#airbrush can stay but it's on thin ice

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Bonus Week Day 4 - Winter Sun

***

To her surprise, the outdoorsy, spirited Rapunzel discovers there’s no better hiking companion than a mischievous winter spirit with natural cold resistance.

She meets him on a chilly morning, scaling a snowy mountain trail. Relieved to finally be out from under her mother’s thumb, the young woman has vowed to see as much of the world as possible and explore all the places her mother kept from her. A 3-page-long list of hiking trails she needs to hit before she dies seems a good place to start.

Everyone in the little alpine village she’s staying in keeps telling her it’s too cold to hike. She’ll get frostbite--or worse, she’ll become another frozen body off the trail, staring lifelessly out of a block of ice until the pumas devour her thawed form come spring.

Perhaps she should listen, but after 18 years of “Mother knows best,” Rapunzel is a little tired of letting others tell her what she should and shouldn’t do.

And so she sets off just after sunrise, leaving her cabin behind and embarking on a trek through a wintry forest. Never let it be said that she isn’t prepared. She’s wearing her best snow boots, layer upon layer of sweaters and jackets, and a backpack stuffed with thermoses full of hot chocolate and cider--in addition, of course, to enough trail snacks to last her upwards of a week, if she happens to get stranded. A little nip in the air is nothing she can’t handle.

She’s unprepared for how beautiful everything is. The fresh snow sparkles and glitters in the December sunshine, smooth puffs of it turning every tree and fallen log into a frosted pastry. Everything has a blue and gold sheen, light and shadows painting the world in subtly tinted brush strokes.

Rapunzel finds herself wishing she brought her sketchbook. Alas--she had to remove it to make room for more grocery store cheese-and-cracker and hummus-and-pita-chip packs, as well as only the most high quality of Lunchables.

All she knows for sure is that the forest feels magical, the scenery far too gorgeous for it to have all ended up this way by happenstance. It feels as though someone lovingly airbrushed it into this work of art, putting every bit of effort possible into making it the best it could be.

She passes over frozen stream after frozen stream, all the ice gleaming and reflective like new glass. She can hear the faint gurgling of water underneath, taking it in as her gloved hand slides across the bridge railing.

On one bridge, she has an unexpected encounter.

There’s a boy perched on the railing, straddling it with the kind of nonchalance indicating he’s not at all bothered by the prospect of topping onto the thin ice. Clad in a blue hoodie and about her age, it’s strange that his hair is a white to rival the snow--a white that doesn’t look dyed in.

He grins at her, and it’s so radiant it doesn’t seem human.

“Do you live here?”

The question feels stupid as soon as she says it. He’s probably just a fellow hiker who’s really good at covering up undyed roots and likes to live on the wild side--flippantly risking hypothermia, for instance.

“I live wherever I want, blondie.” He springs off the railing and floats in the air for a second before landing on the bridge. Perhaps she’d been right after all, assuming he wasn’t human.

Snowflakes spring from his fingers and swirl into a cloud around her. She smiles as she realizes something.

“Did you do all this?”

“You know it.” He smirks. “Glad someone appreciates my handiwork.”

“I knew there was someone behind it!” She gives a little joyous hop, delighted she’s not going insane and attributing natural phenomena to a nonexistent supernatural. “It’s amazing.”

“It’s all in a day’s work.” He summons another cloud of snowflakes, casually flicking them to the side. “Easy stuff, really.”

Rapunzel laughs. “Oh, don’t sell yourself short. It looks like you worked hard.”

“Only a little.” He shrugs, still trying to look unconcerned. “But hey...I don’t usually see hikers out this time of year. What’s the occasion for braving the cold?”

“I love winter. I don’t care what anyone else says--it’s gorgeous to me.”

The boy--some kind of ice spirit, she’s guessing--looks genuinely touched.

“I’m going all the way to the end of the trail,” she adds. “I brought enough snacks to last the day. Do you...want to come with?” She laughs nervously. “It’s just that I’ve never met someone who can make it snow before.”

Rapunzel wonders briefly if the spirit boy is some kind of cold-induced hallucination. If he is, so be it, she decides. He’s a fun one, and she can enjoy him a little longer.

When he accepts her invitation and they spend the next several hours chatting and joking and pelting snowballs at one another, she concludes he’s probably real.

And this is how Jack Frost comes to join her on her chilly excursions, floating along beside her and sending any cold winds in the other direction. There’s no limit to the boy’s stamina, it seems, and no subzero temperatures are too much for someone who can frost anything with a mere touch.

A couple times, Jack saves her from her own poor planning. He flies her to the front of trails when it looks like a snowstorm is brewing, and he makes ice domes to keep her sheltered and warm when dusk sneaks up on them and she’s too far out to safely return home.

He takes on the role of a guardian of sorts. Using winter to protect her from the winter, in a twist of irony.

Rapunzel never realized how lonely she was until she didn’t have to be anymore. How much she craved company and good cheer from someone who cared about her unconditionally.

Not like Mother, who only loved her when she did exactly as the hard-faced woman wished.

Come spring, Rapunzel worries Jack will fade away. Go back to wherever the snow and frost and ice are kept in the warmer months. But, miraculously, he finds a way to stay.

He stays for her. He promises to stick around, come what may, and despite any worries about being annoying or overemotional or too much that she may have.

And so she becomes the woman famed for both her frigid and her sweltering nature treks, braving triple-digit and sub-zero temperatures alike and somehow always coming back unscathed. Rapunzel never stops appreciating how lucky she is.

Few get to have a winter spirit as a hiking partner, after all.

OOP, not another what-was-supposed-to-be-a-short-drabble that I got...a little carried away on XD

Anyways, I feel like in a modern AU, Jack and Punz would be that slightly-unhinged Crazy Hiking Couple. Like they tell their friends “Okay, we’re heading off the grid to go backpacking in a place with 0 phone signal for a week!!! Don’t worry about us unless we’ve been MIA for more than a month, kay???” And their friends are like “Mmmmkay no worries” but they be worrying. They be worrying SO hard. Because with Jack and Rapunzel there’s no way to tell if they’re actually in trouble or if they just got Carried Away while out in nature and like. Forgot to tell their loved ones they’re still alive akkahdosygf

I just really want these two to be hiking partners. Like in any possible context. I just want them to explore the wilderness together so bad. They would definitely enjoy it and they would definitely do something very dumb (like eat berries that look delicious but they’re only like 80% sure they’re not poisonous OR try to pet a bear. Probably the bear thing who am I kidding), but honestly??? We all gotta be a little dumb sometimes. As a treat!!!

This was probably one of my favorite bonus Jackunzel month moodboards to make, because snowy forests are just so!!! Snow on pine trees is just so!!! There were so many good “winter sun” aesthetics with the sun shining on snow and winter forests and whatnot that it was actually kind of hard to pick which ones to use D: I’m pretty pleased with that I ended up going with, though--I ended up getting kind of an ice-blue-and-gold aesthetic, which is very Jackunzel!!! Just a couple winter-loving kids in their colors <3

Pic credits available upon request!

#jackunzel #jackunzelmonth #jackunzelmonth22 #jack x rapunzel #rapunzel x jack #aesthetic #moodboard #jackxrapunzel #rapunzelxjack #jack frost #rapunzel #rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the big four #rotg #rise of the guardians #tangled #crossover

[zephyrine-gale]

A few people asked about how I colored so I made a little tutorial thing !!

#bnha #todoroki shouto #i think this is the second time i've drawn todoroki.... he's a pretty boy #my art #tutorial #i hope it's helpful??? #i'm not the best at explaining things but i try <': #style 2 kind of got half-assed i'm so sorry adjfggkfdl #i'll post a brush setting thing too since i don't think that many people usually use flat brushes??? #there's only flat square coloring brushes in this household everything else can get out #airbrush can stay but it's on thin ice #even my eraser is a square brush lmao #but yeah!!! part of why my art is geometric is bc i use a square brush <: #and also bc i color like a slob and hate blending asjdfgljfd but it's nice and fun #also it says there are 50+ layers in the last one and that's only bc I did this whole thing in one file #I don't hate myself that much to spend more than 30 layers on one smol todo boy sghvlhc #ty if you've read through all of this!! I hope you're having a great time!!

