#the rest is mostly me remembering this tipsy scene in my fic and wanting to illustrate it a bit. had to include excerpts so it'd make sense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

simple-heroics · 4 years

Text

Snowy Nights in Tokyo

Part 1 of the “Let Me Take Care of You” mini-series Fuyumi Todoroki X fem!Reader (alternating between she/her and they/them pronouns) Word count: 11,919 someone stop me

Not to get too gay on main but @floof-reppu opened my eyes with their Fuyumi fic. Which inspired some assertive!Fuyumi. Everyone say thank you to her for helping me the NSFW scene. It’s my first one and tbh I still have a lot to learn in writing smut but here it is.

Me being me, I’ve also gone overboard and now have to make a mini-series for Fuyumi. I don’t even care that I won’t get a lot of notes for this. It just...feels like I need to write it, you know?

Anyway, this is dedicated to all the eldest daughters in the world who have had to take care of everybody but themselves.

Content warning: Hyper vigilance, alcohol, references to drunk adults, references to high stress work environments, mild Quirk play (not previously negotiated), brief orgasm denial, possible naked book clubs, and VERY consensual sex between two sober adults. Emotional, intense topics brought up before, during, and after sex. It gets heavy, y’all. And a little awkward because surprise, surprise. Sex with a virtual stranger isn’t always all that sexy.

“To y/l/n - for kicking ass and finally taking a night off!” Your friend toasts you. Similar cheers echo her as shot glasses clink together.

Rolling your eyes, you throw your head back and take your shot. You are well-acquainted with burns but the shochu is an unfamiliar one in the back of your throat, making you cough. Your old schoolmates laugh, jokingly asking you when you last actually drank. A second later, you remember to laugh with them. The sound scratches itself out of your throat, hoarse from the recent burn of liquor.

It feels...off.

Even if you weren’t on shift, even if you were having fun with friends and tossing back a couple of well-deserved drinks, you couldn’t help being hyper aware of everyone in the room: The group of salary men, somber when they first arrived, now laughing hysterically. Some girls’ night out, tipsy women giggling over cocktails. Random tourists in the back going nuts over sake bombs. You watch it all on the mirrored wall behind your friends.

Eventually, your eyes wander to your unsmiling reflection next to your friends and realize… You look older than them. Your friends glow with this vibrancy, this carelessness, that made them feel younger to you. You listen to them talk - about classes, about apartment hunting in Tokyo and midnight convenience store runs, about dating. A whole different life than the one you live now. You’re the same age as them, have known some since high school, but you somehow feel ten years older. A part of you always feared your friend group growing apart as you all got older. But you never expected you would be the one to age so quickly ahead of them. There is too much weighing on your mind, too much you’d seen.

You close your eyes and the images are vivid on the back of your eyelids. The memories sweep over you, drowning out the surrounding laughter and clinking drinks. Phantosmia clogs your senses like smoke. The taste of ash soots the back of your tongue.

“Seriously, though. It’s been forever!” one of them exclaims.

You jerk back to the present, blinking.

“Does your new boss own you or something?”

You stiffen.

Another friend nudges her, shooting her a reproachful look.

“I actually don’t see him that often,” you say, tone sharp. You don’t want to kill the mood, not when it’s been so long since you’d seen any of them, so you try to lighten it. “He’s busier than I am.”

There are few people you respect as much as your boss. It’s a privilege to work under someone with so much experience and skill. You worked your ass off for years before you became qualified to even apply, and that was only the beginning. If you couldn’t keep up with the team, you weren’t needed. Too many lives at stake. The only person held to higher standards were the ones your boss set for himself.

“Right, right,” says the friend who made the sarcastic joke. “And we’re grateful to him, really. But...”

“But we really do miss seeing you, y/l/n,” another chimes in, sincere.

Your best friend intervenes. “Besides, he’s not all bad if he let you and that cute coworker of yours off for the night. Speaking of…”

Knowing what they’re getting at, you check your phone. “She says she got caught up in...something.”

“Really? Even the salary men over there are taking a break.”

Your table looks over to see the middle-aged men, completely sloshed, start their own improv karaoke. Your friends immediately crack up and imitate the off-key singing.

While you laugh with them, a part of you itches. You think of your coworker and the ongoing case. It feels strange, almost wrong, to be joking with your old schoolmates and making fun of drunk salary men while they were risking their lives.

Maybe you are becoming something of a workaholic, you privately admit. But it’s good work, important work. You help so many people everyday. You love your job.

But what’s the point of if you don’t have someone of your own to protect? a voice whispers, the same quiet voice that speaks up when you leave the bunks for your own lonely apartment.

Now’s a good time for another drink.

Ignoring the teasing requests for another round from your friends (“C’mon, y/n, we know you’re getting paid more~!”), you slide through the small crowds until you find an open space at the bar. The bartender’s swamped with orders piling in from a sprawl of college boys. Some sports team, you think as you subconsciously size them up, too rowdy to be an academic club. Harmless but stupid.

Still, you watch them from the corner of your eye.

“Could I get the matcha highball, please?”

Her voice should have been too soft to hear in the loud bar but somehow it rings out clear as a bell. Everything slows down. Your eyes widen, snapping to look at her.

At about average height, she stands out among the bar patrons in her modest white blazer and high-waisted jeans. Her soft-looking hair is white like the snow outside, vermillion streaks ribboned throughout the light strands. She shifts from foot to foot, full hips swaying with the motion.

You stare.

“Oops~”

You snatch the college boy’s wrist before he could “spill” his drink after he purposely bumbled over. The boy (really, he could only be a year or two younger than you) jolts, gawking at you.

With a stony expression, you look him dead in the eye. “Careful.”

“Oh!” The woman startles at the sudden commotion. She turns and you still.

Her face is cuter than you’d imagined it: a pert nose, soft jawline, and pretty pink lips that look like they’re made for things like smiling and laughter and other nice, soft things. Large, bright eyes like a winter sky framed by glossy eyelashes blink at you behind glasses.

The entire world around you just...freezes. The only conscious thought you can think is her, her, her, her. The inner mantra matches the tempo of your heartbeat.

“Uuh...hey?” the college boy speaks up. You realize that you haven’t let go of his wrist - oblivious to his attempts at pulling away from her vice grip. And that you’ve forgotten to breathe.

Feeling your face turn warmer than usual, you swiftly look away from her. It’s pure autopilot that allows you to say, “Be a little more careful. We don’t want any ‘accidents’.”

Driving your point home, you squeeze just a little - a silent show of your strength - before abruptly letting go. He stumbles back slightly, nearly bumping into another person, and stutters, “Y-yeah, whatever. Sorry.”

Partially to avoid contact with pretty turquoise eyes and also to drive the intimidation home, you stare after him stoically until he disappears.

“Thank you.”

You take an extra second to breathe, willing the concerning heat in your face - and the rest of your body - to lower before you face her.

Then she smiles at you.

The heat returns tenfold. Damn.

Light-headed, you quickly realize she isn’t merely cute. This stranger was so stunning that she knocked the air out of your lungs with just a look.

“No problem,” you croak.

The bartender saves your life. “Matcha highball!”

You have exactly 5 seconds to breathe and get your shit together while she gets her drink. You flounder for something, anything, to say. You could bench press the bar counter itself but you can’t talk to a random (beautiful, alluring, breath-taking) woman at said bar counter. But would that be weird? Would that make you no better than the creep deliberately spilling drinks on people?

Drink in hand, she turns back around and smiles again. It’s just as debilitating the second time around. Your knees weaken. “Thanks again.”

“You come here often?” you blurt out. And promptly wanted to blast yourself.

You expect her to lift a dainty eyebrow and walk away, pretending your existence never happened, but instead she honestly answers your terrible cliche. “No, not really. I’m...usually at home around this time. But some work friends told me I couldn’t skip out on happy hour again.”

Given her the simple sincerity of her answer and the way she completely missed the near “spill”, you deduce that she doesn’t come to bars often or at least doesn’t have much experience with the nightlife. You almost want to ask what a (beautiful, damn near ethereal) girl like her is doing in a place like this but thankfully quash the impulse.

“Me, too,” you say quickly, straight-faced. “Except they’re not so much work friends. More like actual friends. Not that friends from work can’t be actual friends but they’re my friends outside of work. Except I haven’t seen them in a while. Because I work. A lot. Not that I’m a workaholic or anything. It’s just an intense job. But I’m not intense. Well, kinda. Some people say I can be. Only because it’s important - the job, not me. Um. Not in like a self-deprecating way but like in a self-important way - which I’m not. Or I try not to be. I just care about people which is kinda a requirement for my job. Mostly. Or at least it should be. Some people, you know? And I’ll just stop talking now.”

It’s a wonder steam doesn’t hiss out of your ears with how hot your still stoic face is. You almost wish a villain would tear through the bar and knock you against the wall right. Now. Damn it, y/n.

Yet miracle of miracles, her polite smile slowly widens into an amused one - and one of those genuinely nice ones, without so much as a trace of mockery. “It’s like that with my job, too.”

How is she still here after that? And was she really...making conversation?

You swallow and try not to seem overeager when you ask, “What do you do?”

Her face lights up. “I’m a teacher.”

You can’t help the rare, almost timid smile that wobbles onto your lips. A teacher. Of course the angelic-looking woman is also a sweetheart with a sweet job. God, that sounds so precious. “Yeah? What grade?”

“Third.” Thinking about her class, her smile broadens. Your first impression was dead on: her face was made for smiles.

“Third grade…” you repeat. Not just a teacher, an elementary school teacher. No wonder she seems so - wholesome? Patient? Kind? You damn near melt at the mental image of her working with little kids.

She tilts her head, bangs moving with the cute motion. You try not to get distracted. “What about you?”

“I - “ You hesitate. It always feels weird when you tell people your vocation, almost like you were bragging. Besides that, another part of you - the increasingly paranoid, always on guard part - is cautious. “I’m a civil servant. Public safety.”

She makes a small noise of interest. “That does sound intense.”

“It has its days. But your job is probably a lot harder.”

Something in her eyes flashes. “You think so?”

“Mm.” You nod. “Teachers have to take on a lot, right? You’re not just teaching kids - as if that’s not a big enough responsibility, teaching the next generation. You’re also their counselors, social workers, referees, lawyers, motivational coaches. Sometimes even surrogate parents.”

Her expression softens into something more thoughtful. “Yeah… Yeah, sometimes.”

Whereas before you were hyper aware of everything, now your entire attention is narrowed in on her. It’s the first time in a long time you weren’t subconsciously counting every head in the room or checking for emergency exits. And she’s quiet, considering you. The two of you spend an unusually long time analyzing each other.

She licks her lips. You try to keep eye contact but can’t help yourself, gaze flickering at the deft movement.

“My name’s Todoroki. Todoroki Fuyumi.”

You briefly linger on her familiar but common family name before zeroing in on her given name, Fuyumi. Fuyumi. As in winter beauty. You inwardly applaud whoever chose her name; they had the right idea.

You bow politely. “Nice to meet you, Todoroki-sensei.”

She laughs a little, cheeks flushing pretty and pink. Her returning bow is shorter, a little awkward with a drink in her hand. “Please, you don’t have to call me sensei. I’m off the clock.”

“What should I call you then?”

“How about…” She seems to internally debate this. “Fuyumi? We’re about the same age and besides, hardly anybody calls me Todoroki outside of work.”

“Fuyumi-san…” Your lips naturally curl upward while saying her name.

Her eyes flicker away and back, catching your own. “And yours…?”

“Y/l/n y/n. But y/n is fine,” you say, an almost lie. No one but your closest and dearest call you by your given name. But you can make an exception for this stranger at the bar, for Fuyumi. A small, greedy part of you simply wants to hear your given name in her voice, see how those pretty lips move around it. And besides...

Something tells you it won’t be long before you can count her in the small, tight-knit circle anyway.

“Nice to meet you as well. Please take care of me.”

“Of course.” You pause, realizing what you just said. “Uh…

Her rosy cheeks brighten but she’s still smiling, still looking at you with those bright eyes. “Can I get you a drink, y/n-san?”

Yeah, your name definitely sounds good - really good - coming from her. Almost as good as her own name feels on your tongue.

“I’d love that, Fuyumi-san.”

Another kneecap-shattering smile is sent your way.

Cool it down, y/n. Cool it. Down. You tug on your collar to alleviate the growing heat under it.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

Despite their earlier hassling over you not spending enough with them, your friends are more than okay with you (temporarily, you insisted, lying to them and yourself) ditching them to talk to someone new. They seem almost more excited than you are -- “almost” being the operative word. You feel like you’d been hit by someone’s electric Quirk, and the feeling persists the longer you talk to Fuyumi.

You find a little two-seat table near one of the windows of the bar. It offers you both an open view of Tokyo, bright and alive in the dark winter night, where flurries of snow roll through the neon-lit streets. A nice sight, you’re sure, but you’re all but ignorant to it in front of Fuyumi who sits across from you. White blazer draped over the back of her chair, she wears a form-fitting black turtleneck. A simple gold band glints on her wrist as she fiddles with her glass, tracing the rim with an elegant finger. You notice that despite having gotten her drink sooner, the ice cubes remain perfectly intact while your own drink is now a watered down version of your original order.

Not that either of you are really drinking, consumed in conversation - in learning each other.

You learn that Fuyumi is 22 years old. Less than a year ago, she completed her bachelor’s in elementary education at Showa Women’s University. This is her first year teaching, and she loves it. She adores her class. You listen attentively as she talks with her hands and a brilliant smile, describing one shy student’s increasing confidence and another’s improved reading score. You learn that your earlier deduction was correct: she isn’t much of a nightlife person, preferring smaller get-togethers and home-cooked meals. You learn that she loves the weather outside, attention sometimes drifting to the falling snow outside. You learn that she loves to read but is weak to the same soap operas you are. You learn that she’s kind and smart and passionate.

And that if you look directly at her for too long, you forget how to breathe.

Your conversation delves deeper. You both talk about your work, how a passion for helping people brought you to your chosen professions and how it's that very passion that sustains you through the hard parts. You talk about the constant paperwork, tracking every incident and expense and flickering concern, in order to protect the people you look after and yourselves. Fuyumi quietly expresses her frustrations with the Ministry of Education, the intense focus on academics and Quirk development, and how she can already see the pressure on her young (too young) students. Expression grave, you tell her about the moral concerns in your job, how people - people who have it hard, people who are just having a bad day - are practically dehumanized for their mistakes and how your colleagues treat even milder, non-violent cases like they’re scum of the earth.

You and Fuyumi both lament over the bureaucracies that get in the way of actually doing your jobs. You talk about what it’s like to be in that weird “in-between” age, feeling too old around people your own age who don’t have the responsibilities which your jobs demand yet so young - naive - next to most of your colleagues. Compassion fatigue is common in both your fields, you find. It’s just as fulfilling as it is utterly exhausting, taking care of people. You talk about how tiring it is to work for the public, how underappreciated you sometimes feel, how helpless some cases are.

“And then after all that, coming home at the end of the day can just be so…” Fuyumi cuts herself off, covering her mouth.

“Draining,” you finish, solemn.

She slowly lowers her hand, turquoise eyes wide and serious behind her glasses. “...yeah.”

You tap the edge of your cocktail glass, contemplative. You hesitate before saying, “Sometimes it’s hard seeing people I really care about…after taking care of people all day. I know my loved ones need me, too, and I want to be there for them. But sometimes it’s too much on top of everything else. Somedays...I feel too tired to care and caring’s the whole reason I even got into this job.”

You didn’t realize how true this was until you said it. It’s an ugly truth, hideous as it lingers in the air, but the truth nonetheless. You wonder if this is the real reason you don’t go out with your friends anymore, why you rarely saw your family as of late.

You also wonder about the intent look Fuyumi wore. Intelligent blue eyes meet yours behind rectangular frames and you can’t bring yourself to look away. You don’t know how long you two stared at each other, only that you’d stopped breathing entirely.

Pop!

“Aaaayyy!”

You shoot up and whip around, physically blocking Fuyumi - an automatic shield. Your hand goes to your waist and of course - of course you aren’t wearing your tactical belt. You’re off duty.

You start to activate your Quirk, let it hum unseen but ready under your hot skin. Off duty but still - .

But still, it was just the crazy salary men anyway. All drunk off their asses. One of them bought champagne, hence the pop. The man must be in his forties yet there he is, drinking straight from the bottle. The college athletes nearby start to chant and soon the rest of the bar is joining in. Somewhere, you hear your friends (the hooligans) cheering among them.

A gentle hand touches your arm, cool fingertips pressing against your wrist. Her touch sends off an immediate spark at first contact.

Electric Quirk?

Turning around, Fuyumi’s face is gentle but her eyes burn with an unexplained fervency. It kindles something in your stomach, makes you swallow.

“Let’s go outside for a bit. Get you some fresh air.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

With the din of the bar behind you, you exhale and watch your breath condensate in the cold night air. It’s quieter here. Only a few other bar patrons mill about, one smoking several feet away and others waiting for a rideshare. The warmth from nearly activating your Quirk slowly seeps out enough to bring you back to a safer, more civilian-appropriate temperature but it’s still enough to keep you warm in your simple leather jacket.

You glance at Fuyumi. The falling snowflakes surround her like a vision, bright against the dark of turtleneck but blending in with her hair. “Aren’t you cold?”

She smiles, pushing her glasses up. “I’m fine.”

“Quirk thing?” you guess wryly, curious but also avoiding directly asking about her Quirk. It’s fine as a kid but as people get older, outright asking people about their Quirks is something of a social taboo. It would be more polite to ask what her bank statement said.

“Something like that. What about you? Are you cold or is it a ‘Quirk thing’?” When she speaks, you notice that her breath doesn’t come out in a misty cloud. Trained to automatically identify hints of what a person’s Quirk could be, you pick this out. Ice Quirk then, maybe snow? It suits the winter beauty.

The corner of your mouth twitches. You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and lean against the building behind you. “Something like that.”

You both stand in companionable silence. It’s easier to breathe outside with the city lights to distract you, though you sneak occasional glances at the way the blue and red neon lights reflect off Fuyumi’s snowy hair. The red streaks glow burgundy under the lighting.

“About what you said earlier…”

You say nothing now, simply pressing your lips together and staring obstinately at a distant flashing billboard: First a soda commercial, then some car insurance ad. You glance away when you see an ad for Burning Coffee and the familiar face with it.

“I get it.”

Schooling your expression into a neutral one, you look at her from the corner of your eyes.

Fuyumi tucks a stark white strand behind her ear. You try not to get distracted by the way she bites her lip. “Even before I started this job, I…I have two younger brothers. I love them a lot but it's - I…. I’ve had to take care of them for a long time now.”

You mull over this for a moment. “Because someone had to, huh?”

“Someone has to.”

You nod slowly. “Caring for other people is why humans are here but it’s hard. There are limits.”

“Yeah, there are...” That intense light in her eyes appears again. “But someone has to care, even when it’s hard. Someone has to bring people together.”

What about your parents? You want to ask, want to know who left her alone with such a heavy responsibility when she was so young. Something dark simmers in your stomach at the thought of a small Fuyumi burdened with the care of two little brothers while a child herself. But you bite your tongue.

Instead: “Who takes care of you?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Who takes care of Todoroki Fuyumi?”

“Who… I - “ Her face is pink from the cold, you vaguely notice. Which is odd, if your hunch about her Quirk is right. “I... My brother does. The older one, Natsuo. He…”

You realize too late that you’re raising your eyebrows, high and skeptical in your otherwise neutral countenance.

“People care,” she finishes lamely. At your unimpressed stare, she turns her head away. The gesture is as bashful as it is stubborn.

“...there’s a difference between caring for someone and taking care of them,” you say softly.

Lifting her face, Fuyumi meets your gaze. You step closer without breaking eye contact. Her lips part, and you’re undeniably staring now - more than staring. You’re leaning closer, into her space, and she tilts her head back.

“Te ni shitai hikari ga aru kiiiimiii wa ima yorube mo naku hitori de kiro niiii tatsu~”

You both jerk away.

“Sorry,” Fuyumi mutters, covering her mouth. You catch a pink flush before she turns her head away.

Clearing your throat, you fumble for your cell. “No, my bad. Uuuh, hold on. Lemme just turn it off.”

Even saying that, you habitually check the caller ID and immediately turn serious. You look at her apologetically. “It’s work.”

Still pink-faced and cute, Fuyumi waves a hand. “It’s fine!”

“One sec…” Praying it’s not an emergency but prepared nonetheless, you answer brusquely, “Talk to me.”

“Woah, there, y/l/n. No need to sound so serious. You’re off the clock, remember?”

“Are you?” you retort.

“Yeah, just got off and on my way. Your friends still there or you guys get bored waiting for me? ‘Cause I also know this one place in Shinjuku with some cute girls who maaay bat for our team if yanno what I - “

You nearly choke on your own spit. “Uuh, no. No, that’s not necessary.”

“Y/l/n, you need to get laid. Like, I’m pretty sure boss man gets more than you and - “

“Hey!” You cover the receiver, as though fearful Fuyumi would hear about your sad (lack of a) sex life. Also you never want to hear anyone talk about your boss like that. It’s worse than if someone were to bring up your father in that way. You shudder at the thought. “I do not want to think about that. Do not put those images in my head!”

Your coworker cackles. “Then get out and get some! Pretty sure with the overtime you pull, you got some cobwebs down there.”

“I will report you to HR,” you warn, too low for Fuyumi to hear.

“See? This is why he hired you. He needed a bigger wet blanket than him in the office to make him look chill in comparison.”

Ha. Your boss. Chill. Even you can privately admit that’s a good one.

“Then he owes me a raise,” you grumble. After some thought, you also add, “...besides, Shinjuku isn’t necessary.”

“Wait. You met somebody?!”

Hyper aware of a pair of pretty blues on you, you choose your words carefully. “We just received word from Team Lambda that things were...unexpectedly successful.”

“SHIT IS SHE WITH YOU NOW! Why are you still talking to me?!”

“Do you still require back up at the agreed location?”

“Pffft. Y/l/n, you dork. Nah, I’m good. I’ll swing by for a drink and say hi to your cute friend but you do who you gotta do.”

You clear your throat. “I’ll do my best.”

“Damn right you will. With how diligent you are, you’re bound to be a good lay.”

“I do have HR’s number saved on my phone,” you deadpan.

“Of course you do, you stick-in-the-mud. Now get off the phone and talk to your girl!”

Even when she abruptly hangs up on you, you can’t help the sudden grin while you silence your cell. Your girl.

That has a nice ring to it.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself.

“Is everything okay?” Fuyumi asks, tipping her head. She looks at you with such concern your heart flutters. “You sounded real serious.”

Your voice comes out half-strangled and high-pitched. “Fine. Ahem. Everything’s fine. My coworker was just checking in. We were supposed to meet up and, uh…”

“Oh.” Fuyumi lowers her eyes. She adjusts her purse over a dainty shoulder. “My coworkers are probably waiting for me, too. We should…”

No!

“Something came up,” you say quickly.

She pauses mid-step.

“Do you want another drink?”

“I think I’ve had enough to drink,” she admits.

“Oh…” You visibly deflate despite your attempts at keeping up a nonchalant demeanor. “I...I understand.”

“...didn’t you come here with your friends?”

“I met someone,” you say bluntly. You pin her with a look, one that sears through Fuyumi and says ‘you’. “They’ll understand.”

That pretty blush returns tenfold, rising in her cheeks and spreading all the way down her neck. You want nothing more than to discover where else it goes. “Oh.”

You tuck your hands in your pocket to hide how they shake, try to relax your body but even you can feel the intensity in your own gaze. “And your coworkers?”

“They’ll understand, too…” She fiddles with her purse’s strap, shifts her weight from foot to foot. Again, her hips sway with the motion and you start to wonder if there’s anything Fuyumi could do that wouldn’t attract you. “But I still think I’m ready to leave this bar.”

“Just this bar?” You peer at her from under your eyelashes.

