Summary: On the first day of Ramadan, a long, exhausting morning turns unexpectedly soft when Jason decides to walk alongside you; learning, respecting, and trying in his own awkward way to make sure you never feel alone.
𖹭.ᐟ Warnings: Mild language, religious themes (Ramadan, fasting, Islam).
a/n: English isn't my first language, so if you find any grammar mistakes feel free to tell me! Also, Ramadan mubarak to all my muslim girlies 🫶🏼
☆ Sequel: After Maghrib ☆
The first day of Ramadan is always exhausting and yet satisfying. You woke up an hour before fajr so you could help your family prepare suhoor. To hold your hunger for the day, you made an easy meal that you ended up sharing with your sibling, because she thought it looked delicious.
Minutes before fajr ended, you quickly ran to make wudu and brush your teeth. Then you swallowed at least three glasses of water, hoping they would last until maghrib.
After praying and doing some dhikr, you studied a bit for a test you had that same day at college.
Just as you grabbed your phone to set an alarm to remind you when to start getting ready, you got a message from Jason. It was a picture of your book—the one you had lent him last week.
“Did you already finish it?” you texted, surprised, but not that much.
“What can I say, I’m a fast reader,” he replied smugly.
You sent him a sticker mocking him before returning to your notes, now with your alarm set. Your phone buzzed one last time, but you didn’t answer. You preferred to talk to him later at the GCU.
And that’s exactly where you went after tidying up your notes and slipping them into your bag. You finished getting dressed, put on your shoes, and started walking to the GCU, since the buses had apparently stopped working thanks to an explosion the Riddler caused the night before.
Your walk to college wasn’t very interesting. You put on your headphones, listened to some Quran, and prayed you wouldn’t get mugged by some random guy early in the morning. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the person standing behind you until he took your headphones off.
“Assalamu alaykum? Are we awake or still sleeping?” he said.
When you turned around, you found the one and only Jason Todd.
“What the he—” Before you could finish, he cut you off.
“ASTAGHFIRULLAH,” he shouted. “It’s Ramadan. You cannot curse, young haram lady.”
“How do you even know—” you looked up at him, stunned, your bag slipping off your shoulder a little.
“Well, if not, why would you even be awake at 5 a.m.? You’re always sleeping until thirty minutes before our first class,” he smirked, handing your headphones back.
You stared at him, dumbfounded. It was surprising enough that he knew about Ramadan—but the way he pronounced astaghfirullah and assalamu alaykum perfectly?
“Why on earth do you know how to pronounce those words?” you asked, putting your headphones into your bag. “Do you know Arabic?”
“Enough to embarrass myself,” he answered casually, walking beside you toward your first class.
“WHAT?” you exclaimed.
He definitely had a lot to explain, but you didn’t have time to think about it, you were almost late for your english test.
After the test, the first thing you did was head straight to the cafeteria, expecting Jason to grab something to eat.
Instead, you found him staring at you, confused. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
You looked at him the same way. “No? I thought you were going to eat. It’s our break.”
“I’m not eating in front of you,” he admitted, smiling shyly.
Your heart melted, but you still weren’t okay with it.
“Jason, you have to eat. I don’t mind if you do. I’m used to it,” you reassured him. “Besides, I don’t think you’d even last two hours without eating.”
He gasped dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “I beg your pardon? You think I can’t last a few hours without food? That’s impossible.”
You smirked. Ragebaiting him was way too easy. You tried not to laugh as he rambled about his “exceptional resistance” and how he could easily handle a full day of fasting.
“Well, if you’re that strong, why don’t you become a vigilante?” you asked innocently as you crossed campus and sat on a bench.
He tensed beside you.
Then he cleared his throat. “I can fast for a whole day. I’ll prove it to you tomorrow.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You know fasting isn’t the only thing you have to do, right?”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve known some Muslims.”
Since neither of you was eating and you were done with classes for the day, you headed to the library and studied for a few hours. About an hour before maghrib, you packed your things so you could go home and help your family with iftar.
“You’re already heading home?” Jason asked.
“Yeah. It’s almost maghrib. I’ve got things to do,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.
“Let me walk you home,” he offered, standing up.
“No!” you blurted.
Jason froze and then you sighed.
“I mean—I can go alone. Don’t worry,” you added quickly, pulling your phone out and walking away.
As you walked off, you felt his gaze linger on your back. He didn’t follow, didn’t call your name, just stayed there, respecting the distance you had drawn so suddenly.
And for the first time that day, you smiled to yourself, knowing that somehow, in his own awkward way, Jason was trying to learn how to care without crossing lines.
Behind you, Jason stayed where he was, hands shoved into his pockets, watching you disappear down the street.
He didn’t understand all the rules yet, didn’t fully get where the lines were, but he knew one thing for sure.
If respecting your distance was how he could stay close, then he’d learn to do it right.
Likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! Please don't copy my work or paste it to AI 🫶🏼
Prompt: “You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.” + Silver
A/N: This is for the A Doctor A Day event hosted by @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft and me! Special thanks to @yxtkiwiyxt for encouraging me to write this <3 and to @probablyreadinsmut and @stellamarielu for reading and helping me work through the fic. And @salingers, Anna and Dulsè and @maiamore for listening to me yap about this fic and tease it for so long. This kinda reads like an awards acceptance speech— which it is, an award for getting over this writer's block.
divider by @omi-resources
Years ago, a friend once told you that you had the habit of picking the most unavailable, worst sort of man in the room to have a crush on— and then too only for entertainment. Because it was safe to like someone you knew you never had a chance with, instead of putting yourself out there and facing rejection. It was a devastating read because she was right… to a certain degree.
After years of therapy, you had a crush on Doctor Jack Abbot who, thankfully, wasn’t the worst sort. Instead, he was the best person in any room he walked into. He was the kind of man who penned letters for the bereaved family of his patients. He had a small smile reserved for everyone despite the exhaustion lining his face. Unfailingly polite. Always kind. Quick to praise and reassure. Calming. Firm. Steadfast. One of the most wonderful people you’ve ever met.
But he was still very much unavailable if that ring on his finger was anything to go by.
It did start as an entertainment, feelings were fun, they made you feel alive— the fluttering in your stomach, the giddy excitement, the thrill of an encounter, the euphoria of a single smile. It was just the little kick you needed to look forward to the day, especially during the godawful witching hours you had to wake up at. That is, until you had started to care for him. You could tell if he had a hard shift by the pronounced unevenness of his gait. And the way he would tiredly lean over your counter to speak to you in a low, gruff voice as if he wasn’t quite sure what would escape him if dared to be louder.
It wasn’t safe at all to like him. You once burned yourself on the espresso machine when you had been distracted by a lock of his curls falling over the side of his forehead. He could smile at you, and you could get a concussion from tripping over a chair. If he ever spoke to you in soft murmurs, you could tweak your back during a fall because your knees were too jelly to hold you up. God forbid he ever stared into your eyes too long, you were convinced your heart would give out then.
But your friend had been spot-on about your fear of rejection. Over time, your condition had worsened, feelings were like an infection that spread from your chest to your brain. You had gone from skipping heartbeats at the sight of him to thinking about him incessantly. If they plugged you to those monitors in his ER, all the squiggly waves of your heartbeat would spell out his name. However, if you confessed and he didn’t feel the same, where would that leave you? Like a hopeless star forcibly wrested from the moon— alone in a cafe at 4.30 AM.
And he was the moon— not only because of the silver that laced his curls and scattered across his face, shimmering in the low lighting, but because he had that pull and gravity that churned your breaths like a tide. So you had swallowed every word of love, every gesture of affection, every yearning thought bleeding from your soul until you felt like you might burst from it. You had hidden it all perfectly and neatly so you would never lose the precious few moments you had with him every few days.
