#i am self-conscious on a lot of personal taste things so please be kind and don't tease about the music i like lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beca-mitchell · 3 years

Text

little taste of heaven (i'm caught up in you) (1/1)

Summary: now i see daylight AU - Beca and Chloe’s first date, finally.

Word count: 3.9k

For @anna-kendrick: We've worked on this universe for the past year and holy, it means the world to both of us that you guys love Beca and Chloe as much as we do. Thank you so much for the encouragement and love, always.And of course, again, thank you to Josi who is an incredibly talented artist. Look at this art.

title from "untouchable (taylor's version)" though I did heavily consider using "our song"...i just liked the energy of untouchable a bit more.

Read below or on AO3!

* * * * *

AGE: 15/16 LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: June

* * * * *

It is finally June. The warm air is only a hint of better things to come. Like the last day of school before total freedom.

Beca smiles at Chloe as she nears Beca’s locker. “Hey,” she greets. “Good practice?”

Around them, students mill about excitedly, cleaning out their lockers and making plans for the summer to come. Chloe shrugs, hair clearly still damp from her shower. “I don’t know why we keep running through practices when we have no more games for the season.”

“Got to keep the regional champions in top shape,” Beca teases. “Keep the other teams on their toes.”

“But I’m tired,” Chloe complains. She leans heavily on a neighboring locker. “Since it's the last day of school, will you come over tonight for dinner? My parents are whining about how they haven’t seen you in a while.”

Beca clears her throat, thinking about how the last time she had gone over to Chloe’s house had been when Chloe and Tom broke up...at the end of April. Over a month ago. She had gone because Chloe had been crying and upset. She had gone because even if her body ached with the anxiety of not knowing where she and Chloe stood, she and Chloe were always going to be friends first. Best friends.

Best friends who felt something more than friendship for each other. Confirmed, real feelings. Feelings that made them want to kiss each other.

Feelings that they hadn’t yet talked about. Or acted on despite both of them being extremely single at the moment.

Hell, Chloe's birthday came and went a couple weeks ago without much fanfare. Beca had been too shy to do anything remotely romantic and they ended up going to a movie with a few friends before going to an arcade.

“Bec?”

Beca nods stiltedly, pretending to contemplate her now-empty locker a bit more before turning to face Chloe. She steadies herself with a quick breath. “I’d love nothing more.”

* * * * *

Beca stares at her reflection with some trepidation.

“It’s just Chloe,” she mutters to herself, eyes tracking over every crease in the skirt she has picked out. Maybe I should go with jeans, she thinks. But it’s gross and hot out today.

She isn’t even sure why she’s nervous. It just feels like a return to normalcy of sorts, but Beca’s pretty sure that now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Chloe and what it feels like, a little bit at least, to know that Chloe feels somewhat similarly to her. It’s different. In a good way. Maybe it’s different in a scary way.

She isn’t even sure she can bring up the topic with her mother, so that’s an added layer of uncertainty: it’s additionally anxiety-inducing not knowing how her mother will react.

It’s well past the time that Beca should have already walked out the door to head next door by the time she actually forces herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, but she figures Chloe will understand. And dinner is rarely ever prepared at the exact time stated in the Beale household anyway. Beca’s not too worried. Just nervous.

She finally reaches out to press the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door almost immediately. “Thought you got lost,” she teases.

“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Beca asks quickly, allowing Chloe to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold.

“And if I was?” Chloe shoots back, offering Beca a lazy smile, playful in nature. With an underlying hint of something else.

Beca blinks the surprise away. “I wouldn’t be complaining if you were waiting for me. Just sorry I kept you waiting,” she offers.

“Dinner’s not ready anyway,” Chloe says, as Beca expected. They breeze past the living room area, taking a mild detour past the kitchen and towards the back porch. “I might have told you a slightly earlier time because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chloe says lightly.

“Should I say hi to your parents?” Beca asks worriedly before it registers what Chloe just said. “Wait, what? Talk to me about what?”

“Come sit with me,” Chloe says instead. Patiently. She gestures towards the tree - the tree they used to play under all the time as children - nestled in the corner of the backyard.

It’s one of Beca’s favorite spots.

She follows Chloe, wondering if it’s too late to run home and change into her jeans because she’s sure the grass and sticks will prick at her skin, but she’s surprised, as they near, that there is a small blanket laid out underneath.

Chloe had planned for this.

“Please sit,” Chloe offers. She sits comfortably, patting the spot next to her. “I had a feeling you’d dress up a little. Didn’t want you to get a dress dirty.” Her eyes drift down to Beca’s skirt briefly before she lifts her eyes, smiling at Beca. Beca doesn’t feel self-conscious, shockingly. She feels content. Safe.

Maybe a little warm if anything, but she knows that’s probably the proximity to the girl she’s been crushing on for the longest time.

“I...wanted to talk to you because we haven’t...really talked. About...y’know.” A hint of nervousness creeps into Chloe’s voice. “When we kissed and then Tom…” she hesitates. “We just didn’t get to talk about anything. And now the school year’s pretty much over, so I thought…”

“Right,” Beca agrees quickly. Her palms begin to sweat. She sure as hell hopes Chloe doesn’t expect her to lead this conversation. It was mortifying enough the first time around when she had basically laid everything on the line while Chloe was still dating somebody else. When Chloe had left her with nothing more than a heartfelt, vulnerable don’t give up on me. Then she had broken up with Tom and that was all their school could talk about for weeks.

And now this. Somehow Beca survived all of that while slowly making sure her friendship with Chloe survived as well. They both made sure of that.

“I like you,” Chloe declares. “I mean...I think I always did. Like you, I mean. As more than a friend. But the feelings were really confusing.”

“I get it,” Beca says a little too quickly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, laughing a little when Chloe smiles at her. “I feel like I haven’t stopped thinking about this for a while. But I never wanted you to feel pressured to talk about this with me even though we kissed.” She ignores the way her voice totally cracks over that last word.

“I never felt pressured,” Chloe assures her gently. “I am so...grateful that you’re in my life. I didn’t want to mess this up. But I think we should...try.”

“Try?” Beca echoes.

Chloe blushes. Like a full-on blush that spreads across her cheeks, visible to Beca even in the dying daylight. It makes her cheeks rosy and Chloe even flinches at her own reaction. “Dating,” she says simply once she seems to regain control of her emotions. “I want to go on dates with you. And hold your hand. And more kissing! If that’s what you want.”

Beca’s sure that her heart explodes somewhere in her chest because she suddenly finds it very difficult to control various parts of her body. She can’t control the smile that spreads across her face and the following, matching blush in her cheeks. It heats through her face with ease. And even worse, she can’t control the way her hand comes up to her mouth as if to instinctively cover her smile because somehow being thrilled that her crush is basically asking her out making her body react in embarrassing ways.

Chloe laughs at her, not a hint of malice in her laugh. Just joy. “I take that as a yes. Thank God, I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince my parents to move away.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Finally. Teasing. She can do that. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me. You like me too much.”

Chloe’s smile grows soft. “Well...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Beca’s breath catches. She’s sure she could kiss Chloe right now and the crazy part is, it wouldn’t even be totally weird. Or out there. Because they’re going to start dating. But maybe kissing Chloe again before their first date is frowned upon? Beca has no idea. She’s still only ever kissed one person and that person is sitting in front of her.

“Girls! Dinner!”

As if Chloe had been reading her mind and her intentions, Chloe shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to pull Beca up. When Beca stands, they’re somehow even closer - almost nose to nose - than they had been when they were sitting. “Saved by the bell,” Chloe whispers, breath close enough to be felt on Beca’s mouth.

* * * * *

The most interesting part is that Beca hadn’t really thought about any of this - dating Chloe - beyond just vague daydreams and fantasies about just some kind of happy utopia with Chloe by her side. It’s honestly not much different from their usual day-to-day considering how close they already are, but dating? Actual dating?

Her Google search history stares back at her accusingly.

dating tips dating best friend first date first date movies dating girl what to do

She supposes she could ask her mother, but even that brief thought makes her shrink away from her desk. Beca stands and begins pacing. She’s sure that she’s overthinking this all. That Chloe could probably care less about what they do on their first date. That Chloe’s probably just expecting them to spend time together, just the two of them. With more handholding. And maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

“Shit,” Beca mutters suddenly. She rushes back to her computer, adding another search to her list.

kiss on first date ok???

She frowns. Not quite.

kissing before first date acceptable

In the end, she is saved from her descent into a hole of online searching by a text from Chloe herself.

Chloe dinner tomorrow at south street? haven’t been downtown in a while

Beca i’m down!

The ease at which Beca replies does not at all reflect the somersaults in her stomach.

* * * * *

“Hey,” Chloe calls, putting her menu down. “Where’d you go just now?”

Beca blinks, realizing that she had glazed over the menu entirely, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Oh, just...contemplating…” her eyes land on the first item she sees. “Salad.” She can’t help the way her own nose wrinkles instinctively at the thought of eating salad.

Chloe is as intuitive as ever, smiling as she reaches across the table to touch Beca’s hand. “You hate salad. Especially here.”

Beca swallows, struck by both the normalcy and intimacy of Chloe’s touch. They’ve been friends for years—there is nothing extremely off-putting about them holding hands or even just randomly touching each other on the arm, shoulder, knee.

And yet—

Chloe draws her hand away, seemingly not at all aware of Beca’s inner turmoil this time. She refocuses on her menu. “Want me to order something for you?” she asks instead.

Beca nods, though she is surprised. “Sure.” Now she’s curious as to what Chloe will order for her. And if she’s being honest, it kind of makes her feel giddy, the thought of Chloe knowing her well-enough to order something. Not that Beca would even bother with telling Chloe that she’s wrong. She’d eat anything at this point, just to spend more time with Chloe.

It’s not even like they’re at a fancy restaurant. It’s a diner downtown. The bright retro designs all around plus the comfortable, plush booth seats are all appealing to Beca and she likes the general atmosphere.

But she kind of wants to just…

“Can I sit next to you?” she blurts out. Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to avoid Chloe’s curious gaze, which lifts to meet hers immediately.

Chloe grins. “I would want nothing more. Get over here.”

Beca nearly sags in relief, but focuses instead on moving around the booth so she and Chloe are sitting closer, now on side of the booth.

Beca focuses on the frequent piece of advice she had found through a few somewhat reliable Google results.

Hold her hand.

Beca does. She inches her pinky across the cool vinyl seats until she can feel Chloe’s against her finger. Then, she slips her hand over Chloe’s, gently hooking her fingers on Chloe’s palm until Chloe gets the idea.

Chloe’s hand flips slowly, their palms touching. Beca exhales, sliding her fingers between Chloe’s, already liking the easy, comfortable fit of their hands.

Chloe says nothing, content to enjoy the silence and familiarity just as Beca is content to allow her feelings to take over. For a moment, Chloe appears to be perusing the menu in silence, but there is a steadiness to the set of Chloe’s shoulders. Beca can tell, having been so attuned to Chloe’s characteristics for longer than she’d like to admit. For longer than even Chloe herself knows at this moment. She glances at her date—her date!—selfishly taking the moment to appreciate Chloe’s profile.

It’s something she has done so many times before, but this time...this time, in a diner outside of town with the soft clatter of dishes around them and Chloe’s soft, warm palm against her own, Beca knows this is different.

“You know,” Chloe starts awkwardly. “I...obviously don’t mind if you ordered on your own.”

Beca laughs. “Why’d you offer to then?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, exasperation in her voice. She groans and hangs her head slightly. “I asked Max and-”

“You asked your brother what to do on a date with me?”

“No!” Chloe explains before she snorts. “I just...told him I was worried about impressing a girl. And I don’t know why, but I somehow thought he’d have some idea.” She grins a little, glancing at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Beca says distractedly. She’s more fixated on the fact that Chloe must have been truly desperate to have turned to her older brother for help.

“Oh and he totally guessed I was going out with you, by the way.”

That’s not something that thrills Beca too much. Her imagination immediately conjures up a comically exaggerated vision of Chloe’s brother threatening her with a knife. “How?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He just kind of guessed and then said ‘finally’ or something like that.”

“Well, thank you for offering to order for me. It was very...chivalrous of you.”

“Please stop.”

“Quite charming.”

“Beca.”

“I can’t wait to see what other moves you try on me. Are we going to share one milkshake?”

“...no?”

* * * * *

They end up ordering two separate milkshakes because Beca sticks to her vanilla and Chloe orders chocolate.

“Try,” Chloe commands. “You always get vanilla. Chocolate is so good.”

Beca sighs, but obediently sticks her straw into Chloe’s cup despite Chloe’s protests of “contamination” and quickly takes a sip just to shut Chloe up for the time being. It’s not horrible - Beca just isn’t the fan of how chocolate tastes in milkshake form, though she’s sure Chloe will claim there’s no difference if the milkshake were in a solid chocolate bar form instead.

However, she’s mildly distracted by the sudden proximity she and Chloe have between them. Chloe’s arm rests loosely over her shoulder, where she had put her arm when Beca leaned in to drink from Chloe’s cup. She can practically feel Chloe’s breath on her neck and her cheek.

It would be so easy to just turn and -

Beca shakes her head slightly and shifts back. Chloe takes a moment longer to slowly move her arm from around Beca’s shoulders.

“What?” Beca asks quietly, poking at her fries a little. She catches Chloe smiling at her affectionately.

“Nothing,” Chloe replies quickly. “Just...you smell nice. That’s all.”

* * * * *

“I guess it’s kind of convenient that we live together,” Beca remarks, trying not to think too hard about the way Chloe’s hand feels in her own. She winces. “Well. Not live together. But…you know. Live next to each other.”

Chloe tilts her head, smiling as they walk up the path towards their houses. “And why is that convenient?” she asks lightly.

Beca blushes. She hadn’t thought this far. “I’m…I don’t know. I was just…commenting. On the convenience.”

Chloe giggles, pulling Beca closer ever so slightly. Beca likes the way their arms press together. She likes holding Chloe’s hand. She likes lifting her other hand to curl against the bend of Chloe’s elbow.

She likes knowing that Chloe likes her—really likes her—and Chloe enjoyed their date and—and—

“This is you,” Chloe murmurs, stopping in front of Beca’s door.

Beca kind of doesn’t want the night to end. She wants to sit on the porch and talk to Chloe for a few more minutes. Maybe one more hour. Just to hear the sound of her voice and have her attention for a few moments longer.

“This is me,” Beca parrots, feeling a lot more nervous than she thinks she’s letting on. That was what people said in those movies adorning Chloe’s shelves, right? It was what the internet said. Normal first date cliches. She steps backwards, under the light of her front porch, still holding Chloe’s hand as she does so. Chloe hesitates for a moment like she wants to follow, but ultimately she simply squeezes Beca’s hand in understanding and drops her own hand away.

Beca is immediately disappointed. She hadn’t wanted that at all. She bites her lip, watching as Chloe awkwardly shuffles her feet before she glances back up at Beca. A soft, slow smile spreads across Chloe’s lips, gentle and affectionate all at once. It makes Beca’s heart pound ridiculously hard.

“I had fun,” Chloe whispers, like she’s afraid somebody else will hear her. But not because she's afraid of other people. Just afraid that their bubble will burst, like Beca is. Another step closer. Beca swallows. “Can we do that again?”

“You’d want to go on more dates?” Beca asks, just to clarify, even though she knows exactly what Chloe’s asking.

“I would love to go on more dates with you.”

“Me too,” Beca squeaks out. “I—um—”

Chloe’s smile stretches, somehow happier than before. “Goodnight Beca.”

Something in Beca snaps. She steps forward, just two small steps and calls out Chloe’s name. “Wait,” she adds hastily.

Chloe stops and turns, surprised.

“Can I—” Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Can I kis—”

She doesn’t get to finish her question before Chloe is covering the ground between them in two short strides, wrapping her hand around the back of Beca’s head, letting the other come up to Beca’s arm, and kissing her for all her worth.

Beca gasps in surprise into the kiss, hands coming up to Chloe’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Gently and slowly, Chloe presses further into the kiss, her lips moving ever so lightly against Beca’s. It is so much more than their first kiss—a do-over, if anything—and Beca realizes, with a jolt, that this is something she can do now. She can kiss Chloe because Chloe likes her and Chloe went on a date with her. Chloe held her hand all night.

Chloe wants to kiss her too.

Beca hums happily at the thought, looping her hands behind Chloe’s neck. It feels instinctual even as Beca blushes at the sudden intensity of the kiss. She knows Chloe has kissed more people than she has; she knows Chloe will forever have more experience in this regard. But God, Beca thinks that she has never felt more wonderful or powerful than she does in this moment, tightening her grip on the fabric of Chloe’s light jacket.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Beca heaves a breath and rests her forehead against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s breathing is the tiniest bit labored as well. For a moment, neither of them dares to move, too afraid to break the spell between them.

Chloe is the first to smile—the first to press forward ever so slightly so their noses brush delicately. “What were you going to ask?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca swats her shoulder lightly. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles back, leaning in to steal just one more kiss from her beautiful, wonderful date.

* * * * *

When Beca reaches the solitude of her bedroom, she finally gets what all those high school romcoms were about. Showing their protagonist thrilled to finally finish a date so they can squeal and giggle and simply dream about their crush or date. It’s probably the first time that Beca has felt her energy rebound around her room with such happiness and positivity. The sensation is addicting—she honestly just wants to text Chloe all night.

Which, honestly, she could.

Chloe kissed her. Chloe kissed her because she likes her and they just went on a date. A freaking date.

A text from Chloe jolts her back to reality.

Chloe i miss you, is that weird?

Beca no because i miss you too. weirdo.

Chloe i have something else to tell you. that might be weird. Idk

Beca go for it.

Beca watches the text bubbles float in and out on her screen, like Chloe is typing a paragraph. Despite Chloe just saying that she missed her, Beca can’t help but feel nervous.

Chloe I just wanted you to know why i picked south street. it’s because. well. Remember when we first went there by ourselves without our parents. Sometime last year. With a few friends. And we all squeezed into that booth and sat there and shared fries and milkshakes and felt like we were at the top of the world because we were finally in high school or something stupid like that. I don’t even remember much about that night or who we were with but i do remember seeing the way you laughed at something and how your entire face lit up. and i remember thinking that i really liked you and how scary it was that i felt these things for you so suddenly and so much. Like a lot. but i’m so glad that we both got to this point - that we both feel the same way. I just really loved the way you looked when you laughed and i am so happy you’re in my life.

Chloe also i really like kissing you

Beca doesn’t even bother replying.

She shoves on her shoes again and rushes out the front door. She is only surprised to see Chloe sitting on her own front porch, staring worriedly at her phone.

“You really are so weird, y'know that?” She calls out, careful not to startle Chloe too much.

Chloe does jump anyway, but she sets her phone down quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing this date off again that you confessed your big scary feelings. Through a text message.” Beca pretends to be annoyed as she stomps over to Chloe. “You couldn’t have said all that?”

“You make me nervous!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca shakes her head, mustering up all the courage she has in the world, pulling Chloe in for a kiss like she wanted to earlier before Chloe beat her to it.

“So much better,” Beca whispers, smiling when Chloe huffs quietly against her mouth.

It's the perfect end to the beginning Beca has been dreaming of all this time.

fin.

#now i see daylight #mine #my fanfic #bechloe #pitch perfect #text #writing #fanfiction #wlw #chloe tag

103 notes · View notes

cina-full-moon-xanadium · 3 years

Text

I feel bad unrecommending Gaim to people because like. Obviously a large portion of the fandom (including ones that aren’t very annoying men) loved it or at least found a lot to enjoy in it, and like I say all the time the way the plot is structured does make it intriguing and interesting to follow along with -- especially compared to certain series I adore like Ghost and Den-O.