If just looking at her wrecks your breathing, the way she bites her bottom lip will be your absolute end. “Just this bar,” she confirms quietly.

“Hm.” You step forward, edging closer but just shy of her personal space - maintaining a respectful distance but near enough to feel the energy passing between you two, the intense and immediate chemistry. It’s strange and unfamiliar and gravitational.

Fuyumi stands completely still but she’s tighter, tenser, with a white-knuckled grip on her bag and fair skin brightening to new shades of red. There’s a light in her eyes that keeps drawing you in, like a moth to a blue flame. They dart heatedly between your own darkening gaze and your mouth.

“Do you have plans for the rest of your night, Fuyumi-san?” Maybe at least a dinner, you hope, somewhere warm and cozy and private. Something you think she would like.

She shakes her head, blushing yet unhesitant.

You swear you can feel your own heartbeat in your throat. “Any younger brothers to take care of tonight?”

After some deliberation, she says, “They’re 19 and 15. I think they’ll survive one night without me.”

“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly.

“Yeah,” she says, just as quiet, and she just...looks at you. Really looks at you.

Then she steps closer and suddenly she’s right in front of you. A cloud of vanilla-and-jasmine fragrance surrounds you. You do nothing, say nothing, simply let her come to you. You watch her with a deliberately calm mien. Fuyumi lifts up a delicate hand and brushes through your hair. A whirl of snowflakes scatters around you.

She sees you shiver and whispers, “You’re going to catch a cold out here.”

Her hand lingers in your hair. The touch is light but it’s like being connected to a live wire. A second more passes. Then her hand flutters back to her side.

“Then I guess we should find some place warmer.”

“Y/n-san…”

“Let me…” Let me call you a rideshare. Let me walk you home. Let me take you home. Please. Just let me stay with you a little longer. You swallow all those other words, better words, and come out with, “Let me take care of you.”

Those impossible blue eyes widen. “What?”

Face much warmer than you’re used to off-duty and braver in ways you’ve never had to be before, you ask her softly, near pleading, “Can I take care of you tonight, Fuyumi-san?”

Fuyumi’s lips part. Then slowly, shyly, they curl into that heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “Okay.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

You nearly trip over a chair on your way over to your friends’ table.

“Aaww, did you strike out?” your best friend teases you.

You let out a shaky laugh, pushing your hair back. “Actually, I came to say bye real quick.”

This earns you a chorus of jeers and whistles around the table.

“That’s my teammate!” a familiar voice crows behind you. You catch tendrils of green flames from the corner of your eye before you see her.

“Kamiji!”

Kamiji moves easily between the tables, as graceful as a cat and grinning like one, too. “What are you still doing here?” she teases while pulling you into a side hug. “Didn’t I tell you to clean out some cobwebs?”

You add a little heat to your embrace - enough that would have made anyone else flinch away but with Kamiji, with anyone in the Flaming Sidekicks, it’s more like a playful punch. “I’m calling HR on Monday.”

“They’ll be the only ones you’ll be calling if you don’t catch up with your girl,” Kamiji retorts, nudging you away with a discreet flicker of flame at the tip of her finger.

Your girl.

“Look at that grin! Just an hour ago, she was moping over her shots,” a friend teases.

“I can count all the times she’s smiled at work on one hand and still have fingers left over,” Kamiji says, joining the min roast session. Her eyes gleam. “Introduce me to her later, yeah?”

“We’ll see,” you say non-committedly.

“Pfff - get outta here. Some people need a drink.”

“I gotcha,” your best friend volunteers. You notice them already making eyes at Kamiji and silently congratulate yourself on introducing them.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you say with a quick wave.

“How much later?” a friend snarks.

“Have fun!” another offers, waggling their eyebrows.

“Be safe,” one teases, a joke coming from a civilian.

“For real,” Kamiji adds. From her, regardless of her playful demeanor, it’s definitely not a joke. “Call me tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Whenever you wake up.”

“Sure.”

It’s a good night, you think as you wander back to the entrance to meet Fuyumi. You have a feeling it’s about to get better.

So caught up in her, you miss your best friend and Kamiji lingering on their way to the bar. Both are curious to see who could possibly catch their overly serious workaholic of a friend’s attention. They exchange sneaky grins, instant co-conspirators, as they shadow you.

“Y/l/n’s usually the first to pick up when we’re being watched on stakeouts,” Kamiji confides in your friend. “Either she’s had too much to drink or this girl is something.”

They snort. “A couple of us literally walked by their table five times and she didn’t so much as glance our way. You literally came by the one time this entire evening where she’s taken her eyes off her.”

Kamiji’s sharp canines glint in her grin. “Oh, really~?”

She peers over at the door to take a look at your mystery girl and...stops. Her grin drops like a stone.

“Oh, shit.”

Your friend quirks a brow. “What?”

“Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” Kamii mutters. “Y/L/N! HEY, Y/L/N!”

The bar’s noise drowns her out.

“Fuck.” Kamiji whips out her cell and dials your number. When she goes straight to voicemail, she tries again. And again. She sends you a barrage of texts.

“What’s wrong?” your friend asks. “Do you know her?”

There’s no humor in Kamiji’s caustic laugh. “Pretty much everybody at the agency knows her - except our newbie apparently.”

“At the agency? Is she a villain?”

“Worse.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

On the way to your apartment, you check and double check if this is what Fuyumi wants. She laughs a little as she reassures you. You insist that she texts someone, anyone, and give her your address ahead of time. You even ask her to sing the English alphabet backwards to make sure it’s not alcohol’s decision rather than her own certain and sober one. Between your protectiveness against...well, in this case, yourself and her laughter, you two trade giddy glances and secret smiles throughout the entire drive.

You’ve never seen anyone who looks so...pretty in the city lights. You’d long lost any awe over Tokyo’s shining lights but find yourself gaining a new appreciation for them. They look good on her, reflecting off her hair and fair skin and glasses. It’s like Fuyumi is made of light and glass and something so bright that comes from within you can’t even fully fathom it.

And holy hell, she agreed to come to your apartment. Is this actually happening?

Your fingers tap a nervous rhythm in the middle seat. Suddenly, a cold hand slips over them - halting them. You jump, glancing over. She smiles and squeezes your hand, reassuring you even with that blush and her own fidgeting.

You’re the one who's supposed to be taken care of right now, you think.

But now you’re so focused on leveling your breathing you can’t risk looking at her. You do, however, lace your fingers through hers.

And it just fits.

When you arrive at your place and slide out of the car, you’re the one to reattach your hands while you jostle for key with your other hand. You’re suddenly entirely too grateful to have a first floor apartment.

Reality socks you in the stomach when you’re inside. With Fuyumi.

It’s strange...seeing her in your apartment. You can’t remember the last time you had anyone else in your home, hardly in it yourself between patrols and paperwork and stakeouts. But having Fuyumi here? With you? Barely visible in the dim light of your entryway, hair bright like a halo and face barely visible?

It’s like a dream.

But it’s not. Your heart wouldn’t be hammering like this if this were a dream.

Fuyumi still hasn’t let go of your hand. If anything, the situation seems to dawn on her, too, going by how she clutches it. You both stand together in the dimly lit genkan, quiet, a little awkward. But the small space between you is purely electric.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Fuyumi admits quietly.

“Me, neither…”

“Work?” she guesses.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You?”

“School. Then work.”

You force a smile through your nerves. “And taking care of other people?”

Her words are hushed. “Yeah… That, too.”

“Guess we both missed out on the crazy party phase other people our age got,” you say dryly.

That earns you a soft laugh. “I guess so. Never looked all that great anyway.”

You snort. “Yeah, I’m not too upset that I missed out on all my friends’ college hangovers. But when was the last time you got to just...let go? Not care what anyone thinks or says?”

You yourself could at least count some fond high school memories.

Fuyumi, however…

She says nothing, bangs covering her eyes.

Tonight, you decide. Tonight is her night.

And suddenly, something clicks into place. You’re not nervous anymore.

“In that case...” Hands still connected, you step out of the genkan. “I think it’s about time someone took care of you.”

Her eyebrows furrow in concern. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But… Aren’t you tired from caring so much?”

I don’t think I could ever get tired of caring for you.

Gently, you bring your intertwined hands to your mouth and smooth light, unhurried kisses over her fingers. Your lips trail along her knuckles until they press against her wrist and linger there over her pulse. You look at her through hooded eyes. Her breath catches.

Then you drop your hands.

“Trust me,” you say, your voice low in your own ears. “This is as much for me as it is for you. But only if you want it.”

There’s an unspoken question there.

Fuyumi meets your gaze directly, heat rising in her eyes, almost like blue fire in how they scorch you with a single look. You start to rethink your original guess about her Quirk.

“I want it.”

You. I want you.

Sucking in a long, slow breath, you smile at her. “...then come get it, Fuyumi-san.”

She stumbles forward, as though in a trance. Shaky hands land on your strong shoulders, seeking stability, and she steps into you. Your chests brush against each other, and you’re submerged in her creamy vanilla and jasmine perfume. That gravitational pull tugs at you but you stop yourself just shy of her lips.

Hers. This is her night, her decision.

Her cool breath fans across your lips. Starlit eyes peer into your darkening ones.

You wait.

“May I?” The words vibrate against your mouth.

Your heart melts.

“Of course.”

Fuyumi closes that last centimeter of distance and presses her trembling lip to yours. She tilts her head, mindful of her glasses. The kiss is slow and careful, closed mouth, testing the boundaries. Even with your verbal consent, it asks, Is this okay? You follow her lead, tenderly coaxing her lips along your own. Warm and welcoming and reassuring her yes, yes, yes. This is okay. This is perfectly okay.

I want you, too.

Her hands tighten on your shoulders. Yours slide into her feather-soft hair. You tug out the ponytail holder and delve your fingers in the tresses. You pull away, separating you with a soft pop, and watch the silky strands float to her shoulders.

Breathing hard, Fuyumi is still clutching your shoulders. Her face is flushed, roses blooming in her cheeks, and her pupils are blown wide.

“Whoever named you had the right idea,” you mutter, completely dazed.

You don’t get a chance to recover.

Fuyumi surges forward, grabbing your face, and pulls you to her. You slant your head just in time to meet her kiss, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips are soft, soft yet pleasantly chilled. And they move fervently along yours. Currents spark from her to you, tingling down your spine and electrifying your senses. You meet her passion with your own, shaky and reverent hands moving up to grip her blazer.

Without breaking the kiss, she steps out of the genkan and strides forward - backing you into your own apartment. Her hands slide from your cheeks and into your hair, tugging. You gasp, startled, and Fuyumi’s tongue is like ice in the warm cavern in your mouth. You groan. She uses her grip on your hair to angle you just so, completely taking over the kiss, and you let her. You want her to.

You move your hands up her back, into her hair - earning you another tug in reprimand - and down again until they find her full hips. You squeeze, enjoying the plush give under your fingers. Fuyumi hums, low and appreciative. You smooth your hands over her curves, slipping your thumbs under the shirt and rubbing circles against her hip bones.

Fuyumi breaks the kiss just long enough to slide off her blazer, lets it fall to the floor with a muffled foomp and your leather jacket joins it soon after. Then she’s on you again, looping her arms around your shoulders. Pressing close, closer, her full breasts soft against yours. Her lofty exhale condensates in your warm apartment, chilling your lips. Your eyes flutter.

Gripping her hips, you kiss her - kiss her like you wanted to from the moment she first smiled at you. You kiss her like you want to consume her. And Fuyumi meets you, passion for passion, ice for fire.

You slide your hands further up her turtleneck and skim along cool, soft skin with heated palms. Fuyumi arches, making soft appreciative noises that falter into disappointment when you remove your hands. Next you wind your arms around to fully embrace her, crushing her to you. Fuyumi moans.

You pull back enough to land several pecks on her smiling lips, making her giggle, and then shower the rest of her face in kisses. Your eager mouth finds her swan-like neck and becomes more sensual, mouthing along the arch. Kissing and sucking and just breathing her in. Fuyumi leans her head back to accept your affections in full.

“You’re so warm,” she sighs happily.

Your brain dies and comes back to life. And then you promptly realize the full implication of her words.

Panting, you pull away. You’re still foggy and lost and looking at Fuyumi, Fuyumi with that glazed over expression and slightly parted lips, certainly does help. But you have to check yourself - make sure you’re still in control.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Just wanted to look at you,” you say. Not a complete, as your gaze sears up and down her body.

“Don’t just look then.” Fuyumi tugs you forward by your shirt. You lean back at the last moment and grin at the frustrated sound she makes in the back of her throat.

“Y/n-san…”

You kiss her, a quick peck, and dart away before she has the chance to deepen it.

Her nose scrunches up. You kiss that, too. She chases after your lips but you dodge, her lips landing on your cheek instead. You snicker.

“Y/n-san.” There’s a warning in her tone. The sternness in it, the sudden assertiveness, makes you light-headed and eager to obey.

Damn. You make a mental note to explore this later.

“Just wanted to be extra sure this is what you want,” you say breathlessly.

“I told you that I wa - “

You catch her open mouth in yours, kissing her longer, deeper. Your lips smolder against hers. Her responding hum shoots straight to your core.

When you go to move away again, Fuyumi snares your bottom lip between her teeth and pulls you back in. A hand on your waist slips under your shirt, teasing the skin it finds there. She palms the small of your back. Pushes you closer. You squirm at the unexpected cold, inadvertently pushing yourself closer. She uses this to pull you into her, hands skating up your ribs, palms freezing, touch burning. The air grows hot and humid, a perfect clash between your Quirks, and you’re shivering from something far beyond temperature, beyond arousal.

“Oh, god…” you eke out as she sucks on the corner of your jaw. You’re too far gone to process it, lost in a strange space between too much and not enough.

It’s only Fuyumi’s mercy that allows you to catch your breath. She pulls back, leaving our lips kiss-swollen and red and panting. You gawk at her.

Her demure smile isn’t kind; it’s the calm before a storm. “Where’s the bedroom?”

A small, pitiful sound - a whimper - escapes you.

This woman is going to be the death of you.

Wordlessly, you grip her thick thighs and lift her up enough to wrap her legs around your waist. Fuyumi yelps. She winds her arms around your shoulders, beaming down at you. You grin up at her adoringly, even when she laughs at you when you bump into your own furniture in your own damn apartment.

“I can’t remember the last time anyone’s carried me,” she says.

Nudging your door open with your foot, you hum thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the last time I had a pretty girl in my arms.”

Fuyumi hides her burning face in your neck. “...you, too.”

“Mm?”

“You’re pretty, too,” she murmurs, burrowing in your shoulder. She nestles into you endearingly. “Prettier.”

You press a kiss to the side of her head, nuzzling into her hair and breathing in her conditioner. You whisper, “Don’t get in a fight over who’s prettier with me, Fuyumi-san. You’d lose.”

Then you promptly drop her on your bed.

Yelping, Fuyumi bounces on the mattress. She’s still smiling and giggling even when she tries to glare at you. “No, I wouldn’t,” she protests.

Amused, you place one knee on the bed. “Yes. You would.”

“No. I wouldn’t. Have you seen yourself?”

“Occasionally,” you drawl, raising your other knee to fully kneel in front of Fuyumi.

“But you’re so fit and strong and - “ She bites her lip again, face tinted pink. “You’re gorgeous.”

You take your sweet, sweet time looking Fuyumi up and down. Body half sprawled across your bed, her beautiful hair fans out like a halo. The hem of her shirt is partially pushed up, revealing her pale stomach where a diamond navel piercing gleam and the full flare of her waist.

“I don’t compare,” you say simply, bending down to crawl over to her.

Fuyumi rises up on your elbows to meet you halfway. You straddle her hips, having to stretch out your thighs to fully seat yourself over them. Damn. They’re so solid and soft underneath you. You never want to sit anywhere else again.

Fuyumi’s breath hitches, staring up at you as though entranced. Her hands slip over your thighs. “I think you don��t give yourself enough credit.”

“I think you,” you carefully slide off her frames, removing the one thing between you and the intensity of her gaze, “need new glasses, Fuyumi-san.”

You fold up her glasses and lean over to put them safely on your side table. The movement moves your hips, unintentionally grinding. The small friction makes you release a stuttery breath.

Hearing it, her own breathing starts to get heavier. Fuyumi tightens her grip on your thighs and pushes back. You groan, long and low in your throat. You start a slow rocking motion, core grinding down. Fuyumi’s hips meet you movement for movement. Her hooded gaze flares.

You place your hands on top of hers, looking down at her with half-lidded eyes. Taking all of her in hungrily. “Fuyumi-san, when you say you haven’t done this before…”

“I mean going home with someone I just met,” she murmurs, caught in the rocking motion. “This isn’t - it won’t be my first time.”

Her earlier ferocity - and the current undulations of her hips under yours - suggested as much, but it’s always good to check.

You brush your fingers over her slim wrists and up her arms and down again. Feather light. Your touch ghosts over her exposed stomach and then up her lower ribs, pressing fully against her velvet skin.

Fuyumi arches her back, eyelashes fluttering. Her lips quiver.

She’s already starting to sweat, slick under your palms. You slide your hands back down and curve over her waist, kneading the bit of fat there. Her fair skin pinkens where you touch her. A small, desperate sound escapes her.

“God, I love the sound of your voice,” you rasp, grinding harder. “From the moment I first I heard it.”

She laughs a little. “I’m surprised you even heard it. The bar was so loud.”

Rather than respond, you scoot down her thighs in order to bend down and nip a hipbone.

“Y/n-san.”

You groan at the sound of your name before trailing your lips from one hip to the other, your tongue briefly circling around her piercing. Throughout your loving ministrations, you push your hands further up her shirt to her heavy breasts and squeeze softly. Fuyumi arches her back, crying out.

Eventually, you push her turtleneck up. Fuyumi sits up and you help pull it over her head. Your mouth dries.

Her beautiful hair is a beautiful mess, red tangled in white. Darkened blue eyes stare at you hazily. You finally learn that her flush extends from her round cheeks to her sternum, rosey and warm in the ivory of her skin. Her simple black bra barely restrains her heaving breasts. She’s all curves and supple skin and vanilla-and-jasmine perfume and -

“How did I get so lucky as to bring you home with me tonight?”

In answer, Fuyumi kisses you. Her insistent lips move from your needy mouth to your neck. You gasp when she finds the sensitive place behind your ear. Her chilled breath makes you tremble.

“How did I get so lucky as to end up in your bed?” she croons. Then she sucks your earlobe into her frigid mouth.

“Ah!”

She wrangles your shirt off and sends her mouth down the valley of your breasts. You wrap your legs around her waist, squeezing her between your thighs and pressing her into your aching core. Your head lolls, hair falling back. Your breathing is heavy under her. Her fingers tangle with the back of your bra and unclip it with ease.

Peppering your shoulders with chilled kisses as she slides the straps over them, Fuyumi tosses your bra over the side of the bed and pulls back to admire. You shiver at the dark, glassy look in her eyes. And then put up absolutely no resistance when she pushes you down on the bed.

Freezing hands caress your breasts, making you hiss and raise your back, as they come in contact with your sultry body.

“Sorry,” Fuyumi says, not sounding the least bit put out. “Quirk thing.”

Your chest heaves. “S’fine. Do whatever. Just - just keep touching me.”

Her eyelids lowered, and that demure smile returns. “That’s not a very polite way to ask for what you want, y/n-san.”

You’re not a proud person, and you know what you want. “Please, Fuyumi-san, please keep touching me - aah!”

Fuyumi leans down to circle a nipple with her ice-like tongue, sucking it in with a lewd suctiony sound. Glacial fingers pinch the other. Her other hand trails down, breezing across your ribs, until they find the hem of your pants and toying with the zipper. You pant, grasping at her shoulders for purchase. Forgoing the zipper entirely, Fuyumi cups you through your jeans - fingers rubbing tantalizing circles against your heat.

“Fuyumi-san!” you whine.

“Such pretty noises…” Fuyumi murmurs against your breast. “And you looked so stoic and serious at the bar. But look at you.”

Fuyumi grinds the heel of her hand into you. You squirm helplessly underneath her wintery body. It feels so good but so intense. You wonder if you’d somehow managed to lure a yuki-onna to your bed.

“You just fall apart at the simplest of touches.” She bends her head over your other breast, biting down gently. She continues to palm at your throbbing core.

You buck your hips, desperate for more friction. “Please…”

Then, in retribution for your earlier teasing, she removes her hand out from between your trembling thighs. You whine. Making direct eye contact with you, Fuyumi pulls back with your nipple still pinched between her teeth. Only after you let loose a satisfactory whimper does she release it. Your other nipple, however, she continues to roll leisurely between her thumb and forefinger.

“Apologies. You seemed to like how assertive I was earlier. Was I mistaken?”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you say weakly, “Didn’t expect this from an elementary school teacher.”

Smiling amusedly, Fuyumi nuzzles into your too-warm cheek. “I can’t be nice, patient sensei all the time.”

“So you like to get back some control in the bedroom,” you say dryly.

Fuyumi’s answer is scraping her teeth down your throat and sucking a mark into your collarbone. Cold hands seize your breasts, squeezing. A knee slips between your thighs to push against you. You cry out.

“Based on that lovely reponse…” Fuyumi croons, running her hands up and down your sides, “and your clear deflection from my original statement, you like to let go of control in the bedroom. It’s a release.”

Somewhere in the haze of your lust, you catch on. You raise an eyebrow.

She sighs. “Let me guess: high stakes civil service job, demanding work environment, lots of pressure, extremely stressful. You have to be in complete control at all times on the job, always alert, and need your phone on even after hours just in case.”

“...maybe.” She has a scarily clear cut understanding of your “civil service job”, even without the full details such as what exactly it is.

She smiles understandingly, though there’s a strange twist to it. “I noticed how..alert you were at the bar. Even though you came with friends. You really don’t let yourself relax, do you?”

You turn your head, averting your eyes.

Gentle fingers pinch your chin and bring them back to meet Fuyumi’s compassionate gaze. “It’s okay, y/n-san,” she soothes. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place - “

“No, you’re right,” you cut her off, voice hoarse. “I - it’s just I… I love my job.”

“I know,” she murmurs, caressing the side of your face.

Your draw in a breath. “I’m lucky to have it. Especially being a woman. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a little kid. And it - I get to help so many people. Every day. I feel like I make a real difference, you know? But it’s not easy.”

Fuyumi strokes your hair. “When was the last time you took some time off?”

You scoff, covering your eyes with a forearm. “I just transferred to a new agency a little while ago. I still have a lot to prove.”

This makes Fuyumi frown. “They chose to hire you. You shouldn’t have to prove anything!”

“Fuyumi-san,” you drawl, “you’re taking care of other people again. Didn’t I say it's your turn to be taken care of tonight?”

“Is you taking care of me just ‘helping people’ like you do everyday?” she asks.

“No. Is you asking about my work life and the personal toll it has just another way of asserting control?” you deadpan.

Fuyumi sputters, turning red. “N-no! And how’s wanting to help others ‘control’?”

“‘Help is the sunny side of control,’” you quote, bone dry.

Semi-amused, you watch realization dawn across Fuyumi’s face. “That’s - I never thought about it that way. That’s...quite insightful. Did you come up with that? Or is that from somewhere?”

“Anne Lammottt,” you say dryly. “She wrote this sorta half self-help, half memoir on hope and how to find it when things are at their bleakest. My therapist recommended it. I’ll lend you my copy.”

The bed creaks as Fuyumi sits up, straddling you. Poker faced, you make a herculean effort to keep your gaze directly on her face rather than stray to...well, the gorgeous half-naked body on top of you.

“You have a therapist?”

“High stakes job with heaps of pressure and stress, remember?” you quip. “It would be irresponsible of me not to take care of my mental health. Like skipping a dental cleaning or a vaccination.”

“Yeah…” Again, Fuyumi has that intent, searching look in her eyes. The same one she gave you after admitting how tired you were, how draining caring can be. Without her glasses, it’s only about 100 times more intense.

