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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

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Flower | 40 | End

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 6.9k

; Warnings: Slight anxiety attack, mentions of panic, slight body issues

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: So...this is it 😢 Flower is officially over! I started writing this on November 15th, 2019. Almost a year later, here we are with 40 chapters, 3 drabbles and 180k of words. Can you believe I actually finished it? I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it and the journey of the MC finding herself and falling in love with Hoseok. It’s been so fun to write and it’s sad to let it go. If you’ve enjoyed reading this, please let me know with a comment or an ask! I’ve loved reading how much you’ve all felt seen or embraced by the MC with her struggles and I’d love to hear your thoughts on not only this chapter but the whole fic! Feedback is what keeps authors going and I came very close to leaving writing once Flower was finished but I’m still going to carry on. I’m not sure if this chapter is good or not, but I hope you enjoy it anyway and think it a fitting end to the story!

; Flower Masterpost

“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...walk down the aisle. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, Hoseok could not be there or I could have a heart attack and drop down dead. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of my issues, I wouldn’t have to worry about everyone watching me. On the other hand...I’m going to marry the love of my life. As long as he turns up” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers in the room, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself.

It was a good job, as it meant that no one else in the room could hear your panicked thoughts that were being verbalised. Hoseok and you had decided to get married at an exquisite mansion hotel with the ceremony itself being in the elegant gardens outside. There was a full-sized maze alongside a stunning fountain, the centrepiece being a marble depiction of Aphrodite rising from the shallows.

You’d taken a walk around the perfectly groomed gardens the night before, taking in all the decorations that you’d painstakingly picked out over the months that had been artfully arranged by the staff. The flowers in the gardens were beautiful, a smorgasbord of pinks, oranges, violets, reds and yellows that brought the whole area to life. Alongside it looking visually perfect, it also smelled amazing as well with the soft scent of different flowers mixing.

At night, the tiny fairy lights that had been strung up around the building front and the metal trellises that were organised in the garden gave off a soft, golden glow. It made the whole place look ethereal and you were excited for everyone else to get to see it during the reception tonight.

The actual wedding ceremony was scheduled to start at two in the afternoon, with only friends and family invited for that. It would be outside as well, with Hoseok and you standing at the end of a make-shift aisle on the lawn section of the hotel’s garden. Temporary chairs had been arranged on both sides for your guests, dark wood with ivory silk draped over everyone. At the end of the aisle, each chair had a silk bow in ivory and deep purple alongside a bouquet of specially arranged flowers.

It all looked perfect and you’d marvelled at it yesterday, amazed that they’d managed to bring your vision to life. Now all you had to do was walk down it and get married, which was where you were a little panicked.

The room that had been assigned to the bridal party was on the lower floor of the hotel, reducing the risk of you potentially killing yourself by tripping over your dress while walking down the stairs. It was technically two hotel rooms connected through a shared bathroom, which you found bizarre.

Your mom and Hoseok’s mom had taken the other room for their use to get changed, the hairdresser and makeup artist they’d hired working there to make them look their best for the ceremony. Even now, you could hear them chattering and laughing away with each other. Even through your anxiety, you can’t help but smile as you hear them get on so well.

Any fears you’d had about them not liking each other had quickly disappeared. Instead, they’d become good friends and liked to meet up now and then to have a talk over coffee or something. It pleased you to see your mom getting to have more friends.

Eden and Amelia had also chosen to get ready in that room, not wanting to crowd the one you were in too much. It was already full of dresses and a ridiculous amount of makeup and hair product with only four of you so you couldn’t even imagine the chaos with five of you.

In your room was Soyeon, Chungha and Dahyun alongside you. Dahyun was currently three months pregnant, having successfully been inseminated with Jungkook’s sperm. He’d agreed to their request and after a few months of getting prepared for the attempts, Dahyun had undergone the procedure. What it had been exactly, you didn’t know because you hadn’t felt it was your business to pry into something like that.

It was a privilege to even know they were trying before anyone else. Their announcement had come at your bachelorette party when Dahyun had refused alcohol, immediately leading Soyeon and you to be suspicious. You’d never seen Chungha’s beloved ever turn down a drink so it had been a clear sign of something at least.

Needless to say, your party had happily become a celebration of their impending baby. Thankfully, you weren’t one of those people who got overly annoyed at others announcing things at events. Or at least, not big events. Your bachelorette party had been a perfect time to find out, whereas you might not have been so amenable if they’d told everyone today instead.

That was normal though, right? Today was your day. Yours and Hoseok’s. People who felt the need to co-opt special days like that were a special type of self-absorbed in your opinion.

Given it was so early into her pregnancy, Dahyun isn't showing that much. Which meant her bridesmaid dress hadn’t needed to be altered too much. None of them has gotten into their dresses just yet, instead currently in the process of getting their face and hair done. Chungha’s hair has already been done, elegantly styled into a beautiful updo with a few tendrils curled around her face.

The makeup for the girls was a smokey eye with subtle blush and contour, alongside a neutral lip. It wasn’t anything flashy, but you’d loved the concept of it all. Particularly with the small and delicate crystals that dotted along their waterline, adding a little sparkle to match the tiny crystals on their deep violet dresses.

As a present to each of them, you’d bought them a gift set from Pandora. In each one was a pair of dainty stud earrings with a heart design alongside a matching heart-shaped pendant necklace. All the hearts were encrusted with brilliant-cut stones, making the perfect gift that could be used again in the future for casual use.

They’d all been in awe of it and surprised at being given presents as well. You hadn’t even known it was a thing until you’d looked up wedding preparation online, discovering that you should also buy something for Hoseok. Which had led to you buying him the fancy watch he’d been drooling over for months now. It had been eye-watering expensive, but it had been worth it for his excited text this morning.

Along with the watch, you’d also written him a letter. It was meant to be light-hearted and fun, but you’d ended up writing way too much as you’d poured out your love to him alongside everything you felt for him. To your eternal embarrassment, you’d ended up crying while writing it as you’d told him everything you’d never been able to vocalise, including writing possibly a million times that you love him.

He’d been instructed to not read that until just before the ceremony.

His present to you was a gaming table, which might not seem to be very sentimental to anyone else but you’d been ecstatic over it. For years now, you’d been saying that you wanted to buy a proper table that was designed for board games and that could then be used as a normal table when converted. They were super expensive so you’d resigned yourself to never getting one, but he’d printed out the receipt of what he’d ordered and put it into an envelope for you to open tonight.

Neither of you had ever been a traditional couple, and that certainly wasn’t about to change with marriage.

“Hey, you okay?” Amelia asks, interrupting your intense thought process as she sits down next to you. As usual, her aura is warm and reassuring as she reaches over to gently squeeze at your hand. You don’t spend a huge amount of time around her, but you knew both Eden and her enough to want them in your bridal party.

“Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m just…” Trailing off, you struggle to find the right words and instead gesture towards the air. It makes no sense but you can’t quite figure out what you’re trying to say. Mainly because you can’t figure out what your mind is thinking.

“It’s okay to be worried, don’t feel like you shouldn’t be. If you’re anxious or nervous then that’s okay as well. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should be feeling, just feel what you are. Trust Hoseok, trust yourself and all your family and friends. We’re all here for you and we want you to have the best day possible. Tell us if anything is wrong, okay? I have no doubt that Chungha and Soyeon would strong-arm everyone into whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable.” She says, smirking as she nods over to the two women who are chattering away in their respective chairs.

“I know, I know. I’m trying. It’s just...god, everyone is going to be staring at me and I hate being the centre of attention,” Looking down at your hands, you chew at your lips. “What if I mess up the vows? Or I freeze or drop the ring?”

“Hey, it’s normal to feel that. I doubt there’s anyone who’s gotten married who wasn’t at least a little bit anxious about messing something up. Yes, everyone is here to watch you, but they’re for Hoseok too. I’m sure he’s just as worried that he might make a mistake, and if you do then, so what? It’s not going to ruin anything, it just means your human. If anything, people will probably find it endearing. The only person you should concern yourself with is Hoseok, and I doubt there’s anything you could do today to ruin the day for him. Unless you don’t go.” Amelia laughs when you give a shocked gasp, jaw-dropping open and eyes wide.

“I would never do that! But what if he decides he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” Now the worry that had wiggled itself deep inside your mind comes to the fore and you find yourself almost whispering the words. It feels like a betrayal to Hoseok for even thinking he’d do that, but you can’t help the fear.

You must not have been quite enough though as Chungha speaks up, facing you in her chair with a stern expression on her face as she wags her finger. “Lady, do not think that. I don’t want that thought to even enter your head. As if Jung Hoseok is ever going to back out now. I think that man would’ve eloped with you if you’d asked instead. He’s going to be standing at the end of that aisle, probably bawling like a baby.”

“Maybe not that far.” This is from Eden, who’s laid out on the bed in the centre of the room, playing Zelda on her Switch. She’d had her makeup done earlier and is now waiting for the hairdresser to be free while Amelia is waiting for her makeup. All of you had decided that you’d be last to get ready to make sure that everything looked as fresh as possible.

“Want to bet? That man is gonna be sobbing.” This starts up a whole ten-minute discussion about whether or not Hoseok was going to cry at seeing you. Namjoon hadn’t cried but Jimin had during their weddings, surprising no one. But Namjoon had cried at the birth of his daughter.

You weren’t sure, to be honest. Hoseok didn’t cry all that often and you could probably count on one hand how many times you’d seen it over four years. On top of that, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to see him crying. It made your chest hurt when he did and you always ended up crying too.

Something about seeing strong and proud men cry was just heartbreaking to you.

For a while, you just sit back and let the conversation wash over you as they all debate and borderline argue, intensely amongst themselves. They’d all switched around now and they’ll soon start getting into their bridesmaid’s dresses, which meant you’d be finally getting ready.

Your nails had been done the night before with a beautiful design in the same colour scheme as the wedding. They looked so pretty and elegant, which was a surprise to you every time you looked at them as you never really bothered doing your nails. While you liked to do fancy makeup looks now and then to post onto social media, nails were not something you were interested in.

Maybe you should reassess that thought.

“Anyway, what we’re all trying, and failing, to say is that Hoseok loves you and if he doesn’t cry then he’s crying inside at how beautiful you are.” Soyeon states firmly, sitting next to you and admiring your nails as well. All the bridesmaids had the same style to keep the theme going and she wiggled her fingers with a bright smile.

“I’m not even ready yet, you don’t know if I’ll be beautiful.”

There’s dead silence in the room after the comment, with even the hairdresser and makeup artist turning to stare at you. Between the six other women in the room, you’re pretty sure that they’ve got every emotion from shock to annoyance to incredulity covered. Feeling yourself get warm at their attention, you look down to your lap in embarrassment.

Obviously, the wrong thing to say.

“Okay, we’re going to ignore that you just said that. You don’t need to be dolled up and in a wedding dress to be beautiful, it’s just going to enhance what you already have. And I don’t want any arguments on that.” Poking your side lightly, you playfully wince at Soyeon as she scolds you. Everyone else is nodding along solemnly before they carry on with whatever they’d been doing.

“Seriously though, I overheard your conversation with Amelia. She’s right. Embrace your feelings but don’t let them overwhelm you. Standing in front of a crowd is nerve-wracking for anyone, but you’ve got the love of your life standing there with you. Just focus on Hoseok, he’ll get you through it. He always has, right?” Soyeon said.

Giving her a half-smile, you nod and do a remarkably good job of looking like a scolded child or something. You know it’s just because she loves you that she doesn’t want you to berate yourself, along with the fact that she knows what you’re like. If someone doesn’t verbally acknowledge your problems then you’ll just obsess over them.

Your phone screen lights up in your lap before it begins to vibrate suddenly, Hoseok’s name visible on the screen. Frowning down at it, you wonder why he’s calling before a multitude of emotions and thoughts runs through your mind.