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Red

Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3680

Warnings: Kink and trauma. You know, in case you forgot whose blog you were on! Night terrors. Non-graphic flashbacks to violence, very graphic smut. Bucky’s head is just not a very fun place? References to brainwashing and torture. Kink discovery, including some hitting/slapping during sex and some power/control fantasies, all within the context of a very happy relationship. It goes down dark but there’s a distinctly soft aftertaste. 

A/N: For @cockslut-padalecki and her Decade Under The Influence challenge. My prompt was “The Crimson” by Atreyu. Thanks for always hosting the absolute best challenges, and congrats on the milestone! 

Pre-reads by @thoughtslikeaminefield @mskathywriteswords and @fangirlxwritesx67​. Inspiration from that scene where Sebastian Stan gets slapped. You know the one I mean. 

The companion fic to this will be coming soon! It’s significantly darker and way outside my wheelhouse, but please let me know if you want a tag. 

The Soldier stalks silently down the hallway to the bedroom, scanning the shadows. 

The closet. 

Something itches, deep under the ice: knowledge that closets are for hiding — 

— a small girl, giggling in the back corner of the closet — 

— ready or not, here I come — 

— but those frozen things don’t belong to the Soldier. 

He opens the door and finds the woman on the floor, trying to hide in the darkness. He picks her up by the throat. Moonlight from the open window glints off her wide eyes and the Soldier’s metal hand. She fights back, clawing at his arm uselessly. 

He waits for her to stop struggling. They always do. 

Bucky opens his eyes and bolts upright, gritting his teeth against the sweaty, shivery wave of nausea. 

It takes a moment for the numbing chill of the Soldier’s memory to fade. 

He knows it’s a memory. He lost so many things in the deep emptiness of cryo-sleep, but he couldn’t bury them forever, and now they claw their way out while he dreams. The darkness gives him back his life, one nightmare at a time. 

Sometimes he wakes up screaming. Sometimes he wakes up convinced that the bed under him is soaked with blood, and it takes a few awful seconds to realize that he just sweated through the sheets. Other times he’s paralyzed in the darkness, convinced he’s back in the cryo chamber, and he wants to punch and claw and fight his way out, wants to see the sun again, but he tried that one too many times — he learned his lesson about wanting things. 

At least he didn’t wake her this time. She makes a breathy sound as she stirs, but she’s still sound asleep, and when he inspects his hands in the glow of her night light, there’s no trace of red. 

She got the light about two months ago, when he started sleeping over. She didn’t ask him, didn’t mention it — he would’ve been embarrassed, if she asked, but it helps. She helps. 

He’s goddamn crazy about her. It hasn’t been long, but he knows this is it for him. 

Bucky curls up facing her. Her hair is a mess, and there’s a damp patch of drool on the pillow under her slack mouth, and she’s beautiful. It’s amazing that she trusts him enough to fall asleep next to him. 

He closes his eyes. This time he doesn’t dream.

The end credits of the movie start to scroll down the screen, and she makes a grumbling noise that means she doesn’t want to get up and turn the TV off. Her little apartment is full of the rich smell of whatever she’s got in the oven, and the day has been so sweetly domestic that Bucky wonders when everything will start to twist and distort and go bloody. He must be hallucinating. 

But the hallucinations always had a sort of airbrushed quality to them when they started, an inhuman perfection that felt easy, like he was floating. Right now his stomach is growling, and when she shifts, her elbow digs into his side, and she’s a heavy comforting warmth on top of him. 

The hallucinations were the product of his own brain, which might be why they came back all too quickly when he started to recover his memories. Even when he couldn’t remember his sisters’ faces, he remembered the drug-fueled torture that took place behind his closed eyelids, scenes that started like fantasies and ended like nightmares. 

Most memories from before the fall are weak and hazy, sepia-toned afterimages that overlay the living world like ghosts. Other things bleed through the decades, making it hard to keep track of whose memories he’s seeing. The Soldier’s memories are always sharp and cold, and they’re the hardest to shake off. Sometimes they’re triggered by the present, and it’s always a surprise; he’s stepping into a crosswalk and the past is washing over him like — 

The water from the hose is freezing cold as the handler rinses off the blood — 

— and he’s still staring down at the slushy puddle, but — 

— the Soldier keeps his eyes down, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, watching the red swirl over the cold cracked tile and disappear down the drain, and — 

Bucky has to fight to hold on to the honking taxis and the Brooklyn stink, because the cryo chamber is quiet like a coffin in the last few seconds before he’s frozen into unconsciousness, and — 

— and sometimes he feels frozen even when the dreams dissolve, even when he knows they’re only dreams. 

The frigid paralysis was mental more than physical, for the Soldier, and that’s a hard thing to shake. The raw human parts of him iced over, head and heart numb while his body carried on following orders. 

She sits up and stretches, making her shirt ride up, and he notices bruises on her hips, wrapping around the side. 

“Did I do that?” he asks, voice thin. 

She looks down like she didn’t notice. “Probably.” 

He tugs the waistband of her yoga pants down a little and finds the shape of a handprint, stained purple. She twists to show him a matching set on the other side. They’re more defined on the side he was gripping with his metal hand last night. He feels cold all over. 

“Sorry.” 

“No biggie.” 

He’s too scared to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” 

“What if I asked you to?” she tosses back, playful and easy. 

Bucky doesn’t know how to react to that. He can’t let her see how badly he wants that, so he just freezes like a deer in headlights, forcing himself to go still, to shut down, to say nothing.  

“Whoa, hey, don’t do that,” she says, and she moves into his space slowly, deliberately, giving him time to tell her to stop. He blinks at her, and she smiles, soothing. 

He spent the first month of their relationship waiting for her to turn and run. It’s gotten better, but… 

“Why the hell do you trust me?” he blurts out. 

She frowns, and hesitates, and he wants to reach up and smooth out the little frown line that forms between her eyebrows, but he doesn’t. She curls up against him and kisses his jaw. 

“Would you ever choose to hurt me?” she asks. 

“No.” 

“There you go.” He feels the movement when she shrugs, as if it’s that easy. “You control your choices. That’s it.” 

“But I —” 

“No buts,” she interrupts, and her voice is firm. “I choose to trust you and you don’t get to talk me out of it.” 

Bucky lets out a huff of not-quite-laughter at that. She’s stubborn as hell when she wants to be, and he knows better than to argue. 

“Okay,” he says, and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. She settles closer, her breath a warm damp tickle against the side of his neck. 

His body used to be a weapon. 

“You can’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” she mumbles, as if she heard him. 

He takes a deep breath and says it again: “Okay.” 

He can see her reflection in the mirror; she bites her lip, teeth white against her bright red lipstick, trying to hold back, but the whimpers are getting louder by the second as he fucks her harder. She’s bracing herself with her forearms on the sink, her entire body shaking with each sharp thrust. 

“Shhhh,” Bucky says, half-laughing, but he doesn’t slow down. 

He’s pretty sure this was her plan all along. They barely made it an hour into the party before she tugged him into the bathroom, and usually he would protest, but he’s been half-hard since he first saw her in that damn outfit. 

She opened the door earlier looking like a pinup, complete with glossy curls and red lips and this dress: flared skirt, nipped-in waist, curves threatening to spill over the scooped-low neckline. He had just stuttered for a few seconds as a wisp of memory cast a sepia glow over her pleased smile. 

He used to have a dog-eared print of one of those calendar girls, and it was tame compared to some that were carried to war, but there was something warm in her smile that made him hold onto it. He used to daydream about her waiting at home, welcoming him at the door, when everything else was heavy and grey. He used to look at her smile when he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, knowing he’d only see blood. They took it when he was captured, of course, but he used to imagine — 

— this, he used to imagine this, the way the skirt is rucked up around her hips and she’s bent at the waist, the way she stretches open around the shiny-wet length of his cock. 

He has a flash of certainty that this is just a fantasy, something he’s imagining desperately as he fucks his own fist and tries not to make a sound, pressing his other palm to his mouth to muffle his labored breathing. He’s picturing this so vividly that when he opens his eyes and sees the stars, framed by the caved-in ceiling of another bombed-out shell of a building, he’ll have to fight back tears of disappointment. 