And there you are, titties out, laid out like a spread eagle underneath Fuyumi like you’re her personal throne. Not a bad position to be in, of course, but a little odd when her face looks like she’s trying to solve the world’s hardest math problem and not contorted in the throes of passion as gifted by yours truly. You wait it out, though. It seems important.

It’s a nice view anyway.

Finally: “You’re really something, y/l/n y/n.”

You smile up at her lazily. “Thanks. You’re something special yourself, Todoroki Fuyumi.”

Fuyumi smiles down at you like a real life Madonna icon. You’re suddenly reminded of your recently developed Fuyumi-related asthma. And how her luscious thighs are actually a little warm after hugging your body for so long.

You drum your fingers against them, enjoying the feel even through her jeans. “Hey, Fuyumi-san?”

“Mm?”

“How did we go from the hottest foreplay of my life to talking about our mutual tendencies for compulsive caretaking?”

Fuyumi slaps her hands over her reddening cheeks and groans. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, y/n-san!”

“It’s cool,” you say, nonchalant. “We can do a naked book club instead, if you like. Anything you wanna recommend?”

“No! No naked book club - well, maybe later. Wait!” She drags her hands down her face and half-heartedly glowers down at you. Somehow, that stern look makes you throb. “You’re making fun of me.”

“A little,” you admit. You stroke her thighs soothingly. “But I’m also a little serious. If you’d rather do something else, that’s okay. I think I have some puzzles somewhere.“

Snorting, Fuyumi shakes her head. “I want to keep going. I do, I really do. But if I made it too weird or - “

“Great. I want to, too,” you state bluntly.

“I didn’t make it weird?”

“Sex is weird sometimes. Besides….” You look up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, feeling your desire thrum back to life at her bold reassertion. Your voice turns smokey when you speak next. “I want to make you feel good, Fuyumi-san.”

Fuyumi shudders above you.

Gripping her thighs, you slowly sit up to avoid jostling her from your lap. Warm hands smooth up her thighs, following the curves of her wide hips and her waistline. Fuyumi shivers when you linger on the sides of her plump breasts. You trace her bra’s outer edges up to the elastic straps and unhurriedly lower the right one. You press a kiss to her bared shoulder, as soft as the newly fallen snow outside.

“I want to make you really, really good.”

You feel how the exhale shudders out of her. “Y/n-san…”

“Will you let me? Will you let me make you feel good, Fuyumi-san?”

She laughs softly, hugging your shoulders. “How do you do that? “

“Do what?” you mumble, sucking at a beauty mark you find.

“Just - mmph, right there - just turn the situation around? It was so a-aah! Awkward and now it’s like this again.”

You laugh huskily. “A little trick I learned on the job.”

“Seducing people?”

“Are you seduced?” you purr.

“Y-yes. But seriously...”

“Let’s just say... I learned how to assess a situation and Turn. It. Around. In my favor.” You kiss up her neck with each word, breathing in deeply.

She gently scratches down your back, soft lines that make you shudder. “Mm, you’re a good civil servant.”

This draws a smirk from you. “Thanks. Now...back to my question.”

“Mm?” Fuyumi’s eyes flutter.

You whisper hotly against her ear, “Will you let me make you feel good?”

“Yes, please.”

Grinning, you kiss her ear and set to work.

You unsnap her bra clasp, sliding the silky undergarment off and lazily letting it fall from your hand. Her supple breasts fall free with gentle bounce. Hand on her shoulder, you lightly push her onto her back and Fuyumi goes down willingly. Lips parted, you stare down at her darkly.

Expression hazy, she smiles up at you. “Please take care of me.”

“I’ll try my best,” you promise, voice low and gravelly.

You cup her breasts, relishing the soft weight of them in your hands, and rub slow circles over them. Then you bend down to tongue a slow circle around a dusky nipple before sucking it into your eager mouth. Fuyumi sighs, cupping the back of your neck. You hum, then go to turn your attention to the next. Gently heating your lips, you press gossamer-like kisses all over her flushed chest. From there, you kiss down her sternum and down her chest.

“Y/n-san,” she calls softly as you leave marks along her stomach.

You sink blunt teeth into he left hip and she gasps. Trembling underneath you, Fuyumi grips your hair and moans.

You slip a finger under her jeans, looking to her with lifted eyebrows. At her nod, you unbutton her jeans and - in return for her icy teasing - unzip the fly with your teeth. She gasps. You tug at the loosened denim, to which she lifts her hips, and you slide down her jeans past her hips where you kiss and suck and nip. Then you pull the jeans down her thighs. You swallow at the sight of her pink panties, pupils dilating at the dark stain over her folds.

Still, you take your time - gently pulling her jeans off one creamy leg at a time. You kiss every inch of new skin revealed, reveling in Fuyumi’s increasingly shallow breathing. You watch her chest rise and fall, breasts heaving.

She’s easily the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

Not looking away once, you toss the jeans to some far corner and settle between her thighs. You’re not even aware of where you are, so consumed with the sight and smell of her.

“Y-y/n-san,” she calls.

“Shh, darling,” you murmur, landing a kiss on the inside of her knee. You trace your lips down the soft skin of her inner thigh. “I know, I know.”

“Hurry.”

“Almost there. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”

She moans, the precious noise pitching louder when you press your lips to the sweet wetness pooled between her thighs. You flick the full length of your tongue over her. Delicate fingers grip the back of your head, cold and insistent, and you groan. The vibrations send her hips rolling and you follow along with the motions, licking and sucking through her underwear, breathing through your nose, tenderly thumbing circles into her hip bones. Despite the delicious press of her clenching thighs against your ears, you hear her call your name - broken between a plea and a command. And you obey.

Without wasting another moment, you pull away and hook your fingers under the hem of her panties. You slide the garment down her hips, groan at the pearly strands of her essence clinging to her puffy inner lips, and pull it down her lush thighs.

Impatient, Fuyumi sits up enough to shove her panties the rest of the way off. Then her hand returns to the back of your head which she immediately guides to her cunt. You grasp her thighs, spreading them open for better access. You latch onto her hot bundle of nerves and suck into your mouth. Encouraged by her cries, you lave your tongue between her folds while your thumb continues toying with her clit.

Nails scrape against your scalp, sending shocks of pained pleasure through you and inciting another moan. You bury your tongue inside her, reveling in the full taste of her. A mewl rewards your efforts. Chin shiny with her juices, you pull back only to return to her clit. You press a kiss there, two, three, before sucking it back into your hot mouth. Your fingers slide inside her; velvety walls clench around them, pulsing rhythmically as you slide in and out.

Lashes fluttering, you lift your gaze to meet Fuyumi’s piercing blue eyes - bright and demanding above the flush of her cheeks and her neck and her heaving chest. Her grip tightens in your hair. You close eyes, blissed out, and delve your tongue deeper inside her until your nose is pressed against her clit. You delight in the wet friction.

Her legs tremble, one hooked over your shoulder. Her cries rise - higher, higher, pitching into the dark ceiling. The sweetest of noises. You whimper when her thighs clench around you, following the undulations of her hips. Your own squirm against the sheets, arousal pooling in your underwear, as you listen. You feel it before she cries out: hands grasping, thighs shaking, labia twitching, her inner walls clenching around you.

Ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. All because of you.

Fuyumi calls your names.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes -

Cold.

Cold, cold, cold.

Under Fuyumi’s hands, ice coats your shoulders and spreads down your back. Your hair is stiff and frozen. Where her juices coated your lips and chin, now frozen. Even the tip of your nose has frost.

You blink.

Fuyumi gapes at you, horrified.

“You know...when the weather forecast said snowy night in Tokyo, this isn’t what I expected.”

“I am SO sorry!”

You burst out laughing.

She hides her bright red face in her hands. “I’m sorry, y/n-san! Do you have a hair dryer? Let me -- “

“Nah, I’m okay. See?” You channel your Quirk, focusing on the warmth always present in the center of your chest, and let the heat spread throughout the rest of your body. Steam rises from your skin as the frost melts, not leaving so much as a droplet of moisture behind.

Hands lowered, Fuyumi’s jaw drops. “You...you have a fire Quirk.”

“Opposites really do attract, huh?” Eyes crinkling, you laugh.

It’s the only sound in the bedroom.

“...Fuyumi-san?”

Speechless, Fuyumi stares at you with wide, wide eyes. The climax-induced flush is gone, bleached from her skin. She covers her mouth with a shaky hand.

You immediately recognize that expression. It’s the look a civilian had before they were saved, before help arrived. Fear. Seeing it on her face makes your stomach turn. It reminds you of the time you rescued a child from a burning building after a villain set off an electrical fire - the initial relief on the boy’s face evolving into sheer panic when you activated your own flames to fight the villain off before back-up came. You’d hated yourself for reigniting that fear so soon after the initial trauma.

And now? You’re bewildered and cautious.

“Hey...you alright there?”

“I - yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Fuyumi swiftly looks away, shrinking in on herself. She brings her arms up to her bare chest.

Resisting the urge to frown, you put up an air of calm. You wordlessly lift a sheet and - avoiding sudden movements - wrap it around her shoulders.

She blinks at you.

“A lot of people have had bad experiences with fire,” you say, non-judgemental. You smile softly. “I get it. It can be pretty scary sometimes. But I can guarantee you that I have better control over my Quirk than most people. Haven’t had an accident since I was 10.”

“I’m not - that’s not it, y/n-san.” Even saying that, Fuyumi pulled the sheet tighter around herself.

You lifted and lowered your shoulders in a languid shrug. “It doesn’t matter what it was or wasn’t. And you don’t have to explain it to me, either.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “Y/n-san - “

“Fuyumi-san,” you say, hushed. “It’s okay.”

You won't lie to yourself, though: It hurts. But you recognize a trigger when you see one. If years of general wariness of your flames didn’t teach you that, your training certainly did.

It’s that same training that allows you to smile at her reassuringly. “Hey… Look.”

You hold your hand out, palm side up. Watching her face carefully, searching for even the slightest flinch, you focus the heat under your skin to converge at the center of your palm: A spark, then a shimmer, and a small flame comes to life. No bigger than a birthday candle, it casts a soft light across your face.

Fuyumi’s eyes flicker between your tender expression and the tiny fire. Your own gaze doesn’t waver from her face, even as you slowly twist your hand and will the flame to move sluggishly along your palm, your wrist, over your knuckles, and between your fingers. Fuyumi watches all the while.

You urge the flare to your to the very tip of your index finger and hold it up to your mouth. You purse your lips, not unlike a kiss, and extinguish it with a small puff. You wink at her. “See? Perfect control.”

While she is still hunched under the sheet, it at least earns you a small, wobbly smile.

You hold out your hand, again palm side up. She immediately looks at it, clearly expecting another flame. The corner of your mouth twitches and you wiggle your fingers a little.

It’s a relief when she accepts the silent offer, placing her small hand in yours. Your fingers wrap around hers. Tenderly, carefully, you brush your over her knuckles. Like you’re holding something infinitely precious.

“I was a pretty stupid kid, you know. You would’ve hated having me in your classroom,” you say suddenly, still fixated on your joined hands.

Fuyumi looks almost offended. “No, I wouldn’t!”

It makes you grin a little. “You’re right. You’re an amazing teacher - one of those saintly ones with tons of patience for even the brattiest of kids. I can tell. But trust me, even little me would have given you a run for your money. I was pretty full of myself, just because of an accident of being born with some flashy Quirk. Always showing off and playing around with it.”

At this, your smile fades into a grim line. “But you know what they say about playing with fire. ‘Cept I can’t burn but others sure can. I learned that the hard way...at someone else’s expense.”

“...the accident when you were 10,” Fuyumi recalls, voice faint.

“It was someone I really care about,” you say. Your mouth twists into a self-contemptuous sneer as you shake your head. “I knew how to start fires but hadn’t yet learned how to put them out. So much for the little show off.”

Suddenly, her hand squeezes yours. You blink.

“You were only a child, y/n-san,” she whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch together and without her glasses, there’s nothing between you and those fierce eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t matter. Someone else paid for it,” you say, uncompromising. She opens her mouth to protest. You raise her hand to kiss her knuckles which immediately snaps her mouth close. “And I’ve been a whole lot more careful since then. I promised myself that I would use my Quirk to protect people, not hurt them. Especially not someone I care about.”

At that, you press your lips to her slim wrist. You gently suck at the blue-ish veins beneath delicate skin, kissing the heel of her hand and then her own palm and finally the tips of fingers. You look up to see Fuyumi’s cherry red face.

“Are you hungry?”

“W-what?” She sounds half as breathless as you felt most of the evening. Payback, sweetheart.

“I promised to take care of you tonight, remember? So. Are you hungry?”

Fuyumi stares at you, taking in your still half-dressed state and kiss-bruised lips. “What about you? I didn’t...you know.”

You shrug. “It’s fine. Lemme get you a glass of water at least.”

After her near panic attack and the sudden turn in conversation, you figure she might not be in the best headspace to...reciprocate. Besides, nothing dashes the libido quite like your partner almost freaking out at your Quirk.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stretch your arms out, oblivious to Fuyumi’s sharpened stare where your back muscles ripple with the movement. You push your hair back, lightly scratching your head as you lazily search the floor for your shirt.

“Wanna watch a movie or something? I think I have some popcorn. We could - “

Cool hands smooth over your waist, meeting in the middle of your stomach. You feel the swell of her breasts against your too-warm back, tight nipples on your shoulder blades. Chilled lips brush the junction of your neck and shoulder, following the curve of your neck. She catches your earlobe between her teeth and tugs.

Your breath hitches.

Her hands trail up your abdomen, leaving shivers in their wake, before cupping your breasts. You arch your back, consequently pushing yourself further into her. Her thumbs smooth twin circles around your nipples, her natural chill sensitizing them.

“Fuyumi….” Her name is a weak moan from your mouth.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” comes her wintry whisper. “Let me return the favor, okay?”

“A-are you sure? A-ah! Fuyumi!”

“I told you, y/n, I want it. And I’ll take it if I have to.”

There is a higher power and apparently, that higher power fucking loves you.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

It’s habit that wakes you up in the early morning. Drowsily, you blink up at your ceiling and then turn your head on your pillow to find Fuyumi’s face inches from yours. Her cheek is squished against a pillow, snowy strands caught in her mouth.

You stare at her in silent awe.

Eventually, your stomach reminds you of your basic needs and by extension Fuyumi’s eventual needs as well. Breakfast then. You sit up slowly, taking care not to wake her. You swing your legs over the bed and pad your way around fallen clothes. You pick them up, sorting out which were whose. Your cell drops out of your pants.

You remember your promise to Kamiji. Turning on your cell, you grimace at the low power and then pause at the many...many messages on it.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: RED ALERT RED ALERT

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: YO Y/N PICK UP

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: As GREAT as a time you’re having right now...pick up.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Yl//n.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n y/n.

Frowning, you press “call” on her contact. A few rings carry on, setting your nerves at ease. You know that if it really was an emergency, she would be awake and pick up immediately.

A groggy voice answers. “Must’ve been a fun night.”

“Kamiji, what’s up?” you murmur.

“Did you take that girl home with you?”

“Uuh…” You glance at Fuyumi’s curled up form. The sheets drape over the curve of her hips and tangle between her legs, leaving her mostly bare. Her arms stretch out above her head, feathery hair a tangled mess, carmine streaks vibrant in the sunrise. A few of your marks stand out, red and violet, on the fair skin of her waist and chest. Perfect matches to the ones all over your chest.

You don’t realize you’re smiling like an idiot until you hear your name repeated, louder and louder. “Y/l/n… Y/L/N! HEY!”

You scowl, soundlessly slipping out of bed and snatching a robe on the way out. You muffle your phone against your collarbone until you’re safely in the kitchen where Kamiji’s yelling won’t wake Fuyumi up.

“Yes, Kamiji, I took her home with me and now I’m going to make her breakfast. There a problem?”

Coffee. You need coffee.

“Well, at least you’re treating her right. Hopefully that’ll work in your favor.”

“What are you talking about?” you grouse, getting your coffee maker ready. You mentally go over what you have in the fridge. Do you have enough to make something? Or should you run to the cafe to grab something? Would you get back before Fuyumi wakes up? Maybe you should wait and see if she’d want to go with you...

A dark laugh from the receiver. “You really have no idea who she is, do you?”

You freeze. Tightening your grip on the phone, you glance warily at your closed bedroom door. “...why, is she a villain?”

“You wish.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“You’re completely fireproof, right?”

“Yes,” you say, frowning. “It’s pretty much why Endeavor hired me.”

Kamiji makes a small, aggravated noise. “He hired for more than that, y/l/n. But we’ll get into that later - before our boss gives a whole new meaning to firing you.”

“Fire me? For what?”

“What’s his name, y/l/n? His actual name?”

You really do not like where this conversation was going. “Todoroki Enji?”

“And who did you take home with you last night?”

“...that’s not funny, Kamiji.”

“I’m not joking.”

“It’s a common last name,” you protest, “and they look absolutely nothing alike - “

Except.

Except for the red in her hair.

And the color of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows...

The same family name.

Her reaction to your fire Quirk.

You even met at a bar close to the Endeavor Hero Agency.

“No.”

“Yeeeaaah. You slept with the #2 hero’s only daughter.”

For the first time since you were 10, you lose control of your Quirk - setting your favorite robe aflame.

“SHIT!”

Kamiji’s laughter is barely heard over the smoke alarm. Burnt cotton fills the kitchen air and you tear off the robe to throw it in the sink, immediately turning on the faucet. And then there you are, wearing nothing but a few love bites, as you fight with the smoke alarm to shut it up.

Having taken the batteries out, you snatch up the phone and hiss, “I slept with our boss’s daughter? Our boss boss? Endeavor?”

“You work for my father?”

You swear you feel the blood draining from your face. Slowly, mechanically, you turn around. She stands just outside your room, a vision in white sheets. The girl you met last night, the girl you’re pretty sure you fell a little in love with at first sight. The one you took home with you.

Todoroki Fuyumi.

Endeavor’s only daughter.

The higher power fucking hates you.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

Note: When Fuyumi says “Please take care of me” during introductions with reader, it’s actually an English translation of “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu” which is more of a concept than a direct translation. Cool explanation here for my fellow language nerds.

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millennial-ring · 3 years

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Can we get more info on 5-7?

5. Dear God

So this one is ANCIENT (2012!!!) and idk why it’s still in my WIPs folder because I do clean it out/reorganize it every few years or so (which is why that unfinished powershipping christmas fic wasn’t on the list, cause I moved it to a different folder). Sadly the title makes it seem more interesting than it actually is - it’s just a few paragraphs and nothing really happens at all.

Russet eyes were glazed over as they watched the rain pelt the ground, each drop making tiny indents in the dirt, puffs of the still-dry earth floating up with each splash before settling down again, the process repeating over...and over... Rain drummed against the body of a beaten up jeep, the only prominent sound within miles, save to the sound of the rain falling in the grass, and the dirt, and the leather jacket Bakura wore.

The man blinked as water ran down his face, following the curve of his brow and rolling over the crease of his eyelid, flowing into his eye. The water pooled between his lids, blurring his vision for a few moments until he blinked again, and the water was squeezed out to mingle with the rest on his face, like a single, solitary tear. He inhaled slowly, then let the breath out in a quick huff, turning away from the long stretch of dirt road in front of him. Behind him, another long chunk of drivable desert. He growled under his breath and began to pace, wet sand squishing under his boots, gravel shifting with each step.

How could be trapped here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, with a flat fucking tire and no spare?

It was inspired by this Avenged Sevenfold song and I vaguely remember that it was going to be thiefshipping, about the various trials Bakura goes through to get back to Malik after a fight or something but... 🤷

6. Domestic Disturbance

This one is also super short, more fleshed out in my mind than on paper, and I started writing it after we had to call the cops on our neighbors because they were having a very loud and long argument (like, over an hour of yelling). Inspiration comes from the dumbest places with me, haha, but this is another one of those “why is this still in my wips” documents because I don’t have any intention of finishing it. After writing what I did I kinda had a “maybe these kinds of situations shouldn’t be your inspiration for fanfics, weirdo” moment and I scrapped it. But anyway!

The story goes that Bakura was playing some Wii game, lost grip on the controller, and accidentally chucked it and broke a vase because he wasn’t wearing the wrist strap. Malik hears the crash and comes around the corner, lecturing him about “how many times have i told you i s2g bakura why are you like this” even as Bakura’s already beginning to clean up the mess. Bakura gruffly tells him to chill out because nothing important was broken anyway, just “that ugly ass vase” and he holds up a piece for Malik to see. The tension thickens immediately and Malik speaks with measured anger instead of the usual screaming, so Bakura knows He Fucked Up. “That was a gift from my sister.” Bakura panics a bit on the inside, but outside he scoffs and he’s all like “even better, tell her she has awful tastes” because ykno. He’s like that. Doesn’t wanna admit he fucked up, doesn’t wanna take responsibility or acknowledge he hurt Malik’s feelings. At this point I’d stopped writing it, but still have the basic outline. The regular bickering becomes a super intense all out screaming match about basically anything and everything, all the tiny little things they’d been burying for as long as they’d lived together finally coming out, start demanding why they ever thought this would work and they’re just about to get to that great crescendo where they're about to break up (”Well then maybe you shouldn’t have brought me back!” “At this point I’m inclined to agree!” Bakura’s shocked. “Well...then is this going where I think it’s going?” “I think it is.” “Then say it.” “...” “Say you want to break up!” “I...Bakura, I...” when someone knocks on the door. Heyo, it’s two cops, saying someone called in a domestic disturbance. Malik snaps that they’re fine, still pissed from the fight, but obviously like no Malik that’s not gonna help. So one officer brings Bakura out into the hall to question him and the other stays with Malik. Cop asks if they’re together, how long, what the fight was about, etc etc, and then if the fight had been physical at all. Bakura recoils in shock and practically screams “No!” “You never hit Malik?” “I would never!” “And Malik wouldn’t hit you?” There’s a few things there, bc I wasn’t sure how I wanted Bakura to respond; make an “only if he asked wink wonk” joke that the cop rolls his eyes at, or stammer that “i mean he’s smacked my head once or twice but it never hurt and i was being super annoying at the time and it was more like playful slapping” but either way the cop asks for a more direct answer or for Bakura to elaborate and Bakura gets pissed, says Malik would cut off his own hand before he hit Bakura because obviously. Cop seems taken aback but nods, and then lectures Bakura a bit about volume, tells him maybe one of them should pack a bag and stay with friends or family for a few days. Their partner comes out soon after and the two cops leave. Bakura goes back inside, where Malik is standing with his arms crossed, looking shaken with red rimmed eyes. They look at each other, feeling awkward, but then they make tea, sit down, and have a calmer “are we really like that?” conversation. they admit a lot of their fights are pointless and stupid and they’re just fighting to fight because it’s Their Thing and aha, aren’t we so cute and quirky, arguing is our foreplay - which it is, but they admit they’ve taken it too far, gotten too used to snapping at each other when something happens, and some of their issues (like Bakura disrespecting Malik’s siblings, and Malik’s control freak attitude) really need to be sat down and talked out, not screamed out. They apologize, foreheads pressed together, and Malik thumbs a tear from Bakura’s cheek. Bakura strokes his fingers through Malik’s hair. Malik makes a “well you know the best part about fighting, right?” and Bakura laughs, and then it ends.

7. But he came back

So if y’all didn’t know I recently commissioned a(n amazing) fic from @/sitabethel (not properly tagging cause i don’t wanna bother them). In it, Bakura promises Malik he’ll come back after his final showdown with Atem, but ten years pass and Malik gets engaged to Seto. It’s corporate theifshipping and obviously I recommend reading it - but it’s based on an RP I did with a friend of mine years ago. In the RP, Bakura was pissed Malik hadn’t waited for him and does the whole “why did I even bother coming back I literally only came back to be with you?????” and Malik being like “Sorry? But you took a long fucking time and I had to do something to stop the loneliness.” We never finished it, but when we dropped it Bakura was starting to heal and move on and we had plans to end it powershipping and tendershipping - and Bakura catching the bouquet at the wedding and Ryou immediately being like >:) but anyway. The concept stuck with me and I really liked the idea of Bakura coming back to that situation and more so rolling with it - maybe a touch bitter at first, but hey, he’s nothing if not adaptable, and he absolutely invites himself into the relationship in the clunkiest way possible.