He breathed easier at the sight of her, like his head finally broke out over the water. He rolled his shoulders, suppressing the shiver that snaked down his arms— the cafe was always warmer than the ER. Jack felt a muscle flutter in his neck as his jaw unclenched and relaxed. His mouth felt dry as he took a deep breath. Shit. He should’ve chewed gum after that patient in South 15 who sprayed blood all over his face and got some in his mouth during the process. He could still feel the metallic tang on his lips despite having washed and rinsed his face several times— more memory than reality.
He stretched his neck to peek inside, silently cursing when he noticed her drop a few pumps of banana syrup in a cup. He had hoped to beat her to making that drink. The first time he met her, Jack had been so engrossed in the medical case study that he hadn’t looked up to notice that the person behind the counter had changed. Mildly amused that he was being asked what he would like to drink instead of being handed his usual, he had quipped a dry “Americano with banana syrup.”
It wasn’t until he had faced the dark liquid with warm artificial banana-scented steam wafting over it that he looked up to find the prettiest face dubiously staring at the drink before flickering up to meet his eyes. For a moment, he had forgotten the world, his phone and stethoscope nothing but dead weight. Then gingerly, almost hesitantly, she had asked if he would like some cream in his drink. And the soft, dulcet tones of her voice had spread under his skin like warm sunshine. It raised his hairs. He had twitched where he stood, an almost silly attempt at shaking off the effect she had over him.
She had taken his reaction as a refusal, and his fate had been sealed— Americano with banana syrup, every time. Excruciating and euphoric. It was too sweet for his tastes, but the kind of sweetness that he couldn’t feel on his tongue because he had eaten something far sweeter just before. And that was her. Every moment with her made him feel as giddy as a child eating candy.
It was not that he couldn’t ask to try something else. The next time they met, he was a bit late. Two of the night shift nurses before him had ordered a large frappuccino to be served in two different cups for them to share. But they had ripped into her after she had handed them two large frozen drinks, even though she only charged for one— because she was trying to make them fat. Both those ladies had found themselves at the Kraken’s feet the next time they had to stick the guy.
When it was his turn, she had handed him his drink with an excited flourish. Her eyes looked so eager to please, so proud to have remembered his order that he didn’t have the heart to tell her he wanted something else. He had doubled down on his supposed love for banana syrup americano with such ardour that it had taken her two days to cajole him into taking some cream or warm milk to balance the astringent sweetness. She had looked so utterly… beguiling with that pleased, crooked little smile and the sparkle in her eyes that his hand had instinctively moved to rub her head before he’d swung it down mid-air to pick his drink instead, cursing himself for stupid, inappropriate impulses.
Jack didn’t do sunshine, he didn’t do smiles that reminded him of gentle warmth in the winter. He was a creature of the night, he found comfort in the darkness. So he’d run from that little corner of the PTMC, made do with the stale coffee in the break room that someone from the day shift had put on and forgotten about. But he felt like that guy from the myths— Odysseus— who didn’t put wax in his ears while the rest of his crew did.
Everyone went about their routine, while there was a siren at the far end of the building, weaving quiet and peace with the flowing, silky threads of the dim lighting, the rumbling of the espresso machine, the steady drip of the large batch of the medium roast— the one that smells of hazelnuts— along with the soft rhythm of her humming and the cadence of her halting footsteps. And, god help him, but he was drawn to her.
He felt like a bastard for it too. Jack had known love before, how could he not recognise its enticing sweetness that emanated from her. But it was her eyes, with their special sort of grace, that spoke without her intending them to. They scanned him with worry and concern whenever he walked in during a difficult shift, and they silently complained to him whenever he turned to leave. It made him want to turn around, soothe her with kisses and make promises to her— small promises like he would see her soon, and big ones like he would see her every day for the rest of his life. He had no business making promises to her.
They were so unlikely that even when the entire night shift staff and some of the day shift had noticed his particular proclivity towards the cafe, none of them had suspected that he might feel something for the ‘barista babe’ as Dr Ellis refers to her. Dr Walsh likes her dirty chai lattes— thinks the spices are better than most. And he’s here drinking banana Americanos. He felt insane.
At some point, he stopped watching the clock, he would perk up as if sensing her in the building like a biological alarm. The charge nurse kindly carved out a few, precious minutes for him to take his break somewhere after half past four— but somehow, always before her cafe opens at five— believing he needed the caffeine boost and time to decompress. Nobody suspected any ulterior motives when they should’ve been able to sniff out his desperate, dirty secret.
She had once tucked her work t-shirt into her jeans, and seeing her bend over the sink, had made him harden against his scrubs. His mouth was so dry that he hadn’t been able to string a sentence together for several long moments even after he had returned to his desk. She’d reduced him to nothing more than a lecherous old man— he still hadn’t shaken off the sight of her ass filling out those jeans. His palm itched to find out if she’d fill his hand the same way— to test the weight and the feel of her against him.
A small, petulant and kinda unfair part of him felt gratified that she felt something for him too. She’d once told him that the Earth travels around the sun almost 100 times faster than a speeding bullet as she recounted her trip to the planetarium with her friends. And he’d felt pity for this poor rock they call home because he knew what it was like to helplessly spin in someone’s grasp— to have mornings start with the sight of her and evenings set with thoughts of her.
So he had faked hunger and pain— although at his age, the latter wasn’t too difficult to feign— to soak in her concern. He gobbled up everything she slipped him in the name of taste-testing, their fresh warmth seeping into his chest and his limbs because they had come from her hand. Jack Abbot leaned a little closer every day to hear her breath hitch, and he enjoyed the way her gaze stuttered when he looked into her eyes. He wallowed in her affection and quiet smiles.
It was horrible of him to do it— to encourage and lead her on when nothing could come of this flirtation. They didn’t belong together. She wasn’t for him. She was engaged. He should’ve kept his distance, been perfectly polite and civil— nipped this whole dizzying bloom of feelings in the bud. He should let her move on with the man she was set to marry, step aside and never cross her path to confuse or distract her.
Jack should’ve known this would colossally backfire on him— it was worse than shooting his own damn foot. He wanted her a little more every day. She was intoxicating— her thoughtfulness that left him a little speechless, her intelligence that never failed to arouse him, her kind heart and her dry wit. He never stood a chance. She was adventure and shelter all rolled in one— the storm and the lifeboat. Love had wrapped around his every breath, and he was drowning in the futility of it all. There was no medicine, no treatment, no solution.
He’d hoped to confine her to this little cafe, an oasis of calm he retreated to when the ER sounds overwhelmed, and even the crackle of the police scanner grated on his nerves. He wanted to pretend she was a figment of his imagination, someone who didn’t exist outside of the walls he had drawn. But she wasn’t one to be confined and compartmentalised, he carried her out with him nestled against his ribs. The image of her settled nascent in the back of his mind somewhere, haunting him on his early morning walk back home when the blooming flowers he walked past smelled of her.
He searched for her in the quiet, persistent loneliness of his home. He waited to hear the echoes of her voice following the dull footsteps in the apartment above his— as if she was there, close to him instead of miles away. And sometimes, he invoked her, almost like a prayer, before he slipped off to sleep so he could meet her in his dreams again. There were days he would miss her, but he wasn’t on shift. He would wait, wide awake, for the clock to crawl into the early hours before he would visit her in that cafe again— pretending to be on call instead of admitting that he had driven here to see her.
It wasn’t until a difficult shift— one that led him straight to the roof because he couldn’t breathe— that he’d given up on putting a lid on his heart. Who was he kidding? He’d lost control of the situation long ago, perhaps on the very first night he had met her eyes. But she had joined him there with a cup of hot chocolate that had seared his tongue on the very first sip, she hadn’t wanted the drink to cool before she had found him, and a thick slab of banana bread. His sun, finally out in the open skies— the very one who’d lit up his moon on countless nights. All because she heard the nurses whispering about the vet they had lost.