The sight of her face in the mirror is utterly pornographic, threatening to send him over the edge too soon, but when he looks down, he can see the way her ass bounces and jiggles as she shoves herself back to meet each thrust, and that’s goddamn obscene too. Bucky’s imagination has never been this good. 

She’s so close, too close to stay silent, and just as she lets out a high-pitched, keening moan, there are footsteps right outside the door. 

He reacts instinctively, before he can think better of it; he slaps his hand over her mouth, muffling the sound against his palm — the metal one, he realizes, a split-second too late. 

Their eyes meet in the mirror for one wild heartbeat. Her skin looks dangerously soft under silver fingers that could so easily break the fragile jawbone they grip. 

Then her eyes roll back in her head, and her orgasm blindsides both of them with its intensity. If he wasn’t silencing her, she would’ve shouted, he’s pretty sure; she spasms violently against his grip, writhing like she’s trying to shake him off, and — 

— he imagines her struggling, fighting back, until he pins her against the wall and — 

— it hits him like a gut-punch. He doubles over, curling himself around her as he comes with a rough shocked grunt, and the white-out lightning-bolt electroshock feel of it is so incredible he forgets, for a few seconds; he just buries his face in those curls and kisses the nape of her neck. 

He straightens up and realizes her lipstick is smeared over the metal hand, deep crimson red. 

“God, we’re a mess,” she laughs breathlessly. She turns to kiss him, eyes sparkling, and then they have to clean up, put themselves back together, and he brushes it off. 

It was probably a memory, a ghost whose features he confused with hers in one fevered second. Unwanted memories — 

— dreams — flashbacks — fantasies — hallucinations — 

— invade his reality every day. 

It didn’t feel like a memory, though. 

She smiles, and there’s no doubt in his mind that the smile is real, so Bucky swallows his guilt and smiles back. Her hand is warm in his. 

There’s a knife in his hand and blood on the floor. 

It’s messy, but those were his orders. Easier to frame the mistress this way. At least the carving knife was sharp. Red drips down the blade onto the metal fingers.  

He’s about to place it next to the corpse when he hears the gasp. The mistress had been asleep four minutes ago, but people are unpredictable that way. 

Messy. 

The Soldier pivots, finds her standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She’s paralyzed by fear, like a deer in headlights as he stalks closer. Usually they run. Sometimes they fight back. This one just stares. 

“I won’t say anything,” she whispers. “I didn’t see —” He grabs her wrist, and she shrieks, trying to twist away, until he pins her against the wall and holds her in place. Tears start to roll down her cheeks. “No, please, I’ll do anything you want — just don’t kill me! You can — anything, I promise, I won’t struggle! Do you want —” 

“Want” is buried deep under the ice. “Want” is for bodies that are warm and soft and human. The Soldier is a weapon.

He presses the knife into her hand and forces her fingers to close around the handle. She was supposed to be asleep. 

She’ll be blamed, one way or another, but maybe it’s better this way. Cleaner. 

No witnesses. It’s an order. 

Bucky wakes up. He’s trembling, sitting up with his hands twisted in the sheets, but it’s not as bad as it could be. She’s sitting up next to him, one gentle hand on his chest as she watches with wide sad eyes. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out. “Fuck, I hate waking you up.” 

“Almost time anyway,” she says, which is when he realizes that it’s morning. Sunlight is streaming in through the sheer curtains. He settles back against the headboard, taking it in. They’re both naked, with her big downy comforter around their waists, and the residual chill of memory thaws immediately in the cozy warmth of her bed. 

She leans in hesitantly and brushes her lips against his. He can read the worry plain on her face — she doesn’t know what he needs right now — but he tugs her onto his lap, tilts his head back, mouth opening easily under hers for slow lazy kisses that stretch like taffy and then turn deep and dirty. She swears like a sailor as she sinks down slowly onto his cock. 

Christ, she’s gorgeous. 

It must be real. He could never hallucinate something so flawed and incredible as the way she looks naked, the stretch marks under his palms, the calluses on her fingers when she cups his jaw, the way she moans when he plants his feet on the bed and fucks up into her. 

She’s flushed and dewy with sweat, moaning in the sharp bitten-off way that means he found just the right angle, and her thighs are shaking hard enough that he has to grip her hips and hold her steady. He can feel her starting to get close, clenching and flooded around him, when her alarm goes off. 

“Cocksucking motherfucker,” she snarls. 

They both look helplessly at the phone, just out of easy reach on the nightstand. Bucky’s tempted to just ignore it, but she’s already leaning over. She twists at the waist but doesn’t stop rocking her hips down against him, squeezing in little pulses like she can’t help herself, so he settles her more firmly on his lap, holding her weight and anchoring her as she reaches for it. He works his right hand down between them, an awkward angle that’s totally worth it when he can rub her clit with the pad of his thumb and feel her spasm around his cock. 

“Five more minutes,” he suggests breathlessly. 

“Not gonna need that long if you keep doing that.” She trembles and almost collapses before finally grabbing the phone, and she hits the snooze button immediately. 

He’s already rolling his hips, grinding in deep, and he must hit something just right at the same moment she starts to straighten up; it makes her twitch, jerking uncontrollably against him as she moves, and her elbow cracks across his jaw, snapping his head to the side hard enough to rattle his teeth. 

“Shit!” she hisses, and then: “I’m so sorry, I — are you —” 

But the rough throb of pain hit like a swell of heat in Bucky’s gut, making him jerk up into her and shudder with pleasure. He lets his head loll, taking a deep heaving breath and letting it out as a moan. 

It’s not until he tilts his head back to look at her stunned face that he realizes what just happened. His cheeks burn but she doesn’t look disgusted; her eyes go all heavy-lidded and she bites her lip as she starts to ride him again, swiveling her hips. 

He’s opening his mouth to make some excuse, to deny it, when she leans in for a bruising kiss: teeth scraping his lower lip, a whimper rough in her throat, cunt silky-hot and soaked, so good his head is spinning. 

Then she asks raggedly, “Do you want me to do that again?” 

Without even thinking about it, he blurts out, “Yes.” 

Her palm connects with his cheek, a sharp sting that draws a guttural sound from deep in his chest. He moves on pure primal instinct, gripping her hips to slam her down on his cock. 

From there it’s rough and frantic and desperate. He’s only dimly aware of the way she moans, bucking against him, the way they’re moving against each other like animals, the way she bites his lip so hard he tastes copper and then he’s gone, coming so hard his vision goes white with the first intense pulses of it. She shudders as she follows him, riding out the shocks of pleasure with her forehead pressed to his and her hands in his hair. 

He shivers against her, breath hitching as reality washes in like ice water. 

“I can feel you freaking out,” she mumbles. “What, they didn’t have kink in the thirties?”

It surprises Bucky enough that he lets out a huff of laughter. “No. Not exactly.” 

“Why is this freaking you out?” 

He stutters for a second before he manages, “What’s wrong with me?” 

She sits up and looks at him intently. “Fucking nothing.” 

“That should be the last thing I want,” Bucky mutters, cheeks burning. 

“That’s not how it works,” she snaps. “Sex isn’t — it doesn’t always make sense. It’s messy.” 

“I’ve had enough of hurting people for a fuckin’ lifetime.” 

There’s something vulnerable in her sheepish half-smile. “Sometimes your body likes shit it shouldn’t. You can’t control what gets you off. Believe me, sweetheart.” 

He blinks, ready to question that, and she leans in for a quick kiss. As if on cue, her alarm goes off again. 

“Fuck.” 

“I gotta go,” she says reluctantly. “But later — later we’re going to talk about some things. Okay?” 

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks it very clearly in that moment: I love you. 

“Okay.” 

The Soldier pins her brutally against the wall, one hand around her wrists, the other around her throat. He doesn’t squeeze, not yet, just holds her there and savors the thrill; she’s writhing and lashing out at him like a caged animal, but he’s got her and she knows it. 

It’s beautiful, the way she snarls and tries to struggle. 