“Go take it in the bathroom.” Pulling you up, Soyeon practically pushes you into the bathroom before giving you a smile and a thumbs-up as she closes the door.

Seeing the other door is also open, you peek out and let everyone in that room know that you’d be using the bathroom for a few minutes and to not come in. Once you get the acknowledgement, you close and lock it as well before pushing up to sit on the counter.

“Hobi! Why are you calling?” Leaning back against the mirror, you frown deeply as you question him. The first response is just his familiar deep chuckle, the sound already helping to soothe some of your frayed nerves.

“Amelia texted Joon, who told me. I don’t want you to stress yourself out! Not today, today’s meant to be a happy day. No stress. Or anxiety.” Snorting, you roll your eyes as you trace an invisible design onto your thigh.

“Sure, like that’s gonna happen. You know me. And why are you calling? We’re not meant to see each other until the wedding, it’s bad luck!” There’s a brief pause and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes, the deep sigh he lets out telling you all you need to know.

“Meeps, I’m pretty sure that only counts for physically seeing each other. I can’t see you right now. I don’t recall anything about not being allowed to hear you, or talk to you. Besides, we make our luck.” He sounds so nonchalant and now it’s your turn to sigh at him.

“You’re going to get us hit by lightning or something.”

“Impossible, the weather schedule for today is meant to be sunny with a little bit of cloud later on. Nice warm temperatures that aren’t too hot but also not too cold. Perfect. No lightning.” His immediate rebuttal has you laughing, unable to stay mad at him for too long. Not when he’s trying so hard to take your mind off things.

“Seriously though, are you okay? What are you worried about? Talk to me.” Hoseok asks, his voice calm and steady as he stops joking around. There’s a brief moment of resistance, the thought that you don’t want to bother him with your silly thoughts or annoying emotions before you remember that you can trust him. No matter how ridiculous it sounds in your head, Hoseok will listen and he won’t make fun of you.

“I’m just...scared. Of all the people. Like, they’re going to be watching me or staring. What if I look fat or ugly? Or I fuck up saying the vows? Or I drop the ring or my dress splits or something? Or if I trip down the aisle?! Or if you decide you don’t want to marry me anymore?” As you begin to reel off the questions that have been plaguing your mind, you can feel your chest getting a little tighter and your breathing shallower.

With the practised ease of someone who’s dealt with your panic attacks over the years, Hoseok makes calming and reassuring noises over the phone until you’re silent. Just listening to him, you take in the comforting words as he lets you know that you’re okay and everything is fine. Finally, once he thinks you’re calm enough, he carries on.

“Meeps, that’s fine. Don’t be upset that you’re having those thoughts. I’ve had every one of those thoughts today as well. I mean...not the dress one. Substitute that for pants splitting or something, which is even more embarrassing because my underwear is not black today. But the point I’m trying to make here is that it’s normal to have those thoughts today. I’d probably be more worried if you weren’t having them.” He pauses to laugh before you hear shuffling noises.

There’s no doubt he’s probably not even getting into his tuxedo just yet and you curse the fact that men take far less time to get ready than women. He’ll probably only start like...an hour before the ceremony begins or something.

“But all I’ll say is, it doesn’t matter if anything goes wrong because we’ll fix it. You and me, just like always. You won’t look fat or ugly because you’re neither fat nor ugly anyway, instead, you’ll be the most beautiful woman here. Which you always are to me but don’t let my mom hear me tell you that. And I’m going to be standing at the end of the aisle, I promise you that. I’m the one who proposed to you and I will be there, waiting for you. That’s one thing I can assure you of completely.” Hoseok says this firmly, his voice perhaps more serious than you’ve ever heard it before.

You can practically feel his determination to make you understand that he’s going to be there. That he’s going to marry you today, no matter what happens. It makes your heart swell with love and emotion, causing you to press your hand against your mouth.

Hoseok takes your silence as a positive, choosing to let it carry on for a little longer before speaking once more.

“I love you, Meeps. And by the end of today, you’re going to be my wife. We’re going to have a great day with a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception before probably going to bed drunk. Or at least, I’m going to be drunk. Not entirely sure if I’ll be able to take you to Poundtown tonight-”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“But if not tonight then definitely tomorrow. Unless you don’t want me to drink, in which case probably tonight if you’re up for it.” Shaking your head, you can’t help but smile at his stupid comments. He always knew how to cheer you up, even if it was with the most ridiculous thing you’d heard today.

“You can drink, I’m not going to make you sober throughout the entire reception. I want you to have fun with everyone, so if you end up drunk then that’s fine. Just don’t go overboard.”

“Choosing to ignore my Poundtown comments, I see.”

“Jung Hoseok, I am going to hang up now. I will see you later, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” Feeling a little shy, you murmur your next words into the phone.

“Love you too.”

The ceremony is officially about to start and you stare at the open door, knowing that outside all your guests are waiting. Not only that, but Hoseok is at the end of the aisle. You’d been reassured by everyone there who had peeked out to make sure, quelling your fears and worries.

All the groomsmen had come inside upon finding out you were here, lining themselves up alongside their specified bridesmaid partners and chatting away happily. They all looked incredibly handsome in their suits, the colours matching the bridesmaids perfectly and you felt a little pride at having thought of a good colour scheme.

Your mom is fussing around you, making sure that your dress looks perfect and that your bouquet hasn’t fallen apart or anything. Sighing, you gently push her hands away as she tries once more to move your necklace.

All of them had given you something as part of the tradition for the bride. Dahyun had lent you a beautiful Cartier bracelet, glowing with diamonds, as part of the ‘something borrowed’ while Chungha had bought you diamond earrings for the ‘something new’. Your mom had given you the bracelet she’d worn for her wedding, now occupying your other wrist and Hoseok’s mom had provided the necklace adorning your neck.

It was a beautiful silver necklace with a dainty leaf design, leading to the main piece in the centre which was dotted with tiny diamonds. Each leaf spreading out had either amethyst or an aquamarine gem in alternating order. She’d ordered it specially made for your wedding, matching your engagement ring with the gems and fulfilling the ‘something blue’.

You’d been amazed at everything they’d given you, understanding now why they’d all told you now to buy any jewellery for the day. They’d all decided to make sure you had everything you needed anyway.

But you knew that your mom’s need to keep straightening out your dress or brushing away unseen dust was just to keep herself preoccupied. She’d already cried once when you’d come out in your wedding dress, makeup and hair all done. That had earned her an exasperated sigh from the makeup artist.

“Mom, mom, come on,” You coo to her, smiling before taking her hands and squeezing. “You gotta go out there, go get your place.”

She hesitates for a moment, unwilling to leave you before nodding. After a few words of reassurance from her to you, telling you that you’re going to do well and it’s all going to go fine, she turns and hugs your dad tightly before kissing him. You’d feel embarrassed at the sight of it, never quite being comfortable with your parents' displays of affection, but it just causes you to laugh softly.

Once she’s out the door, you hear the music begin from outside, the notes flowing through the door faintly. Everyone inside quietens and you can almost feel the excitement ramp up. It just makes you feel more nervous though, particularly when they start to head out in their pairs slowly.

“Are you ready?” Your dad asks, his eyes already going glassy with tears as his lip wobbles slightly. Giving him a concerned look, you immediately reach up to wipe the tears as they start to fall, feeling your heartbreak at the sight of your dad crying. He never cried.

“Dad! Don’t cry, oh my god. I’m sorry.” Cleaning up his face quickly, you’re stopped by the gentle way he grasps your wrists. For a moment, you think that he’s going to push you away but instead, he pulls you closer and carefully hugs you.

It’s a little awkward as you’re trying not to ruin the carefully done hair and makeup, but you can’t deny your dad a hug. Especially when you’d never really been much of a hugger growing up. You would be cruel to deny him one, especially on your wedding day. Your parents were feeling emotional that their little girl was getting married today.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just your old dad getting sappy. You look so beautiful. Hoseok is so lucky, you better remind him of that every day.” He’s pulled back now, giving you the softest smile that is still a little watery. His hands move to your shoulders and he stands back to examine you fully, his eyes taking in everything.

Before you can respond to him, Yoongi is disappearing out of the door and heading towards the aisle. He’s alone, as you’d planned, but in one hand is the bouquet that Hoseok’s sister would’ve held had she still been alive. It had been his suggestion to hold it, symbolising the family member that Hoseok didn’t have anymore and you’d been more than willing to agree.

You wondered what Hoseok thought when he saw it as neither of you had told him that Yoongi would be holding it. Hopefully, he was happy with it, along with his parents.

Turning back to you, your dad squeezes your shoulders reassuringly before smiling at you. Ironically, all it does is make you more nervous as you realise that now you’re the one who’s going to have to walk down that aisle next.

“Come on, it’s time to make your fiancé cry.” His words in a teasing tone, your dad turns to face the door before offering you his arm. Standing there, you stare at him before looking at the door with trepidation. Nerves roil in your stomach as you hear the faint sound of music playing, knowing that everyone out there is waiting for you.

Which in turn means everyone will be staring at you.

Those nerves quickly turn to anxiety and your breath comes faster, chest feeling a little constricted by the tight bodice of the dress. Without even realising it, your hands start to shake and the bouquet in them shudders visibly.

Quickly, your dad takes the bouquet from you to make sure that you don’t accidentally deflower them or crush the stems. The last thing you needed was to ruin your perfect bouquet only minutes before you were supposed to walk down the aisle.

It frees up your hands and you find yourself flapping them as you stress, trying to shake out the negative emotions as you pant. Your dad’s eyes widen, obviously panicking himself at your obvious distress. He’s never had to deal with you struggling like this before and he doesn’t know what to do but his paternal instincts kick in quickly.

“Hey, come on, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe. Take a big breath in, come on, that’s it. Not let it out slowly. And again, that’s right.” Talking to you in his comforting voice, tone level and low, you follow his instructions and start to feel a little calmer as you force yourself to calm your breathing. It’s hard, and you still feel the anxiety but it feels a little more manageable now.

Closing your eyes, you run through all the tips your therapist had given you for how to cope with anxiety attacks. What worked for you was to sing in your head, the lyrics, whatever song you were loving lately. It probably takes longer than you’d have liked but finally you feel like you can cope with your emotions enough to carry on.

When you open your eyes again, your dad is giving you an expectant, yet worried, look. Shaking your hands once more, you reach out and take the bouquet from him before taking a deep breath. Linking your arm through his, you straighten your shoulders and lift your chin before smiling at him.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

Walking down the aisle is surprisingly less stressful than you’d imagined. The famous wedding song plays through the air as you walk slowly and the whole atmosphere feels almost like a fairytale. The soft lights twinkle even in the daylight while the gentle, warm breeze makes the ribbons on the chairs flutter delicately.

Along the floor, the white and purple rose petals that Namjoon’s daughter had spread in her role as flower girl were strewn haphazardly. A few of them caught the breeze and rolled delicately to a new place, making it seem like the floor was consistently changing. You liked it, smiling at the sight of how beautiful everything looked.

Everyone was staring at you, as you’d expected, but surprisingly it wasn’t as intimidating as you’d thought. You didn’t exactly enjoy it but it wasn’t terrible. Probably because you were more focused on initially admiring how perfect everything looked. How months and months of thought and money had finally accumulated into the perfect wedding.

But mostly, you weren’t as bothered by the staring because you were focused on the end of the aisle. There was no real altar here, given that it was being held at a hotel and everything, but the metal garden arch at the end had been decorated in delicate flowers, ribbons and lights to make an even better end.

And beneath it stood Hoseok.

If you’d ever thought Hoseok looked handsome before then it paled in comparison to him today. His black tuxedo made him look tall and slim, every part of him looking perfectly put together and elegant. The deep purple waistcoat beneath his jacket contrasted with the white of his shirt perfectly; the colour combination making his skin almost glow with health and happiness.

