t she be great at everything she does?!?! Grrr.

She even convinced Entrapta to drink decaf coffee for a while instead, telling her that it’s a missed opportunity to experiment with placebo effects of caffeine. Why didn’t Scorpia think of that?!

But the worst part?? Despite the fact that Scorpia has been working at the shop for two months, Adora keeps asking her if she needs help with something. It’s like she’s always looking for a reason to swoop in and play the hero, like someone needs her to save the day from coffee shop mayhem. It’s infuriating!

And no, it has absolutely nothing to do with the Catra situation, thank you very much. Scorpia is irritated by all of this for completely unrelated reasons! Adora is a terrible coworker! That is the one and only explanation.

“Phew! I’m glad the place is finally starting to slow down! How’s it going over there, Scorpia?” Adora asks.

When Scorpia doesn’t reply, Adora looks over at her, and she becomes concerned at the completely crushed cup in Scorpia’s clenched fist. “Er… Scorpia? Do you want to take a break? I can handle it from here.

Oh here we go again. Scorpia doesn’t need Adora acting like she’s better than her all of the time! She is the furthest thing from a damsel in distress. And after the past week of having to tolerate all of this, Scorpia can’t take it anymore!

“Alright, alright! We GET it, Adora! You can handle it! You can handle everything! Well, I, for one, don’t need your help!” Scorpia snaps, too loudly.

“What? I’m just trying to be nice!”

“... W-o-w.” Mermista’s draws out her monotone reaction as she pokes her head in from the back room. “So can both of you, like, stop being weird and help me lift some of these boxes?”

Adora and Scorpia glare at each other, but-- now that it’s incredibly awkward and uncomfortable-- they silently agree to move on. For now.

They follow Mermista to the back storage closet, where she directs them to a tall stack of boxes to carry out. They’re small but surprisingly hefty. Nevertheless, Scorpia lifts one onto her shoulder with ease.

Adora picks up two.

So, naturally, Scorpia picks up three more.

Yes, in fact, this just became a weight-lifting competition.

They keep at it for a bit, stubbornly matching the number of boxes that the other person is carrying until they’re huffing and wobbling around. But there’s no way Scorpia is backing out now! This is easy-peasy. The sweat on her forehead means absolutely nothing, except that maybe the air conditioner stopped working.

“Can you hold the door open for us?” Adora asks Mermista, her voice strained.

“Nope,” Mermista answers, swiftly closing the door.

“Uh,” Adora says.

“Um,” Scorpia echoes.

They give each other confused side-glances.

“Neither of you are leaving this closet until you learn how to at least pretend to like each other,” Mermista says calmly from the other side, followed by the sound of the door being locked. “I do not get paid enough to listen to you argue all the time.”

Adora sets down her boxes-- (phew, game over! Scorpia wins)-- and goes to jiggle the doorknob. “Mermista, this isn’t funny! Open the door!”

No response.

She lets out a groan and turns to Scorpia. “What was that all about, anyways?”

The totally-innocently-and-not-petty-at-all barista shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You blew up at me for no reason!”

“I had a reason! Many reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Like... I just… I don’t need you coming here and beat me at this, too!”

Adora pauses for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Scorpia mutters. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to compete with you...”

So Adora asks the big question, “Is this... about Catra?”

“No!!! I mean, sort of! But not really! I just… ugh...” Scorpia sinks to the ground, cupping the sides of her face with her hands. “I’m over all of that-- really!’

Well, guess it’s out there now. If she dies in this cafe storage room, it might as well be with an honest heart.

Although things didn’t work out between her and Catra, she really is over it!

What she’s not over is how jealous Adora made her feel. Even if Catra and Adora are only friends, it didn’t feel great to be compared to someone... even if she herself was the one doing the comparison.

Scorpia tries to explain, “It’s more like... I don’t like being reminded that you’re better than me, ok? I know that it’s not a competition, but for some reason, I still feel like I’m always competing with you!”

Adora stays silent, unsure of what to say.

“You’re really amazing,” Scorpia admits. Her cheeks redden. “I know you are, but you don’t have to rub it in…”

After a few moments of sitting in the awkward silence, Adora crouches down with her. “If we’re being honest… I think you’re more amazing than I could ever be.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I do!” Adora insists. “I know we haven’t gotten along after the drama with Catra happened, but... I think you’re a good person! You’re strong, you’re loyal, and you genuinely care about people… You do kind things because you want to, not because anyone expects you to! I don’t even know if I can say the same for me...“

“Oh, uh…” Scorpia wasn’t expecting this. If she hadn’t been blushing already, she definitely was now. After all, Adora’s an honest person. She wouldn’t have said all of that if she didn’t mean it.

“It’s never been a competition,” Adora assures her.

Scorpia lets out a slow, shaky laugh. “... Ok, I might have been letting the past get to me. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’ll get over it, I promise!”

Adora smiles at her. “Sooo does this mean that we’re friends now? Or at least friendly coworkers?”

“At least friendly coworkers,” Scorpia agrees with a grin.

Adora stands up, offering her hand to help Scorpia up as well. “Now let’s get out of here!”

She helps Scorpia up knocks on the door again.

… Still no response. Uh oh.

“Uh… Mermista?” Adora calls out.

Scorpia wonders, “It was almost closing time when we came back here… She wouldn’t leave us in here overnight, would she?”

Oh no… she totally would. Scorpia can’t die in a coffee storage closet! She had so many plans! Who is going to water her plants? Who is going to inherit her motorcycle? Who will take over the duty of writing her signature coffee cup messages???

“I’m going to break the door down,” Adora announces.

“Wait, I don’t know if that’s the best idea--” Scorpia beings to tell her, but Adora is already preparing to throw herself at the door.

With a mighty battle cry, Adora rushes towards the door, shoulder braced for impact-- but just before she hits the wood, the door swings open to the other side.

“Whoa there!” Scorpia lunges forward to catch Adora before she falls onto the floor. Who’s the hero now, huh?

“Two things,” Mermista says.

“One, you’re not supposed to use your shoulder; you’re supposed to kick. You would know this already if you read Mer-mystery: The Vanishing Clownfish, like I told you to many many times.

“Two, I am not getting my pay docked because two idiots broke the door.”

/ / / / /

It’s been a month, and work has been great! Once Scorpia let go of her gay pettiness, she and Adora have been getting along really well. She can’t believe that she used to hate her!

That isn’t to say that Adora doesn’t have her annoying moments-- she does-- but Scorpia feels like she’s learned a lot more about her. Once Adora gets more comfortable, she actually has a very silly, fun side.

Like she does this really cute thing where she puts weird emphasis on some of the drink orders when she calls them out, like frapPUcciNO-- wait, cute? Uh. Scorpia meant funny. Funny and not adorable at all.

Oh no. Not again.

Scorpia is finishing up a latte and sorting out her thoughts, when she notices Adora walking in through the front door.

“Oh, hey, Adora! Are you working today?”

“Hey, Scorpia! Ah, about that…” Adora says, “I came here to tell you that I’m quitting.”

“Aw, man… Really?”

“I got a promotion at my other job,” Adora explains. “They gave me a lot more hours, so I don’t have enough time to work this one, too...”

“I didn’t even know you had another job!” Scorpia gawks. She hopes that Adora hadn’t been overworking herself this entire time. “But... congratulations!”

“Thanks! So... we can still be friends, right?”

“Of course!” Scorpia affirms.

She’s happy for Adora, but she can also feel her heart sinking. A few weeks ago, she wished that Adora would quit-- but now... it’s heartbreaking. Talk about a one-eighty. She and Adora had the start of a beautiful friendship going on, and it sucks that it might come to an end.

And now, after realizing how much she’s going to miss all of the time she’s spent with Adora...

Scorpia also realizes something important.

“... Can I get you some coffee?” she asks Adora. “On the house!”

Adora grins back. “Sure!”

Alright. Here is it. Possibly the most important coffee cup message that she has ever written in her entire life! Gotta make it good!

Her heart is pounding, and she writes out:

For Adora, the best coworker I’ve ever had! (Don’t tell Mermista! )

(Also, want to go on a d hang ou maybe if you’re at all interested we could go out sometime? Together?)

#she ra winter gift exchange #she ra secret santa #adorpia #scorpiadora #scorpia #adora #words

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justcallmehitgirl · 5 years

Photo

MY BLUE HEAVEN // PART ONE

Fiona Carrasco is just trying to get by in law school. She has average grades and good friends, but is currently jobless and trying not to binge on ice-cream every night.

Harry Styles seems to have it all. He’s third in their class, has a job lined up at one of the biggest law firms in New York, and is beloved by the student body.

However, Harry has a problem and Fiona may be the answer to his problems… if they don’t strangle each other first.

A short story about law students, late night Dairy Queen runs, and finding love where you least expect it. AU.

Author’s Note: Hello my beautiful lovelies! Thank you for reading. I’m pretty excited yet nervous to be publishing this. This story is my first foray into the fanfiction world in twelve years so I apologize in advance if I’m a little rusty. Please like and comment, and thank you again for the support! xo.

Part One

–

“He’s staring at you again.”

I look up from my Evidence textbook to give my friend an exasperated glance. I’m behind on my reading and my stomach still hurts from our Dairy Queen outing last night so I really don’t have time for conspiracy theories of whether or not Harry Styles is staring at me.

“No he’s not, Paola,” I hum.

She has her chin propped up on her hand, and she’s leaning in close like we’re swapping secrets. Even though Paola’s one of my best friends, I can’t help but send daggers her way. I look back down and try to concentrate on how hearsay objections are used in court. Pretty riveting stuff.