He wants —

 — so this must be a normal dream, not a memory, but — 

— he wants to fuck her just like this, up against the wall, and —

— his hips jerk and his cock throbs, and — 

— fuck, he wants her. 

“Baby?” Her voice comes out as a sleep-slurred moan. 

He tries to blink away the dream, but instead he’s rolling over and pinning her, rocking his hips down before he can stop himself. She sucks in a breath, spreading her legs to meet the next slow thrust, and she blinks dazedly up at him, mouth dropping open as they rut against each other. 

“What was it?” she asks, raspy and heated. 

He lets out a pained sound and drops his head, hunching to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He’s so goddamn hard, so close, all over a fucked-up dream, and — 

“I was holding you — up against the wall. Your wrists.” 

“Yeah?” she says, voice smoky and eager. “Remember what we talked about?” 

“Traffic lights. Red if you want me to stop.” 

“Do it.”  

Oh. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Fuck yes.” 

He snatches her wrists and crosses them over her head, watching the way her lashes flutter at the touch of metal, the way she bites her lip. She shifts under him, squirming until the length of him is slotted up against her slickness and her legs are up around his hips. 

He slides in slow, relishing every inch, her body welcoming him with living dripping heat. She arches up, and he adjusts his grip on her wrists, squeezing slightly as he braces himself. All he wants in the entire damn universe is to drive into her, piston his hips until she’s screaming, but he starts to fuck her with steady even thrusts, holding back, trying to let go of the last lingering doubts. 

“Doesn’t this scare you?” Bucky asks hoarsely. “That you’re trapped.” 

She lets out a moan that sure as hell doesn’t sound like fear. This isn’t a dream any more, but it still feels surreal. 

“Yellow,” she says.  

“Shit. What’s wrong?” He tries to pull away, but she’s got her ankles hooked, keeping him in place with her legs. He lets go of her wrists, at least, and hauls in a deep breath, trying to make sense of that fierce expression on her face. 

“Nothing. I just wanted you to see that you’re in control. You chose to stop.” 

He swallows hard. “Yeah. I did.” 

“Stop punishing your body for wanting this,” she says. 

His breath catches, and for a moment all he can do is stare. She gives him a smile so soft it threatens to rip him open.

Then he curls his fingers around her wrists again — they’re still crossed, right where he left them. He waits for her nod. 

“Green.” 

Companion fic is here. 

#decadeundertheinfluencechallenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #MCU #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader

[dirt-cup-draco]

Ron x Reader- For Her

Hi! Could you please do a Ron Weasley × reader where the reader is with them on the horcrux journey because the reader was always part of the golden trio. So insted of like, Ron and Mione flirting/liking each other/ kissing at the battle its the reader and Ron? Thank you! 

a/n: sorta focusing on one part of the horcrux journey and tweaking it to fit!

“Harry!” You hissed after the boy who had gotten out of bed after seeing something peeking out of your tent. You knew he was easily distracted but this was maddening. How were you supposed to keep him safe, keep all of you safe, if he ran off? 

You could feel the damp ground against your socks as you trailed after him and you shivered, the foreboding air in the forest overwhelming. “Come back!” You tried again. “I can’t leave Hermione here,” 

“Then stay with her,” Harry tossed over his shoulder, never pausing as he followed the doe that had enraptured him. You could admit that it was odd, and more than likely a sign. Yet, you were more afraid that it was a trap.

“Harry!” You shouted after him once more but he wasn’t looking back. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, looking around wildly at the dark forest as Harry took confident steps forward, chasing the doe through the Forest of Dean. You supposed that this would be a lovely place to come camping if you weren’t living in fear. 

You shuffled back into the tent, the glow of the lantern casting a warmth throughout the space that you didn’t feel. You shed your damp and muddy socks, replacing them with a thicker pair from your hastily packed back. Hermione was curled up beneath her blanket, the worry lines gone from her face. 

It had been some time since you had seen your friends without responsibility and fear marring their young features and you were absolutely certain the same was true for you. Suddenly, Hermione jerked in her sleep. Muttering something intelligible she rolled over in her dreaming state, settling back down as you remained silent. 

You know you should wake her. She’d be furious in the morning once she found out Harry had left in the middle of the night and she hadn’t been alerted. Yet, there were three of you and only two wands. Harry had taken her’s on his way out and now you were the only one of two with protection. The tent was the best place for you two to be. 

You paced around the small enclosure, chewing on your lip in worry. It seemed like the right thing to do, to follow Harry, yet you had already made up your mind. You needed to stay and protect wherever was safe and pray that Harry didn’t get himself into more trouble than he could manage. 

Needless to say, your expectations were at an all time low. 

--

“What are you doing here? Why did you come back?”

The words stung more than the bitter cold water Ron had just pulled a drowning Harry from. Ron gripped the sword tighter in his hand as Harry tugged his jeans on, still shaking from the ordeal. Even in the dark Ron could see the bruises already forming on his friend’s hands and feet from pounding at the ice that had nearly become his coffin. 

“You know why,” He bit out, his heart aching. Ron had too many questions to ask and now was not the time as Harry laid Salazar’s locket carefully down on a fallen tree. His palms were sweating and he had a difficult time looking Harry in the eye. He had left his best friends and the girl he loved to fend and fight for themselves when he could have, should have, been fighting alongside with them. It had been eating at him more than he’d care to admit.

Yet, when Harry looked at Ron, he felt like his friend knew his inner turmoil. “When it opens-” Harry began, choosing not to draw this out any further, “-you can not hesitate.” 

Ron gulped but nodded instead. He knew what he had to do and he wasn’t afraid. It would just be one more horcrux down and he could sleep that much better at night. Ron Weasley had the tool, and the power, to destroy a sliver of Voldemort. It might have seemed inconsequential to many, but for him it was just what he needed. 

“I’m ready,” 

The parseltongue slipped from Harry’s mouth with ease and Ron steeled himself against whatever was to come next. Shoulders squared, knees locked and eyes trained on the locket, he was more ready than he’d ever be. So when the clasp came undone, with an unassuming pop, Ron stalled. It was only a second but that second had given the soul within time to design a strategy. 

“I have seen your dreams Ronald Weasley” The thin voice whispered to him as inky black clouds swirled through air. The atmosphere was weighed down and Ron found it hard to take a deep breath as he stumbled backwards, the cloud stretching and shifting as it advanced towards him and then dipped away before climbing and hiding his view of Harry. 

“Smash it!” Harry hollered but Ron could hardly hear it as spiders appeared, peaking out from the trees and scuttling up from under the leaves. All advanced towards him and he took two steps back on shaking legs, falling on his behind as he tripped over himself. 

He couldn’t tear his eyes as the voice continued, taunting him by picking at his deepest insecurities. You seemed to materialize from nowhere, rising out of the onyx smoke like a heavenly spectre. “In what world could I ever love you?” Came your voice, a shrill laugh breaking free from your lips. 

“Ron! It isn’t her!” Harry tried to stand but a large gust from the impending shadow blew towards him and he fell back against the tree he had taken shelter against. “She would never hurt you, especially not like this!” He argued, hoping his friend saw sense. 

Ron was enraptured by your beauty even as you mocked him. From a distance he heard Harry speaking to him but it passed through his ears like a breeze and he was unbothered. Even in your cruelty your eyes were the prettiest he’d ever seen, your voice what kept him sane, your smile- however twisted and sinister at the moment- gave him his strength. You were Ron’s reason, always had been. 

So when Harry’s form shifted into the darkness, standing beside you as you linked your arms with his, Ron’s heart sank lower than it ever had before. “Why would I ever pick you over him? Harry’s family left him money, left him a legacy. But you? You’re nothing,” It was a nice to his heart and Ron couldn’t help but whimper, pleading for this nightmare to end. 

The pitch-black soul that had ruptured from the locket was pushing Ron as far as he could, but it was becoming drunk off of the way you could see Ron’s heart breaking so clearly. In all of it’s glorious emotional torture, the piece of Voldemort that had rotted long before being put in the locket seemed to have forgotten something vital. You never push a Gryffindor too far. They may hold restraint, but their bite is much worse than their bark, and now Ron was ready to bite back. 