This speaks to a larger feeling I have about myself but I sometimes get self conscious that maybe I think a bit too deeply about things like Kamen Rider and that it’s on a completely different wavelength from what most people in the fandom tend to get out of it (like, my tastes include Ghost, 01hers, Amazons S2 and Showa bullshit! I’m a bit of an unpopular opinions girl sometimes!), and so when someone comes to me and just directly takes my word on something when I say it’s bad like Gaim or 01 and goes “okay I’ll never watch those they sound like a trainwreck” I’m just sitting there like. I do believe this but would this person have vibed with them still? Heck what if they end up watching them and falling in love and think what the fuck was that person on about, and then they watch something like V3 which I love a lot more and think hey what the ACTUAL fuck how is this something they consider a billion times better than 01.

It’s like. I don’t know. I really don’t think I’m someone whose opinions will absolutely match up with yours unless you have the same kind of particular tastes I do (which evolved over time! I used to be completely unable to watch Showa and love Gaim and only came around to thinking otherwise after years of being into these shows and putting a lot of thought into the franchise’s overall themes and intentions by its creators!) and so when I say “this is bad” and someone goes “okay you must be right. this show sucks” it does make me wince a little. In general I don’t like it when someone like... like just takes my opinion at face value, almost as fact, rather than watching the show and coming to their own conclusions? Which obviously is hard to say when we’re talking about shows I’d recommend watching and ones I don’t think are worth it, but it still feels like. There’s been no real consideration or reason here and you might have a totally different experience to me. I dunno.

And uh that’s why I’ve started saying “if you wanna know how you’ll feel about Gaim I’ll ask what you feel about Madoka”. Not just bc it’s true and honestly very accurate 99% of the time but because I feel that’s far better than me saying it’s bad, and the person taking that at face value, and then it turns out they’re like the 50% of people in the fandom who would love Gaim anyway you know.

This is maybe a big ask but please don’t take my opinions as fact even when I’m being very passionate or even saying shit like “I can’t believe people like 01′s ending I don’t understand what they would see in that shit” it’s like. I am just one person, no matter how considered my opinions, and there may always be something in a piece of art that speaks to you even when it sounded like nonsense to me

20 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 3 years

Text

The Last Semester – Part Five

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,888

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

The Age Gap Issue

It has been ten days since you started dating Cillian and things were great, at least mostly.

Over the past ten days, you spent every single night at Cillian’s apartment, enjoying his company. Neither of you even thought about tuning it down, maintaining distance from each other or taking things slow. It was simply too perfect and there was so much you had to talk about. Then there was the sex. The most incredible sex. You couldn’t get enough of each other.

At university, Cillian managed to keep things professional during the group sessions and largely avoided one on one contact with you during classes. Of course, you had questions for him but, unlike the other students, you simply asked them when you were alone with him, often over a glass of wine or over dinner. The arrangement worked well and, thus far, you haven’t arisen any suspicions.

The deadline was near and secrets didn’t have to be secrets anymore for very long. Cillian’s involvement in your unit was going to come to an end in two weeks and the final assessments for the semester were taking place in as little as four weeks. After that, you could be together without having to hide it.

But there was still one thing that you haven’t quite managed to juggle just yet and this was the difference in age between you and Cillian.

While it didn’t bother you at all, you occasionally noticed that Cillian struggled with it, questioning the feelings he was developing for you.

There was one conversation in particular triggering Cillian’s doubts and that was when you brought up your younger step brothers who were 14 and 12, the same age as Cillian’s sons.

Cillian was rather reserved when it came to conversations about his sons Hendrix and Charlie but, the more he got to know you, the more he told you about them.

You loved that he did share these details with you but, at the same time, it made him realise how you were at totally different stages of your lives and that this might pose problems for the future.

As such, whilst Cillian and his ex-wife Laura had a good relationship with each other after having divorced five years ago, bringing a much younger woman into a step family dynamic at some point was possibly a bad idea.

The other issue that he thought might possibly arise is that you would likely want children yourself at some point. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to start all over again.

In addition to these warranted concerns, there were little things as well that made Cillian feel self-conscious about the difference in age and you couldn’t help but tease him about them.

The Grey Hair

For example, the night before Cillian was due to fly to Dublin to see his sons, he became rather self-conscious about his hair turning grey. It had been turning grey for quite some years but, when you met several weeks ago, he had just finished filming his TV show Peaky Blinders. This meant that his hair was short and coloured dark.

Over the period of six weeks, it grew out slowly, featuring some grey streaks which, this time around, he noticed much more than he ever did.

In addition, Cillian was featuring a few grey hairs on his chest as well and it was that evening, when you arrived at his apartment that you caught him coming out of the shower, his intimate parts covered by a white towel and his chest hair…Gone!

‘Whoa’ you said as you walked inside, noticing immediately that he had shaved his chest.

‘What?’ Cillian went on to ask before giving you a kiss.

‘Why did you do this?’ you pouted, running your hands over his bare chest. ‘I loved running my hands through it’ you said somewhat disappointed as you really enjoyed playing with the small amount of hair on his chest when you cuddled up against him.

‘Well…some have turned grey’ Cillian said somewhat reluctantly and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘As is expected at your age’ you giggled teasingly before realising what this was all about.

‘Yeah, that really makes me feel better’ Cillian laughed and you pressed your lips onto his for a passionate kiss.

‘I have no idea why you are so self-conscious about a few grey hairs Cilly’ you went on to say, slightly amused.

‘Because you are twenty years younger than me’ Cillian responded and you sighed.

‘Here we go again’ you chuckled before pushing him backwards to sit on the lounge while you stood in front of him.

‘Listen, there are a lot of women younger than me who are very attracted to you’ you said and Cillian recalled the Instagram posts you had showed him a few days ago, which made him shake his head.

‘Also, I really like your grey hair. It’s fucking sexy. You are fucking sexy’ you then went on to say.

‘I am just saying that you could be with someone your own age Y/N’ Cillian responded.

‘And why would I want that?’ you asked. ‘We connect perfectly and you are literally the first person I have ever met with whom I am never running out of conversation. You are intelligent, funny, kind and very handsome. In addition, the sex is fucking amazing. I don’t want anyone else and I want you to let this damn hair grow back’ you demanded all while you seductively unwrapped your dress and revealed your black lace lingerie.

‘Jesus Y/N’ Cillian barely managed to say as you stood there in front of him.

‘I bought it today. For you’ you winked before walking over towards him, kissing him passionately and then unwrapping the towel around him like you were opening a present.

As he sat there in front of you, completely naked, you pulled a pillow from the lounge and put it onto the floor before kneeling down on it, right there in between his legs.

Your mouth opened and you leaned forward just enough to catch the head of his cock between your lips.

‘Fuck, yes’ Cillian swore and you sighed, your eyes fluttered at the feeling of him, fighting to open your mouth wider to take more of him in. He was hot, and you tasted the sweet savory drop of precum that leaked onto your tongue.

Watching Cillian like this was enchanting. You sucked harder, feeling him pulse against your lips and tongue. His eyes widened and he moaned. Oh, you would do almost anything to hear him make that sound. It was an incredible turn on for you. Your tongue swirled around him, flicking the crown and massaging under the head.

‘Oh god Y/N’ Cillian murmured, and he reached for you. You felt his fingers clench in your hair so little prickles of pain burned your scalp. You met his eyes as he pulled your face into his crotch, and his cock hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered but you kept your eyes on his expression, and watched him fall apart above you.

‘Shit’ Cillian eventually jerked away, wrenching himself out of your mouth. A long trail of spit connected you, and eventually broke, slapping against your chest. You caught your breath.

‘I want you so fucking much’ he growled, his voice strained. He caught you under your arms and helped you to your feet before picking you up and carrying you to his bed.

‘Cillian, please I need you inside of me’ you whimpered and Cillian shoved you against the bed, your back facing him, and you shivered as you felt his hands squeezing at your ass and hips. He stood directly behind you, and you could feel the hair on his legs tickling the backs of your thighs.

‘You almost made me lose it there’ Cillian said as he unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the ground before quickly pulling down your lace panties.

‘I could tell you enjoyed it’ you grinned as Cillian moved one of your legs with his hands, bending your knees one at a time so you were crouched on the bed. He paused behind you, and you closed your eyes, listening to his ragged breathing, trying to stay calm.

Cillian’s finger traced your slit gently, and you gasped and let out a shaky moan as he dipped into your wetness.

‘So wet for me already’ Cillian smirked and you simply nodded. You couldn't talk. You could barely breathe.

Within seconds, you felt the head of his cock press against you, and then he grabbed your hips, and shoved it inside.

You cried out as he invaded your body. A hot flash of something went through you, and your arms buckled under you as you fell face first into the mattress.

You could hear Cillian behind you, grunting and swearing, holding your hips tightly, his nails biting into your skin. He pulled you back against him roughly, and another hot flash of pleasure shot through your body. You felt like you were going to explode any minute.

‘Y/N’ he growled, and shifted behind you, and then you felt his arm snake around your waist and up to your face. He pulled you up and held your chin firmly with his hand. You could feel his chest pressed against your back, like he was holding you tight against him in a hug as he continued to thrust into you.

‘Oh god Cillian yes’ you moaned as he was dropping his head and caught your neck with his teeth. He bit you gently, and then sucked hard at the bite, thrusting deeper and deeper into you in a way that you still couldn't understand.

‘Open your eyes’ he growled into your ear and your eyes flew open. Across from you was the mirror of the nightstand. Your eyes widened and you gasped as you took in the sight of Cillian buried inside your body, holding you close.

‘Cillian’ you moaned again as your whole body caught fire, and burned, and burned. You saw fireworks behind your eyes and your brain went all staticy.

It could have lasted an hour, or been just a moment in time, but the next thing you knew was that your legs began to shake violently and your walls began to clench around Cillian’s hard cock.

‘Oh god yes fuck’ you moaned as your orgasm washed over you and your juices squirted onto the wooden floor.

At the same time, Cillian reached his high as well, thrusting into you with several loud groans as he filled you with rope after rope of his warm cum.

‘Jesus that was amazing’ Cillian huffed just before he pulled out of you gently and you both collapsed on the bed together.

‘So, tell me again Cilly, why would I want to be with a younger guy?’ you giggled.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

#Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine

140 notes · View notes

saltedpeppermintmocha · 3 years

Text

how sweet it is (to be loved by you) - todoroki x reader [chapter 2/8]

Summary:

You are the head baker and owner of a struggling bakery. When pro hero Creati comes in for a wedding cake, of course you accept.

As a business owner, you are excited about the boom in profits resulting from the publicity of working a hero wedding.

As a baker, you are ecstatic to work on an extravagant cake - your most ambitious one to date.

As a woman, you are terrified as you begin to grow feelings for the one person you REALLY cant: the groom.

NOTES: NO infidelity, NO cheating, NO divorce!

Chapter One

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

Four Months Before the Wedding

“Hello.”

His voice is deep and his words soft-spoken. He politely kicks his winter boots against the mat at the front door and takes another step into the bakery. The movement causes flakes of snow to detach from his hair and flutter to the ground around him. It’s almost magical, like a scene from a fairytale. Wow. You can’t help but stare.

The man is tall -more so than you’d thought from the rare interview you’ve seen of him- and impeccably well dressed. His expensive-looking navy coat is long and chic, somehow managing to fit both his smaller waist and powerful shoulders. It’s probably tailored. You idly think of your coat hanging in the back: an item you’ve had for about five years now that definitely looks its age. What wouldn’t you give to be one of these rich people that for some reason seem to be visiting your bakery recently.

That thought brings you back to reality. Right. Pro hero Shouto is in your bakery.

Why is he in your bakery?

It slowly dawns on you. Rich people. The wedding. “Oh, you must be here for the cake.”

“I am.” He nods, looking around the little front area. You feel a little self-conscious, hoping that everything he sees is up to his standards. “Forgive me, were you about to close?”

“No no!” You wave your hands as he turns to look at you. “It’s okay! This actually works better, we can discuss everything without being interrupted.” Walking over to the door, you flip the sign over to ‘closed’ and gesture towards the seating area. “Please take a seat. I’ll go grab my stuff and be right back.”

Turning on your heel, you head for the back room without another look back at the hero. Instead of going straight for your wedding binder and notebooks, you lean against the nearest wall and place your head in your hands.

Oh my god. Shouto Todoroki is the groom.

Somehow, this wedding is an even bigger deal than you thought. Obviously, any hero wedding became an important event, but you had thought (hoped, even) that maybe Creati was marrying a civilian or a lesser-ranked hero. The wedding would still be a big deal, but you were confident in your ability to handle it. Shouto Todoroki, a beloved hero in the top 15, is definitely not what you were expecting. This wedding is bound to be huge in a way that you definitely had not prepared for.

The hero profession is a solitary one. Pro heroes rarely date, and if they do it is a very secretive affair. It is extremely dangerous to date a hero and those brave enough to try become an instant target for villains. This target only gets bigger the higher the hero’s rank is, and most top heroes don’t even try.

Thinking about it, you can’t really think of any of the top 10 heroes other than Creati (apparently) who are in a relationship. Sure, there were rumors about the number six hero Deku and the number twenty-four hero Uravity, and Endeavor must have had someone if he has kids but-

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Todoroki is, well, a Todoroki . He is Endeavor’s son. The terrifying number one hero will probably be at this wedding. The number one hero will probably eat your cake. And if it’s both Todoroki and Yaoyorozu’s wedding, you can bet that a bunch of other big-name heroes will be there as well. Your vision swims as pressure pushes on your shoulders. How can you even begin to deliver a cake up to this caliber? You might be good, but you’re just one person.

You’re going to need to block off more days.

After what is probably a suspiciously long pause, you manage to calm yourself down enough to push off the wall to grab your binder and notebook. You pause before heading out to the front area, taking a deep breath to steel yourself before walking out.

Todoroki has found a small table near the window. He has partially turned away from you, face resting on his palm as he looks out to the snowy street. He has taken off his scarf and coat, both draped carefully over the back of his chair. How does he manage to look so elegant while doing something so normal?

You pinch your thigh. Stop it. You can’t think this way about him. You have to be professional. He is a client. He is a married man .

“Sorry for the wait!” You call out, heading over. He turns to look at you as you sit across from him, placing the binder and notebook on the table. You take this opportunity to introduce yourself properly. Up close, you find him even more handsome than before. Those dual-toned eyes are calm and watchful, and his sharp features have a symmetry to them that would not look out-of-place on a Vogue Japan photoshoot.

“Nice to meet you.” Todoroki gives a polite smile, shaking your hand when offered. It’s quite cold. “I believe Momo has already spoken to you about the general idea.”

“Yup!” You nod, taking the moment to open your notebook. “Unless things have changed, we’re still going for a five-tier cake.” Glancing up, you wait for him to nod before continuing. “What design are we thinking of?”

You look down, ready to write quick notes on whatever design has been chosen. This is the part you’ve been both excited for and dreading the most. Normally, you are extremely excited to get a design and to work to bring that design to life. You live for the expression you see on the client's face at their first look at the finished product. This time though...you’re nervous.

The design that is chosen will either make or break your next few months. If the design is easy and normal, you will be able to complete it on time with confidence. If the design is unusual and complicated, you honestly don’t know what you are going to do. This cake has to be perfect down to the smallest details, and you have to balance your time between the cake and running the store. Maybe you can hire another baker on a contract for help. Hmm.

After a few moments of no response, you look up. “I don’t know.” That normally blank face seems unsure. His mouth pulled into a small frown.

“You...don’t know.” You blink. That’s a bit weird. “Okay...I just thought that you would have a bit more input.” He is the groom, after all. You didn’t think Yaoyorozu was the kind of woman to insist that only she had input in these matters. Wait. Was that rude to say? You decide to push past it for now. “No matter, as long as we can get the full contract done for today I’ll be happy. I’ll need the design elements as soon as possible though if we want them to be completed on time. Some parts will probably need a lot of planning. Do we know the flavour or flavours yet?”

“No.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. Calm, be calm. “ Okay. I’d like to set up a taste test of the top requested flavours, so that you can get an idea of how the cake will actually taste and make the final decisions. I’ll need to do that as soon as possible.”

“I understand.” He nods, a bit stiffly.

“Do you...have a date in mind?”

He gives you a surprised look, two-toned eyes flickering over you. “...for the wedding?”

You sit up straight. “No!” What the hell? Did he think you were propositioning the groom to his own wedding? “You obviously have a date for the wedding. For the taste test!”

“Oh.” He replies simply, not seeming to understand the absolute absurdity of his own question. “No, I will likely not be involved with that. I only came today as a favour.” A favour?

Todoroki takes note of your confused expression and explains. “They got held up by the villain attack.” Oh, that makes sense. Yaoyorozu must have gone to help the others. The U.A students tend to appear whenever possible to help each other out. You think it’s sweet that they have such a strong bond after graduation. You don’t really talk to anybody you went to school with anymore.

His explanation does give your meeting a bit more context. If Yaoyorozu is ‘in charge’ of the cake, and Todoroki did not expect to even be meeting you, you can’t really get too annoyed at him that he doesn’t have the answers. At least he showed up and didn’t leave you wondering if you’d been stood up by the heroes. In the end, you decide to table the question about the cake tasting date, but underline it in your notebook. You’ll need that, soon.

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly. The two of you go over the contract in as much detail as possible. While it is extremely unorthodox for you to leave blank spaces in your contracts, you are sort of forced to do so in the areas of flavors and design. In the end, the hero couple is paying over double the amount you would normally charge for the cake. You can’t imagine any crazy design or flavour going over that cost. Neither hero seems like the crazy type of client. You’ll be fine. Hopefully. If you’re wrong then...well...you’re kind of screwed. The publicity has to be worth it.

After only about an hour of discussion (you really don’t have too much to go over, with Todoroki knowing nothing about the design or flavours), the meeting is over. You close your notebook, stand up and offer a hand to shake to end the meeting. Todoroki stands, shaking your hand with his cooler one. He assures you that somebody will reach out to you soon about the needed elements. You hope you’re right.

“I am sorry that I kept you after hours.” He says as he gracefully slides on his coat, glancing outside. “I hope you don’t have too far to walk.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, I actually live upstairs.” Something flickers in his face that you can’t catch.

Then he nods. “I see.” He wraps his scarf around his head, somehow managing to look both cute and attractive. He heads towards the door, the bell chiming as he opens it. “Goodbye then.”

“Goodbye!” You smile and wave. “Be safe out there!”

You watch as he leaves, completely still until you can no longer see the red and white hair out the window. Letting out a deep breath, you sink back down into the chair.

Well, that sure was something.

----

You’re not sure exactly what prompted the suddenly quick response after so long of nothing, but some of the information you need comes the very next day.

It’s early morning. The store has just opened, you can hear the slight bustle of your loyal morning folk as they come to get their breakfast. Your morning worker -a young man named Tanaka who is almost scarily jolly in the morning- welcomes everyone with his juxtaposition of a voice: booming yet somehow soft.

You have been down at the bakery for hours now, getting the first round of bread, pastries, and other necessary items complete before opening. It’s a lot of work, but you can’t complain. At least you still have work. You have just finished a batch of your personal favourite, rosemary goat cheese croissants when your phone rings in your pocket.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket (the thing has been covered in flour before, it’ll be fine), you check the contact name.

