#it's technically just paper and tape at least- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

threadbaresweater · 7 months

Text

if music be the food of love, play on

Nanami Kento x reader. You're the proud owner of a new music store that just opened up beside Kento's Bakery, a beloved oasis on a busy street of a quaint small town. Nanami is cold and unwelcoming when you first meet, but as the weeks pass, he discovers that there's a world of music and happiness right at his doorstep.

Tags: bakery owner Nanami, female musician reader (main instrument is piano); lots of technical talk about music; lots of food mentions (it's a bakery au, afterall); fluff, Nanami doesn't have a sorcerer background, Nobara and Haibara as supporting characters, first kisses, little bit of pining, smidge of angst for Nanami's back story. I've been nursing this for months and finally found the time to finish it today. Before you ask about a part two, please know that it's being considered, though it will be slow based on how long it took me to write this.

See end notes for details on the music mentioned throughout the story and an explanation of the title. 6.5k words. Dividers by the lovely @/cafekitsune.

While most of the city is still fast asleep, Nanami Kento unlocks the front door of his bakery and steps inside, ready for another day of creating the neighborhood's best loved bread and pastries. He works alone until his front of house staff arrives a little before 6:00 a.m., when it's time to open to the public. Every morning is the same– by the time he flips the little sign on the door from Closed to Open, there's a case full of fresh baked pastries that have each been handcrafted with loving skill by Nanami's hands. It's meditative for him– ingredients, measurements, time, routine, a well-loved butcher’s block table, intoxicating aromas and his favorite music playing on an old record player. He has an affinity for the classics: Vivaldi, Brahms, Chopin, Tchaikovsky. But on weekend mornings, when the strict weekday regimen is more relaxed and free, it’s jazz.

The storefront is small, the floors made of old pine planks that groan underfoot, and there's room for one small table for two in front of the window that faces the street. There are a few framed prints of famous artworks on the walls, a well-loved spider plant hanging in the corner, and a small wooden shelf with the daily newspaper and a few old cookbooks. Behind the cash register is a cutaway window where Nanami's kitchen is nestled just beyond. Customers come from miles around at all different times of the day– the morning commuters who build an extra fifteen minutes into their routine to stop in for a cup of coffee to go and a savory pastry wrapped in brown paper, the afternoon crowd who call to order sandwiches ahead for themselves and their coworkers to eat in the park on their lunch break, the evening crowd that stops to grab a fresh loaf of sourdough or rye to take home for dinner. By the time the last customer has left for the day, the case is empty and the cash register is full. An overnight baker comes in around 8 p.m. to begin prepping and proofing for the next morning, and Kento departs for home.

He appreciates the routine. It's predictable and comforting, and he thrives on knowing that he's still making a difference in the world– or, at least, in his little neighborhood. Owning a bakery is not a glamorous existence, but it’s honest work. His staff is competent and efficient, and he pays them fairly. He’s never failed a health department inspection– his kitchen is pristine and organized, with fresh ingredients and well-kept equipment being of utmost priority. It took him months to jump through all the hoops; health, utility, and zoning inspectors paraded through the store, nitpicking at every small detail until it’s all up to code. Nanami had little patience for all the red tape, but he held his tongue and signed all the papers and paid all the fees. He hired and trained a handful of workers and opened for business on a sleepy Thursday morning.

By the time the little music store comes to life next door, he’s been in business for over two years. And he’s thriving. Amid the other small businesses– a florist, an artist co-op, a jeweler, a few specialty clothing boutiques, a candy shop– he’s respected and loved, though the rest of the owners agree that he’s a bit of a grump. Hard to talk to, rarely smiles or makes small talk. Perhaps none of them have ever really given him a chance to say anything. Or perhaps Kento doesn’t really want to say anything to them. For all intents and purposes, he seems happy with his lot.

You purchase the store next door to Kento’s at the end of September. It takes a few weeks for the finer details to be secured, but the day you move in, it’s sunny and unseasonably warm. Nanami watches from behind the counter as the box truck you rented pulls up and takes up two parking spaces in front of his bakery. The dough he’s kneading bears the brunt of his frustration as he continues to watch.

You and two men get out; you survey your parking job and shrug your shoulders as if to say this will have to do. The truck is large, and there isn’t a lot of room in the alley behind the store, so it's really your only option. With a worried nibble of your fingernail, you turn and look in the window of the bakery to see if anyone’s watching. The glare on the glass makes it hard for you to tell, but Nanami watches you with a deep frown as you motion for your movers to start unloading the truck. For a moment, it looks like you’re going to come inside, but you change your mind mid step and go to unlock the door to your own store instead.

Nanami finishes the dough he’s working, dusts off his hands on his apron, and decides it’s time to confront you.

“Mr. Kento, is everything okay?” the counter attendant asks, concern etched into her features. “Are you–”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, without making eye contact. Onto the sidewalk he steps and crosses his arms, looking from your giant truck and over to your store, mouth slightly open, brows arched. He’s clearly annoyed, and he’s about to make it known when you bounce over to him, extending a hand in greeting.

“Hi! You must be Kento. I’ve never been to your bakery, but I’ve heard wonderful things.” You tell him your name, even though he doesn’t ask. And when he doesn’t take your hand, you sheepishly pull yours away, feeling a little deflated.

“You’re taking up two parking spaces.” It’s all he offers.

You scratch the back of your head and huff a little laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. The alley is so narrow, and I wasn’t sure if–”

“I receive deliveries out back twice a week, in a truck of a similar size. None of those drivers have ever had a problem fitting.”

Nodding, you stammer an apology, then call out to your movers. “We can park out back, you guys! He says there’s plenty of room!”

Nanami seems to relax, but only a little. “This is customer parking.”

You scoff, but you feel your face grow hot. This definitely isn’t the way you’d hoped to meet your next door business owner. “Look, I said I was sorry, okay? I’m not sure what else you want me to do.” As you start to say you’d like to buy something from him, the truck roars to life and you snap your lips shut with a short nod. Pleased, Nanami retreats back inside just as one of his customers pulls in to claim one of the spaces your truck left.

It takes hours to unload the truck, and days after that to sort through everything you’ve brought with you. You don’t hear another word from the baker next door, and you’re quite content with being left alone to organize your store the way you envisioned. There’s much more than you’d realized– stacks of sheet music, instruments you’d picked up at auctions and thrift stores that needed a little TLC, boxes of records and CD’s and even a few old cassette tapes, and an old upright piano that had been yours since the tender age of four. Your grandmother taught you to play on this piano, and now, it’s your turn to pass on the skill. Deep down, you know it’s a little crazy and overly-ambitious to open a music store and attempt to teach piano lessons, but you want to try. If worse comes to worst, you could always hire someone to tend to the store while you teach.

As the weeks go by and autumn settles in, word of your shop travels through town. You aren’t terribly busy yet, but you have a few regulars from the local university who like to raid your record collection from time to time, and you teach about a dozen piano students on a weekly basis. There’s generally a lull in business in the early afternoon, so on a particularly cool October day, you decide to lock up for a few minutes and head next door. You haven’t seen Nanami since the first time you met, but you’re hoping he doesn’t kick you out when he sees you at his counter.

A little bell above the door signals your arrival. Inside the bakery, it’s warm and inviting and smells like coffee and your grandmother’s kitchen. You order a drink and a croissant and make small talk with the counter staff. She’s young and smiling, seemingly happy to be at work as she goes about making your coffee order. You look around, noting the finer details of the store– the handwritten tags on the different varieties of bread, the old world feel and warm, yellow lighting. For someone whose first impression left you a little disenchanted, he certainly knows how to create a charming atmosphere.

As you go to leave, you hear your name called from the kitchen. You turn around just as you tear off a piece of the croissant to stuff in your mouth and meet Nanami's eyes, chewing in wide-eyed wonder. The flaky, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth texture of the croissant makes you want to moan in delight. But you're also gobsmacked that he remembers your name.

You swallow, then offer him a wide smile and a thumbs up from the hand that holds your coffee. "Kento! Nice to see you! I didn't know you were here today," you demure.

He is not impressed. "I'm here every day."

"Oh, right– being the owner and all."

"How do you like it?" he asks, giving a subtle incline of his head toward the pastry in your hand.

"Wha– oh, this?" You purse your lips and kiss the air. "Delectable. Delightful." You bite off another piece, and some of the flaky dough flutters across your cheek. "I should have come over weeks ago."

Something in his demeanor softens. It's so subtle that you'd probably have missed it if you weren't watching him so closely, anticipating his next move. "I wondered if you ever would, considering our first encounter."

You scoff. "That's old news. I was over it an hour after it happened."

There's a hint of a smile that lifts the corner of his mouth, and he pushes his glasses up with a floured finger. "Yes, I suppose it is."

For a brief moment, he considers asking about how business has been going for you, but ultimately decides against it. You take a sip of coffee as the cashier looks between the two of you, busying herself with wiping down the counter while trying to appear nonchalant. "Well," you begin, hooking your thumb over your shoulder, "I should probably head back over. I have a student coming soon. Nice talking to you, Kento!"

His interest is piqued. "Student?"

You nod, chewing on another mouthful. "Mm-hm! I teach piano lessons."

A golden brow raises, and his brown eyes gleam behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I had no idea."

You laugh. "That's why you should come and visit me! I haven't had the most warm welcome in this little neighborhood, and you're partly to blame for that."

"I thought you said that was old news," he deadpans.

You throw him a wink and use your elbow to open the door. "Later, Kento."

You visit once or twice a week, then every day. It becomes part of your morning routine to visit, and you know it's no good for your wallet, but you can’t resist. Eventually, the counter staff stops charging you for coffee. “It’s on the house,” Nanami calls from his station one morning. You leave an extra tip in the little jar by the cash register, and he scowls at you. You laugh and wave, then head back to your store, pleased that you seem to know just how to get under his skin.

You bring him a record next time you come. Vivaldi– The Four Seasons. You’d been at an auction over the weekend and thought of him when you found it. You slide it across the counter and tip your head toward the grumpy baker in the back. “For your boss,” you tell the cashier, whose name you’ve learned is Nobara and that she’s in school for graphic design but she’s been shadowing Kento and learning the art of baking.

“He won’t take it,” she whispers, though her mouth betrays her when she grins with you in a conspiratorial sort of way. She slips it under the counter and leans forward, lowering her voice even further. “I’ll make sure he hears it, though.”

You sip your coffee and meander toward the window while Nobara sneaks her way toward the record player that’s playing some pretentious Bach etudes. She rolls her eyes and pretends to yawn, then winks at you and lifts the needle.

“What happened?” As soon as the music stops, Kento calls from the kitchen, though you can’t see him from where you stand. You and Nobara share a wide-eyed moment while she slides the Vivaldi record out of its sleeve.

“Record’s over!” she replies. “Just getting another one out.”

You stifle a giggle behind your palm as she drops the needle. A few revolutions of static fill the small space, then the triumphant fanfare of Spring makes your heart leap with familiar excitement.