He blinked back the tears that begun to well up at the sight of you and Harry, lips locked together and bodies intertwined. The sight of you both was too smooth, too perfect, too wrong. The smoke couldn’t create your imperfections, or possibly chose not to. Your eyes were glazed over, skin airbrushed and lips pale. Your cheeks were without freckles brought out by the sun, your chin absent of the small scar you’d obtained after Malfoy had tripped you and you’d fallen onto the floor of the Potions room first year. Your hair was neat and smooth all the way across your shoulders, when typically it stuck up everywhere. 

This wasn’t you. Ron knew that now. You weren’t perfect, and that was why he loved you. Your imperfections, your sunspots, your scars, they were a part of you and he loved them. With a mighty roar fitting of a Gryffindor, Ron raised Godric’s sword above his head and in three long strides he burst through the smoke, lungs constricting. With one powerful swing downwards, Ron felt the sword make contact with the horcrux and he relished in the breath of fresh air he was able to take as the smoke fizzled out, nothing to hold onto anymore. 

Harry gaped at him, standing with a shove off from the tree before wiping his muddied hands on his trousers. He shuddered even as the sun began to rise, his clothes still soaked through.  “I’m glad you came back when you did, Y/N will be pleased to see you,” He admitted to the Weasley that was not five feet away but felt impossibly far from him. 

Ron hesitated, but seeing Harry shake from cold reminded him of the eleven year old boy he’d met; thin and unused to kindness, shaking in his dorm room on the first night because he hadn’t thought himself allowed to search or ask for a second blanket. “I’m glad I came too...and it wasn’t all for her. I wanted to see you and ‘Mione too, you’re my best friends,” 

Harry cracked a smile, righting the glasses on his nose that had become crooked from the ordeal. “We ought to get back to camp then before they think I’m dead,” 

“Lead the way, Chosen One,” 

--

Hermione was the first to wake, the low sound of voices buzzing through the air and altering the white noise she had become accustomed to. Blinking away sleep, she let her eyes adjust to the shift from dusk to dawn. Tossing her blanket off of her, she made sure you were still asleep, before making her way out of the tent. 

Harry was on the hill above the tent, shuffling around on stiff limbs, lips...blue? The landscape had been painted in a milky blue light but that wasn’t right for the chill that seemed to have taken over Harry. “Everything alright?” 

“Better than,” Harry commented, arm sweeping forward to reveal Ron who had lingered a few steps back. The redhead looked sheepish, his bag supported on his shoulder while he supported the sword with his other hand. 

“Hey,” Was all Ron was able to think of. Hermione only scowled. 

“Hey!?” She asked, taking a step forward as her voice pitched towards the end of her sentence. “You’ve been gone for weeks Ronald, and all you have to say is ‘Hey’?”

The commotion broke through the thin veil of sleep that you had managed to slip beneath not even two hours ago. Exhaustion pulled heavy on your eyelids but Hermione’s shrill voice was filled with anger and Harry’s nervous was shaking on ever note as he denied knowing where her wand was. 

Why would they need a wand?  You wondered, smacking your lips at the sour taste that sleep had brought along. Wand. Safety. They need a wand. Not safe. They’re not safe, they need a wand. 

The thoughts jostled you from your sleep and you were tearing your blankets from you, struggling to stand as your feet got caught in your blankets. Grabbing your wand, you wasted no time in putting on your slippers before you were stumbling through the tent. “Harry, Hermione, are you alright?” You gasped as you tried to fix your watery vision on the pair. 

“I think they are,” Ron commented as the pair stopped in their tracks, Hermione pausing her threats to Harry as she eyed you, Harry forgetting to retreat from the Granger Danger in front of him. 

The reassurance should have comforted you, but the voice giving you that comfort was impossible. You fixed your gaze on the worse for wear Weasley a few yards away and your heart leapt into your throat, causing you to clear your throat in an effort to speak. One foot moved forward. You opened your mouth to speak. Once, closed. Twice, closed. Three times and you were lost for words. What do I say?! You wanted to ask your friends as they stood frozen in time, waiting for you to make your first move. 

Ron was biding his time as well, waiting for you to ask what he was doing here, like Harry, or threaten him (with good intentions) like Hermione. Instead, you chose an approach that was so completely you that it made Ron quake in his spot. 

A grin broke out onto your features and one step suddenly wasn’t enough as your legs propelled your forward with a new speed, desperation and hope licking at your heels as you collided with Ron. Your arms were quick to encircle his neck and his own found their way around your waist, securing you to him as you pressed your cheek against his. 

Struggling to keep his hold on you as you hung from him. Ron hoisted you up and you found your support as he changed his position- gripping the backs of your thighs before wrapping them around his own waist.Once you were steady, his arms snaked back around your midsection. His scruffy cheek was rough against your own but you reveled in the reminder that he was real, he was there, he was safe. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” You sighed, a weight lifted from you as the man you adored squeezed you tighter. 

“Merlin, I’ve missed you too,” He choked out, burying his face in your neck and breathing you in. “It’s good you’ve been here to take care of those two,” 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, Hermione elbowed him. Hard. 

You laughed for the first time in weeks but it was watery, tears having welled up. “Maybe so, but who is going to take care of you? I’ve never met a bigger fool in my life,” 

Ron seemed to loosen up too, laughing along with you as you took comfort in each other’s presence. However, he caught his two best friends staring at him from behind your back and embarrassment was quick to creep up on him. Begrudgingly, he loosened his grip and you settled to the floor, the damp leaves beneath you making no noise. When he looked back over your shoulder, the pair had disappeared back into the tent. Thank god he had you alone, he wasn’t sure he could cry in front of Harry or Hermione. 

You weren’t ready to part yet, keeping your hand against his jaw, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. “I feared every night that you were gone, that something- anything- happened, and none of us were there. I was so frightened I’d never see you again,” The admission seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back and you dissolved into tears, chest rising and falling erratically with the force of your sobs. 

“I’m here now,” Ron promised, voice cracking. Resting his hand atop yours, he stopped you as you moved to pull away. “I am here, and I am never leaving again,” 

You sniffled but the fears were all rising up and shoving down any semblance of calm you might hold onto. Everything you had been worried about was rising to the surface as the man you trusted most, the man you trusted to support you, arrived. You didn’t have to be strong anymore, he was here to hold you. 

“Never again, Ron, swear it,” You finally managed to get out between heaving breaths, tear stained cheeks on fully display as you brushed your nose against Ron’s, leaving him breathless. 

Nuzzling his nose back against yours, his lips felt the ghost of yours as he spoke. “I swear,” 

The faint feel of his lips nearing yours, the overwhelming relief and the crippling fear, the enormous amount of love you felt for him- it was boiling over as you breathed each other in and when Ron tried to steady himself and pull away, you were following after him.

“I need more than words,” You hinted as his hands flexed on your hips.

“What do you need?” He managed but he was practically becoming nonverbal at your proximity, his only thought being you. 

“You, only- and always- you,” You promised before skimming your lips over his, experimenting. 

It was all Ron needed for his restrain to break and he was smiling, angling your head up to him so that he could slide his lips against yours with more confidence. You whined when his tongue prodded against your lips asking, begging for more. It was soft, subtle noise that Ron wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t taking in your every breath and sound. Your hands were tangled in his hair, breathing him in to replace any other thought and sensation. 

You felt as if you were on fire, your skin hot wherever Ron touched you. Your desperation was clear as you sighed into his mouth, a plea for him to never let you go again. Yet, Ron was burning up and he didn’t want to fizzle out. He would be damned if he didn’t have more time with you. 

“We have to go,” Came the startling interruption from a panicked Hermione. 

You whipped around to face her, realizing only now that she and Harry had taken the tent down, all of your belongings packed. “W-why?” You asked, Ron’s hand squeezing your hip comfortingly when he sensed your spike in panic. He was forced to swallow down his own. 

“Harry was checking the area, making sure it was safe but it isn’t, he said he spotted six snatchers and Greyback. We have to go before they catch up, we aren’t.... ready to face them yet,” She explained in a hurry, grabbing Ron’s bag from where she had thrown it at him earlier. It was true, you were all too exhausted to put up much of a fight, and you were clearly outnumbered. 