Paola pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and squints as she continues, “He’s been staring at you for the past two hours, and I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”

I bite my lip and look up again to give Paola another glare when I see him from the corner of my eye. He’s sitting in the far corner of the coffee shop with a book splayed over his lap and an intense gaze aimed in my direction. He was definitely staring. I take a quick glance behind me to see if there’s some leggy blue-eyed, blonde haired woman or pigs flying in the distance that he’s trying to peer at through me.

I sigh in defeat. “Fine, you win, he’s staring. Should I go over and talk to him? I have reading that I need to do, and I can’t get it done if I feel like Harry Styles is peering into my soul.”

Paola perks up in her seat. “Your call, Fi, but I feel like he doesn’t really talk to anyone.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in the top ten percent of the class, Paola. There’s certain luxuries that come with it like securing clerkships and jobs and most of all, not having to talk to the bottom half of the student-body like ourselves.”

“He’s always been nice to me though,” she says with a shrug.

“A curt nod and an ‘excuse me, can you please move’ are not exactly good indicators of a warm, friendly personality,” I state.

I move to get up from my seat, and Paola places a hand on my wrist. “Wait, you’re really going?” she asks, her mouth slightly agape.

“Yeah why not? I have eighty pages of Evidence still left to read and I’m not going to waste my precious study time because someone has developed a staring problem.”

She lets go of my wrist and nods her head in agreement. I give her a small smile through pursed lips and slowly make my way over to where Harry’s sitting. He adjusts himself in his seat when he notices I’m walking straight toward him. Once I’m in front of him, I lick my dry lips and clear my throat.

“Hey,” I say cooly. Even though I consider myself immune to Harry’s piercing green eyes and strong jawline, I still can’t help but be a bit nervous at our impending interaction. He is considered to be quite popular at our school. If the rumor-mill is correct, he’s ranked third in our class and has already secured a job for the upcoming summer. He’s also a member of the school’s highest ranking law journal, President of the Corporate and Securities Law Society, and a member of the Mock Trial Society. If his credentials gave any indication, we really had no reason to talk to each other.

During our first year of law school, we had every class together. He was never shy about raising his hand with the right answer or sharing his opinion. He had gotten the law school thing down quickly while I was still trying to find ways to stay afloat. He also wasn’t shy about his status. He hung out with the other top-ranked students and rarely interacted with anyone else. I didn’t resent Harry for his bravado and intelligence, I resented him for lifting his nose at anyone who he didn’t deem worthy of interacting with.

“Hi Fiona,” he says, his voice deep and smooth through his English accent. This is going well already.

“How are you?” I ask crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Great,” he responds curtly as he runs a hand through his short brown hair.

I uncross my arms and rub my hands together. “So I noticed…”

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy,” he blurts out gruffly.

I straighten up at his response. “I wasn’t insinuating that you were.”

“I was just trying to figure out a good way to come talk to you,” he says, glancing down quickly at the textbook in his lap.

“A simple ‘hey, how are you’ would’ve done the trick. C’mon Harry, we’re law students. If we’re not studying or working, we’re networking like our asses depend on it. Our social skills should be out of this world,” I joke.

He doesn’t crack a smile, which makes me instantly cringe at my lame attempt to be funny.

“Gotcha,” he says shortly.

An awkward silence fills the space between us. Who knew this would be so painful.

“Well if you don’t really have anything else to say, I’m just gonna…” I start motioning to where Paola is and where my books lay abandoned. I can see her peaking at us from the corner of her eye. Reading eighty pages of Evidence sounds so much more appealing now.

“I need a partner,” he interrupts. Excuse me?

“For life or just for the short-term?” I quip.

“No, I mean I need a partner for a competition, the Meskill Annual Mock Trial Competition.”

“And why are you telling me this?” I ask with furrowed brows.

“Because I want you to be my partner.”

I have to stop myself from laughing out loud. “What? Why?” I ask, crinkling my nose.

“Because I know you’re good. I saw you in our Trial Advocacy class last semester. You were amazing, one of the best I’ve seen in our year.”

I can’t help but feel a little pride swell inside me that he had noticed. “Well thank you… but I thought you would’ve already had partner by now.”

He sighs heavily and responds, “Liam had to drop out. He said he overloaded himself this semester and can’t handle prepping for a competition on top of his workload.”

Of course he would pair up with the other Brit in our class.

“I’m pretty busy myself too you know,” I say, lifting my chin.

“It’s minimal commitment, only an extra six hours a week plus you get two credits for just doing it. The competition is in April so you’re done right before final exams. I tried explaining this to Liam but he wouldn’t have it,” he grumbles.

I chew on my bottom lip in thought. I could use the extra credits and a competition doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. However, working with Harry Styles does.

Harry interrupts my thoughts. “Please just think about it, I’m really in a bind here. Registration closes this Friday and if I don’t do it, I’ll be the only one in my Summer Associate class who isn’t competing, which would look terrible to the partners.”

“But I’m not even a Summer at Meskill, Fisher & Cole,” I reason.

“You don’t have to be. All you need is a partner that is,” he insists.

“Why should I help you though? We’re not exactly friends, Harry.”

“Ouch,” he winces sarcastically.

“Really though, we’ve barely said two words to each other for the past two years and all of a sudden you want to work with me for your firm’s big annual competition. Just sounds so random,” I admit.

“Because you’re the best advocate I’ve seen at this school, and we could really win this thing if you’re on-board. Wouldn’t you want the title of Champion of the 55th Annual Meskill Mock Trial Competition on your resume?”

“Do we get gold medals?” I say with a snort. He doesn’t respond to my comment so I continue, “Have you tried asking other people?”

“Would it make you consider it less if I did?”

“I’m neutral about it,” I comment.

He sighs as he rubs the nape of his neck, “I asked a few people that I thought were contenders but everyone I know is either studying abroad this semester or has prior commitments.”

I’m only a little insulted that I’m the last person on his list to ask.

“Best advocate you’ve seen, huh? More like last advocate who’s available.”

“It’s not like that. Like you said, we’re not exactly friends so it was just awkward coming to you first.”

“And what makes you think I don’t have any prior commitments? I’ll have you know that I am the President of the Asian Pacific American Law Student Association,” I beam.

“And I’m sure you’re doing a fine job at it,” he mutters.

I clench my fists. “You know what, I don’t have to deal with your condescension. Good luck finding a partner,” I spat, as I turn to walk away. Harry pushes the book off his lap and leaps from his seat. He places a gentle hand on my arm. Oh boy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just stressed out and desperate. Please, at least think about it,” he please, letting go of my arm. His eyes are peering down at mine and his tall frame towers over me.

I just want to say, ‘Look Harry, I wish I could, but I’m already drowning in work as it is. I wish I could be of some help but I just don’t think I can handle a competition on top of my course-load,’ but instead all that comes is, “sure.”

–

“So Harry Styles just asked you to compete with him in one of the biggest mock trial competitions in New York?”

I look over from the TV screen to Paola and Leanna who are both looking at me expectantly. While Leanna is also one of my best friends in law school, she’s not the most subtle out of the bunch. We’re in my apartment hanging out and binge watching another TV show. But instead of focusing on what’s on the TV screen, Paola and Leanna are focused on me.

“Sounds about right,” I say turning my attention back to the TV as another episode of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo appears on the screen. I dig my spoon back into the half-empty pint of ice-cream in my hands. Even Cherry Garcia can’t quell the excitement from today’s events.

“And you said….” Leanna says, motioning for me to continue.

I look back at her and respond, “I said I’d think about it.”

“You cannot not work with Harry Styles,” Leanna states.

“Why do you say his full name like he’s a rockstar or something?” I say rolling my eyes, as I take another bite of my ice-cream.

“He practically is in our class. All our professors are practically obsessed with him. I bet it’s because he’s British. Everyone is a sucker for an English accent,” Paola interjects.

“So are you going to do it or not? You have me on the edge of my seat, Fi,” Leanna gushes.

“I’m leaning more towards a no,” I respond.

“But you can’t though, this is a great opportunity for you,” Leanna adds.

“If you want to work with him so bad, you should be his partner.”

“I wish, but I have too much stage-fright to compete in a competition,” she maintains.

“Then I guess Harry is out of luck,” I sigh, placing the empty carton on the floor next to me.

“Well let’s do a mental list of reasons why you shouldn’t do the competition,” Paola chimes.

“This will be easy,” I mutter.

“Number one…” Paola trails.

“I’m way too busy,” I say.

“With what exactly?” Leanna asks.

“With law school,” I counter.

“Yeah, we’re all busy with law school. Come up with another excuse,” Leanna presses.

“I have too many extracurricular activities to manage.”

“You have an entire executive board to help you,” Leanna reasons.

“I need to find a summer job.”

“And I think competing would be a great networking opportunity to get you that summer job,” Leanna adds.

I give Leanna an exasperated look as she continues, “C’mon Fi, you’ll be buddying up with the partners of one of the biggest firms in New York. How can you not say yes? As my dad always says to never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure every dad says that,” Paola retorts.

“It’s easy for you to say, Leanna, you already have a job lined up.”

Leanna gives me a small smile. She knew she was already in the clear.

“I mean, have you asked your dad about working at his–”

“No,” I blurt, giving her a look that could kill. “First off, he’ll lecture me on the importance of hard work and being your own person. Second, I would dread having to work for my dad over the summer. Third, it’s my dad.”

“Your dad can’t be that bad.”

“Oh really? Try having him lecture you your whole life about law school and you’ll understand why I haven’t told him that I currently have no job prospects.”

“You haven’t told him?” Paola squeaks, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

“No, I really don’t want to be lectured even more about how I’m a complete and utter failure,” I lament, throwing my body back down on my couch and grabbing a throw pillow to cover my face.

“You’re not a failure, Fi,” Leanna says, placing a hand on my knee.

“I sure do feel like it sometimes,” I whisper under the pillow.

Leanna and Paola are both silent for a moment until Paola perks up and says, “Maybe you should do this competition with Harry. It might just help improve your self-esteem.”