There was only the slightest hint of tattoos at the edge of his collar, leaving to the imagination the artwork he had permanently on his body beneath his clothes but you didn’t need to imagine. You’d seen them all, traced them delicately into your memory over the years until you could point out where they were without even seeing them.

Finally reaching him, you paused to look at your dad and gave him a bright smile of gratitude before giving him a second hug. This one was a little tighter than before and when you let go of him, you saw that he was crying once more. He didn’t give your hand to Hoseok, instead just gave him a stern look while trying to surreptitiously wipe away his tears.

“You look after her, Jung Hoseok. You make sure she’s the happiest woman.” There’s iron in his voice, telling Hoseok that it wasn’t a question but more a command. But there’s also love and affection in it, something Hoseok can tell as well by the way he nods his head.

Handing your bouquet to Chungha, you take Hoseok’s proffered hand. Up close, you can take in the details of his face better and you take a moment to simply admire him and imprint him into your memory.

The sides of his head had been shaven, the undercut short and seen with the style he’d chosen to wear today. His hair had been styled back, pushed away from his forehead. It was a look that had made you weak in the knees many times over the years and you’d practically begged him to have it for the wedding, knowing that he’d blow everyone’s mind with how handsome he looked.

Hoseok had a face that looked like it had been hand-carved by the gods from the finest marble anyway and this hairstyle showed off all the highlights of his face. The high cheekbones that made his smiles so animated, his cutting jawline, the clean slope of his nose, the heart-shaped smile that lit his entire face and the dimples that made him seem so human.

His lip ring was still in, the silver shining in the sunlight. He’d been unsure whether to wear it but you’d told him to embrace himself and keep it. You’d fallen in love with him as he was, and you wanted him to show himself how you saw him. Which included his piercings and tattoos.

Your heart clenched though when you looked into his eyes finally. Hoseok’s eyes were one of your favourite things about him. The crescents they turned into when he smiled brightly, pushed into the shape by his cheeks and the way his eyes could practically dance with delight when he was happy.

Today though, those beautiful and expressive eyes were watery with tears. The wet streak on his cheek told you that he’d already had some of them fall and you frowned at the sight of them. Everyone had been right; Hoseok had cried upon seeing you down the aisle.

“Baby.” You whisper, unsure if you’re meant to talk to him. Deciding you don’t care, you reach up to wipe away the tears and smile when he kisses the palm of your hand before nuzzling into it, uncaring of everyone else.

“Meeps, you look perfect. I read your letter, I love you too.” Before you can stop him, he’s leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. There’s a murmur in the crowd, alongside some laughter and he looks over at everyone with a raised brow.

No one says anything though and he gets a satisfied look, ignoring your shy expression as you turn away from everyone.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” Keeping your voice low, you give a hesitant smile to the official who will be taking you both through your ceremony. Hoseok lets out a snort of laughter as he squeezes your hand tight, letting his thumb run along the back of your hand lovingly.

“I don’t care. It’s our wedding, I’ll do what I want.” And before you can stop him, he turns you and gives you another kiss, this one lingering a little longer. Eyes widening, you can’t help but giggle as you hear yet more laughter.

You should be annoyed at him, but you know he’s a force of nature. Plus, you don’t care. It feels nice to know he can’t help himself.

“Okay, let’s get married, Meeps.” He grins at you before facing the officiant once more. Staring at him a moment longer, you smile at him and nod.

“Let’s get married.”

Hobi Hobi,

We’re getting married today! Are you excited? I hope you’re reading this when I told you to, if not then you’re cheating >:[ it feels weird to write a letter. I don’t even know if I’ve ever done this before, so I’m sorry if it sounds really cheesy and lame. What do people write in these normally? I’m just going to write what comes to mind so if it ends up sappy then you’re not allowed to tease me later about it.

Anyway, I want you to know that I’m sorry that I suck so much at telling you how I feel and my emotions. I wish I could be one of those people who’s telling you every moment how handsome you are and how much I love you but I can’t. I’m sorry :( I’m trying, I swear! Even if I don’t get to tell you as often as you deserve, I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world.

Don’t ever forget that, okay? Even when we’re arguing over something silly or we go to bed mad at each other, don’t forget that. I know we’re pretty good at talking things out but there’s always that chance that we could have a big blowout. So I want you to remember that I love you.

I’m still not entirely sure what I did to deserve you, but I don’t regret sending you that message. If anything, I think I should send the Flower team a big bunch of flowers or something for creating the algorithm that brought you up as a match. Imagine if it hadn’t and I’d just deleted the app, we’d have never met and I’d still be lonely and sad.

But we did meet, and I took a chance on you by sending you that embarrassing message. And then you took a chance by actually meeting up with me and going on that date. I still remember it, and I don’t know if I ever told you but I still have the ticket for the escape room. I know you still have yours in your wallet :) Thank you for giving me your time, even if I wasn’t your type. I hope I’m your type now.

I’m not sure that I will ever be able to tell you how important you are to me. Not only myself but my life. You’ve helped me to embrace myself and learn to love myself over the years through kindness. I know my limits in terms of my mental health now and you’ve helped to support me with the medication and the therapist. Neither of those were things I’d been comfortable with doing before your encouragement. But you also gave me a safe space to break down in; somewhere that I knew I could be at my most vulnerable mentally without having to risk being hurt even more.

You held me when I cried, you comforted me when I panicked and you calmed my anxiety over the years. I can never thank you enough for helping me to understand that these aren’t deficiencies and I’m not broken. I just need a little help to get through things sometimes. At the same time, I hope that I’ve become that safe space for you as well. I know that you’re not as emotional as I am, but I feel that you’ve opened up to me about things that hurt you. I’ll keep your secrets safe and I’ll always be here for you!

I hope you’re happy with your life now. With me, and our home and our furbabies. I hope you stay happy, and if you don’t then talk to me. Please. I don’t want us to ever realise that we’re making each other unhappy and I don’t want to ever be the reason for negativity. I want to spend the rest of my life with you in our little home, growing old together as we play board games and dote on our animals while you increase your tattoo collection even more. I know that people like to say that they can’t imagine their lives with their significant other, but I really do feel like that.

My life without you would be hollow and monochrome, as you bring colour to my world and fill it with joy and happiness. I’ve never laughed as much as I have these last few years with you and I know we’ll keep that in our relationship if we try hard.

I don’t really know where this letter is going and I’m babbling now. But I guess the main thing is just that I can’t wait to marry you. It may not be very feminist of me but I can’t wait to take your name and be your wife. I can’t wait to call you my husband. I’m going to be terrified in the ceremony and so nervous but I’ll be happy too, I promise! I still can’t believe that you picked me, out of all the women you’ve seen, to be your girlfriend and then decided that you wanted to marry me.

Jung Hoseok, I solemnly swear to treasure you for the rest of your life and make sure you know how much I love you. I might not be able to tell you all that much, but I’ll show you. I’ll make you smile and laugh, I’ll buy you things that make me think of you, I’ll hug you tight and cuddle you until you’re complaining.

So in case it wasn’t obvious enough, I love you. I just want you to know because I know I suck at telling you, like I said. I’m also bad at writing letters but what’s new? I’ll finish this off quickly so you’re not spending too long reading this. Don’t want to make you late for our wedding after all.

I love you. I love you, Jung Hoseok. I love you, Hobi. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Lots and lots and lots of love, your soon to be wife <333333

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depressedacadamia · 3 years

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I couldn’t tell!

Word count: 2.1K

Summary: Solangelo one-shot! It started when a Will bought Nico the wrong coloured clothes.

Warnings: Nothing much, just some kissing at the end and solangelo being dorks.

A/N: okay, so this picture does not make sense now but once you finish reading this, it will. This was based off of this post so thanks for @didnt-want-to-be-a-halfblood for the inspiration. I meant to say that Will has tritanomaly not tritanopia- tritanomaly is a kind of blue/yellow colour blindness. I hope yall enjoy and make sure you comment, like, reblog and all that jazz. <3 from moi!

“Uh, Will- I asked for navy, not… camo green?” Nico raised the t-shirt in front of him, his nose wrinkled as if the colour offended him in any way. Now that Nico thought about it, most of the clothes in the shopping bag were a similar colour, looking as if Will was trying to send him off to the army.

“What are you talking about?” Will whipped his head towards Nico, his blond hair following him. Nico pointed to the vast sea of green covering his bed- almost all the clothes were green and there were even some yellow ones in there.

“The clothes, they’re all the wrong colour?” Nico repeated. Cabin 13, for once, was brightly lit, so Nico could prove his point that his clothes were the wrong colour. Camo green jackets, yellow bracelets and nail polishes and only a few navy t-shirts.

“You asked me for some navy stuff,” Will spoke slowly before picking the camo green jacket. “This is navy, just like you asked.”

Nico couldn’t tell if he was meant to laugh or scoff at the statement. Was this a prank? Surely Travis and Conner were right around the corner with a camera filming the entire thing. Perhaps Will was working alone and this was supposed to be some initiation for his birthday- after all, it was right around the corner.

“Will, everything here is green…” Nico picked up the yellow bracelet. “And this is yellow.”

Will’s face bore true and utter confusion. The jacket was navy, just like Nico wanted. He had bought the red bracelet and nail polish for Nico because he thought he could do with some colour and since he refused to wear any clothing of colour, he thought perhaps some red nails would give him a fun look. Will couldn’t see Nico’s problem- it wasn’t like he had bought neon green eyeliner.

“No. It’s not. That’s red,” Will said, his voice on the verge of confusion.

“This is yellow,” Nico’s voice wobbled, also on the verge of laughter. He shook the bracelet in Will’s face. “Will, you dork, stop it with the jokes. It’s yellow.”

Will frowned, his eyebrows creasing and eyes quinting hard at the object. He looked at the clothes strewn across Nico’s bed. What was Nico talking about?

“Nico, I’m not joking- are you sure your lack of sleep hasn’t finally caught up to you?”

“Are you insinuating that my lack of sleep will one day catch up to me?”

“I’m insinuating that your lack of sleep may have altered the way you see things.”

“Are you calling me blind?” Nico’s voice echoed with mock outrage.

“I’m calling you colour blind,” Will pointed to the masses of clothes, accessories and makeup across Nico’s room. Nico raised his eyebrow at the statement. His room was quite monotonous- black covering almost every inch of the walls- the only streams of colour peeking through being the white duvet sheets, the mirror hanging on his wall and Will’s terrible fashion sense. Will may have been cute but boy did he not know how to dress. From his bright orange Camp Half Blood t-shirt to his green zip up hoodie he was wearing. But Nico didn’t care- Nico thought Will looked cute in his clothes.

On the Night of Halloween.

“Will, where is the hair dye you were talking about?” Piper yelled as she went through his belongings, trying to find the box of platinum blond hair dye that Will had been telling her about earlier. He was planning on being Draco Malfoy, because Nico told he couldn’t pull it off, besides- Will had always appreciated snakes; something about the elegant way snakes would move always captured his eye.

“Uh, it should be in the shopping bag!” He called out as he scrambled about to check the time. Piper shoved her hand in the bag, rummaging around until her fingers glided across a box like shape. She pulled it out and immediately frowned at the box.

“Uh.. Will, this is strawberry blonde?” Piper asked questiongly as she looked at the colour of the hair dye label.

“What! No, no, I could have sworn I got platinum blond, I even looked at the little box which shows the hair colour!” Will began to panic as he turned towards Piper.

“Sorry Will, but this is definitely strawberry blonde. Kinda looks red-ish to me.”

Will reached his hand out to Piper, indicating he wanted to check the box. Shrugging her shoulders, Piper handed it over. Surely, Piper was joking? This would be some funny and long elaborate prank that she was playing on him. As he looked at the colour of the label, he sighed in relief- he was right; he had gotten platinum blond.

“Ha ha Piper, very funny,” Will’s sarcastic drawl took her by surprise and just as she was going to point out that she wasn’t joking, the door clicked open and Nico walked in.