“Let’s get out of here then,” You croaked, stepping out of Ron’s safe embrace as Harry and Hermione trekked ahead. 

Ron fumbled for a moment, grabbing Godric’s sword before chasing after you. Slipping his hand into yours, he smiled down at you and you couldn’t fight the smile you gave back.

“Remember, I’m here,” He whispered in your ear, squeezing your hand. 

“Good, because you’re stuck with me now,” You tried to tease even if the worry was clear on your face as you raced through the forest. 

“And you’re stuck with me,” He promised. 

Despite the unknowing, Ron felt his chest swell with hope. Today wasn’t the end of what you two had started and he would be damned if he ever let anything happen that meant otherwise. Ron would make sure you all made it out of this. 

After all, he’d come back for you and he wasn’t planning on losing sight of you ever again. 

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary

#Ron Weasley #ron x reader #ron weasley x reader #fluff #request #ask #anon ask #my details always fuzzy when it comes to movie/book scenes #especially when i make shit up #plz forgive me

[boyswanna-be-her]

I have a crush on you but also LEAK THE SKIN CARE ROUTINE

I really hope you were serious, because this is something I’ve thought a lot about and I am absolutely going to use this ask as an excuse to go into a skin care deep dive.

Here’s a big-ol high-res picture of my mug for you to inspect.

I pay less than $15 for products that must last at least 3-4 months because I just… don’t have more money than that to throw at this hobby. I’ll link to everything I use and show you the price under the cut.

I only use four of these things below every day–but when I have time, I use as many of them as my skin calls for. I just wanted to show you the whole of my skincare arsenal so as not to be coy about it taking up space and time in my life and routine. It does, and I do work on it.

I’m 33, white with combination skin, lots of prior scarring from picking, lots of sun exposure (Florida!), and several minor autoimmune issues that impact my skin when my health is poor or stress is high. I am prone to whiteheads and inflamed pimples the week of my period. 

You cannot buy, wash, treat, or hide your way to “perfect” skin. Airbrushed, poreless, whitewashed, glowing, moist, unwrinkled skin is a lie sold to us by makeup and skincare companies. There is no perfect skin–there is only skin. 

But if you personally are unhappy with some aspect of your skin, you can develop habits that make you more comfortable with/proud of/happy with your skin, and that’s what I want to focus on here.

Though good health =/= clear and smooth skin in all cases, I am lucky to report that my skin looks clearer, smoother, and younger now that I’m not just generally near death all the time. The story would be very different if I struggled with, say, lifelong acne, or if I had a chronic health problem that I was not able to manage. 

Skincare is a luxury of time, money, physical storage space, and mental space.

“Good” skin is a myth. Everyone’s skin is good skin. I started doing all of this stuff to my skin because I was dissatisfied with how much it HURT all of the time, and how flaky it was. Acne, scars, “discoloration,” different coloration, birthmarks, big pores, “craters,” uneven textures, dark hairs, thick hairs, skin tags, milia, blackheads, wrinkles, keratosis pilaris, freckles, and moles are all NORMAL skin types/features and don’t need to be “solved” if the possessor is unbothered by them. YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO LOOK HOWEVER YOU WANT. 

I do this stuff because I like it, it helps my mental health to take care of myself with a routine, and it improves my physical quality of life. It helps me with some insecurities, but if that was the only thing it did for me, I don’t think I’d mess with it this much. When I’m not healthy, my skin is prone to deep cracking and flaking. I have always been self-conscious about redness in my T-zone and yellowness around my eyes (dear god, my poor, poor liver).

My skin has objectively cleared and smoothed and plumped up a lot because I smoke less, drink less, stay in mostly humid environments (because, again, Florida!), and have been managing my stress and autoimmune issues. These are all changes made in the last six months. 

On top of those changes, on an average day when I’m actually taking care of myself, I use the following four steps in the order listed, once a day in the morning. I’m realistic that I’ll only do this once a day in the morning and anything more than that is just a boring time suck for me as a person.

1. COSRX Low pH Good Morning Gel Cleanser - 5 oz for $10.70 - one tube lasts me about 6 months. I use this in the morning and just thoroughly wash my face. It’s very mild and has a fresh citrus scent that doesn’t linger.

2. Kikumasamune Skincare Lotion - 17 oz $12.10 - one bottle lasts me 8-10 months. This is a fermented, watery product unlike anything I’d used before. It smells faintly like sake, bananas, and bubblegum (seriously). I decant it out of the big pump bottle into a little travel bottle. I shake a little in my hand and rub it gently over my whole face and eye area. Probably not supposed to do that, but I’m a rebel. It leaves my skin a little tacky.

3. Hada Labo Rohto Hadalabo Gokujun Hyaluronic Lotion Moist - 5.7 oz for $12.99 bottle, then 6.4 oz for $10.90 refill packages - 5 oz lasts me 3-4 months. I’ve honestly forgotten what this even does but it’s a nice, thick liquid, colorless and scentless, and I put it all over my face. Leaves my skin a little less tacky but still not slick/neutral.

4. Ladykin Fresh Strawberry Icing Gel Bar - 6.7 oz for $7.99 - one bottle lasts me about 5-6 months. Someone literally bought this for me as a gag gift because they knew I liked skincare and the bottle is… weirdly obscene. But it turns out that it makes a great moisturizer for me and it’s cheap as hell and smells like fresh strawberries so what’s the down side? 

When I have time or when my skin really needs it, I also use the following products:

SHEETMASKS - Stop buying overpriced sheetmasks one at a time!!!! Leave that aisle at Target alone!!! I know they’re at the dollar store too–leave them alone!!! Those are cool if you’re treating yourself for special occasions, but I try to think of sheet masks as a normal part of my week. That means I’m not going to shell out $3-4 PER MASK if I’m using one or two every week! 

The thing with sheetmasks is, in my totally nonscientific opinion, it doesn’t really matter what kind you use. The value is in plopping a bunch of moisture on your face along with cloth that simply forces that product into your skin. It’s the skin force-feeding concept that works more than the product itself. I think. I have no proof. I have made really moronic assumptions before.

That said, you’ll find ones that you prefer over others. Snail mucin ones don’t absorb nicely for me. Exotic animal-sourced ingredients (bee pollen, royal jelly, donkey milk, goat milk, snake venom, bee venom….) sometimes irritate my skin. Other people LOVE them. 

I get sheetmasks in packages online, at TJ Maxx, and at Marshalls. I try to pay under 75 cents per mask, but lean more towards the 50 cent mark. TJ Maxx and Marshalls are great places to try out new masks–just look at the prices and the mask count and do a little mental math to make sure you’re not getting gouged.

A good place to start if you want to try sheetmasking is with the Dermal brand of sheetmasks (16 masks for $11 (68c/per), 24 masks for $14 (58c/per), 39 masks for $21 (54c/per). They’re basic and generally non-irritating with no scent and a thin formula that feels nice and leaves skin smooth and untacky. This is what I generally keep on hand. 

I have a weird sense-memory thing with ginseng, so I also look out for Esfolio Pure Skin Red Ginseng Essence Mask Sheets. I don’t recommend buying from Amazon, as I am able to find these 10-pack boxes cheaper in person.

If I’m going to use a sheetmask, I put it on after I brush my teeth, wash my face, and put in contact lenses (doing them with glasses isn’t impossible–just messier). Then I make tea and just… do stuff with the dumb sheet mask on until it’s pretty dry (20-30 minutes). Then I take it off and rub the leftover mask on my arms and legs and chest like a weirdo, because it’s still full of product, and then I squeeze the leftover product out of the package and apply it to my face. Because I have the luxury of time but not money, I do NOT waste product.

AQUAPHOR - ~$14 for 14 oz - one tub lasts me through 18 months of travel, winters, and tattoos. Apparently everyone who lives somewhere cold already knows that you need to smother your face in petrolatum when it starts acting up or the weather is cold and dry, but this was shocking news to someone like me who was raised in Southern mall culture skincare routines. When my skin is cracked and bad, Aquaphor legit helps more than my prescription steroid creams. I put as much of it on my face as I can tolerate (it doesn’t smell like anything, but it does make you damned greasy) and then go to bed. Waking up with post-Aquaphor skin is like a miracle sometimes.