It was the longest he had ever spoken to her. And he didn’t know how he had survived on a few meagre moments of her attention in the night. He’d been afraid for a moment on the rooftop, the moment was so surreal, or maybe it was the night shift sleep disorder, that time had stretched between them like silk threads— fragile yet endless. It was a moment so dangerous, so dreamlike, that he was afraid he’d slip up the words he had only dared utter to her in his dreams.
Yet, instead of stoic silence, he had talked. And talked. And talked. Then he had rambled some more, a part of him still cringes when he remembers his baseball analogy of life and death. She hadn’t been able to hide the twitch of her lips fast enough, and he was grateful she hadn’t laughed in his face. Although, any amount of embarrassment would have been worth listening to that bright, free sound that was her laughter— it was never a small, dainty sound, dear god, did it put a smile on his face.
He loves her. He was in love with her. It was a fact he had only fully realised and accepted when he had stood before his late wife, strangely wordless. He used to tell her about Robby and Dana, about new students, the workplace gossip and even the latest take-out place he had tried. And for the first time, he had found that he had already shared that with someone else. He had someone to talk about the mundane little things in life with. He wasn’t alone— not anymore. He had cried tears of relief that day. On his next visit, he had left his ring there in the columbarium— right next to their photo and her funerary urn.
“You seem a little lost, Dr Abbot.”
He gave you a tired smile— nothing more than a twitch of his lips, before his head moved somewhere between a nod and a shake, but still a gesture of acquiescence. Funny, how invaluable and precious such a small thing can be. You tear your eyes from his profile as he stares out the window, taking in the untimely, out-of-season rains.
You hide the urge to caress the lines framing his eyes by busying your hands around the metal pitcher, turning the knob on the steam wand. You hoped the steady rumble of the machine would quiet the demons inside your head that told you to reach out and tuck his silver hair behind his ear. You wondered how he would react. What would his expression be if you pinched his earlobe right after?
“What’s got you smiling like that?” He groused, a teasing lightness lifting his tone. You bit your lip to contain the grin, distracting him by pouring the milk into his coffee— extra hot, just as he liked it. Silence settled between you again, a seemingly comfortable one, while you panicked internally to look for an excuse.
“Princess has a new love interest,” you diverted, voice low and conspiratorial as you shared the gossip you had recently gleaned. His brows rose into an expression of grudging respect before he trained his eyes on you with rapt attention. Princess moved fast, and yet here you were yearning after this man for a year. No one’s fault but your own.
“Didn’t she have one just a few months ago?” He mused, taking a sip of his drink. The rim of the cup couldn’t mask the amused curl of his lips.
“Yes, but that one dropped out of the running. She felt like he wasn’t serious enough about her—”
“Was she serious about him?” He sarcastically butted, receiving only a chastising glare that accompanied the prim set of your lips.
“Anyways, this new boo has a surprise weekend getaway planned for her. Wouldn’t tell her where they’re going or what they’re doing—”
“Sounds like something a serial killer would do,” he scoffed.
“Exactly. I told her to share her location the entire time. All he said was to dress weather-appropriate. So something outdoorsy?” You wondered.
“Definitely camping,” he trailed off as you suppressed a chuckle, turning away from him to roll the lid onto the coffee dispenser. He was eyeing the cheese danishes in the display. Jack would never order it, he knew you wouldn’t charge him for it. He paid for his drink by shoving a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. The poor college students who show up for their shift later in the morning are always ecstatic to see it.
You dumped the sodden coffee grounds in the bin, making a mental note to save some for your aunt’s garden before sending them to the local community composting project. She had handed you the reins of her coffee shop while she took her maternity leave, recently giving birth to a tiny baby girl. There was a dull ache under your ribs, the kind that squeezed the entirety of your chest.
Your aunt would return once her daughter was old enough. You would leave. And a piece of you would be left behind here to haunt the walls of the PTMC, trailing Dr Jack Abbot like a shadow. And he would forget about you, until you were less than an afterthought in his daily life— someone he might not even recognise passing by on the sidewalk.
“Camping isn’t everybody’s thing. Doesn’t seem like it would be Princess’ thing,” he murmured. He was here. For now, he was gracing your nights like a blessing.
“It could be glamping,” you teased.
“Do not talk to me about glamping”— you giggled at the sheer affront in his voice—“that’s just not camping—”
“It could be something more romantic too—” you piped up.
“Than camping?” An edge of disbelief lined his tone. You poured the coffee into a filter before sliding the filter basket into the machine, pressing the button to brew a fresh canister of medium roast. A gentle scent of caramel filled the air with the steady drip of coffee as you turned to face him again.
“Yeah, like stargazing—”
“You could do that during camping—”
“—but camping means critters. And I hate creepy crawlies—”
“But it’s part of the romance,” he insisted, leaning over the counter to argue his case, his eyes insistently staring into yours as if it strengthened his arguments. But your gaze slid down, riveted by the movement of his mouth as he spoke and the shape of his lips as he formed his words, “That’s when you press closer to your partner and ask them to get rid of the beastie—”
“Beastie?” You giggled, “Why, Dr Abbot, how many dates have you pressed up to asking them to kill the scary bugs for you?”
He rolled his eyes as you joined him at the counter, a stubborn twitch at his jaw expressed his pity that you were so blind to the virtues of camping, while a shadow of laughter still lingered over his lips. And Dear Lord, he had that dimple. The silver tongs loudly clattered in your hands as you blindly slid the display open to reach for a cheese danish.
“If it’s bugs that bother you, then there’s nets, thermacell repellents, insect repellent creams. You just haven’t been with the right accommodations— or the right partner.” There’s an edge to his voice you can’t quite place. Camping was nothing, you could be watching snails crawl and have the time of your life if it was with him.
“You’re probably one of those people who gently escort an insect or a lizard out of the house instead of killing it.” You hoped your words didn’t come off as the lovesick sigh they sounded to your ears as you slid the pastry towards him. His lips turned down with a noncommittal shrug and a hum, “No point killing it.”
He reached for a plastic knife, and you should stop him now— save him the effort. But it was a ritual that soothed. It is always somehow sliced unevenly, despite the focused furrow of his brows. The bigger piece always nudged towards you. It was almost habit now to just reach across and take the smaller cut of the pastry from his plate.
The very first thing you had fed him was a biscotti, handed it to him along with the drink. He’d stared at you, adorably wide-eyed and befuddled when you had refused his payment for it. It’s a meeting gift, you’d explained, since it was your first day taking over from your aunt. All your customers had received one, but he was the first since he had arrived well before the cafe had opened.
The next day, he was late. But he’d dug into his pockets and procured the tiniest whisk, barely the size of your thumb, attached to a keychain. A meeting gift. He’d delivered it without any fanfare, just the quiet words, “Didn’t have anything on me last time, welcome to the PTMC.” Since then, everything you baked was tailored to his preferences. Not that Jack Abbot ever critiqued or complained, he would polish off everything with the urgency of a man on the move. You studied his tells— the arch of his brows, the corners of his mouth, and the pause before he takes a sip.
Your mother always said that food tasted of more than just the ingredients— it was flavoured with emotions, the good and bad. Your creations tasted of your love and affection for him. But when he touches them, portions them, and hands you back a piece, it tastes different. His touch makes it sweeter, richer, more flavourful— it leaves you as warm and fulfilled as any sacred offering would. It made you wonder which of his emotions laced it.