“Where have you two been all day?” Nico asked, his voice suspicious- he was not about to dress up for halloween.

“Preparing.” Will stated bluntly. He took a look at Nico’s confused face before adding. “For the Halloween party.”

Nico groaned and threw his head back. “Of course you were, dorks.”

“Says you,” Will muttered as he started unboxing the hair dye in his hands.

“You’re dying your hair?” Nico said, his voice shocked and slightly bewildered. Will knew how much Nico loved his hair. Nico always compared his blond curls to the sun. How whenever Will would glow, Nico would enjoy basking in the warmth his curls provided as well as his golden skin; the freckles on his skin would stand out and make Nico want to kiss his face even more.

“It’s only temporary and it’s just platinum blond.” Will shrugged as he eyed the contents.

“Will, you’re going to look like Octavian if you dye your hair platinum blond,” Nico complained slightly. Piper nodded with her eyes slightly widening. Will stopped, confused and turned around.

“What do you mean I will look like Octavian if I dye my hair platinum? Octavian had red hair,” Will said incredulously as if it were the most obvious thing ever. Piper and Nico froze, their eyes almost bulging out of their heads as they struggled to contain their laughter. While Nico and Piper obviously respected the dead (Well Nico didn’t always respect them but he fed them happy meals and that's what truly mattered), the idea of Octavian sporting red hair was enough to make them crack up.

“What?” Will asked, his voice innocent and his nose scrunching up.

“Octavian had blond hair- Like Jason’s blond hair!” Piper cried.

“No. Octavian’s hair was red. Jason’s hair is red!”

“Will, what colour do you think your hair is?” Nico asked, his face suddenly very serious.

Will struggled on that question. “Uh.. it’s strawberry. It’s strawberry blonde, kinda ginger sometimes, right?”

Nico lost his composure and fell back, laughing so hard, he could have sworn his ribs were breaking. Will was colour blind and he had no idea as well!

“Sunshine, have you ever considered that you’re colour blind?

“Nico what are you on about?”

“Remember when you bought me green clothes instead of navy? And you said you bought me red nail polish but it was actually yellow?” Nico recalled, his hands resting on his hips, making contact with the sword that was practically glued to his side.

Will did indeed remember these circumstances as it wasn’t the first time someone had called out his lack of knowledge when it came to colours. He had always suspected something to be up with his sight but he would forget to book an appointment and other times, he just was not bothered enough. He had never thought his colour issue had been a big problem.

“I guess that’s happened more than once… anyway, I don’t see why you’re complaining. You’re wearing the bracelet and nail polish right now!” Will argued.

Nico snatched his hands away from view. “Those are not for your eyes, Piper,” he snapped as she turned her eyes to Nico’s hands where the sunflower yellow nail polish along with the yellow bracelet (that indeed had sunflower and sun beads on it) resided.

After plenty of arguing, trick or treating and continuous laughing at the fact that Will thought his hair was red (Nico refused to get over it as he believed Will’s blond hair to be his most prominent feature and the very idea of it being red was ridiculous to him), Will and Nico were resting in Cabin 13, where several candy wrappers were strewn across the room.

Will was sitting on Nico’s bed while Nico sat on the floor below him, in between the gap in his legs. Will was leaning over Nico’s shoulder as he showed him more mythomagic cards. Out of nowhere, Nico reached his arm up, weaved his fingers into Will’s golden locks and pulled. Hard.

“Ouch, jee- no need to pull so hard,” Will tutted as he started to glow. The tug on his head started out as a little joke- Nico had once called Will his personal night light and Will, in return, had said that Nico could tug on his head and he would turn on like a lamp. Will never thought that Nico would actually take him seriously.

Will’s skin was gorgeous, warm and glowy. He remembered once when Will had asked him ‘Why does everyone want to be compared to the sun? People should compare others to the moon because all I do is squint at the sun angrily’ .

At the time, Nico had found it funny- considering Will was a child of Apollo. But as time grew, Nico kept on thinking about the statement and he decided that the beauty of the sun sometimes is overwhelming and yet when it is missing, the entire world falls to despair and depression. It glows and basks everyone in their light and when they’re away people complain. That is what Nico would see about Will- why Will was his personal little sun.

“Wait, Will- does that mean when you glow, you think you’re red?” Nico asked all of a sudden, the intonation in his voice raising like a child.

Will groaned and nodded, embarrassed and annoyed.

“I’m sorry, okay! I couldn’t tell!”

Nico turned his face so he could see Will and sat up on his knees so their heads were at the same level. His lips were so close that his breath tickled Will’s lips and he could practically smell the caramel on his breath. Their lips closed together softly and Will sighed into the kiss, one of his hands moving to cup Nico’s cheek and the other to support his back. He pulled Nico deeper into the kiss, their lips moving passionately against one another. Will’s lips were warm, comforting and tasted like the caramel apple he had eaten earlier. Nico’s hands moved against Will’s face and Nico slowly pulled away from the kiss and started planting small butterfly kisses across Will’s face.

Every freckle, every feature, every inch of skin was blessed under Nico’s soft lips, muttering italian words that Will could only imagine the meaning of. Nico’s touch had no possible words to describe it because Will knew no words in english that could describe the magnitude, beauty and divine power his kisses held. No angel could resist the temptation of sin when Nico was the sinner- his onyx eyes so terrifying and yet so beautiful- he felt like he was looking at shattered glass, glass that had cut oneself over and over again; but the way Nico kissed Will made him believe that even if the glass cut him a thousand times, the way Nico kissed him would heal every wound.

The soft hands that cradled Will’s face now were the hands that had caused the death of too many to name. The fingers that grasped the sword and directed such a powerful force of rage now stroked Will’s face softly, holding him. Nico’s aura of pure terror and fear held a bewitching aura- an alluring aura- completely irresistible and filled with desire. He wore the scent of blood and death as if it were his perfume and his eyes so heavenly and yet so shattered, it made Will wonder how anything good can exist without being broken.

“You know I still love you..” Nico muttered. Somehow during the kiss, Nico had climbed up and was now straddling his boyfriend. Will looked up at him in awe. He had no words. He had nothing to say, he was too stunned by the divinity of Nico. So all he did was nod.

“...Even if you do think your hair is red,” Nico added, his lips curling into a smirk. Will threw his head back and groaned. The rest of the night was filled with the echoes of Nico’s laughter.

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

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wildflowers

hi hello i wanted to write a sad story. sorry for the angst. just needed to have a good cry, i reckon! i don’t even know what this is. i just know i needed it.

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair | message me to be added, loves

You’d been waiting. Dreaming. Planning. Practicing. How exactly would you tell him that yes, you feel the same? How exactly would you agree when he asked you, finally, after all these years? It’d happen slowly, you’d decided, the way the sun sets across the hills. One minute, the sky is bright, blinding blue. Vibrant in all its vastness. Slowly, hues of purple and pink became interwoven together, softening the brightness a bit, not so stark against your eyes. The pinks turned to soft oranges and pale yellows. Where had the blinding blue gone?

Until finally, swallowing the earth whole, the sky became a stark, pitch black, stars twinkling brightly in front of it, the whole world open in front of them.

Yes, that’s it. That’s how it would go. Slowly, slowly, slowly.

Because that’s how your friendship had worked for all of these years too, right?

Slow.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he’d said a few days ago, voice shaky. He’d squeezed your hands and began to twiddle absentmindedly with the ring on your pointer finger. “Real important.” A nervous smile had spread across his face. It was always a treat to see, that nervous smile. Because the truth was, and still is, that Fred doesn’t ever, ever get nervous. That’s how you’d known that this was big. Important, as he’d said. “Come to mum’s for dinner?”

You tried not to think too much on it, but you couldn’t help it, rendering yourself completely useless to your daily household tasks. You’d found yourself daydreaming, just like always. He’d pull you along, fingers gently interwoven together -- just like your stories were -- through the field of wildflowers just over the hills next to the Burrow. The lace hem of your dress would dance just above your ankles. His red hair would glisten brightly against the sunlight. He’d pull you close, move a piece of your bright blonde hair out from your eyes, and grin at you the way he’d been doing all these years. The grin he’d always reserved just for you. The grin that, since the first time you’d seen it at the age of thirteen, had driven you absolutely mad.

And slowly, very slowly, you’d let the chains around your heart loosen, letting it fly free and be open to love. Because that’s what this was, right? Love.

And then he’d tell you that yes, how could he have been so silly? So blind sighted? How could he have been with the wrong person all along when you’d been there -- right under his nose -- for years? Of course he would. And he’d pick you up and spin you around and you’d fall, limbs entangled together, into the wildflowers, letting them swallow you both whole underneath the sunset.

At least, that’s how you’d imagined it would happen.

But here, now, in your flat back in London, with your knees tucked under your chin and fat strands of tear-soaked hair plastered to the side of your face, you know that everything you’d thought of, everything you’ve been dreaming of since the day you’d met him, is shattered.

The chains around your heart are now struggling to hold all of the broken pieces together.

“Oi, don’t look so positively flushed, Y/N,” he’d said, causing a cheeky smile to lift your cheeks. You were both in the meadow. The wildflowers were tall, taller than you’d expected. He’d kept on squeezing your shoulders. You’d noted the pinks and the purples invading the bright blue sky and tried not to let yourself feel too much. “I haven’t even told you yet!”

You batted your eyelashes at him, hoping your makeup wouldn’t be ruined by your tears when you would, undoubtedly, break down in front of him after his confession you’d been yearning for.

Your voice had sounded breathless in your ears. “Told me what, Freddie?”

He beamed, placed your hands inside his, and squeezed tightly. Your heart thundered.

He’s getting married, you think to yourself now, wanting to scream at your past self, so positively giddy and exuberant just a few hours ago. Stupid, stupid girl. Freddie’s getting married.

His voice had sounded different. So wildly different. So mature that it had rendered you completely and utterly bloody speechless.

“That I’ve decided to ask Angelina to marry me.”

You were certain that you’d cried all of your tears when you peered at the clock an hour ago. 1:26 a.m. But then again by 1:49, your cheeks were red and raw and eyes nearly swollen shut from crying again.

You’d been silly. Of course he was going to ask Angelina to marry him. How could you have been so positively stupid? So bloody ignorant? They’d been together for years, since school, and he was mad for her. So why wouldn’t he propose to her? Why on God’s green Earth would Fred turn around and propose to you instead? You felt like a right prat.

You glance again at the clock. The numbers 3:37 a.m. are blurry through your vision. You replay the night over and over and over again, something George had sternly told you not to do as he caressed your hair gently and insulted his brother for making such a right awful decision. Don’t think on it. Don’t bloody think on it for one second. But you do anyway. How can you not? Somehow, though, even with the dull throbbing ache coming from inside your chest, somehow you’re able to fall asleep.

You dream, that night, of the young mischievous boy -- stranger turned friend, friend turned lover, lover turned husband, only to be woken up, again, by the truth behind the tears that were escaping your eyes without any effort.

#fred weasley #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #hp imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #george weasley #my writing

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thatwitchyaunt · 3 years

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Makeup for Magick/Ritual p3: Beltane

We made it to Beltane, you guys! We did it! Is this actually going to go up in time without my computer freaking out? Only time will tell. And no, I didn't get a better phone.

I stole my sisters. ANYWAY!!!

It's the last of the three fertility sabbats (along with Imbolc and Ostara). And that's fertility in all its forms, by the way, not just the baby-making kind. You need fertile soil to for just about any kind of plant to grow, after all. The main colors that I, personally, associate with Beltane are bright/summery reds, lush greens, and… white. All colors of fertility, growth, passion, shmex… as you do. However! The entire rainbow spectrum is fair game. Think of all the colorful flowers, plants, and trees and stuff. For instance, just looking out my widow from where I'm typing this, you got the green of the new leaves on the tree, the reddish-orange color of the little helicopter seed fellas hanging from it, and little yellow, almost white, flowers on the bush in the neighbor's yard.