MISSHA M Perfect Cover BB Cream SPF 42 - $7.20 for 0.2 oz -  This is a new purchase for me, as my favorite sheer, tinted one-tone-fits-all BB cream has been discontinued. This only comes in six colors, and most of those look like they flatter white and yellow skin–so this option won’t be perfect for everyone. I’m still in search of the perfect replacement BB, but this one works for now. In the picture at the top of this post, I’ve just done my normal 4-step thing and applied about a pump and a half of this BB cream all over my face.

***If you have actively flakey skin, I don’t recommend the MISSHA product as it does emphasize flakes and dry patches. Try COVERGIRL Smoothers Lightweight BB Cream (1.35 oz for $6.19) It won’t discolor and emphasize your flakes, if you get dried out during the day.*** 

I fell into the Korean beauty rabbit hole several years ago with @shrimoishere​ –who has been more consistent about these things and as a result has AMAZING SKIN. If you want to learn more about why this stuff works, and how it could work for your specific skin type, I highly recommend poking around r/AsianBeauty. I spent a ton of time researching products and about two years trying different things to figure out what would work for me. This has been a passive, slow journey, so I don’t think anyone who can afford it and would like to pursue it should feel intimidated by the perceived time suck. It’s just something cool to do in the background.

#Anonymous #long post

[musikat18]

Follow Your Arrow: Valentine’s Special! (Cupid x Reader)

Pairing: Cupid/Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Myth jokes, language, brief mention insinuating intimacy, pining, mother-son frustration, dates gone sideways

A/N: This was a joy to write! I’m really glad with how it turned out, and I hope you all enjoy today, even if Cupid is your date today. Enjoy~

You closed your umbrella with a huff as you ducked in the door of your favorite cafe. Ambrosian Delight wasn’t a big chain like Starbucks, but you appreciated the homey feel of the place and the kindness of the employees. You stayed out of their drama (whatever the fuck was going on behind that counter), and they stayed out of your work space in the corner of the cafe.

You frowned up at the menu, trying to decide what to order for that afternoon. The rain had made it rather chilly, though it was still not really the best season for warm drinks. You made your decision and looked back in front of you, expecting your usual barista with the pretty pink ombre in her hair and the lovely, shifting eyes, but you were instead greeted by an unfamiliar face.

He was taller than you, with blond hair that fell just so around his temples and warm, hazel eyes that contrasted his broad shoulders and slight stubble. He must have been new, you decided upon seeing his nametag-- it looked like it had been quickly changed, and all you could read on it was what you decided looked like ‘Ross.’

“Y/N!” your usual barista grinned, poking into the man’s sides with her pretty golden nails, making him lurch with surprise and mild disdain. “I see you’ve met my son~”

This was Rose’s son? That was impossible. She looked so young and full, not even that much older than this man. You tried to look as non-judging as possible as you nodded at her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. “Do you normally work here?”

“Not really,” he said, shooting his mother a look that screamed beat it. “This is my first day here.”

You smiled, but you were oblivious to the look of betrayed realization that passed Ross to Rose, and the proud smirk that she shot back at him.

“Well, I come here, a lot,” you said. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other.”

“That sounds great,” he grinned. “Like, you’re all normal and stuff. My mom can be a little overbearing.”

“Don’t worry, I’m an easy customer,” you laughed. “Just a green tea latte and a croissant.”

He charged you for the beverage and snack, and you felt honey eyes on your back as you ventured into your corner and opened your laptop.

Your fingers moved delicately across the keyboard as you weighed every word in front of you as you typed; writing wasn’t easy, after all, and you wanted everything to be just right for this sample chapter for your boss.

“Green tea latte and croissant?” Ross had a blindingly charming smile as he brought you your order; your stomach felt warm at the attention.

“Thanks,” you returned his kind expression and went back to your typing. The blond man hovered just a ways away, not quite looking to head back behind the counter, yet. He was about to ask you about your clacking keyboard when your phone buzzed in your bag-- it was your sister.

“Hello?”

“I think I got one for you,” she said, sounding excited on the other end. You had to stifle the tired huff in your breath.

“And, pray tell, who exactly are you trying to set me up with this time?”

“Listen, we’ve been friends for a really long time, and he says he’s always wanted to meet you.”

“I’m not going on another blind date,” you crossed one leg over the other under your table. “Those have literally never gone well for me.”

“This one could, though!”

“I’m walking decent-human repellant,” you frowned. “It’s going to be another mess.”

“How do you know until you try?”

You sighed.

“Look, I’ll think about it. Can we just not do this now? I’m trying to focus.”

“Sorry, sorry. Fine. Just let me know, okay?”

You hung up your phone, and it was that moment that you realized that the apparent newest employee was still lingering in your corner.

“I take it your friend’s just as pushy as my mom,” he chuckled. In any other circumstance, you would have scolded him for eavesdropping, but there was something about this guy’s aura...something that made you feel comfortable.

“Sister, but I guess they’re not that different,” you laughed. “She’s been trying to get me on blind dates...she fancies herself quite the matchmaker.”

He didn’t seem quite all there as he mused, “Yeah...Mom’s the same way...though I’ve set up way more happy couples. It’s an art, kind of.”

“Impressive,” you complimented. “You must have a real Cupid touch.”

He let out a hearty laugh; it made you smile, knowing that someone appreciated your sense of humor.

“I...guess that’s a good way of putting it,” he said once he caught his breath. There was a silence between you two, though not an uncomfortable one. It felt full and warm, though that might have just been the way his pretty eyes were giving you that admiring look.

“Anyway…” he snapped himself out of it, “enjoy your… drink and stuff.”

You gave him a tiny smile and a nod as you returned to your work, and he nearly felt guilty accepting it. This was something he was going to have to take up with his mother….

-

He didn’t want it to look like he was looking specifically for you, though he couldn’t disguise the way he straightened his posture when you walked in the door.

“Hi,” you waved, walking up to the counter. A month had passed, and ever since Ross started serving you at the cafe, things had totally turned around for you, in spite of your underlying state of stress a few weeks earlier.

“So, Mom said your blind date didn’t go so hot,” Ross leaned on the counter. “What...happened, exactly?”

“Well,” you recounted, scrunching your face as you tried to recall the events of the attempted date the week before, “I wasn’t going to go...I told my sister I...wasn’t really feeling it, anyway. But I went, since it was one of her friends. You’re never going to believe what he said to me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he never wanted to try the date in the first place and walked out on me as soon as I sat down!”

He made a face that looked shocked enough but had just an edge of guilt, “That’s disgusting! I can’t believe he’d do that to you.”

“It made my sister back off on the blind dates entirely, and it was more time to work on my sample packet,” you shrugged, adding with a beaming smile. “Which, my boss loved, by the way.”

“That’s great,” he congratulated.

You felt shy, “Yeah...normally I hate writing romance...but I’ve had a lot of inspiration pushing me that way, lately. I guess it’s just the season.”

You swore you saw a gentle flush on his cheeks as he quickly diverted the topic, “So...can I interest you in one of our seasonal sugar arrow cookies?”

You followed his gaze to the pastry case, where in between the muffins and croissants, there were two neat rows of delicious-looking cookies. They were simple enough cut-outs in the shape of stylized arrows, with a heart-like tip and artistic indents along the tail that looked as wispy as real fletching. A thin layer of icing coated the sweets, airbrushed with gold and tinted with luster dust. They did look well-made and good enough to eat, but your restraint was stronger than your sweet tooth.

“No thanks,” you said politely. “I’m just here for a drink and a sandwich. They look great, though, did you make them?”

He tried to hide the slumping of his shoulders, “I designed them. My mom’s the baker...she’s got a lot more kitchen magic than me.”

“They’re beautiful. It’s a really unique design,” you said, transitioning to your order. He rung you up as usual, watching you retreat to your corner, as always.

He felt a little foolish at his disappointment over your lack of interest in his cookies. This is all Mom’s fault.