“I have to spend extra time at the gym, with all the sweets you’ve been feeding me.” He chided, but took a large bite out of the danish before sliding the other half towards you. His workout looked good on him, sinful even, with the way he filled out the scrubs. He had broad shoulders that made you wonder how they’d look parting your thighs. And the kind of arms that sent a girlish trill through our stomach. You looked away as his hand reached up to brush the flakes off his face. Astaghfirullah, this was so not helping.
“I shouldn’t… I gotta fit into the clothes I’m having sewn for the wedding,” You hesitated. There was an odd beat, a moment of silence you didn’t quite know how to define. But he stopped chewing, as if the pastry was dry and sticking to the walls of his mouth. Dr Abbot, infamous for his prolonged and steady eye contact, was absorbed in staring at the crumbs on the plate. He washed it down with a large gulp of a coffee you knew was still scalding. He didn’t take another bite.
And you wondered if you had offended him in some way— or hurt him. His face contorted into a small grimace, the crinkles by his eyes deepening for a moment before smoothing out again. It was just a danish. You didn’t even know why you had turned down the chance to share it with him. The tailor would be leaving in some fabric in each outfit, so you could loosen it in case of any weight fluctuations. And you could cut back on calories elsewhere.
You swiped the piece of pastry from his plate and devoured half of it in a single bite. The awkward lull passed as if you had imagined it while you watched him gather his thoughts. He looked up again, with clear, twinkling, olive eyes. And a smile so soft, so tender bloomed on his face, it robbed you of your breath.
“Are you happy?” His eyes were so imploring, like a man in the midst of a prayer. There was a hitch in his voice like your answer determined his next breath. And you were utterly lost.
“With the clothes? Yeah, they’re super pretty on me…” But you knew it wasn’t quite what he was asking. He faltered. You had never seen him do that before. His eyes slid away from yours as he took an uneven, stilted breath. His gaze fell upon the tray of sugar and honey sachets, roamed over the frames lining over the tiled wall, flitting over the menu overhead behind you. It was like a butterfly that glided from one bloom to another— indecisive, unsure, so unlike Jack Abbot.
You watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. It knocked you off kilter when his eyes glided past you to settle on the damn half-eaten pastry in your hand. You are never making cheese danishes in your life. You hadn’t realised you had held the pastry out between you until he glanced up at you with a silvery glint of challenge in his eyes, one you had no idea how to measure up to.
Your hand hovered in the air, quite inexplicably but undeniably out of habit. But it was one thing to share a bitten-off morsel of food with friends or family, another entirely to offer it to Dr Jack Abbot. He had once told you that human mouths were filthy. You wondered if you could lower it back onto the plate smoothly, naturally. But the awkwardness was clogging your throat, and you were overthinking everything. It almost made you nauseous.
He straightened his shoulders with a stubborn jut to his chin. He looked dark and forbidding, as if you had done something wrong. There was no stopping the gasp that escaped your lips as he stooped to steal the sweet off your fingers. Your stomach lurched as if you were sitting on some flimsy raft facing turbulent waves. You felt his lips press against the tips of your fingers— dry, soft. Your fingers twitched with the current that travelled up your hand and into your trembling arm.
The swivel of his jawbone was hypnotic, you were so tempted to reach out and touch the line of his jaw to feel the rocking motion under your palm. It wouldn’t be too difficult, he was still bent over the counter, his lips a mere stretch of the fingers away. You recognised this moment in your bones— knew instinctively that things would forever be altered. There would be a life before this moment, and a very different life after this.
In some ways, the thought was comforting. You inhaled a deep, bolstering breath. He knew. And after all that yearning, there were only two outcomes. He held your hand in his— large, warm, steady— as he gently wiped off your hands with a napkin. It was as if his eyes were reading your soul through your own. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist, his touch slow and reverent.
And even as he withdrew, rounding the counter to deposit the plate in the sink and fling the napkin in the bin, your eyes followed his form like he was the guiding north star. You had never known him to be the sort of cruel man who would lead you on despite knowing how you feel for him. You had seen him smilingly give up his comfort and wishes for others— considerate and kind. But despite the anticipation and hope that surged through your veins, you silently prayed— nothing more than a heartfelt ‘please’ to guide you through the change and upheaval.
You weren’t sure to whom you prayed, but the answer came in his smile and the affection that was sewn into the lines that framed his mouth. It was as if you had been thrown a paddle or an oar for that adrift raft. There was only one way through.
“Jack—”
“I meant the wedding,” he interrupted, and your brows furrowed. Why was he talking about the damn wedding?
You could see the tension he carried on his frame, the rigidness of his shoulders and the almost defensive way he folded his arms before phrasing the question again, “Are you happy with the marriage, sweetheart?” His voice was low and coarse. It wasn’t a question, it was more a silent command.
In this moment, even with a gun to your head, you could not name the groom. Your sister liked him but disliked his family. It was the very recipe for disaster. And you couldn’t understand what she liked so much about the man to marry him.
“Does it matter what I think about it as long as I look good in the dresses?” You laughed, a half-hearted attempt at levity in a situation out of your control.
She couldn’t belong to anyone else. Not when she didn’t love that other man. Not when she looked at him with eyes so melodious they practically glowed and sang. Not when she had woven herself into the meaning of his existence. Not when she felt like the first ray of sunshine after a few gloomy days. And he’s had enough gloomy days to last him a lifetime. He would snatch her from the very sky if he had to.
“Yes, it matters. You can’t marry him.” He stressed, drawing closer to her to meet her line of sight, searching for a way to make her understand so she wouldn’t look this baffled.
“Jack, I think you’ve—”
“You don’t love him—” He insisted.
“— well, obviously not, that’s because—” Her hands gently pressed on his forearm, a warm, calming touch that scattered his next words until all he was left with was the bare truth.
“I love you.”
There was a moment of charged stillness and furiously thundering heartbeats. Jack felt like he was on the ledge of the roof again— untethered. She looked wide-eyed and lost, mouth slightly agape.
“Oh.”
A short breath barely steadied him, he felt a little lightheaded, “Oh?”
“You thought… I was engaged. This whole time?” Her brows arched up in disbelief.
“Listen”— he smoothed his hands down her arm, comforting and cajoling as he selfishly asked for far too much of her—“He probably loves you, anybody would. He’s probably a nice guy. You must have seen something in him to decide you would invest in an entire future with him. But…” He frowned as he glanced at his hands. He’d never touched her before— never this intimately. He knew certain liberties weren’t afforded to him, a line that was drawn. And he’d crossed it, thoughtlessly. He glanced at her face, searching for any signs of discomfort.
She gave him an innocent, tight-lipped smile even as her eyes were dancing with amusement. It felt like she was laughing at his expense, and he would make a fool out of himself every day if it meant he could watch her laugh.
“Don’t stop now, you were about to make a really good point,” she encouraged before chewing on the inside of her cheek. His mouth felt dry at the sight of her lips moulding and contorting into intoxicating, pouty little shapes as she stifled her laughter. He felt the corners of his mouth helplessly stretch wide in an answering smile, and something between a huff and a chuckle escaped with his next breath.
“I need you to— I need you to tell me you can be mine,” he begged.
“I’m yours, Jack Abbot,” She easily acquiesced.
“No, not like that. You’re about to—”
“Jack”—her hands steadied over his chest, she traced the length of his shoulder while her palm rested over his heart—“your breathing is erratic.”
Of course, it would be. His heart descended from where it was galloping in his throat to settle under the touch of her palm. He’d spent so long wading through one battlefield after another, concentrating on just the medicine. It was the only way, the only thing that helped anyone, that kept him sane. She had never been part of his plan, and yet here she was, somehow an integral part of his definition of medicine. And she might never understand the way she was the cure for all his ailments— the cool relief of his soul and the warm comfort of his heart.