Any of the more nude palettes from Ostara are still in play. And DAMMIT! The picture's cut off at the edges. Because of course it is, why wouldn't it be? *groan* Whatever, let's get into Colourpop.

Top: Strawberry Shake, Main Squeeze, Orange You Glad?, Uh Huh Honey

Middle: Just My Luck, Blue Moon, It's My Pleasure, Oh La La

Bottom: Yes, Please!

If the red/green thing is what you wanna go for, grab the Just My Luck palette and either Strawberry Shake or Main Squeeze and you're good. And of course, as the rainbow spectrum goes, there it is. Hell, if you have the Fade into Hue palette, just grab that. I don't have it because, though the eyeshadow formula is decent for the price, there are pressed glitters in the palette. And unlike the BH eyeshadow formula, I don't think the CP formula is good enough to make up for the handful of arts-and-crafts-herpes shades you have to deal with in this palette.

Yes, Please! is here because Beltane is also a fire festival and this a cute and cheap fiery palette.

On to Give Me Glow!

Top: Summer Vibes, Extra Spicy

Bottom: Vintage Rose,Vivid Rose

Where there is the CP Yes, Please! Palette, there is the Give Me Glow Extra Spicy palette. Unfortunately, she's no longer available, but it's a great pick for this fire festival if you have it.

Kindly excuse the busted pans in my Summer Vibes palette, but a good chunk of these shades could work for Beltane. You can take it fiery or flowery, depending on what you're going for.

And if you want to look like a stereotypical flower fairy (and I mean that in the best possible way), the sister Rose palettes are the palettes to grab.

Now let's get the single-palettes out of the way.

Tarte's Tartelette Toasted palette is another one of those fire festival palettes, except more of a warm toned nude version of one as opposed to the bright fiery colors of Yes, Please! and Extra Spicy.

The Too Faced Life's a Festival palette is just full of great brights and those fun duochromes. Definitely the time to pull it out if you have it.

And then there's the ABH Modern Renaissance palette. This palette will give you serious vintage flower fairy vibes, and was the first time I got said vibe while using a palette. Okay,technically that was when I used the Makeup Revolution dupe palette, but that formula was utter trash.

And as for the ABH sub-brand, Norvina…

We got two. The Pro Pigment Palette Vol. 3, and the Pro Pigment Mini Palette Vol. 3.

The Mini's cherry reds, green and pinks and beautiful, and that white has a cherry red duochrome to it. Ignore the pressed glitter in the middle of the top row, the shades are pretty enough not to.

The larger Vol. 3 has some nice bright greens, reds, etc. that makes it great for the lushness of Beltane, even though it's meant to be a fall palette. Which it's also great for, but we'll get to that in a future post.

Now for BH Cosmetics!

Top: Trendy in Tokyo, Chillin' in Chicago

Bottom: Mimosa

Trendy in Tokyo is the typical rainbow palette, except the shimmers are more satin than metallic, so not my favorite of their Travel palettes.

Chillin' in Chicago would make a pretty good fire festival palette, and lays in between Tartelette Toasted and Extra Spicy/Yes, Please!. It's not as nude as Toasted but not as bright as the two others.

Mimosa's pinks with orange and yellow pops could give you a bright, flowery look.

And now the last of the palettes, Juvia's Place!

Left Column (Top to Bottom): The Masquerade Mini, The Magic Mini

Middle Column (Top to Bottom): The Zulu, The Festival,The Sweet Pinks

Right Column (Top to Bottom): The Warrior III, The Chocolates, The Violets

The Masquerade Mini's top two colorful rows are what you're reaching for if you want to do a fully colorful Beltane look, but can be paired with the bottom nudes if all you want (or can do because work or whatever) is a little pop of color. For The Magic Mini, you're looking at the top two rows, which are the warmer rows, and the purple duochrome (Faso) and the green (Buzo) in the bottom, cooler toned rows.

Both The Zulu and The Warrior III are beautiful colorful palettes. In Warrior III, I'd stick with the top six mattes. That green and red are beautiful, and that pink is almost neon in real life. The entire Zulu palette is good for brighter plant/flower looks. And that pink/gold duochrome in the bottom left corner? So beautiful.

In The Festival palette, I'd say all the shades except the metallic black, the deeper metallic teal, and the matte mustard gold. The red, pink and oranges are so beautiful and rich, guys! And that metallic white and gold? *chef kiss* But, guess what palette is getting pulled out for Samhain. X3!

The Chocolates, Violets and Sweet Pinks are basically companion palettes. The Chocolates have some "rich, fertile soil" vibes if you want to bring that into the look, while The Violets are fairly floral and The Sweet Pinks are more bright pops with a more floral matte and shimmer shade (top right, bottom left). The two pinky floral shades could actually be cute with the Violets, now that I think about it.

And finally, the singles! A few days ago, my first Terra Moons singles order arrived, but since I haven't really got to play with them much they won't be included in this one. Though they, as well as my first order of singles from Looxi beauty, will probably start showing up in my next post. Okay, Shroud singles first!

Top: Enigma, Azura, Vigor, Ignite, Vigil

Bottom: Oracle, Pillow Talk, Scrumptious, Magnetism, Soulstone

Pillow Talk, Scrumptious and Magnetism aren't pressed glitters, but definitely act and remove like they are. So, if you pick these up when Shroud reopens, keep that in mind.

Enigma (purple with a blue shift)

Azura (teal blue with a green shift)

Vigor (bright lemon-lime soda green)

Ignite (fiery copper)

Vigil (yellow-gold)

Oracle (champagne gold)

Pillow Talk (deep purple with a gold shift)

Scrumptious (coral red with a gold shift)

Magnetism (aqua green with a gold shift)

Soulstone (magenta)

And finishing off, Give Me Glow singles!

Column 1

My Sunshine (pale sunny yellow metallic)

Lucky Charm (light yellow metallic)

Lemon Lime (electric green with shifts of banana yellow)

Limeade (lime green)

Column 2

Peach Glaze (pale icy peach)

You're Cheesy (Mac n Cheese orange)

Havana (deep coral metallic)

Low Battery (neutral-toned, medium-dark red)

Column 3

Pink Frosting (icy bubble gum pink)

Heartbreaker (electric hot pink)

West Coast (deep vivid coral)

Floral Coral (peachy-pink coral)

Column 4

Strawberry Lollipop (reddish pink)

Pink Lemonade (pink base with electric gold a baby blue shifts)

Icicle (icy white)

Marshmallow (pure white)

Column 5

Pretty Little Lilac (icy lavender)

Electric Purple (neon pastel purple)

Bubbles (true icy blue)

Sky High (bright sky blue)

Column 6

Toxic (deep neon purple)

Purple Hills (a pure deep electric purple)

Under the Sea (deep sea blue)

Starboy (deep cobalt blue)

And we've reached the end of the Beltane post! Fun fact, the Beltane crossquarter day is on May 4th so, still relevant right? Yes? No? Maybe so? The fact that I was able to get this done by Beltane is a miracle in and of itself. Use these as color story inspiration for your own looks, maybe repost with palettes/singles you've found in your own stash, and I'll see you in the next one!

#Makeup for Magick/Ritual #Beltane #sabbats #travel witchcraft #broom closet #witchcraft #magick #rituals

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mypimpademia · 4 years

Text

October 21st

Bakugo x reader fluff

Note: In this fic, you and Bakugo have known each other since you were around 3 and were best friends a majority of this fic, which explains why he's much calmer and nicer towards you and also can't tell you no.

*Flashback*

October 21st, Junior High, Year 2

"Y/n, why the fuck are we in the middle of the woods?" Bakugo asked, following behind you, as you kicked up a mixture of rocks, twigs, and damp leaves.

You turned around, sighing, a small cloud of water vapor coming out with it. "Katsuki, we are not in the middle of the woods. We're literally right behind my house, you can see it from here if you turn around." You told him as you rolled your eyes, pointing behind him.

Bakugo looked over his shoulder, seeing spots of your house through the trees. "Whatever." He scoffed, beginning to walk ahead of you.

You ran to catch up, matching his pace as you walked next to him. Bakugo gave a small glance over, to which you gave him a grin. "What the hell are we here for?" He asked again, looking away from you to look at all the colorful leaves fall.

You came to a stop, causing Bakugo to end up in front of you. He turned around raising an eyebrow at you. "You gonna answer me, brat-" You cut Bakugo off by pushing him back into a pile of leaves.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" He shouted at you. Bakugo threw an assortment of red, orange, yellow, and brown leaves in all directions in order to gain his field of vision back. Plucking the last few from his face, he was met with the sight of you on the ground.

You were letting out what had to be the ugliest laugh he'd ever heard from you. You were wheezing, and snorting, tears pricking your eyes as you attempted to muffle yourself with a gloved hand.

Bakugo was just staring at you, with this face. A mixture of anger, confusion, and something else he couldn't understand.

He wanted to yell at you, for pushing him. He wanted to yell at you so badly.

Tell you how annoying you were when you did shit like this, how mad he was that you dragged him into the woods, how annoying it was that he was now sitting in a pile of leaves.

He wanted to threaten you like he always did, by saying he'd never come over again, just to have you laugh and say, "I'll see you later too, Katsuki."

But God forbid if he did that now, because as much as you were annoying him- he wanted to tell you how badly he was in love your dumbass.

October 21st, Junior High, year 3

"If you're gonna step in every puddle you see, at least walk behind me." Bakugo said, speeding up in order to put you behind him.

"Whatever, old man, you just don't know how to have fun." You huffed, jumping into another puddle.

Bakugo grunted, feeling water droplets hit his back. He was wondering what the point of carrying an umbrella was if you were gonna get water everywhere anyways.

"I'll have fun by throwing your shoes into the next sewer drain I see." He grumbled, hearing you harshly step into yet another puddle.

"Not the Air Max 97s!" You gasped, catching up to him, avoiding puddles this time. "You could've just told me to stop instead of being so mean." You stated, twirling your umbrella.

"Says the one who called me an old man." Bakugo retorted. "But you kinda are, personality wise. You have a constant routine and go to bed at 8 everyday." You said, getting a low groan in response.

After another minute or two of comfortable silence between the two of you, you reached your house. "See you tomorrow, Katsuki. Get home safe, and text me when you're there." You told him, running to your front door.

"Whatever, brat." Bakugo grunted, watching you open the door, barely shutting it behind you, leaving it open enough to pop out your head. "I love you too, old man." You laughed, quickly going back in, and shutting the door completely.

"I love you too."

October 21st, High school, year 1

"You know, Katsuki, you would think that since we've started dating that you'd be nicer." You panted, jumping up for the millionth time to reach the journal Bakugo took from you.

"Well, Y/n, if you think about it, he's extremely nice to you." Mina said coming up behind you and sitting on your desk. "Thats true, but still." You groaned, looking at Bakugo who was smirking at you.

After an eternity, he handed you the journal. You put it on your desk, turning back to Bakugo with your head tilted in annoyance.

"Why are you so mean?" You asked him. He leaned forward to kiss you cheek.

"Because I love you." Bakugo told you.

"I love you too."

October 21st, Present Day

You felt a chill run down your spine. It was more out of nervousness, rather than the brittle weather.

"Hold still Y/n, I doubt you want mascara in your eye." Mina said, applying your makeup. "I'm sorry, I'm just nervous." You expressed, sighing in attempt to calm yourself.

"Good nervous, or bad nervous?" Uraraka asked, putting on your jewelry by using her quirk so she didn't disturb Mina. "Good nervous." You said, smiling a little.

"Here with the bouquet." Asui said, opening the door and shutting it behind her. "Thank you, Asui." You said as she handed you the beautiful arrangement.

"Thank you, to all of you." You told them. "Its no problem at all, Y/n." Momo said, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Time to go." Mitsuki said coming into the room. You stood up, walking towards the large double doors ahead. Your friends all gave you reassuring nods as they went in through the side door to get into their positions.