I sit upright and the pillow falls to the floor. “Wow, now my self-esteem is on the line.”

“I’m just saying, it might be a good experience,” she reasons.

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s gonna be totally weird,” I say, biting my bottom lip.

“Don’t let that stop you. Remember when you took Trial Ad last semester? You said you took it to challenge yourself, and in the end you couldn’t stop gushing about how proud you were of yourself for doing it,” Leanna says.

Leanna had a point.

“Yeah, and Harry wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think you were capable,” Paola adds.

Paola also had a point.

They were both staring at with big smiles on their faces. I turn my attention back to Marie Kondo meticulously folding t-shirts. I hated it when my friends were right.

–

A couple nights later, I’m laying down on my bed listening to a playlist of Queen and playing around with my planner when I feel my phone vibrate near me. I reach over and see the words “MOM” splayed across the screen. I pick it up and swipe right to accept the video call.

“Helloooooo,” I chime.

“Hi FiFi,” my mom exclaims, as her face appears on the screen. She’s waving brightly and smiling widely. Her dark blonde hair is cut right beneath her chin and her blue eyes are fixated on my dark brown ones. If you wouldn’t know any better, you’d think we aren’t related.

“Hi Mom,” I smile.

“Hey Fi,” my dad grunts, as he comes into frame. My dad is short with dark brown eyes and jet-black hair. However, don’t let his height fool you. He can knock you down with his quick wit and foul temper.

“Hi Dad.”

“How are you? How was class today? Learn anything interesting?” my mom asks exuberantly. She is always the optimist. Sometimes I wonder how my parents got together. My mom was born in Worcester, Massachusetts and is a second-generation Irish-American. My dad is a first-generation Filipino-American who came to the United States when he was ten years old. My parents met at Boston College and have been together ever since.

“Class was the same as always. Learned more of… well, the law.”

“The law is fascinating, Fi,” my dad interjects. “When I was in law school, I couldn’t get enough of it.”

“I know, dad,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip. “How’s everything at home?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“Everything’s good here on the homefront. Your brother has a soccer game tomorrow and your dad’s flying out to his conference next week. Oh, and your grandma is being transferred to another facility next week,” my mom responds.

Smooth transition, Mom.

“What’s wrong with grandma’s current place?” I ask.

My Mom pauses thoughtfully for a moment before she answers. “She’s just gotten a bit out of hand for them so she needs a place that can provide her with better care.”

“As long as she’s getting better care,” I relent.

“I’ll give you the new address so you can visit her. I can tell she misses you,” she says with a sad look in her eyes.

‘She doesn’t even remember me,’ I think to myself.

“Sounds great,” I manage to get out.

“So Fi, how are your extracurricular activities?” My dad asks, trying to change the subject. Even though my grandma is my mom’s mother, she’s a sore subject for both my parents.

“They’re… okay.”

“Just okay?” he grunts.

“Yeah dad, just okay,” I maintain.

“Fi, you’re not going to law school to do ‘just okay.’”

“That’s not what I meant,” I try to interrupt, as I start to fidget with the ring on my index finger.

“I don’t understand why you’re not more enthusiastic about school. You’re going into a solid profession. You know how many people wish they were where you are. There are tons of children in the Philippines who wish they had your education,” my dad booms.

Here we go.

“I know, dad,” I groan.

“Oh Eli, she’s doing her best,” my mom coos.

“But she should be doing more,” he retorts.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s talking like I’m not even in the conversation.

My dad continues, “When I was in law school, I was eating up every opportunity I could. I went to conferences, organized events on campus, and participated in every competition being offered. I was Managing Editor of the my law journal…”

“You’re doing great, FiFi, don’t let your father discourage you,” my mom interrupts. She always knew when dad was going on tangents about his time in law school.

“Thanks mom,” I mumble.

“There you go again, Denise,” my dad bellows.

I just want to tell my dad that I am making the most of my time at law school. I’m a student leader and I have great friends. But I can hear the disappointment in his voice, and I can’t help but feel my throat tighten up and my heart start to beat a little faster. I’m frustrated by my dad’s attitude and his constant need to put me down. I just want to tell him all the ways that I’m trying and all the things that I’ve accomplished so far. I try to get out the words, but instead all that comes out is, “I’m competing in a mock trial competition in April.”

Shit.

“Really, FiFi? That’s so exciting,” my mom chirps.

“You are? What competition?” my dad inquires.

“The Meskill Mock Trial Competition in New York.”

‘Shut up, Fiona,’ I think to myself.

“That’s great, Fi,” my dad admits.

“It’s in April and I’m competing with that British guy in my class,” I add.

“Mom, Dad!” I hear in the distance.

“Hi sweetie,” my mom calls out. My dad leaves the video frame and I hear some muffled chattering in the distance.

“Connor’s home, FiFi,” my mom beams. Connor was always the favorite child.

“Hey sis, miss you!” He calls out, coming into frame to give me a big wave.

“I bet,” I retort, “miss you too, Connor.” Even though he’s six years younger than him, he’s about half a foot taller than me at 5’11. He’s a soccer star at his school and inherited my mom’s light skin and blue eyes while I, on the other hand, inherited my dad’s dark eyes and tan complexion.

“We’re going to head to the nursing home now to visit your grandma but give us a ring if you need anything, we’re always just a phone call away,” my mom smiles.

“Keep up the good work, Fi,” my dad calls out in the distance.

“Thanks dad, love you guys.”

“Love you too,” they all call out in unison. I end the video call and immediately flop back down on my bed in exhaustion. I inhale deeply and think to myself, ‘What have I done?’

I think about all the reasons that I shouldn’t do the competition and all the excuses I could use to get out of it. ‘I’m too busy,’ ‘I’m not good enough,’ and ‘I’ll fail,’ are thoughts that race through my mind. I place the palms of my hands over my eyes in an effort to soothe the increasing throbbing of my head.

‘Do I even want to do this?’ I finally think to myself.

That is the question of the century.

–

The next day I enter the library and scan the first floor to find Harry sitting at a table by himself. His eyes are glued to his textbook and he’s biting on his bottom lip. I breathe in deeply to gather my courage. ‘It’s now or never,’ I think to myself. Before I know it, I’m standing right next to him.

“Hey Harry.”

He looks up from his book and gives me a small smile, “Hey Fiona.”

“Whatcha reading?”

“White Collar Crime. Fascinating stuff.”

I scrunch my nose. “Sure sounds like it.”

“And what exactly is your poison?”

I pause for a moment and respond, “I’m not sure actually. Still trying to figure that out.”

He nods in understanding.

“Have you thought more about my offer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“I have… minimal commitment right? Only six hours max per week.”

He nods carefully.

“Alright… when would we start?”

“We can start tomorrow. We can meet to go over the problem and put together a proper strategy.”

“You really think we could win this thing?”

“I know we can.”

“Alright Styles, I’m in.”

What have I gotten myself into?

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #my blue heaven fanfiction #my blue heaven fanfic #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic #harry styles story #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #1dff #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles series #harry styles

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ship-ambrosia · 6 years

Text

A Fool Like Him

My good friend @sweetmemories2606 told me that yesterday was an unofficial Stingyu Day, so naturally as Stingyu is one of my favorite ships behind only Nalu and Gruvia, I had to jump on that train! Sting x Yukino needs more fanworks, so I am here to deliver!!