He reached out to trace the curve of her cheek, his knuckles barely grazing her, feeling a bit like a purveyor of priceless art. His fingers unfurled to cradle her face, his hand touching the warm skin and soft cotton. He felt a tug in his belly, like a rope yanked him by his core, as she nuzzled into his palm. Her lips placed a gentle kiss against the fluttering pulse on his wrist.
“I can’t— I know it’s unfair… I can’t offer you much. But I wish I could explain just how much I—”
“Then try…” She coaxed, and he shivered as her breath fanned across his forearm. A sheen of wetness had gathered over her lashes.
“You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.” He confessed.
His thumb caught the stray tears that had escaped her eyes. Her hand bunched his scrubs in a fist as she pressed closer to him, tilting her head to kiss the laugh lines just below his lips. His shoulders fell in relief as he melted into her arms. Jack leaned his forehead against hers, eyes incapable of looking away from hers, hoping she would see the sincerity of his words.
“Ever since the day I met you, I have ended every prayer with the wish to spend just one more morning with you,” She sighed into the space between them, and the words settled against his ribs with a quiet incredulity. Since when did disbelievers like him get anything this good?
“Jack… I’m not getting married.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice as he admired the way her lips curved.
“I sure hope not, baby.” He sounded choked to his own ears, and the sliver of fear rang loud in the empty cafe.
“No. I meant, I’m not engaged.” She bit her lip, and he had the urge suck that plush bottom lip into his mouth and test its softness with his own teeth. It took a moment for her words to register, and he leaned away to peer into her face.
“But your aunt said her niece was getting married…”
“I’m not her only niece.”
“You never mentioned a sister—”
“It’s my cousin’s wedding.”
“You said you had to plan a wedding, talk to the caterers, and decorators, and—”
“It’s a wedding in our family, of course, everybody would have to help,” her words were lined with a trace of gentle exasperation. He kissed her temple with a quiet groan, a little embarrassed but very elated. There was no hiding the grin that crept over his face.
“This is the part where you kiss me, darling.” There was an irresistibly coy look in her eyes. Jack looked forward to the serene nights he would spend counting her lashes.
“And you would want that?” He confirmed.
She was guiding his face to hers with a gentle grasp on his neck before he had even finished his words. She was warm in his arms— passionate and urgent. While he kissed her with the light patience of a new lover, he felt utterly claimed. The kiss was a relinquishment, an admission, that nothing within him belonged to him— it was all hers. With every glide of his lips against hers, he realised he would spend the rest of his days chasing this high.
She bit his lip, the hushed moan that died in her throat was soft and goading. He licked past the seam of her lips to sink deeper into her. He groaned at the scrape of his tongue against hers, a sound she readily swallowed, pushing him against the curved, hard palate of her mouth. A thin, silvery string of spit connected their mouths as he tilted her face to his liking.
He welcomed her into his mouth like he had been waiting for her return— with a soft sigh. His hands stroked up the length of her spine, until he had cradled her nape and pushed her closer against him, her flesh pliant as she moulded herself to him. Her tongue was ticklish and electric against the smooth inner lining of his cheek. And Jack closed his lips around her to suck her deeper into his mouth. She tugged at his hair, her whimper reverberating in his mouth.
He could spend hours with his lips joined to hers, coaxing and cajoling sounds out of her that he would fold away in his memory and imprint on his heart. Her nights would belong to him, and his days would belong to her. Abbot knew his home would be hers, and he prayed that she was kind enough to never throw him out of her heart where he would set up his home.
They lingered close to each other, their breaths mixing over grazing lips. He nudged her nose to the side before pressing a devout, affectionate kiss on her lips. It was a foregone conclusion that as long as his name existed in this world, it would forever be tied to hers.
“I will never let you regret choosing me,” he vowed, his voice barely over a mumble.
“And I will never make you a banana syrup americano again,” she promised solemnly.
“Now, you know how much I love it…”
She looked at him with pleading eyes, a note of guilt and apology shading her mien as she pursed her lips.
“No… Don’t tell me— you knew!” The shock and affront in his voice were unmistakable as his words pitched higher.
“I am sorry. My aunt made me memorise the regular orders before I came here. But you were just so cute. And I was waiting for you to tell me your regular order—” Her words were drowned by her giggling until she gave up her struggle to throw her head back in laughter. He punishingly bit her chin before nuzzling the side of her cheek where her hijab framed her face.
He gently patted her head, “We’re gonna be okay?” He had meant it as a statement and reassurance, but the inflection in his voice had given away his fear and insecurity.
“It’ll be quite a shock to your family, won’t it?” He clarified.
He returned her sweet smile, obediently leaning over and surrendering to her pecks. She kissed him once, and then again, one more time before deciding on another loving kiss.
“We’ll be okay,” she murmured against his lips.
And they were. Doctor Jack Abbot had the sort of akhlaq her mother prized, and the sort of character her father admired. But, most importantly, he had their daughter’s heart.
Thank you for reading! Show some love by commenting/reblogging <33
Dazai helps you wrap your hijab
Muslim reader, use of Allah, hijab and khimar are used interchangeably, fluff
My works: enjoy
Bye now - Mars ♡
Osamu walks into the room and plops down besides you
"I thought you were gonna take a nap, hm, what happened?"
"Wanna cuddle" he pouts and leans his head against your shoulder, staring at you from the mirror
"We can cuddle after prayer" you muse, braiding your hair and securing it in a low bun
"Let me help you"
"You know how to wrap a khimar, my love?"
"Nope" he said confidently, moving over to sit in front of you, "Teach me, Bella"
"You are annoyingly charming, you know that?"
"Yup, tell me what to do" he shifted closer to you, legs resting against your thighs
"Eager to please?" You can’t help but tease the detective, especially when he acted like a clingy puppy
"Always" he smirks, practically straddling you now
Wrapping your arms around his waist, you let him wrap the hijab around your face, "My mooned face beauty"
You can only smile at the antics of your lover, playfully rolling your eyes
"Pin it together under my chin, not too tight though"
Osamu hums as he picks out a pin to match him, focusing on not accidentally hurting you as he pins the hijab together under your chin. He sticks two fingers to check if it's too tight and smiles
"I think I deserve a kiss for that"
You smile and kiss his cheek, causing him to whine
"Bellaaaaa, a proper kiss"
"You'll get a proper kiss when you're finished here"
"Hmph" he pouts again, letting his hands sneak under your hijab and leaving lingering touches on your neck
"You look so beautiful, Allah has blessed me"
"You don't even believe in Allah"
"I believe in you"
"That's sweet and corny but more sweet" you rub soothing circles into his waist
"Continue and stop trying to seduce me"
"A man can't have some fun?"
"Not when said man’s lover will be late to prayer"
"What now" he smiles
"Take the left side and pin it to my dress, near my collarbone"
Osamu does as told, being extra gentle to make sure he doesn't hurt you with the pin
"Now take the right side and bring it upwards and pin the tip to my bun"
Again, he is careful as he does as told, picking pins to match him as some sort of possessive claim over you
"And that's it, the basics to khimar wrapping, congratulations"
"Thank you thank you" he faux bows, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes
"Alright get off me now, I need to go make a dua and pray"
Dazai lingers a bit longer on your lap, cupping your face and pressing a soft tender kiss to your forehead
"Pray for my damned soul"
"I always pray for you, my sweet boy"
"Keep calling me sweet boy and I'll make you see heavens"
"Get off me, bastard" you laugh, pushing him off your thighs as you stand up fix your clothes, setting up your praying mat
"Kindly leave, I'll join you later and we can cuddle"
"You're breaking my heart here, gimme my kiss"
"Gooo" you muse, cupping his face and giving him a sweet, yet short, kiss. Too short for his liking and he makes that known from the whine that slips out of him
Like a sulked puppy, he leaves the room and you hear the loud sigh as he plops down on the couch
Smiling at your dramatic lover, you get to praying.