(Whoever you want / whoever you see as a parental figure) linked their arm with yours. You let out a final breath, before the doors in front of you opened up. Before making your first step, you were already in tears from seeing Bakugo across the isle.

Despite your wobbly legs, each step you took felt like pure bliss. You dont think you've ever been so happy.

By the time you got to the altar, you and Bakugo were sobbing messes.

(I'm gonna do a quick skip right here because I don't know how this works)

"I do."

"I present you man and wife, you may now kiss the bride." Momo said.

(Yes, she's the wedding officiant because I feel like that's something she'd do.)

#bakugo headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha hcs #bnha headcanons #katsuki bakugo headcanons #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha #mha #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugō #mha bakugou #girlsquad #mha ground zero #mha girls #SoundCloud

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chrismho · 4 years

Text

Lakmé

Summary: Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living? The Kurosaki Family invites Rukia along with them to the Opera. Ichiruki/Rukia-centric one-shot inspired by the opera scene in Moonstruck. Set a little bit after FB arc.

PS: It’s a pretty famous song but if you haven’t heard Flower Duet before, I highly rec you give this rendition a listen, it’s breathtaking! : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9NK-EbUAao

“ICHIGOOOOOOO! RUKI-CHAAAAAN!”

SMACK!

A day in the Kurosaki household was not complete without at least one collision between Isshin’s face and either Ichigo’s foot or fist.

“I don't know how many times I have to tell you, old man: QUIT DOING THAT!” Ichigo roared, swiftly kicking his father back to the other side of the living room.

Rukia waited patiently for Isshin to complete this strange ritual, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Masaki!” Isshin sobbed, throwing himself upon his poster. “H-how cruel, how unloving our son has become! And Rukia at his side, so pure and lovely! W-we truly have here a beauty and the beast!”

“SHUT IT!”

The dark-haired shinigami watched them butt heads and felt a vague sense of nostalgia swirl inside her. I didn’t realize how much I…missed this, she silently admitted to herself. Seventeen months had passed and Rukia kept herself busy with work--very busy. Too busy to stop and realize just how much she missed life in Karakura. But now that she was back, the realization was sudden and overwhelming; she missed late night hollow-hunting, the bustling hallways at Karakura High, she missed Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki, she missed indulging in her schoolgirl act, pretending that she was human and truly one of them. But most of all, she missed him. That was a realization that had set Rukia very much on edge. Ichigo was a comrade, a partner, a friend. A friend she found herself pining for in those seventeen months. She recalled a saying she learned in the human world, something along the lines of “absence makes the heart grow fonder”.

Absence had only made Rukia’s heart confused as hell.

Though almost two years had passed, her relationship with Ichigo picked up almost right where they left off. They bickered, laughed, they understood each other without need for words. But…now there was something new. No, not new; it had always been there. But now....now it was loud. And hard to ignore. It was something that Rukia couldn’t quite name, but its presence was undeniable. It wasn’t uncomfortable...but… but it was there.

“What do you say, Rukia-chan? Oh, please say you’ll be joining us?”

Isshin’s question snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Eh? I-I’m sorry?” she asked, startled.

“THE OPERA! An old buddy and colleague of mine has season tickets to the opera house here in Karakura. He’s away on a business trip so he gave me tickets to tomorrow’s show. We haven’t seen you in so long, the girls would just love if you came! SAY YOU’LL JOIN US!”

“Don’t push her, Dad!” Ichigo said irritably. He turned to Rukia but didn’t meet her gaze. “Seriously, y-you don’t have to go. It’s really boring, the last time I went I wanted to die-”

“OH, BUT THAT’S NOT TRUE,” Isshin cut off gleefully, shoving Ichigo out of the way and putting an arm around Rukia. “The last time we went, Ichigo was but a boy. Though only eight at the time, he was so moved by the performance that he wept and blubbered all night long--”

“HEY! N-NO I DIDN’T!”

“Yes, you did!” Karin called boredly from the kitchen.

Ichigo hunched up his shoulders and scowled, his ears and cheeks an angry shade of red.

“I’d be delighted to attend this...this ‘op-ohr-a’, Mr. Kurosaki!” Rukia declared, a cheerful and sparkly smile on her face. “Excellent! Come tomorrow evening at 7, and dress your very best, my dear! The opera is a most formal event,” Isshin beamed.

“Whatever. And get your arm off her!” Ichigo grumbled, yanking Rukia away from his father and up the stairs to his room.

“Ah, young love,” Isshin sighed after them. “Eager to get her to your bedroom, I see? Yes, yes, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do, if you catch my drift--”

“SHUT UP!” Ichigo screamed over his shoulder. He hurried Rukia inside his room and slammed the door shut.

“Nice to see the family dynamic hasn’t changed,” Rukia said, a sly smile on her face. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall alongside his bed.

“1000 Yen says my dad’s got an ear pressed up to the door right now,” Ichigo replied. He sounded annoyed but there was a humorous glint in his eye. He looked up and met her gaze. They both dissolved into a quiet, gentle chuckle.

“Feel free to sit, you know,” Ichigo said, gesturing towards the bed. “I know it’s been a while but time’s never stopped you from acting like you own this place.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine here,” Rukia responded, cursing herself for answering him a little too vehemently. Ichigo looked at her questioningly, and Rukia could have sworn she saw a very, very faint blush creep on his cheeks. A moment of silence passed.

Tension. That’s what it was.

“So what is this opera thing, anyway? I just realized I agreed to something I know nothing about,” Rukia asked, eager to change the subject and genuinely curious about this “most formal event” that moved a young Ichigo to tears.

“It’s, uh, like a play. But with only singing. Really loud, annoying singing. And fancy costumes. And they usually end in tragedy.” Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head.

Her amusement at his fumbling explanation made Rukia forget her discomfort earlier. She smirked and flopped onto his bed. “Sounds like fun. So this loud, annoying play moved you to tears, eh?”

“IT DID NOT-Hmph, *ahem*, It did not move me to tears, I told you already that I found it boring. And I SAID YOU COULD SIT ON MY BED, NOT LIE ON IT!”

“Oh, Daddy, th-they’re on his bed already! They certainly are fast, aren’t they?” a muffled voice that sounded suspiciously like Yuzu’s could be heard saying from the other side of the door.

Ichigo’s left eye twitched.

He swung the door open and Isshin and Yuzu tumbled onto the floor. “SCRAM!” He roared, shaking his fist as they hurriedly fled the scene.

_____

Giant, crystal chandeliers hung over the U-shaped hall, twinkling prettily in the warm, golden light. The house was packed with many well-dressed and well-to-do people. The euphony of various conversations and chatter rang pleasantly in the air. If Ichigo had been moved to tears by the place alone, Rukia would understand; it was truly, truly beautiful. She tilted her head back, taking in the glittering chandeliers and intricate paintings of flowers and stars on the ceiling. She must have looked visibly awestruck, for she turned to her side to find Ichigo looking back at her, an odd, almost tender smile on his face. She gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “What? What’s with that dumb look?” She snapped.

“AGH! What the hell, Rukia?” He glared, letting out a sharp exhale before putting on another smile, this one more teasing. “N-nothing, I was just thinking...the last time I was here as a kid, I remember looking up at the paintings on the ceiling and counting all the stars as a way to pass the time. I guess I was just wondering if you were doing the same.”

Rukia blinked. It was rare for Ichigo to divulge….well, really anything about his past and his memories. To share this random little anecdote felt oddly intimate. She felt her cheeks warm slightly and turned away. “Heh, no I wasn’t counting, I was just...admiring. She looked back up and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ichigo, there are hundreds of stars, up there! Did you really count them all?” He looked up too and smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Nah, the show always started and the lights would go off before I ever finished. But...I like that I don’t know. It’s this weird, unfinished mystery that just...stays up there on the ceiling, y’know?”

His amber eyes and fiery-orange hair glowed in the warm light of the hall. He glowed. Does he even know how handsome he looks in that stupid tux? Rukia thought, torn between feeling endeared and annoyed. And spewing out weird, lovely musings like that, too. What an idiot.

She looked down at the program in her lap. In intricate, gold cursive, the words Lakmé: Opera en 3 Actes shone smack dab in the middle. “Is...is this in French?” she asked. “Yeah, but it’s okay; you see those black screens above the curtains up there? They’ll have translations…”

The lights began to dim.

Quickly, stealthily, Ichigo stole one last look at Rukia in full light. She was already a beautiful woman but tonight she practically glowed. With the help of Yuzu and Karin, she had parted her cropped hair to one side and teased it into elegant waves. She had reluctantly let them put makeup on her, too, and Ichigo had a hard time keeping his eyes away from her lips, soft and painted red like a pomegranate. She was wearing a dress that Ishida had surprised her with a few weeks ago, a wine-colored sleeveless piece that gently hugged her form and flowed past her knees. Yeah. She glowed. It was annoying.

Y’know, I bet she knows exactly how good she looks and is only pretending to be oblivious. He thought. What an idiot.

The red velvet curtains pulled back to reveal what looked like a stone courtyard on stage, adorned with all sorts of plants and exotic flowers. But the set was nothing compared to the music that emanated from the pit in front of the stage. She’d never heard anything like this. Not on the streets of Rukongai, nor in the banquets and gatherings in Seireitei. What was it Ichigo had called them? An orchestra. An orchestra, an orchestra, an orchestra. She had to remember that word. How so many voices, so many different strange and wonderful-looking instruments, could come together and create a sound so unified and sweet amazed her.

A procession of people dressed in long, unstitched garments came onto the stage, singing words Rukia could not understand. A big man, clad in a costume beard and yellow robe, opened his mouth and began to sing a solo.

Rukia froze.

It was obvious what he was doing required much skill, but….he sounded...funny? Rukia narrowed her eyes and fought a smile, trying to reason with this deep voice that shook with such a fervent vibrato.

She heard a snicker two chairs away from her, and turned to see Karin in the dim light, her face contorted humorously. Rukia was about to join her before Isshin turned to his daughter with a glare so scary and dangerous that any humor at all in both Karin and Rukia was effectively vanquished.

So entranced was she by the costumes and lights and flutes and cellos that the dark-haired shinigami found herself forgetting to glance up at the translations above the stage. She looked just enough times to gather that this was set in a temple in which rites were being performed. The ritual ended, and as smoothly as they glided in, the singers drifted back off the stage, leaving behind two women.

The women, arm in arm, walked down to the “river” on stage to gather flowers. The one dressed in red turned to her companion and began to sing:

Viens, Mallika, les lianes en fleurs

Jettent déjà leur ombre

Sur le ruisseau sacré

qui coule, calme et sombre,

Eveillé par le chant des oiseaux tapageurs.

Rukia froze once more. This time, there was no urge to laugh. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her ears tingled. What, Rukia thought shakily. What is this?

The other, dressed in a simpler, sun-colored dress answered her friend in a voice just as haunting and sweet:

Oh! maîtresse, c'est l'heure

où je te vois sourire,

L'heure bénie où je puis lire

Dans le coeur toujours fermé

De Lakmé!

Rukia clenched her teeth, maintaining a stone-cold Kuchiki expression while her soul inside shook and quaked.

What is this?

Dôme épais le jasmin

Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin

Like flowers landing on the surface of a pond, their voices floated, glided, rippled through the hall, lighter than air.

À la rose s'assemble

The melody seemed to follow some invisible wave that drifted down, then up, then down, and down again. It was elegantly unpredictable, like the path a feather takes on the way to the ground.

Rukia’s throat caught. The swelling in her chest bewildered and almost angered her. This...this beauty was almost cruel. Her eyes felt hot. Her face remained expressionless.

Rive en fleurs, frais matin,

Sur la rive en fleurs, riant au matin,

I never did get the chance to understand what it is to live, Rukia thought. She had, in fact, died when she was only a baby.

I....could see traces of what life was in the youth and excitement of Ichigo and his friends...the sound of their laughter, their chatter about the future.