Kento steps out from the kitchen, dusting his hands on his apron. It’s only the second time you’ve seen the entirety of him, as most of the time his lower half is obscured by the wall behind the cash register. He’s taller than you realized, with broad shoulders that strain against the cotton of his button up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and you can’t help but notice the well-defined muscle in his forearms and the thickness of his fingers. He looks from you to Nobara, then back to you. He’s not amused, but he isn’t exactly mad, either. You wonder if this guy has ever smiled at all.

“Vivaldi,” he says. “This isn’t my record.”

“It is now,” you say. Nobara grabs a broom and sweeps under one of the tables, and Kento steps a little closer to you. The music plays on, and you can’t tell if he’s listening and doesn’t want to ruin the vibe or if he truly is at a loss for words.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, reaching in his back pocket, presumably for his wallet.

You shake your head and smile at him. “It’s on the house. Now we’re even.”

“I didn’t realize you were in my debt.”

“Coffee. I haven’t paid for a cup in almost two weeks. I wanted to give you something in return.”

He knocks on your door just after you've locked up on a cold, rainy November afternoon.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, and if you didn’t know any better (and you really don’t) you’d think he was offended. He pulls a couple of bills from his wallet and holds them out to you. “Really. The coffee isn’t a big deal.”

You take a couple of steps backward until your shoulder butts into the door. The little bell above you jingles merrily. “Neither is the record!” And before he can say another word, you’re trotting back to your territory, leaving him with the triumphant sounds of Spring and your mischievous smile emblazoned on his psyche.

"We're closed!" you shout from the back, not bothering to see who's at the door.

"It's Kento," he calls, fitting as much of his body as he can under the awning to avoid getting any wetter than he already is.

You smile to yourself and go to let him in, sweeping your arm in a grand gesture. "Welcome to my humble shop, good sir. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

He doesn't even crack a smile, but steps over the threshold and dries his shoes on the welcome mat. For a moment, he doesn't speak, only looks around at your haphazard organization of goods. You watch him curiously, filing away a few pieces of sheet music before fully turning to face him.

“How do you like it?” you ask.

“Quaint,” he answers, not meeting your gaze. You notice for the first time that he’s carrying a brown paper bag, and he approaches you, wordlessly holding it out for you to take.

“Aw, thanks, Kento.” You accept it with a smile and stick your nose down in the bag, inhaling deeply.

“Rosemary,” he offers when he sees you lift a brow, trying to place the scent.

“It smells incredible.”

“You give piano lessons.” It’s a statement, not a question. You chuckle lightly at his abrupt change of subject. Either he’s incredibly socially awkward, or he doesn’t waste time on trivial small talk. You think it’s probably the latter.

“Right. We talked about it before. Why? Do you have a niece or something that wants to learn?”

He cocks his head at you, still expressionless. “No. I do.”

THe silence between you stretches on for just a beat too long, making the air tense and awkward. Nanami’s eyes don’t leave your face, and you find yourself stuttering out some kind of affirmative sound.

“Do you have an opening in your schedule?”

“I have a few!” you say. “What’s a good time for you?”

Nanami looks at his watch. “There’s no time like the present. Is this time of day usually free for you?”

“I–” You laugh sheepishly, but gesture for him to follow you to the back of the store where your little, slightly out of tune upright piano sits, surrounded by shelves of method books, theory worksheets, and volumes upon volumes of music through the ages. “I usually use this time to practice my own stuff, but I could make time for you.”

He slides easily onto the old wooden bench and inches it back, away from the keys, to accommodate his long legs. To say you’re surprised when he begins to play scales would be an understatement. He’s a little clumsy, using the wrong fingers on the wrong keys some of the time, but he keeps a steady tempo as his hands move up and down the octaves.

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to play,” you murmur, sitting in the chair you have placed to his right. Your teaching chair. Your newest student watches his hands, a lock of his golden hair falling over his forehead as he tilts his chin downward. You cross your legs and smile fondly.

"I took lessons as a child," he says quietly. "But I didn't keep up with it once I went to high school." He stops abruptly, then turns to you. "I'd like to refresh, though. Maybe learn a new piece or two."

"Of course!" From one of the shelves to your right, you pull out a volume of simplified classical pieces, thumbing through until you find one suitable. You lean forward and place it in front of him. "How's your sight reading?"

"Poor," he frowns, but he begins to pluck out the melody line, slow and deliberate.

"That's your assignment this week, then. I'll give you a book for home practice, and when you come back next week, be prepared to play one or two songs for me. Focus on the mechanics, the fingering, the tempo. We'll add in dynamics when you feel you've got it."

He continues to play, his left hand pressing against the pages to keep them from falling shut. "What's your fee?"

You answer without hesitation. "Bread."

He raises a brow as if to ask if you're serious. "Bread?"

You nod. "Bread. One loaf per week. Doesn't matter what kind, though I'm partial to a well-made focaccia."

"Bread is hardly sufficient for your services."

"I'm trying to be neighborly here, Kento. Indulge me."

"Fine. One loaf per week. And I'll buy my own sheet music."

"That's not necessary, I have–"

"I'll buy my own sheet music," he reiterates. You snap your mouth shut and give him a swift nod.

If his demeanor as a student is anything like his demeanor as a business owner, you're in for one hell of a ride.

The days grow short as winter settles in. With the holidays just around the corner, Nanami's bakery grows busier by the day with custom orders for parties and other social events, and you're busy preparing students for their first studio recital. Despite his busy schedule, he still visits you every Thursday afternoon and astounds you with the progress he makes. You wonder how he finds the time to practice, especially now, during his busiest season.

You've learned a few things about him during your time together. He's not much of a talker, preferring to keep his private life private. But when you do manage to get a little bit of personal information out of him, he gets a faraway, melancholy look in his eye, like maybe some part of him is stuck in those memories of a life long past. He’s divorced. It was a childless, loveless marriage, one where his ex-wife chased more after her own pleasure than their mutual enjoyment in more ways than one. He worked for years as a financial advisor, and when the divorce settlement came, she took her share of their assets and moved across the continent. He soon began to feel suffocated by the endless hours he spent at the office, so he took up baking as a hobby. What began as a way to distract himself from loneliness turned into a lucrative business opportunity; he opened the bakery with part of his retirement fund and never looked back.

His favorite composer is Beethoven. He appreciates the moodiness of the music, the complex and haunting melodies that seem to speak to a part of his soul he's buried long ago. You want to ask him why he never pursued music, but he beats you to the punch.

"There was a time as a child that I dreamed of being a concert pianist," he says quietly. He's playing the same two measures of a Beethoven piece, just the left hand, committing the sequence to muscle memory.

You hum and tilt your head. "What happened to that dream?"

He grunts, frustrated, though with the passage of music or his memory, you couldn't say. "My father. 'You won't make any money as a musician', he'd tell me. I said I didn't care about the money, so he found other ways to discourage me."

You're angry at his father on his behalf. It's true, the life of a musician isn't all glitz and glamor, but it's fulfilling work. The friendships formed and the memories of performances and late night jam sessions are worth more than any measly paycheck you might receive. It might be a romanticized way to think about it, but it's not unreasonable to find a way to make a modest living from music.

"So you studied–"

"Finance. Numbers. Spreadsheets and accounting. Math and music aren't really all that different when you break it down," he says. "Of course, you can't put emotion into algebraic equations," he scoffs. He lifts his hand from the keyboard and turns to look at you. "But you can with bread."

You nod. "It's true. I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to encourage you to follow your heart."

He pauses, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something retaliatory; but he sighs instead. "So am I."

You're struck suddenly with an idea, and nearly knock over your chair to open one of your cabinets. Nanami watches carefully as your fingers flip through different books, your eyes alight with excitement and maybe a smidge of mischief. "Found it!" You nudge him with the book as you sit on the edge of the bench to his right. "Scoot."

"What's this?" he asks as you set the music in front of the two of you.

"Play this with me," you say. You grab the book and bend the spine so that it lays a little more flat. "Look. It's in C Major. It's not fast. And your part is simple!" When he looks at you, skeptical, you laugh. "It's sight reading practice! Come on Kento, don't be scared."

It isn't the music that he's afraid of. It's the proximity of you, sitting mere inches away from him on the same bench. It's your shoulder rubbing against his, the light floral scent of your perfume, the way the setting sun slants in from the front window and makes your eyes shine. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away from you to study the music, ghosting his hands over the keys without actually pressing them.

"I'll take care of page turns. You control the pedal. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he says.

"Alright. On my count. One-two-three-four–"

It isn't perfect by a long shot. You get through the first few pages without much difficulty, but Nanami's capacity for sight reading isn't quite up to par, and he grows frustrated that he can't keep up with you. He stops after an unsuccessful attempt at a set of quick sixteenth notes and shakes his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I need more practice," he murmurs, watching your hands as you continue playing.

"You were doing fine!"

"Not as good as you."

You laugh, incredulous. "Kento, I've got years of practice on you! Give yourself a break!" You swat playfully at his shoulder and start to slide away from the bench, but he takes hold of your wrist. You freeze, and the smile falls from your lips when you see the way he's looking at you.

"I'll pay you for the extra time if I can stay a little longer." I want to get this right. For you.

When you settle back in beside him, he releases his grip on your wrist. The loss of warmth and pressure takes your breath away. Your tongue feels to heavy for your mouth when you agree to let him stay. "You don't have to pay me. Let's work this through."

You spend the next hour writing in numbers on the sheet music to guide him on which fingers to use on which keys, which passages are important to the call and response with your part, where to pause, where to speed up. The piece in its entirety is long; four movements, a total performance time of over forty minutes, but you plan to concentrate only on the first. Nanami is attentive and asks plenty of relevant questions, but as the evening draws on, you find it hard to concentrate on the music. Stifling a yawn with the back of your hand, you glance at the old grandfather clock that stands near the back door.

"I think that will give you enough to do this week, don't you think?" In the beat of silence that follows your question, your stomach gurgles. Embarrassed, you rub a hand over your abdomen. "Sorry."

Nanami closes the book and checks his watch. "When did you last eat?" he asks.

"I had an early lunch. Breakfast. Brunch?" You giggle at yourself and shrug. "A while ago," you admit.

He's at war with himself, and it's written all over his face. There's guilt for keeping you so late, annoyance that you didn't stop teaching him at a reasonable time. There's a thankfulness in the way his brows knit together, though, and a tender admiration for how dedicated you are. He also wants to take you to dinner, but he doesn't want it to be a date, and he doesn't want you to think that he's asking you out because he doesn't want to overstep any sort of student-teacher relationship.

But he owns a bakery that's stocked with food, whose employees have long gone home for the evening.

"Come with me."

You begin to protest. You know what he's going to offer, but you're tired and a little frazzled, and you know you won't be good company for much longer. "Kento, I appreciate it, but–"

"Let me make you something."

You sigh, but your stomach has more to say.

Nanami lifts a brow and quirks up the corner of his mouth. "Come on," he says, "before I change my mind."