[ Contact: C Manager ]

Your eyes widen, and you instantly accept the call. With one careful eye on your ovens, you walk over to a nearby wall and lean against it. “Hello?”

"Good morning.” The soft voice of Yaoyorozu chimes in on the other end. You straighten a bit, surprised to hear the hero directly. “My apologies for Shouto the other day. I understand he wasn’t too much help to you.”

“No no, it’s okay!” You gesture with your hands, realizing afterward that she obviously doesn’t see it. “He was really kind, and we still got some work done.”

“I see.” She hums thoughtfully on the other end of the phone. “Well, he did mention that you were getting stressed about certain elements of the cake. Is that correct?” Oh no. You hope she doesn’t think you’re being rude.

But she doesn’t sound annoyed or frustrated at you. If you had to guess, her tone sounded more amused than anything. You bite your lip before answering. “Ah, well...I don’t want to pressure anyone. I just need to get started on certain things or it won't be done in time.”

“Yes, I understand.” She responds. “I figure I can give you some of the design ideas now if that works?”

Oh, hell yes! “That would be wonderful!” You can’t help but smile. Finally. “Do you want to meet somewhere?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m caught up in this-” She pauses as a loud sound comes through the phone. “ thing at the moment. Will you be amenable to me giving you the details over the phone?”

“Oh, yea! That’s okay.” You push off the wall and rush towards the office area, grabbing the newly named ‘Y&S Wedding’ binder with your flour-covered hands. It’s fine. You anchor the phone between your shoulder and your face and grab a pen with your other hand, opening the notebook to the ‘design’ page. “Okay, what do you got?”

The cake turns out to be pretty normal as far as wedding cakes go, which you are extremely thankful for considering everything. It is a five-tier cake, classic white with cascading pink flowers and green stems/leaves. That is...definitely doable. You can ace this. Thank god. Relief hits you hard in the chest as you write it down.

“Is there anything extra that either party would like to be added?” You ask, your tone dipping into complete professionalism as your mind has a mini-party at the relatively easy design. You doodle a happy face beside your notes.

“No, that is alright,” Yaoyorozu replies. “It was a struggle already to talk him down from some of the crazy cake designs he had in mind to something more...appropriate.” A pause. “Not that any of the ideas were bad per se, but I don’t think the wedding is the place for a giant All Might statue cake.”

Your mind-party screeches to a halt. What?!

“He...wanted an All Might cake?” You ask in disbelief. That doesn’t sound like Todoroki at all. Maybe it was a way to ‘get back’ at Endeavor? There have been plenty of rumors over the years about that relationship, but they team up enough now that most have been pushed to the side.

“Yes, well, he adores the man.” She says it with a fondness that seems almost inappropriate considering your current state.

You think of the calm prince-like man from the day before. Could he really be that big of a fanboy of a hero like All Might? It just doesn’t compute. They were so different. You really can’t picture it. Still, it’s not like you really know Todoroki. Maybe he has some secret obsession or something.

Somehow, you feel like you’ve gained some insider knowledge. The press would pay a good amount for something like this. Not that you ever would go to them, ew. Actually, would they even believe you if you did? It was so absurd.

You realize that you have disappeared into your own thoughts. A big no-no when on the phone with a client. You pull yourself back. “Thank you for the design! I will get to work right away. Do we have any idea when we can do a cake tasting? That is the last big milestone here.”

“I’m sorry.” She responds, sounding truly apologetic. “It’s...difficult between all of our busy schedules. I promise I will work to get something set up.”

Well, honestly that is all you can really ask for. You thank her for the information and her time. The two of you say your goodbyes, and hang up. For a moment you stare down at your notebook in surprise. This is not how you expected things to go. It’s early, and you have a lot to do today. You already can tell you will be partially distracted, your brain trying to figure out the specifics of the design.

You smile. In the end, finally, you have something you can work with.

------

1 Week Later

Ten minutes before closing (of course) , the bell above the door chimes. You can’t see who has walked in, your back to the door as you wipe down a table. You take a brief moment to close your eyes and breathe before turning around.

“Good evening!” Your customer service voice is normally on point -the stuff of legends really- but this time it becomes higher-pitched at the end.

Shouto Todoroki stands in your doorway. Again.

After the last meeting, you truly didn’t expect to see the man again until his wedding (maybe not even then). He didn’t seem to have any input in the cake decisions, nor did he seem to care about not having any input.

“Oh, hello again.” You smile, fighting to keep your voice steady as you shove the cloth in your apron pocket.

“Hello.” His mouth ticks up in a soft smile.

“Were we supposed to have a meeting today?” You ask, pulling your phone out of your pocket to look at the date. No, you don’t think there was a meeting scheduled. You see Todoroki shake his head in your peripheral vision. The hero politely kicks his shoes on the mat and takes a few more steps into the store. Heterochromatic eyes look around for a moment before catching on to something to your right.

“Then what can I do for you today?” You ask politely, following his line of vision to your display case. “Here for a snack?”

Those eyes look straight back at you. “I want to order another cake for the wedding.”

What?! Your heart plummets. Another cake?! This late?! When you’re already having trouble getting the specifics on the first one?!

Todoroki seems to notice your panicked expression, hands going up in a calming gesture. “Not a large cake, but one of those small specialized ones.”

Your panicked thoughts pause. Wait. “Do you mean… a groom's cake?” Please be a groom's cake. You can make a groom's cake.

He nods. “It’s a surprise.” A surprise? For Yaoyorozu?

“Uh, sure. I can do that.” You reply. “Hold on a sec.” Instead of going for your physical notebook in the back, you decide to simply bring up the note app on your phone. It’s not as professional, but it works in a pinch. “Is there a theme?”

“All Might.”

You blink slowly, mouth opening in surprise. All Might?!

The conversation with Yaoyorozu comes to the forefront of your mind. Is he...really just an All Might fanboy? That seems so wrong, somehow. You narrow your eyes at his blank expression, considering him.

“...you must really like him, huh?” You whisper.

Todoroki tilts his head a bit to the side, eyes narrowing in confusion. “He is a very good teacher.”

...is that enough to get an entire cake based off of the man?!

A long moment passes where you both stare at each other, neither seemingly sure of what to say. Eventually, as the professional you have to break the tension. “Well, okay. I can definitely do that. Groom's cakes tend to be relatively small and fun. What elements are you looking for?”

“I will leave that up to you.”

“Uh, are you sure?” That is a lot of power he is just handing you, especially when he seems to care so much about the retired number one hero.

“You are very highly recommended by the Uraraka’s.” Do the Uraraka’s know everybody?! “I don’t really...have an eye for design either way, and as the wedding gets closer I feel like I may become too busy.”

“That makes sense.” You mumble, writing down on your notebook app. Weddings are normally difficult things to plan, and you can’t imagine the amount of stuff necessary for a large hero one. If he wants you to design the smaller cake, you can do that. Your mind is already pulling together a few ideas. Similar to the large cake, you’ll need to make this one amazing. “What budget are you thinking?”

“Is 50,000¥ enough?”

Startled, you look up. 50,000¥ was a lot for a groom's cake. You want to tell him so but said groom is no longer in your line of vision. Glancing over to your right, you find the hero looking into your display case. He seems to care very little about the amount he just mentioned (ugh, rich people) so you simply say. “Um, yeah...that’s enough.”

You walk closer to the man, wondering why he seems so interested in the unsold pastries. “You are about to close, but there are so many left.” He looks up as you get closer. “How much longer will they last?”

Stopping to stand about a foot away from the man, you also look into the display and frown. “Oh...yeah, they are probably going to be thrown out, sadly.”

“Why?” At his soft voice, you glance over at the hero. Your eyes lock with two-toned ones.

“I try to sell the leftovers at half-off the next day, but they still barely sell.” You shrug. “I try to give as much as possible to the local shelters, but it isn’t always possible.” Looking outside at the hail coming down, you know you won't make it there today.

“Do you always make too much?”

“No.” You sigh, looking back at the sad, unbought pastries. “We used to be much busier, a year or so ago, but that chain bakery opened down the street and took a lot of my customers with it. Sometimes I still find myself baking as if it’s as busy as it was a year ago, just on habit really.”

There’s a long silence. Then, “I’ll buy them.”

Your eyes widen as your head swings towards the hero. “What, all of them?!”

“Yes.” He nods.

“No no no you don’t have to do that.” You find yourself saying, hands waving uselessly in front of you. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or anything, it’s okay. You don’t have to-”

Todoroki shakes his head. “No, I want to.”

He looks straight at you, eyes telling you that he won’t back down from this. And well, you’re really not sure why you are refusing him. Maybe it’s the worry that he thinks of you like a charity. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The next five or so minutes are spent with you packing up every last dessert and pastry into bags. Todoroki will need to use both arms to carry them, but the man doesn’t seem concerned. You are about to put the last rosemary goat cheese croissant away when he interrupts. “Wait, can you leave that one out?”

“Oh, sure.” You reply, placing it on a napkin as you close the paper bags on the counter with a piece of tape.

Todoroki reaches forward, his hand grabbing the croissant with one hand and bringing it to his mouth. One bite, and small parts of the flaky pastry flutter to the ground. You don’t mind, it makes you happy that the croissant lasts the entire day. Also, his wide-eyed expression is adorable.

He chews a bit more and swallows. “It’s good.”

“Thank you.” You smile. “You don’t have to say that, you know. I won't be offended or anything.” Okay, a bit of a lie. You adore those croissants.

“I’m not lying.” He insists, two-toned eyes staring straight at you. “It’s really good.”

His eyes are a bit more intense than normal. You look away, your cheeks warming a bit at the complimentary words. Shit, no. Married man. Nope. Not going there, even for a second. “Well, thank you.” You even your voice and continue packing the bags, keeping your eyes away from the man.

Once done, you carefully slide the bags across the counter towards him. “Here you go. Do you need help taking them anywhere?” Your professional voice is back.

Todoroki gives you a weird look, taking the bags in his hands. The croissant he was eating is mysteriously gone, although you notice a small crumb on his cheek. You look away. “No, I will be okay.” His deep voice echoes a bit in the small room.

After a brief moment, he walks towards the doorway. “Thank you for coming!” You call out, not moving from behind the counter. It’s safer here. “I’ll get started on the groom's cake right away! If I see you again, I’ll run my ideas by you.”

“I’ll come again.” Todoroki looks back with a small nod. “I hope you have a good night.”

The hero leaves as quickly as he appeared, disappearing out of sight only moments after he exits the bakery. If you had a chair behind you, you would sink down into it. As it is, you rest your hands against the counter in exhaustion.

These heroes were taking a lot out of you. Damn.

-------

2 Weeks Later

You stare up at the imposing building ahead of you, dread pooling in your stomach. The building itself was a hotel, tall and beautiful in architecture. That doesn’t matter too much though, you’re not exactly here for the hotel. No, you are here for the fancy-as-hell restaurant at the top: Eragawa.

Even the elevator to the restaurant is fancy. Luckily you are alone in it, so you are able to stare and judge your reflection in the mirrored walls without anyone seeing you. You frown, using your free hand to try and pat some of the flour off your shirt and organize your hair a bit. It doesn’t work, you already look extremely out of place.

It’s not like you wanted to be here at this fancy restaurant in your work slacks and shirt covered in various ingredients. The day had started normally, with you planning to spend your free time getting caught up on overdue paperwork. However, a text early in the morning ruined that plan.

[ Contact: C Manager ]

C Manager: Creati will meet you at Eragawa today at 7:30 p.m for the taste test.

Truthfully, you were starting to get a bit annoyed. The manager never asked your opinion, or even if you were free at the time they wanted you to be. They would always just make plans without you. You understood that Creati must have a really busy schedule right now, but damn . Still, it’s not like you could refuse. You had been waiting for this for a while now.

You: Okay. Thank you!

So, you had spent the rest of the day busier than ever. In between baking and managerial duties, you had to make a variety of cakes and icings in different flavours. Since you didn’t have any idea of where to start, you picked the most common flavours for her to try. It was... a lot to do on your own, and not for the first time did you wish you had some sort of assistant.

By the time you had everything ready to go, you had just enough time to make it to the restaurant. Knowing how impossible it had been trying to get this cake tasting appointment in the first place, you didn’t want to risk anything by being late. You had no time to shower or even change out of your work clothes. You simply grabbed the container of cakes, threw on your old coat, and ran out the door.

Now, though, you wonder if maybe it would have been better to be a bit late. The elevator door opens on the top floor, revealing a modern-looking restaurant in dark colours. You clutch at the handle of the container and look around. Wow. Nobody here looks like they would be caught dead in anything not a designer brand.

The hostess looks you over with a critical eye as you approach, but smiles and welcomes you nonetheless. “Good evening! Welcome to Eragawa, how can I help you today?”

“Um, hello.” You smile awkwardly back. Even the hostess is dressed nicer than you, damnit. “I’m with the Yaoyorozu group?”

The hostess blinks slowly at you. “Of course. Please wait here for a moment.” She turns to disappear into the back, another host taking up her post. You shuffle to the side of the waiting area and look around. The restaurant just screams ‘posh’ with its white tablecloth and candles and napkins folded into roses. You’d bet those glasses are made from actual crystal too. Damn.

The elevator door opens again as a group of well-dressed men and women walk in. You lean into the wall, trying to make yourself invisible to the other customers. It doesn’t work, and a woman in a fancy dress looks down her nose at you as she passes. The host takes them immediately to their table. Figures.

Eventually, the hostess you were talking to returns. “Please come this way.” You notice her smile is a bit larger this time as she leads you through the dining room. Quite a few patrons give you odd looks as you walk by, clearly not used to someone covered in powder walking through the area.

The hostess leads you past the dining room to a hallway in the back. You have just enough time to wonder if you are being taken out back like some sort of mafia movie before she stops at a door. She turns and opens it, bowing low as she gestures for you to go inside.

You walk through, eyes wide. Somehow, the private room is even more extravagant than the dining room. It’s dark and modern, like the rest of the restaurant, with giant windows overlooking the city. A beautiful crystal chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling. In the middle, two people sit at a round table. They look up as you enter.

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widen as she takes you in. You offer her a sheepish smile, before glancing at the other person. He looks at you with a carefully blank face, but you know he must be thinking something by the way those heterochromatic eyes flicker up and down over you.

Both of them are dressed beautifully. Yaoyorozu is in a gorgeous maroon dress and Todoroki in a light-blue button-down shirt and dark pants. They look properly dressed for this occasion.

Somehow, you feel even more embarrassed. Your cheeks warm a bit as you take a step into the room. “Um, hello.” You attempt a smile. “Sorry if I’m late, I just closed the bakery. Hello again, Yaoyorozu, Todoroki”

“Were you unable to get someone else to close the shop?” Yaoyorozu asks. If someone else were asking, you’d assume it was some sort of dig. Instead, she honestly just sounds concerned.

“I would if I could.” You reply, placing the cake carrier on the table. “Unfortunately, it’s just me.”

The two of them share a look that you can’t decipher. You just hope that you haven’t somehow embarrassed them. “Anyways,” You begin, trying to lighten the mood. “I come bearing the best gift of all, free cake!” Not much of a reaction there. Maybe a free cake to a rich person isn’t as great. Hm. “I’m actually glad that both of you could make it, this way we know for sure that the cake is up to your standards.”

Yaoyorozu looks at the carrier on the table. “Should we wait until after dinner?”

“Ah, I actually have food at home.” You lie, wringing your hands in your lap. There was no way you are staying here. It is too awkward. “If you like, I could leave it with you and head out? I won’t be able to stay though.”

“I see.” Todoroki replies, sharing another look with Yaoyorozu. “Then, shall we begin?”

The cake tasting goes...weirdly. While you have brought a wide variety of selection, the two come to a decision within the first three cakes. Their final decision doesn’t even come from one of your options but is rather a mix of a few they haven't tried yet. In the end, they decide on a vanilla cake with both a strawberry and matcha layer in the middle. They decide on it quickly, too.

“Do you want to try the samples I have?” You point to your cake options with strawberry and matcha. It’s a smart move. For all they know, you suck at these flavours.

However, Yaoyorozu simply shakes her head. “You are recommended by the Uraraka’s.” Her mouth ticks up as she looks over at Todoroki. “Plus, Shouto brought your desserts to the agency a few weeks ago. They were a resounding hit. I am confident in your abilities to pull this off.”

You turn to Todoroki, eyes wide. “You did?!”

He nods. Your mind blanks for a second at the implications. A bunch of heroes eating, and liking your desserts. That is really cool. Still, there is a very different matter at hand. “B-but those are pastries and desserts, not cakes.” You try to get them to see sense. The cakes are right in front of them, why are they messing about?

“It will be okay.” Yaoyorozu nods. “And, well, to be honest I do have another meeting I need to attend.”

Wait, what?

Didn’t they want to have dinner? Why is she leaving? You blink in confusion as the woman stands up. She looks over to Todoroki first, smiling, before turning to you.

“Good night you two.” She says kindly as she turns, walking out of the room with only the clicking of her heels audible. The door closes softly behind her. You stare at it for a moment, mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

“What just happened?” You turn back to look at Todoroki. The man is also wide-eyed, staring at the door. “Uh, are you okay?”

That seems to shake him out of it. Heterochromatic eyes shift to you. “Yes.” He nods. “We should also leave.” The hero stands up, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. It’s the same long navy one you admired the first time you met him.

“Um, okay?” You reply, confused. Oh god, you hope you haven’t done something to somehow ruin their entire night. Dread curls in your stomach as you pack the cakes back up into the carrier

Todoroki leads the way back to the elevator. Yaoyorozu is no longer in sight, probably long gone by now. The staff seems as confused as you feel as you leave, sending odd looks to each other. Your stomach tightens a bit more.

It’s only when you reach the elevator that something clicks in your head. You were dining with two heroes, who both suddenly started acting weird. Really, there is only one explanation you can think of: there’s a villain nearby.

Your heart pounds heavily as you enter the elevator, clutching the carrier tighter in your hands. If there is a villain nearby, why didn’t the heroes evacuate the restaurant? Maybe it’s not safe. Maybe they have to wait for more heroes or a hero with the right quirk?

Despite having lived in Musutafu for most of your life, you’ve never been too close to a villain attack. You have always counted yourself lucky in that way, but maybe your luck is running out. You glance over to Todoroki at your side. The hero doesn’t look any particular way, that blank mask still on his face.

The two of you exit the elevator and head out of the hotel lobby. There is a distinct lack of heroes or police outside, which surprises you. Yaoyorozu must have called for someone, right?

Todoroki leads you across the street to the nearby sidewalk. “What do you need me to do?” You whisper as you finally come to a stop. “Do you want me to call the police?”

“The police?” He looks down at you, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Then his eyes narrow. “Is something wrong?”

Is something... not wrong? You look back up at the hotel, where everything seems completely normal. There is no screaming, no fighting, nothing. Oh.

As the panic subsides, another layer of embarrassment begins to creep in. Were you really freaking out over nothing??

“I-uh, thought that since we booked it out of there so fast, something had to be wrong.” You look away and try to explain, face warming. “Maybe like a villain or...something.”

“Ah.” He replies. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then...why did we leave?” You risk a glance back up. Todoroki is still looking down at you, expression once again soft.

“You were uncomfortable.” He replies simply.

You can’t even deny it. “So we left?”

“So we left.”

Well, damn. That’s sweet. “But...what about your dinner?”

He pauses, looking around. “Where do you want to go?"

“Uh, I have food-”

“Don't lie.” He interrupts, looking back at you. “You spent your whole day working and baking these cakes. You didn’t even have the time to change before coming here. There is no way you had time to make food.” That’s the most you’ve heard him say at once. Huh. And well, he’s right.