“But he came back” was the start of my own attempt to write something with that kind of plot. When I write a fic, I start with a vague collection of ideas or scenes I want to write, and then when I have enough to work with, I begin organizing them into an outline. This doc is just a very small collection of ideas and dialogue, mixing some things taken from the RP and my own ideas. It’s mostly things like how Malik and Kaiba get to the marriage point, starting with an impromptu kinda tipsy make out session hidden away in the kitchen during a party Yugi’s throwing, and how they navigate each other’s trauma and fumble their way into a genuine romance despite everything. I’ve never managed to sit down and work it out into an outline of any kind, and the way I wanted to explore Malik and Bakura’s relationship before the show down, Malik and Kaiba’s relationship building afterwards, and then the relationship building with all three of them meant 30 chapters, at least (the original rp is over 2,500 pages and again, we had only just started with Bakura wanting to ask Ryou out and going to Malik for advice adjklj, when we dropped it) and well. yall know i’m bad at writing multi fic chapters

#wip tag

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adecila · 5 years

Text

Game of Thrones – 8x04 “The Last of the Starks” episode analysis – or who the fuck ever let D&D write stuff

You know I am pretty much like this dude here –

so I will be the woman to lead this ship or so help me all the old gods and the new.

Spoilers, d’uhh.

Aftermath - but everyone has their wardrobe on fleek, hair looking fab and they even had time to clean the entire field of Winterfell

The episode starts with the funeral pyre and how DARE you make me love Jorah even more and twist the knife in my heart. And did you have to show me Theon, Beric, Edd’s and Lyanna’s bodies???

RUDE.

Jon is doing a big speech and it is nice and drove the sobbing further, but I get it this is Jon’s turf so he has to be the one making the big speech. That is such a Dany thing though, and I can’t help to think, when put into perspective with the rest of the episode, that it’s yet again a thing Dany has lost. But more on that later.

The pyres are lit, sad music, more sobbing from me. OOOPS BUT DID YOU CATCH THAT JONERYS EXCHANGE OF LOOKS? Because I did! I can’t help but think how he looks at her for reassurance and she feels it and she turns and she is just.so.broken. And then she cries and I cry again.

A feast for crows the survivors

And then we get a feast and suddenly everyone is happy and stuff… ok, I guess life goes on. Maybe Sandor’s crass remark, under the guise of a funny moment, was meant to make us think on it. But maybe that’s too deep for D&D who the fuck knows.

Let’s talk about Gendry’s legitimisation.

Dany does it quite publicly, and small exchange between her and Tyrion makes sense. Honestly, if she hadn’t done it herself then and there, it would have come up at a later point, but with 2 episodes left there’s no time. S.ansa does her shady looks because she throws shade and Bran just stares into the void smh.

In which I am the Hound unimpressed and eating his chicken.

Davos x Tyrion

The Lord of Light fucked off into the sunset when he saw D&D’s piss poor writing and honestly same. He probably fucked off when he saw Melisandre was still getting his prophecies wrong.

Every time S.ansa comes into frame my soul leaves my body a bit more because whY THO.

Tyrion x Bran the 3ER

Cool beans Bran, that’s how you use you abilities? OMG JOJEN FUCKING DIED FOR YOU–

“I mostly live in the past now” - to me this means Bran has become this empty shell of a man and he just visits the past and checks out cool shit. It’s like a kid who gets access to YouTube for the first time. Heck he can even see his dad or whoever else he misses if he feels anything at all now. Because if he doesn’t even have “wants” then? What was the point of it all? God I swear the writers will not rest until they will have reduced all characters to tropes and empty shells of their former selves.

Tormund and the gang around Jon; Tyrion with Jaime ; Dany alone

This scene right here was the beginning of the end. Remember when Tormund was a dude who was in awe by strong women? D&D don’t. He suddenly is so far up Jon’s ass nothing could take him out. Guess it pays off for him in the end since Jon just gifts him Ghost.

S.ansa just fucking stop OMG PLEASE STOP WITH THE FUCKING LOOKS JFC.

But where was Missandei??? Why was Dany alone? And what the fuck was that look, VArYs?? Someone give Dany a hug because my god the isolation is real. Fuck. STOP. TAKING. EVERYTHING. FROM HER.

Never have I ever… thought the writers would stoop so low but here we are

So it’s all fun and games until it isn’t.

Poor Tormund. Jaime never deserved Brienne and that’s a fact.

And the mystery of Willa, the sassy Northern girl has been solved! Bless!!!

SanSan, but with more misogynistic undertones than you ever thought

Yeah you know what, I am not touching this scene. Fuck D&D for daring to say that.

Gendrya - or the moment Gendry decided to pull a Ted Mosby

I feel so bad OMG they did this ship so dirty. However. Arya saying that was expected. But I call bullshit on her never rethinking her decision. Girl’s got a list and she just can’t NOT try to finish it, I mean, wouldn’t you? After you killed such a big boss as the NK?

At the same time, they would be trying for faux feminism, pulling a Arya doesn’t need a man to be happy. Guess the sex was just to try it? Wow can you believe they cheapened this ship and that beautiful moment like that?

I’m so sorry babies, you deserved much better. Guess Gendry was always meant to have his heart broken by a Stark girl once he became a Baratheon. Wow.

Weirdly enough!!! And spoiler maybe?? Leak? Idk. But I feel like Gendrya will prevail (also because she looks heartbroken to reject him like that…). When asked if Gendrya will rule the 7K, Friki said no, these two aren’t made for ruling anything. For what’s worth, Friki mentioned he does know Arya’s endgame and shebis confirmed alive in the Dragon Pit in 8x06 :)

Oathsex

Uff yeah I did not like that. It felt wrong in the context and it felt cheap and I…. yeah IDK. And then Jaime leaves. He could have at least told Brienne that he is he only one who can kill Cersei or IDK, but not leave her like that. Jeesh dude my poor Knight, she is gutted by him.

Jonerys makeout and chat and hey who wanted angst? Turn on your location I just wanna chat.

Sooo flip side: I somehow, for the second time, predicted a thing in my fic. HOWEVER D&D keep only getting half my fics because GURL DID YOU NOT GET THE SMUT MEMO? AND THE FLUFF MEMO?

So Dany goes to find Jon, again, who is tipsy, and Jon suddenly remembers to give Dany some comfort for having lost Jorah…

The set up for Dany saying ILY it’s a bit .. ehh. But her actual words: “He loved me, but I couldn’t love him back, not the way he wanted it. Not the way I love you. Is that alright?”

A+ scene. I love how he can’t help himself and as soon as she is in his arms’ range he just pulls her into him, BEFORE she asks “Is that alright?”.

Uff emo side note here, this scene and this phrase reminded me of this song. Listen and sob. you’re welcome.

On that depressive note, wow that make out tho. Two things I learned from this scene: 1 - Jon is horny drunk, which same; and 2 - Jon is a tiddies guy like he dove in and went for the tiddies, which also same. Am I Jon? Is this why I keep guessing his fucking reactions but D&D won’t give me the rest????? We’ll never know.

And… then Jon stops and pulls back. And I KNOW that in the BTS we are told he is disgusted or whatever along those lines, but to me?? That look means he is CONFLICTED. And listen, if y’all wanted it to make it to mean "disgusted" then you should have made Kit do it differently since YOU KNOW HE WAS FAKE GAGGING TO EMILIA EVERY OTHER MINUTE. YOU CAN’T KEEP ADDING SHIT LATER YOU FUCKING DUMBASSES YOU EITHER PUT IT IN THE ACTUAL SHOW AND THE ACTUAL ACTING OR STFU.

But I guess to me that rejection was more for the general audience than for us. C’mon he clearly loves her, his dick was so hard he was about to nut then and there. Stop bringing your 21st century considerations into a feudalistic fantasy where you have Royals and dragons. Also FUCK YOU VARYS BECAUSE EVEN IN THE NORTH AUNT AND NEPHEW MARRIED SO FUCK YOU BALDIE.

I digress. Then Dany echoes what Jon himself thinks/said - wishing she would have never known. And then we get something that I felt when she was alone and sad at the feast. “I saw the way they looked at you. I know that look; the same way people looked at me, but never on this side of the sea” - yeah so I need a break.

This here - cemented for me what I think the show is doing: stripping everything away from Dany: her armies, her children, her people and the love her people have for her… then Jon. And I don’t mean that as in the sense of some bullshit fleak. No, I mean it in the context of this episode. Because Jon never says I love you back (and maybe @normalisjustafairytale is right and Jon is afraid to say it after Ygritte), and he rejects her, and he says he can’t NOT tell his sisters, even if Dany begs him not to. So in a sense, for now at least, Jon is being taken away from her. So you have all this isolation and losing and losing and then what does she have left? The only constant in her life? The fucking Iron Throne. Because at the moment there is nothing else for her and she probably feels like she will be nothing without it. Hence why she presses to go and take Cersei down. I won’t lie to you, it is cheap writing and very lame and honestly I have read fics a million times better than this bullshit, but they will, at one point, hit us with the boatie reveal, and when that happens, and when Jon fucking finally pulls through and stands by her side, she will have something else, a different constant in life. Moreover, because she realises that the people here in Westeros will never love her, she will have even more of a reason to bow out, say a big fuck you, take her boatie and her hubs and get to her house with the red door.

This is not just wishful thinking, it is very much D&D, and they will of course “humble the powerful woman” (I puked in my mouth by writing that). But also, my consolation is that with this episode, heck even the people who weren’t necessarily her fans, are on her side and asking her to burn KL down. Which I don’t think she would, but more on that in a different post. God this post is already long.

*bathroom break*

BAck. Then Dany echoes what I also said in my fic ugh I hate myself what we all know and are thinking: it doesn’t matter if Jon doesn’t want it; it matter that there are people out there (fucking S.ansa jfc this fucking UGGHDGugduzdahidfg) who don’t like Dany and will support Jon immediately over her. She is right and he is stupid for not seeing it.

I guess I also got my bending the knee from my fic. Kinda. FUCK.ME.

I cannot believe that my Queen had to BEG him and Jon had to be so naive. BOY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THE LESSON FROM YOUR FATHER? Two can keep a secret is one of them is dead, Jonno. Did you not watch Pretty Little Liars??? Why the fuck do you think Ned Stark didn’t tell his wife?? LMAO she would have sold him just like S.asnsa blabbed on you, guess the J___sas were right, it was a bit of a Ned x Cat parallel, probably Cat would have sold Ned also in a fucking instant. Dany is absolutely right. This shit cannot be contained because you don’t know how people would react to it.

“She’s not the girl you grew up with” … BOOM.

I love how he cradles her face into his hands MY FUCKING HEART MY HEART.

Pause. The part where she begs remind me of this traumatic moment:

… fuuuuck. Anyway.

And I love how she turns the tables on him. But Jon… is still Jon for plot reasons I guess. Maybe he didn’t understand why Ned had to keep the secret for so many years.

The end of the Northern plot - BYE NO ONE WILL MISS YOU

The Starks can choke. They are cancelled.

Yeah no. Bye. Fuck S.ansa or Sandra, who the fuck this OOC shitty ass character is. Fuck every single one of them. Wow, emotional manipulation at its finest. I just love how they basically called this episode the last of the Starks because they just character assassinated all of them. Edit: LMAO you know what this is? The shitty family that pulls over one member and tries to break him up with his wife, for the sole reason they don't like her. Because fuck their brother's happiness. Because they are fucking selfish people.

Jaime x Tyrion x my headache

Let’s add to the list of cancelled people Jaime and Tyrion just for that fucking chat.

“I will pay you double” ex machina, and that’s how the Bronn issue is solved. Just as Friki said, btw.

Arya x The Hound

So I guess Arya just fucking lies through her teeth now smh, since she was guilt trippig JON JUST MOMENTS AGO and she just up and leaves BECAUSE FUCK FAMILY I GUESS

Tyrion is suddenly afraid of Dany so I guess we are supposed to excuse Sandra’s petty shady jealous ass

Sandra is fucking jealous and insane. Littlefinger will be proud. Her face though. This fucking bitch doesn’t like that he is a Targaryen LMFAO she is scheming so hard bahahahahah

She is fucking cancelled. They murdered her character the moment they took her out of the Vale. FIGHT ME ON THIS I FUCKING DARE YOU.

Jon x Tormund x Ghost - say your goodbyes

Hey hey hey so that line where Jon belongs in the North? The real North, which for Tormund is North of the Wall since he calls Winterfell the South? Guess where those waterfalls from 8x01 are?

Jon is the worst dog owner KILL ME.

Fucking Sam Tarly

Jon was like yeah no don’t name your kid after me. Interesting how he could tell from a hug that Gilly was pregnant. Hope Dany starts showing soon *wink wink boatie is still coming*

The IT or Southern plot

Tyrion x Varys

I cannot wait for Varys to die. Like, he is spewing inaccurate information and then, he is suddenly against Dany and suddenly only Jon is a war hero. Just because he has a dick. Fuck D&D and their sexist asses Also VArys keeps talking about the realm LMAO YOU KNOW WHAT I SEE? I see kings dying all around you, and the only constant it’s you. Who is the problem, I wonder?

Euron ex machina

Makes no fucking sense. But I guess nobody cares anymore.

Yeah I screamed when Rhaegal died. And I screamed again with Dany.

I guess Dany couldn’t just fly behind Euron’s ship and roast them all for plot reasons.

Dragonstone mess

Fuck you, Varys. And fuck you, Tyrion. Not you, Greyworm, ILY *hugs tightly*

BONUS: FUCK YOU JAIME FUUUUUCK YOU FOR LEAVING BRIENNE LIKE THAT. BYE BITCH GOOD RIDDANCE.

King’s Landing mess & the shitty ass parley that even Captain Sparrow could have organised better

Ew how much time has it passed since Cersei is already claiming to be preggers?

“So much for the breaker of chains” - is again, a sign they are trying to strip Dany of everything she has and is.

Tyrion and Qyburn - ew, but also Qyburn has a point, why would Cersei surrender? Oh and I think the point to save Rhaegal from the NK only for him to die at the hands of Euron is to further handicap Dany and make the Cersei threat real, and have a reason to keep Drogon away from KL - HAVE YOU ALL SEEN THE SCORPIONS EVERYWHERE?

Ugh Tyrion stop trying to get Cersei to love you LMFAO she doesn’t. But I know, it is hard to break from toxic relationships and abusers. Tyrion told Cersei “you are not a monster” and she literally went “HOLD MY BEER”.

Missandei’s death made me sick to my stomach and traumatised me for life. We should all collectively agree to NEVER give D&D our attention again and never let them write anything again.

Missandei hatefully spewing DRACARYS as her last words was so strong it made me start crying because holy shit this was a peaceful person, and for her to show this much hate and rage was so gutting… fuck me. I am crying again. I think she also meant, besides from the obvious, “there is no reasoning with these people, so why bother. Might as well blow it the fuck up.”

And Grey’s reaction wow - again, I was about to puke, despite the scene not being the most gorey on GoT, but it was so intrinsically and viscerally wrong my mind could not deal.

In conclusion

Poor Dany, she has lost everything. EVERYTHING. She is literally at her lowest. After the discussion with Jon, she slipped back the Queen mask - like you can pinpoint the moment she does so! And she keeps it on in front of everyone else but her dragons.

I am expecting a very very cold (but very fragile inside) Dany in 8x05. I am expecting her to push Jon away. Oh and at the ending of 8x04 she totally just gets up on Drogon and goes back to Dragonstone. No way she does anything yet so soon.

I haven’t watched any of the BTS and Making of videos, nor have I watched the 8x05 promo. Will do soon.

Stay strong, jonerys is still going strong. I am here until the very end and I still think this will end with jonerys together. Will it be good writing? Nope. But it will end well. As I keep saying. We’re missing the “sweet” in this fucking “bittersweet” shit show. Stop saying it ends badly because of 8x03.

If you need me, you know where to find me. Image of me in the fandom. Except I charge nothing.

Oh and PS: FUCK D&D.

#got spoilers #got spoilers 8x04 #got 8x04 analysis #game of thrones

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queenofallthewrongchoices · 5 years

Text

And He Lets the Chips Fall Where They May

Series: The Freshman

Synopsis: This fic takes place in The Freshman book 1 in between chapters 15 and 16. I’ve been replaying The Freshman over for the hundredth time and always wanted a better glimpse at what the conversation between Chris and Becca was like when he suddenly realized that he wanted to go to the winter formal with the MC instead of her, so this is my take on that conversation.

Pairing: Chris x MC (Nadia)

Characters: Chris and Becca with mentions of the MC

No real age restrictions but there is some very mild suggestive language

Author’s Note: While writing has been a long-time hobby of mine, this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written and the first time I’ve written a piece work featuring characters that aren’t mine. I know it’s both lengthy and wordy but I tend to write how I talk so forgive me.

Chris walks up the steps of the large sorority house he’d been residing in for the past couple of months, he can’t help but notice an uneasiness weighing down on him. While his heart was never truly in any of his dealings with Becca, he had convinced himself it was inconsequential because it was all in the name of having a good time. It was his first semester of freshman year, after all, and he was only interested in cutting loose, unwinding, and forgetting she who shall not be named. Trying his best to avoid anything serious at all costs. Admittedly so Becca, in a lot of ways, provided that for him. She was a little older and more experienced, so she often took the reins in their “relationship” in all aspects, which was new yet exciting. Or at least it had been.

Any other guy would’ve been overjoyed at the prospect of shacking up in a sorority house with a bunch of beautiful carefree college girls, and at first, he himself was quite delighted by the notion. But for some reason Chris couldn’t shake the thought of one specific girl who had charmed him from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her. He kept telling himself that it was for the best that he kept his distance. He wasn’t ready for a relationship and he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had. That was all true, and yet his mind continued to wander to what seemed to be a far-off reality of them being happy together.

He decided to put those thoughts to rest for the time being as he knocked on the large oak doors of the Kappa house. Becca had texted him excited about the dresses she had purchased for the big winter formal scheduled for that weekend and wanted his opinion since he was her date. “It’s important that we make a statement together as a couple.” She said. A concept that he thought he left behind in high school but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question much, as of late. He was just going with the flow. No expectations. Just fun. But his lackadaisical attitude seemed to be leading him towards real relationship territory with Becca and that was something he didn’t like. Although he had made it quite clear to Becca that he wasn’t interested in defining their relationship now or any moment in the future, she still felt an ownership over him. And could he really blame her? He had been sleeping in her bed on and off for the past several weeks, he had drunkenly admitted to her some heavy things concerning his dad he hadn’t told anyone, and they’d been engaging in all manners of hooking up over that time frame. So yes, she wasn’t wrong to have expectations of what they were becoming. But still the whole thing was uncomfortable for him. Here he was, Mr. Hypocrite, doing all the things he said he didn’t want with a girl he knew he didn’t want them with.

Suddenly the door swung open, pulling him from his thoughts as he was greeted by a familiar redhead who he saw regularly during his visits to the Kappa house. She was a sophomore who was dating one of the upperclassmen football players named Reggie. Her name was either Amber or Cassidy. He could never seem to remember despite her constantly reminding him. He was ashamed to admit it but all the Kappa girls sort of meshed together these days, none of them having any real distinguishable personalities, at least not to him.

“Oh, hey Chris. I should’ve known it was you. Becca’s upstairs in her room.” She said in a loud sing-songy voice. She seemed tipsy undoubtedly pregaming for some party, kickback, or another. “Hey, thanks.” He said as he walked in. She answered with a smile and nod then returned to her awaiting pre-party cocktails and friends, more members of the sorority he recognized, all huddled around the island in the kitchen.

Her familiar greeting was another thing that didn’t sit right with him. He had become too much of a staple in the house. Football players frequenting the Kappa house wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Oddly enough it was sort of tradition at Hartfeld. The politics surrounding the dating scene amongst the Kappas and the football team reminded him of that of the Pink Ladies and the T-Birds from Grease. The Kappas were the football players’ girls and vice versa. They had first dibs on one another and everyone else, meaning the rest of the Hartfeld population, had to get in line. Even with that knowledge he still felt conflicted. Was Becca at her core truly a cool girl to be around and very different from the off-putting stuck up persona she portrayed to the general public? Yes, unbelievably so. But his heart just wasn’t in it. A fact that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Regardless there was no point in dwelling on it. He turned and closed the door before heading up the winding stairs leading to Becca’s room.

And before he knew it there he was. Standing outside Becca’s bedroom door glancing at the jewel encrusted “B” that adorned it. It was so regal and so Becca. Hanging from the doorknob was a yellow sign fashioned after a yellow light indicating to anyone seeking entry into her room that they should “Slow down and knock first”. She also had a green one that read “Go ahead and come in” and a red one that read “Stop. Don’t even think about it.” The red one was only used if she wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever petty squabble her sorors had found themselves in or when she was trying to set the mood with someone in particular, that someone being him as of late.

One knock was all it took before he was greeted by the stunning leggy blond. He couldn’t help but admit that Becca was indeed gorgeous. She was attractive in an obvious and conventional way. When he first met Becca, he couldn’t help but think that she looked like your typical mean girl that served as a foil to the female lead in a classic young adult comedy film. She immediately pulled him into a hug and gave him a quick peck on the lips before she ushered him into her room. “There you are. Finally. I’ve been dying to show you the dresses I picked out.”

The room that was normally so neatly put together looked like a department store after a huge weekend sale. Scattered around the room were a different assortment of dresses of varying lengths and colors.

“I admit that I may have went a little overboard at the mall but they all looked so cute on me. Luckily you get to watch me model them and help me decide which one best compliments my amazing body.”

“Can’t wait.” He chuckled to himself. Becca was definitely the most high maintenance girl he’d ever met. He didn’t mind though. It was something he found charming about her believe it or not.

“Good. I’ll try this red number on first. Red always looks good on me. Something I’m sure you can agree with.” She says flirtatiously. She gives him a devilish wink and scurried to her closet to change.

While he waited, Chris pulled up his Pictogram account mindlessly scrolling to pass the time. His fingers landed on one post from Nadia that cost his attention. The caption read, “Throwback to last summer visiting family in Miami. The sun was good to me that day.” And there she was, sporting the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen on her. Her eyes were closed, face tilted up toward the setting sun as it cast an angelic glow across her features. Her brown skin was a couple shades darker than usual undoubtedly tanned from being out in the sun. Her wavy hair was longer here. It cascaded in waves over her shoulders and down her back with a complimentary red flower tucked neatly above her right ear. She looked breathtaking. That was the only way to describe it. He stared at the picture for what seemed to be an eternity memorizing every little detail. Completely and utterly captivated.

“Ahem. Chris I said what do you think?” Becca said in a familiar annoyed tone. He was so distracted that he hadn’t realized that she had returned to the main room let alone that she was talking to him.

“Oh, my bad Becca. You look great.” He said slightly embarrassed sitting up a little straighter in his seat. And she did honestly. The dress was an off the shoulder long flowing gown that hugged her figure in all the right places. Although Chris’ compliment was mostly genuine he still couldn’t help but notice how flat it sounded to his own ears. He only hoped that Becca didn’t notice.

“Boys.” She said in a dismissive yet playful manner. “I know you’re only interested in what’s underneath it.” She said. “Oh well I still have an assortment of gowns to try on so you’re just going to have to fake interest Mr. Powell. I promise I’ll make it worth your while later.” She gave him a smirk that otherwise would’ve been sexy if his mind wasn’t elsewhere and grabbed a strapless black dress to try on next.