The sidewalk is dusted with a glittering swirl of snow when you step outside and lock up. The street in front of your shops is barren and dark, save for a lone, flickering street lamp and a biting cold winter wind. You wish you'd thought to grab your coat (or at least a scarf), but Nanami is quick to unlock his door and usher you inside, his hand hovering near the small of your back, barely touching. You're immediately thankful for the warmth of his bakery. Even now, with the ovens off and only the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the atmosphere warm and welcoming. You roll some of the tension out of your shoulders and look around while he goes straight to the record player and puts on an album. This one is different than his usual fare; the crackle of the needle on vinyl satisfies you in a way you can't explain, and soon you're surprised to hear the croon of Louis Armstrong.

"I didn't take you for a jazz fan," you muse, following him behind the counter. You feel like you're being let in on one of the world's best kept secrets, like you really shouldn't be here, even though you were invited– no, told– to come. Nanami pulls out a stool and instructs you to sit, and you do, though you're itching to help in some way.

"Sure you don't need me to do anything?"

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, then uses his index finger to push them up the bridge of his nose. You take that as a no, so you settle onto the stool and listen to the music while he works.

"You know, for it to be a real exchange of services, you should teach me how to bake."

He continues to assemble two sandwiches with cold cuts of meat and fresh tomato and some kind of pesto spread that makes your mouth water. The sound of the serrated edge of a knife cutting through a loaf of crusty bread makes your stomach growl again. Nanami scoffs. "I'm not a good teacher."

"Bullshit. I bet you're amazing."

"I'm not patient. I thought you'd be able to figure that out from the way I study piano." He sets a plate in front of you, then pulls out another stool, settling in adjacent from you at the other side of the prep table. You wonder if it's not customary for him to eat here. Something tells you that he likes to keep this space pristine when he's not using it for its intended purpose, but you choose to ignore it.

"You've got to have a little patience stored in there somewhere." You point to his heart and smile. "Doesn't bread take hours from start to finish? Pastries, too? And pies, and cookies and stuff?"

"Cookies don't take hours," he says. "But you do have a point with the bread and pastries. If you really want to learn, I'll teach you. But not tonight." He nods toward the sandwich. "Eat. I know you're hungry."

You eat. The first bite is a little piece of heaven; you expected nothing less, based on the other things you've eaten from his bakery, but this is on another level. Maybe it's because you haven't eaten in hours, or maybe it's because you're exhausted. Maybe it's because the man sitting with you made it for you and you didn't have to cook or decide what kind of takeout to get, but you'd swear it to be the best sandwich you've had in your life.

You don't talk much between bites, and neither does he. He, too, seems exhausted by the work he put in, but not in a way that has him feeling defeated. It's a sense of accomplishment, a tired sort of pride that comes from concentrating hard on a project that means something to him. You let the music fill the silence, you sip a cup of fresh-brewed coffee (even though you know you'll regret drinking caffeine so late), you let your spine curve as you lean on the table, feeling full and satisfied.

You offer to help him clean up. He insists that you leave it, that it's late and you should go. You pick up your plate anyway and stick out your tongue as you dance away from him and over to the sink. He grabs your wrist for the second time tonight and you look at his hand, then up at him as he tugs you gently toward him, close enough so that he can take the plate from you with his other hand. The fluorescent lighting does little to conceal his expression; a lock of his hair falls over one eye, where you see the dark half-circles in the skin underneath. He's tired. And it's not just because he spent the evening poring over music, nor is it because of the hours he keeps. You think he's just perpetually tired from the hand that life has dealt him, and you wish in that moment that you could help him rest.

"I said I've got it," he murmurs, and you suddenly realize you're closer to him than you'd thought. So close, in fact, that you feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek when he sighs at your stubbornness. There's barely an inch between your chest and his, and you catch yourself staring at his neck, wondering idly what it might feel like to run your nails along the stubble on his jaw.

You whisper, "Okay." Your lips feel dry, so you wet them with your tongue; it's an unconscious reflex, but when you see Nanami's eyes flit to your mouth and his cheeks bloom with color, you realize that he reads it in an entirely different way.

Not that you mind.

He sets your plate in the sink, never letting go of your wrist as he pulls you in even closer. He breathes through his mouth, softly, and he uses his other hand to tilt your chin upward, honey brown eyes dancing across your face. You search his face in kind; your heart is in your throat, and you feel his energy radiating all around you. Testing the waters a bit, you lean in further until the tip of your nose nudges his cheek and he closes his eyes as his hand slips around your waist.

He can't breathe when your lips touch his. You're so tentative and soft, plush silk that presses against his mouth and makes him yearn for more of you right away. There's something otherworldly that happens in that moment; you've shared kisses with a handful of people in your life, but none have ever felt quite like this. You think about the romance books that you read as a teen, where the kiss would be described as electric, charged, all-consuming, like some kind of magic spell was cast over the characters and they knew in an instant that they were meant to be.

You knew how foolish it was to believe in those kind of stories, yet here you were, standing in the middle of Nanami's kitchen, kissing him while he kissed you back, with soft jazz floating on the air, your fingers tracing across his jaw just as you'd daydreamed about only moments ago. His kiss is slow and deliberate, his tongue gentle and languid as it passes over yours and touches the corner of your mouth as if he's savoring the taste of you.

You're first to pull back, your head light, your chest fluttering as you take in a gulp of precious air. Nanami's forehead rests against yours, fingers pressed lightly against the pulse at your neck.

"You should go now," he whispers, though it's the last thing in the world he wants you to do. It's dangerous for you to stay. He isn't sure he'll be able to control himself much longer in your presence.

You nod and give his waist a squeeze as you pull away, and the fatigue of the day begins to set in. Nanami thumbs at your bottom lip before letting you go, watching as you clumsily fumble for your keys in the pocket of your jeans.

The back door opens suddenly, bringing in a gust of cold air and shimmering snow flurries, and you both jolt as the night baker steps inside. He, too, widens his eyes as he sees the two of you standing there. Nanami cards a hand through his hair and clears his throat while you fish out your keys, laughing nervously.

"Mr. Kento! You're here late," the baker says, looking between the two of you as it dawns on him what may have just happened.

"We were– I was just leaving," Nanami says. "Let me wash up, then I'll be out of your hair."

The baker smiles. "Nah, I got it. Go on home. You look tired."

Nanami begins to protest, then stops himself. "Thank you, Haibara. I'll see you in the morning."

He guides you out through the front, stopping to turn off the record player. Outside on the sidewalk, he grabs your hand, thumb running over your knuckles as he smiles at you. A genuine smile, the first one you've seen since you've known him.

"Goodnight. And thank you," he says.

"No need for thanks," you demure, squeezing his hand. "I had fun. And the sandwich was delicious. You spoil me, you know."

He kisses your forehead, then dips down to meet your lips once more. Sweet, chaste, but lingering, as if he wants to commit the feel of it to memory.

"If you’re serious about learning to bake, we can start when you're ready." Tomorrow? Is tomorrow good for you?

"I'll let you know." How about tonight? Right now? You begin to think of ways to rearrange your schedule so you can fit in baking lessons. The thought of rising before the sun makes you scowl, but you might be able to make it work. Especially since you'll be working alongside him. "Goodnight, Kento."

"Goodnight," he repeats, and when he says your name, you can almost hear the way he relishes the feel of it on his tongue.

"Don't forget to practice!" you call to him as you flit down the sidewalk. He chuckles to himself and looks up at the street lamp, hand shoved into his pockets.

"I won't."

The title is taken from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. “If music be the food of love play on,” by itself, is interpreted as equating music to food for love. On its own, as it is commonly quoted, speakers interpret it as promoting love in one’s life as one might seek out more food to sate one’s appetite. But, in the context of the play and the entire quote, it becomes clear that the speaker is asking for more music because he hopes that it will cure him of his obsessive love for Countess Olivia. He hopes that with more music, his “appetite may sicken and so die.” In the case of Nanami and his love interest, I just wanted a clever title to tie bread and music together, so the quote is interpreted here without context, which changes the meaning entirely 😂

The record that reader bring to Nanami is Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and the song specifically that plays is Spring

The Beethoven piece that he plays is Für Elise, which is a common "beginner" classical song for pianists.

The duet they play is Franz Schubert's Sonata in C Major D.812 (for four hands). They don't get very far before Nanami gives up.

In the bakery when they go to share a meal, Nanami puts on a Louis Armstrong record.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider a reblog to help spread the love.

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

275 notes · View notes

bigtreefest · 1 month

Text

Chapter 5: From the Ground Up

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: It’s time for Bucky to take charge in your absence.

Word count: 4,065

Content/warnings: Interrogation, restraints (not in the sexy way), allusions to violence, swears, name calling, pet name usage, female reader, kissing, horseback riding?

Author’s Note: I REALLY loved writing this chapter. This is where we start to see the other storylines of the Outta Nowhere AU emerge, so keep an eye out as those get released.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

Bucky was mad-no, he was seething as he paced back and forth in your home office. It was in the wee hours of the morning when his private jet had landed on the local airstrip. Within that same hour, Sam had personally escorted in the little nerd responsible for a good third of the turmoil going on in Bucky’s head: Jake.

Sam had taken the liberty of pre-binding his hands and duct taping his mouth shut. Bucky was going to enjoy ripping the goatee straight off his mousy little face.

Five hours ago

As soon as Steve had gotten off the phone with Bucky, he called the construction crew. They kept them on call for things like this, but the two of them never thought the stakes would be this high. It wasn’t often that someone important and non-expendable was put in this type of danger, let alone someone Bucky cared about. As he was finishing up the call and directing them towards your house, Sam reached out to him with a sticky note.

On it was a name and the address to an apartment in the city, along with Sam’s scrawled ‘pick her up on your way over.’ Steve nodded as he hung up his call and placed another, grabbing the duffel bag he kept packed by the door and heading out.

Three Hours Later

Bucky hadn’t left your side since the rocks collapsed. Luckily, the two of you had been able to find a small gap in the rocks where you both sat. It wasn’t large enough to keep air circulating, but it was big enough to at least allow the two of you to talk with each other. You and Bucky had shared so much, from him sharing his first business operation with Steve, to you detailing crazy college stories of when you, your roommate, and Curtis would hang out.

Bucky laughed along. There was a whole side of you he never knew. He had studied intently what showed up on paper, and he knew the hardships you’d faced from your deep conversation last week, but this? This was a whole new, more playful side. He was surprised to see your spirits so high despite the situation.

“I do not believe that one bit. No way you were climbing up clock towers at school just to steal the clock hands, or a random brick or whatever. You’re too straight-laced.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you leaned your head back against the stone wall. “Oh please, people already pay so much to go there, if anything, I had more than the right to do it. Our money pays for that stuff. Technically we owned it. Not the school.”

Bucky snorted. “You didn’t even pay tuition. Didn’t they pay you to go there?”

“That’s besides the point, Bucket. Fight the man. And anyway, if you think I’m straight laced, you should meet my roommate.”

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah, about that. She’s on her way here right now.”

Your ears perked up. “Decks is on the way? Oh, that’s good. She’ll be super helpful. She’s so organized, although, I can’t imagine she took well to whoever had to interrupt her beauty sleep. Who’s the poor guy?”

Bucky sharply inhaled. “Steve.”

“Oooo hooo hoo.” You laughed. “That’ll be a fun one for both of them. They’re either gonna love or hate each other. What are all the rest of the ETAs?”