“I could have leftovers?” You attempt, knowing that you’ve been beaten. Your shoulders slump a bit as you consider arguing more. Who are you to be eating with a hero anyways? But...you are tired and hungry. All fight drains from your exhausted bones as you look up at him. You think about potential places as you look around. Honestly, you haven’t been to this part of town much (other than a few fancy dinner nights with your ex, but you don’t want to think about that). Todoroki waits patiently as you think.

“Well...I know one place.” You finally say. “But I’m not really sure if it’s your style.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “I’m sure it's good if you like it.” Oh god. Why does he say those things? You hide your flushed face by walking away. The hero falls into step beside you, seemingly content to let you lead the way.

Walking with Todoroki at night is an ethereal experience. You know it will be a part of your dreams for years to come. Both of you are quiet, taking in the scenery as you walk. It’s cold through your thin jacket, and you shiver a bit at first. It’s a bit weird, but after a few moments, the temperature seems to rise. You put it down to scientific anomalies.

“There it is.” You point out a small stall half-hidden on the street. The two of you make your way over to the small. You keep one eye on the hero, ready to abort at the smallest sign of hesitation from the man. This is definitely not his usual scene.

When you are almost there, the man pauses. You turn, looking up to his face. “Todoroki?” The hero looks surprised, eyes wide and staring at the name of the stall.

“It’s perfect.” He responds, before starting to walk again. His pace is faster than normal, and you have to actually speed up to keep beside him.

As you finally make your way up to the soba stand, you call out. “Hey Haru!”

Haru -a middle-aged man with a bald head- looks up, smiling big when he sees you. “Hey! I haven’t seen ya sorry face ‘round here in a while. How’ve ya been? Come ‘ere to chat with this old man?” His eyes then catch on Todoroki. “Ah, I see.” His smile ticks up into a smirk.

Your own eyes widen. “No! It’s not what you think, Haru. We’re just here to eat.”

Haru doesn’t look like he believes you but lets it go. “Havin’ the usual then?” You nod. He turns to Todoroki. “And fer you?”

“Do you have cold soba?” The hero asks, taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“Hah! Do I have cold soba?” Haru replies sarcastically. “‘Course I do!”

“Haru makes the best soba on this side of the city.” You say, looking up at Todoroki. The hero looks down at you, and his expression makes you pause. His face is soft and kind, eyes glittering with delight. He smiles.

Your stomach flutters. You push it away and smile back.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x you #todoroki shouto x y/n #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #j writes #bnha fic #bnha fanfiction #reader-insert

35 notes · View notes

that-damn-girl · 4 years

Text

(8) Bucky and The Bed

Completed

Chapter 7

Bucky and The Bed Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (cis)fem!reader

Words: 3100+

Summary: You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an ‘electronic blackout’ during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only cabin you find in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky has become your personal heater and there’s only one bed.

Chapter type: Fluff.

Chapter/Trigger warning: Language? Like teensy weensy bit of angst?

A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this series still. After the end, which I will start on a Bucky x Rogers!reader miniseries. I am particularly excited to write the next two chapters. Hope you like this part!

Bucky looked at it. Kept looking at it. And looked at it some more.

The metal armed man was sure he couldn't ever get tired of the sight in front of him. It was simple and yet so complex he felt he could get lost into it and never regret a second. It might not be much, but it was enough for him to lose himself. He didn't know how to describe the sense of serenity it brought him.

Peeking through the light fluffy clouds, the setting sun cast warm golden rays that gave every snowy surface around you a honey like glaze. As the time gradually passed, various colours in the most brilliant of their shades blended beautifully to embellish the never-ending sky. As the slanting rays of the sun flitted through the clouds, the yellow filter in the sky gave way to a graceful braid of pink and orange before shrouding everything is it's vermilion hue.

In the handful of days you had taken refuge in the cabin, not one day had the sun been kind enough to grace you with its presence. When today it finally did, you and Bucky realised it was too good an opportunity to miss the sunset view these mountains offered. Without any further ado, a bonfire was created outside the cabin with dry leaves and firewood arranged meticulously.

The splendid view of nature in its finest forms was exploited to its full content. You and Bucky sat around the bonfire, taking in the furiously blushing sky and the snow covered peaks shining golden in the distance as the clouds traversed through them.

Bucky was taken aback by the raw beauty in front of his eyes. It reminded him of the sunsets in Wakanda. Sure it wasn't comparable to those in the futuristic and fascinating country, but it was a close second. He only grew more in awe of the view the more he looked at it. Majestic was one word for the sight in front of him. It wasn't the sky though.

It was you.

A small, unconscious smile took a hold of his lips as he took in your face, peacefully resting on his shoulder. Your arms were tightly curled around his vibranium one, your body leaning its weight on him. A shared blanket was thrown over your backs, trapping in the heat the fire provided.

For Bucky, it was majestic, really. How could it not have been, looking at your face, at the blend of the colours from the setting sun and the fire casting a beautiful glow to your already beautiful self? Your serene features were highlighted by the natural light and the dancing flames. You looked elegant and exquisite, more so than anyone he had ever known. As bewildering as it sounded, Bucky had met a god but the warm colours grazing your skin truly made you more divine than any other celestial being.

Bucky was utterly whipped.

Sensing his gaze on you, you tilted your head to look at him. Bucky had always had an intense face, even when he was relaxed or didn't mean to do it. You had encountered it many a times and dealt with the increase in your heart rate it brought, but you could never get used to his soft smile and gentle eyes looking at you with such adoration, such love, such trust, as if you had hung the stars and the moon for him. It overwhelmed you, always, but in the best of the ways. Especially since you had discovered a couple days ago that it wasn't just in your head.

Unable to stifle your own giddy smile, you reached up to kiss his lips. It was only meant to be a peck, but he drew you in even before you had the chance to pull back, always eager to taste you, to have you, to kiss you, to cherish you. You galdly gave into the kiss. It was soft and sweet, the way his lips molded around yours, moving in sync. The kiss slowly grew intense, but not heated. It was only filled with love and care, making him unable to put in the conscious effort of letting you go if you were okay with it.

Instead his strong arms wound around you and brought you to him lap so that you were straddling his thick thighs. His lips moved slow but firm, just taking the time to worship your lips as they deserved to be. One hand tightened around your middle, keeping you secure in his hold while the other drifted down to your butt, his large hands kneading your cheeks gently with utmost care and fondness. You slid your arms up his broad chest and around his neck, holding him close. Smiling in between the kisses, neither of you were able to let go, clinging to each other as none could get enough of the other.

When you finally did let go to breathe in lung fulls of the crisp, cold air, you moved to relieve him of your weight. His arms tightened around you in a slight moment of panic, refusing to dismiss the comfort you brought him just by your touch, your closeness. "Stay, please?" He softly pleaded.

You looked down at the heavy log of wood Bucky sat upon. It was broad enough to sit, but not enough to be comfortable if he kept your weight on himself for long. "Your legs are going to hurt, Bucky"

"Y/N, I don't know the true limit of the powers the serum gave me, but I think it's enough to stop a helicopter from taking off. I think I can hold my precious girl without hurting myself." He smiled at you with the boyish charm and the innocence of a first grader announcing that he got A+ in an assignment.

"Show off," You chuckled, booping his nose with yours. "But an adorable show off."

"What?" Bucky quietly, softly muttered, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "I like holding you, hugging you, having you close. That's all." Your heart fluttered in your chest, swelling with emotions. The simplicity, the vulnerability with which he admitted favouring your presence made you wonder just how much open and comfortable he was with you. You knew he liked you, trusted you, but it never ceased you from being overwhelmed everytime he expressed it.

Heart brimming with affection for the man in front of you, you didn't trust yourself not to confess then and there how deeply in love you were with him. Instead you said the only thing you could think of to draw the attention away from your racing heart. "You also like my butt."

The metal hand tenderly kneading your butt cheek stilled. Hesitance crept in every being of Bucky. He cursed himself, worried he had offended you or made you uncomfortable somehow. What he heard was unassuming, but he didn't want to take any chances if you didn't like it.

Bucky realised that since the day you had agreed to be his girl, he had given an awful amount of attention to your butt. He'd always rest his hands there while cuddling or gently knead the soft muscles as he was doing then. He would never deny that your behind was alluring to him, but his touch wasn't meant to be demeaning or enticing, at least not until you partook in sexy times. He'd only ever meant for his actions to treasure you, admire you, but he would not do it at the cost of your comfort.

You caught onto what must have been going inside his head. Bucky meant to draw his hand back and apologise, but you stopped him and quickly added, "I love the attention, honestly."

"You're not... offended by it?" Pulling back to look at you, he asked unsurely, making himself look as small as possible.

"Should I be?"

Bucky shook his head, "I like you and I respect you, a lot. You know that, right? I only do it, because...well, what's there not to like about your butt?" He emphasised it by giving a small squeeze to your soft muscles.

"I believe you," You chuckled, giving his plump lips a sweet peck."And I meant it, I love the attention you give it. But why do you like it so much? My ass is so-"

"It's perfect." Bucky finished your sentence before you could add in any negative comment about yourself. "You're perfect, doll."

"You're such a charmer." You mumbled, going for his lips with a wide smile.

"Only for you." Bucky replied, happy to taste you, feel you. When he pulled back, he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

With the fiery flames warming your back and Bucky's heated body pressed to your front, you snuggled into him further. Head resting on his broad shoulder, eyes closed, you basked in the comforting embrace, in the heat seeping into your bones. It was your own little heaven.

Feeling the sun on his skin after so many days had felt great. Although he was used to staying in the dark before he was rescued, he didn't like it one but. It felt good, immensely so. But with you at his side, with him, enveloped in his arms, your touch calming him, anchoring him, everything was better than never before.

It didn't take long for Bucky to realise that you had dozed off on his shoulder, your chest tranquilly rising and falling against him. Chuckling, he gripped both the ends of the blanket and curled his arms around you again, the pair of you now cocooned in the heat of the blanket.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, his head leaning against your, and looked at the dwindling flames in the darkening sky. Nightfall loomed at the corners, impatiently waiting for the sun to complete its descent before it could take over. The lowering temperature was palpable in the chilling air. He knew he would need to carry you inside soon, but he waited for the soothing heat of the fire to die down before he would be forced to retreat inside.

Looking at the sky in the far distance, Bucky took in the myriad of changing colours with time. He couldn't help but think about Steve. What Steve would have done if he would have been there. There was no doubt in Bucky's mind that Steve would have ran inside to look for a pencil and paper with the speed of a cheetah.

He would have taken down the various shades on the trees and the mountains and the clouds floating above their heads with the monochromatic beauty of grey and created a masterpiece. Bucky smiled, thinking about the concentrated look Steve would have had in his face, brows furrowed as his eyes would have shifted like at a ping pong game between the sky and the paper. He remembered his days in the military camps with his pal, when the newly bulky man still testing his strength would sketch in any free time he got to deal with the stress he felt.

Bucky...missed his childhood friend very much. He didn't realise when his eyes had moistened when his vision grew blurry.

Not that Sam and you weren't few of the greatest friends he had had, but Steve was... something else. Steve Grant Rogers was his brother, truly so.

Everytime Bucky thought about his pal, his Steve, limitless emotions flew through him, all different for different reasons. One of the most lasting ones though was that gratification. Bucky firmly believed he owed his life to Steve for saving him from the torture he had suffered from the hands of HYDRA. Not once, but twice, in Austria and in D.C., when that fool had nearly died instead of fighting him. Steve had also saved him from the governments of the entire freaking world, trusted in him when nobody else did. Steve had fought with his friends of the twenty first century, his only family, for him. The Golden Boy of America preferred his name being dragged through the mud and being counted in the ranks of the criminals he put behind the bars over losing Bucky. Though he knew it wasn't just for him, Steve had helped resurrect him and all the others when Thanos had snapped them dead. He didn't know how he could ever repay Steve for all that he had done, for all the sacrifices he had made for Bucky.

Out of all those plethora of emotions, one of the few which weighted heavily on him was that of regret. For a man who had lived for over a hundred years, Bucky didn't have the chance to do as many things as he would have liked. Maybe it was because he hadn't lived as much as he had survived, but he didn't let that be the base of his excuses. He had meant to do many things right.

Bucky never thanked his Ma for the man she had raised him to be. He was never there for his sisters when he had promised them he would be. He never properly thanked Steve for saving him time and again. He never thanked Howard for helping Steve save him when he was captured in Austria or for keeping Steve company when he couldn't. He never got to thank Tony for reversing the snap or apologise to him for all that he had done to his parents, Bucky's own friends, while in evil's control.

Bucky had always thought that he would have time; time which he lost partially because he had taken everything for granted, partially because fate had been cruel to him with a vengeance. Life of an Avenger was... unpredictable at the very best. They could be overly cautious, but never fully prepared. Many a times they had to deal with hostage situations or - Bucky still couldn't get used to believing it - alien invasions without a moment's notice.

Bucky had learnt never to take things for granted the hard way. Now that he thought about it, lady luck had never been on his side for long. Everything even remotely good had been taken from him when he thought he had time to enjoy them and bask in their glory.

He didn't want it anymore. Bucky didn't want the guilt weighing him down, knowing he could have done something or said something but didn't, because he thought fate would be kind enough to give him some time.

He didn't want to take chances anymore.

Glancing down, Bucky saw you napping peacefully on his shoulders, really making him a human pillow. Hot puffs of air fell on his neck through your open lips. His heart fluttered in his chest, mentally cooing at how adorable you looked.

He couldn't help but think back to the time he had first met you as himself. His metal arm was trapped in a hydraulic press in some abandoned factory. Both Sam and you had pure disbelief on your faces when Steve trusted Bucky enough to believe his every word...just because he could recall Sarah and how Steve wore his shoes. But then you had gotten to know each other, slowly but surely.

It hadn't been all rainbows and sunshine. The trio of you had had your asses kicked by the spider kid, a literal teenager. You and Sam had been imprisoned in the Raft and had to live a couple years as criminals because you had helped Steve in rescuing him. After Thanos happened, Steve had decided to go on his own journey, leaving Bucky with those who didn't really know him and neither did he know them.

But efforts were made on both the sides. You and Sam had welcomed him into the Avengers like your own. Sure he had been more open and closer to Sam first, but that hadn't deterred from trying to befriend him.

Much like Sam, you had helped him through his night terrors. Been awake with him at odd hours of the night because he couldn't sleep. Helped him discover himself again. Listened to him when he needed an out without any judgement, or talked for the two of you when he wanted to communicate but couldn't. Trusted in him when he didn't even trust himself. Helped him believe in himself and forgive himself. You had helped him recover.

You were with him at the darkest times to guide him to the light, and celebrated with him when he did find his light. There were relapses, but you were with him to help him get back on track.

You had trusted him enough to let him see your vulnerable spots, to confide in him, to let him take care of you, to let him help you just like you had helped him. You had trusted him enough to let him see you, the real you.

But most important of all, you had been a friend before anything else. A friend whom he had needed had needed more than anything else.

Feelings had developed along the way, which he was glad for being reciprocated on both sides. The journey to where you and him were now had been a long one. It had never been easy, but it hadn't affected either of you.

Bucky never wanted to lose you. He couldn't ever possibly lose you. You meant too much to him. He also knew he couldn't dare to think he'd have much time before something akin to Thanos happened again. Being an Avenger guaranteed that nothing was ever guaranteed. Most of all time, in Bucky's case at least.

Looking at you, Bucky realised he couldn't not let you know how he truly felt. No matter what your decision might be afterwards, he had to let you know. He wanted to be his own man, making his own decisions. And he wanted to love you, so goddamn much, if you allowed him. His heart beat faster in realisation when he realised what that would mean. It made him nervous, but he was ready.

The risque wasn't lost on him. He was very well aware that you could run away in the opposite direction, thinking he was going too fast. You could break it off and your friendship wouldn't be the same again. If you wouldn't want to speak to him again, you would respect your wishes.

But if there was even the slightest chance that you felt the same, he needed to do it. Because the bliss of having you, being with you and loving you was worth every risk in the world.

The divider is made by @writeyourmindaway

Chapter 9

Blog’s Main Masterlist || Taglists

Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #soft!bucky barnes #soft!bucky barnes x reader #soft!bucky #soft!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader

315 notes · View notes

poetrusicperry · 3 years

Note

hello darling!! if you still need inspiration for the ship + headcanon thing here;

i'll try my best to describe myself, as that is my fatal flaw. i have green eyes and messy brown hair. my classic scent is marine water and driftwood. im a entp, aquarius, and slytherin. i use the pronouns she/her. i'm extremely stubborn, i have a good sense of humor, and i love learning. i also love to argue/debate, and i'll do anything to win [even if I'm wrong, but i'm never wrong ;)]. i probably need glasses, but i'm too stubborn to ever admit it. my favourite hobbies are reading, writing, researching, baking, and playing sports. i love learning about all types of mythology + astrology. i have a knack for history, and i'm super into foraging, although I don't get to practice it much! i would describe my aesthetic as a mix of academia, cottagecore, and goblincore. i have an extremely flirtatious personality, even when i don't mean to come across that way. my friends say i have an old soul- they also say i'm a nerd but we don't talk about that. i was on our schools honor roll, and I received two other awards, one for my academic achievement and one for my leadership skills. i am a die-hard romantic, although i'm the person you least expect it from. hopefully this information will suffice, and i'm particularly interested in whom you think would fall for silly old me.

thank you for the inspo, my dear !! i hope you like these; it got pretty late and i kind of ran out of creative energy toward the end, but i still hope it's okay <3

ship:

i have this feeling that’s telling me to ship you with cameron, so i’m shipping you with cameron !! you guys both seem to have strong personalities, but i think you’d both bring so many things to the table, there would never be a boring day between the two of you (:

hcs:

baking with pittsie and meeks !! pitts would actually try, and be pretty good, but meeks would be pretty… lackluster. it’s okay, though, because meeks and the rest of the poets (who would somehow stumble into the kitchen when they heard the timer go off) would be great taste-testers

legendary debates between you and charlie. i mean seriously, these things would take all night, and in the morning there still would be no conclusion. cameron would find you guys passed out in the common area with a bunch of notes scribbled into notebooks

you and cameron would also like to debate, but things never got as heated as they did between you and charlie. you and cameron really only debated to practice actual debating, and you’d both give each other constructive criticisms and stuff

your hesitation/laziness to get glasses didn’t really affect you… except when you got seated far away from the board and would be squinting your poor eyes out to no avail.

any one of the poets would be cool with you copying their notes

you and charlie would have this weird flirtatious thing that cameron was always a bit …? about, but you and charlie were both just naturally more flirtatious, so when you interacted it was pretty 😏

neil would always ask you to run lines with him, because you wouldn’t let him stop until he had a good portion memorized; you kept him motivated and he admired how driven you were in everything you did

you and pitts doing a research project on frogs completely for fun, but learning a whole lot about amphibians in the process

sweaty, tiring soccer games between you and the poets, where you’d play until long after the sun had gone down and the flood lights came on (you, charlie, neil, and todd can’t separate the bfs vs pitts, meeks, cameron, and knox)

exchanging poetry books with todd and neil, kind of like your guys’ own little library between the three of you

joking around with cameron, even when he was trying to study (you wouldn’t stop cracking jokes until he laughed)

blurb:

after getting in a small argument with cameron about a conversation you had had with charlie, you had left cameron’s room and gone back to your own. it was frustrating to you because no matter how many times you told cameron that you and charlie were just friends, there was always the smallest bit of tension surrounding the subject. you could understand why cameron would feel upset or threatened by charlie, but you didn’t understand why cameron felt the need to bring this up time and again. for a couple days you didn’t hear from him, nor did you feel inclined to talk to him. charlie kept his distance, too, but neil and todd came and hung out a bit. in the study area, you, neil, and todd were sitting on one side of the room, and the rest of the poets were on the other side. you paid no attention to the other side of the room, not once looking toward them (though cameron kept looking at you, and even disappeared for a bit before coming back).