I promise Heavens Bringer will be updating soon! I just keep getting distracted (by things like this lol)

~~~

Sabertooth, one week after the Grand Magic Games

Word had spread quickly after the final day of the games, after the dragon invasion had been stopped, of the changes that came to the former Number 1 magic guild in Fiore. The original master, Jiemma, and his daughter Minerva had disappeared in the chaos brewing just before the fight broke out. Even before that, Jiemma had been removed from his position as master. But with his removal, the members of Sabertooth collectively realized that the guild they were fighting for and the guild that they were a part of were two different guilds entirely. And they had to choose which one they really wanted to take back home with them.

Sting Eucliffe, out of necessity, had to be the first one to make such a decision. Surely, that was why Minerva had elected to make him the new Sabertooth guild master rather than herself; so that she could slip away from their guild just as easily if it all came crashing down. In that moment at the end of the games, as he stared down the five members of Fairy Tail across the courtyard that he was to face - he remembered being so pissed that Natsu wasn't there, that he nearly hadn't listened to a word they said - Sting made that decision. They wouldn't give up, even though he had the clear advantage. They were all exhausted. Beaten up. He'd only shown his face once during the entire match, to knock Quatro Cerberus's ace out of the competition. Fairy Tail believed in the strength of the bonds between their members. Natsu had told him earlier in the games that such bonds were the source of his power, the fuel for the Fire Dragon Slayer's flames. His love for Lector, for Rogue and Frosch, reminded him of just how much he loved Sabertooth, and that he needed to fight for a Sabertooth that loved it's members. That was why he surrendered to Fairy Tail that day. That was why the Sabertooth he brought home with him became more relaxed, breathed more life. That was why, he told himself, he was so obsessed with Yukino's return.

Sting let out a sigh as he sat at his desk, filing out more paperwork. He allowed himself to lay his chin in his hands, his eyelids drooping as he allowed himself a moment to rest. Maybe Rogue was right, maybe he had been overworking himself... but it was all to show the other guilds and the Magic Council that even if he was the youngest master of a magic guild since Fairy Tail's founder, Mavis Vermillion, he took his job seriously. He also was definitely trying to avoid thinking about someone.

He doubted he could ever get through a day successfully completing that goal though, as the image of Yukino standing before the entire guild, exposed in just her tank top and skirt as Jiemma excommunicated her and forced her to remove her own guild mark, was burned into the back of his eyelids. He had been so furious with her for losing that he couldn't even stand to look at her. Sabertooth mages didn't lose. That just wasn't possible. But as the week of the games wore on, Sting's anger directed more toward himself. He hadn't know Yukino well - no one in the guild was particularly close, save for him and Rogue - but she had been a calm presence, a friendly face in an otherwise chilly crowd. He hated that he had missed her, that he disagreed with Jiemma's decision. He hated how cruel he felt in the way she had been forced out of Sabertooth. He hated how Natsu broke into Sabertooth and nearly defeated their guild master over a girl he had known for two days, while Sting had known her for a year and still couldn't bring himself to stand up for her.

And when he saw her for the first time again standing in front of the Eclipse Gate with Lucy as seven dragons stepped out of it, Sting knew he couldn't ever let Yukino leave. He couldn't ever bring the original Sabertooth back, because he cared too much. He wanted to grab Yukino, Rogue, Lector, and Frosch and hold them close and protect them from the hell descending upon Crocus. He wanted to know his friends were safe.

A knock on his door shook Sting out of his thoughts, and he quickly sat up in his chair. "Come in," he called to them, and then sucked in a breath when an angel glided across the floor toward him.

He'd had a similar reaction back at the Grand Ball. After the dragons had been "defeated" - technically all the credit goes to Natsu for that, since he destroyed the Eclipse Gate - the king of Fiore invited them all to a party. He'd dressed up, and made everyone who was choosing to stay in his new Sabertooth come as a means of announcing his formal takeover as guild master. Initially, he'd seen Lisanna Strauss walking by him while he spoke to Gajeel and done a double-take, but his heart sunk. Until he noticed her walking toward Lucy and two more girls with white hair. Lisanna had an elder sister, but only one. When the girl with the white hair in a ponytail turned, he saw that it was her, Mirajane. The other girl had white hair, only a few inches longer than Lisanna's. The rose decoration in her hair gave her away, and his heart started to pound wildly. As the group walked toward where the boys stood, Yukino saw him. The look on her face was horror and guilt. She muttered out an apology and turned around.

Sting was star struck. He knew Yukino was pretty, but he'd be lying if he said she wasn't the most beautiful girl in the room now. Seeing her all dressed up forced him to face the facts. It was like an arrow straight through his heart. His own idiocy almost let her slip away from him.

Did she hate him? Probably yes. Still, he gathered himself enough to quickly excuse himself from Gajeel and Rogue and walk forward after her. Lucy and Mirajane noticed him immediately, and he couldn't blame them for the way their expressions grew concerned.

"Yukino, wait!" Her entire body stiffened when he spoke her name.

"I didn't actually think you would be here," he explained quickly. Sting felt like his voice quivered quite obviously. He took another deep breath.

"Master and Minerva have disappeared," he began. "So we all want to start over. We're going to remake a new Sabertooth, rebuild it from the ground up."

He saw her turn around and face him. It gave him the confidence he needed to keep talking.

"We um... we were unbelievably cruel to you," he looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. She shrunk back against his blazing gaze. "But it's my goal to lead a guild that treasures its members."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to come back to us."

The words echoed in his ears as he felt a very similar sensation to the moment she turned around at the ball pulse through his veins. Yukino wore her normal attire, a short strapless dress covered in an ornate cape, but it wasn't the clothes that made him focus in on her beauty this time. It was the realization he'd had, the reason he tried to keep her off his mind as much as he could. Sting clenched his fists a bit to force himself back to reality.

"Good morning Yukino," he said finally.

"Master Sting, I-" she immediately grew quiet as his expression darkened and he held up a hand.

"Just Sting," he insisted for the hundredth time since they'd gotten back from the games. Yukino's habit of adding "Master" to his name now had a way of reminding him of Jiemma - something that left a bad taste in his mouth as it also made Yukino feel more distant from him than ever before. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm truly grateful to be back in Sabertooth, I love this guild so much," she immediately began tearing up. "But I still... I don't think I belong... I shouldn't have come back-"

Sting got to his feet immediately as the walls crumbled around him. "Who's made you feel that way? Yukino?!" He exclaimed when she didn't answer his first question. "Yukino, I'm serious who is it that makes you think you don't belong, because I-"

He had made his way around his desk and toward her, and was suddenly cut off by the weight that pushed against him, bumping him back against the desk. Yukino wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her face against his chest.

"No one," she spoke finally. "No one has made me feel that way. Everyone is trying to finally get to know each other and it's wonderful it's just I... I keep going back to that night. When no one did anything. When i couldn't have even been given the decency of having my guild mark removed in an official way. When Master Jiemma made me remove it myself. I was all alone. I don't want to be alone again."

His tongue had gone numb, Sting moving his jaw a moment but no sound came out. He had to say something. He was extremely afraid of the possibility that Yukino Aguria could walk away from Sabertooth right now if he didn't consider the right things to say. Rogue had told him he needed to be comforting. He needed to have confidence that he could put any of his members' fears to rest. On the inside, he trembled just as much as Yukino was in his arms.

"You won't be," he replied finally, and she looked up to face him. Damn him if the sight of her in tears didn't make him want to move heaven and hell just to see her smile. "Nothing like that will ever happen again because this is my Sabertooth, not Jiemma's. I won't lie. It's going to be a difficult transition, Yukino. It's going to be painful and it's going to be long. But I've changed. I was just like the wizards Jiemma wanted; cold, arrogant, pure power. I want to be warm. I want to be friends with my guildmates, and I want friendship to mean more to me than raw strength. So I need to make Sabertooth be a guild filled with all those things."

They stood there in silence for a long time, the only sound Sting could hear was the pounding of the blood in his ears.

It felt like an eternity before Yukino finally replied. A simple "Thank you, Sting." But it was more than enough for him. She paused before speaking again.

"I promise I'll help you make Sabertooth just as you envision it," she breathed out, as though she were thinking over every word. "Even if we're the last members left here, i will help you and Rogue complete your new Sabertooth."

His cheeks felt warm, and Sting couldn't believe he was blushing. He was blushing, damn it. What kind of control did this girl have over him? And more importantly, why had it taken him so long to realize just what she meant to him?

"Although... we still haven't placed your guild mark back on, have we?" Sting asked her. "I'll... I'll do it, if it's okay? Reverse the treatment that Jiemma gave you, and have the guild master place it back on."

He watched as Yukino's face turned the same shade of red as Titania Erza's hair. Sting mulled over his words in a panic, trying to discover what mistake he had clearly made.

"Th-that's very kind of you, Sting..." she stuttered. "But I... I'm wearing a dress. Perhaps I could go home and change? And come back? And then you could place my guild mark?" Her voice got higher and high in pitch with every question.

As her words revealed what he had implied, Sting blushed a brighter shade of red too. "Of course! Of course you can go home and change! I wasn't... I mean it wasn't my intention, I-"

As he tripped over his words, she smiled. And he watched, as if in slow motion, her face relaxed. Yukino leaned forward. Something pressed to his cheek, and then she stepped back into his line of vision, a softer pink on her face now. Sting's insides turned to goo.

"Thank you," her eyes were finally glittering with joy again, the way they used to when she would speak to him. "Thank you so much, Sting."

As she left his office, he couldn't help but think back to his standoff with Kagura just moments after he'd asked Yukino to come back to Sabertooth. Even though Kagura was drunk, she had incited very real fear in him. Lucy and Erza, too, when they insisted it was only natural for Yukino to join Fairy Tail. The other guilds wanted to fight for her, but Sting had sensed real competition with Fairy Tail and Mermaid Heel. He was so afraid of losing Yukino in that moment. For losing any chance he could have had to act on the feelings he had only recently discovered in himself.