Bucky looked at his watch. Well, really, he had been checking his watch this whole time to monitor his pulse, which was over 100 consistently since the tunnel buckled. He was shaking with concern for you, but kept his voice level to keep you calm, a trick he and Steve had worked tirelessly to master. “Ummm… looks like the construction crew should be here within the hour. And I’ll bet Decks and Steve will be pulling up any minute.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Anyone else coming that I should know about? So I can figure out where they’ll best fit around the farm? Decks is great with the animals.”

You hadn’t heard all of Bucky’s or Curtis’s phone calls earlier since they stepped out of the cave to make them with better reception. Bucky didn’t want you to know Jake was on the way, mostly because he knew you’d make him promise not to hurt the rat, and he didn’t want to have to make that promise with the high likelihood it would be broken. He decided a better move would be to change the subject.

“So where did the nickname ‘Decks’ come from anyway?”

“Oh! Well it’s actually-“

Bucky heard footsteps near the mouth of the mine. He did his best to politely cut you off. “Wait, Honey, I’m so sorry, quiet for one second.”

He sat there and silently listened, the rustling becoming closer and clearer until he identified it as hooves clopping gently against the soft ground. He heard Curtis’s voice say something vaguely before he moved to get his feet underneath him and brush off his pants.

“I think Curtis is here with Steve and Decks. I don’t want anyone else to come in, just in case it’s still too unstable. Can you tell me exactly what you need them to do?”

You nodded, even though you knew Bucky couldn’t see it and began to lay out the instructions. Decks and Steve weren’t here to clean out the tunnels, they were here to help keep the farm running until you were freed, and no one knew how long that would take. It was best to keep only those who could be closely trusted around until this was all figured out. God forbid the authorities come knocking, or worse yet, Cole. Bucky held onto your every word before briefly leaving the tunnel to relay the information.

Bucky returned to you shortly after instructing Curtis to take Steve and Decks back to the house so they could rest before their long day tomorrow. Everything needed to run as smoothly as possible to not raise suspicion from your absence, which they were going to claim was due to a corn crop farmer’s conference out in Iowa if anyone asked.

After another hour with you, Bucky let you know the construction company arrived and was starting to stabilize the ceiling so they could dig you out. “I’ve gotta go deal with some business, so I’ll be back soon. Plus, I can’t get in the way of these vehicles. But say the word to one of the crew and I’ll be back here in a minute flat. I promise.”

Bucky’s promises meant a lot. That was something you had learned in your conversations. He never said something unless he had a plan to deliver. A man’s word was everything in his line of work.

“Okay, I’m going to hold you to that!” You yelled back.

Bucky chuckled. “I’m going to send Sam back here as soon as he arrives. He’ll keep you company.” And with that, Bucky made his way back to the house.

So this is where Bucky found himself, walking back and forth menacingly behind Jake, who had been tied down to the guest chair in your office. Jake’s eyes shifted back and forth with nervousness as he tried and failed to hold back whimpers and near-hyperventilating breaths.

Bucky had been silent for only ten minutes. He liked the way it made them squirm. He could sit and stare all day, completely unbothered, as anyone he interrogated slowly lost their mind. Of course, there were other, more fun ways, to get information, but he wouldn’t dare mark up your home. He’d never let the one they called ‘The Winter Soldier’ be unleashed in your sanctuary. This is the closest he would ever get, though, and it would never be seen by you.

Bucky stalked around Jake and crouched in front of him. “A milk maid came in here and told me that you’d given him information about this farm. Care to share?”

Jake shook his head vigorously and whined through the duct tape over his mouth. Bucky leaned in closer. What was more terrifying than being yelled at by him? Bucky with an alarmingly level voice.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that. I can help you talk a little better, but you’ve gotta be quiet. There are people upstairs sleeping, and I can’t guarantee they’ll be as nice as me if you wake them. Promise to be good?”

Jake nodded carefully and slowly. Bucky reached for the tape at the corner of Jake’s mouth and ripped it off quickly. Jake’s head lurched forward, his mouth open with a silent scream between gasping breaths. Bucky examined the sticky side of the tape. There was no hair on it. The steam from Jake’s mouth must’ve reduced the stickiness just enough that it didn’t cause damage. Shame.

Bucky slammed his hands over Jake’s on the armrests of the chair. “Tell me everything.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Jake giggled uncomfortably. “Uh….there’s not really much to know, mister…sir….does this have to do with Peach? I thought she owned this farm now. Where is she?”

Bucky growled. “That’s not important right now, but yes, this is about this farm. Tell me everything you told the guy with the soft hands and the jackets that were too crisp to indicate a day of work in his whole life.”

Bucky had no intention to associate that with his own designer crisp suits that he wore everyday back in the city. That was different, it was a totally separate line of work, plus, he wasn’t trying to pose as something that he’s not when he wore them. Anyway, he’s not the one on trial here.

“Oh! You mean Cole? Fucking prick.” Jake mumbled looking down and to the side. “I can promise whatever he said to you was a lie. That guy’s always been awful. He hides a demon face behind his handsomeness.”

Bucky didn’t want to be on Jake’s side, but he couldn’t argue with that. But to keep him talking, Bucky leaned in closer, moving his hand towards the knife on his belt loop. Jake flinched and raised his hands in surrender as much as he could with his wrists tied down.

“Okay, okay, I promise I didn’t say much. At least not on purpose. I was at an investors party up in San Francisco when Cole bumped into me. He was bragging about how he had just inherited his parents’ company and it was way bigger than when we were in high school. Frankly, I didn’t care, I make an effort to forget about a lot from back then, mostly him, so I tried to disprove him by saying that there are still nice little farms around despite his family’s efforts. I told him I still had my mom buy me honey that Peach makes, herself.” He hung his head in shame.

Bucky huffed as he leaned back against your desk and crossed his arms. “Well, way to go. You know, they painted you to be some genius, but you’re an absolute idiot.”

Jake looked up and scrunched his nose. “Well I actually prefer the term loser, bu-“

Bucky raised his hand to stop Jake from talking. “I really don’t care. What matters is that you’ve made a mess for Honeybee that inconveniences all of us. I’ve gotta be the one to work on cleaning this up while she’s otherwise occupied.”

Jake cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who the fuck is ‘Honeybee?’ Are we talking about the same person?”

Bucky sighed and wiped a hand over his face, stopping with it covering his mouth. He looked at the helpless man in front of him. How had you ever dated this guy? If he used to be great, what on Earth happened to him? “God, you’re slow to catch on. Yes, it’s the same person, but I don’t think the sweet peach you used to know and love is in there anymore. Not after you abandoned her. And especially not after you gave up her operation on a silver platter to Cole.”

Jake swallowed as he caught on. He had seen the devious glint in Cole’s eye when they had run into each other, but just thought it was a product of Cole’s braggadocious success. Not his complete hunger for domination. Despite the way Jake left, he still cared for you. He didn’t want to see the thing you loved taken away, especially by the guy who caused him so much grief. The guy your family defended him from on so many occasions. He felt awful. You’d taken care of Jake when he was around, but when the opportunity came for him to do the same for you, he failed.

Tears began to well up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Whatever I can do to help, I will, please, misterrrr…….”

Bucky’s shoulders pushed back in arrogance. Jake squealed all the information he had and didn’t even know the name of the man interrogating him. That wouldn’t do, especially if Bucky wanted to eventually release Jake back out into the wild once this was all over. He made a mental note to have someone coach Jake on how to not give up sensitive intel so easily. But for now, Bucky would take advantage of the ease of informational access.

“Barnes. You get to call me Barnes.”

“Ooh! So like a cool nickname only I get to use? I feel so special.”

Bucky chuckled dryly at that. Jake really was clueless. “No. Not at all like that.” Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees as his face inched closer to Jake’s.

“Now tell me everything you know about the mines.”

Jake’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? Those old things? Yeah, Peach and I used to make out in the-“

Bucky waved his hand again as he closed his eyes, unable to look at Jake for another second. “No. Skip that part. What else?” He quickly said, dismissively.

“I know they’re old? Like crazy old and probably prone to collapse at this point. But Pe- I mean, your Honeybee does some occasional civil engineering contracting work. She could probably easily whip up a plan to reinforce them.”

Bucky looked at Jake more intently. He liked the way Jake said his Honeybee, but he couldn’t let that distract him right now. And anyway, you were very much your own person. Far from his. If anything, he was yours. He knew about all your business endeavors, but not those kinds of specifics. “Keep talking.”

“Yeah, I kept up with her after school-well, more like I asked my mom to keep up with her. Apparently she’s like, designed bridges for town and stuff. Why? What’s going on with the mines?”

“That’s not technically your business.” Bucky stood there, debating on his next move.

Jake’s eyes lit up as he gasped loudly. “Oh my gosh. Is she in trouble!? Did she get hurt in a mine!?”

Bucky slapped his hand over Jake’s mouth and whisper yelled at him. “What did I say about keeping it down?”

Jake winced and whispered back. “Sorry. Does Curtis know?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes. And he’s upstairs sleeping. Don’t. Poke. The Bear.”

Jake nodded again. He was being so compliant, Bucky figured he could let a few more details slip. Maybe Jake was a little smarter than Bucky gave him credit for. “She’s trapped in one of the smaller caves. I’ve already got a construction crew digging her out.”

“Wait wait wait. You guys have a proper plan for this, right? You’ve gotta put supports in first and then calculate the load-bearing rocks. You can’t just go willy-nilly digging or it could get worse.” Man, based off that language, Bucky had no doubt Jake truly did grow up around you.

“Good observation, Jakey. That’s where you come in. I know I could’ve just called you if I wanted to know what you told Cole, but I needed you in person to know how serious I am. Grab your little computer and we’ll get going so you can run the calculations while Honeybee talks you through them. You can still ride a horse, right?”

Jake moved to get up, only to be stopped by the restraints. Bucky turned around from the door, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Oh, that’s right, my bad. I’ll get you untied and then we can go.”

Sam was talking with you about where to put which construction vehicles when he heard hooves make their way to the entrance. Bucky dismounted the back of a horse holding a laptop, followed by Jake who was riding ahead of him on that same horse.

“Not a word of this, Samuel.” Bucky growled lowly into Sam’s ear with clenched teeth. “I’ve already threatened the kid with the same.”

Bucky still had no idea how to ride a horse on his own, but would never admit that, so he was actually extremely grateful that Jake could take the reins. Sam had taken the other horse to get to you, leaving only one back at the house for him and Jake to use.

Bucky handed Jake the laptop and patted him on the back harshly, making it more of a shove. This led him to the small hole where you and Sam had just been talking.

Bucky followed at a quicker pace, reaching the area just before Jake could and held his arm out in front of the blond to bar him from going any farther. “Hi Honey, it’s me. I brought you a little present to help out, I hope you’re not mad. It’s your old friend Jacob from high school. Say hi.”

“Jake? Like… Jensen?” You responded, trying to look through the small hole unsuccessfully.

“Yeah, Peach, it’s me. I’m here to get you out. A-and Mr. Barnes wants you to know he’s been nothing but kind to me.” Jake clutched his laptop firmly to his chest, leaning over to be heard better through the small opening.