“you guys don’t have to sit here with me… i don’t want to make anything weird between you and the other boys,” you’d say, flipping to a new page in your notebook and glancing up at them.

“we want to, don’t worry,” neil smiled and gave you a reassuring look before turning back toward todd to help him with latin. when dr. hager told everyone to pack it in for the night, you collected your things and headed straight to your room without even a glance behind you. when you got up into your room, you dropped your books on your desk, and went to flop down into bed when a folded up piece of paper on your pillow stopped you. sighing a little bit, you unfolded it and read the contents,

“i’m really sorry that i keep making the same argument happen. it’s never my intention, i think i’m just self conscious sometimes. there are a lot of things i’m good at, but being open and confident in certain social situations is definitely not one of them. it’s not your fault, and i’m really sorry. i don’t like not talking to you; these past few days have sucked. and i haven’t been able to focus on anything. i’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, okay? please don’t stay mad at me. i’m really sorry.

love,

cameron”

soon after, you had learned that the boys had helped him write the letter, and that while he struggled with intimacy and girls sometimes, it didn’t mean he didn’t care.

#dps #dps headcanons #richard cameron #dead poets society #richard cameron x reader #angelina writes

18 notes · View notes

jesbelle-writes · 4 years

Text

The Gift

After his failed attempt to reach kohlinar, Spock found that the rhythms of life aboard the Enterprise were somehow different. He had reached a hard-won détente between his Human emotions and his Vulcan logic, and it cast a new light on even the most familiar of rituals – such as the one now playing out in Kirk’s quarters.

“So Bones – your birthday’s coming up...” Kirk opened this conversation just as he had every year about this time.

“I don’t want a big fuss,” said McCoy, with the same frown as usual.

“How about a little fuss then?” asked Kirk, the customary amused smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I suppose I could tolerate it, if I had to,” came the reply.

And so some small celebration would be agreed upon. A place and time would be chosen for a quiet round of drinks; Scotty, Chapel, Uhura, Sulu, and (now that was no longer “the kid”) Chekov would be invited; and they’d all spend a quiet evening getting mildly inebriated and swapping reminiscences. Spock would attend, of course. McCoy was his friend, after all.

But this year, Spock couldn’t shake the feeling that something special was in order – something to acknowlege the shift he sensed in his relationship with McCoy. He couldn’t really name the nature of that shift – it was different somehow to the way his other relationships had changed – but he felt a need to take some kind of action nonetheless.

He wanted to give McCoy a birthday present.

His mother had explained gift-giving to him when he was a child. She had provided him with an exhaustive lesson on the rituals and obligations involved, including a list of the types of gifts that would be considered appropriate to each occasion.

“But sometimes,” she said, “a person wants to give a gift from the heart – something that shows how much regard they have for another person. The best gifts on these occasions are something the recipient can experience. A happy memory is worth a thousand objects.”

Spock understood that these “little fusses” that Jim put together were exactly that – another in a collection of happy memories for McCoy. Spock wanted to give McCoy something like that.

The bulk of his meditation time was dedicated to solving the puzzle of how to do that.

He considered the activities that McCoy engaged in during his rare breaks from work. He spent the bulk of his time simply “hanging out” with Spock or Jim or Christine. He enjoyed reading a genre of books he called “dimestore trash” that Spock had no idea how to even begin to obtain. And he enjoyed music.

Music seemed promising. McCoy’s tastes were eclectic, but Spock had a good ear and he was reasonably certain that he could find something that would please McCoy.

It was in this frame of mind that he noticed the humming.

There was a little snippet of a tune that McCoy hummed when he was trying to unravel any particularly thorny problem. Spock had heard it hundreds of times when sharing laboratory space with McCoy. It had long ago been relegated to the background noises of the lab.

It was a pretty tune, and obviously a favorite. He asked Dr. Chapel about it that afternoon.

“You mean the one that goes hum de dum dum dum hum de dum dum dum?” She mangled it completely, but it was still recognizable as the same tune, if only barely.

“Yes,” said Spock. “Do you know the title of the piece?”

“Sorry, no. I asked him about it once. He got really self-conscious and said it was just something his mother used to sing. Then I didn’t hear it for about a month.”

Jim was no help. “I don’t spend much time in the lab,” he pointed out. “And his mom was some kind of music historian, so she probably knew a lot of obscure songs.”

Spock made a recording of himself playing the tune on his lyre and fed it into the ship’s computer, but it matched nothing in the database. Finally, he sent the recording to the library at Memory Alpha and waited.

The answer came almost fourteen hours later – a song from the mid-twentieth century, lost for nearly 200 years before it was discovered in an archive on the North American continent at a place called Muscle Shoals.

The tune was sweet, and the song was short. But the lyrics...

If Spock had searched for years, he couldn’t have found a song more suitable. He decided that the piece should be performed live.

“It’s beautiful, Spock. Where did you find it?” asked Uhura. “It’s just so… Dr. McCoy, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is a favorite of his,” said Spock. “I would like to play it at his birthday. I was hoping that you would agree to sing it.”

“I’d love to, but I think you should do it. It would fit your range.”

“My musical range, perhaps. It is a very emotional piece,” said Spock.

They practiced the song every night.

McCoy’s birthday was in the forward observation lounge. It was busy tonight, and when Spock picked up his lyre and Uhura stood next to him a hush fell over the crowd.

“If I needed you Would you come to me, Would you come to me, And ease my pain?” sang Uhura.

“If you needed me, I would come to you, I’d swim the seas For to ease your pain.”

“In the night forlorn The morning’s born And the morning shines With the lights of love.”

Spock spared a glance toward McCoy, but Jim was seated between them, blocking his line of sight.

“You will miss sunrise If you close your eyes And that would break My heart in two.”

Spock tried twice more to catch a glimpse of McCoy to no avail. It wasn’t until the final chorus that he saw him.

McCoy looked stunned, overcome, but with what emotion, Spock couldn’t tell. There were, however, most definitely tears in his eyes.

The song ended to enthusiastic applause and several people came to pay their compliments – mostly to Uhura. McCoy was among them. He took Uhura’s hand in his and said, “Thank you so much, Nyota. That was lovely.” He nodded toward Spock. “You played that… very well – as usual, Spock.” He raised his glass toward the others. “I want to thank y’all for coming tonight. I know the night’s still young, but I’m not so much, and I’ve just had a week and a half of long shifts. So if y’all’ll excuse me, I’m going to head on out and get some shut-eye before I have to deal with the next torn rotator cuff or targ bite or what-have-you.”

There followed the usual well-wishing and congratulations as McCoy left. Spock, feeling unsettled and having no desire to feel unsettled in public, picked up his lyre and retired to his own quarters…

… where he was surprised to find Dr. McCoy leaning against his desk.

“I used my medical code,” said McCoy. “I hope you don’t mind. I promise I’m not planning to make a habit of it.”

Spock nodded. “I apolo--”

“I’m sor--” McCoy shook his head. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Just… let me say my piece and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” McCoy took a deep breath. “I… what you did tonight, Spock – that was the nicest, most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten. I couldn’t say this with a bunch of people around, but I need you to know what it meant to me.

“My mama used to sing me that song when I’d have bad dreams. She’d come sit on my bed and… stroke my hair… and sing that song. And it worked every time.

“She sang a lot of songs. She had a beautiful voice and she played guitar. She made a lot of recordings of those songs, and after she died, I’d play them all and pretend she was still there – just in the other room, singing. Well, I was just kid...

“Anyway she never got around to recording that one. So I’d sing it to myself when the bad dreams woke me up. I forgot most of the lyrics. I forgot what it sounded like when she sang it. I forgot what her fingers felt like in my hair. But it always made me feel better.

“I guess I got used to singing it. It was the tune I’d whistle in the dark, and it became the thing I turned to whenever the going got even a little rough.

“That’s what you gave me tonight. You gave me back her song. I don’t have words for that.” McCoy swiped at the tear that had fallen onto his cheek. “If you weren’t a Vulcan I’d hug you.”

Spock didn’t know what to say. He was experiencing a rush of emotions too powerful and too complex for him to even name, let alone express, not that he wished to express them. He didn’t even want to experience them.

Did he?

“And on that note,” said McCoy, standing up, “I’ll just see myself out.”

“Leonard.”

McCoy had nearly reached the door when Spock put out his hand to stop him. He took him by the wrist, his fingers curling around the warm, soft skin above McCoy’s pulse.

The sensation cut through some of the turmoil in Spock’s mind. This was… good? It was… fitting.

It was right because Spock had wanted to touch McCoy, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to give a gift that would touch McCoy’s heart.

And now he was touching his skin and that was also what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He pulled McCoy closer, put his arms around him, held him. And holding was also what he’d wanted.

And then McCoy’s arms wrapped around his waist…

...and there. This is what it is to fit, thought Spock. This is what it is to be exactly where he belonged.

McCoy drew back a little, enough to look Spock in the eye. “You sure?”

Spock nodded. “I am now.”

And then he kissed him.

Just a little note -- the song is “If I Needed You” by Townes Van Zandt. I’ve used it in fics before because it gives me serious Bones vibes. I actually had this scene in mind for one of those fics, but ended up using something else, so now you get it here.

#12daysofspones #spones #star trek #prompt: giving #yes i'm obsessed with this song

67 notes · View notes

starbuckie · 4 years

Text

All You Knead is Love Chapter Four: A Bit Untraditional

Challenge: The CBC 1k Writing Challenge by @captainscanadian

Prompt: Bakery AU

Pairing: Baker!Bucky x CEO!Reader

Warnings: Loads and loads of fluff, angst, mentions of PTSD and violence, pining, language as always, and slow burn

*TW: PANIC ATTACK*

Description: After being cut off by her family, Y/N L/N started up her own business. With her business finally rising to the top after three years, her family invites her back on two conditions: that she finds a man and gets married. Once she accomplishes that, then she’ll be able to access her family’s fortune again, which could help her business immensely. While that didn’t sound horrible to her, Y/N had never let herself have the time to meet other people, and has no time now. Running on a deadline for the company, she picks the closest person she can find: which happens to be the sweet, shy, yet hot baker who occasionally caters at her galas.

Words: 2,064 words

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been a solid two months, but I am back and hopefully kicking it with this series. I actually decided to rewrite the ending of the story from what I originally had planned, so I’m very very excited to write it. The holidays are coming up which has me excited, and if you haven’t already sen in a request for the Twelve Days of Fluffmas, you most definitely should. Again, this is for @captainscanadian‘s writing challenge(which you should go join do it do it do it) and hope you enjoy :))

Thursday approached menacingly and rapidly. In the few days they had to prepare, Y/N had managed to move all of her belongings from her pretty empty apartment on the Lower West Side, and into the house that they had bought. She couldn’t be any more grateful for her real estate agent for being so snappy with the process of buying the house. The apartment she left behind had barely been decorated, so the process wasn’t too difficult for her to move in. Bucky on the other hand had started to bring boxes over, at Y/N’s slight insistence that her parents may ask to come over, but his house held so many memories that he knew it would take much longer. It was difficult for him to leave the home he had known for so long, full of cherished memories and the only stable home he had after Iraq. But he was ready to let it go.

The evening of the big engagement dinner Y/N and Bucky were frantic, rushing around the house after work to shower and look presentable, making sure they could pull the stunt off. Bucky’s nerves had been on edge all day, slipping out of the house at two am, hours earlier than normal to start his day. As he talked to customers and served coffee, the words he’d rehearsed with Y/N echoed in his brain, taking over every nook and cranny of his thoughts that he messed up several orders. This time he wouldn’t get nervous. It took him long months to feel the slightest bit comfortable in his own skin and around his neighbors, so if he ran his own bakery he could propose, right?

“So,” Mrs. L/N tried to conceal her disgusted face, “James, what kind of, er, delicacies do you make?”

So the conversation was less than great, even Bucky could admit that. Although Y/n had warned him ahead of time that her parents were not the most amazing conversationalists, he expected something better than this awkward discussion about his job. He loved his job. It brought back cinnamon flavored memories of baking at Christmas with his ma, his dad and younger sister yelling over Scrabble in the living room. Barnes Brooklyn Bakery was his pride and joy, yet he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious when both of Y/N’s parents looked down on it.

“I make lots of things. It requires an earlier or later start time based off of what I’m making, because I want everything to be fresh. But my ma’s croissants are a big seller, and I know that Y/N loves my cinnamon rolls.” He sent her a soft smile, one that the woman in question couldn’t help but return.

“They’re amazing, mom, you have to try them. I swear those hands are absolutely magic and anything that’s made from them is as well.” She intertwined her pinky with Bucky’s on the table, admiring the way the candlelight illuminated the slope of his nose and the hollow of his cheekbones. God, this man has no right being this beautiful. “Bucky’s a hard worker and it shows.”

Y/N’s praise breezed through Bucky like a breath of fresh air, and suddenly his head was clear again, cheeks flushing. “Thanks, doll.”

“And what about your pay, James? How much do you make annually? I have to make sure you’ll be able to support both you and Y/N. After all, her pay from her… makeup brand and her funds can’t be enough.” Fury raged through Y/N, Bucky could probably see it in her eyes as she opened her mouth, prepared to make her argument.

“I make well enough at Orion, dad, but that’s not the point.” Meeting Bucky’s stare from her peripheral vision, she almost panicked. The reason they were sitting there in the first place was so Bucky could get more money for his bakery. “Must you really bring up business at the table? I’m simply trying to have a nice dinner with my boyfriend and my parents, is it really that difficult to ignore money matters for once?”

Her parents eyed each other, as if they were speaking in their own silent, separate language and reluctantly quieted down. The rest of dinner was... tense, to say the very least, stiff questions about childhood and answers being reciprocated as well. Sitting in the presence of her parents, their food tasted bland, but that could’ve been from the anxiety of waiting for the proposal. They’d decided that Bucky was to pop the question while they ate dessert, just a simple small speech and a few tears.

Bucky’s eyes kept trailing back to Y/N as they shared a matcha tiramisu, repeating the words “will you marry me” a million differents ways in his head. The small restaurant he felt comfortable with suddenly felt too small, Bucky not knowing when the proper time to get down on one knee. They hadn’t discussed this. Y/N had just said “whenever you feel is right”, but when was right? The whole idea just felt so wrong to him. Marriage was supposed to be loving, a holy union and commitment for the rest of their lives. He and Y/n didn’t love each other. The whole sham of being husband and wife, for money suddenly felt so sickening to him. The room was closing in on him and all he wanted to do was bolt out and never turn back. He was going back out, he was going to, he felt it, and-

“Marry me, Y/N.” Dead silence. Eyes from all the customers sitting were baring through the couple, seeing his innermost secrets and every one of them felt like a beam of light, boring straight through his soul. Bucky hadn’t even realized how he had practically yelled it at her until the restaurant had gone quiet and he was absolutely mortified. Y/N’s eyes were wide in shock, as this was not how she imagined it going. Yet, the show had to go on.

He instinctively dropped onto one knee, eyes trained at the ground because he was scared of what he would see in her eyes. Short puffs of breath left his mouth and he all of Manhattan could hear his heart pounding. “When we met, I knew you were the one for me. I knew you were beautiful, hell, y-you were gorgeous that day you walked into the bakery, but every time you came in after I got to know the beautiful woman that wasn’t just on the outside, but on the inside too.” His eyes started tearing up, from both his kind of true confession and the pressure that was being put on him. “I-I promise to love you with all my heart. You’re my best friend, my confidante, my soulmate, and I want to be walking by my side for the rest of our lives, doll. I want to be yours forever. What do you say?”

Bucky lifted his gaze up to meet hers, hands covering her mouth as a soft sigh left her lips. Y/N couldn’t believe the beautiful sight. Shaking hands held a small cut diamond nestled in between two simple silver bands. Bucky’s hair was fluffy, newly so from his haircut the other day, clean shaven jaw showcasing the highlights of his cheekbones, and his eyes. She could go on forever about those pretty, blue eyes of his, but in the two years of knowing him, they had never been as pretty as they were in that moment, pretty blue eyes peering up at her.

Here he was, the man that she considered one of her closest friends in the city, literally giving his solitary life up to spend it with her. She wasn’t in love with him, not now at least, but those lingering feelings of hers tried to once again force their way back into her heart.

And this time, at the worst time possible, she let them.

With a small but giddy grin, she nodded and placed her hand on his cheek. “Yes, Bucky, I’ll marry you.”

He let out a long sigh at her approval, but the applause and cheers directed at him continued to make his heart race. Bucky slipped the ring onto her finger clumsily, his breath starting to become more labored as the cheers of “kiss” got louder. Y/N noticed his harsh breathing, and as she pulled him into an enveloping embrace she could feel the rapid beating of his heart the thin dress shirt he wore. “Can we go, Y/N?”

His whispered voice quivered, as if he were to break at any moment. “Of course, Bucky, I’ll go say goodbye and you can start heading to the car.” Grip on her waist tightened as she heard him grind his teeth.

“Please stay with me.”

Of course I’ll stay with you. “Always.” The cheers had not stopped, their voices still ringing strong throughout the restaurant. With no hesitation, Y/N planted a kiss on his cheek, hopefully ridding themselves of the large crowd they had garnered. Her parents looked confused, both of their eyebrows raised at the couple who still had yet to do anything besides hug at their engagement. “Mom, dad, Bucky and I are gonna go home to… celebrate by ourselves.”

Both of them heated up. “Just leave, we’ll take care of the bill. Your father will send you information for the fund over the weekend.” Mrs. L/N eyed both of them skeptically before saying, “Congratulations, Y/N.”

As soon as they got outside Bucky’s knees buckled, Y/N rubbing his back to try and console his breathing. His mind had grown hazy with wild thoughts, the crowd, the proposal, Y/N’s fucking perfume, it was all too much.

It was crawling underneath a truck in the boiling sun, Sam screaming for him, the first blossom of pain and staring down at his left arm, bloodied and detached from his body. It was screaming at his little sister to leave when she brought him groceries, ripping up Steve’s letters from Iraq. It was hours upon hours sitting in medical beds, sitting on couches, staring at the ceiling while doctors attempted to get him to open up. It was panicking at the bakery when someone eyed his prosthetic for too long and women leaving dates with him at the diner on 5th street after he failed to tell them all the gory details about how he lost his arm when they persistently asked. It was every moment he had looked at Y/N, all smiles and kind eyes, and wishing for once that he could not be a fucking coward and ask her out.

“I’m sorry.” The woman whispered. She now kneeled next to him, her right arm tracing shapes on his back, the light scrape of her nails bringing him to somewhat of a peace.

“I don’t need your pity, Y/N.” The second it left his lips he regretted it, waiting for her to leave him alone. They all did eventually. But Y/N sat there, patiently, with a small tilt to her red-painted lips.

“I’m not pitying you, Bucky. You’re one of the strongest and bravest people I know, and I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“I just can’t believe I relapsed.” He let out a humorless laugh, his chin coming to rest in his palm. “I thought I was doing well, I always feel okay at the bakery, but I guess that the restaurant was too much. Haven’t been to one in at least a year.”