Nous appellent ensemble.

Viens, descendons ensemble.

With each rise and fall of their voices, Rukia felt as though her soul was expanding. The singers’ figures became blurry behind the tears that began to well in her eyes.

But this…this swelling in my chest, and the goosebumps on my skin. My throat...feels tight.

A tear broke free and began to trickle down her cheek.

Is this not the closest I’ve ever been to living?

Ichigo gazed steadily at the stage, letting himself float and drift with the melody. It was no wonder the Flower Duet was such a famous song, even to those unfamiliar with opera. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could and turned to check on Rukia. His jaw clenched.

Ah! glissons en suivant

Doucement glissons; De son flot charmant

She stood absolutely still, upright, her small, pale hands clenched into fists on her lap. She did not look at him. He watched with well-hidden astonishment as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She stared solemnly at the women on stage, blinking slowly. Her amethyst eyes glistened with the water and salt that filled them.

Le courant fuyant

Suivons le courant fuyant

A lump began to form in Ichigo’s throat. He turned away, back to the stage. He couldn’t put into words what she was feeling, but he felt he understood it. He didn’t want to intrude on her moment, but he also wanted to let her know that she was not alone. Even when they were worlds apart, he’d find a way to reach her. Slowly, his hand moved towards hers.

His fingertips lightly brushed her wrist, and traveled up towards the back of her hand.

Rukia kept her eyes fixed on the singers. She gave no indication that she even noticed his hand on hers. A twinge of disappointment and embarrassment stung him. I...probably ruined her moment. I shouldn’t have-

His heart stopped. Silently, suddenly, the slender, cold hand seized his own. She intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed lightly. She did not look at him.

Dans l'onde frémissante,

Dans l’onde frémissante

To this day Ichigo couldn’t say what the hell compelled him to do what he did next. Maybe it was the nearly two years of separation, or the swelling music and stupid, glittering, chandeliers messing with his head, or the way she gripped his fingers with such a quiet and loving intensity, or a mix of all of those things. Slowly, he raised her hand up, off her lap.

D'une main nonchalante,

D’une main nonchalante,

Rukia stirred, tilting her head slightly towards him. He brought her hand up to his face and slowly, gently, firmly, pressed his lips against her knuckles. Rukia’s eyes flashed wide open, and now she turned to look at him. Another tear rolled silently down her otherwise stoic face. Ichigo opened his eyes and looked back at her.

Dôme épais, blanc jasmin,

Sous le dôme épais, Sous le blanc jasmin,

Nothing was said, but a thousand words were exchanged between them. Ichigo lowered her hand but did not let go. They held their gaze for a moment longer, then turned their heads back towards the stage.

Nous appellent ensemble!

Ah! descendons ensemble!

#ichiruki #lakme #sooo sappy hehe opera makes me WEAK #im literally frasier #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #ichiruki fanfiction #deathberry

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suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

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xxfanficnationxx · 5 years

Text

Lacuna// Teen Wolf Rewrite

Wolf Moon Part 3

Last Part

Masterlist

Pairing: Stiles x Reader (Eventually)

Warnings: awkward moments, language, underage drinking, full moon

A/N: This part is a little longer than the others, I just wanted to fit it all, instead of having two very short ones. Plussssssss, Y/E/C stands for your eye color.

The car ride was a little bit awkward. You sat in the passenger seat. Scott was in the back. You decided to break the ice a bit. “so... I met your dad last night” they both look at you confused, you stutter, “I-I was jogging in the woods when I ran into him. Told me to go back home. Why was he out there?” The memory of getting attacked flashes back to you.

“Oh, you didn’t hear. They found a body in the woods” You turn to look at him.

“Oh woah, that’s crazy. I didn’t think things happened like that around here.” You say

Stiles just replies with a drawn out “Yeahhhh” and it went back to silence. Stiles kept looking into the rear view mirror, looking back to Scott. Scott was making faces to stiles almost to like he was nudging Stiles on. After Stiles looked away and shook his head, the three of you finally pull up to your house and when you go to open the door thought popped into your head.

“I don’t know if I’m being to forward but, maybe could I have your guys’ number to hang out sometime? Maybe see if a spark is still there” You chuckle. The two boys looked at you, smiling.

You exchange phone numbers and exit the car, walking to the porch and getting your keys out to open the door.

“Yeah yeah, I know. But you never know. Maybe she’s cool. We did used to be best friends.” You head Scott say. You pull the hair over your ear, and look back at them. Focusing your hearing as they start to drive away.

“Well I don’t remember her looking like that. She’s kinda hot now.” Stiles says glancing at you. You smile, then wave, he awkwardly waves back.

“Yeah it’s called growing up” Scott replies. You see him look at you out of the window with a quizzical look, almost as if he knew you were listening.

You got into the house and started researching your symptoms. Is it contagious? Some kind of rabies? You fell asleep on your desk, tabs upon tabs open about diseases and even some about lycanthropy. What is happening to you.

You awoke the next day to your phones alarm. Papers were stuck to your face, you looked very flattering. You turned off the alarm on your phone, and saw the battery! “Ughhh, Shit!” You forgot to plug in your phone last night. You quickly plugged it in and ran out your door, on a mission to shower quickly. You almost run into your aunt on your way there “Oops! Sorry!” She just chuckles and walks back to the kitchen. You reach for the handle of the shower and rip it off! “What the…” You say quietly, fumbling trying to put it back together. Since you were running late, all you could do was gently put it on the pipe, definitely not fixed.

You aunt comes running down the hall, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She fumbles, bending down catching her breath, “They held me late today at work. You almost ready?”

You smile, still in your pajamas, then you run into your room. Forgetting about the shower entirely.

You get ready for the day. Speed dressing, because you were already behind schedule.

You got school and made it through the day, fairly easy. There was a scrimmage after school for the lacrosse team, Allison convinced you to go, and offered you a ride home after. On our way there she told you about how she ran over a dog last night and wanted to text you but she didn’t have your number. You quickly gave it to her and told her to tell you if anything like that happens again, to call you.

Allison said something about her locker and walked away, though you were too focused on the anger flowing from the halls. As you turned around a corner, you found Jackson and Scott. You dodged around the corner, hoping they didn’t see you.

“Now, you listen Mcall…” Jackson says in a low threatening voice. You turn the corner and see them, you duck around the hall hoping they didn’t see you. “You’re going to tell me exactly what it is and who you’re buying it from, because there’s no way in hell you are out there kicking ass on the field like that without some sort of chemical boost.” You were confused, did Jackson think Scott was doing drugs.

“Oh! You mean steroids!” Scott says. “Are you on steroids?” Next think you heard was a slam on the lockers. You were about to turn and help Jackson started talking again.

“What the hell is going on with you Mcall!” Jackson yells. Making your ears ring.

“What’s going on with me!” Scott says “you really want to know! Well, so would I! Because I can see hear and smell things that I shouldn’t be able to see, hear and smell. I do things that should be impossible, I’m sleepwalking three miles in the middle of the woods, and I’m pretty much convinced that I’m totally out of my freaking mind!”

‘What…’ you stumble back, the same things are happening to him, except the whole sleepwalking thing. You had to speak to him about it. Maybe you both have the same disease.

You took a walk to clear your mind, then finally made your way to the field. All the boys were on the field huddled and jumping. You found Allison and sat with her. You really didn’t like lacrosse, it was something else. You sat zoning out and thinking about songs in your head. That is until you saw Scott start to do flips on the field, ‘what the hell’ you thought to yourself. Coach told Scott that he was first line and everybody cheered. You even cheered, happy for your childhood best friend.

You got home and began to get ready for the party. You really wanted to make this your whole debut. Your mindset of finding friends has really changed from the first day. Everyone seemed so nice and you didn’t want to go through high school as the lonely girl.

You did your makeup very glam, and did your hair nicely. Next was the outfit, oh dear the outfit. You didn’t know what to wear, you changed about 50 times. But the end product was good, maybe even a little bit too overdressed. ‘Please let this not be a jeans kinda party’. You felt a little tired, worn down, but you chucked it up to the bad night sleep.

Your aunt let you borrow the moped, it was bright yellow, super worn but cute nonetheless. It had a matching yellow helmet. It sat in the garage most of the time so this was nice, maybe she’d let you keep it.

You arrived to the party and walked through the house. You immediately felt worse, the music caused you a bit of a headache. You never feel like this, Why now? You walk through the kitchen and see a lot of people dancing outside.

“Allison!” You call. She smiled super wide and walks over.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N you look so pretty. Now I feel under dressed” she laughs and points to her clothes.

“Oh please, you fit in. I definitely don’t” talking a bit loud because of the music. “Scott hey! I didn’t see you.”

“Hey Y/n, were gonna go dance!” He yells walking away, Allison’s hand in his. She turns to look back at you.

“Call me” you mouth with your hand up to your ear like a phone. She nods and laughs turning away to follow Scott through the crowd. You’ll have to find another time to talk to Scott. You don’t wanna ruin their date.

Just as you were going back inside for some drinks you ‘literally’ run into a familiar face. “Stiles?” You laugh apologizing.

“Y/n hey! I didn’t know you were coming here.” He looks at you, quickly taking a glance at your outfit.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m overdressed…” You sigh looking down at your outfit. “The party’s I went to in Seattle were a bit different” you chuckle.

“Yeah I bet!” He smiles, that smile, made your stomach go all bubbly. Maybe you should talk to him. I bet Scott tells him everything.

“Can we talk over in the hall? Where it’s quieter, I need to ask you some questions.” You say with a serious tone. He looks at you concerned but nods anyway.

After finding a quiet place you begin to freeze. Should you tell him… you have to. What if it’s dangerous. “So… I heard Scott talking to Jackson earlier today. He said something about how he was seeing, hearing and doing things he couldn’t have before.” Stiles looked at you with wide eyes. You could hear his heartbeat rapidly increasing. “I think… I think it’s happening to me too” You say. He squints at you, then puts it together. He hits himself on the head and spins around.

“Shit! Of course! You were in the woods the same night that Scott was, did you get attacked too?” He said the last part quieter.

You gulped. “Yes, something like a bear bit me and broke my wrist. It was all healed in the morning though. I don’t understand what’s happening… I mean… I..” You began to get dizzy everything spinning. You hadn’t had that much to drink. Stiles begins to grab you.

“Y/n are you okay?” Suddenly Scott zooms past us “Scott?” Stiles puts your arm over his shoulders and makes the way towards the door to follow Scott. Scott hops in his car drives off, Allison gets in the car with someone else it was all very fuzzy.

Stiles brings you to the Jeep and begins to drive. “Y/n I’m gonna follow Scott okay! Are you okay?”

You turn to him eyes glowing white, he yelps and starts to drive faster towards Scott’s house. Your head was in your hands you were breathing heavy. “Stiles” You say low, almost a growl “pull over”. You felt like, if you didn’t get out of the car, you were gonna pounce on him.

“Pull over? We have to get to Scott’s.” He says panicking.

“Pull over…” you glance up at him. “Now!” You growl. Orange and black stripes forming on your face, eyes glowing bright white, fangs loud and clear.

“Ahh, oh god” Stiles pulls over. You immediately get out walking towards the woods. Your ears begin to curve and your claws grow out of your hands. You feel the fur grow on your jaw in the familiar striped pattern. Red, all you see is red. You run as fast as you can to the forest losing your heeled boots on the way. “Y/n!” Stiles calls out, you flinch at the sound of your name, you look back to stiles before entering the line of woods, your eyes flash back to (Y/E/C) ones. You heard a noise in the woods, and just like that you were back in kill mode.

You ran through the woods, all you wanted to do was run. Your mind coming back in waves as you begin to realize what you were doing. You hear leaves cracking around you as you look around, petrified. “Where is she” you hear some people say

“She’s safe, from you” you moved towards the people, then someone grabbed you.