Authors note: This isn't really Suguru's "first time" seeing you in a desi fit, but it's exam season, and i'm such a slow writer so please take this humble offeriing😭🙏 Dedicated to this request
At first glance, Suguru would be stunned and surprised at the look of you all ready for Eid. But that look on his face would only last for a moment before he would start to tease you playfully, then drag you in for a kiss by pulling your waist.
It was the first Eid you were going to spend with Suguru since the two of you’s nikkah. You had gotten minimal sleep the night before, because who gets any sleep on chaand raat? (You know what I take that back, the male species sleeps like princesses the night before Eid 🙄). Both of you had looked forward to this day for weeks since Suguru and his family were coming over to yours.
You were upstairs in your room, almost ready. The new pink ghara suit was on, makeup and hair were done, and almost all the jewelry was put on too. You were putting on your last chooriyaan as the doorbell rang at almost 1 pm. The door opened, and you heard several voices, but as you were upstairs, you couldn't hear much.
“Y/N! Come downstairs,” your mother almost screamed in your native language. You hastily went downstairs to go to the living room where you could hear your and Suguru's family chatting in a light-hearted tone. That was until you heard a familiar voice clearing his throat.
You turned around excitedly to go find the source of the sound. As you entered the hallway, you were met with a tall and handsome figure, whose hair fluttered from the early spring breeze coming through the open door. Your dark brown eyes locked with Suguru’s purple ones. The two of you smiled at each other, not daring to speak nor move, so the moment could last forever.
“Eid Mubarak,” Suguru wished, breaking the silence, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Eid Mubarak to you too,” you replied.
You stepped closer to him, close enough to smell his signature perfume, which was an oud you had gifted him. His right hand was behind his back, hiding a bouquet of flowers that was peeking from behind his shoulder. They were light pink, matching your outfit. You smiled at the gesture that he had remembered that you were going to wear pink colored clothes.
“Is that for me?” you spoke as your eyes left his to peek at flowers behind his back. But his eyes never left; on the other hand, they followed yours.
“Depends.” You looked back up at him, tilting your head, slightly scrunching your eyebrows. “If you give me a kiss, the flowers will be all yours, princess.” His mouth turned into the smirk you knew all too well, as if it were the back of your hand. You tried to keep your heart in check and not give in. Suguru knew how your lips longed for his. But two can play this witty game.
You turned your head around to make sure no one was watching the two of you. Then he leaned towards your face, lips first. You copied him and leaned in too. As he closed his eyes and your lips were mere inches away, you moved away and tried to take the flowers from behind his back.
“Your tricks are getting predictable, beautiful.” Suguru chuckled as you stepped back and saw that he had moved the flowers to the front. You rolled your eyes and let out an amused sigh. “Fine, I’ll let you have it your way then.” He placed the bouquet on the table by the door and caught you by surprise as he closed the distance between you by hooking his arm around your waist. Wasting no time, his lips fell on yours. You felt at home in his arms. When he felt you deepening the kiss, he brought you even closer, as a soldier returning to his lover after years of being away.
You broke the kiss, not because you wanted to, but rationality caught up to you. “We should go before they start to wonder where we are,” you spoke as his thumb brushed over your lips. His other arm was still locked around your waist as if letting it go would mean losing you forever.
He nodded and kissed your forehead. “But first, let me get a good look at how beautiful you look in the gharara.” You stepped back, his arm leaving your waist but holding your hands instead. The sun was hitting you perfectly. “Seen enough?” you asked. “Never,” he answered. You let go of one of his hands as you turn around to walk to the living room, Suguru right behind you with one hand interlinked with yours and the other holding your pink bouquet.
One Piece Characters w/ an S/O who celebrates Ramadan
Characters: Luffy, Sanji, Crocodile, Robin
Rating: SFW
Notes: Muslim!GN!Reader. So yeah, obvy talking about religious beliefs and practices- if those make you uncomfortable please feel free to skip <3
A/n: this is for me and the three other Muslim OP fans here just vibing 😂 cultural notes at the bottom in case you didn't know/just curious about some of the terms here.
Luffy
Absolutely does not get it, I think he has a heart attack hearing the words “no food or water” and does not listen to anything else after.
“WHY CANT WE EAAAAT??? WHAT????”
Blows his mind you would do this… he’s trying his best, poor guy <3
I GOTTA STRESS HE IS TRYING- HE WANTS TO DO THIS WITH YOU
But you know, he’s Luffy, so that means after an hour or two he gives up and just raids the kitchen.
Task failed but you know he’ll always stay up late for iftar and wake up early for suhur.
Sanji
He at first thought you were trying to- god forbid- starve yourself or diet and nearly screamed.
When you explain the reasoning, he’s touched and wants to support you! So that means he’s absolutely doing everything he can to make sure you’re hydrated and getting all the nutrients you can get whenever you can.
He makes you a completely separate dish from the others while you’re working or resting (so your food is fresh and ready when you break your fast!).
Self-indulgent thought he’s so so so on top of things when it comes to your meals in general, he will never put wine or meat in your meals, and he makes to sure clean the area and use separate pans for when he cooks your meals. Absolutely refuses to give you anything that goes against your beliefs (I need him in my life).
Please, he’s buying you dates and getting up with you to make sure you’re drinking plenty of water and eating right. Sleep schedule be damned, he’s not messing around with your health!!!!
Crocodile
Now, he’s one of the few who actually knows what Ramadan is- he’s made Alabasta his “home” for a while and has participated in many celebrations or events to keep up appearances.
He kinda just humors you at first like “yeah, yeah, go be spiritual or whatever” and chuckles at you with that sexy voice of his.
But he sees how dedicated you are, maybe sees you reading or praying and okay… his heart kinda melts. He’s never really believed in such things, not finding it useful for him, but seeing you just kinda makes him curious.
Easily can fast alongside you, he just doesn’t make a big deal of it and insists that it’s simply due to him ‘not feeling hungry’ or ‘finding it boring to eat alone’ (sure, sure you big tsun).
Makes sure your chefs are giving you only the best and freshest foods possible- he’s especially harsh about the food when it comes to Ramadan.
I’m trying so hard not to inject my MENA!Croc addled brain into this piece so so hard I AM TRYING OKAY GUYS
But can you imagine him going to the mosque with you or listening to you discuss or read the Quran and he’s just playing it cool but his eyes are so drawn to you and he wonders if you’re an angel and that he really, really does not deserve someone like you because he’s done so many bad things and wheeeeeeze-
Robin
She’s an elegant and refined woman, one who will 100% want to be involved in your traditions.
She finds your beliefs fascinating and takes it upon herself to join you in your Ramadan.
It took her a bit of getting used to, but after a few days, it quickly grew on her.
Robin likes having tea with you during suhur, alongside a few fresh fruits Sanji had gotten. Light meals are best for her and she prefers to enjoy your company and take it easy before the dawn.
She likes to keep track of the days and times of when you two begin and break your fasts- she’ll make sure to keep note of the Shawwal moon so you two (and the rest of the crew) can celebrate the Eid together!
Since it’s a time of reflection, Robin decides to sit quietly and talk about her feelings and experiences with you. She did have some reservations and guilt that she was too “demonic” to celebrate this with you, but through your encouragement, she felt better and continued it alongside you.
Oh, she loves getting the henna done, too. She makes sure to have lots of flowers on her arms and is in love with the patterns.