“It’s completely okay to have panic attacks and to relapse, okay, Bucky? Don’t beat yourself up about it, honey.” Kicking her high heels off, she brought herself down to his level, both of them sitting on the sidewalk as people passed them by. Though they were in New York, the city that never sleeps, she strangely felt calm. People didn’t even turn their heads at the two well-dressed people sitting on the ground. “I would’ve proposed to you, you know.”

“You propose to me? That’ isn't very traditional,” Bucky said with a breathy chuckle.

“To be fair, is any of this?” His grin was starting to grow back, and he squeezed her hand and looked out into the crowded street of the night.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

TAGLIST

@aiofheavenandhell @barnesjamcs @kitkatd7 @adorkably @marvelnaturalock

AKYIL TAGLIST

@aiofheavenandhell @barnesjamcs @kitkatd7 @captainscanadian @93generation @drunkbucky @thebadassbitchqueen @asonofpeter @cosmicbreathe @adorkably @awesomeannanumber1 @blubberingmess @every-marveler-ever @supraveng @delicatecapnerd @bitchwhytho @peace-love-hobbitness @learisa @marvelnaturalock

67 notes · View notes

7-wonders · 4 years

Text

The Thrill of the Chase

Summary: Your path once again crosses with Michael’s, this time under much more dire circumstances. Life and death, specifically yours, has suddenly never been more prevalent in your mind.

Word Count: 2602

A/N: Hey y’all, this takes place after Lost In the Shadows! We’ve been talking a lot of True Blood on here lately, and when I wrote this sort of situation with Eric Northman, somebody said they could imagine this with Michael. Hence, this new work. I hope you enjoy, and please remember that likes, comments, and reblogs are what makes my world go round.

In the weeks since you had discovered that vampires are not just a myth written about in romantic novels and scary stories, and that your boss, Michael Langdon, was the first vampire and the Antichrist, life had been quieter than you were expecting. After luring Michael to your lab and forcing him to tell you about vampires, you had thought that he was going to make you go missing or force you to swear that you would remain silent. To your surprise, however, he gave you space. You had seen him multiple times since the incident had occurred, but every time he kept his distance, choosing to greet you with a simple smile before moving on to whatever a vampire CEO needs to do.

Maybe this is some predatory habit of vampires, where they bait their prey before backing off and driving them mad with anticipation before striking. If it is, you would rather Michael get whatever he’s planning over with. This wait, whether it be for something or nothing, is starting to affect your work.

Speaking of work, it’s then that you shake yourself out of your thoughts and realize nearly an hour has passed since the typical work day ends. You sigh, running a hand through your hair and looking disdainfully at the paperwork that still litters your desk. Some days, being head of R&D has its perks. Others, when you have to sift through hundreds of funding requests from developers just as idiotic as Jeff and Mutt, make you want to walk out and never come back. You doubt you’d find a job with health insurance as good as Kineros’s, though.

Deciding that a walk to clear your head will do you some good, you stand and relish in the popping noise that your shoulders make when you stretch. The building’s your favorite when it’s almost completely empty, the comforting silence a perfect work environment. Greeting one of the custodians as she mops the hall in the direction away from your lab/office, you decide to walk downstairs to give her uninterrupted time to clean without you getting in the way.

Eventually, and like always, you end up down at the main lab that Jeff and Mutt inhabit. You’ve made it a habit to come and check that everything is turned off and put back where it’s supposed to be, not trusting two men constantly high on cocaine to properly dispose of used chemicals and turn off the power source to loose wires. After getting on them numerous times about proper lab etiquette, they’ve actually become quite vigilant. Tonight, however, you can already see a bunsen burner that looks like it’s still on. While concerning, it’s not a disastrous situation. It’s not, at least, until you turn the light on and notice the ethanol-soaked rag right next to the open gas source.

That’s when the explosion happens.

It’s a perfect storm, with a combustible chemical having had plenty of time to oxidize next to a natural gas source. The heat emanating from the fluorescent lights that you turn on act as the catalyst, and you only have time to cover your eyes as the light from the rapidly-expanding flame warns you milliseconds before the explosion reaches your ears. The sheer force of velocity is enough to throw you across the room, with the all-glass interior proving no match as every surface shatters. Everything is happening so fast, yet it seems as though it’s in slow motion, an out of body experience in which you’re a passive observer watching what’s happening to you. Maybe you are having an out of body experience, since the bouncing of your head against the wall is something that you’re pretty sure knocks you out.

It’s unclear how much time has passed when you hear a voice calling your name. Long enough that the flames have started smoldering under the water of the fire alarms. You blink rapidly, trying to get your eyes to focus again. Finally, Michael Langdon comes into view. If you weren’t in a state of shock, you’d be mildly upset that of course the vampire whom you threatened last week is the one to come upon you in a state of mortal peril. Since you are dealing with a bit of shock, you can only stare at him in disbelief.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” You nod. “What happened?”

“Cokeheads...chemicals...bunsen burner…” Damn, that sounded way more eloquent in your head. Your inability to string together a full sentence means a concussion is almost certain.

“Those fucking imbeciles,” Michael says lowly, eyes scanning you to catalogue the extent of your injuries. His eyes are dark red with veins extending to his cheeks, startling you just as much as the previous time you saw this side of him. What startles you even more is just how easily he bites into his own wrist to let blood flow, holding it out to you expectantly.

“No, I don’t wanna be a vampire.” You try to move away from Michael, but you’re in too much pain for even that.

Although your words come out slurred and confused, Michael still understands you. “You won’t, I promise. It’s a very specific ritual, and there’s not even a chance of you becoming a vampire from this. Please, just take my blood and let me heal you.”

Later, you’ll wonder if Michael had done some sort of vampire mind trick on you. That’s the only way you can justify taking his blood with so little hesitation. Regardless of the reasons why, the earnesty in his voice tells you that he’s being truthful.

Michael leans over you, slipping a hand around the back of your neck to help you up as you lower your mouth to the open wound on his wrist. While you grimace at the metallic taste when Michael’s blood first pools in your mouth, the taste changes to something much more pleasant. It’s like a new cocktail that you get at a bar; you’re not too sure of whether or not you like it, but you know that it tastes good.

By the time you notice that your head feels clearer, Michael’s deemed that you’re fully healed. To your muted horror, you realize that you don’t want to pull away, but Michael gently forces you off of him. His inquisitive eyes look you over once more, and he uses his thumb to wipe stray blood off of your lips.

“You healed me. Why?” Your head is reeling with how fast events have been moving in the span of just a few minutes, yet the one clear question you have is why Michael healed you when he could have just as easily killed you.

“Why not?”

“Well...because…”

“Are you feeling better?” Michael decides to take pity on your bewilderment, switching the subject.

“Oh!” Now that he mentions it, you do feel better. You can think in full sentences now, and the dull ache in your head has disappeared. While you hadn’t seen any cuts on your body, the thin lines of blood left behind on your arms prove that there were wounds from the broken glass. “I am, actually.”

“You sound surprised. Did you not think that it would work?”

Laughing sheepishly, you shrug. “I mean, not really.”

You look around, just now seeing the destruction around you. “You think Jeff and Mutt have insurance that covers gross negligence?”

“Oh, they’ll be paying for this out of their own pockets. They’re lucky that I won’t have them criminally charged for any of this.” Sirens sound in the distance, and Michael pulls you up from out of the rubble. “Come, the authorities will be here soon.”

“Wait!” Michael allows you to pull him to a stop. “What do I even tell the police? I’m sure there’s security footage of me getting knocked out.”

“Conveniently, the cameras were knocked out due to the explosion.” Michael winks at you before disappearing like he was never at the scene, leaving you to stand among the carnage as authorities swarm what was once a laboratory.

It’s light out when you wake up after your whirlwind night, which is what you first recognize as odd. When you arrived home last night, you don’t remember falling asleep. The next thing that can be categorized as odd is the tall, blond vampiric Antichrist standing in the middle of your bedroom. You scramble up on the bed with a surprised gasp, pulling your blankets up to your chin and staring at Michael’s smirking face.

“What--how are you here? I never invited you in.”

“A common misconception about vampires.” Michael slowly approaches the bed, his languid movements reminding you of the predator that he is.

“But what about the fact that it’s light out? Shouldn’t you be a pile of ash right now?”

“I am not the final word of vampire lore.” He kind of is, and you would retort with that, if it weren’t for the way he crawls towards you. “Your heart is beating very fast.”

“That’s because I’m not sure if you’re gonna eat me.”

“Potentially, but not in the way that you’re thinking.” If Michael couldn’t hear your heart beating before, he surely can now, especially once he leans in and kisses you.

You’ve been kissed before, enough times that you would consider yourself pretty knowledgeable about the subject. If you know a bit about kissing, then Michael Langdon is an expert on it. He manages to be sensual, yet rough at the same time, a fang nicking your bottom lip and making you shudder in surprise. Just as quickly as the droplet of blood can bead up to the surface, Michael’s licked it away, moaning at the taste of your blood.

“I don’t know how I’ve managed to go so long between tasting you,” Michael mutters against your skin, using his skill to quickly remove the shirt that you had been sleeping in.

You’re not self-conscious at Michael seeing you topless, which is unusual for you. Maybe it’s just because he knows how to treat a person right, but it’s impossible to even have those thoughts when the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen is currently kissing his way down your abdomen. Michael’s fingers ghost over the top of your pants, and you thread your fingers through his hair in response. Then, there’s a loud knock on the door.

Sitting up in bed, you’re disoriented when you realize that it’s not light out, and you don’t have a gorgeous blond vampire on top of you. Somebody knocks on the door again, and you realize that must be what woke you up from your extremely vivid, extremely wonderful dream.

“I’m coming,” you say in the loudest voice you can muster, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders to combat the cold air that the open door will let in. “Michael!”

Either this is the weirdest inception-like dream you’ve ever had, or the man you were just having a sex dream about is standing at your door. “Hello, (Y/N). I hope you won’t be too upset that I woke you at this hour.”

“Uh, you’re fine.” You open the door wider to allow Michael to enter, but he just continues to stand in the same spot. “Do I...have to invite you in? Like, is that a real thing with vampires?”

“No, I just prefer to be polite and not barge into somebody’s home without their permission.” You smirk. Of course that myth would come from the overly-polite Antichrist.

“Come in, Michael.”

“Thank you.” He steps in, quickly appraising the entryway of your apartment with the detached air of someone who’s been in homes much grander than this (he probably has; you’ve seen a couple of portraits of the French court at Versailles with a blond lord who looks suspiciously like Michael). “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“That would be a question I have.”

“Well, I realized that I had forgotten to mention something about taking vampire blood when injured.”

“And you couldn’t wait until the next time that you saw me to tell me this? Wait, how did you even find my address?”

“I’m the CEO, I have everybody’s records.”

“So, what did you have to tell me?”

“I’m assuming, since you were asleep, that you had a pretty...imaginative dream about me?”

The blood drains from your face. “How did you know about that?”

“I was so wrapped up in saving you, and the commotion that followed, that I didn’t get to tell you that a human drinking a vampire’s blood bonds them to that vampire.”

“What does that mean?” you ask incredulously.

“What it means,” Michael explains patiently, “is that certain things are going to happen to you now that you have a vampire’s blood in your system. Your senses will be enhanced, you’ll have heightened strength…”

“And the dreams?”

“As I said before, drinking a vampire’s blood bonds a human to that vampire. Until my blood is out of your system, I’ll be able to sense if you’re in trouble and your emotions. It can also give you erotic dreams about the vampire whose blood you’ve consumed.”

You groan, dismay evident on your face. “Great, that’s just--fantastic. So when does it stop?”

“A couple of months? Blood doesn’t cycle through the body very fast.”

“You’re kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t see what’s funny about this.”

“My entire life since I’ve met you has been fucking hilarious! And now I’m apparently bonded to you because you just happened to cross my path when I was mortally wounded.”

Michael glowers at you. “I didn’t have to save your life, you know.”

“Yet you did, all the while knowing what would happen when I took your blood.” You want to say all the things you’re thinking of, like how you still would have survived out of sheer hatred for him even if you did have to wait for the ambulance to arrive (which they had, clearing you after you had explained to the very confused EMTs that you hadn’t been in the lab when the explosion happened, just right outside of it; they had accepted your lie, albeit dubiously upon seeing the devastation that wrecked the first floor of Kineros), but all you can think about are his goddamn beautiful lips and how badly you want to kiss them. “Fuck, I can’t even focus on being mad at you because of the urge to kiss your stupidly perfect face!”

The anger Michael was previously feeling evaporates as he fights the upward quirk that his lips threaten to take. “We certainly can kiss, if that’s what you’d like.”

“It’s not what I’d like! It’s that stupid bond you were talking about.”

“Maybe just once will help to quell any future urges you may have?”

You’re not sure if you want to smack the cocky grin off his face or jump on him, so you settle for pointing to the front door. “Out.”

“Alright, but just remember that the offer still stands.” He produces a business card between his long, ringed fingers, and you snatch it out of his hand while still glaring at him. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

You slam the door behind him, leaning against it to help your shaky knees. Michael’s laughter is still on the air long after he’s left, and you sigh as you wonder how on earth you’re going to get to sleep...especially when you realize that you won’t be able to take care of your little problem without Michael knowing. That laughter suddenly seems a lot louder now.

Baby tag list bc I’m lazy: @moonanonwriting @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @sojournmichael @chibi-lioness @ccodyfern @trelaney @xavierplympton @dyns33 @michaelsapostle @ajokeformur-ray

211 notes · View notes

the-evil-authoress · 3 years

Text

GX Month Day 6: “Heartfelt Appeal”

You find two characters that click so well, look them up...and there’s no content! ‘Why?? Someone please make content!’ The pleas go unheard. You’ll just have to make it yourself. Show some love for your rare pairs today!

MORE FANTASYSHIPPING! 8D

Year 2’s Duel Monster Spirit Day! Friendly reminder that ‘Mana’ is the name Dark Magician Girl gave when she introduced herself to Syrus last year.

Colorful banners and streamers hang from the entrance hall once more, market tents set up in the main yard with flashy signs and flags announcing their wares or food or other activities. Syrus stares at it all with the same wonder as last year, and peers through the throng of students hopefully. His other friends have already gone off to find the activities they like best, be it duels or carnival games or the kissing booth, so Syrus is free to wander at his leisure and search.

It’s stupid, it’s silly, and Syrus still wonders if last year was a fever dream regardless of the way Christina keeps teasing him and the ghost of arms he sometimes feels around his shoulders. But still, he hopes and maybe this year he can confirm it for sure.

“Syrus!” a voice calls out that tickles his memory and Syrus swings to face-

“Mana!” Heat floods his cheeks. Dear Ra, did she get prettier or is he just hopelessly, stupidly crushing? “You...you just disappeared last time,” he squeaks out the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t a jumbled mess of pretty hug magic like, and wants to kick himself when Mana’s expression falls.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says, looking so sad it physically hurts. “I didn’t want it to end that way. I lost track of the time and I wasted too much of it showing off.” Her voice turns a bit bitter before she shrugs it off and smiles again. “But not this time. This time you have my full attention.”

“No, no!” Syrus frantically waves his hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean- I what?”

Mana giggles and leans down. “Just for today, you have me all to yourself!” Winking, she taps his nose and Syrus wheezes as his heart makes a valiant attempt at pounding straight out of his chest. Leaning back, Mana clasps her hands behind her back. “So what do you want to do?”

“Ah, well, um, we, we could, we could check out the carnival games,” Syrus finally stammers out a full sentence. Gods he hasn’t been this bad about it since the beginning of the year!

Mana only giggles again as she takes his hand and heads off toward the game booths. “Don’t go hiding in a trashcan on me now.”

Syrus’ brain freezes for a full second. “YOU SAW THAT?”

“I see everything Chinatsu sees! Well, almost.”

Who the hell is Chinatsu?!

It takes a solid 30 minutes and two botched carnival games to finally work himself out of that last anxiety attack, but finally his heartrate feels normal and he doesn’t want to die of mortification. If he dies he won’t get to see Mana smile or hear her squeal over the stuffed Happy Lover she won from the last game. Her throwing arm is ridiculously good. She’s also amazingly child-like for...however old she’s supposed to be.

“Ooo! I wanna try that! I wanna try that!” she squeals, pointing animatedly at the food stall with an assortment of pastries. “The bean fishies! Chinatsu loves these! I always wanted to try one!”

Syrus orders them a taiyaki each and ends up going back for seconds when Manna practically melts where she stands. “It’s so rich and sweet~!”

The next half hour ends up devoted purely to letting Mana sample all the food at the festival and discover her favorites. They compare tastes and Syrus offers recommendations. Mana ends up leaning more towards milder flavors of the sweet and savory variety; too much flavor and she’ll gag on it even if she likes the taste. Syrus prefers saltier foods with just a tiny extra kick. Mana’s reaction to hot spices had been concerning but strangely fun.

“Hey, um, if it’s not rude to ask...” Syrus starts as they sit on a bench nibbling on dango. Mana tilts her head to show she’s listening and Syrus ploughs ahead before he can talk himself out of it. “Are you really the Dark Magician Girl?”

Manna chews slowly before swallowing. “What do you think, silly?”

He thinks she is, and he’d call it crazy if not for, well, everything else crazy about the last two years of his life. After literally sentient murder crazy light, he might be ready to believe anything. But then- “Why me?”

“Because you wanted to get to know me,” Manna says without missing a beat. “You didn’t just see a pretty face or a powerful mage; you wanted to know the real me beneath all of that.”

“Oh...” Syrus remembers that conversation. Christina asked him why he had a card crush on the Dark Magician Girl. Did she ask because...

“And because I want to get to know you too,” Mana continues and Syrus sputters as his poor heart makes itself known again. “I’ve gotten to watch you a lot but that’s not the same as interacting. I want you to show me who you are. And I want to show you who I am.”

“Me? But I’m...I’m not...” His eyes fall to the ground as he thinks of that embarrassing episode of hiding in a trash can, of his brother who he couldn’t even stand up to in the end, of the Society of Light that he did absolutely nothing to help stop and even got himself kidnapped by a digital woman and her duel monster lackeys.

“Syrus.” A hand on his cheek brings him back to face Mana’s deep green eyes. “You can do anything and be anyone you want to be. I mean, just look at you already.” She plucks at the yellow blazer and Syrus’ chest fills with pride at the reminder. That’s right. He did do that. All on his own. “You look so good in yellow!” Mana cheers and Syrus’ ducks his face away again. He doesn’t know how to handle all these compliments! “Believe in yourself, and when that’s hard to do, believe me when I say I believe you can do anything.”

Those words might mean more to him than any other praise or pep talk he’s gotten before, simply because they sound so genuine. He’ll hold those words close to his heart for the rest of his life, because someone as strong and powerful as the freaking Dark Magician Girl believes in him. Swallowing, he nods and clears his throat to find his voice. “So, um, what do you wanna know?”

Smiling, Mana stands and pulls him straight back to the carnival games. Oh, so they’re not talking more? Syrus has to admit to being disappointed.

“Favorite color?” Mana asks as they try to catch tiny goldfish and distracts Syrus from the extra shiny one he almost caught.

“Actually...it’s orange,” he amidst sheepishly. “But I look horrid in it.”

“Aw, I think you’d look cute in orange! Like a little pumpkin.”

“A pumpkin?!”

“Oh? I’m sorry, was that an insult?” Mana asks with such genuine concern and confusion that Syrus can’t even be mad.

Shaking his head, Sryus flips the question around on her. “What about you?”