“Ahh!” You screamed you managed to get down and growl at the attacker.Trying to look as threatening as possible. Teeth bared, eyes wide. You see Scott, at least it smells like Scott.

The Attacker jumps and tackles Scott. You immediately run after them. “What did you do with her!”

You stumble down the hill behind them. The strange man points to you. “Shh quiet!” There’s a pause “too late. They’re already here” he looks back at you “You, run!”

You run in an opposite direction as them, fighting all urges to get down on all fours. An arrow almost takes your head off. You look back to see men following you. Another arrow, this time you get hit in the stomach. You fly down falling on your back. You immediately get up and run as fast as you can, hands holding the arrow in your stomach. You run around a tree, leaning against it and rip out the arrow, trying to control your breathing.

You begin to focus on your hearing, trying to locate the men. “What the hell was she?” One man said. You located them about 30 feet behind you.

“We need to go, Argent will know how to deal with this” another man says. They turn and walk away from you.

‘Argent…’

Suddenly, the mysterious man from before appears in front of you. You gasp, he places his finger on your lips and mouths “be quiet”. His face inches from yours.

‘Wow, this mysterious man was a hottie.’ You thought to yourself, eyes wide. He grabs your hand and leads you somewhere, taking you to an old abandoned house.

“We will be safe here” he says and leads you into the empty cold house. He shuts the door and you slide down the wall.

“Who are you, who were they?!” You asked, still confused from earlier. Your eyes beginning to shut.

“Derek, Derek Hale” He says, “and those people, that’s a story for another time.” Laying you down on the floor. You felt like you could sleep for the rest of your life.

You awoke to the noise of revving, before even opening your eyes you felt something warm, and heavy on your shoulders. You open your eyes to see Derek. Still loopy, you chuckle. He turned to look at you. ”Good morning” he smiles a bit. “I’m bringing you back home.”

That’s all you remember, next thing you know, you’re in your bed, phone plugged in next to you alarm going off. You’re so out of it, you can barely sit up.

“Honey are you awake?” Your aunt walks in. Her look turns from happy to concerned. “Are you okay?” You nod your head

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.” You say glancing at the time.

“Okay well, I worked a double yesterday. I think I’m going to go to bed, just take the Scooter, if you need to go anywhere.” She smiles. Softening your hair and placing a hand on your cheek before walking away.

‘What the hell happened last night’

End of episode 1!!! hopefully you’ve been liking it!

Taglist: @bolaurel @iclosetgeek @cutiepiemimi13 @stilessarcasmqueen

#teenwolf #twwn wolf #teenwolf masterlist #teen wolf #series rewite #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi fanfiction

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marshmallow-phd · 6 years

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Fighting Instinct

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Jongdae x Reader

Summary: He went out of his way to ignore you. You saw his kindness towards everyone else, but he showed you only irritation. And you couldn’t blame him, considering your first meeting. However, little do you know that he’s hiding a dark world, one that you’re pulled into against your will….

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I Final

Saying that it had been the weirdest week of your life would be an understatement.

The nosy guy and Chanyeol seemed to be all over campus all of a sudden. You tried to explain it away. Of course they would stick out to you now that you’d seen their faces. Wasn’t that basic psychology? Your brain automatically picks up on familiar faces? Granted, you weren’t that familiar with them - or at all really - but still.

And, to be honest, the student union wasn’t just your territory. They were allowed to study and hang out there just as much as you did.

But the other students didn’t stare. It seemed that every time you looked up in either of their directions, you met their gaze. Both of them were sitting a good distance away, one to your left and the other to your right forming a weird triangle with many other tables in between, but you still caught their stares. In a flash they looked away, like they were just scanning the room. And maybe they were, but it just didn’t feel like that was the answer.

Jongdae was acting strange as well. You only had class with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays and that used to be the only time you saw him. However, now out in the courtyard and on the paths on your way to class, he always seemed to be near. Not watching you like the others, just walking by. In fact, he never looked at you, even the one time he passed right behind you before you could enter the world science building. There was maybe a foot of space between the two of you, but it was like you were invisible. You watched him keep going, headed off to who knows where.

Class was a different story. He was rigid in his seat, unmoving. Until you came into the classroom and made eye contact with him. Then his body relaxed. Like a wave rippling through, his muscles let go of their tension and he looked away.

It was a relief when Saturday rolled around. You didn’t have to go on campus and wonder if you were going crazy. Okay, even as you laid there in bed willing yourself to get up and start your day, you still wondered if you were crazy. Too much caffeine? Too much studying? Too much chocolate?

You shivered in horror at the thought of it being the last one. What would life be without that delicious comfort?

With a moan, you pulled yourself out of bed and shuffled over to your small bathroom. The girl in the mirror was a bit scary looking with the bedhead and makeup settled under the eyes that you’d missed in washing your face the night before. Killing a little bit of time, you pulled at your skin and mess with your hair, putting it up in goofy fashions that made you laugh.

Breakfast was a quick adventure of toast and eggs, a rare treat as you didn’t have time to adequately make food beyond a freezer aisle meal during the week. After rinsing off the pan and plate, you went back to your bedroom to get dressed. The uniform for the coffee shop was nice and simple as well as making it easy to have replicas. Your white shirt with the company logo in the top left hand corner fit nicely to your curves. The black skinny jeans on the other hand, were a little more of a struggle to get on, but then again, weren’t all skinny jeans an exercise within themselves?

You packed a change of clothes in your backpack for the bonfire and headed out the door. Since your shift didn’t start until eleven and Eun Na was picking you up anyway, you opted to walk to work.

It was a nice day. The wind was barely present, just blowing enough to give off the scent of the different shops in the business district of town. Shining above was the sun surrounded by tiny bits of cloud that couldn’t block out the rays if they tried.

Still early when you arrived at the shop, you bought your own cup of coffee and took it to the back. Pulling up your hair in a ponytail, you sat at the manager’s desk and scrolled through your phone until it was time to clock in.

With it being the middle of the semester, Saturdays were always a bit crazy. Between those patrons just stopping by for a quick drink before going on with their shopping and those buzzed out students staying for hours on end to get all their homework done, there was hardly any time to rest from the beginning of your shift. Which was good for you since you had to be there until six.

Sometime around four-thirty, the foot traffic was dying down. You were cleaning a pile of porcelain mugs when Jongdae walked in. He came up to the counter and you searched around for any of your coworkers that could help him instead. No such luck.

Taking a deep breath, you gave him a half-hearted smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He looked around the shop for a second, scratching the back of his head. “How are you?”

You blinked. How are you? Why would he be asking you that? In automatic mode, you responded, “I’m good. How’s your Saturday going?”

“Stressful,” he said breathily. Running his fingers through his hair, Jongdae looked up at the menu. “Can I just get a coffee?”

“Okay…” you chewed on your bottom lip. “Do you want anything in your coffee? Or do you just want it black?”

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Jongdae huffed. “How do you take yours?”

Now it was your turn to scratch behind your ear. “Well, I usually like mine as our house coffee with two shots of mocha, two shots of white chocolate and a shot of espresso in a crème base.”

For some reason, your complicated answer made him laugh. And you finally got to hear it. It was light and airy, making your heart fly up with it. Your brain was racing at a hundred miles an hour, trying to think of another way to hear it again.

Calm down, (y/n). He’s still been a jerk to you.

Jongdae’s mood was lighter now. Not exactly happy, but a few steps above what he was when he walked in here.

“I’ll just have that.”

You nodded. “Here or to go?”

“To go.”

After he handed you his card and you closed out the transaction, you shifted over to make his drink. His eyes never left you as you pumped the mixes into the steaming fresh coffee. Sliding on the sleeve, you handed the paper cup over to Jongdae. He grabbed your arm with his other hand, holding you in place. His face was serious, scaring you.

“Don’t go to the bonfire,” he urged.

You yanked your arm, trying to free it. No one moved to help you, not noticing the grip you were trapped in. “How do you know about the bonfire?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he argued. “Just don’t go.”

One last pull, and you were free. Your skin burned where he’d touched it, but it wasn’t a painful feeling. In fact, if you weren’t careful, that feeling might just become an addiction. But that thought was quickly forgotten as Jongdae leaned in closer. His eyes shined an unnatural color - orange or yellow maybe - but you shook it off as a trick of the fluorescent lighting.

“I’m serious, (y/n).” His voice came out as a growl, deep from within his chest. “For your own good. Don’t go.”

You straightened up. “I think you should leave now.”

With a shake of his head that seemed more like a snap, he turned and stalked out the door, the bell chiming cheerfully above his head.

Six o’clock came around and you were hightailing it out of there, still a little shaken up about the run in with Jongdae. Eun Na was parked out front of the coffee shop, waiting for you. Before you could jump into the passenger's seat, across the street you saw them again: Jongdae, sitting at a table outside the pizzeria staring after you. Chanyeol was in the chair next to him chowing down on a slice. The nosy guy was staring after you as well, rolling his eyes. This time they were joined by the blank boy from your folklore class. He was looking at Jongdae, his lips looked like they were moving as if he was talking, but at this distance you couldn't be sure.

In the car, Eun Na was staring at the boys as well. Her face was twisted into a scowl. The tips of her knuckles were red and white from squeezing the steering wheel.

“Eun Na?”

Like a personality switch, her face lit up, the scowl replaced by a glowing smile. “Are you ready?”

Your eyes flickered to Jongdae one last time. Something inside wondered if you should listen to him, say you were sick and needed to cancel. But Eun Na was your friend. You knew her better and longer than you knew him.

“Absolutely.”

The fire was already crackling when the two of you arrived. Eun Na had taken much longer than you had to get ready so the sun was almost completely gone under the horizon when you arrived. Decked out in all black, she looked like a mistress of the night with her over-the-knee boots and hooded duster cardigan. You felt very out of place as her friends were dressed in a similar fashion while you just had on an off-the-shoulder gray sweater and white shorts. While they looked like Goth models, you felt like the nerdy college student you were.

Everyone who was already there was just standing around. If they were talking, it was so low that you couldn’t hear it. Looking at the surroundings, you tried to find any face that you recognized, but so far no such luck. Eun Na left you as soon as you arrived, running up to some guy who looked like he was still trying to outgrow Hot Topic.

“Not really your scene?”

A girl with dark eyes that were framed by long purple and black hair that fell to her hips in paper straight strands walked up to you. She had a water bottle in her hand with black lipstick stains around the rim.

“Eun Na’s the only one I know,” you admitted quietly.

“Well, I’m Tonya.” She held out her hand and you shook it politely.

“(y/n).”

She giggled. “You’re very cute, (y/n).”

Heat rose up in your cheeks. People were always telling you that. Eun Na was the sexy one, the seductive one. You were the klutzy, awkward, adorable one. That’s how everyone described you two, like yin and yang, complete opposites that complimented each other. It got annoying sometimes, but you learned to roll with it since you couldn’t exactly change who you were. Eun Na once had you try on one of her party outfits and you freaked out when you saw how much of your skin was exposed. Your one shoulder and legs out for the night air to nip at was more than plenty for your comfort zone.

“Thanks,” was all you could muster to say.

Eun Na finally joined you again, greeting Tonya cheerfully. She handed you a water bottle. The seal was already broken, but you didn’t pay any attention to it. Eun Na did that for you all the time. Taking a swig, you swished the water around in your dry mouth. The smoke was stinging your eyes and with the wind you just couldn’t escape it. After swallowing your first mouth full, you took another drink and then paused. There was a funny flavor to the water underneath that initial crisp taste.

A cloud began to form in your head, making it hard to comprehend what was going on around you. As you staggered, Tonya began to laugh. You turned to Eun Na who was smirking at you.

“Eun Na….”

“Sorry, (y/n).”

#exo #exo fanfic #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #jongdae x reader #exo x reader #jongdae #chen #minseok #junmyeon #baekhyun #chanyeol #kyungsoo #jongin #sehun #exo werewolf au #fighting instinct #kpop

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