Though, he had to admit, if it hadn’t been for his mother, he probably would have enjoyed his time working at the cafe a great deal less. He never would have noticed your sweet smile, or thought about your cute concentrative expression as you typed, or have spoken to you enough to appreciate your genuine concern for people.

He suddenly thought, though, if he was going to pursue you in a relationship, he should probably be honest with you about...well, about a great deal of things.

...Only if he couldn’t ensnare you, first. After all, he did enjoy a good challenge.

-

He frowned as his energetic uncle grabbed his espresso, grumbled about the lack of preparation speed, and dashed out the door.

“Keep your cool,” his mother smirked knowingly. “I can feel her headed this way.”

He felt his heart skip in his chest, but he gave his mother an annoyed look, “This is your fault in the first place! Why can’t you keep out of my life and just focus on meddling with mortals?! Do you know how many times I’ve nearly looked like a moron over her?”

“Because it’s my job to know,” she looked sly and prideful. “And I always know. I was just speeding up the inevitable. Don’t look now, lovebug, but she’s crossing the street~”

He snapped his attention to the window; sure enough, your figure was standing at the stopped crosswalk. His mother laughed to herself as he began brewing your normal order. An idea popped into his head; he grabbed a golden pen and scribbled a sketch on the cardboard slide, before he attached it to the cup and poured the drink in, just as you walked through the door. Your arms were full of books and papers and a handful of red pens, but you didn’t look as stressed or rushed as you had on other days.

“I assume this is what you’re here for?” he held up the cup with the drink abbreviation facing out towards you.

“I guess I do come here a lot,” you laughed to yourself.  You maneuvered a $10 out of your pocket and slid it delicately across the counter. “Can you just put that on top of my stylebook?”

The blond man across the counter took a moment to respond, so you peeked your head around your uppermost book to get a better look at him.

“Are...you sure it won’t fall?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want you to drop it all over your stuff. I could carry some of that stuff-”

“It’s okay,” you winked, completely oblivious. “I’m an old pro at balancing acts.”

He carefully topped your stack with the cup, frowning a little as you walked to your usual corner table and set the cup on the table by the top rim.

He had worked rather hard on that little arrow drawing. You could have at least said something about it.

-

“Y/N?”

You looked up from your work over at Ross, who was standing just under a large sign in the shape of a golden arrow, pointing at the farthest right side of the menu.

“I know you don’t work here, but I could really use a hand getting this sign straight.”

Your eyebrows quirked at his odd request.

Actually, he had been acting a lot stranger, lately. Between the cookies and your drink the other day and now the sign, you were starting to wonder if something was going on with him.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why?” you asked, closing your computer and walking over to him.

“Well…” he looked to the side as he fished for an excuse. “You’re taller than my mom. And there’s not really anyone else back there, right now.”

“But it’s already hanging and it looks fine,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you feeling okay? You’ve been acting really weird.”

“Weird? Me?” he laughed. “No, I’m good. Been good. Always...good.”

You frowned to the side at his clear lie.

“You know that if something’s going on...you can tell me anything,” you gently insisted. “We’re friends, Ross.”

He gave you a confused, indignant look that seemed laced with jealousy, “Who’s Ross?”

“Well, your nametag...I just assumed,” you said awkwardly. “Did you just get stuck with an old employee’s tag?”

The wheels clicked in his head, and he suddenly felt foolish.

“Shit...dammit, ugh, I probably should tell you...everything, I guess.”

You had absolutely no idea what he could possibly mean and were getting a little scared that he was going to admit to being a secret government agent or something, but instead, he tenderly took both of your hands, and you gasped as the image of the cafe disappeared around you.

Instead, you were standing in a gleaming temple, made of polished stone and metallic accents. There were several provocative statues and a large statue of Rose in full nudity, standing in a shell. Ross-- or whoever he was-- was no longer in a casual button-down, fabric straining across his chest, but he seemed to have eschewed a shirt entirely, instead wearing a kind of gilded leather harness that supported a quiver that sat between two cotton-like white wings, matching leather wrist gauntlets, and hardy sandals. You were almost embarrassed by your staring and gaped jaw.

“My name’s not Ross, and I’m not a barista...but I guess you kind of noticed it, now,” he said, not knowing where to cast his gaze. “I mean, my birth name is Eros, but Mom always insisted on calling me Cupid.”

You wanted to ask something intelligent, but instead your brain spit out, “Why the hell does this temple look like a coffee shop?!”

He rolled his warm, honey eyes, “I don’t know, it’s based on whatever humans see as romantic at the moment. Lots of people like the idea of falling in love at a coffee shop, now, so that’s what it turned into...Mom, can you give us a moment, please?!? This is kind of a lot for a mortal!”

The statue of Rose-- Aphrodite, you now assumed-- had been replaced by Rose herself in a revealing, sheer, airy pink gown. The goddess in question was smirking.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she teased in a singsong-y voice.

Cupid was blushing and glaring at his mother, but you were carefully analyzing the events of the last few weeks.

“Wait, so...arrow cookies? An arrow sketch on my cup? That sign?” you suddenly felt kind of offended, “Were you trying to get me to fall in love with you?”

He suddenly looked flustered for a different reason.

“I...I mean...I might have…” he didn’t seem to know how to explain himself, so he turned to his mother instead. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t interfered!”

“You really do have a lot to learn about our magic, don’t you?” Aphrodite shook her head. “I told you, you two were already supposed to be together. I can feel those things a mile away, you know. I just sped up the process. You know I can never pass up a chance to set up a cute couple. Just ask Helen!”

“Helen never talks to us anymore, and you know EXACTLY why!”

“I was trying to do her a favor, you know that.”

“THAT FAVOR WAS LITERALLY THE WORST IDEA. THAT WASN’T EVEN A FAVOR FOR HELEN. IT WAS FOR PARIS. I WAS THERE, MOM. DO NOT TRY TO LIE TO ME ABOUT THAT.”

“Troy wasn’t my fault, stop acting like it was!”

“Everyone knows it was your-”

“HEY!” you snapped at the quarreling love gods, squeezing Cupid’s hands to regain his attention, “I’m still right here! Doesn’t anyone want to know what I have to say about this?”

Cupid’s shoulders heaved in a sigh as he calmed himself. He took one of his large hands back and scrubbed it over his face.

“Look, if you don’t want to be together...I’m sorry for all of this,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “I can take you back to the cafe, and you don’t have to remember any of this...I can even leave you alone entirely, if you want. This hasn’t all been me, I really do apologize if you were bummed about your blind date going sideways or you’re offended by me pursuing you. I do actually like you...not just because my mom wants me to. I think you’re beautiful and kind and special...so if you want someone else, I’m happy to find a nice, normal person for you.”

A small smile appeared on your face at his endearing sincerity. For someone so dramatic and larger than life, he was remarkably human.

“I...should probably be a little honest with you, too,” you said shyly. “I...kind of like you, too. A lot. How do you think I’ve been finding inspiration for my book?”

Surprise and then realization and then bliss took turns taking over his expression, and he smiled a blindingly charming smile.

“And that’s you talking? Not anything I’ve tried? Or anything my mother tried?”

“I’m pretty sure your awesome drinks weren’t the only thing bringing me back after you started at...whatever that cafe is.”

“Does this mean you wanna...you know, kiss and date and...stuff?” he asked.

“I’d be happy to,” you bounced, unable to contain your excitement. “Do you think...is Valentine’s Day too busy for you? Considering the whole...you thing?”

Cupid frowned in thought, but Aphrodite waved her hand.

“I can take care of one little day for my boy,” she said, looking awfully pleased with herself. “You kids have fun, but gods, be careful, Cupid. You know what happened to your grandfather when-”

“NO ONE ASKED FOR A ZEUS STORY, MOM.”

He was distracted by his mother’s coyness enough for you to surprise him with a kiss. Cupid was quick to respond, pulling your closer by the waist and burying a hand in your hair.

You hadn’t been looking for a fairy tale or a coffee shop romance, but a romantic myth certainly seemed like the better option, anyway.

Tagging: @annathewitch @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @bsotstory @lauuerodz

#cupid x reader #cupid imagine #generic fic #valentine's special #musikat writes