Mana stares at the water in the plastic pool. “It used to be purple...but I think I like grey a little better now.” She looks up and smiles and Syrus can’t help but feel like he’s missed something significant in that response.

“Favorite animal?” Mana asks once they’ve moved on to a ring toss game.

“Dogs,” Syrus says immediately, then feels self conscious about it. “I mean, they’re loyal and fluffy and I’ve always wanted one, they look fun to play with-”

Mana laughs. “Dogs are man’s best friend, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Mine are birds.” Mana looks up to the sky. “Because they can fly. I always wanted that freedom.”

“But you can fly too, can’t you?”

“In spirit form. But I can’t go too far from my card. Like this I can only float a bit.” With a snap of her fingers, her feet lift a couple centimeters off the ground in demonstration.

“That’s so cool.” Syrus stares in awe as Mana sets her feet back on the ground.

“The silliest thing you’ve ever done?”

A deep breath as a laundry list of his most mortifying experiences assault him. Breath out. He digs deeper for an older memory less tarnished by years of ridicule and insecurity. “I wore a sand bucket on my head and called myself a king.”

Mana laughs, loud and sudden, and Syrus takes pride in his four year old self for managing to entertain two people. He doubts he’d share that memory with anyone else; it’s one of the few he has of Zane smiling.

“I used to hide in giant vases then jump out and scare the crap out of my best friend,” Mana says with a wide grin, and Syrus snorts because he can picture it clearly. “Master always scolded me, but his reactions were too fun.”

Her master? Dark Magician then? Syrus wonders what kind of person would get to hang out with both of them. Probably another powerful spellcaster. “What is he like? Your master? Or...is he here today too?”

“Mahad? No, his situation is different from mine so it’s harder for him to cross the border,” Mana says, scanning the festival for their next game. “He’s pretty strict, and doesn’t know how to take a joke. But he’s kind and selfless.” Her voice grows soft and wistful, then she shakes herself and scratches her cheek. “Honestly, we’re kinda opposites, but that’s what makes it fun.”

She points to a shooting game booth before eagerly charging toward it; Syrus shows her how to use the toy gun and manages to beat her at this game. He still lets her pick out the prize, giggling when she picks out a lucky cat keychain.

“Dream career?” The key chain sways as it dangles from her finger.

Syrus fidgets. “It may seem kinda obvious, but I wanna be a pro duelist. A really famous one,” he mumbles, eyes turning to the ground.

“I bet you’ll be more famous that Yugi!” Mana cheers and Syrus quickly waves his hand in front of him.

“No! No, I doubt that!”

“Do you wanna have kids?” she asks while they fish for balloons with little hooks on strings.

Syrus chokes and drops his string straight into the water. “I mean, uh, maybe?? I guess I’d like- like to settle down and- and have a family- eventually...”

Mana smiles, but it looks a bit sad. “Yeah. I definitely want that too.”

“Best childhood memory?” Nimble fingers rifle through the Senbonbiki strings before giving one a tug.

Syrus answers without hesitation. “Zane teaching me how to duel.”

The string is a dud without a prize attached; Mana turns from pouting to look at Syrus with curious eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah... we...” Syrus looks away, tries to keep the melancholy out of his voice. “We had a good relationship back then.”

Mana hums, reaching out to take his hand and wander back through the festival. “I think...mine is meeting Atem for the first time.”

Atem. That’s Christina’s ace card. Syrus shouldn’t be surprised he’s a duel spirit too. “Are all monster cards duel spirits?”

“Not every card has a spirit attached, but I have noticed almost every design mirrors a creature or person that actually exists.”

“Weird.” Honestly, Syrus never thought about it before, but it’s really weird that a game on Earth could accurately depict creatures from another dimension. Sure, Pegasus based the original cards off carvings he found in Egypt, but those were 3000 years old! Some of the new archetypes look distinctly futuristic, and Jaden designed the Neo Spacians so explain that! Just thinking about it gives Syrus a headache.

“Have you ever lost a fight?” he ventures to ask as they nibble on chocolate bananas.

“Lots of times,” Mana laughs at herself. “Especially during training. And no matter how good you are there’s always someone stronger, so tactical retreat is necessary!”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Syrus nods. The sky’s getting darker. Will Mana still be here for the fireworks? “What’s it like being a spirit?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. “It’s...lonely sometimes,” she admits, voice soft, almost forlorn. “Not many people can see us. We entertain ourselves by watching the world and taking bets on what kind of trouble Jaden will get into next.” Mana shrugs and smiles, an obvious attempt to make light of the situation, but Syrus can see straight through it.

“Oh,” he says, wishing he could put his emotions into words that wouldn’t hollow.

Mana glances out at the darkening sky, voice soft as she asks, “One thing you really wanna do before you die?”

“Huh?” The question startles Syrus as much as the oddly wistful tone. “I guess...” He hesitates. One thing? The thing he wants to do most? That he’d regret never doing? “I wanna be happy. With someone I mean!” he quickly amends and the word babble spills out from there. “I wanna get married and buy a house and share my life with someone. I know it probably doesn’t sounds that ambitious but-”

“No, that’s a great ambition.”

Syrus can’t really name the emotion on Mana’s face. Nodding, he looks down at his feet and fiddles with his hands. “Maybe...if we get to know each other better...you could be that person?” He squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to look up.

An intake of breath. “Syrus...”

The boom rattles through his bones and Syrus screams, flinging himself towards the nearest source of comfort and shelter, straight into Mana’s arms. Oh. Oh, the fireworks! Prying his eyes open reveals bursts of color lighting up the sky as another boom shakes the air. He laughs awkwardly and rights himself, murmuring an apology.

“I don’t have much time left,” Mana says, colored light illuminating her mournful expression, and the dread seizes Syrus by the throat.

“Ki-kiss me properly this time!” Oh gods his voice cracked and got really screechy, but he said it! His hands fist against his legs, trembling as her heart goes off on another marathon, and what if she rejects him? What if he read this all wrong? What if-

“Okay.”

Her kiss lingers on his lips long after the fireworks fade and she disappears back to being a spirit. He can still feel her hand against his own, and this time he knows it’s real.

#gxmonth2021 #fantasyshipping #syrus truesdale #marufuji shou #dark magician girl #ygo gx #yugioh gx #yu gi oh gx #long post

6 notes · View notes

just-char · 3 years

Note

5. Can I request Percy's POV for the opening scene in Chapter 2 of Homeward, where Ramsey has dinner with Percy and Molly? Or would doing so spoil the dramatic effect of later on? The scene is so well-written I feel the other POV isn't needed to understand what's going on, but it would be fun to read nonetheless. :)

Good evening. A fantastic request! I am a very slow writer, but here is the scene in full in Percy's POV. You will notice it is nearly twice as long due to the wordy and rambling nature of Percy's existence (and hence, one of the reasons Homeward is from Ramsey's point of view) and also that it is very much unedited. It was fun to explore the conversation Percy has on the phone with her mother (during which I believe you will cringe several times at both of their lack of tact and general ineptness. ) It is sort of not canon as the phone call lasts a little bit longer than it does in the actual story, but I love Liz and Arthur too much to not have fun with them when I can. Story: Homeward Word Count: 4,045

Ramsey, Percy had noticed, was over for dinner more often recently. She did not mind this. Quite the opposite. She often struggled with portion sizes when cooking now that she had to cook for more than one person (somehow, simply doubling the amount she used to make never worked out like it mathematically should have) and there was always enough to feed him. He also made for good company for Molly, who Percy suspected, despite how quiet she could be around others, loved having him over for the noise and excitement he brought to the usually quiet apartment. It was important for her to have good adult role models, and the imperfect Ramsey who was trying to make up for his difficult past was, in her opinion, a much better fit than the rambunctious Giovanni, whose moral code was vague at best and dangerous at worst. Also, admittedly, she simply liked him around, which was probably reason enough. So, no, she most certainly didn’t mind that he came over more often and would stay for dinner. It was something friends did, she was sure. Well, she was almost sure.

Today, he especially had a good reason to come over. Molly’s bedroom had been irking her lately. Percy was perfectly capable of painting walls– in fact, she was excellent at painting walls– but she was not an artist, and it was a strict difference. Although she could quite easily and quite neatly paint a green coat, or even perhaps some sort of dual coloured coat, given the proper masking tape, she could not paint bears. Molly’s old bedroom, she had noticed the only time she’d been in it, had bears on the wall. Teddy bears, specifically. And given that Molly was nearing adolescence, Percy wanted to take full advantage of the age where she would still enjoy such frivolous things and recreate them. Ramsey was also very idle, she found. When he was not working, he was drawing or sleeping from what she could gather (the latter much more so than the former) and it seemed to be putting a ‘dampener’ on his mood. Paying him to paint Molly’s bedroom (with her assistance, of course) seemed like a good way to kill two birds with one stone. Not that she would ever hurt a bird, of course. Well, not unless it was a dangerous individual that had to be taken care of. Perhaps she wouldn’t think about it anymore.

The spaghetti was a little salty. She hoped neither of them minded. It sort of reminded her of buttered noodles, which she mostly knew as a childhood treat (emphasis on treat, they were certainly not good for her) and as such she didn’t dislike the taste, but still. “Thanks again for painting my room, Mr Murdoch.” As Percy scrutinized her plate, Molly had taken to thanking Ramsey for his work. She was a very polite young girl. Very admirable. It was incredible how well-raised she was, all things considered, but Percy thought that simply spoke to how wonderful Molly was, and was not reflective of anything her father did for her.

Ramsey waved her gratitude off humbly. “Eh, it wasn’t nothing. S’nice to get out of the old apartment anyway.”

Percy chose to ignore his double negative. It was confusing, but he did it a lot and she’d managed to get used to it. She did not understand why he found it difficult to accept thanks, however. She quickly patted her mouth with her napkin (dinner etiquette was very important) so she could show her shared appreciation. “Whether it was nothing or not, we appreciate your effort.” Of course, she knew it probably was nothing to him. After all, he was an artist of very high caliber. But that didn’t change the fact he had put time and energy into doing it.

Instead of accepting her thanks, once more Ramsey chose to deflect, pointing his fork at her. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you couldn’t do it yourself.” Before Percy could debate this, however, Ramsey decided to go for two blows. He leaned in towards Molly, “Percy can’t draw for snacks,” and Molly found this funny enough. Percy watched them with interest, and then they turned and watched her with interest. Ah. Right. She was supposed to respond to that with something equally clever yet jocund, as was expected. “It’s true, I am no artist. However, I am also not a con-artist.” She didn’t quite understand what was so funny about two people mocking each other repeatedly, but Molly seemed to find it humorous and it was all very lighthearted so she decidedly went along with it (though she found her own wit was much better suited for one-line statements than battles of insults.)

Molly gasped and covered her mouth. Presumably, this was jokingly. Percy doubted what she said was all that bad. “She’s got you there, Mr Murdoch. Are you just gonna take that?”

Ramsey seemed pleased with himself. “Oh, was that supposed to be a burn?” He took a moment to think, “Heh, well, I may be a criminal, but at least I’m not a nerd.” Molly made noises with her mouth that Percy couldn’t quite decipher as she frowned. She never quite understood the word as an insult, after all, “There is nothing laughable about being well-educated.”

Ramsey apparently took her defensive statement as his victory. “Oh, I see,” he said casually, “So you can give it, but ya can’t take it, huh?”

“I can take you back to prison, Ramsey,” Percy blurted out. Oh. She had not even thought about it before saying it. Ramsey seemed equally surprised, coughing on the spaghetti in his mouth as Molly laughed. Admittedly, it felt good to be in on the joke. She smiled at him to clarify no ill will and he looked bashfully back down at his plate. She took it that this meant she had won, for once. Excellent.

Suddenly, Ramsey recovered from his defeat and looked up. “You excited to go to Marchpoint for Christmas, Molly?”

Molly beamed. “Sure! Marchpoint is really pretty, and Percy’s parents are really nice.” It was reassuring to know that Molly truly did enjoy visiting them– her parents had… overwhelming and very different reactions to the prospect of her adopting a child, and for a little bit Percy was very worried that they would make Molly uncomfortable, or perhaps regardless Molly simply wouldn’t like them. Alas, it worked out the complete opposite. Percy hesitated to use the word ‘obsessed’, but her parents were most certainly passionate in their approach to Molly in a way she wasn’t expecting. Well, her father she should have expected, but her mother? It really did go to show how the people you love can always surprise you.

Ramsey, meanwhile, seemed content to speculate about her hometown’s nature. “Heh, sounds like one a those little fancy holiday towns.” Admittedly, he was not entirely wrong. He had good sense about those kinds of things, Percy supposed. “Marchpoint,” he repeated, scratching his goatee. Very idly, Percy wondered what it felt like.

“It’s pretty fancy! Percy’s parents live in one of those big country homes with a porch and huge backyard, and all the little town shops look like they’re from the sixties. It’s so much quieter than the city.” She could not grow a beard herself, but she remembered how her father’s felt whenever he shaved it. Textured, bristly. Ramsey’s face fell. “What’d I do? I got something on me?” He looked down at his shirt to check. Hm. Apparently, she had been staring. And also not listening, as she couldn’t seem to remember what it was they had been talking about. She decidedly corrected both of those ‘faux pas’s.

“My apologies. I was…” She did not want him to feel self-conscious, “... lost in thought. What were we speaking about?”

Ramsey smiled at her cheekily. “Talkin’ about your fancy pants hometown, Sparky.”

“Ah, yes.” How could she have forgotten? “Marchpoint certainly has its charms. However, I prefer to be in the city where I am needed.” She frowned, thinking about just how useless she’d be somewhere so quiet. “Indeed, such a sleepy town has no need for my unforgiving sense of justice.”

Molly lifted some spaghetti in her fork. “It’s nice for the holidays though!”

“Justice doesn’t take holidays,” Percy reminded her seriously.

“Alright, Judge Judy, let’s not bring work to the table,” Ramsey scolded her. Percy wasn’t quite sure who Judge Judy was, but she had to admit he was right. She went back to eating her spaghetti.

Molly looked at him. “What’re you doing for the holidays, Mr Murdoch?”

Ramsey, from what Percy could tell, was not expecting to be asked this question. Percy realized she wasn’t sure what he was doing herself. “Me? Uh, nothin’, kid.” Had she never asked him? Ah. Shoot. She hadn’t. She’d try to remember to do that next year. “My family’s too far away and small to bother visiting every year. I like to keep it to myself.” Percy couldn’t pretend she wouldn’t do the same if Marchpoint was further away, but it surprised her that Ramsey, given his sensitive nature, would feel similarly.

“How practical!”

Molly did not seem as pleased with this as she was. “That’s sad, Mr Murdoch. Don’t you want to be around people during the holidays?”

Hm. Molly offered an interesting point. Ramsey was prone to bouts of loneliness. She watched him carefully as he attempted to shrug off the question. “Nah, I’m good. Not too into heavily commercialised stuff. Just another day off to me.” Percy was always the best with conversations but she was certainly familiar with interrogations and she liked to think she knew a lie when she saw one. Such a lackadaisy approach to such an important time seemed so unlike him.

“While I usually like to respect the wishes of others, I would not like to think of you spending this time alone, Ramsey. The holidays are a chance to reconnect and spend time with the people you love and care about. They are not, as you say, just ‘another day off.’”

Ramsey frowned at her, but Molly spoke first. “You should come with us to Marchpoint! I’m sure no one would mind.” Hm. Huh. Percy blinked. And then she blinked again, because for some reason the first blink hadn’t cleared her mind. She could feel her eyebrows furrowing as her brain went over the statement. Ramsey. At her family home. Staying with them. For the holidays. In Marchpoint. With her parents. She couldn’t even picture it. Molly’s quiet voice broke her out of her stupor. “Uhm, would that be okay, Percy?”

Percy gave blinking one last try to see if it would work. She’d have to give an answer– that was how questions worked. One person asks a question and the other answers, unless the question is rhetorical or sarcastic, something that was clarified by tone indicators. Molly’s question was neither, so she had to answer it. Would it be okay? Well, she’d have to ask her mother. Yes. That was the answer. She’d have to ask. “I’d have to call Mother,” she said, and then quickly to reassure them both, “But I don’t see why not.” Smile. Yes. That was a good idea– smiling made people more comfortable. She was nailing this.

Ramsey seemed upset. She was not nailing this. “Look, I don’t wanna be burdenin’ a buncha strangers all out of pity–” Well, that was simply ridiculous. “Ramsey,” she interrupted him, “would you like to come?” She waited expectantly.

He stared back at her. “I guess. I mean, if the food’s free.” A jest, she assumed, based on the wink. “But I don’t wanna come if I’m just gonna be in the way is all.” Hm. Well, she wouldn’t force him if he believed he would be out of place.

“I understand, Mr Murdoch,” Molly reassured him quietly, “I just thought it’d be nice to have another person I’m really comfortable around going to meet so many new people… But if you don’t want to, it’s okay.” She smiled at him. Hm. Percy hadn’t even thought about that. Molly was quite shy, and while her family wasn’t large by any means, they were quite loud, even for Percy sometimes.

Ramsey put both of his hands up as though he was showing he had no weapons. “Alright, alright! I’ll come if I’m able, just stop lookin’ at me with those big ole puppy dog eyes. Geez, I can’t stand it.” Oh, that was good. Ack, but it was so soon– she’d call her mother now, just in case. Her mother wasn’t fond of late changes to plans. Percy pulled her phone out of her pocket. If only they’d come up with this last week.

“Excuse me,” she said as she stood up, not wishing to neglect her table manners. The phone stopped ringing and her mother’s voice replaced the sound.

“Hello?”

“Hello, mother.” Percy looked over to the door to the hall. Perhaps this was a conversation best had in private.

“Hello, Percival.” Her mother paused. “Lovely evening.”

As Percy made her way to the hall she glanced out the window. The sky was clear. “Why, yes, it is a lovely evening.” There was a small pause as Percy closed the door behind her and walked to her bedroom. She didn’t particularly like phone calls. Well, she didn’t hate them, but she most certainly found them more difficult than a simple face-to-face conversation or a quick text.

“Why are you calling during dinner?” her mother asked gruffy.

Oh, had she been waiting for her to speak? See, if they had been face-to-face, that would have been more obvious. “Ah, yes. About Molly and I staying over–”

“What, you’re not coming anymore?”

Percy glanced at the phone in surprise. “What?”

“Is that Percy? Is she not coming?” she heard her father say in the background. Oh, dear.

“Arthur, I’m on the phone,” her mother snapped at him.

Her father did not seem to notice. “If it’s Percy, tell her I said hello, and that I’d be very disappointed if she and Molly weren’t coming up!” “Yeah, yeah.” There was a sigh. “He says hello. And that you better be coming up. ”

Percy nodded as though they could see her. “We’re still coming.” “They’re still coming, Arthur,” It sounded as though her mother had covered the mic, and then like she had taken her hand off of it again. “Okay, so then, what are you calling for?”

Percy idly placed her hand on the cool frame of her bed. “It’s just, well, I have this friend–” “You do?” She sounded surprised. Had Percy never mentioned Ramsey to her before?

“Yes.” No, she hadn’t, she realised. Odd.

“Alright, well, what about this friend?”

“He–”

“He doesn’t need money, does he?”

“What? Uhm, no, mother. He doesn’t need…” Percy paused, “Well, I don’t believe he needs money. I suppose he could.” It was certainly possible. Ramsey had obviously gotten in with bad crowds before and old habits did not die easy. It was entirely in the realm of plausibility that he had gone out and gotten into money trouble– or, alternatively, an old mistake had come back to haunt him despite his current good nature.