While she changed, his thoughts began to wander once more. This time he thought about the formal and wondered if Nadia was going and if so with who. James no doubt. They had been spending a lot of time together lately and they were obviously attracted to each other. James was indeed an attractive guy. He was secure enough to admit it. Honestly James was an ideal match for just about any girl especially Nadia. He was good-looking, studious, a real gentleman, slightly older so more mature, and rich. What’s not to like? They seemed to have a lot in common. Way more than he had with her anyways.

This whole line of thinking made him feel guilty and a little hypocritical because here he was making plans to go to the formal with Becca and he was worried about who Nadia, a girl he rejected, was spending her free time with. But he couldn’t help it because deep down he knew that she was the one he wanted to be with. The chemistry they had was undeniable. Anyone who had ever been around them long enough commented on it. But he was afraid. Of what at this point? He was no longer sure. All his past reasons now seemed like mere excuses.

Becca modeled gown after gown each one more gorgeous than the last but her indecision began to set in as she started to retry on certain dresses that exuded the right amount of elegance and sex appeal. Or so she phrased it.

“There all cute I suppose but it has to be perfect.” She says in a huff becoming annoyed with her own indecision. “Have you already rented your tux? You don’t seem to be concerned with what you’re wearing.”

“Yeah. I still have the one from the sorority ball.”

She scoffs and shakes her head. “Boys. I swear you guys have it so easy. Here I am indecisively picking through a dozen dresses to wear and you’re simply settling on a tux that you’ve already worn. Luckily it looks so good on you.” She says flirtatiously once more.

At this point, Chris had grown tired in both a literal and mental sense of this entire conversation. It had been two hours of watching Becca model dresses for him and the more he thought about it the less the whole idea of going to formal with her interested him.

Nadia had been consuming his thoughts all night long. Her smile, her laugh, the way she cocked her head to the side when she talked to him. He could no longer ignore what he was feeling. It was quite simple. He wanted to go to the formal with her.

He wanted to see her in a beautiful gown with an expertly made up face just for him. He wanted to hold her on the dance floor, swaying to some romantic R&B hit while the world faded around them, and he wanted to close the night out with her peacefully laying her gorgeous head on his chest as the collective sounds of their heartbeats lulled each other to sleep. And it pained him to think that James or anyone else could possibly experience those things in his place.

Becca continued to make mindless conversation regarding the formal in the background as he finally came to the realization that he had known all along.

“Becca, I can’t do this.” He said.

“Oh fine. I’ll just ask Madison to help me. I should’ve known that as a guy you wouldn’t be all that interested. It’s fine. Just help me out of this dress and maybe we can go grab a bite eat.”

“No. I mean…” He hesitated. “I mean I can’t go to formal with you.”

His words seemed to echo shortly followed by an immediate uncomfortable silence as they stared at one another. Becca’s expression was completely unreadable. No trace of sadness or anger. Just completely blank. Maybe there was a taste of confusion mixed in but he wasn’t completely sure. He began to avoid her gaze.

She eventually broke the silence with a long and exasperated sigh saying, “Well are you going to at least give me an explanation or continue sitting there with that dumb look on your face? And please don’t tell me this has anything to do with that skinny, fashion-challenged freshman.” And there it was anger and annoyance perfectly mingling together across her features.

He hated having to admit that her assertion was correct but lying would be an insult to them both at this point.

He nodded with an apologetic look and began to say, “Sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you or anything. I just…”

“Oh please.” She cuts him off. “Just go. Whatever pointless thing you’re about to say next you can keep. Your energy is better spent on whatever crackpot apology you’re going to run by Nadia.” She gives him an unfazed look undoubtedly to mask the hurt and embarrassment she feels and walks back towards her closet to change out of her gown.

Chris stands there a little while longer debating on whether he should go try to apologize once more or leave. He settles on the latter. Becca’s anger was justified and he felt like crap doing this to her, but more than anything he felt a greater sense of urgency to get to Nadia and try to salvage what was left of their relationship. If he could even call it that.

He hurriedly dashed down the steps and out the door towards his car. He drove as fast as the speed limit would allow towards the parking lot of the freshman dorms. All he could do at this point was hope and pray that he wasn’t too late.

#chris x mc #the freshman mc #chris powell #becca davenport #play choices #pixelberry #play choices fanfic

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neveralarch · 5 years

Note

ohhhh please do allez. star emoji

Allez is the fic that nearly fucking killed me, it was soooo frustrating. But successful in the end I think! Thank you for asking about it, apparently I desperately wanted to spill out the process behind writing it. Very long response under the cut, including a NSFW/adult excerpt from a previous version of the fic. If you have any questions about specific lines in the fic definitely lmk, bc I basically just yelled about writing here and very little about the actual plot or anything haha.

It's very weird for me to have a long fic or a series that I actually WANT to continue - usually I write a thing and then I'm done with it (and sometimes just done with the fandom altogether), which I know can be kind of frustrating to the readers who were hoping for more. But fencing fic is just like this WELL, I have all of this stuff from it I want to splash out on the pavement for people to look at, and it's been super fun to just invite those questions and prompts that people have and see if I can get anything out of the well for those.

Neery left a comment on Passe (the last main fic) that said in part "If you're taking prompts for this universe, I'd love to see more of Wheeljack's and Starscream's relationship, especially their first time (because you can't tell me Starscream wasn't a neurotic mess about it)." And I went YEAH and then hopped into chat with Dez ( @sauntervaguelydown ) and basically just banged out the whole plot while a) tipsy after a party and then b) the next morning in between refereeing at a fencing tournament. Which was probably a good set of states to be thinking about this fic.

At first I was thinking of this as a short five times fic, basically showing a set of sex failures followed by sex success, because I love bad sex becoming good sex in fic. But the more I thought about it the more serious it got, because it was so tangled up in my head with this idea of what 'good' sex actually is and who gets to decide if you're having good sex. This is a little TMI but I also became sexually active in the last couple years and I've been spending a lot of time trying to figure out what the difference between fantasy and physical desire is as a person who used to be and maybe still is on the ace spectrum somewhere. And (again) what the distinction is between 'good sex' and 'sex I want to have.' So the more I worked on this the more all of that started spilling onto the page.

I also felt a little uncertain about where I left Starscream and Wheeljack in the main fics. I think they can and will be happy, but the undercurrent in the series is that Starscream is still really hung up on Megatron while also recognizing how much Megatron fucked him over, while Wheeljack is furious at Megatron both for what he did to Starscream and for what he perceives Megatron to have done to fencing in general. Starscream's half of that undercurrent gets resolved in the main series, but Wheeljack's half doesn't and it felt like I needed to tackle that in Allez.

I figured this would be an easy fic to write even though I wanted it to be more serious because I knew exactly what the goals were and exactly what the plot was. And then I started writing it and walked straight into a wall. I wrote 2600 words from Starscream's pov, which was FUN but meant that Wheeljack was just... there. Hanging around and being a Good Boyfriend while Starscream panicked.

Starscream flashed a grin, trying to look like a confident mech-about-town who you could trust with your connectors. He could do this. It would be slow and soft and nice, everything you were supposed to do with your sweetspark. And it would feel amazing, because he liked Wheeljack and he wanted to be with him.

"Starscream?" Wheeljack was leaning back a little. "What's that look about?"

"Nothing." Starscream snapped his panel back, transforming his array so the plug was uppermost. "Just thinking about how much I want you."

Wheeljack's optics softened, and his panel opened. His own array transformed into the compatible configuration, plug below his socket. Frag, this was going to be good. Starscream wanted to shove Wheeljack down and slam their arrays together, or for Wheeljack to shove Starscream on his back and ride Starscream's plug until Starscream was begging for the reciprocal connection, desperate for charge.

But Starscream didn't do any of those things, because he was trying to do this right. Instead he leaned back and spread his legs, pulling Wheeljack in by his shoulder to rest between them. Wheeljack's optics were glistening as he eased forward, and they both gasped as their arrays met. The tips of their prongs breached their sockets, and that first tingle of charge was everything Starscream had wanted.

Wheeljack was careful, so careful as he pressed forward, micrometer by micrometer. The charge was a teasing tingle crawling from Starscream's array to the tips of his wings. Wheeljack leaned forward and kissed Starscream as they slipped a little closer together, and it was all perfectly dull.

No. Perfect, it was perfect. The charge wasn't supposed to come in rolling waves that nearly knocked you offline, and your partner wasn't supposed to wrestle you down to the berth while you tried to throw them off. This was the way good mechs fragged. Good mechs like Wheeljack, and like the mech Starscream was pretending to be.

"Starscream," murmured Wheeljack.

Starscream squeezed his optics shut and arched his back a little, forcing the connection deeper before he remembered that he was trying to let Wheeljack control the pace. Wheeljack's frame was hovering over Starscream's, not covering him. He was still modulating his charge to match the chaste little trickle Starscream was allowing through. His mask was still pressed against Starscream's lips. It was straight out of a romance holo.

It wasn't supposed to be boring.

"Starscream," said Wheeljack again. "Starscream, are you okay? I'm gonna disconnect."

"No!" Starscream tightened his grip on Wheeljack's shoulder.

"You're obviously not having a good time." Wheeljack pulled back, able to resist Starscream with his better leverage. "We don't have to connect, it's fine."

"It's not fine!" Starscream tried to tighten his socket to keep Wheeljack there, but Wheeljack's prongs were too thin and smooth for Starscream to catch. "I want to connect, I want to be with you."

"You are with me." Wheeljack laid a hand against Starscream's cheek and pulled their arrays apart. "You don't have to-"

"I hate you," hissed Starscream. "Why can't you just do it? Why can't you just show some bearings and let me worry about myself?"

You see? Fun to write but Wheeljack is just this thing for Starscream to react against.

I chatted with Dez about the problem and decided to rewrite the fic in Wheeljack pov so the exact source of Starscream's neuroticism would be more of a reveal and so I could get further into Wheeljack's head. I got a few hundred words into the new version and just COULD NOT do it, Wheeljack's voice felt all wrong, like I was writing Starscream again but putting Wheeljack's name on it. I talked to Dez about it AGAIN and finally hit on the idea of Wheeljack trying to feel his way through a relationship on trial and error (because Starscream is incapable of communicating) and the amazingly romantic gesture of flowcharts. After that I mostly had it. Until I hit the ending and slammed into ANOTHER wall and had to go back to Dez and be like. Please. Read this. Tell me how to be free.

Dez suggested Starscream and Wheeljack actually having A Conversation after they manage to have sex - basically that they had earned some emotional honesty after all that. This REALLY helped, and I managed to get it the rest of the way to the ending from here, although it took two more rewrites and a whole other ending scene. Total time from conception to post: about 6 weeks, which isn't that much except I felt like I was banging my head against it the entire time haha. And it took about five rewrites, which is two more than I usually do.

Thank god for Dez. I'm usually a pretty isolated writer? I ask for betas on big fics, but that's typically when I have a polished version or when 'm running up against a deadline. It's been really amazing to have someone to bounce fic ideas off of and to pass drafts back and forth with and just to complain when the struggle is getting especially real. I think I would've gotten really sick of this fic without Dez's help and enthusiasm. It probably wouldn't have gotten done at all. As it is, I'm really happy with how it all turned out :)

Some other little bits:

Allez means 'let's go' or 'go' and is also how you start each touch in a fencing bout if you're refereeing in the internation standard (ie French). English: on guard, ready, fence. French: en garde, pret, allez. It's also what French speakers will sometimes yell at a sabre fencer in between touches or while they're charging down the strip. I was thinking here that it's kind of fun to imagine Starscream and Wheeljack's friends shouting 'allez' at them, cheering them on but also hoping they'll get on with it already. Also, I kind of think of this fic as the beginning of a new set of fics - we're out of the main Megatron arc and into more slice of life stuff - so it felt appropriate as a new start to the bout.

When I originally conceived of the Attaque Composee series, I wanted it all to be T rated because I wanted it to be available to most readers and also if someone ever connects meatspace me with this series (a terrifying possibility) I don't really want the conversation to be 'hey I saw you wrote a robot fencing porn fic.' But I also REALLY wanted to write this story and I decided to just roll with it - it's easy to skip this one and read the rest of the series, and I've written plenty of other robot porn fics at this point.

Last thing: over nine fucking years ago I wrote a Scream of Shalka Doctor Who fic where the Master climbed over a table to yell at the Doctor, and my beta completely correctly pointed out that Shalka!Master isn't physically dramatic like that. I have a tendency toward overblown physical comedy and drama that I've had to rein in for years and it is SO RELAXING to be in a fandom where I can write Starscream standing on the berth, nearly falling over while shrieking at Wheeljack and everyone's reaction is 'yep. Yeah. He likes to be tall.'

Thank you for asking about this!!

#i'm trying to get this to format correctly LET'S SEE #memes #tf fencing fic #fanfiction written by me #commentary #asks!

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badluckbritta · 6 years

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Dance With Me

A Bemily fic for @emilyjunk This is the first fic I’ve written in years and I actually started working on this idea about two years ago haha. Please do enjoy! (Also on ao3)

“This is quite the party, huh?”

Beca and Emily stood outside of the frat house hand in hand, watching in both horror and awe at the scene before them. Drunken college students were everywhere, talking, horsing around, and engaging in very public displays of affection. The music echoed from the house out onto the lawn; it was loud but not enough to drown out the various shouting and conversations from nearby.

Emily squeezed Beca’s hand and smiled over at her. “You okay?”

Beca looked up at her girlfriend and grimaced.

“As okay as I’ll ever be.”

Emily gave Beca’s hand another reassuring squeeze and began to walk forward. “We don’t have to stay long. Let’s just check it out, say hello!”

As the pair entered the house and waded through the mass of people inside, Beca tried to recall how exactly she got talked into going to this impromptu midyear party. She thought back to the previous week when Amy was asking the other Bellas for bucket list suggestions. Emily had immediately started reciting the different things she wanted to do in her life, including going to a frat party.

Beca didn’t think it would actually happen, but she did know that there was no way in hell that she was going to sit back and let Emily Junk go to a frat house by herself ever. So when news of this particular party got around, Beca decided go with Emily and call it a date, mostly to convince herself to power through it. Emily responded with her usual enthusiasm, hugs and kisses included, and the rest was history.

So there she stood, groaning internally as Emily led her further into the building, stepping past dancing couples and boisterous girls and frat boys attempting to play various drinking games. Beca felt a bit relieved as she noticed the expression of carefree excitement on her girlfriend’s face. If Emily was happy, maybe she could find a way to lighten up too. Of course, it didn’t help that some of the partygoers they’d passed by had bumped into her repeatedly or otherwise crammed themselves into her personal space. This night would be a true test of her dedication.

After struggling through the mass of people, Emily and Beca managed to find something to drink. Their next task would be settling in and soaking up the atmosphere of the party. For Emily, that was always a breeze. She was already dancing, expertly balancing her drink in one hand as she moved to the music. Beca on the other hand stood mostly still, concentrating on drinking as fast as she could in the hopes of loosening up a bit. She wanted to enjoy her time with Emily, but public gatherings of this magnitude made her uneasy.

As Beca stood in one corner of the room, a few of the Bellas passed by and chatted with her for a few minutes before taking to the dance floor with Emily and later dispersing. Beca continued to drink and watch as they all danced, praying that no frat boys--or boys, period--would attempt to chat her up.

After a few songs, Emily returned to Beca’s side, smiling as she studied her girlfriend’s serious expression.

“Want another drink, Bec?” She asked, glancing at Beca’s empty cup.

“No, thanks I’m—”

Before Beca could decline, Emily sped away, returning a moment later with a cup of something in her hands. With a lopsided smile, Beca received the cup and took a careful sip of the liquid inside, almost doing a spit take as the taste of at least three different kinds of alcohol mixed together touched her tongue.

“Oh my God, what is this?” She asked, staring into the cup.

“…I don’t really know. The guy making drinks just threw a bunch of alcohol in there and handed it to me,” Emily confessed, downing some of her own drink. “C’mon, it’ll help you loosen up! I think...”

Beca tapped the rim of the cup against her lip, a pensive expression on her face. “Wait a sec… aren’t you… not old enough to be drinking? Legally, that is.”

Emily looked down at her drink and then smiled, shaking her head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. This is just water.”

Beca raised an eyebrow in disbelief and Emily took a step closer, offering up her drink. “Try it for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Taking a sip, Beca nodded when the plain taste of water hit her tongue. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t--”

“Hey, it’s okay!” Emily said, spontaneously kissing Beca on her cheek. Beca’s face turned bright red at the contact. “I think it’s sweet that you’re worried about me. It’s nice to know that my girlfriend cares about me so much.”

Beca held her free hand up to cover her face in embarrassment. “Worried? Me? Psh, no, I was never worried. You do you and… um… I mean, I’m not your mom... or whatever...”

“Hehe, I know, I know.” Emily smiled and linked Beca’s arm with hers. “C’mon, dance with me while this song’s still on!”

Beca looked at her with a pained expression and Emily cocked her head, trying on a sad expression of her own.

“Please?”

It took Beca .01 seconds to fall for Emily’s sad puppy dog eyes.

“Dammit, fine.” Beca quickly finished her drink and joined Emily among the other partiers.

As they danced to a mix of Top 40, electronica, and various other upbeat genres, Beca could feel the alcohol kicking in. The room started to spin a bit and the people around her became blurred, but Emily remained in focus. Beca smiled up at her girlfriend who smiled back so effortlessly.

Emily, Emily... how did she get so lucky? Emily was a ray of sunshine on a cold, dreary day and Beca was that dreary day that needed a bit of sun, no matter how hard she might have protested.

Beca took a few steps closer to Emily, feeling so much in that moment. Her lips parted and she took a deep breath, prepared to tell Emily how she felt. Before she could, however, the music shifted from electronica to a slower tempo 80s tune. Beca rolled her eyes at the timing of it all and tried to hide the smile creeping up on her lips as Emily bowed comically and held out her hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Beca giggled at Emily’s exaggerated display. Giggled? What was Emily doing to her?

“Of course,” Beca replied sheepishly. She placed her hand in Emily’s and effortlessly the taller girl whisked her towards the center of the makeshift dance floor. Placing her other hand on Beca’s hip, Emily led them back and forth amongst a few other couples who looked confused about the music playing.

As they danced, the only thing on Beca’s mind was Emily. She followed her girlfriend’s lead, narrowly missing stepping on her toes a couple of times. It didn’t help that the floor appeared to be spinning beneath her.

“You’re a... really good dancer,” Beca mumbled lamely. Really? That was the best she could do? She would have to work on her compliments at some point, Beca thought. Nevertheless, Emily’s features brightened at the compliment.

“Aww, you mean it? Thanks, babe!”

Emily wrapped her arms around Beca’s waist and pulled her into a hug. Letting her excitement get the better of her, Emily lifted Beca up for a second before gently placing her back on solid ground. She kept Beca in her embrace, sighing contentedly as Beca gently hugged her back. Emily could have stayed that way forever, but then she remembered what she’d said a moment earlier.

“It’s okay that I called you ‘babe’, right?”

Beca looked up, confused at first, then offered Emily a lopsided smile. It was more than okay, but even tipsy Beca wanted to maintain her cool exterior.

“Yeah, sure, whatevs,” Beca replied.

Emily smiled knowingly and continued to sway back and forth with Beca in her arms. She looked down at her girlfriend, intrigued and a little bit puzzled by the fact that Beca was now hugging her tightly, as if letting go would mean losing each other.

“You okay, Beca?” Emily asked.

Beca looked up into her girlfriend’s eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat. The way the room’s dim lighting happened to shine down made Emily look ethereally beautiful. It must have been the booze, Beca thought, that was magnifying her feelings and leaving her speechless. Wordlessly she pressed her forehead against Emily’s shoulder to try and hide her reddening face.

“Aww, are you shy now? How cute!” Emily giggled. “I never thought I’d get to see Beca Mitchell so flustered.”

“Shut up, ‘m not cute,” Beca slurred. “And ‘m not flustered, I...”

Beca looked up at Emily again and stared deeply into her girlfriend’s eyes. The room continued to spin around her, but she and Emily remained in place. Emily gazed at Beca lovingly, smiling as she watched her girlfriend’s face turn different shades of red.

“You’re what?”

The sound of the other partygoers and the music continued on around them but was ignored, almost like the two of them were in a dome separated from the rest of the world. Beca’s gaze fixed on Emily’s lips, but the sudden shyness that struck her made it impossible for her to do more than stammer.

“I... um...”

The song came to an end and Beca exhaled deeply, feeling her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. Before she could attempt to calm herself down, however, another slow dance tune began. It was then that Beca became fully convinced that the DJ--or whatever moron was in charge of the night’s music--was fucking with her.

Emily noticed the scowl on Beca’s face, unsure of the exact cause. She began to fret, however, thinking it was her fault that Beca looked so upset. After all, she’d talked Beca into going and then made her stay way longer than she should have. It was her fault and Beca was upset with her. At least, that’s what Emily convinced herself of. She had to make it up to Beca somehow... she wanted to kiss that scowl off of Beca’s face.

So that’s exactly what she did.

Emily leaned down just a bit and quickly kissed Beca. It was a short, affectionate peck on the lips, but it was enough to get Beca’s attention. She looked up, wide eyed, and Emily panicked harder.

“Um, I just... you looked upset so I wanted to... I know you’re not really into PDA... I’m sorry...”

“Em, hey... it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Beca hugged Emily close once more, rubbing Emily’s back in the hopes of reassuring her. Despite the gesture, Emily bit her lip, still worried.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Beca?”

The music changed back to something more upbeat, something the other partiers had no problem dancing and grinding to. Beca ignored all of that and lowered her arms, releasing Emily from her embrace.

“I’m okay, more than okay.”

Beca took Emily’s hands in hers and looked into her eyes, aware that she would have to put into words what she’d been feeling that night, what she’d known since they had decided to become girlfriends. A frat house wasn’t the most romantic place to confess her true feelings, she knew, but Beca was overcome with them and they refused to stay bottled up.

“Em... I love you.”

“Beca...” Emily smiled, awestruck at her girlfriend’s admission. Her heart fluttered and now she was the one blushing in alternating shades of red. She had dreamed of this day, when Beca would let down her walls completely, but seeing it happen in real life and hearing those three words from Beca herself was indescribable. All Emily knew was that she had never been happier than in this moment.

“I love you too!”

Beca stood unsteadily on her tiptoes, wobbling for a second before leaning in to kiss Emily. After their lips parted and Beca stood firmly on the ground, the two of them looked around the room, surprised by the very active partying and drinking still going on and relieved that no one seemed to notice them. Scrunching up her nose, Emily laughed and offered her arm for Beca to take.

“I think I’ve had enough partying for one night. Want to get out of here?” she asked.

Beca exhaled loudly in relief. Without a moment’s hesitation, she linked her arm with Emily’s and they made their way off of the dance floor and back the way they came.

“Thank God. I thought you’d never ask.”

#bemily #ppfic #beca mitchell #emily junk #this ship is great i hope i did them justice

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toast-the-unknowing · 6 years

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lydia-st-james tagged me in a writing in review meme, which, man. That takes me back. I haven't done one of these in ages.

Main take-aways: 1. 2017 was the year of the long-ass fic titles, apparently. 2. It only took ten freaking years but I can mostly write romance without dying of embarrassment. Mostly. 3. Ten years has not been long enough to teach me how to start something and just finish it already before starting twenty more things. Seriously, there are so many stories that I started this year that I keep thinking ya'll have read already and then I remember that no one has read those because I haven't finished them yet. Oh well. Maybe 2018 will be a year of extraordinary personal growth and self-discipline. Spoiler alert: it won't be.

Anyway. These are the things that I've published so far this year.

Listed in chronological order of publication, with one exception:

new worlds for the weary, new lands for the living Okay, so, I don't know if anyone else thinks of any of their stories this way, but I have a very small handful of fics that are my heartsong fics. I don't think of them as being stories. I think of them as being thousands of words of meta and criticism and gushing and character love and, just, me, pouring my heart out over some aspect of canon that is important to me, and then maybe if I'm lucky, I trick people into reading it and thinking it's a story.