It had taken him too long, the naive fool that he was. Only now he realized he was selfish in his hope of having a chance with Yukino. How could she ever feel the same after everything he had let happen to her?

The last thing she needed was a fool like him to love her.

#original post by bree #bree writes #sting x yukino #fairy tail stingyu #love me some stingyu #stingyu #sting eucliffe #yukino aguria #sabertooth #gmg spoilers #grand magic games #fairy tail fanfiction #stingyu day #angsty stingyu

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zutaras-where-its-at · 6 years

Text

Baby, It’s a Wipeout [2]

Summary: It’s the final run, and Zuko’s sure Katara doesn’t stand a chance.

Notes: I have so many other things to do right now, but I decided to stay up until 2am writing this, so plz enjoy the product of my stress. (Also, I did some shoddy research on pro-snowboarding because I really don’t know jack about it, so please correct me if something is just completely off!)

“I guess I’ll see you there.”

That’s what Katara had told him as she’d stood on her porch just before he and Jet had left the cabin. All he could offer her at the time was a pathetic excuse for a smile and an uncomfortable grunt. Meanwhile, Jet had been all charm and sass and grins and big hugs around tan skin and a tiny waist. All because Jet is an only child and Zuko isn’t.

And now, Zuko is seeing Katara, but there’s no laughing over a silly card game. There’s only the frigid air, his tense shoulders, and Azula’s fifteen-point lead.

“Wonderful job, Azula.”

“Your dedication has paid off.”

Zuko shuddered at the monotone voices of Azula’s ancient twin coaches. He’d known them for over a decade and had never once seen them apart from one another. If he and Azula ever spent that much time together, they’d either kill each other, or themselves.

Beside him, his sister combed a well-manicured hand through her hair, her rusty-orange ski jacket unzipped to reveal a black sports bra.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s paid off. And once I’m at the Olympics, the whole world will see just how dedicated I am.” Her shoulder bumped against his. “Isn’t that right, Zuzu?”

He snorted and crossed his arms, eyes watching as Katara’s silhouette shuffled to the starting line. He squinted against the sunlight that bounced off the fresh snow. “I think your ego’s big enough without me reaffirming it.”

Azula stuck her lower lip out and wrapped her hand around his arm. “Is this how you repay me for coming to every one of your football games in high school?”

Zuko turned his head to glower at her. “You only came to my games to flirt with my friends.”

Her pout lifted into a smirk, but before she could tease him further, the announcer sounded over the speakers.

“Our final halfpipe competitor of the day is eighteen-year-old Katara Siluk from right here in the Southern Isles. This is her first time at the Kuruk Games, but she has a nice home field advantage. Let’s see if she has what it takes to beat out senior competitor, Azula Jin, in this last round.”

“Not likely.” Azula’s snarky remark was just loud enough to reach Zuko’s ears.

He resisted the urge to cover his eyes as Katara’s figure finally stood, knees bending in preparation. His heart sank with the inevitable massacre of her spirit and soul. Azula always ruined everything.

She took off down the slope, her wild hair trailing behind her. Zuko’s fist clenched inside his jacket pocket.

“Here she goes with her first trick—beautiful takeoff—oh wow! A flawless frontside ten-eighty! Second take off—straight into a frontside nine-hundred, wow! Clean landing! Air to fakie, right into a huge crippler! Incredible air on that—right into the method—do you see the air she’s getting—No way, she went for a double Michalch—Katara Siluk has stuck the landing! She has landed a perfect double Michalchuk! What a way to end that run! It just might be enough! The crowd here is absolutely losing its mind!”

Azula’s grip had gotten steadily tighter and tighter around his bicep, but Zuko didn’t even notice. He could not believe what he had seen. It just wasn’t possible.

Apparently, Azula had similar sentiments.

“She’s a rookie. She’s a rookie.” His sister ripped her hands from where they were tucked into his elbow. She turned to Lo and Li, and Zuko was glad he wasn’t the focus of her wrath. “You told me that you scoped out the competition. You said that this would be a blow out.”

“We did. We watched her tapes along with everyone else’s. She never stood out.” They answered in unison, but their voices shook almost imperceptibly.

Their attention snapped back to the announcer as the speakers crackled to life. “And here comes the score for Katara’s third run from the judges.”

The scoreboard above the slope flashed a number. The crowd went into uproar.

“Katara Siluk has scored a 97.25! The newcomer from right here in the Southern Isles has taken the Kuruk title! For the first time, Azula Jin’s reign has been defeated by just 1.5 points!”

Zuko saw Azula’s back straighten in the slightest of movements, and he internally cringed for her mentors.

When she spoke, her voice was soft to the point of danger. “Does she stand out now?”

Lo and Li didn’t get a chance to respond as Azula abruptly turned and stalked towards the lodge.

Before he could decide whether he should follow her or not, a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Dude, it was a nightmare to get down here.” Jet huffed out a cloud of steam. “I had to wait until the security guard wasn’t looking in order to get out of the stands.”

“Why did you—”

“Well, I took one look, saw you standing here like a goddamn garden gnome, and knew you needed my help.”

“Your help with what?”

Jet rolled his eyes. “For one, connecting the dots. And secondly, helping you talk to Katara since you’ve been angsting over her all morning.”

Zuko spluttered and tried to shake Jet’s grip from his shoulders. “I have not been—Okay seriously, dickhead, stop shoving me.”

“Quit squirming. I promise you’ll thank me later.”

“She’s probably in the locker room away from all the reporters, you asshole!”

“Good thing you’re not a reporter.”

“Azula will literally behead me if she knows that I went and talked to her!”

“Well, Azula’s not here, is she? And since when have you been scared of Azula?”

“Since when have you not been scared of Azula? I’m not kidding, Jet, stop fucking pushing me—”

“Shut up and smile.”

“What are you—”

“Oh hey, you guys. I’m surprised you made it through that crowd.” Sokka clapped Zuko on the arm, his cheeks rosy and a bright grin stretching his face. Just behind him, Katara was wrapping up a brief interview with a reporter.

“Zuko here insisted on congratulating Katara after that epic run. Said he wouldn’t let anyone get in his way. Right, Zuko?” Jet elbowed him in the ribs and purposefully raised his voice. His light brown eyes sparkled when Katara’s head jerked to the side mid-sentence and landed on the two boys.

Over the noise of people, Zuko heard her turn back to the reporter and politely dismiss him before she started toward them.

Her whole face seemed to glow with her victory, and a few strands of sweat-dampened hair clung to the sides of her smooth neck. She had abandoned her helmet and goggles, and her blue scarf was on the verge of unravelling to the floor, but she didn’t bother to take notice of it.

“I told you guys that I was better than you had assumed.” Her chapped lips couldn’t stop smiling, and Zuko found that he naturally returned her cheer.

“Congratulations.”

Her smile widened just the slightest bit more and Zuko felt a hot blush spread across the tips of his ears.

“Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry about your sister though. Really. I hope she wasn’t too upset.”

“She wasn’t,” he lied.

Their eyes connected for just a touch longer than normal, and right when Zuko was about to excuse himself out of sheer flustered embarrassment, Jet cut in.

“Congrats, Katara. You deserved that win without a doubt.” He swung an arm around Sokka’s shoulders. “By the way, Sokka, I was meaning to ask you about sparring sometime. You mentioned fencing last night, right?”

As the lanky brunette casually led the other boy into a friendly conversation a few feet away, he snuck a quick wink to Zuko and Katara.

Zuko coughed lightly into his hand. Then he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. But then he realized that he was fidgeting out of nervousness and quickly shoved his hands back into his pockets, actively avoiding Katara’s eyes the whole time.

“So…” She drew the word out awkwardly.

“Yeah.”

“I was wondering—”

“Could I—”

They both stopped, eyes wide. Katara laughed and gestured for him to speak.

Zuko carded his hand through his hair. “I was gonna ask if I could call you sometime, maybe?”

Her laugh grew a little breathier. “Funny. I was going to ask if you were staying in town for a little while longer. I could, I don’t know, show you around?”

She wrapped her hands around the ends of her scarf and tugged anxiously. A self-deprecating snicker escaped her teeth. “God, that sounded so cliché. Wow. Okay, I’m gonna just go throw myself from the top of the ski lodge if you don’t mind.”

Zuko’s expression softened, and he took a small step closer to her. “I’ll be here for the next two weeks. Technically this is my vacation hours from work, and Azula planned to train on the slopes here after the competition.” Another step closer. He had never realized how short she was before. “You know, I’ll probably need someone to help make sure I don’t get my dumbass stuck in the snow again.”

Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she peered up at him. “Oh, well, in that case, it’s probably my moral duty to not let you out of my sight.”

“You’re right. Do you want to help me out tomorrow, maybe? I might get lost on my way to dinner.”

“We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?” A fake frown shifted her features, but one corner of her mouth quirked up. She let out a loud sigh. “I guess I could spare some time tomorrow. How does five o’clock sound?”

Zuko’s fingers lightly brushed her wrist and he felt her skin twitch.

“Five o’clock sounds great.”

#maybe a third and final installment to come???#idk kinda depends bc I really do have a lot of shit to do #please review if you like it/want more!#I live for feedback especially since this is my first time writing in forever #zutara #my zutara stuff #baby it's a wipeout #chapter 2

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omgkatsudonplease · 6 years

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[fic, viktor/yuuri, canon divergence] Constructive Criticism

Written for @elle-chat, who donated to @katsukiyuuristrophyhusband‘s nancy fund. The prompt was “canon divergence, vicchan lives”. Thanks for donating; hope you like this!

He gets the call from Mari around noon. “I thought — I thought it was best to let you know,” she says, her voice wavering over the connection, each breath like static. “Vicchan’s at the vet. He — there was an accident. We’re not sure if he’ll make it.”

Yuuri sets down the phone with shaking hands, ending the call like an aforethought. He clenches his fists, feeling the hallway shift and his breath come short in his chest.

Of all the days, it had to be today, right? The day of the Grand Prix Final in Sochi? He feels a lump rise in his throat, choking out the rest of his air. There’s a hand on his shoulder, Celestino’s voice resounding from the end of a tunnel as he guides him to his feet and onto the rink for warm-up. His feet don’t feel like his own; the rest of him seems cut off from his brain, from his vision now fogging up on the —

“Mr Katsuki!”

Yuuri feels the cold hardness of the ice, the pain flaring into painful clarity. He blinks rapidly, the fog in his head clearing as other hands help him off the ice into the bleachers.

The whispers echo around him. Is he all right? Will he be able to skate tonight? Hopefully he hasn’t hurt himself. He’s being poked and prodded, checked for injuries. He’s sore, but fit to skate, if he could get himself out of his head (or his head out of himself) in time to do it properly.