Bucky gave a stern nod to Jake for already responding well to his coaching on the way over here. Jake sat down by the hole where Bucky had sat before and got to work.

“Okay, Bee. Like I told you before, you say the word and I’ll be here in a minute. You can time me.”

“Where are you going?” He could hear the slight worry in your voice.

“To run a farm. And by that, I mean listen to Curtis.”

You giggled. “Okay, Bucket. See you soon.”

He looked back and smiled before turning towards Sam and pointing into his chest. “You tell me the second she’s close to getting out. I’ll be there.”

Sam nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Need help getting back up on your horse?”

Bucky was already turned away and heading back to your house. He waved a hand dismissively. “No. I’m walking.”

Sam chuckled as he watched the mob boss trudge away. He knew something had shifted in Bucky’s feelings. And he definitely had his suspicions that Bucky couldn’t ride a horse.

When Bucky returned to your house, he didn’t go upstairs. He feared the creaking of the steps would wake Decks, Curtis, and Steve. Plus, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep. Why would he when there was so much to do to help you? He would just get in the way at the mines, so he went into your office. He pulled out the files and article you had planned to show him the previous night regarding Cole from the kitchen, and as he sat down in your chair, he saw a contract with a familiar watermark. Shit.

Fuck. Shit. Bitch.

The letterhead was from ‘Turners Farm Corporation,’ which he had expected, but the associated law firm was ‘Hansen & Co.’ Bucky had his fair share of law firms in his back pocket, but this was not one of them. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Lloyd Hansen was something of Bucky’s rival in the city. He was an unhinged lunatic. Where Bucky ran things with honor, poise, and calculated movements, Lloyd was messy, unpredictable, and reckless. He’d been trying to make multiple steps into Bucky’s territory, geographically and business-wise, but Bucky had done a decent job at shutting it down thus far.

And now Cole was in cahoots with Lloyd, well, not him directly on paper, just his bitch-ass sister who ran the firm. Bucky couldn’t believe-well, actually he could. He could believe that Cole would have teamed up with Hansen to build enough power for a takeover, especially considering it didn’t add up if Cole was making these moves on his own.

Fired by frustration that more than supplemented the sleep Bucky lacked from not just tonight, but this whole week, he snapped a picture of the contract and sent it to Sam. Sam would make sure it made its way through the right channels and contacts still back in the city. For now, Bucky had a more important priority than personally dealing with business: You. He had never been so grateful for Sam.

As he skimmed through the final page of the contract Cole had proposed to you, the first rooster crowed. Bucky got up to gather the eggs and make breakfast like any other day in the routine he’d grown so familiar with over just the past two weeks. But instead of cooking for you, he was cooking for the small army that came to your aid.

Curtis came barreling down the steps first, followed by Decks, and then eventually, Steve, who slumped and slinked down the stairs, reminiscent of Bucky’s first day doing the same. At least they were able to get themselves up.

Bucky plated their food, Curtis eyeing him with a small smile that Bucky failed to notice, and he sat down in his normal spot to start eating. He honestly didn’t have the appetite to do so, but he knew he’d crash without food since he already wasn’t sleeping, so he forced it down, preparing to go over the assignments with everyone once again.

Steve would be doing what Bucky had last week to set up the farmer’s market since it was scheduled to go again. Decks would be taking over the tasks you had, feeding the animals, and then doing sales with Bucky since people already knew his face. No need to raise more suspicion by introducing two new people to an event you were usually at.

Once everyone cleared their plates, they got to work, doing everything they could to be of assistance for the mob boss who was very evidently on edge.

It was early afternoon when Bucky got a call from Sam. He immediately picked it up.

“We’re close, boss. Only a couple more large boulders to go before there’s a big enough gap to pull her through.”

Bucky dropped the empty crates he was carrying onto the floor of the storage shed where he was returning them from the farmers market. Lucky for him, the storage shed was much closer to the mines than the barn.

Bucky was full-on sprinting in a way no one had ever seen. He never had to once he rose to power. All he did was walk, his long strides alone commanded enough respect. But this wasn’t about pride. It was about you.

He arrived at the mine entrance, breathing heavily, just as Sam was holding your hand, helping you step over a pile of sand and pebbles. Jake stood awkwardly to the side as you looked up from your feet to see Bucky quickly moving toward you. A smile took over your face and you sighed in relief. He scooped you up and spun you around before setting you down again and using his large hands to frame your face. Bucky didn’t care about the dirt and grime that had built up on the two of you. All he cared about was your safe return to his arms.

You watched as his eyes darted between yours and down to your lips. You wouldn’t hold back anymore. He had put all his resources into saving you, helping you. Without wasting another second, you leaned up on your toes and smashed your lips into his. When you pulled back, Bucky lost consciousness, collapsing in your arms.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Tbh I thought some moments in here were so funny, but I’d love to hear your thoughts!! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo appreciated!!! If I could, I’d make a secret handshake with you through the phone for following this plot line with me. 😉🤠

Series Taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

@vicmc624

@hawkeyes-queen

@blackhawkfanatic

87 notes · View notes

upat4amwiththemoon · 1 year

Note

IN LOVE WITH GROUP PROJECT, please please do a second part, and if you don’t want to include this topic in the second part could you do another high school fic whit angst and fluff like some of Wanda Nara group friends are mean to reader and something happens but happy ending. Sorry I just want a good high school fic but I can never find good ones. Loveeee❤️❤️❤️❤️

Group project | part 2

Summary: Proximity warms hearts.

Pairing: WandaNat x female!reader

Warnings: bullying, some angst

Word count: 1226

a/n: I’d suggest reading part one of Group project before you read this!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @emsmultiverse

masterlists | quidelines

“We’ll meet you at chemistry class, okay sweets?” Wanda smiles, kissing Y/N’s cheek before dropping her hand from her waist.

Natasha grabs her chin and kisses her lips quickly. “Gotcha.” Y/N giggles, slowly backing away from them. “See you later.” She waves and walks through the other students.

After few months of serious dating, the three of them decided to make their relationship officially public, before that, only Kate and Yelena knew.

As expected, not everyone thinks it’s a good relationship, but so far they haven’t gotten any significant trouble. Only minor comments and shoves in the school hallways, which were all received by Y/N. Technically, Wanda and Natasha still don’t know about any of it. She intends to keep it that way.

The smile on Y/N’s face fades quickly when she arrives to her locker. Some people have formed a ring around it, most of them snickering, others just staring at Y/N silently as she pushes through them. Her heart jumps up to her throat.

There are papers taped to the door of her locker with big, bold, red letters on it.

SLUT

HOMEWRECKER

Her eyes widen and there’s a sudden sick feeling in her stomach as tears start gathering in her eyes. Her lower lips starts quivering and the snickers get louder in her head.

Y/N rips the papers off of the door before practically running out of the school. Feeling humiliated, she really doesn’t want to be around anyone. On the way out, she sees a group of Wanda and Natasha’s friends very clearly laughing at her.

That’s when the tears finally fall. She figured they weren’t the most supportive of their relationship considering all the dirty looks she received from them, but she never knew they’d go this far.

Gripping the handles of her backpack, Y/N starts running when she finally gets outside. She runs all the way to her dorm. There she throws her bag to the ground and crawls under her cover, where she just cries.

After an hour of crying, there are no more tears to cry in her. Y/N is just laying on her bed, staring at the wall in front of her.

However, it gets interrupted by knocks on the door, and then the sound of a key being put into the lock. Which lets Y/N know it’s Kate. She’s the inly one besides her who has a key into their dorm.

“Y/N?” Kate’s voice is quiet. She closes the door and takes of her shoes before walking inside. “Are you awake?”

Y/N gives no indication of hearing her.

Kate sits down to her bed and sets a hand carefully to her side, her thumb rubbing it in a hopefully comforting manner. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry, Y/N/M, you don’t deserve any of that.” She stays quiet for a moment. “Yelena is definitely going to beat up whoever did this.”

“It was their friends.” Her voice cracks and it’s weak from all the crying. “Wanda and Natasha’s.”

Kate frowns. “Which ones?” Y/N just shrugs, not feeling like talking anymore. Rapid knocking comes from the door. With a sigh, Kate gets up and cracks the door open. The moment she sees Y/N’s girlfriends behind the door, she steps to the hallway and closes the door behind her.

“We heard what happened.” Wanda starts, there’s clear worry on her face. “Can we see her?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not now at least.”

Natasha furrows her brows. “She’s our girlfriend and she is upset.”

“And I am her best friend of many years, I’m deciding what’s best for now. So, I say, now is not a good time.” Kate repeats, her voice set. “Do you know who did it?” They shake their heads. “Figure it out. It was your friends who did it.”

“What?”

Kate doesn’t let them continue, she just goes back inside and closes the door in their faces. Going back to the bed, she lays down behind Y/N, pulling her close against her chest.

They stay there for the rest of the day.

Kate is shuffling around the dorm, cleaning it up while Y/N is finally getting proper rest. The last two days have been full of staring at the wall in silence and crying, with Yelena popping in at times to bring food for the two.

While Kate is throwing useless papers into the trash, a knock comes from the door. With a sigh, she goes to open it. “Please let us see her.” Natasha says before the door is even fully open.

“Fine,” Kate puts on her shoes to give the three of them some privacy, “but she hasn’t really been talking.”

“Thank you.” Wanda says as they step inside. “Has she eaten?”

“Barely.” Is the last word before Kate leaves the dorm, shutting the door behind her.

Natasha and Wanda walk deeper into the room, careful not to step on anything or make any sudden loud noises. They notice the Y/N sized lumped on her bed, completely under the cover. Wanda goes to sit by her feet, setting one of her hands on Y/N’s leg.

“Hey.” Wanda whispers, rubbing her leg. “How are you feeling?”

Y/N shrugs.

”We, uhm,” Natasha sits by Y/N’s head, “we found out who did it.” She starts explaining, her voice gentle. “It was people on our friend group, Peggy, Pepper and Tony basically planned it.” Clearing her throat, she moves the cover out of Y/N’s head. “We’re so sorry this happened, we didn’t know they’d do something like that.”

“They’re your friends.” Y/N whispers.

”Not anymore.” Wanda assures her, climbing over Y/N so she can lay down opposite of her. “We would never want to be friends with people who are being mean to you.” She strokes Y/N’s cheek.

Natasha lays down behind Y/N, so the two are sandwiching her. “Have they ever done something like this before?” She starts playing her hair, a gentle smile appearing on her lips when Y/N leans towards her touch.

“Sometimes they give me dirty looks, or shove me around the halls.” She explains quietly, averting her eyes more over Wanda rather than to her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I didn’t think it was a big deal.” She shrugs. “They’re your friends.”

Sighing, Natasha pulls Y/N closes to kiss the top of her head. “People who hurt you are not our friends, okay? You gotta tell us if something like this happens.”

Y/N hums. She snuggles closer to the both of them, pushing her head to Wanda’s neck. “I’m sorry.” Her voice gets muffle by Wanda’s hair.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Wanda wraps both of her arms around her. “It wasn’t your fault. We are sorry for not noticing this earlier and we’ve dealt with it.”