Cultural Notes:
Ramadan is the 9th month of the Islamic calendar, which is based on the lunar cycle- hence why you’ll often see debates on when Ramadan starts/ends or why it begins about a week or two earlier than before, since the lunar calendar is shorter than the solar calendar (or Gregorian, the one we normally use).
Muslims fast for a month from dawn until sunset (there are restrictions of course) so no water or food from that time.
Sahur/Suhur/Suhoor: the meal you eat before the dawn comes.
Iftar: the meal you eat to break your fast at sunset.
Shawwal is the 10th month of the Islamic calendar, so Ramadan ends when you see the Shawwal moon that starts a new month.
Eid: the big celebration that marks the end of Ramadan. Usually you go do a special prayer or have a big gathering with your family and enjoy yourselves.
Im seriously asking for a part 2 for muzlim reader x ASL the first one was so adorable.
I want some action so can you add something with danger and The Bluejam pirates. Like reader gets taken? (Idk)
Jam pack meetings (ASL x f!child! Reader)
First of all I want to give a huge thanks to both @fangirl0027 and @onepiece-asl-lover for beta reading this to make sure it was respectful and accurate. Thank you Lover for being patient with me and informing about the different aspects of the religion and what some of it’s customs entail and thank you Fan for helping me further include the muslim identity into the story and for all your A+ writing and general feedback.
Okay with that out of the way I want to point out that making a part two of the previous part with the bluejam pirates wouldn’t really work out as the bluejam pirate scuffle happened before they were friends (Let’s go with this and not the fact that I did it this way cause I totally forgot it was supposed to be a second part) so this piece is completely independent to the previous one. But guys guys I really really like how it turned out and I hope you guys do too 🤭. Also peek that tittle, get it Jam packed? Because it’s the bluejam pirates? 😀
Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese
Dividers by @/fireflygraphics and @/drinkthesky
“Ace, I really think you are going overboard here,” Dokucha called hesitantly, watching Luffy run away from the tree trunk Ace had sent to create distance from them.
“Shut up,” he snarled, his demeanor softening slightly as he noticed the small flinch his outburst had caused.
“Tch. If we don’t keep him away, that idiot will find our hideout; if that happens, it’s over, he’ll begin blabbering about it, and we’ll lose what we have done all these years,” he called, stomping off.
“Come on, Ace, look how stubborn he is; he has been at it for months; no matter how hurt he gets, I think he would keep the secret,” she replied, hurriedly running after him, carefully avoiding all the branches that threatened to snag her abaya.
“He could help us; having four people in on it would make sure we can get our ship faster.”
“As if,” he scoffingly laughed, much to the chagrin of Dokucha
“Like that idiot could save even a penny for the cause.”
“Jerk,” she mumbled as she frowned at Ace’s words.
“What was that?!”
“Nothing~” she laughed off, running past him and towards a familiar tree; whistling up towards it, she waited for the young boy she knew waited there
“Sabo, you here?” Ace hissed out
“Ah, you guys are here; I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” a voice echoed back.
“Sorry, someone was being a jerk, so we’re a little late,” she called back teasingly with a roll of her eyes as she circled the tree, her abaya swirling at her ankles, ignoring the scathing glare said jerk sent her way.
“I did a job in town already.”
“So did I,” Ace laughed as he climbed the tree.
“As did I,” she parroted, following in after him, slowly taking hold of the vines that covered the tree. Gradually, she climbed up and began climbing not far from the boy. However, not noticing her feet had accidentally gone over the hem of her abaya, she miscalculated her steps, causing her to lose her balance.
Thankfully, Ace was not far from her and easily grabbed her hand, preventing her from falling.
She sighed in relief, feeling his harm firmly hold her back; confusion soon followed as she remained in that position for a while, annoyance filling her as she found her answers on the growing smirk of the young boy.
“You better apologize for calling me a jerk earlier,” he teased.
“Ace, stop fooling around and help me up,” she hissed.
“Take back what you said.”
“No!”
“Ah, I think you’re slipping.” he teased as he leaned forward, causing Dokucha to tip further back.
“Okay! Okay! I take it back. You’re not a jerk!” She yelled out, letting out a sigh when her words were rewarded by Ace pulling her up into one of the thicker branches of the tree, ignoring her glare with a satisfied smile on his face
“I told you You’re going to fall off one of these days,” he said as he plopped himself down next to Sabo.
“And I told you to stop worrying. I’m getting used to it. I just need to practice. I’m getting better,” she huffed out, joining the two boys as they all pulled out sacks of money.
“Alright, this is what I got,” he beamed, opening his earnings.
“What do you have, Ace?” He questioned as he repeated his previous actions with Ace’s sack, letting out a choked laugh at the amount that laid inside
“This is more than what I got! How did you get this much?!
“Got it from some punks; I think they were transporting it for Mercenary ships,” he boasted, the feeling amplified by the awe in both of his friend’s faces.
“Alright, Alright, what about you, Dokucha?” he inquired as he opened the final bag, staring shocked at the amount of money that the girl had managed to gather, joined by Ace, who dug his hand in the loot, watching the golden coins fall from his hands in a Cascade.
“Where do you get this much?! It’s almost as much as mine and Sabo’s combined.” he gaped.
“I did babysitting and petsitting up in Hightown, the people there are quite generous with my salary after I take care of their babies, especially the pet owners.” She beamed, watching as Sabo gleefully poured their combined gains into a secret compartment hidden by the tree
“Do you think we’re getting close?” She asked excitedly, leaning into the filled compartment
“We still got a long way to go.”
“How much do we need to buy a pirate ship?” Sabo asked, looking up at Ace
“Don’t know ten million? Hundred million, now shut it and hide it already; someone might see it,” he said, watching as Sabo complied, closing the compartment and once again rearranging the leaves and moss nearby to hide it further.
“A pirate ship?! Are you guys going to be pirates?! So am I!!” A voice bellowed from below them, causing all three of them to freeze at the fact that they had been discovered
“Luffy?!” She gawked, looking down at the boy, not noticing the glance Sabo and Ace shared behind her as they quickly scrambled down the tree
“W-wait Ace! Sabo, don’t you dare!” She pleaded, running after the two boys who tackled Luffy down, making quick work of him and tying him to a nearby tree
“Oh! It’s you!” Luffy exclaimed, looking at the girl
“Are you Ace’s friends?! Be my friend, too!” he exclaimed, beaming.
“Ok -
“Shut it.” Ace deadpanned easily, cutting him off, sending an accusatory finger toward Dokucha not taking his eyes off Luffy
“You too.”
“You followed me all the way here? I even took harder paths to avoid it,” Ace growled, turning to look at the rubber boy.
“This is why I told you to stay here too, Ace! And you too, Dokucha! Especially you! You already live in the gray terminal!”
“I’m sorry! I wanted to join Ace’s mountain training!” She wailed
“Well, that training backfired now,” he snapped back, ignoring the dejected look on her face at his scolding.
“We can’t leave him be; he will tell the whole town, so… let’s kill him,”
he muttered with a dark look taking over his features as he crossed his arms
“Let’s do it.” Sabo readily agreed, a similarly dark look on his face
Panicked, Dokucha hurried to stand in front of him, her covered arms extended to protect the boy.
“Guys, there has to be another w-
Once again, her words were cut off as the violent screams and protests of Luffy reverberated across the forest, and soon after, voices were able to be heard coming closer to them; with hurried words exchanged between the duo, Ace made quick work of the ropes holding Luffy down as he pulled the boy along, Sabo mirroring his actions with the young girl, all of them jumping into a nearby bush as the voices came closer.
They watched as Porchemy scouted the area with his subordinates. As they talked, Dokucha noticed something alarming, and she repeatedly tapped Sabo to gain his attention.