“Do you need some time alone?” asks Celestino. Yuuri feels the guards on his skates. He loosens the boots, nodding as the solid firmness of the ground returns as he puts his shoes back on.

“Five minutes,” says Celestino. “But you know you need a little warm-up. Don’t do any jumps. You psych out too hard if you fall.”

Yuuri takes a couple deep breaths and smiles.

Yuuri’s not allowed on social media before competitions. It’s a rule he worked out when he was younger and just starting to get noticed by the JSF as their new rising star. It doesn’t even matter if the feedback’s negative or positive; either he’ll get discouraged from the critics or he’ll feel too much pressure from well-wishers hoping he won’t fail.

So because Celestino has taken his phone at his past self’s own insistence, Yuuri can’t check in with Mari about Vicchan and has to fiddle uselessly with the zipper of his jacket as he tries to calm himself down. The others are still skating; he can hear the scratches of skates against the ice every time the rink door opens and closes.

“Are you alright?” A shadow falls over him; Yuuri looks up, and is briefly blinded by the halo of light obscuring the figure from view. He blinks, and then his childhood idol’s concerned expression swims into view.

“Um,” he says intelligently, berating himself almost as soon as he does so because yes, that’s definitely the first thing he wants to say to Viktor Nikiforov on the day he’s supposed to meet the man on the same ice.

(He’s almost glad he doesn’t live in a society where the first words of a soulmate are tattooed on his body somewhere, because if on the off chance Viktor Nikiforov had been his soulmate, well.)

“You took a fall earlier, and I was a little caught up but I just wanted to see if you’re okay,” Viktor clarifies.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri says, as if on autopilot. “Just nervous.”

Viktor chuckles. “We’re all nervous,” he says, and then to Yuuri’s increasing consternation the handsome silver-haired Russian takes a seat next to him. “Viktor,” he says, extending a hand.

“Yuuri,” says Yuuri, shaking his hand. “I — I know your name.”

Viktor laughs. “A lot of people do,” he points out.

“Yeah.” Yuuri looks off into the distance. “You don’t have to — you don’t have to sit here, you know. With me. I’m fine.”

“How do you know I’m just sitting here with you?” Viktor’s grin is roguish. “I could just be tired and you’ve got the only empty seat next to you.”

Yuuri points to the empty chair across the hallway. Viktor laughs again.

“Okay, point,” he concedes. “But really, I just came to wish you well. I watched your short programme — it was phenomenal.”

Yuuri gapes at him. “You watched —” he begins, but Viktor holds up a finger, and Yuuri’s mouth stops short.

“Thing is,” he says cheerily, “you really need a new choreographer. They’re not making use of your stamina at all. I’ve seen your other stuff too, and it’s obvious you’ve got so much more than what your coach is giving you.”

Yuuri would like nothing more than to transform into ooze and slide between the cracks of the earth. Vanish forever, away from the bright eyes of Viktor Nikiforov’s strange insulting compliments that still make his heart skip a beat. “I — it’s — well, what would you do?”

“You seem to have some kind of block that’s keeping you from feeling your piece entirely. As if you’re scared of unleashing your real emotions onto the ice,” Viktor remarks, and Yuuri can’t help but laugh at that.

“Takes one to know one.” It slips out before he can really stop himself, but to his surprise Viktor’s expression is more amused than insulted.

“You think I’m not feeling my piece entirely?” he asks.

“Um, no, sorry, I mean —”

“It’s all right.” Viktor grins widely. “I love hearing constructive criticism. No one offers it to me anymore; I almost miss it. What do you think I should do?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath. Critique Viktor’s skating? That’s like someone telling him to call the moon ugly, even if the surface of the moon is actually scarred with craters…

“I don’t buy your free skate,” he says. “You’ve got this great love song and you put a lot of skill into it, but your emotions feel manufactured, you know? Like you get some of the loneliness down, but when you’re going into the ‘stammi vicino’ portions where the singer meets his lover, you tend to lose some of your emotion.” He pauses. “Like you’re pretending you understand what love is.” He pauses again. “Not that you’ve — I wouldn’t know — sorry.”

Viktor seems to have gone completely still at the outpouring. He taps his lips thoughtfully with a finger, and then his eyes twinkle as his lips curl up into a smile.

“I really appreciate that, Yuuri,” he says. “I think we should both do our best today, yeah? Give me a good show; I’ll be watching.”

“Me, too,” says Yuuri, hearing Celestino call for him. “Thanks, Viktor.”

Viktor waves at him as he stands up. “Davai, Yuuri.”

He gets a text from Mari after his performance. Vicchan pulled through, it reads. He’s ok. He’ll be home soon and recovered by the end of the week. It’s as if someone has pulled a string and released the tensions coiled in his chest, because it’s suddenly so much easier to breathe.

He sits in the kiss-and-cry, waiting for his scores. Celestino has a hand on his shoulder, smiling proudly. Yuuri hadn’t skated his best, he knows, but he’d skated well enough, knowing Viktor’s eyes are on him. Trying to prove to Viktor that he can at least make the most of what’s given to him. He fell on one of his jumps and popped another, but hopefully combined with his high short programme score, he’ll —

And the score for Yuuri Katsuki is 178.52, putting him at 262.07.

In the end, that only nets him fourth place below Viktor, Christophe Giacometti, and Jean-Jacques Leroy. But Yuuri takes it anyway, because Vicchan is alive and well and he’d like nothing more than to see his dog again.

He fires off a text to Mari: Can I see Vicchan when I get back to the hotel?

Her response is immediate. Yes.

The next time he talks to Viktor, it’s at the banquet after the exhibition skate. He hadn’t skated in it, but he had watched Viktor’s appreciatively from the sidelines. For one heart-stopping moment, Viktor had winked at him as he passed him along the boards, and it had taken all of Yuuri’s strength to remain upright and conscious after that.

Viktor’s eyes had lit up at seeing him enter the room, though the way he surveys Yuuri’s suit clearly suggests he has some opinions about its cut. Of course, the Russian looks perfect in his own charcoal suit and black tie; Yuuri probably looks like an overgrown bug in comparison.

“No, I’m just thinking that it’s a waste to hide your gorgeous figure in some blazer jacket twice your size,” replies Viktor cheekily, and Yuuri tries not to blush.

“Thanks for the advice,” he says.

Viktor grins. “You did well,” he replies. “I’d have given you more points, but alas I’m not the ISU.”

“I popped a jump and fell,” Yuuri points out.

“But you really had emotion this time,” Viktor says. He takes Yuuri by the arm. “What do you think about my routine this time? Sold you on my love story yet?”

Yuuri purses his lips. “I guess?” he says, and Viktor laughs.

“You guess?” he asks. “Wow, you’re a tough crowd to please.”

“I was — it was a good performance. You were good.”

“But not as emotional as you would like.” Viktor winks at him. “I’m guessing the next time we meet it’ll be Worlds, so we have until then to make our separate routines perfect for each other, right?”

“Why are you doing this?” Yuuri blurts suddenly. Viktor drops his arm, blinking at him. Yuuri feels embarrassment well deep in his throat but he forces it back down, pressing on. “Why are you suddenly so friendly to me? I’m just… this is my first year at the Final. We’ve never… you’ve never talked to me, or shown me any sign that you knew I existed.”

Viktor bites his lip, suddenly looking sheepish. “I — I, er, didn’t know how to best approach you,” he replies. “We never skated in the same group at Worlds, and we didn’t get seeded into the same competitions for the Grand Prix, and, well. World Team Trophy’s usually spent half-drunk so I don’t even remember half of what happens during that. But I’ve… well.” He looks downright embarrassed now, his cheeks flushed bright red. “I saw you having a bit of a rough start yesterday, and I just wanted to offer you something to cheer you up.”

“Oh.” Yuuri nods. “Thank you. I’m sorry I was presumptuous.”

“You’re not —” Viktor shakes his head. “You’re the best skater Japan has to offer, so I was told as soon as you started showing up in Grand Prix events to study you.” He laughs a little. “You’re not like most of the competition. You really make the music your own. I admire that.”

Yuuri wonders why the sprinklers haven’t turned on yet, because his face is practically on fire. “Dance with me,” he suggests, for lack of a better way to deflect attention from his skating.

Viktor looks as though Christmas had come early. “Of course,” he says, and takes Yuuri’s hand.

In the morning, Yuuri wakes in an unfamiliar hotel room to the sound of his phone alarm and the warmth of another body in the bed beside him. His head is groggy, but not from alcohol; as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he turns and sees Viktor lying in bed next to him.

And then Yuuri realises they’re both naked, and the events of last night come creeping back into his memory.

Viktor stirs, cracking open one bright blue eye. “Morning,” he mumbles, and Yuuri’s breath flees him; in the golden morning light he’s almost angelic as he looks up at Yuuri. He wants to freeze the moment and live in this feeling forever. But the alarm continues to ring, so Yuuri snoozes it and reaches out to brush some hair from Viktor’s eyes.

“I have a flight soon,” he says. Viktor makes a disappointed noise, which causes Yuuri’s heart to skip a beat.

“We traded numbers, right?” he asks. “If you… I dunno, just in case.”

“Yeah,” says Viktor. “We should do that.” He sits up, too, yawning and stretching before leaning out of the bed to fumble for his trousers on the ground. Yuuri tries not to stare too hard at the curve of his ass. He fails.

They quickly exchange numbers, and Yuuri feels awkwardness curl strangely in his chest as he clambers out of bed to get dressed under Viktor’s watchful glance. His own room is on a lower floor; he’ll have to run down and get his things. It’ll be obvious to Celestino that he didn’t come back last night, but he’s beyond caring at this point.

“So,” he says once he finishes buttoning his shirt, tucking his tie into his trouser pockets and adjusting his ill-fitting blazer. “Bye, then?”

That seems to galvanise Viktor out of bed, stumbling towards him with a maddening gleam in his eyes. He pins Yuuri against the edge of the hotel’s desk, kissing him deeply and sweetly like he had done last night, his tongue plundering Yuuri’s mouth of all the breath left in him. Yuuri’s hands tighten in the hairs at Viktor’s nape, wanting more of him to have and hold.

“Text me when you get to Detroit,” Viktor breathes, and Yuuri smiles against his lips at that.

“I will,” he promises. “And I’ll show you the pictures of my dog that I promised.”

“I’m glad he’s alright,” replies Viktor. Sometime during last night Yuuri had told him why he had been so worried before the free skate, and Viktor had sighed and said he’d have felt the same if Makkachin had been at the vet with no news about his recovery. They had drifted off to sleep after that, and Yuuri had slept soundly in Viktor’s arms.

He smiles now, his body light and his heart joyful at the prospect of staying in touch with Viktor. “I’ll see you around?” he asks, as Viktor walks him to the door.

“Until Worlds,” says Viktor, and it’s a promise and a challenge all in one.

Yuuri grins, leaning forward to kiss the playful smirk off his face. “Until Worlds,” he agrees, and smiles all the way home.

#yoi #viktuuri #victuuri #ficlets for nancy #lily's dabbles #anyway they're cute playful rivals now awww

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itskateak · 4 years

Text

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 4