”Promise you’ll tell us if something like this happens again.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Natasha puts her arm over both Y/N and Wanda. “We should get you something to eat.”

“Can we sleep first?”

Wanda hums in confirmation, having already closed her eyes. Natasha chuckles at the two, they’ve always been the tired ones. She decides to stay awake and order food to the dorm while the two start sleeping.

652 notes · View notes

lowkeyerror · 9 months

Text

Teamwork

Kate Bishop x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Notes: Honestly its been so long I dont even know what goes here... probably violence

Summary: The leader of the Avengers thinks that Kate and Y/n need to work on their teamwork so he sends them on a mission together.

An: I won't say that I'm back prematurely (like I did my last post like 4 months ago) but I will say I feel the need to post so perhaps I will

Masterlist

Kate was sweet like gumdrops. She was the kindest soul you had ever crossed paths with. Her doe eyes were always filled to the brim with emotion. Her skin was soft like clouds in the sky.

These were indisputable facts in your eyes, yet no one would know that by the way you treated her.

You and Kate were colleagues. Both young and upcoming heroes with a lot to prove. Technically you were on the same team, but you treated Kate as your rival.

You and Kate were not cute friendly rivals, but bitter ones. Mostly due to your nasty attitude towards her.

Though you actually quite admired how good Kate was at her job, you acted as though it irked you. Every time she was in the field, she came back a better hero.

She was good at adapting to others' mistakes. She might panic under pressure, but she never failed a mission. The most irritating thing is that she did it all with that award-winning smile plastered on her face.

You were also very good at your job, just a lot less enthusiastic than Kate. If Kate was a gumdrop, you were black licorice.

You worked endlessly on becoming a better hero. Your precision was perfect, it was your gift. There wasn't any chance you'd miss a target. Whether you were throwing a knife, shooting a gun, or trying to make a paper ball in the trash can.

As the youngest members of your team, the two of you often found yourself paired together.

Being paired with Kate was such a double-edged sword for you. On one hand, you got to be extremely close with the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen. On the other hand, you always acted as though you hated her.

" Earth to Y/n, are you listening to me?"

You slowly nod at your captain's words, not at all hearing what he said.

He tilts his head to the side," Ok then what did I say?"

You remain silent, not having the slightest clue of what he said. Kate couldn't hold in her laughter about your blunder. You glare at the brunette.

" I said the main point of focus in this team is our teamwork. If we're going to be working together, we have to respect each other at least. You are lacking in that department."

Kate laughs even louder, causing you to speak up.

" Why is she here for this?"

Sam speaks up," Because she's also lacking in that department."

Kate's laughter stops abruptly," What do you mean, I'm great at working with others?"

Sam looks between the two of and shakes his head," Every time you two are sent on a mission together, you bicker at each other the entire time. You lose focus, and you almost cost us the mission."

" Key word, almost. We've never failed a mission as partners. Our success rate is 100%"

" I don't like having to agree with Y/n, but she's right. Even without being buddy-buddy, we always find a way to complete the job."

Sam sighs," I've seen the tapes, I know the missions get completed, but there's a lack of teamwork. For example, you're hardly watching each other's backs."

" Kate's a big girl, she doesn't need me to look over her shoulder," you argued with him.

" This is what I'm talking about. Everyone on this team is capable of getting the job done on their own. Which means if we send more than 1 person, it is absolutely necessary for you to be looking out for your partner. If I don't see some proper teamwork on your next assignment, you both will be suspended from field work until you can sort it out."

" Are you serious?"

" You can't do that."

Sam slides a folder over to the both of you before standing up," Figure it out, because I'm not playing."

You were fuming when he left. This wasn't fair to either of you. Why were you being punished for being successful on your partnered missions? Just because you weren’t besties doesn't mean you deserve this treatment.

" If you scowl any harder, your face will be like that permanently," Kate spoke to you.

You glare at her again, and she puts her hands up in surrender," That's not very teamwork of you, Y/n."

You sigh and put your head in your hands," This is fucking stupid."

Kate rubs a hand through her hair," I agree. So let's get it over with."

After briefly scanning through the files, you both got prepared for the mission. You were going to check out a minor anomaly in some small country you'd never heard of. The locals had been recently reporting the same suspicious figure, seemingly scoping out the place and buying normal household things that could be used to enhance chemical weapons.

" So, how exactly are we going to demonstrate teamwork?" Kate interrupted the silence on your ride.

You shrug," Fuck if I know."

Kate rolls her eyes," Guess I'll be doing all the heavy lifting as always."

" What did you just say?"

She crosses her arms," You heard me."

You get up from your seat and walk over to her. You squat down so that your face is level with hers. From there you can smell that intoxicating perfume she wears. Her doe eyes are sharp as they look into yours. You almost compliment her, but then reality kicks in.

" Listen here, princess, there was some truth to what Sam said back there. We don't have to like each other, but respect is necessary. And I don't appreciate the disrespect from you."

Kate scoffs," You disrespect me all the time."

" Name one time."

Kate begins to open her mouth, then promptly shuts it.

" I make snide remarks, sure, but I've never said anything negative about your skill level or ability to get the job done because you've given me no reason to."

Kate tilts her head," Was that a- did you just compliment me?"

You break eye contact as you feel the tip of your ears heat up," Look, all I'm saying is don't act like I'm not good at my job."

Kate keeps a small smile on her face," I never said you weren't good, I just think I'm better."

" I'm not having this argument with you."

The rest of the ride was fairly silent after that. The silence was different from the usual bickering, but maybe the captain would see that as a step in the right direction.

When you arrived in the country, you could already sense that something was off. It was a mixture of a gut feeling and observation. It seemed like most of the townspeople had barricaded themselves inside.

" Something isn't right with this place," Kate speaks softly as you both walk further into town.

When comparing what you saw in front of you to what was in the file, it was easy to see large differences in the town. Though the town was small, it wasn't supposed to be vacant by any means. The robust amount of locals was the ones who reported an issue in the first place.

" I don't like it at all. Keep your guard up, Bishop."

The few people you saw wouldn't make any eye contact with you. They were quick to identify you both as outsiders. It was inevitable, as you couldn't blend in to a crowd if the crowd was non-existent in the first place.

The next local that past you was an elderly man, he stopped at the sight of you and spoke," You lot aren't from around here, are you."

" No sir, just visiting. Actually, we're looking for a certain hotel in town," you show him a picture of the place on your phone and his eyes go wide.

" You're looking for trouble."

There's a small pocket of silence which Kate fills," Why would you say that?"

" Cause you're looking for him. He's the only one that stays at that inn. And we all know to steer clear of it."

The man tries to leave, but you stop him," What happened to this place?"

" He happened… started getting rid of people he had problems with. People who gave him trouble."

" What did he do to them?" Kate presses further.

The man looks between the two of you," He blew them up. One minute they were standing on their feet, the next their head would pop like a zit."

The imagery he created freaked you out more than you'd like to admit, "Thank you for letting us know."

He shook his head," If I were you ladies, I wouldn't go looking for trouble. Too pretty to be headless."

Those were his last words as he continued walking after that. Neither of you moved from that spot. Trying to process what he had told you.

Things had gotten extremely serious in your head. You had considered going back to the quinjet and telling Sam that you'd need back up for this mission.

However, you needed this mission to go better than any of the other missions you had been on with Kate. That was literally the reason why you were both here.

" Put these on," you passed Kate 2 ear plugs.

" Why?"

You sigh," If this guy doesn't have powers, then it's likely that he's using nanotech to get into people's heads. So we need to cover possible points of entry."

When you finally get to the building, it's a little ways from the actual town. You're on edge. Kate walks a little bit in front of you while you watch her back.

By the time you see the trip wire, it's too late. It's not the entire building that explodes, just a corner of it. A corner that was going to fall on Kate if you did not take action.

It felt like slow motion to you. You saw the building about to crumble on top of her, and you were quick to lock your arms around her and force her out of the way along with yourself.

Your breathing was heavy as you realized the girl in your arms could've died. Your front was pressed against her back, and you could feel her ragged breathing as well.

You didn't let go of her until a voice interrupted the tense moment.

" Hasn't anyone ever told you that trespassing is illegal," a man emerged from the intact part of the building, smiling sadistically at you two.

" Who are you and what do you want with this town?"

The man cackles," This town is insignificant to me. It's simply my playground where I can test my masterpieces."

" Then what is it that you want?"

" I'm going to blow up the world, literally. It almost feels trivial to call it a bomb, but my masterpiece will destroy everything. There will be nothing left of this world when I'm done with it."

You're scared, but you can't let him know that," What makes you think we'll let you do that?"

" You two? You won't be around to stop me."

You realize it a half a second too late as another explosion happens under your feet. You brace yourself as best you can to prepare for impact, but you feel a hand latch on to your arm.

With the strength you have left, you help her carry your weight and stop you from falling to your death.

" I just need 1 shot," you growl as you stand up.

Kate sees the look in your eyes. She has seen it before, and it never leads any more good for the person you're looking at.

" He has explosives, it could be dangerous," Kate stood with you.

" Kate, go call for backup and a bomb squad."

" I'm not le-"

" KATE GO," You yell at her with your eyes focused on the enemy.

Kate wanted to fight more, to argue with you again, to postpone this situation. Yet she knew you were making the right call, she had to trust you at this moment and she did.

She took off running. You saw the man reach for what you assumed to be an explosive detonator. It took less than a second for you to whip out your gun and shoot the device in his hand.

He screamed as the bullet grazed his hand, the debris from the device burning into the skin of his palm.

" The next shot will be through your head, if you don't call it quits now."

" I didn't want to get my hands dirty, but if I must," he approached you at his own speed.

It took everything in you not to charge at him. You knew he was baiting you. So you took a shot at the ground right by his feet.

" Well, you're smarter than you look, but not smart enough."

You felt yourself being restrained and forced to the ground. Whatever held you down had a tight grip on your skull. Its cold metal prongs were cold and sharp against your skull.

" Don't bother struggling against my invention. You'll never get up. I'll blow your mind, and then the brunette's."

The mention of Kate made you fight against the bot. It also made the mad scientist laugh.

" Aw, how pathetic. I'll tell her about this after you're gone. Now open" he violently grabbed your chin and shoved something in your mouth.

He slapped you across the face one last time before walking away from you," Any last words?"

You were shaking, sweating, and scared. For the first time in this interaction, you let your eyes water. This felt like the end.

You'd failed and it had cost you. The part that made the tears stream freely was the thought that you wouldn't be able to save Kate. She didn't deserve to die like this. You'd hope she stayed by the jet and waited for backup.

" Oh right, there's a bomb in your mouth. Silly me," you watched as he reached for the detonator. Time seemed like it had slowed down.

He flipped a few switches on the remote before getting ready to hit the button. You closed your eyes, waiting for it to be over. Yet your eyes shot open when you heard the man scream in agony.

There was an arrow through his hand. Then another came down and through his foot.

" I will shoot this shit through your head if you even think about grabbing that remote."