Yeah. This is one of those. I started this story before I had even finished Blue Lily, Lily Blue, which is not a thing I do. I always finish canon (to whatever extent canon exists at the time of my joining fandom) before I start writing. But I wanted so badly to write about Adam and Ronan and how I felt about their relationship that I couldn't wait.

This was something like a five month writing process all told, and I'm really happy with the end result. The moment where Ronan smears ink on Adam's face, in particular, I'm very proud of. I'm proud of that whole fight scene, really, but that moment is such a strong visual, and I'm not generally great at creating those.

don't think about how much it will hurt God, I still hate this title, but I do love this fic. It exists because I had been toying around with a canon-divergent AU that I quickly realized was going to take a shit-ton of work and not actually be that interesting. I ditched the AU, but there was one scene I liked enough that I didn't want to give up on it (Ronan trying to provoke Adam into punching him and then holding his hand while wondering wtf he's doing), and I realized it could pretty easily be made canon-compliant and given the legs to stand on its own.

I briefly considered tagging this as "preslash if you consider fighting and bad decisions to be flirting, which if you ship pynch, you probably do," and then I considered how poorly that would match the tone of this story. I am very happy with the tone of this story. It was hard to write, and I think it's hard to read, and it's a better story for it.

the more we move ahead the more we're stuck in rewind NO ONE ON EARTH READ THIS FIC BUT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT I LOVE IT. There are so many, many, many things in this fic that make me happy: -Clarke being an unholy mashup of my sister and talldecafcappuccino -"You thought that there was an intersection of sentimentality and camp that Miller wouldn't be interested in?" -Just, Murphy. All of Murphy. -The Inseparable, Indestructible Blake Siblings (which is when the Blake siblings are at their best, fuck you, canon) -"Do you ever worry that we're going to turn out to be warped people with unhealthy relationships/Honestly at this point I'm counting on it." -the whole scene where Raven friend-dumps Clarke -Monty taking "gas grass or ass" too seriously -Nate's stupid "you know what they say about those guys with Bigfoot" t-shirt (I would wear that t-shirt)

Like, I know why this story wasn't successful as an item of fan culture. And I acknowledge that there are weaknesses in the writing. But I still fucking love it.

so familiar, like an old bedtime song Ugh, this was called "came in quiet with the rain" right up until the very second I published it and then I changed my mind and I still regret it. Never second gues yourselves, kids. (Either way: "Raising Cain" is a good Adam/Ronan song.) I wrote about half of this on a whim and then shoved it in a corner waiting for inspiration for the longer story that I thought it was meant to be a part of. Then I was sitting around on Adam's birthday/my birthday weekend, a little tipsy in the middle of the day, and I decided, nah, this can be a standalone. I'm not kidding myself that it's great literature but I think it does what it sets out to do well.

The Fake Geek Boy Job This is a rare example, for me, of coming up with a title first and writing the story around it. So that was fun. I was so, so, so happy with the response to this fic. I've written case fic before, but I'm not good at heists, and I was really worried that the way I handle the heavier plot elements here – basically cutting around them and explaining all of the offstage action through snarky banter – was going to feel like cheating. Like, there's probably a version of this story that's 20k words longer and is twice as good, but it would have taken ten times as much work. It seems like people understood the plot as it stands and didn't feel robbed, and it was such a relief to hear that.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name IT IS THE PROUDEST ACCOMPLISHMENT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE that there are only two fanfics on AO3 tagged with the relationship tag "Quark & Jake Sisko" and I wrote both of them. Though I fully admit that "Everybody Comes to Quark's" is the better story of the two. This one feels like the first half is from one story and the second half is from a different story and neither of those two stories is complete, per se. But love a lot of the individual lines, character moments, etc. Also, just, any times spend with my beloved ridiculous giraffe boy Jake is good time.

faith, hope, all that bullshit This is the best thing that I have ever written that is based on a typo. And...I don't really know how to talk about this fic beyond that. It took something like seven months of on-again-off-again work; I am super grateful to Pynch Week for giving me the kick in the pants to finish it. There were so many things that were challenging about this – I hated everything in life the entire time I was writing Matthew. Plus trying to write all the characters as being a little older and more mature and their relationships as having progressed. But it was worth it because there are so many moments in this fic that just are still living in my head, even though I've put the fic down.

I think my favorite scene of all is the Christmas Eve scene, partly because I love Declan and partly because I love the "fucking Cain ruined it for the rest of us" exchange. But from a craft point of view I'm proud of that scene a lot. The first scene is its own contained story with beginning/middle/end; the Christmas Eve scene is what makes the proposal scene the beginning of a longer story, and it happens without the POV character understanding that it's happening. I'm pretty happy with how that all turned out.

People really liked the wedding scene, which is gratifying and totally baffling. That scene was murder to write. I don't even want to plan my own wedding, now I got to make one up for someone else? Of course, I mean. I cheated, because I didn't actually write the reception. Maybe the lesson here is if I don't even want to write a scene then for sure no one would want to read it?

Word on the Street This is another one, like The Fake Geek Boy Job, where I think there's a version of the story that's twice as good and eight times as long and a hundred times more work to write; I'm satisfied with my version. Also, I think the longer version is much more serious, whereas this is a comedy and I am happy with it as a comedy. Adam maybe comes off a little poorly, in the way that comedy characters sometimes come off dickish/rude/sociopathic. But it makes me laugh and honestly if I make myself laugh I'm happy. (That's not to say I'm never going to write the epic tale of how Ronan becomes Greywaren – I know what the first line of it is – but it's a real low priority).

come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls OKAY I WROTE THIS IN LIKE LITERALLY TWO DAYS AND YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME. Even just writing something of this length usually takes weeks if not months between when I start it and when I finish it. This was like a dirty little fling, and as someone who never has dirty little flings either in life or in writing, that was a fun change of pace.

The Dragon's Nest Avatar: The Last Airbender is, in my eyes, basically a perfect television show, and it's a lot harder to write fic for something that you think is well-written/complete on its own, because where do you and your fanwriting fit in? As such, this was a challenge, but I'm pretty happy with it. Alchemicink, for whom this was written, mentioned being happy just from seeing the "intergenerational friendship" tag, and I gotta say I was happy just from getting to use that tag. And any day you get to write Toph stomping around yelling at people is a good day.

while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now So credit where credit is due: lydia-st-james gave me the prompts here and put up with my intermittent screeching as I was working on it. It took me a while to get it all done, but I wrote literally 13k words of this in the first four days, which is bonkers; I'm usually much more of a percolator in the early stages of writing. As such a lot of the outlining process is lost to the sands of time. I don't remember making an actual decision to set this in LA; I think my subconscious realized before I did that this was going to be a story about loneliness and depression, and, fairly or unfairly, I associate loneliness and depression with the city of Los Angeles. In any case, it gave me lots of opportunities to throw shade at LA and I'm always down for that, and I've loved hearing people respond to the specificity of the location.

It's funny to me that people are responding to this one so strongly because I don't generally groove on fake dating; I’ve never written it as a trope and I always find it hard to swallow as a reader. I wonder if there's something to be said for writing tropes one is somewhat critical of. Though I don't think, generally, it works out when people write a thing they actively hate. It's a theory I'm tinkering with, anyway.

#long-ass post #whoops #sorry?#millenial loves talking about herself: news at 11 #lydia-st-james #gpoy

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katharaya · 7 years

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SLBP Fic: Before the Stars Fade Out (1/1)

A/N: A little could-have-been scene set during the epilogue of Shigezane’s first English ES, right between the third and fourth parts, where he’s carrying MC home. Warning for alcohol and drunk kissing.

Pairing: Shigezane/MC Word count: 2,098 Summary: As he carries her home along the darkened Kyoto streets, Shigezane wishes, selfishly, that morning never comes.

---

She stirs just as he turns onto her street, her hair tickling his neck as she shifts position on his back.

"You have excellent timing," Shigezane says, chuckling softly.

"Mmngh," is her only reply, before she nuzzles into his neck; her nose is cold from the evening air, and the shock of it hitting his skin sends him stumbling on non-existent pebbles on the road.

He's going to pretend that didn't happen.

"You just didn't want to walk, did you?" he accuses instead, hoping, hoping that she doesn't hear how his voice cracks when her lips brush gently against the shell of his ear.

"Mmmaybe I just wanted to be carried," she says, tightening her arms around his shoulders.

"You shouldn't make a habit of that," he scolds. "What if I was some strange man and just carried you off, huh?"

"You are very strange."

"Hey!"

"But," she says, her breath hot against his ear, "I don't think you're that kind of man, Lord Narumi."

"Shigezane," he corrects her, slowing his pace further as he nears her home.

"And even if you did carry me away," she says, seeming not to have heard him, "I wouldn't really mind."

"You—!" Shigezane says, but it comes out rather strangled, so he tries again: "You shouldn't go around saying those kinds of things to just anyone, you know!"

"I don't," she says, and his heart gives one very loud, very worrying thump.

She's drunk, he thinks. She doesn't know what she's saying.

So why doesn't he know how to feel about it, anyway?

"We're here!" he says, instead, stopping at her storefront, and he bounces her a little on his back to gain her attention.

Which is—not very smart, in hindsight, because there are – don’t think it! – and they're also bouncing against his back, and, and—

"Mmmngh," she groans, and lazily she loosens her grip on him just enough so that she slowly – torturously slowly – slides down his back, every inch of her pressing against him and gods, Shigezane thinks, he is a good man and he hasn't done anything so terrible in his life so as to warrant this kind of cruelty—

So what if he likes it? It's still cruel. Mercilessly so, in fact.

And then, and then, even when she's got both feet on the ground, she just kind of—stands there, her hands fisted in the back of his kimono, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

"Feeling dizzy?" he asks, tipping his head back. He can't see her until he turns his head, but like this he can see the night sky above them, an expanse of stars stretching from horizon to horizon, and like this he can pretend that morning will never come.

"I'm feeling something," she says, fingers tightening in the fabric as if to pull him closer, and he has to close his eyes because the stars are suddenly spinning and he's dizzy from the amount of blood rushing to his face.

He takes a moment to just breathe, before he reaches around to grip her wrist and gently turns them both until they're facing each other. She stumbles a bit despite his best efforts, but the way he catches her by the arms is effortless, as is the way her hands find themselves clutching the fabric of his kimono once more.

And Shigezane isn't cruel, but he is very much a tease.

"Hmm, I think I know what that is," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the quiet sounds of nighttime.

She swallows. "Attraction?"

"No,” he deadpans, "it's sleepiness. You're feeling sleepy. Off with you, now."

Gentle but insistent, he starts to push her towards the door despite her vocal protests and the way his own heart is protesting loudly in his ribcage.

"Wait—" she's saying, "Milord, wait!"

"Nope," he says. "You're drunk, and you're tired, and you need to sleep—"

"Wait! Lord Shigezane—"

"Oh, now you remember my name—"

She whirls around just before the doorframe and says, bold with the drink in her system: "I want to kiss you, Lord Shigezane!"

There's silence, except for the crickets, and what might have been a crow, somewhere, far off, and then—

"Whaaaa—!?"

She stands her ground in the face of his mortification, which is impressive, really, because she's swaying a little on her feet.

"I'd like to give you a kiss, milord," she says, each word deliberate.

"O-oh?" He hopes it comes across as mildly interested instead of wildly nervous—which is what he is, what with having her so close and tipsy and warm, right there next to him.

"Yes," she says, stepping closer still until he can make out the individual strands of hair in the errant lock that had fallen out of her bun and swayed gently against her neck with every movement. "As thanks. For saving me."

"You're drunk," he says, and somewhere in the jumble of his thoughts his mind tells him that he's not quite saying no.

"Mm," she says, "And you're very, very attractive."

"Well, that's true—" he says, defaulting to humor because he doesn't know how else he's supposed to cope.

It gets a laugh out of her anyway, a pretty little giggle that stretches her cheeks and scrunches up her eyes.

"Our customers—" she says, when her giggles die down, "our customers – when they're drinking, you see – they say—they say drunk thoughts are sober actions."

He sighs, exasperated. "You know you've got it all mixed up, doll?"

She huffs, and he swears the way her cheeks puff out in annoyance is cute enough to kill him. "I know what I meant to say."

"Yes, but clearly you don't know what you said."

"I know what I meant!" she says indignantly. And then, softer: "I know what I want."

Oh. Oh.

It's late, and she's drunk, and he's too tired and confused to deal with all the implications of this right now, but Shigezane has never done anything so very terrible in his life so maybe, maybe, whatever gods are watching will forgive him for being selfish, just this once—

"Well," he says, praying to any and all gods that might be listening that she doesn't hear how hoarse his voice sounds, "who am I to turn down a lady's generosity?"

She gives him a lopsided smile, before she rises onto her toes and just kind of—she tips over more than leans forward, and sort of just falls toward him, her mouth pressing against his in a sloppy kiss.

She's very warm, is the first thing he thinks; and then, she's very drunk, is the second.

But oh, oh, the warmth of her mouth is intoxicating, more than any sake, and the kiss is heady and overwhelming and he's maybe, perhaps, just sort of a little bit drunk too.

Just this once, he thinks, as her hands cup his face and his own find themselves gripping her waist. He's going to be selfish just this once and then never again—

But she sighs against his mouth, a moan low in her throat as she presses herself closer, impossibly close, and Shigezane thinks that if he's going to be selfish only once in his life then he wants to make it count.

So he tilts his head, slanting his mouth against hers and tentatively slides his tongue along her bottom lip. He's not so far gone that he'd take more than she's willing to give, but if she does—

She does.

With a gasp and a moan she opens her mouth and all at once her tongue is tangling with his, bringing the taste of sake and honey and the salt of her skin as she deepens the kiss. He doesn't know when his hands gripping her waist became one arm slung around her torso and the other hand tangled in her hair, but damn it all, he doesn't care because he's kissing her and for one wild, selfish moment the world stops—

—only to lurch back into motion when she pulls away – just a fraction, their lips brushing together with each gasping breath they take in tandem.

He can't bring himself to look away – partly because he's so, so tempted to look down, where he can feel her – don't think it! – pressing against his chest with every inhale – but mostly because she's looking back at him with wide eyes that are a little bit dazed but above all clear and incredibly, blessedly sober.

"I think," she says, in between trying to catch her breath, "perhaps I might be a little bit dizzy after all."

"You should—" and it's hard to reply when he can't quite remember how to breathe, but he plows on: "You should—get some sleep. It'll help, probably."

"Alright."

"Mm."

Neither of them move.

"Lord Shigezane?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"I'd like to kiss you again."

The fight to keep a smile off his face is valiant, but ultimately futile.

"And what's this one for?" he asks, grinning.

"For—uh, for the road?" she says, which is the flimsiest excuse ever, but Shigezane is already bargaining with himself as he thinks, Twice. Just two selfish moments in his entire life and then he'll live the rest as a veritable saint— which is about as far as he gets before she kisses him again and he's lost.

He pulls away first, this time, but she rises on her toes to follow his mouth and overbalances, falling against him.

He laughs, breathless, as something warm and tender blooms in his chest. And it takes very little effort and no hesitation at all for him to pick her up, bridal style, and carry her through the doorway himself.

"Second room on the left," she says, directing him through the back of the restaurant, which is good because he'd never have been able to find his way around with how distracting she's being, leaning her head on his shoulder like that. He slides open the door she'd indicated with his foot, stepping into a sparse, clean room. He sets her down on her bedding, already laid out—presumably courtesy of her mother, which makes him feel a little bit guilty because they probably worried while she was gone?

Ah, but she's so cute, curling up on the mattress like that, and he's not so good a person as to regret any of the circumstances that led to him being witness to this moment.

Gently, he draws the blankets over her, but before he can move away so much as an inch her hand shoots out from beneath the covers and grasps his wrist.

"Can't you stay?" she asks, mumbling, her eyes already half-lidded with sleep.

And that's—that's too selfish. He can't. He can't.

"I'm leaving in the morning, remember?" he reminds her, drawing his hand away.

"Oh," she says, voice small and unspeakably lonely. "Okay."

He's not quite sure what to say, but she's quiet after that, and he assumes she's fallen asleep. He decides to leave her a note just in case she was more drunk than she seemed to be.

Just after he sets a paperweight atop the letter, she reaches out to catch his sleeve, startling him.

"Lord Shigezane . . . ?"

"Hm?"

"Can I kiss you again? Before you go?" she mumbles, bleary-eyed, but her grip on his sleeve is sure.

He chuckles softly, finding her endearing beyond measure.

"And what's our excuse this time?" he asks.

"No excuses," she murmurs. "Just because I want to."

Well, he thinks. It's not that selfish if she wants it too, right?

He leans down and gives her a chaste kiss, softer than he thought himself capable of and sweeter than he'd ever dreamed. It feels like the first kiss he should have given her—something new and tentative and unhurried, in a world where they would have had time enough to take it slow.

It's a little bittersweet, to think that instead it's probably their last.

If this is the last kiss he ever has in his life, Shigezane thinks it will have been enough.

She doesn't open her eyes when he pulls away, but she smiles all the same. "Good night, Lord Shigezane."

With a rueful smile, Shigezane notes that the light outside has shifted to pale blue, signaling the coming dawn.

"It's almost morning, actually," he says, wistful, but she doesn't hear him, already fast asleep.

#samurai love ballad party #slbp #slbp shigezane #date shigezane #shigezane x mc #slbp fic #this boy is?? so cute???#i can't #send help #katharayawrites

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years

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Wedded Bliss and Asterisks (A Modern CS AU) Part 20/?

Emma Swan is an enemy of love who just happens to be an up and coming wedding dress designer. She’s convinced that a fairytale kind of romance is nowhere in her future but when she meets Killian Jones, whose magazine is covering the opening of her new boutique, things change. Suddenly Emma finds herself drawing up new plans for her life, ones that seem to all be leading towards her own form of wedded bliss. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven.Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen,Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen. Also on FF Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! We are back with another chapter of Wedded Bliss and Asterisks, and though it is a shorter chapter than usual, I couldn’t pass up the chance to write it. It will be the last chapter before the wedding. It includes a glimpse into Emma’s bachelorette party festivities and then ends with a fluffy moment that has been in my head since I first started writing this fic. I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!

“Emma are you sure you couldn’t wear it for just one minute?” Mary Margaret asked for what felt like the hundredth time. “I just want one single picture with you in the tiara. Just one, I promise.”

Emma couldn’t tell if she wanted to sigh or laugh in the face of her friend’s headstrong wish, but she sided with a simple smile and a shake of her head. Mary Margaret was a fantastic person and a wonderful friend, always there when the chips were down and Emma needed someone to lean on, but she had this knack for pushing when everyone else would let something go. It probably had to do with all that excess of hope her friend seemed to have, which had only compounded further since she’d found love again in her life.

“Mary Margaret, I love you and you know that, but I’ve already told you I don’t want to live in a world where there is photographic evidence out there of me in that tiara.”

In the face of Emma’s words her slightly intoxicated (and by slightly she meant very) friend huffed out some air in a barely controlled sense of frustration and Emma couldn’t help but laugh when she did. She muffled it of course, trying to keep her friend’s feelings in mind, but it was a pretty funny situation all things considered. In fact the whole day had been that way, as one would expect when the drinking had started with mimosas at ten and Emma’s friends had never slowed down anytime over the next twelve hours.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Emma. You would make a beautiful princess. You really really would.”

“No one is saying she wouldn’t,” Elsa said from her spot next to Emma in the booth, her icy blonde hair almost coming off as blue with the colored lights of the club around them. “But if Emma’s going to be a princess, maybe it shouldn’t be the princess of penis.”

“Who said anything about that?!” Mary Margaret asked completely astonished, and that was the moment when Emma had the confirmation she’d been wondering about for the last twenty minutes. Her friend had simply missed the fact that the whole gaudy crown was encrusted with bedazzled dicks, and that was just too classic. Now it was just a matter of waiting to see which of them would break it to Mary Margaret first.

“So you’re telling me you can’t see them?” Elsa asked, clearly as shocked and also amused as Emma was and Mary Margaret furrowed her brow, shaking her head as she looked at the plastic crown once again. Emma would at least give her friend the benefit of saying that they were somewhat subtle, but once you saw the clearly phallic shapes making up the whole plastic bobble, there was no going back.

“They are not…” Mary Margaret countered before her eyes grew wider and she went a little red, realization setting in. “Oh my God they are! Ruby! Why would you even buy this?”

Emma found it funny that Mary Margaret would even have to ask. After years and years of friendship, Emma had totally expected Ruby to pull stunts like this for any of their bachelorette parties because that was who she was. And Emma also couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t entertaining because it was. Even if it wasn’t exactly her cup of tea, Ruby’s hijinks had created a fair many memories for Emma to remember forever, and Emma was grateful for that even if she wasn’t about to play along in full.

“Oh please. Emma’s just lucky I didn’t have full reign on this party. I was serious about those strippers, honey, and if this was Vegas… well let’s just say there’s a reason they say sin stays in that city.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” Emma muttered, seriously glad that she’d gotten out of that whole fiasco since she vastly preferred the party she’d had instead.

After careful deliberation on the part of all of her friends, it was decided that the best way to celebrate Emma getting married was to merge two kinds of bachelorette parties. They’d started the day with something Emma had been more accepting of (but still slightly wary from) that she ended up needing desperately: a trip to the spa. To be blunt it had been a fantastic change of pace for her, and after the hectic nature of their summer season, it was lovely to take a step back from the frantic go-go-go of her life and just relax.

That being said, it wasn’t all quiet mood music and restful massages. There was also a substantial amount of drinking, a bevy of good food brought from every corner of the city (thanks to Ruby’s endless connections), and an almost never-ending swell of gossip and girl time. Because even if a typical spa day meant mostly silent solitude and individual pampering, that would never fly with Emma’s friends. Instead every item on the agenda had been undertaken together, and Emma had found herself laughing more than she could remember doing in a long time, never mind in a spa.

From there though, the easy going (if still heavily alcohol-sponsored) ‘treat yourself’ day turned into dinner at some hip new restaurant and then ambled to this, a throwback to their earlier years together in the city in the middle of a swanky new club with deafening music and tons of single people on the prowl. It was nice in some ways getting to dance the night away with her best friends and leave all her cares at the door, but it was also a slightly tired situation.

It hit Emma in the midst of all of this that she might very well be over the club scene (if she was ever actually a fan of it at all), and though none of her friends had admitted it, she thought she might not be alone in that. After all, the evening had been full of stolen glances from all of them at their phones (no doubt looking to touch base with their significant others) and funny, shared looks between the friends when they observed other people here. Maybe they’d all missed something, but it felt like a night out on the town wasn’t what it once was. Now everything was just a tiny bit sleazier, and a little less desirable as a result.

“Okay, can I just say thank God none of us are single anymore?” Elsa asked, perfectly mirroring Emma’s thoughts on the matter as she looked around the club. “I mean is it just me or have the pickings seriously dried up since we were last out like this?”

“Maybe,” Emma said noncommittally. “Or maybe you’re just so taken with your own fiancé no one else compares.”

The mention of her very recent engagement made Elsa flush a happy shade of pink, and inadvertently her gaze as well as everyone else’s went back to the ring that Liam had given her. It was a beautiful design, one that Elsa had sincerely loved and taken to immediately, but Emma also knew it wasn’t the first one Liam had considered. No, that monstrosity was ginormous, totally unrealistic for anyone never mind a baker, and had thankfully not been purchased thanks to some helpful interference from Killian.

“You might be on to something there,” Elsa admitted before breaking into a full on grin.

“You did make a good point though,” Mary Margaret stated cheerily, her eyes filled with the thoughts moving about in her head that Emma would just bet were romantic in nature and centered on one David Nolan (who Emma was entirely positive would be crafting a proposal of his own sometime very soon). “I would hate to go back to the way things were before. I mean obviously I loved having you guys…”

“But life’s just a little sweeter when you’ve got someone to love,” Ruby finished and the friends all agreed, largely ignoring that in their little bit of tipsiness they were all of them a touch sappier than they usually were.