(art by itskateak...do not repost without permission)

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: The day has come and Velika has received her letter calling her home to fight. Bucky doesn't know how to feel.

Words: 2.6K

Warnings: War mentions, mild language, angst

A/N: I've been thinking about this chapter for so long and it's making me sad.

Masterlist

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭, 𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

Velika paced in her room, the letter gripped tightly in her hand. She knew this day would come, but she didn't want it to. After her excursion to the Arctic circle and the warning of two months, she had been counting the days and hoping against hope that her instincts were wrong for once.

In one week, she would ship out to the Southern borders of Hell to fight. One week to say her goodbyes and to come to terms with the fact that she may not return. One week to make up for a lifetime in case she didn't make it back.

With a deep breath, she left her room. She had to tell everyone. They were in the common room for Bonding Night, either watching a movie or playing a game. She could hear their laughter from down the hall, Natasha's voice raised as she yelled at Steve. The mood was light and she hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere.

Velika stepped into the room, the letter tucked behind her back. She almost turned to leave but reluctantly stood her ground.

Vision and Wanda were on the couch, watching a show. Pete was completely entranced by the tv, leaned forward with his forearms on his knees. Clint was twirling an arrow idly between his fingers, shaking his head at the fight sequence going on.

Natasha and Steve were bickering over a rent price in their game of Monopoly. Sam was backing Steve up, teaming up against Nat. Tony was trying to sneak a little extra money from the bank, but Bruce (the unbiased third-party banker despite not playing) was watching him carefully. Bucky lounged back against his chair with a glass of some kind of carbonated drink in his hand, smiling at their antics.

"Hey, Veli! Nice of you to show your face around here." Steve greeted her with a wide smile before ducking a piece of popcorn chucked at him by Natasha.

"Miss Velika, we're watching that show you recommended! Come sit with us for a little bit." Peter glanced her way before turning back to the screen, totally engrossed with the paranormal mystery show. She had told him time and time again to just call her Velika, but the kid insisted on being respectful. She thought it was cute. She'd miss that.

Bucky looked up with a smile as well, but as she made eye contact, it fell slowly. He could tell something was wrong by her expression and body language. He had a feeling he knew what had happened. "Velika?"

"Guys, I need to talk to you." She said, biting the inside of her lip.

Tony twisted in his chair to look at her. He read her expression quickly and nodded. "Hey, Pete. Pause the show for a minute. The game's on pause, too, you guys. No cheating."

Peter picked the remote up and did as asked without question. Everyone turned their attention to her expectant looks. She held the letter up and their faces fell nearly in unison.

"I got the notice. I leave next Tuesday. The war has officially started." Velika's voice wavered and she didn't want to look at them.

The room was silent as time seemed to freeze. She watched as each person realized what that meant and the air suddenly became heavy. The letter wasn't just a call to action and service. They all knew there was a chance she wouldn't return and that this coming week would be the last they'd ever see of her.

"How long's your tour?" Steve finally piped up, voice thick with worry.

"I don't think it's that simple, Steve," Natasha muttered, casting a sideways glance at him.

"It's not. I fight until we win or lose or get captured or die." Velika explained, dropping her hand to her side. The paper crinkled beneath her fingers as her fist clenched. She was barely keeping it together. "It could last days, it could last years. And time works differently there. A year here is five years there."

"No telling how long you'll be gone, then," Clint said with a heavy sigh.

"A week is all we have with you?" Peter asked in a quiet and trembling voice. Immediately, her heart broke. He was so young and didn't need to have that worry on his shoulders. "That's not nearly enough time."

"I know...it's longer than the last time I was called to fight. I had to ship out that night and barely got to say my goodbyes." Velika ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry for throwing this on you guys right now."

"Hey, don't apologize. You're going to war. It's a big deal and you need to get as much time with the people you care about." Tony waved her off and tried to sound his usual unflustered self, but she could see the worry already building behind his eyes.

Velika spared a glance at Bucky, who was pale and staring at the table. He was the only person who had known what the expedition to the Arctic circle meant.

"When did you find out?" He finally asked, looking up at her. She could see the dread behind his calm expression.

"I just got the letter an hour ago." Velika gave him a sad smile. "I should go start packing some things. Call my brother. That kind of stuff."

"Would you like some help?" Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat to prepare to stand.

"No, but thank you. I just need some time alone."

Bucky watched her leave with blurry vision. Tears had started to prickle at his eyes and he looked down at the table to hide it.

Slowly, people started back in their activities. The tv flicked back on and the banter between the main characters filled some of the silence. Someone rolled the dice and their piece hitting the board brought the room back to its previous rhythm. It felt heavier in the room, though, and everyone couldn't enjoy their evening as well knowing they could lose a friend.

"Buck, it's your turn." Steve nudged him.

"I forfeit. Return all my stuff to the bank." Bucky stood from the table and grabbed his glass, moving quickly out of the common room as he blinked back tears.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

The last week Velika had with them flew by faster than anyone expected or wanted. She hadn't been sleeping well and her mood had taken a somber turn. Everyone's had. The prospect that she could leave and never return loomed in the back of their minds. She did her best to live in every moment before she ran out of moments to live in.

She spent a whole night binge-watching that paranormal show with Peter and Wanda. Pete had asked her questions about the supernatural between shoveling popcorn in his mouth and being completely absorbed in the show. Wanda painted Velika's nails and quietly gossiped about celebrity drama.

She and Steve took the train out to Brooklyn and spent the day volunteering in the soup kitchens and helping people wherever they could. She couldn't count how many times someone stopped them to take photos, which they did willingly. They made a game of it. Every time they took a photo with someone, they would donate five dollars to an organization that would help clean up the oceans. By the end of the day, they had raised four hundred dollars.

Clint helped her brush up on her incredibly rusty archery skills. She hadn't handled a bow in a very long time. She estimated since basic training before they had handed her a shield and broadsword. After she had gotten used to holding a bow again, he proposed a friendly competition. He won, as predicted, but she didn't mind. The banter and time with him were more than enough to make her smile.

Tony and Bruce helped add new tech to her old armor. Insulation for the cold, waterproofing for rain, and so on. She swore she had never laughed that hard before as they moved around each other in the lab. They worked perfectly together in an oil vs water kind of way. They didn't exactly blend, but they could coexist.

Natasha helped her train, kicking her ass three ways to Sunday and gossiping about the team the whole time. She taught her new maneuvers to take someone larger than her off guard and to the ground. Nat helped her get used to carrying a shield again. She noticed Velika's attention drift when Bucky walked by. Go talk to him, she'd said with a knowing smile. He's worried.

Sam ran aerial courses with her and tried air combat tactics. He wasn't very good at it mele air combat, so they just stuck to aerial routines. She taught him new ways to deploy and ways he could manipulate his wings to maneuver more efficiently. He was impressed to see how quickly she could move through the air without jet propulsors. She laughed and just raced him to the edge of the compound's property line and back.

Velika couldn't bring herself to seek out Bucky. That would make it too final and real. As long as she hadn't said her goodbyes to Bucky, she could live in the fantasy that there was still time before she had to leave.

Then Monday night rolled around far too fast and it was suddenly less than twelve hours until she had to ship out. The roof had been her haven the last year and a half, the stars inviting and the moon calming. They were far less friendly as she stared up at them for the final time.

Her things were packed and ready to go. Photos of the team were tucked safely into an inner pocket of her bag. She had a mix of group and individual shots, but they were all her favorite photos of her teammates. She would miss them dearly. She'd learned to trust them and had become close enough that she considered them family.

"Thought I might find you up here." Bucky startled her out of her thoughts and she shifted to look at him. He smiled thinly in greeting. "You've been avoiding me."

"No, I haven't." Velika paused briefly. "Okay, maybe I have a little. I didn't intend to." She turned back around, sighing.

"I don't blame you. But I did want to say goodbye," Bucky joined her at the railing, leaning his lower back against it. He was quiet, staring at the horizon where the sun had dipped behind. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This sucks."

"Yeah." She looked up at the sky dejectedly. "It does."

Bucky grimaced and crossed his arms. Silence fell over them again only filled by the distant chattering of birds and the chirping of crickets. They didn't need words anymore. Just each other. Many nights on the roof after nightmares or insomnia had kept them awake had proven that.

"I wanted to give you something." Bucky suddenly spoke as if he'd just remembered why he was there.

Velika watched him pull something out of the front pocket of his jeans. He held his old dog tags out to her with a soft expression. The metal of the chain glinted in the moonlight. She took them with a small smile, running her fingers lightly over the engravings. Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes.

"You don' have to take them if don' wanna," He rubbed the back of his neck shyly, a light blush on his cheek.

"Thank you, Bucky." She pulled the dog tags over her head and left them outside of her shirt. "Here, wait. It's only fair I give you mine in return. My old ones from before I defected."

"No, it's okay. You don't have to." Bucky shook his head, eyes wide.

She drew a gold chain out from the collar of her shirt, revealing silver tags engraved with gold. She removed her dog tags and held them out to him. He gingerly took them and examined the engravings. Lt. Velika.

"What does this symbol mean?" He asked, tilting the tag to show her the raised pattern. The simple wings were composed of swirls that extended to opposite directions.

"The crest of the Praesidium. The highest section of the Guardian caste." She explained. "I'd give them to my brother, but he's been called to fight, too."

"I'll keep them safe." Bucky clipped the chain around his neck and tucked them into his shirt. "I promise to return them when you return."

"If I return," She muttered, gaze falling to the ground.

"Hey, don't talk like that. I know you're gonna make it out. You're one of the best fighters I know. Which is sayin' something, since we live with ex-assassins and enhanced people." Bucky nudged her shoulder and she cracked a smile.