Your face was still against the gravel, but you knew who had just saved your life.

She walked toward him with her bow at the ready. She picked up the remote, and before she did anything else, she shot the robot that was pinning you to the ground.

The tight grip on your head was now loose and limp. You slowly began getting to your feet.

Kate handed you the detonator. You did the opposite of what you saw the man do and saw the green light on the device turn red. There was still some fear in your heart about removing the explosive from your mouth.

The man had a smug look on his face when he saw you struggle," Well I suppose if it's disarmed its harmless right? Maybe it's heat sensitive, maybe it's touch sensitive, who knows. The only way to find out is by removing it from your mouth."

" Shut the fuck up," Kate shot an arrow directly past his head, grazing his ear slightly.

" You're going to be ok. Just take it out and throw it as far as you can."

You looked at her and for the first time ever she saw genuine fear in your eyes.

" You have to trust me," the look in her eyes was something you could not debate.

You didn't hesitate, you dug into your mouth, removed the device and chucked it as far as you could. It didn't land anywhere, instead it exploded in the air. It wasn't significantly sized on the outside. However, you knew if had gone off in your mouth you would've died.

You walked up to the man and pressed the butt of the gun into his temple. There was nothing more you wanted to do than blow his head off. Your chest heaved up and down.

The man laughed," Kill me then. I dare you."

You cocked the gun and your finger rested on the trigger.

" Y/n don't," Kate tried to reason with you.

You couldn't look at her, you'd fold if you did," He deserves it, Kate. You should've heard the shit he was saying."

" That's not for us to decide, Y/n."

You began to shake," Why not?"

Then the scientist laughed again, and that sent you over the edge. You took a small step back and fired the gun.

The scream you let out was primal. It ripped through your throat. It hurt more than you could ever imagine.

The bullet had taken the man's ear. His screams were nothing compared to yours.

Kate hugged you from behind as your legs began to fail you. With her arms around you, she kept her bow and arrow raised at the man.

Sam was confused at the sight when the backup finally arrived. The scientist was cuffed and taken in as other special forces handled the damaged building.

When the scientist was gone, Kate dropped her bow, but her arms stayed around you. Sam began to approach the two of you, but Kate signaled him to stay back.

" Y/n, talk to me," her breath was a whisper against your ear.

" I'm sorry," you said, trying hurriedly to get to your feet.

You didn't get too far before Kate yanked you back into her embrace.

" You saved my life, there's nothing to be sorry about," she gave you a small smile.

" But I-"

Kate shook you a bit," You didn't kill him so, it doesn't matter. He was trying to blow your head off."

" You saved my life too."

Kate nodded slowly," I did, you saved me first though."

" I was terrified, Kate. When he said he was going to kill you, I- I never felt that helpless," you were causing yourself anxiety just speaking about the moment.

Kate didn't hesitate to rest her hand on the side of your face, forcing you to look at her," I'm right here, Y/n. A few scratches and a few bruises, but I'm ok. Without your reflexes or your decision-making skills, I don't know if I would be standing here right now."

" Kate," your eyes accidentally drop to her lips.

" Fuck it," Kate muttered before surging forward and placing her lips on yours.

You kissed her back and it felt right. It felt like Kate was your other half. There was no competition anymore; just you and Kate.

" Well, I see you got the teamwork all handled," Sam spoke, causing the two of you to separate.

" We almost died on this mission. Our teamwork was fine before. The trauma we have is-"

Kate had more to say, but Y/n grabbed her hand," We're good."

" But-"

" Everyone is safe, the bad guy is behind bars, and now we get to go home; together."

Kate huffed and dropped her shoulders," Fine, but we're dealing with this together then."

" There's no one I'd rather tackle my demons with," you couldn't help but sound cheesy.

" Good, because you're stuck with me now in more ways than just coworkers."

You smirked," I'd gladly be stuck with you any way you'd have me."

Sam cleared his throat with a smile on his face," Ok, you guys are free to go. I'll wrap it up here."

Your hand never left Kate's as you walked back to the jet. Nor did it leave when you both strapped in for the ride. It was at that moment that you decided that you'd do whatever was necessary to hold on to Kate.

#lowkeyerror #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #sam wilson

213 notes · View notes

moonsanoverthinker · 4 months

Text

Some Christmas/holiday themed TMA headcanons because tis the season and all that jazz (definitely didn’t forget about this in the drafts until now)

Sasha would give handmade cards to everyone

Tim kept every card she gave him

During secret Santa Jon pretends to not know who gave him the present

Every year Christmas scented reed diffusers would appear but no one knew where they came from - Despite claiming it was never him, it was always Jon

Tim once again wearing short sleeves despite it being freezing (I’ll never let the hc of always wearing short sleeves Tim go)

Peter just baking cookies and having a nice time

Tim would be the main Christmas celebrations person but that slowly fizzled out (like across time frame of series 2/3)

Tim also used to go all out when decorating for Christmas but eventually just stopped bothering

Elias in a Santa hat looking miserable (not necessarily a hc but a funny thought)

Despite claiming to not be a couple Tim and Sasha did wear matching Christmas jumpers while in the institute

Georgie and Melanie have a really nicely decorated tree and just a nice cozy vibe to the house during the holiday season

Tim once gave Jon a present and wrapped it in wrapping paper, then duct tape and then zip ties - Tim also got Sasha to hide any scissors

Martin and Jon baking cookies - They were questionable looking but at least they were edible

Just the series 1 gang having a mini office party - Tim singing constantly, Sasha occasionally joining in, Martin just bobbing his head along and Jon looking slightly horrified but also amused (Not technically a hc but also ouch)

The holiday films section (I have zero evidence for any of this)

Martin’s favourite Christmas film is Muppets Christmas Carol - He forces Jon to watch it every year

Martin also enjoys Die Hard so it’s depends on the day which is his favourite

Jon claims to dislike Muppets Christmas Carol - He secretly enjoys it

Tim’s favourite film is either Elf or Love Actually - he likes to complain about love actually constantly but does enjoy it (he’s just like me)

Sasha loves The Polar Express

Elias claims The Thing is a Christmas movie - There’s snow so it counts

Peter also likes to claim that Misery is a Christmas film - There’s snow so it counts (also I just imagine him making digs at Elias about being trapped)

#the magnus archives #tma shitpost #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma headcanons #the magnus archives memes #jonmartin #sasha james #tim stoker

74 notes · View notes

emyluwinter · 1 year

Text

You know, it seemed strange to me? that in both events with tsums Yuu and Grimm did not appear anywhere.

Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe….

While all the students are sleeping peacefully in their cozy soft beds. And only ghosts tirelessly perform their endless and never-ending work. One student can't sleep because of brain fever.

The Onboro dorm. 2 o'clock in the morning. Yuu after 6 cups of coffee and a crazy plan to draw a circle to teleport to their world on pieces from newspapers that they found in the attic. They hadn't slept for three days. They spent so much time in the forbidden sections of the library and read so many confusing lost texts with black and not so much magic that their brains literally boiled with information. Their hands are stained with ink up to the elbows, as if they themselves got out of their overblot. Their hair is so disheveled that a couple of crows definitely already want to rent this "mobile nest" Their bags under their eyes could easily hold the entire stock of apples from the village of Felmer for storage in the winter season.

Finally the formula is complete. Weighed down by insane fatigue and exhaustion, their half-empty eyes follow every line. Praying that their efforts and torments will finally be fulfilled in full.

Portal and the formula works. Grimm watches in horror from his hiding place with the ghosts.

But why does that glow suddenly begin to shine on them from above in the window?Not in the room as they expected and hoped?

Yuu looks out of the window when over the building of their dormitory just at the moment when a hole appears in the sky.

Is this the entrance to their world?!Did they really manage to do it?

-HOLY ICE CREAM. DID IT WORK?! How am I going to jump there now???

Having tasted all the adrenaline from joy, confusion, fear and delight, Yuu see how something penetrates through the hole. Hell no, that's not what they wanted.

Wait a minute.

That wasn't part of the plan.

After looking closely, what kind of creatures are so slowly floating down from the hole. Curiously, the creatures are very similar to NRC students. At least they look charming, but Yuu is not going to go through all the overblots again and have deal not with one harmful ass but with technically two??

Well

This is not a portal to their home. It's not even their dimension or anything like that.

Yuu feel a nervous tic in the eye and eyebrows. All the sleepless nights went to hell, as did their remaining nerves. Now it will definitely be necessary to deal with this as well. Instead of helping themselves, Yuu spread out more rakes on the road and added more small slippery balls on top to make the whole situation EVEN worse.

With a bang and rage, the Prefect closes the window and goes to sleep cursing loudly. Intending to clean up the mess tomorrow morning, rather than dig his grave even deeper.

Attempt number two.

This time Yuu did not sleep for 4 days. 8 cups of coffee drunk. The ghosts introduce a mandatory rule not to give the prefect Coffee and Energy drinks. Never. Under no circumstances. No, it is not allowed during the exams.

"It will definitely work this time." - they purr encouragingly to themselves. A huge canvas of paper glued together with scotch tape and tears filled their entire living room without leaving even a piece for a step. Even Grimm had to be careful not to get his paws and fur dirty in ink or pieces of tape or glue.

Grimm definitely doesn't like the heading - "Fierce crazy experiments with magic and portals from Prefect 2.0"

The portal is triggered again. But again not as planned. Yuu see the light again and look out the window. Another hole in the sky above the building.

-What the hell?!Why is it so high and the same hole???

and

Tsums are falling from the sky again. Now other students. Another headache and worries.

The ghosts had to resort to magic on Yuu to stop them from trying to climb the ladder and get into the hole in the sky above the dormitory. The prefect was wrapped in a soft and fluffy blanket and given hot milk and honey to somehow calm their rage from resentment and disappointment.

…To be continued?

#twst #twst yuu #disney twisted wonderland #twst tsum tsum #twst Grim #I can't help thinking that this is all Yuu's doing #Yuu just want to get home and in the end caused universal chaos

143 notes · View notes

moosemonstrous · 4 months

Text

btw I have now put links to both the tag here and on AO3 in my bio bc I got sick of scrolling through tumblr 😌 Full disclosure - I have met lab people who act like small animals caught in the middle of a road whenever someone dares to enter their domain.

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - sticks and stones

“Can’t promise the spot will stay open,” Kwok tells him apologetically. “But this is good, no? All the young’uns want to go to the academy!”

Robbie would bet his working eyeball that none of the young'uns would be so keen on it after ten minutes alone with Major Brooks. “So I keep hearing,” he mutters. “Sorry for the trouble. I appreciate you taking me on in the first place.”

“Navos is good people,” Kwok shrugs. The Shatterdome functions on a rather opaque network of favours and IOUs. ‘Good people’ seems to be a fairly high praise. Not quite on 'one of ours' level, but high. “You remember me when you are a ranger up in the dome and we’re even.”

And just like that, the transport maintenance chapter of Robbie’s career closes with little fanfare. Technically, he didn’t have to come speak to Kwok in person – his assignment has already gone through and the man would’ve been notified either way. He doesn’t want to leave a bad impression, though. For all he knows, the battery of tests he’d been fast-tracked through the day before will spit out some convoluted reason for why the drift activated on its own and he will be back on the job market before the end of the week. At least there are plenty of positions open – it’s easier to hire someone inside the base and train them up than wait for the paperwork to clear for an experienced worker from the outside.