For Emma especially though, the conversation with her friends just hit home something that she’d been grappling with all evening. She was truly and totally grateful to have such an amazing family and a bond with her friends that she would never let go of, but what she wanted more than a whole night wasted in a club she didn’t care about was to make the most of the time she was given. Emma had spent the whole day playing the role of bachelorette with the women she considered sisters. Couldn’t she maybe call it a night a little earlier than expected and salvage the rest of the evening into something more worth remembering? Emma thought so, and so she slipped her phone from her purse once more and shot a quick text to the man whose presence she was currently missing most.

E: How would you feel about cutting the night a bit shorter than our friends were thinking?

Emma honestly expected it to take a few minutes for Killian to respond at the very least since from what she’d heard Liam and the others had a pretty set plan of their own, but just as she was about to slip her phone back in her bag, she saw those tell tale dots pop up on her screen signaling he was responding already. The speed with which Killian was going to get back to her made Emma laugh to herself, but she checked to make sure none of her friends had noticed as she waited for Killian’s reply.

K: The sooner I have you back with me, the better in my book, Swan.

“Perfect,” Emma whispered to herself, but too late she realized the error of her ways.

“What was that, Ems?” Ruby asked from across the table and Emma looked back up, realizing she’d been caught and that all of her friends were looking at her with knowing smirks and a whole lot of amusement behind their eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” Emma said, trying to play it cool, but even if she knew her poker face was top notch, Emma was also aware that her friends were not buying it. She was caught, and now she had to find a way to spin her plan in a way that didn’t hurt any feelings or cause any problems.

“Okay fine you can go,” Ruby acquiesced, surprising Emma not just because she’d read Emma’s intentions so easily, but also because she was willingly letting Emma leave what her friend had once proclaimed would be ‘a never ending bonanza of single-womanhood.’

“Wait, what?” Emma asked and Mary Margaret jumped in, picking up for Ruby without missing a beat.

“We know you want to get back to Killian, Emma, and that’s good by us. To be honest we didn’t even think you’d make it this far.”

“I didn’t think any of us would,” Ruby admitted. “Hell I told Graham we’d meet up by ten, and look how that turned out. You outlasted that plan by hours.”

“So you guys have been waiting for me to make my escape this whole time?” Emma asked, biting back her laughter and luxuriating in the feeling that she wasn’t upsetting her friends in any way by calling it a night.

“Pretty much,” Elsa agreed with a smile.

“And no one’s going to feel like we didn’t do this whole bachelorette thing justice?” Emma clarified, casting her gaze primarily to Ruby who was the unspoken maestro of this whole thing to begin with.

“Nah. I figure there’s four of us, and with the way things are going we’ll be having a lot of these over the next year. Might as well save some of the dastardly deeds for the rest of us and not blow it all in one night.”

Emma totally agreed with the reasoning, and she also believed that Ruby was right and that there would be four weddings at the end of all of this. Emma was truly certain that all of her friends were with the men they were always meant to find, and marriage felt almost like a given in every single case. It was just nice to know that even if nothing had been explicitly said between Ruby and Graham, Ruby was still confident enough in her happy ending and in Mary Margaret’s as well to count them all as good as tied down.

“Well alright then,” Emma said, standing from the booth. “And I have to say this might just be the best bachelorette party I could have hoped for.”

Her friends all came to hug Emma, acknowledging that that had been their goal, and as the four of them stepped out into the night air Emma was filled with a heady rush of possibility and love. How she’d ever gotten this lucky in her life, she didn’t know, but as she hailed a cab and moved inside she thanked her lucky stars for her good fortune.

“Where to, miss?” The cabby asked her, and Emma was about to respond with her and Killian’s address when something on the TV screen in the chair before her caught her attention.

It was a flickering picture, nothing more than a passing ad that millions of people had likely seen and ignored before her in taxis across the city, but it inspired something in Emma, something she knew would grant her one of those lasting memories she’d been thinking of before. The next thing she knew she was telling the driver where to go and sending Killian a text of this new place for them to meet that she hoped he’d find as meaningful as she did. And in the meantime, she sat there, staring out at the city she called home as it passed by, smiling to herself and knowing that in this moment she was truly happy and that she was destined to remain so for a very long time.

………………..

From the second that Emma sent Killian that message about leaving the evening’s festivities, there was no doubt in his mind that he would find her. It didn’t matter that he and Liam and their friends were in the midst of a thoroughly planned out evening, or that he’d been having a surprisingly good time all things considered. At the end of the day, Killian would always prefer finding his Swan over anything else, and tonight was no different.

In fact, this evening’s element of secrecy was even more enticement for Killian to sneak away form everything to find Emma, for after proposing that they ditch their respective parties early, she’d sent him an address that Killian recognized but couldn’t quite place. Only when he’d hopped in the cab and told his driver where to go did he get confirmation about where Emma was hoping to meet him.

“You know, pal, you can just say the Empire State Building. No need to get fancy on me,” the cabby said with a typical New York attitude, but the gruffness went right over Killian’s head, and he found that he couldn’t help smiling the whole six block ride to their destination.

It was just too perfect an idea on Emma’s part, and the thought of meeting her there brought back a whole host of memories about their first date, which in some ways felt like it happened just yesterday and in others felt like a life time ago. It was strange to think that at one point things between Emma and Killian hadn’t been so certain, but recalling that night, Killian could still feel that flutter in his chest and that tingling of hope mixed with fear that Emma might not want this as much as he did. Now with the benefit of hindsight Killian knew that she had, but he’d purposefully pulled out all the stops that night to try and impress her, and in the end she had been the one to completely blow him away.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Emma had asked the moment that they approached the building on that fateful night so long ago, and for a second Killian had been a little taken aback. Here he was thinking this was a guaranteed success, but Emma looked so skeptical that for a moment he’d been worried. Somehow though he’d played it cool.

“I take it you’ve been before,” Killian acquiesced, but when he said that Emma ended up shaking her head before turning her gaze back to him and hitting him with a look that still had that edge of humor with a bit more depth and sincerity underneath.

“No actually I haven’t. It always seemed a little…”

“Romantic? Idyllic? Enshrined in the stuff of Hollywood dreams?”

Now that was of course meant to be a joke and his choice in phrasing was clearly hyperbolic, but he never imagined his jest would be rewarded the way it was. Emma genuinely laughed at Killian’s attempt at wit and when she did he felt his whole being flood with pride. In fact, the feeling was so sublime it couldn’t even be undercut by Emma’s responding jab, which likely would have taken down a less infatuated and already spell-bound man.

“I was going to say cheesy.”

Ouch, that one had hurt, but even as she said that, Killian could see that Emma wasn’t retreating from his idea. She was giving him the chance to prove himself and the merits of such an outing, and he was all about making the most of those opportunities when it came to his Swan...

“Hey, buddy, you just going to sit there all night or you gonna pay up and get a move on?”

Killian was jolted by the words from his driver, but even if the man lacked politeness, he wasn’t wrong to get Killian’s attention. Truth was Killian had no idea how long they’d been stalled at the entrance of the iconic building, and though he might have liked a slightly less jarring return to reality, he valued the push to go inside. After all, his whole reason for being here was to see Emma and to make new memories that might turn out even better than the old.

After paying the cabby and heading inside, Killian noted that there were far fewer people here this time of night than there had been when he and Emma came months ago. The journey up to tiptop of the building was easy, but as the elevator climbed up floor-by-floor, Killian found himself anxious to be there already. The anticipation was killing him, even though he and Emma had seen each other just this morning, and so when the door opened and he finally managed to step out into the cool night air at what felt like the top of the world, Killian felt a strong sense of relief. Now the only thing to do was find Emma and see what exactly it was she had in mind.

Whether it was instinct that guided him or merely a happenstance of fate, the search for Emma didn’t go on very long, for as soon as he’d stepped up onto the roof Killian saw Emma’s golden hair shining underneath one of the lamps at the far edge of the tower. She was looking down on the city, cutting quite the figure in the clothes she’d worn for the evening out with her friends, but as if she sensed him, Emma turned and when she did Killian could see the smile lighting up her face. The next thing he knew he was moving towards her and she was heading his way too, until she was finally in his grasp and stepping into his arms.

“Hey there stranger. Took you long enough to get here,” Emma said cheekily, her head tilting to the side as she looked up at him, beaming in a way that spoke to her total comfort with him in every way.

“Don’t I know it, love,” Killian agreed causing Emma to laugh and shake her head. Her arms, meanwhile, came to wrap around his neck, with her fingertips grazing in a slow, but measuredly enticing way that sent a surging sense of need through Killian. This woman who he was blessed enough to call his own was a bloody siren through and through, and yet somehow she didn’t seem to realize it, at least not fully.

“You know in the movies there’s usually a far longer separation between the guy and the girl before they get the happy ending. A year, a decade, … meanwhile we just had one day.”

“Well I have to rebuff your logic on two counts, Swan,” Killian said, causing Emma’s eyebrow to raise in question, even as her smirk turned up to one side. “First of all, we were never truly separated. I left my heart with you the whole time, and you left yours with me. So even if we weren’t together, we weren’t truly apart.”

Emma’s eyes lit up at that and she hummed out her agreement, running her fingers through his hair and moving her body slightly closer to his so she was truly flush against him. Meanwhile Killian was temporarily distracted by the way Emma wet her lips and darted her gaze to his in turn. Suddenly his line of thinking diverted from whatever other love stories the world had told before. All that mattered was Emma and the rest was inconsequential.

“That’s one point. You said you had two,” Emma teased before looking up at him again and urging him with those green eyes of hers to continue on.

“Aye love I do, and the second’s more important. You see, we’re not standing at the precipice of a happy ending.”

“We’re not?” Emma asked surprised but not moving away from him in any way.

“No. We’re only at the start of this journey, Swan. It’s more of a happy beginning than anything else.”

A beat passed between them and in that instant Killian watched as understanding dawned on Emma and his words sunk in. In that moment Killian could see just how much she wanted that to be true, and he swore to himself he’d show her just how right he was. They had fifty or sixty years to be together still, and Killian was going to see every up and every down with Emma at his side no matter what. They’d have the life they dreamed of and more, and they would both look back on this time when they were old and gray as still the start of their beautiful life together. Killian knew even then they’d be just as happy, but he wasn’t willing to speed up time for the sake of a happily ever after. Instead he chose to cherish every moment and cherish the woman who was making such a happy life possible for him at all.

“God that’s cheesy,” Emma said in the face of his words, but Killian could tell that they were well received when she pressed up to kiss him in the way he’d been dying for since catching her gaze minutes before.

At the moment of impact when the two of them melted into each other, all other thoughts faded away, leaving just the two of them and this perfect moment. Neither Emma nor Killian were the wiser of the people around them or the sight they made for up there in one of the most quintessentially romantic spots in the city, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way, because love would always come first for both of them, and this kiss was nothing if not a living, breathing representation of the feelings they both had for each other.

“It might be cheesy, love,” Killian said finally as he broke the kiss for just a moment. “But I know in my heart that you love it regardless.”

Emma’s laughter filled the space between them and Killian could almost taste it as he stole another kiss before she could reply. She was simply too gorgeous an enticement to deny himself any more, but he was heartened by her response when she was the one to pull away and get another word in.

“I love your cheesy lines almost as much as I love you, Killian Jones,” Emma promised as her forehead rested against his and she closed her eyes. Killian did the same, savoring this moment and feeling that blissful symphony coursing inside him that only Emma could create, and when he opened them once more Emma was smiling at him in such an honest way it filled his heart enough to burst.

“Nothing comes close to you, Emma. Nothing.”

“Good,” Emma whispered as she stole a final kiss and stepped back, taking his hand in hers and leading him from their spot here in the sky back home where they both belonged.

Post-Note: So as the final chapter before the wedding, I felt it fitting to have some funny friend moments, but also tie back to the first date. I loved writing so many months ago about Emma and Killian up on the Empire State Building, and where they were both just a touch more cynical then, I thought it would be nice to have them caving to a reunion moment of sorts in such an iconic place. Of course I tried not to change their characters too much, and there’s still that sly nod to how cliché a moment like that could be, but in the end the fluff had to win for me, and I hope you guys enjoyed! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you’re all having a good day wherever you may be!

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs fic #cs ff #cs modern au #captain swan ff #cs au #cs fluff #cs mc #emma swan #killian jones #the meddling friends #wedded bliss and asterisks #wedded bliss au #wedded bliss 20 #ouat au #designer!emma #writer!killian

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buckygirl-fanfiction · 7 years

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Sparks Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky(POV) X Reader(POV) ft. other members of the avengers team.

Word Count 3.5K

Summary: Annual Stark Fourth of July Bash at the tower where y/n runs into Bucky. After finding out that Bucky is uncomfortable around firework sounds, not wanting him to be alone and miss the show y/n offers to keep him company. y/n is later attacked in the labs and Bucky and y/n fight together against the antagonist, because y/n isn’t just a damsel in distress. Thats right she’s got her own moves.

A/N: This is a story about two people building a great friendship and then slowly falling in love. y/n is a strong, independent, and smart scientist. She meets Bucky when she wakes him up from cryo sleep and they become friends. This is going to have all the angst / best friends falling in love / fluff / drama / & eventual smut ;) that I can possibly fit in it. This fic is going to be looong! So far my document is like 66 pages. So editing is hard If you catch any grammatical or formatting errors let me know.

July 3, 2015

Y/N’s POV

It’s a stressful day filled with reports. Which means a lot of paperwork. I sat at my desk skimming through the documents on the computer screen while I toyed with the cross on my necklace.

“Hello Dr. y/l/n,” I hear someone call my name and look up from the screen. It’s Barnes. “Arms working out great so far.”

“That’s great,” I say with a smile watching him walk past my desk towards Axelrod’s office. Physic evals probably. I look back down at my computer screen continuing my reading.

Bucky’s POV

I step off the elevator to the 82nd floor where the medical labs are located. I walk through a pair of glass doors and the first thing to catch my eye is y/n sitting at a desk fiddling around with her necklace. She looks focused. It’s been three weeks since our meeting when she reunited me with my left arm and I still linger over her words sometimes. Man not a Machine. Especially since the entirety of my three weeks have been spent mostly sitting through briefings about how I can be successfully integrated into the Avengers team as a field agent and how I may be best put to use. In those three weeks I’ve had twice weekly meetings with that asshat Axelrod who has been overseeing my ‘reintegration into society’. And every time I find myself back up here in the lab I find myself experiencing a sort of curiosity about y/n. I’ve seen her outside the labs usually hanging out with an asian woman who I later came to know as Dr. Cho. In all her interactions she seems kind which continues to raise my curiosity about her. Today she looks busy. Too busy to strike up conversation so I opt for a casual hello. I tell her how my arm is working great and her reply is short. So I continue my way to Axelrod’s office.

y/n’s POV

It’s finally evening and i’m finally done proof reading reports and proposals. I head over to the lockers to grab my bag and head home for some much needed R&R. Around the 40th floor the elevator i’m in stops and Natasha Romanoff walks in and with a smile she says, “You’re coming tomorrow night right?”. Tomorrow being independance day and Tony’s annual bash.

“Yeah wouldn’t miss it,” I reply “A chance to watch people I work with get drunk and make fools out of themselves. Who would give up such great blackmail material.”

“I’ve brought you over to the dark side,” Nat says with a wink. We spend the rest of the elevator ride down casually conversing about tomorrow’s details.

…

July 4, 2015

I wake up to something blaring. Still half asleep I think, not my alarm because I didn’t set one its my day off… Then what? My phone. I rub my eyes and reach for the phone on my nightstand and look at the screen. It’s Axelrod… great… I pick up and before I can even say hello he says, “y/n I have a couple shipments coming in today I need you to be there to sign for them and make sure they are undisturbed and left in my office.”

“Why can’t you just tell security or ask a intern? It’s saturday my day…” I begin when I’m cut off.

“Important medical equipment! I don’t want to leave it in the hands of incompetent fools” He says before hanging up the phone. Great…

I make it just in time to the tower to see a white truck and two workmen arguing with security. “Hey!” I walk up to the scene. “It’s alright Dr. Axelrod called today morning. This delivery is for his personal lab.”

“It still has to be cleared with security Ma’am” says a man dressed in a sharp black suit.

“Its fragile medical equipment i’m supposed to escort to his private lab upstairs. Call him and clear it with him if you need” I say to the security personnel who is clearly growing impatient with the whole situation. After a brief call. I escort the men upstairs along with a handful of large metal boxes and sign some paperwork and i’m back home two tedious hours later. Only to realize I accidentally forgot to leave the signed equipment files in Axelrod’s office. Whatever, i’ll drop it off tonight before the party I think and shove the papers into my bag.

…

What a couple hours can do to a building’s atmosphere always seems to amaze me. I arrive at the tower around 7pm to find it surrounded by sports cars, limos, and even a hot pink party bus. Everything is in full throw and even the usually uptight security personnel look much more relaxed. I walk through the glass doors and take the elevator up to the roof where most of the guests are situated. It’s almost sunset and everyone is waiting for the fireworks show to begin. The frivolity has clearly set in because Bahni from legal is doing body shots off a very shitless and very built field agent. I walk around till I find Cho whose happily situated near Steve and say hi. I take a seat next to her on a bar stool and sip on a Mai Tai. We are casually conversing when Barnes walks over says, “Almost didn’t recognize you out of your lab coat Dr. y/l/n”. He looks down at my casual bright red sundress.

“You clean up well Mr. Barnes,” I answer back to the man dressed in a black open color dress shirt and black pants.

“Call me Bucky,” He says.

“Well then you can call me y/n,” I say back with a polite smile. This is the first time I’ve actually talked to the man outside the lab. He seems more relaxed than usual.

“Nickname basis. Bucky here must like you” Steve quips in.

“Hey I like anyone who’s nice enough to set me up with equipment like this,” Bucky says raising his left arm.

“Seven!” Cho yells.

“No way,” I say back at her looking over Bucky’s shoulder at Sam who is waving a cocktail napkin at us with a smirk on his face.

“What?” Bucky asks turning around.

“They’re betting on who can get the most numbers tonight Sam or Clint,” Steve replies.

We spend the hour or so getting fractionally drunker, or at least I do, while laughing at the wild antics around us. When Tony announces its almost firework time I stumble around to the bathroom to splash some water in my face. Then, I realize I forgot to return the files to Axelrod’s office. Opting to do it now because, let’s be honest, later i’m most likely going to be too drunk to remember I grab my bag and walk towards the elevator. I see someone get in and run in after them just in time before the doors close. To my surprise it’s none other than Bucky himself. “Going home so soon?” I ask as I push the button to the labs floor 82.

“Yeah, well home is just a few floors down. Me and fireworks don’t really mix” he replies looking at the floor.

“No way! Everyone loves fireworks.” I say before I can stop myself. I suddenly realize my tipsy self completely overlooked the fact that he probably has PTSD and loud booming fireworks probably remind him of his hydra days. Crap I think to myself. I can’t believe I was so insensitive.

“Not a fan of loud noises. Anyways, how about you?” he asks still looking down at the floor as he pushes a couple strands of long hair behind his ear. “You can’t seriously be headed to the labs to do work right now”.

“I’m not. I have to drop off some paperwork. Then i’m headed back up.” I say as the elevator doors ding open to the 82nd floor. Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that I was a little more than tipsy tonight. Whatever took a hold of me I don’t know. But a lightbulb went off and there was no turning it off now. “The labs!” I said suddenly causing Bucky to look up at me. I grabbed his metal hand and with a tug pulled him along with me into the dimly lit lab floors and through the glass doors. I look back at him and say, “do you trust me?” and he gives me a questioning look. Drunk me is talkative me. “Of course you don’t you barely know me. So let me explain,” I say still leading him by his hand.

Bucky’s POV

I feel her small hand around my wrist it’s surprisingly cold. She’s pulling me through the labs and even though I would rather be in my room right now with some headphones drowning out the noise of impending firework bombs. Curiosity gets the best of me and I let y/n drag me through the dimly lit lab corridors. She’s much more talkative outside the lab, maybe it’s because she’s had a few drinks in her. “So” she continues “These are the medical labs anddd” she drags the last syllable as she pulls me through a pair of glass doors into a dark room; the only light radiating from the hallway outside. She lets go of my wrist and I stand there watching her stumble around and pull open the curtains revealing the huge glass wall behind it with a magnificent view to the city beyond. Moonlight and city light fills the room we’re standing in. “this is one of the patient rooms. Completely soundproof and great view.” She pushes the patient bed from the middle of the room towards the window. “This way you get to see the fireworks without the annoying audio,” she says as she slips off her shoes and hops on the bed sitting cross legged. “Come on,” she says patting the space next to her. I walk over amazed and take a seat next to her. I can’t believe this girl, who I barely know, could be so thoughtful and considerate.

y/n’s POV

I sit next to the soldier in the dimly lit room my knee resting aside his thigh. I look out the great big window waiting for the sparks to fly. It’s still, and quiet, and for a second I wonder if i’d creeped him out by dragging him along with me. But i’m too tipsy to overthink it right now.

“Thanks y/n” he says, I notice him curiously looking at me from the corner of my eye.

Just then the first sparks of light fly into the air. “Look!” I point out the window. It’s quiet and still in the room. A long red streak flies out into the night sky and explodes into a ball of color. It’s followed by blue and white. The only noise I can hear is our collective calm breaths. We watch the explosions of color in silence.

After a couple minutes Bucky says, “You would really rather sit here with me watching fireworks in silence than up there having fun with everyone else?” Bucky asks giving me a quizzical look.

“Hey,” I swat him on the shoulder, “I’m having fun”. “Plus what kind of human being would I be to let you miss out on such a great show”.

“I’ve been around for quite a long time and I can tell you, you’re a pretty swell human being” Bucky replies with a laugh.

“Swell” I say, “I like that.”

“You like helping people,” he notes.

“Yep, that’s why i’m a doctor,” I reply “Whoa” I say pointing at the sky. A big ball of red fills the sky and explodes in a bright light.

Bucky’s POV

“What’s your favorite color?” y/n asks still staring outside the window.

“What?” I ask looking at her a little surprised.

“Favorite color. Mines red,” did she just ask my favorite color? Wow, it’s been awhile since I’ve heard that one. She’s definitely drunk. Why else would she want to be alone in a room with a potentially unstable assassin watching fireworks and talking about favorite colors?

“Umm, purple,” I say still looking at the figure sitting next to me. Is she real? I can’t help but think. She’s twirling around the pendant on her necklace again. Must be a habit. I’m close enough to notice that it’s a cross pendant. “You’re religious?” I ask. She looks up at me and then down at the pendant between her fingers, “Oh, I guess. My mom gave it to me years ago”. We watch the rest of the show in silence and I hear a ping from her phone after the last spark goes out. She picks it up with delicate fingers and taps the screen. “Wanna go get something to eat?” She asks looking up at me. “Cho, Wanda, and me are supposed to go out to this sushi place”.

“I don’t want to intrude,” I answer looking back at her still a little taken aback at her open friendliness.

“No intrusion, plus I think Steve and Sam are tagging along now too,” she says in a chirpy voice.

“Yeah, then sure,” I say. This night’s definitely going very differently than i’d imagined. I didn’t expect to be this social. The only reason I even came to this thing was because Steve said it was good for me. But even he knew i’m more of the lone type now. Who knew drunk chipper y/n could drag me out of my she.