"But realistically...there's a good chance I won't make it back." Velika felt tears pushing at her eyes again. She'd cried her fair amount this last week and she was tired of falling apart.

"Hey, when you get back," Bucky turned to her with a serious tone in his voice. He shoved his hands into his front pockets looking everything like the smooth-talking boy he was back in the forties. "I wanna take you out. See a movie. Be a tourist in our own city. Go dancin' or walk through Central Park. Doesn't matter to me. Just wanna take you out."

Velika looked at him with wide eyes. Did he just ask her out on a date when she was about to ship out for a damned war? She was flustered and taken by surprise. "Bucky, that sounds wonderful. If-"

"Then it's a date." He spoke over her, stopping her before she could say the words that would tear his heart apart. "Don't know when, but it's a date."

"Bucky...you know as well I as do that-"

"Just say you'll be there." Bucky's voice got caught in his throat and the look he gave her broke her heart.

"I'll be there," She whispered, tears pushing at her eyes again.

"Don't miss it," He said.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Velika smiled. There was a brief moment of silence before she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. She buried her face into his shoulder, the tears finally falling.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist, bending down so she didn't have to stand on her toes. He hid in the crook of her neck, closing his eyes. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'm gonna miss you, too," She mumbled through a soft sob. She squeezed him tightly, trying to commit everything about him to memory. The way he held her, the sound of his voice, the scent of his cologne.

Bucky gently pulled back and brushed her tears away. "I have one more thing to ask you."

"Shoot, Buck." She sniffed, feeling much better after her small meltdown.

"One last constellation story before you go."

"I think I can do that." She smiled and took his hand, tugging him to their usual spot. "And I'm gonna promise you something. If...when I get back, I promise to tell you the story about my favorite constellation."

"I'll hold you to that." Bucky laid down next to her, lacing his fingers with hers. "You get to choose the constellation tonight."

Velika squeezed his hand and scanned the sky. "Ursa Major has many names. Some call it the Big Dipper, but it is really Callisto. Callisto was once a beautiful nymph who had caught the eye of Zeus..." She began her story, hand twined with Bucky's.

This would be the thing she missed most.

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰.

#oceans and stars #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x female original character #bucky barnes x original character #james buchanan barnes #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #velika dante king

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jae-bummer · 7 years

Text

Out to Lunch

Request: Hi, I love your write! Can I ask a 19 with Jaebum? lot of love!

19) You and your bias are rival idols forced to work with each other on a collaboration

Member: Got7′s JB x Y/N

Type: angst/fluff

The catering table was relatively bare as you glanced over what the staff had prepared for lunch. You rolled your eyes as you searched for any sort of protein you could put into your body after working three, consecutive, 15 hour days in the studio. Admittedly, it had been a rough week for work and you were hoping to calm your emotions with a nice, healthy dose of calories.

You grumbled to yourself as your shuffled along the table, eying anything that you could eat at this point. The staff has mentioned they brought in lunch only about a half of an hour ago, so you were surprised by how little was left in such a short amount of time. You cast a weary eye toward the one thing you really wanted on the table and sighed.

“Fuck it,” you grumbled, lifting up a cookie and placing it into the waiting napkin in your hand. You deserved it considering what you had been putting up with.

You moved back toward the studio, surprised by the growing noise of what sounded to be a small crowd. You tugged open the glass door separating you from the noise and nearly choked on your own saliva as you surveyed the room. Suddenly, every member of Got7 had appeared.

All with plates full of food.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to separate yourself from the hanger flowing within you. You opened them again to eye the leader of the boy group, who doubled as your collaboration partner for a new OST the two of you were working on. Im Jae Bum.

He lifted his face, eying you as well with a sly smile on his sickeningly handsome face. “Ah, Y/N, a cookie? Don’t you think that’ll go straight to your hips?”

You and Jaebum had a complicated story.

Well, saying it was complicated may be easier than having to drudge up the unpleasant memories in your mind.

You had both begun at JYP at tender ages. Although you hadn’t won first place in the open auditions as he had, you were a pretty notable trainee. From the moment you had been introduced until you had both respectively debuted, he seemed to find a need to compete with you. From the snide comments, to the needless challenges during monthly reviews. You never had a comeback in the same cycle, you had never been nominated for the same awards, yet still, Jaebum still had some sort of chip on his shoulder when it came to you.

You had never understood your relationship, but just learned to deal with it and harbor some sort of rivalry with him as well. Initially you thought he was simply competing to be the favorite in JYPd-nim’s eyes, but it seemed to be more psychological than that. His members had laughed it off as helping you build character, but even they had grown uncomfortable at times. JB was fierce and hadn’t toned down in almost ten years.

With this OST included.

When your manager initially approached you with the opportunity to do a song for the most talked about drama of the year, you were excited. You were over the moon at the idea of being able to put your name on something as your own. That was until she had mentioned you would performing the OST as a duet...a duet with JB. In that case, you told her that you would in no way be participating. But ultimately, no matter what his or your feelings were, you had been overruled and this came from JYP himself. He had a vision for the song and you were the two he insisted would carry it out.

And that’s how you were here. With clenched fists and a burning face as you stood before Got7 and it’s leader.

“Considering I haven’t had anything to eat in the past two days,” you hissed. “I was kind of hoping for it.”

Several of the members of Got7 were still talking happily, ignoring the increasingly awkward conversation mounting. Jinyoung and Mark however, immediately stopped eating, setting their eyes warily on their leader.

“Hyung, you said everyone had grabbed a plate,” Jinyoung said quietly.

Mark immediately set his plate on a nearby table and looked toward you. “Please, have some of mine. We didn’t know. You’ve been working hard.”

“I’m fine,�� you nodded. You looked down to the cookie in your hands, your appetite completely lost. You nodded to yourself. “Matter of fact, why don’t you have my cookie JB.”

You lifted your glare from the baked good in your hands and up to JB. He looked surprise at your informal speech. You felt the tears beginning to well up on your lashes, more of a sign of frustration and anger than actually being upset.

But you would be damned to let him have the privilege of watching you cry.

“I...no Y/N,” he stuttered, pushing his own plate away. “I...look...I’m-”

“Have it,” you growled, tossing it toward him. “Have it all because I’m done.”

This had gained the attention of everyone in the room. All of the mouths previously speaking had gone silent and most had their jaws on the floor. You turned on your heel and stumbled out of the room, at your emotional breaking point for the situation. It had ridden on your shoulders silently for the past eight years, but it wasn’t silent anymore. You did not want to let him think he was the reason for your failure, but you wouldn’t be failing alone.

Making you quit was a failure for him as well.

You emerged into the stairwell that led to the front doors of the JYP building and huffed, collapsing onto the top most stair. You let your face fall into your hands and a loud groan escape you. You were exhausted. Years worth of fatigue and anxiety flooded over you. As if the one exchange had been the key to unlocking every struggle you had incurred since becoming an idol.

You jumped as the loud bang of the stairwell door being slammed open echoed down the hallway. You looked up, under the impression that one of the Got7 members had followed you out. Well...you weren’t completely wrong.

Jaebum plopped down beside you, exhaling deeply as he avoided all eye contact. You were close enough to where you could punch him, and considered the fact, but were amazed that he still managed to act like you didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry, but can I help you?” you finally muttered after nearly five minutes worth of silence.

“Oh thank God,” he sighed. “I thought you would never ask. Yes, you can help me by coming back into the studio.”

He stood, dusted the dirt from his jeans, and went to grip the door again. He looked back down to you, his expression one of surprise. “Come on.”

“I know you’re an asshole, but this is a bit much,” you chuckled bitterly. “I’m not going back there. And especially not with you.”

JB sighed as he sat back down again, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I figured it wasn’t going to be that easy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you scoffed. “Let me formally ask you Jaebum, what is your issue?”

“In general? Or with you?” he asked, lifting his brows.

You lifted yours as well, mildly taken aback by his response. “...I...uh...well, both.”

JB bit his lip as he looked away again. “To be honest, I’m not sure if my issue is with you.”

“Comforting,” you grumbled.

JB rolled his eyes as he turned toward you. “I guess...I guess it’s some weird issue I have with myself. I have to compete...I feel like I work harder if I am battling someone.”

“You couldn’t battle yourself?” you croaked. “Eight years! Eight years, Jaebum!”

JB’s cheeks grew red as he looked away. “It has been that long hasn’t it...”

“That’s a long time to have to battle,” you sighed. “Ever heard of friendly competition? A rivalry in good spirit? You didn’t have to be mean to me...”

“You’re right,” he nodded. “And I’m sorry for that.”

“You...you are?” you croaked.

“Sincerely,” he said with a small, yet genuine smile. “But I want you to know...I didn’t decide to treat you this way because I disliked you or anything...I...well...I decided to engage in this mental battle because I liked you...probably a little too much.”

“JB, I swear if you start that stupid argument that boys pick on and bully people that they like-” you hissed.

“In a warped way,” he chuckled. “You were talented...and you were gorgeous...and as soon as I set eyes on you I knew you’d be a problem for me...so if I started to challenge you...and push you away...”

“Got a bit carried away over the years, eh?” you spat. “Just ten minutes ago, you literally kept me from eating. That’s not a challenge, that’s you being a jerk.”

“I lost myself somewhere in the middle,” JB nodded. “And I’ll say it again...I’m sorry.”

“And I’ll say I’m not ready to forgive you,” you whispered. “It’s taken us a long time to get here...so it’s going to take a little while longer to turn it around.”

“That’s fair,” he sighed. “In the mean time, let’s go.”

JB stood, but this time began to walk in the opposite direction of the studio and down the stairs.

“Excuse me...go where?” you asked, slowly pulling yourself to your feet.

He smiled, crossing his arms as he waited. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

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