“What?!” he hissed
“Luffy’s gone,” she whispered back
“What?!” Ace choke out
“Where is he?” His question was answered as the girl simply pointed to the pirates they were hiding from, a very familiar form on their hands
“We have to help him!” she stated as she started pushing the bushes to get closer.
“No. Leave it, Dokucha,” Sabo snapped back, holding back the girl from jumping into the fray.
“But they will kill him!”
“Dokucha,” Ace hissed, helping Sabo in holding her down.
“We need to go move out treasure before the idiot babbles about it. Do you want to lose all the progress we made all these years?” he pleaded, holding her shoulders.
“Fine,” she deflated and agreed hesitantly, following after the two as they ran back towards their hideout, looking back as they dragged Luffy away.
“Luffy!” Dokucha whispered and shouted up at the boy, looking around as she approached him slowly, frowning at the image of the blood trickling down the hanging boy, guilt slowly filling her body at the sight
“It’s you! Are you here to save me?!” Luffy called, head snapping up
“Yes, now shush, or you’ll get us both caught!” she said, frown deepening at the state of his bruised face, pulling out an arrow from behind her , loading it into her bow and aiming for the rope holding him up, catching the injured boy as he fell into her arms.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she muttered, helping him stand up.
“I don’t think so,” Porchemy cut in
Dokucha froze, turning around at the unexpected voice; before she could react, however, she was sent back with a powerful punch from his spiked gloves.
“Ack!” she groaned, rolling on the ground.
“I really liked this one too.” She briefly lamented at the blood debris now staining her abaya
“Are you also Ace’s friend?” he snarled, slowly approaching her.
“I won’t tell you anything,” she snarled, spitting out a blob of blood and glancing at her bow that now lay at the corner of the room, thrown aside with Porchemy’s attack.
“I’m sure you will change your mind once you are in the same condition as the twerp over there,” he spoke, gesturing towards the huffing Luffy next to her.
“No way! I won’t ever say anything to a jerk like you!” she sneered, moving in front of Luffy.
“We’ll see about that,” he roared, running towards her as she pulled Luffy close to her, enveloping him as she braced for the attack, only for it to be stopped as familiar voices joined the fray.
“Stop it!” Ace and Sabo roared as they charged toward Porchemy
“Ace!” she cried as Porchemy easily took a hold of him easily, choking him.
“Sabo!” He choked out, watching as said boy easily sneaked his way behind the giant and pummeled him to the ground with his pipe, running towards Dokucha and Luffy, taking hold of the boy and making a run for it, gesturing for the girl to follow suit
“Let’s get out of here, Ace!”
“You go on ahead; I will not run away from someone I am facing,” he stated as he stubbornly dug his feet to the ground.
“Ace, there is nothing to gain from this, so let’s go!” Dokucha howled
“Tch. You wait here.” Sabo muttered, dropping Luffy in a corner and turning to the girl, throwing her a familiar weapon
“My bow!”
“Watch my back!” he called, running towards Porchemy and Ace, ready to join the fray.
“Of course!” she agreed, loading her bow and aiming for the pirate.
“Die,” she growled, letting go of the taut string while Sabo and Ace let out their own battle cries.
“You have a bad habit, Ace! You need to run when facing a pirate. Do you have a death wish?” Sabo yelled, scolding the boy and glaring at him as Dokucha tended to Ace’s wounds, wrapping them in bandages.
“I was so scared! I thought I was going to die!!” Luffy wailed
“Shut up! You’ve been crying for hours; I hate crybabies!” He shouted at the boy, wincing as the girl in front of her tightened his bandages more than needed
“Be nice.” She muttered, rolling her eyes as she finished bandaging him, watching him storm closer to the crying Luffy as she gestured towards Sabo, beginning to similarly work on his wounds
“Thanks -hic- Thank you for saving me”
“Yo-
“He’s just saying Thanks!” Sabo exclaimed from his spot in front of Dokucha as Ace made a run to tackle Luffy
“You know, I think those two will get along just fine,” She sighed affectionately with a smile on her face.
“You think so?” they seem like oil and water to me, the blond replied skeptically.
“Yes, but they have lots of things in common; they are both just as hotheaded and stubborn as each other,” she laughed, finishing the last bandage on the boy and giving him a slight tap to signal the boy on the completed job.
“You’re right there,” he mumbled, looking as said boys went at it
“Regardless, you and I are in trouble now,” he sighed, gaining the attention of Ace and Luffy as he mindlessly helped Dokucha with her own injuries, helping her tuck the hair strands peeking out from her hijab that had nearly come undone on the scuffle.
“We have been living in this dump, but with what we just did to the Bluejam pirates, that’s not safe anymore.”
“Then come stay with us,” Ace easily offered.
Here it is guys!!!! Again thank you for my beta readers for helping me with this, im so happy how it turned out and I hope you guys like it too!
First of all these boys would be so accommodating with you if you’re a muslim
They’d try to learn as much as they could about your religion either from you or asking a few Scarabian students.
They’d even ask the Scarabian students for things like lunar calendars or tasbihs or travelling prayer mats in case you need one
They do their best to make sure you’re comfortable if you’re the type that has issues being too close with the opposite gender, always making sure to keep a respectable distance between you and ensuring that the rest of the student body do the same
If you want to pray, they’d just wordlessly use their bags as your sutrah and basically be your bodyguards until you’re done
Also, for the hijabi girlies, they’d be so respectful. If your hair starts to show they’d avert their eyes quicker than you could blink and inform you. If anyone bothers you or looks at you in a way that you’re not comfortable with, they’d be decked onto the floor in a flash.
You bet they would have a few spare hijab pins or carry an extra shawl in case of emergencies
Anyway, back to Ramadan
So when you tell them about fasting, they’d first get all shocked. Poor Deuce is besides himself thinking that you’ll be starving yourself for a whole month before you elaborate on how it’s just from sunrise to sunset and then explain the spiritual significance for it.
Not going to lie, these guys are so the type to be like “you can’t even drink water?? 🙃”
They’re both super proud of you and are just in constant awe of your strength
I feel like they’d want to do it with you as a show of unity, and to help you with your homesickness, but since they’re both athletes (especially with Deuce being in such a high stamina/adrenaline sport like Track and Field), you suggest that they start with half fasts to ease themselves into it
(also props to everyone that still works out during fasting hours - you’re all incredible and absolute superheroes. My mum goes to the gym practically every morning and I’m still amazed every time.)
Also, when you’re doing your make up fasts to compensate for the ones you missed due to mother nature, you bet they’ll be right by your side fasting with you
I bet Deuce would feel genuinely offended if someone ate in front of you. Like he’d just stare at someone as if they’re smuggling contraband instead of just munching on their sandwich.
They make sure to do as much as you can so you could rest as much as possible. They set the table for iftar and suhoor (they even get up before you and wake you up), and do the cleaning up whilst you go to pray
Food usually comes from Sam’s shop or Trey (I don’t remember how they were during the culinary crucible but I really wouldn’t want those two in my kitchen before iftar whilst I’m fasting)
They’re always carrying your bag/things and practically never leave your side. Ramshackle is practically their second home at this point.
They love to learn more about your practices, especially traditions that you would do back home and you feel so loved to share that with them. You even teach them arabic (which ends with you getting a stern talking to from Jamil when Ace practices your lessons during basketball club)
Having a henna night with them would be so fun, just listening to nasheeds as you apply henna to both yourself and your best friends (who would take it so seriously and make such a noticeable effort to stay completely still until it dries and it’s both endearing and hilarious)
Okay but one time my sister fell asleep on her hand with henna on it and she woke up the next morning with a faded orange matching pattern on her cheek and that totally happens to Ace
They would totally (with Scarabia’s help) decorate Ramshackle with lights and lanterns to make it all festive
Just the two of them acting as your family in this strange new world 💛