“They’re still upstairs. I have to drop off a couple files at my boss’s office. I’ll meet you up there”. She said uncrossing her legs and hopping off the bed.

y/n’s POV

I head through the corridors leaving Bucky to walk back to the elevators. I walk towards the other end of the floor towards Axelrod’s office. I dig through my bag looking for the spare key to his office. Still a little tipsy I jab at the lock with the key and fumble for a couple minutes before I finally get the door unlocked. I swear I heard someone moving around for a second Then realize it’s pitch black no ones here. The alcohol is definitely getting the better of me. I flip on the desk light and pull the large folder out of my bag and accidentally drop it. “Crap,” I say and gather up the papers. “Photon beam laser T-23” I read off froom a paper on top of the pile I’m gathering from the floor. What? I think to myself that’s not right. Why do we need photon radiotherapy? Maybe the delivery guy gave us the wrong paperwork? That can’t be. CRAP! I must’ve signed for the wrong delivery. Axelrod’s going to kill me. I flip through the book and look up at the metal boxes around his office. This can’t be right. Radiotherapy machines don’t come packed this small. Ugh my brain isn’t working I’m beginning to regret the last five shots I had. I drop the packet on his desk and kneel next to the first metal box. I unhook the latch and click the box open. Inside I see three vials of serum labeled ‘veritas’ and a needle injector. I click the next box open and find a head piece. With screws attached to it. What the fuck? I think to myself. Then it clicks. I don’t know why it took this long. I’m a smart woman but clearly the vodka killed off a few brain cells. Veritas serum, invasive neural surgical head gear. Where have I seen this before. About 6 months ago when I was doing inventory on a hydra warehouse that had been cleared. Why is Axelrod sneaking hydra equipment into the tower? Now that’s a question that I wish had come to me a little sooner. Because if said question had occurred to me about 20 seconds earlier, then the answer would have also occurred to me about 20 seconds earlier. He’s a double agent. But the realization came about 20 seconds too late and I now realize someones standing behind me.

“Now why couldn’t you be like everyone else and just go enjoy the party upstairs?” I hear his voice behind me. A shiver runs down my back. Well clearly he’s going to kill me. I mean that’s what i’d do if someone discovered my secret plan. Especially if the person’s drunk and vulnerable, killing them wouldn’t be that hard. y/n act now my brain screams. I quickly spin around on my heel and strike a quick hard kick to his shin. Clearly this took him by surprise and I make sure to follow through and knock him clear on his ass. I take my opportunity and run to the office door. But before I can make it, I feel a tug at my leg and fall back. Crap. Before I know it he’s on top of me with two grubby hands wrapped around my neck. Sharp kick to his crotch. That brought me some freedom. I get back up this time and make it through the door. No one’s going to save you now y/n. You’re just going to have to save yourself. I run through the corridor with him on my tail. But no matter how fast I run it’s not fast enough. He grabs my shoulder and shoves me against the wall. In the struggle he grabs ahold of my necklace and tugs to the right ripping it from my neck. Now let me tell you tugging a necklace off someone’s neck isn’t always as graceful as you see in the movies. It’s not just one small pull and tadah the clasp unhooks painlessly and magically it’s off. In real life it hurts. Like a bitch.

“Fuck” I scream. The thin chain leaving a faint cut on the left side of my neck. Now, the truly disturbing part isn’t the cut on my neck but the next thing that happens. He takes a step back smiles and twists my silver cross in half. Bending it like it was nothing. Know when you need help. And whatever Axelrod was he sure wasn’t your typical human evil scientist. I grab the pin holding my hair up and take my chance and stab it in his eye. Follow through. Oh god that was so gross I hear a popping noise probably the fluid in his eyeball bursting. I make a run for it to the elevators. Maybe Bucky is still there. I know I haven’t slowed Axelrod down much because I hear his footsteps shortly behind me. I turn a sharp corner and slam into Bucky’s hard form. I grab his shoulders and stare wide eyed at a loss for words.

“y/n what happen I heard you scream,” he asks concern in his brows.

“Evil scientist,” were the only two words that came out of my mouth before I turned around again to face Axelrod with my jade hair pin sticking out of his eye. I quickly jumped out of the way just as his fist came in contact with Bucky’s metal hand. I stand there disoriented for a few seconds. Watching two super humans fighting each other. What the hell am I supposed to do. You can’t just expect me to sit around being the damsel in distress. I’m in a lab I realize I look around and see chemical storage across the corridor and make a beeline for it. I push open the door and head for hazardous storage. Knocking over god knows how many vials I finally find the one i’m looking for. Ethylene Fluorohydrin I grab the tube and open a draw looking for a injector. I shove the tube inside the compartment and run back. The scene still remains the same: Bucky throwing punches at the man with a pin sticking out of his eye. One shot I think to myself. I take my chance in the chaos grabbing the hair pin from his eye and pulling it out. Step one, distraction he grabs my hand I kick him in the shin causing him to keel. Bucky takes his opportunity snaking his arm around Axelrod’s throat. I take my shot and aim directly for his chest and inject him with the toxic chemical. It takes him a couple seconds to stop moving. And then he’s dead. My knees finally give out and I fall to the floor panting. Bucky does the same shoving Axelrod’s body off of his own.

“Evil scientist,” I begin to laugh. Maybe it’s the shock but I can’t seem to stop laughing.

Bucky looks at me curiously and says, “nice moves. You’re a good fighter.”

“I know,” I reply standing up still laughing out of breath. I reach for Bucky’s arm and try to pull him up. “Ahh” I let out. Grabbing my side. I look down at my hands in the dimly lit hallway. My hands that are now covered in red. When did I get stabbed? I think, looking down at the blood. I don’t remember getting stabbed. My hair pin. My lovely red sundress covers up the blood nicely the stain is barely noticeable. Huh. One hell of a day. Fighting superhuman evil scientist. Then suddenly everything feels very far away and I lose control of my body.

“y/n!” I hear Bucky’s voice right before I pass out.

232 notes · View notes

teenbrigade · 7 years

Text

With apologies to Neil Patrick Harris

So, shoutout to 2017 apparently, for being the year I actually finish a fic (nevermind that I started this in 2016). Bascially the premise is I come up with bad ideas on twitter and @traincat enables me (but seriously mega mega ty for being my biggest supporter on Getting Back Into the Content Creating Scene). Also thanks to @maryjanewatson for suggesting the Halloween costume.

I also just remembered google alerts are a thing, please don’t sue me Neil Patrick Harris I’m sorry.

So anyway:

Johnny met Neil Patrick Harris for the first time at an Oscars afterparty. Johnny was a little past tipsy and Harris was completely put together even though he was on at least his sixth glass of champagne that evening. The first thing Johnny had said was “Are you sure that’s not ginger ale?” even though he’d been planning clever quips since he got the invitation. Harris just laughed graciously. “I’ll never tell,” he said, and swept back to his party guests. Johnny didn’t remember much from the rest of that evening, other than the really tall guy he went home with and exactly how loud Really Tall Guy’s snoring was when Johnny woke way too late in the morning somewhere near Pasadena with no recollection of what his hotel was called.

Peter laughed when he heard the story. Johnny left out the part about Really Tall Guy, because even though Peter’s ring was on Johnny’s finger now, Johnny knew his husband well enough to know that hookup stories were a bad idea. Especially for the petty criminals of New York, who would have Peter’s jealousy written all over them in bruises. Sometimes Johnny kind of liked that, but today, he decided, he would be merciful to the petty criminals of New York.

“It probably was ginger ale,” said Peter, “he so seems the type.”

“You just don’t want to admit that Neil Patrick Harris can probably drink you under the table.”

“He probably can,” Peter laughed, stroking Johnny’s hair. “I’m just saying he seems the ginger ale type too.” He brushed Johnny’s hair back and kissed the top of his head. “Will you go get the kids up? I’ll make breakfast.”

Johnny reluctantly peeled himself out of Peter’s warm embrace and slung his legs over the side of their bed. “I’ll get the kids,” he said, “but don’t you dare make breakfast.”

Peter laughed.

“I’m serious!” said Johnny, padding to the door, “Coffee only. Cereal’s pushing it. You wait for me, buddy.”

“I love you,” said Peter from the bed, looking all tousled and beautiful and smiling dumbly at Johnny in the yellow morning sunlight. Johnny’s heart tripped a little the way it always did when he really looked at Peter, when he stopped, temporarily, not believing it was possible this was real, that he had Peter, that they’d promised each other forever and it was looking like forever, that when Peter said “I love you” he meant it as much as Johnny did, meant it with all his heart. I know it feels like we took forever to get here, he thought about saying to Peter, but I would wait another forever if it meant I got to come home to you.

“Cereal,” he said instead, “and maybe toast. But if I catch you with eggs, dude, it’s over.”

“Isn’t it weird,” said Peter, after the kids had been packed off to school and the baby was safely toddling around her playpen, “that Neil Patrick Harris is a very famous blond guy who is married to a slightly less famous brunet dude, and they have two kids?”

“We have three kids, so we win,” said Johnny, scraping at the egg Peter had burnt to the bottom of the pan. “Wait. Are you admitting I’m more famous than you?”

“No, I’m saying that the brunet dude Johnny Storm is famously gay married to—Peter Parker—” he gestured dramatically to himself, “is perhaps not quite as famous as Storm himself, but Spider-Man, no relation, who could be bald for all anyone knows, easily out-reputations you.”

“That’s what you think.” Johnny snatched Peter’s fork away. “Don’t pick at Benjy’s leftovers, you had your own.”

“I’m just saying, we should, like, cage fight them.”

“That wouldn’t be fair, Pete, we would definitely win.”

“I dunno, David Burtka looks like he knows Tae Kwon Do.” Peter grabbed some ketchupy hash browns up with his fingers and popped them into his mouth before Johnny could whisk the plate into the dishwasher.

“They probably take couple’s Tae Kwon Do lessons together.”

“They probably do family Tae Kwon Do!”

“Oh, my god, they do.”

“They probably dress their little kiddos up in tiny little gis and kick all in sync.”

Johnny started the dishwasher, shaking his head dramatically. “We gotta up our game.”

The second time Johnny met Neil Patrick Harris was at the Baxter Building during a gala celebrating the return of the Future Foundation. “Home turf,” Peter whispered in Johnny’s ear when he spotted the Harris-Burtka family taking a sickeningly adorable picture with the hired photographer. “Better think of something better to say than ‘is that ginger ale?’.” Johnny smacked him. “Ow!” hissed Peter.

“You have super-strength, you big baby.”

“That doesn’t mean I have super-pain-tolerance!”

Johnny sipped his drink innocently. They watched the family get in line for food. “Burtka’s pretty cute,” he mused. “We should do like a gay wifeswap thing.”

Johnny smirked at Peter’s murderous look. “Over my dead body,” said Peter. “Plus, he’s at least ten years older than you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Peter choked on the hors de ’oeuvre he’d nabbed from a passing tray. Johnny patted him obligingly on the back.

“Why didn’t we bring our kids?” asked Johnny when Peter was mostly recovered.

“Because this is an evening event, and the 7-year-old would get restless, the 5-year-old would have a meltdown, and the baby would throw a tantrum?”

“Ugh, you’re right,” sighed Johnny, watching the Harris-Burtkas with envy. “How irresponsible.”

“Their kids are older,” Peter offered.

“Irresponsible and adorable.”

“I still think we should throw down with them. You take the blond, I’ll take the brunet?”

Johnny gasped and grabbed Peter’s arm.

“What? Do you have a strategy?”

“No, but Peter—he’s wearing my tie.”

“What?”

“Neil Patrick Harris is wearing the same tie as me.”

Peter squinted. “I mean, lots of guys are wearing blue ties.”

“No, Peter, this is an Armani tie. It’s from their new spring collection. It hasn’t even been released yet, this was a gift from my stylist. And look! Look at the pattern! Look at the spacing. That is definitely my tie.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

When Johnny looked up from glaring bitterly at the tie, Neil Patrick Harris was making eye contact with him. A bright smile sprung across Harris’ face. He said something to his husband and ushered the twin he was watching closer to their sibling. “Oh no,” said Johnny, “is he coming over here? Does he see my tie?”

“He’s definitely coming over; tie thing I’m still up in the air about.”

“Johnny Storm!” chimed Harris with all the charm and enthusiasm of his onstage persona. Johnny was going to punch him. He settled for an overly firm handshake instead. “Have I met your husband?” Here he turned to Peter, his face glowing. Johnny was an extravert too, but he found Harris’ unwavering brightness a little suspect. Or would, if he didn’t come across so genuine.

“His name’s Peter,” he said a little loudly at Harris, before Peter could introduce himself. “And you can call me John.” Peter shot Johnny a quizzical look. Johnny made one of those faces he made when he was trying to communicate something silently. Peter was usually pretty 50/50 with face interpretation, but this one flew right by him. He raised his eyebrows.

“What do you do, Peter?” asked Harris, gracefully ignoring Peter and Johnny’s facial acrobatics.

“He’s a photographer,” said Johnny.

“Does he speak?”

“Haha,” said Johnny, too loud and with too little emotion.

“I do,” said Peter, thankfully, at the same time. He tried to step on Johnny’s foot but just kind of mashed his pinky toe. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Harris. Or Patrick-Harris? Or—”

“Neil, please,” replied the aforementioned Mr. Harris. “I wish I could have made it to your wedding.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “David and I were wrapping production on a top-secret project. But I hear the ceremony was quite touching.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “Yeah, there was a lot of touching.”

Harris threw back his head and let out a delighted guffaw. Johnny shot Peter a look. “I honestly didn’t even know you were invited to our wedding,” Johnny pressed on unwisely. Harris stopped laughing. “My, uh, uh, sister made the guest list,” he finished, even though Sue and Reed had still been missing through most of the wedding planning, and everyone knew it. He spotted a waiter rushing past and grabbed him by the sleeve. “Is there any more champagne?” he asked a little desperately.

“Right away, Mr. Storm,” said the waiter.

“Thank god.” Johnny pressed his empty flute into the waiter’s hand. “And take care of this, too, would ya? Thanks, man.” The waiter rushed away with Johnny’s glass. Johnny squinted at Harris, wondering if he remembered their brief meeting years earlier, daring him to make a ginger ale crack.

“You really have something to celebrate here,” Harris said instead, looking around. He was right, thought Johnny. It had been too long since the Baxter Building had really felt like this—lively, lived-in. Full of colorful people. Earlier in the evening, after the speeches but before the food, the Future Foundation kids had had full run of the room, bouncing off the wall with their youthful energy and excitement. It was getting late now, and they were down the old people and a few stragglers—Val was still mingling expertly—Alex Power, who’d apparently grown up completely when Johnny wasn’t looking, was chatting up some of the less terrifying Avengers. Franklin’s head rested drowsily on his mom’s shoulder while Sue stroked his hair. Johnny had never been so grateful to have his family all in one place.

But Neil Patrick Harris didn’t need to know that. Neil Patrick Harris wasn’t family. Neil Patrick Harris’ closest connect to the Future Foundation was the time a background character in an episode of his latest hit TV show had mentioned something called the Fabulous Foundation, which was mostly, Johnny seemed to recall, about clothes.

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “We do.” He cleared his throat. “Where’d you get that tie, Neil?”

Harris glanced down at his tie, then back up at Johnny. He opened his mouth.

“Going to introduce me to your friends?” asked David Burtka, who had snuck up to them from across the room. He swung an arm around Harris’ shoulders. Johnny fumed until Peter mirrored the gesture, yanking Johnny closer to him a little possessively.

“Where are the kids?” asked Harris softly.

“Gone home. The nanny came to pick them up.”

The nanny, Johnny mouthed at Peter. Peter rolled his eyes.

“You know John Storm,” Harris introduced.

“In name only,” said Burtka, shaking Johnny’s hand. “So nice to finally meet you.”

“I’m Peter, his husband,” Peter growled, snatching Burtka’s hand as soon as he’d finished greeting Johnny.

“I’m so sorry we missed the wedding!” said Burtka brightly. “We had a—”

“I was just telling them,” chuckled Harris.

“I saw your People cover, though. Nice shots.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, “Wasn’t yours on Vanity Fair? We did Vanity Fair, too. And Out magazine had an exclusive spread. They arranged it as soon as we announced the engagement.”

“I’m pretty famous,” added Johnny.

“He’s pretty famous,” Peter confirmed.

“Well, I’m sure you got our card, but it never hurts to say congratulations in person.” Burtka offered them a warm smile. Peter narrowed his eyes. Harris and Burtka definitely had the short end of the fame stick. Weren’t they going to defend themselves?

“He’s right,” said Harris. “We’re so glad you boys got to join the old married club!”

It was a sweet thought, really. Johnny was sure he should have been flattered that Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka were apologizing for not coming to his wedding. He should welcome the mentorship they, as an older same-sex married couple, were offering he and his husband. He should feel honored to be in the Old Married Club with them. If Johnny were someone else, he was sure, he would feel all these things. He kind of wished he did. But mostly he was just annoyed that Harris seemed to think he and his husband were in charge of gay marriage or something. And what were he and Peter? Chopped liver?

“Yeah, so, anyway,” said Johnny, “wanna see something cool?”

“I’m so sorry, Neil,” said Sue, mostly at Johnny, while she patted down Neil Patrick Harris’ slightly singed tie with a towel.

Harris laughed. “It’s fine! It was an accident. And the fireball juggling was very cool. No hard feelings, John.”

“I’m sure John will be sure to keep his powers under tight control from now on, the way he was trained,” Sue snapped pointedly.

“I liked the part where you acted like you were gonna miss that fireball headed for the hors de ‘oeuvres,” whispered Peter in his ear. Johnny smirked.

“Won’t you, John?” Sue asked raising her eyebrows.

“Of course, sis.”

“Pete, I need help,” Johnny said one afternoon, emerging wild-eyed from their bedroom.

Peter, who was fully decked out as Spider-Man, stopped halfway through closing the window he’d come in through and ripped his mask off, rushing to Johnny’s side. “What, what is it,” he babbled, “is everyone ok? Is it Reed and Sue? Where’s Ben?” He gripped Johnny’s arms. “Where are the kids?”

“The kids—everyone’s fine. The kids are with MJ, remember?”

“Then what the hell is going on?”

Johnny thrust his smudgy iPhone at Peter. “Look.”

“What—what am I looking at?” asked Peter, squinting at the grid of colorful family photos that hovered dangerously close to his nose.

“It’s Neil Patrick Harris’ Instagram.” Johnny tapped a photo. “Look!”

“Shit,” sighed Peter, giving Johnny’s bicep a sharp squeeze in reprimand. “You scared me, Johnny, I thought it was a real emergency.”

“It is!”

“Neil Patrick Harris’ family’s last year’s Halloween costume is an emergency?” Peter groaned, pulling the top half of his suit over his head. “For better, for worse,” he repeated to no one in particular, “For better, for worse.”

“Stop it.” Johnny followed Peter into the bedroom, where he had flopped onto their bed, spread-eagled, nude but for the grimy bottom half of his Spidey suit. “It’s like you don’t even care!”

“About what?” Peter considered getting up to change, but it didn’t seem worth the effort, especially when it was Auntie MJ night for the kids. There was no one to stop him wandering naked around the apartment now. Johnny was rummaging through their closet. “Is my robe in there?”

“If you mean the tiny little red one, I burned it,” said Johnny, his voice muffled with his head stuck past the first row of hanging shirts. “And I wish you would take me seriously.”

“You did not burn it!”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. But you’ll never find it.” Johnny emerged with a wrinkly t-shirt from the back of the closet and tossed it at Peter’s head.

“You liked that robe!”

“I didn’t.”

“You said it was sexy!”

“I said you shouldn’t be allowed to wear a robe like that around the house like a smoking jacket; that thing was practically lingerie—” Johnny threw himself dramatically onto the bed next to Peter, picking up the t-shirt that had settled over Peter’s face and smacking him with it, “But that’s not,” smack, “the point!” smack. “I am so close to murdering a celebrated actor and his husband, and all you care about is your stupid robe!” His voice shot up in desperation.

“Ok, ok,” said Peter, propping himself up on his elbows, “I’m listening.”

“Up,” Johnny prompted, patting Peter’s back gently. Peter snorted but sat up. “Up,” Johnny said again. Peter raised his arms over his head.

“I’m not a child, you know,” said Peter. Johnny hummed, pulling Peter’s shirt on over his raised arms the same way he dressed the kids every morning. He slid off the bed and started tugging at Peter’s boot. Peter watched him for a little bit. He’d always known Johnny would be a good dad, but when they first adopted Benjy, he’d been surprised at just how patient and gentle Johnny had been—Johnny, who literally burst into flames, Johnny, whose emotions had always flared and burned quicker than a struck match—Johnny had been the tear-wiper, the diaper-changer, the patient listener to toddler stuttering long after Peter was burnt out and frustrated. Peter should have known—Johnny had always been tender, even his hottest rage lit by passion.

Johnny looked up at him, boot in hand. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Peter, suddenly aware of the fond, dopey smile on his face, but doing nothing about it. “I just like looking at you.”

“Sweet-talker,” Johnny muttered. He leaned back on his hands. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I said I was listening.” Peter leaned forward to kiss Johnny on the top of his head. Johnny, despite himself, tilted his chin up for another kiss, which Peter delivered gently to his lips. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to take down Neil Patrick Harris’ terrible Instagrams, or whatever.”

Johnny’s eyes sparked. “It’s not that,” he said, his mile-a-minute panic voice coming back, the voice that was the same for We’re Out of Vanilla Ice Cream and The World is Maybe Ending for Real. “I’m pretty sure Neil Patrick Harris and his snotty-face kids are going to steal our Halloween costume.”

“What!?” Peter cried. He hadn’t expected to share Johnny’s panic, but he’d helped pick the costume this year, and it was awesome. “They wouldn’t. We’re the diversity factor! Who’s their little girl gonna be—Rand?”

“Probably,” said Johnny miserably.

“This isn’t even—we’re more famous than them!”

“The Halloween costumes are their thing,” Johnny whined, “they’ve been doing them since before Benjy was born. We have to stop them, Peter, I was ok with more Insta likes when we were doing different costumes, but they can’t take—”

“We’re literal space heroes!” Peter burst out. “Well, you’re a literal space hero. What do actors—they can’t take Star Trek from us!”

“I knew you’d be on board,” said Johnny, leaping to his feet, “once you knew how dire the situation really is.” He was rummaging in the closet again. “So I was thinking—” he tossed an expensive-looking pair of black pants out onto the floor, “sabotage? I already have the layout of their house in L.A., and I think I can figure out where they keep the costumes. I can get us there by six with the Fantasticar. Or we could fly, but I know you aren’t—mmph.” As soon as he was out from behind the clothes, Peter was grabbing his face, kissing him off center.

“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” said Peter, and kissed him again. “I love you. Let’s go.”

Johnny was halfway dressed in his cat burglar outfit, the top half hanging limply around his waist. He was smearing black greasepaint around his eyes when Peter yelled from the bedroom, “You have a text from Sue!”

“Can you read it to me?” called Johnny, trying to arrange the black into a slightly more attractive shape. “I’m kinda busy.”

There was silence in the other room as Peter read the text to himself. Then he laughed. “Johnny,” he said, “you’ll never believe this.”

“What, what’ll I never believe?” Fuck it, he thought, tossing his thirty thousandth blackened q-tip aside.

“Just talked to Neil,” Peter read aloud, “They are not doing Star Trek. He told me Scooby-Doo.”

“No,” said Johnny, emerging from the bathroom. “No! Scooby-Doo?”

Peter wiggled Johnny’s phone. “From the Master Spy herself.”

“Scooby-Doo!” Johnny said again, lifting his arms up to let Peter, who’d been creeping ever-closer, loop his arms around Johnny’s bare waist. “That’s a terrible idea. There’s only four of them!”

“I guess they’re leaving out the dog,” said Peter, with his face right up to Johnny’s, smiling.

“The dog! How can you leave out the dog! That’s why it’s called Scooby-Doo, it’s the dog’s name!”

Peter laughed into Johnny’s mouth, swaying both their hips from side to side. “So,” he said, and then kissed Johnny slow and gentle, “now that our burglary trip is off…and the kids aren’t home…what should we do instead?”

Johnny smiled against Peter’s lips. “You tell me, handsome.”

#this is looooongish for tumblr like 3k just a warning!#spideytorch #uh #my fic #haven't used....that tag....in a while

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