“Well, did he ask you for money?”

“Hm?” She’d almost forgotten she was on the phone. “Oh, no. No, he didn’t.”

“Good. None of your business then.” Ah, her mother was correct. It was rude of her to speculate like that.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“... Percival.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you calling me.”

“Oh, right.” She almost forgot what she’d called about. Her mother had that effect on people. “Yes. Well, this friend–” “Oh! Ask her if it’s Ramsey.” Ah. Her father again.

Her mother sounded mostly confused, and a little irritated. “Who?”

“Ramsey! Her friend, is it Ramsey?” Percy found herself rubbing the frame. Smooth, glossy wood. It felt nice.

“For god’s sake– Percival, your father wants to know if it’s... Ramsey.”

“Ah, tell him yes, it is.” “It is.” The mic muffled again. “Oh! Is he alright?” “Arthur, getting this conversation to end is like trying to get blood out of a rock and you’re making it harder–” “Alright, alright! Don’t raise your voice, Liz.” Her mother audibly groaned. “Did you at least tell her I said hello?” “I already told her! Just be quiet and eat your roast beef, you big lug.” A pause. “Are you still there Percival?” “Yes.”

“Alright. Tell you what, because my dinner is getting cold and this phone call is driving me to the edge. You have three sentences to tell me what’s wrong or I’m hanging up. Go.”

“Oh, er. Well–” “That was one. You have two now.”

Shoot. Percy took a moment to think about the clearest and most direct two sentences possible. “My friend Ramsey has nowhere to go for the holidays,” she said slowly, “Could he stay with us?”

“Oh, is that it?” Percy wasn’t the best judge of tone but her mother almost sounded disappointed. There was another pause, slightly longer than any of the ones before, as though she was taking this information in. “Hm,” she said finally, “He from the streets?” Percy thought of Ramsey’s little apartment. “No.” “He dangerous? Violent? Crazy?” “No.” Ramsey wasn’t any of those things even when he was a criminal. She’d begin to make her way back to the kitchen, given that the conversation was nearing it’s close.

“Drat. Well, whatever. Sure, sure. He can come.”

Percy opened the door to the hall and closed it behind her. “Thank you,” she said quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, well. I’m not a fiend, Percival. Besides, house won’t be full anyway. You know your uncle isn’t coming up this year, don’t you?” She walked into the kitchen, where Ramsey and Molly still sat at the table.

“Yes. I know.”

“Funny, isn’t it? Son finally decides to come home and then it’s all about staying local after coming up the twenty-five years– s’not like we don’t have room for his brat either. That uncle of yours is a strange man.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway. Get lost so I can eat.” There was a slight pause. “Love ya.” Percy smiled pleasantly. “Goodbye.”

The phone clicked. Her mother had hung up. She glanced up to her company (she hadn’t realized it, but apparently she had been staring at the floor the whole time) and they stared back at her eagerly.

Molly leaned forward. “What’d she say?” Their plates were empty– they must’ve finished eating.

Percy hummed, trying to replay the conversation. “Well, first she said ‘Hello.’ Then, ‘It’s a lovely evening.’ Then, ‘Why are you calling during dinner?’ Then–”

“I think she meant, what’s the verdict, chief?” Ramsey said quickly. He looked very pink. “Er, am I coming or going?”

Ah, there he went again with his nonsensical word choice. Percy rubbed her chin. “Both options you’ve given me suggest you are allowed. Which do I pick if you’re not?”

Molly groaned. “Percy...”

“My apologies.” Perhaps she was poking too much fun. “You may come, Ramsey.” He seemed appropriately relieved.

“Yes!” Molly exclaimed, and then, in a fit of excitement that was completely unexpected, jumped up to embrace her. Percy could not hide her surprise as her small arms squeezed her. Still, she smiled, wrapping one arm around her ward and using the other to give her a small pat on the head. “Thanks Percy.” The sound rippled through her shirt. It felt very nice.

“Of course.” Hm. What time was it? Molly always did her homework at eight. Percy glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you have homework to do?”

“Ack!” Molly suddenly let go and raced to her room. Percy watched her go. She was a very kind child. It was lovely how much she cared for Ramsey. It only just occurred to her that perhaps Molly was not entirely selfish in her want for him to be there. Percy just felt privileged to know her, sometimes. It felt silly, given Molly’s age, but it was true.

Speaking of Ramsey, he stood up from the table and Percy looked over to him. “Yeah, uh, thanks, Perc’,” he said softly, “You really didn’t have to.”

Percy smiled at him. He was very sweet for a reformed criminal. She could appreciate that this was probably very difficult for him. Ah, she should reassure him of his use. “I think your presence will be good for her. It can be quite overwhelming meeting new people, especially for children.”

He simply shrugged. “Eh, maybe.” He glanced towards the door to the hall and back at her. “I guess I’d better get going.”

It was always a shame to see him go, but he had his own business to get to. Expecting him to stay forever would be selfish and immature, and Percy was neither of these things when she could fight it. “Of course. Thank you for joining us, Ramsey. It’s always a pleasure.” She started collecting the plates from dinner. She’d wash them now. She didn’t like leaving dishes in the sink.

Ramsey did not leave. Instead, he took the plates from her hands and grinned at her. “Heh, yeah, well, that’s me. I’m pretty great company,” he said as he brought them to the sink. He smirked then, putting a finger to his cheek. “And I’m pretty too.”

While he did that, she made her way to the drawer to get her rubber gloves. Her aunt always said washing dishes without them made your hands dry, though, if Percy were being honest, she never really thought about why she wore them. Habit.

“Very,” she said to entertain him. “Thank you very much for your assistance.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Percy blinked and looked over at him. He wiggled his eyebrows (provocatively?) Hm.

She looked away, clearing her throat and pulling on her gloves. “How is the apartment treating you, Ramsey?” She turned the tap to run the warm water. As Ramsey spoke, she grabbed the washing up liquid.

He was leaning against the counter. “Fine. Kinda small.” He shrugged at her. “I like the TV. Free cable.”

Percy smiled, procuring a sponge from a dish beside the sink. “I’m glad it’s to your liking. Perhaps if you keep working hard, you will be able to move somewhere bigger.” She started cleaning the dishes. Pasta luckily did not stain, and it did not take long to clean three plates. When she got to the last one, she glanced over at him again. He was… still not leaving. How did she approach that? On one hand, she didn’t want him to feel like he had to leave, because he did not. On the other, she couldn’t simply say nothing, either. After all, he’d said he was leaving. Perhaps he wanted to talk to her about something? She rinsed the plate off and stuck it in the drying rack with the others. Ramsey glanced at her and she cleared her throat. “Well,” she started, “There is no point prolonging the inevitable.”

He pushed off the counter. “Yeah. Thanks again for dinner, and, uh,” he coughed, “Bringing me along for the holidays.” Percy smiled at him.

“Goodbye, Ramsey. Until tomorrow.” She turned back to the sink and began taking off her gloves, but he didn’t leave. Should she say something? Maybe he truly wasn’t alright. “Are you not leaving?” Ah, now that she said it, perhaps that was a little blunt.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I was just, uh..." he looked at her desperately but she did not know what to say. "Right, uh, seeya.” He gave her a little wave and she returned it, but as he left Percy couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for her lacking approach. She should’ve asked if he was okay, maybe even if he wanted to stay a little longer, talk about something. She knew he didn’t particularly like being alone– perhaps going home was hard for him? Ah. Friendship was difficult and unfamiliar territory. She knew he wasn’t doing as well as he could’ve been, but she didn’t want to freak him out by pushing him too hard.

Well. One thing at a time.

#Homeward #Scene request tag

14 notes · View notes

mxdotombra · 4 years

Photo

Musa, the one character I’m the least confident about (besides Aisha but I’m only doing season one right now). Please ignore, I forgot her belly button. Yay.

I will remake this because wow am I not proud

Below the cut is some thoughts as well as just discussing her character in this remake? Kinda its more just thoughts and nothing concrete

Okay, left to right lets go. I just really like cropped sweatshirts I don’t know, she just seems like she’d have one. She’s supposed to be cool? I guess? I won’t lie, really I have an aesthetic in my head that I totally failed to draw or even come close to. Finals week. yay. Okay so useless belt is useless, but I do enjoy the wide legged pant even if I know that it would be nothing but swish swish swish down the hall of magic school and that's hilarious to me. Also if you look hard enough (please don’t) You’ll see a magic airpod. That is an addition at midnight while I think about Thoreau’s Resistance to Civil Government.

Fair form is pretty basic, not my best and pretty boring but it is my belief that as they grow more powerful their forms become intricate as they can spend more magic on it, and as she is rebelling and tasting freedom I guess she’s trying stuff out? I don’t know why there's a window that was actually an accident (I got my wires crossed trying to draw spider ham as the pig miraculous with a b00b window) but I do like her design, its not my favorite and I’d change a lot of it in hindsight but still, I wanted it to be simple with hints of complexity. She has basic fairy wings with a gradient, yay.

Last outfit is admittedly like a chilling around the dorms outfit, meant to be just basic and comfy? Its on old band T-shirt from earth featuring rather unknown band 10,000 Angels (not a real band I just thought itd be neat) that Bloom was once a huge fan of. She gave Musa the shirt because Musa became a fan of em when checking out what Bloom had saved on her phone because bonding dammit let me have this. Its kind of worn and not made of material common in the magic realm but honestly its a different kind of rebellion (you see the only character trait I understand in her? You see me push it to the annoying extreme?)

Also her favorite color is yellow. Let her wear yellow!

Okay a few other notes. I’d imagine she’d have larger ears than most fairies, more bat like than anything. While Stella’s are long and pointed hers are more meant to pic up sound. As well as she grows older they become more prominent and her hearing grows. I forgot to add but her nails are naturally sharp and tough as well as her teeth (she got shark chompers). She really doesn’t have a passive effect on the environment around her, but her voice is notably easier to hear in a crowd and much louder.

Her character in this reboot isn’t really explored, so far. I really want to because she is shown to be the passionate hot heat of the group, compared to Bloom’s stubborn emotional fury. Where Bloom is sudden outbursts and regret, Musa is a prolonged argumentative anger, willing to push buttons to win. Its a bad trait really and she does tend to take things personally, she’s rather self conscious even if she is a self proclaimed rebel simply because she is afraid someone will take it from her.

Overall, she is emotional and tries to be tough, and bonds with Bloom and Tecna as they all struggle with their own emotional issues (Bloom as it pertains to her magic, Tecna to not having experience with other’s emotions, and Musa with loss and general personal issues). Still she is witty and while argumentative, quite cheerful to be with her friends. She is unafraid to get in someone’s face and paired with Stella she is prepared to help defend her friends against the world.

Also I’d have her break up for good with Riven. Fully. I understand getting back together, she’d afraid of being left or abandoned again and is emotionally vulnerable. She relies heavily on those she trusts so its hard to lose one of those people (or Riven in this case). But its to the point (and like with Bloom and Sky), that due to experiences and events they are not emotionally mature enough or have not has enough personal growth to care for both themselves and another. It seems they constantly argue and fight and are unable to communicate and I think, that after enough development of Musa and Riven growing as characters with their own issues, that they should leave eachother for good.

But hey its my opinion whatever, just don’t get me started on Bloom and Sky.

Also she likes musicals, she’d adore high school musical no I do take criticism.

#winx club #Winx #winx musa #my art #winx club redesign #winx redesign #character redesign

35 notes · View notes

lovelysugawara · 4 years

Text

Love me Again

Kuroo X Reader Fanfiction//

**y/a = Kuroo Hinari (sorry I don’t use Y/N, i just made up names) **grammatical errors ahead, sorry guys** plot: you and Kuroo are married, but your husband turns cold over you, because of an incident a year ago. Will he once again love you back??? Cont...

Part 6

*Hina’s POV*

I applied makeup as much as possible to hide my already swelling eyes. It covers my eyes right? They won’t notice it right?

I’m fixing my clothes, facing myself in the mirror. I tried to smile, practicing how to push away the sad feeling how messed I am tonight.

Should I go back?

Or should I go home? But what to tell Tetsu later? I had a stomach ache? I had a headache? List of possible excuses are flashing in my mind. But what will our classmates think of me?

Sigh.

I should go back. Yes, gotta face them, be brave Hina!

As I opened the bathroom door, I saw Kenma waiting outside.

“Yo!” Kenma said as he waves a little.

I smiled at him, like he can understand how messed I am right now.

We walked in silence and he didn’t ask me anything. I probably won’t answer either. Because I know I’ll cry.

As we approach the dining area, Kenma suddenly stops and so am I.

“You really want to go back? We can stay outside, I feel stuffy inside. I ate crowds.” he said as he keeps on scrolling on his phone.

Actually, I do hate crowds too. And I hate it even more after what happened.

“I guess I hate crowds too.” I said.

He smiles and we turn our heels and go outside the house.

***

“I got you a beer.” Kenma handed me a can and we both sat on the hood of his red ferrari 488 pista.

“Thanks. By the way, nice car.” i can’t help but admire how sleek the design is.

“Ah hmn.”

We fell silent once again. It’s like we both don’t want to talk.

Being silent like this, makes my mind wander.

Should I talk about it to Kenma?

I fidget my hands while holding my beer. I haven't liked the taste of beer ever since but now, it’s like a sweet soda that I can drink until the last drop.

I’m a mess.

“You can talk.” I suddenly stop thinking after Kenma says those words.

“I’ll listen, and no one can hear you here.”

My tears suddenly swell once again. Fat tears fall from my eyes until to the ground.

I didn’t know that a single sentence like that can bring me to tears.

Kenma takes away the beer in can that I'm gripping, I almost forgot that I'm holding it.

I just realized how heavy my heart is.

And then this suddenly hits me hard, the worst feeling is feeling unwanted by the person you want the most.

“Tetsu must hate me. He doesn’t love me anymore. It’s so hard how to handle these feelings. I’m so hurt that I wanted to just run away and never come back.” I can barely say the words, I keep on crying, my tears won’t stop.

It’s breaking my heart.

“Every night I always pray that Tetsu will come back to his usual self, but days passed and he’s becoming more cold to me.” I keep on talking despite not knowing if Kenma understands me.

“When he’s saying those words, I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, while it was actually breaking me.”

Kenma didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

As I continued to cry and as the hurt feeling started to calm down, he tuck away his phone and sighed.

“Is this one of those times when you want to lie to protect your emotions? Coz I always did that.”

I looked at Kenma who was looking straight ahead.

“Remember the girl I told you before?”

I tried to answer him, but my voice failed due to my excessive crying, so I just nodded.

“I saw her again.” he said.

That’s new, Kenma telling me about the girl he likes way back in high school.

He didn’t pursue her because one of his friends likes her too and he doesn’t want to be in between.

He just moved on.

But we both know he didn’t.

Kenma still likes her. And no one knows who she is.

“I thought she’s happy and having the best time of her life, she’s so precious that’s why she deserves all the good things in the world. But then one day, I saw her crying.” Kenma shifted and stands straight.

He sighs.

“I tried to keep calm, you know. But I got to hide this feeling, that I wanted to hold her and tell her it would be okay. But that shouldn't be me. It should be her husband.”

He then looks at me straight in my eyes.

So, she’s married?

“You know, seeing her marry the love of her life is like losing the best thing that has ever happened to me. But of course it’s my fault in the first place. I let my friend win her. All I did is to accept that I will never have her forever. It’s like accepting that I’m heartbroken and forever wanting her.”

He smiles as he says the last sentence. That friend must be important to him.

I looked down to my hands and I just realized I already stopped crying.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re hurt and I can’t compare that to mine. All I want for you is to accept the feeling that you are hurt. In that, you’ll know what to do and how to handle it. My friend is a bit stupid, but please don’t give up on him.” he once again look at me and he patted my shoulder.

“Want your beer back?” he said as he grabbed it and gave it to me.

“Y-yeah, thank you.”

I once again tasted the awful liquor, and now I didn't appreciate it.

“Thank you Kenma, I guess I let my emotions get ahead of me. It’s just too much. But I’ll try my best not to give up on him.” I smiled.

I look up, and see the clear sky. Kenma laughs a little.”

“Why?” I asked him.

“I’m relieved. You finally smile.” he looked at me, and smiled the sweetest.

***

After that night, we finally went home.

It’s a dead silence the whole time me and Tetsu drive home.

I’m just looking outside the car window, and I just don’t want to talk.

I feel kind of lost because I told Kenma I won't give up, but I’m still not willing to talk to Tetsu about my feelings.

I’m still afraid that he might get mad.

“Hey, Hina.”

I’m shocked after hearing my name, it’s been awhile since he called me like that.

“Y-yeah?”

“Are you busy next week?.”

Next week? Wait, is he asking me that because he remembers my birthday?

“I don’t have any orders for now, so I guess I’m free. W-why? Are we going somewhere?” I excitedly asked him, my heart is skipping a beat. Are we going out of town? I feel so excited.

It’s been awhile since we went on dates. Plus it’s my birthday, we always go out or celebrate it somewhere. I don’t know but I’m happy.

“I’ll need you to fix my things, I’ll be very busy next week. I won’t be home and I might stay for days at the office.”

Oh.

So that's it. Not my birthday huh?

And he will be very busy.

Okay then. “Sure, I’ll prepare your things.”

I didn’t talk again. And I saw him looking at me. But I didn’t look back.

When we arrived, Tetsu didn’t go up with me to our bed room, he go straight to the our bar and drink a little bit I guess.

I just hope he didn’t get a hangover tomorrow.

After I showered, I’m shocked to see him sitting on the bed, shirtless and looking at me while holding a glass of brandy. I have to admit, it’s been a while since I saw him half-naked. I swallowed a lot.

“Why are you still awake?” I asked him as I walked to my cabinet and started to brush my hair.

“I’m waiting for you.” he walks towards me after putting the glass on the bedside table.

Waiting for me?

He’s flushed. Is he drunk?

“Why, do you want me to get you something? Another beer perhaps?” I’m so used to him asking me to get something all this time.

But I’m surprised when his hands touch both of my shoulders and softly massaging it.

He leaned down, and kissed my head.

He then whispers in my ear, “It’s been awhile, right?”

My heart beats really fast and loud.

Are we gonna do it?

He then proceeds on kissing my neck.

“Hmmn, Tetsu.” I can’t help it, his every kiss and his every touch sends electricity to my whole body.

How many months since we last did it?

I didn’t waste time, and I faced him and he kissed me.

That kiss was so deep, I almost forgot how to breath.

I’m glad that I didn’t wear anything under my robe. He can do whatever he wants, he’s my husband and I’m wife after all.

After that deep kiss, my back was already touching the bed. And he’s on top of me.

My body is already exposed to him, and he’s looking at me intently.

I suddenly felt shy and conscious that I covered myself with my hands.

“Don’t stare too much.”

“Why?”

I just close my eyes, I’m so embarrassed.

“Look at me, Hina.”

I open my eyes little by little to see how serious his eyes are.

“You’re very beautiful. And I want to make love with you tonight.”

Is this the effect of how drunk he is?

I don’t know what to feel, but it’s my duty as his wife.

And I really love him so much.

“I miss you, Tetsu.”

I put both of my hands on his shoulders and kissed him.

And he kissed me back.

That night, I gave myself to the person I really love the most.

**A/N updates every FRIDAY..**

I can’t really upload a longer chapter because of the black out here, but I hope you guys enjoy my writing. Thank you.

#kuroo testuro #Kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo fanfic #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu to the top #Kenma Kozume #fanfiction #kuroo tetsurou

45 notes · View notes