He remembers the last time he let himself think things were finally turning around, though. He’s not going to make that mistake again.

At least his head is clearer after half an hour in a giant magnet and a full night’s sleep. He’s still unable to hold a conversation with Ivanov without some truly strange thoughts popping up like bubbles on the surface of a pot – the more tired or angry he gets, the harder it is to ignore them. He knew he was going to pay for running on fumes for weeks, and being sedated for nearly three days must have knocked something loose, but. Nothing proper sleep hygiene and some semblance of a routine won’t fix.

Or maybe you’re just noticing stuff, because you ain’t an idiot. Huh? Could it be that?

Or maybe this whole business with The Charger is extremely weird and Robbie should be packing up and running for the hills. Unfortunately, his and Gabe’s permits only work in Hong Kong and when he last checked how much it would be to fly back to US, he had to sit down for a long moment. Even if he was willing to risk taking a ship, where would that leave them? Back on a decimated coast, hoping the wind doesn’t blow over nuclear fallout, and struggling to find enough food for both of them? Queuing at state borders for days or weeks, hoping they’ll be lucky enough to get through on the increasingly stringent rules? Nevada already stopped letting in anyone without immediate family members or sponsors in-state.

Looks like the only way forward is through.

His wristband scans through to the R&D wing now. The soldiers standing guard give Robbie odd looks, but don’t make a move to stop him, so he forces his shoulders down and walks through the armoured door like he knows what he’s doing.

He has no idea what he’s doing. Cho said, ‘come find me in R&D before noon’. There are at least fifteen labs just in this one corridor and none of the doors have anything approaching a comprehensible naming convention. Some signs are just a piece of printer paper with a name scrawled over it, some have the original writing taped over with a KEEP OUT sticker, some seem to list the people working inside. None of those list an Amadeus Cho. It’s half past eleven.

Eventually, Robbie sticks his head in a room labelled ‘HMT DES’. Inside, there are three circular podiums with a mannequin each, showcasing variations of the PPDC hazmat suits. There are three people inside; two hide behind the middle suit as soon as they notice him, leaving the third to fend for herself.

“Can–can I help you?” she asks nervously. She has blue hair and wears fishnet sleeves over a tank top. Not exactly the nerd attire Robbie was expecting.

“I’m looking for Amadeus Cho,” he explains, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. It’s the opposite of what he usually tries to achieve, and she looks like she might be having an anxiety attack. “Any idea where I could find him?”

The girl listens to some frantic whispering from behind the suit. “In the bone lab,” she squeaks. Then blushes so hard Robbie worries she might actually pass out. “Up one floor, two doors down on the left, thankyouseeyoulater.”

What the hell.

He closes the door.

At least with the directions he finds the right room in less than five minutes. The label indeed reads ‘bone lab’. He’s pretty sure the music blasting from the inside is Dead Kennedys. When nobody answers his knocking, he prays he isn’t about to embarrass himself further and pushes the door open.

Cho is standing with his back to him at a table completely covered in… either huge chunks of dirty plaster or – more likely and vastly more disturbingly – massive bone fragments. He’s holding a metal training staff. Before Robbie can call out, he brings it over his head and smashes one of the chunks. When it doesn’t break, he adjusts his grip and tries again. And again. And again, until the greenish-grey surface cracks, at which point he gives out a little whoop.

“Cho?” Robbie risks. The music is too loud, coming from a small bluetooth speaker at the edge of the table. It’s shaped like a cat head. “Hey, Cho!”

Cho whirls around with the staff ready to smack the intruder. He’s wearing thick safety goggles. When he sees Robbie, he drops his weapon to the table with a clatter. “Good news!” he shouts over the music, like it’s normal both for people to just show up in his lab and to start a conversation from the middle. “You don’t have brain cancer!”

Well. That’s definitely good news.

“Was that a–?” He waits for Cho to lower the speaker’s volume through his phone. “Was that a risk?”

Cho is busy checking his messages, frowning. “Did you break my outfitters?”

“What?”

“Hazmat lab?” The frown becomes a grin as he scrolls through a bunch of texts. Robbie feels like that’s worse. “Good job getting on their good side, they might be designing your drivesuit soon.”

“I just–“ Can we get to the point? This kid is missing a screw. “You said to come find you?”

“Yes! Come on, take a–“ he picks up a hammer from an office chair before sliding it towards Robbie. “There you go. I was hoping we could talk without the grown-ups hovering around.”

The grown-ups. Robbie can already feel a headache coming. He takes a seat while Cho leans on the table, untroubled by a pile of skeletal remains inches from his back. “Talk about what?”

Cho scrambles around for a remote and points it at one of the screens at a wall behind Robbie. He flicks through several output sources – one is most definitely a cartoon show Gabe used to love back in L.A. – until he finds what looks like the Hell Charger’s blueprints.

“That,” he says, suddenly serious. “What do you actually know about this jaeger?”

“I already–“

“Yeah, but that can’t be all,” Cho cuts him off impatiently. “I found your records from before your mom took you and your brother off-base. You were eight. Your dad never took you to the hangar?”

Not really. Mama didn’t want you losing fingers in the machinery.

“Wasn’t a place for a kid,” he mumbles. There are records? “I don’t really remember much from that time. Weren’t all the records sealed?”

I told you Ivanov is full of shit.

“Oh, they were,” Cho smirks. “But the last guy in my role had access to some of the classified stuff, and nobody ever revoked it. You know how it is.”

Robbie has no idea how it is. “What do they say?”

“Nothing!” Cho groans. “Just that you and your brother existed. That’s why I’m asking.”

It’s both crushingly disappointing and a perfectly good reason for Ivanov to just say there was no information available. Keep deluding yourself. You’ll see I’m right sooner or later. Still, Robbie doesn’t really have much he can – or wants to – tell Cho.

“Sorry, I can’t help,” he shrugs. “I’m told we left before it was decommissioned. Mom never talked about it.”

Cho lifts up his goggles to his forehead to rub his eyes. He seems frustrated. “No weird work anecdotes? No drama about close calls?” He huffs when Robbie shakes his head. “Great. Another dead end. What did Ivanov tell you?”

“Just that my dad used to be a pilot. That he died killing Daggerblight.”

There is a long moment where Cho watches him like he’s waiting for Robbie to crack and admit to some vast conspiracy. When nothing happens, he blows the air out of his cheeks. “Bummer. Oh well, let’s go find Montesi before she starts wondering where we are.”

Robbie feels the bottom of his stomach freeze over. “We were supposed to be meeting her, too?”

Cho is already walking over to the door. He holds it open with a stupid little bow. “Yep. We better hurry.”

Robbie kind of wants to punch him. He’s beginning to suspect this will be a common occurrence.

#ghost rider pacific rim au #robbie reyes #amadeus cho #the texts amadeus is getting are mostly keysmash followed by 'he cute tho'#amadeus stop bringing up how little he remembers he'll do something stupid about it

22 notes · View notes

brilla-brilla-estrellita · 20 days

Text

Crafting Wings

I finally remembered today that tumblr is a blog, and that in addition to whatever fandom nonsense I reblog, I can also post bloggy things on it. Obvious, right?

I am making a set of dragon wings for an event coming up in mid-June. They are of course inspired by Simon Snow and will be red dragon wings (though the pattern I bought from them is technically for a wyvern). I'm hoping that posting progress updates here will help me stick to it and actually get it done in time. I'm breaking it down into teeny tiny easy peasy steps and only looking at the very next step to try to keep the overwhelm and executive dysfunction at bay. This is likely to lead me down a path of "If I'd thought about it earlier, I could have..." But you know what? I always end up there anyway.

So first, I spent a long long long long long (long long long...) time trying to decide how to make these wings. I really wanted articulated wings, bonus if I could move them without obviously pushing or pulling or something. But looking at how people had made that happen was overwhelming. They require so much time and skill and I am prone to procrastination and crying and quitting when I mess up. I finally settled on this DIY Mechanical Wing kit by Chimera Wings. That would give me the frame for the wings, but they also have a sewing pattern (with printed AND video instructions) to make the covers for them!

This is what the contents of the kit looked like when I got it:

And this is the completed build! I almost didn't post this because I don't like the way I look, but you know what? Fuck that. I built something cool (using very simple, easy-to-follow instructions, sure) and I don't want to have to find a better fancier more flattering way to film that, so. I'm getting over it.

You can tell that I kinda struggle with the wing on my right side. I clearly need to stretch my arms out before wearing these. Truly. I tried it after I stretched and it's no big deal. Or maybe I'll add some sort of pulley after all. (HAH. Like I'll have time for that.)

Otherwise, the kit and wings are fantastic. It was so easy to put together and they feel very cool to wear. I should probably go write them a review...

I didn't actually takes pics of the next step, but I printed out the pattern on regular 8.5x11 paper and taped it together. It... was not very well done, but I'm hoping I got it close enough to not have messed up the pattern dimensions. After taping and then cutting out the completed pattern, I could move on to working with actual fabric!

I'm making a mock-up out of old sheets first because I have never once done any sewing project successfully the first time. I decided to mock-up only one wing instead of both, so this will surely be my downfall when I move onto the real deal.

The next two pictures are the front and back pieces for a single wing. I decided to cut them separately instead of at the same time by folding the fabric in half because every time I do more than one layer at a time, at least one of the layers comes out real fucked up. I blame being a lefty in a right-handed world. Scissors are of the devil.

The next step was to make buttonholes that are actually strap holes. I have a little baby basic machine, and it has some limitations. I discovered one of these limitations during my buttonhole test runs. As you can see, the machine-provided "buttonhole" stitches are just... lacking. I messed with a screw that controls the length of these stitches, but for some reason it can only be used to balance out the stitch lengths, not make them overall longer or shorter. I have no control for generally change stitch length. I only have the options presented to me on my stitch chooser knob. Alas, I have less than optimal buttonholes.

Pictured above: (Left) One very sad buttonhole test. (Right) A second buttonhole test in which one side is almost respectable and the other should be ashamed to call itself a buttonhole stitch.

Finally, I gave up and balanced the stitch lengths and just went with it. When I do the real deal, I will likely go use my friend's much fancier machine. For the mock-up, this is sufficient. The next three pictures show, with increasing zoom and blurriness, the completed buttonholes.

I am intentionally using very bright, contrasting thread so that when I inevitably fuck up, I can hopefully see the point of fuck up more clearly so as to rectify it on my next attempt.

And that brings us up to speed! Next Step: Pin the pieces together. That's it. That's the whole step. How many days will it take to overcome executive dysfunction and do it? Only time will tell.

As long as I can remember to update regularly, future posts should be quite short.

#yes #i also read butthole every single time #it is an unfortunate word #chimera wings #articulated wings #simon snow #dragon wings #diy craft #sewing #cosplay #i know i'm missing some very obvious tags here

11 notes · View notes

quiveringdeer · 2 years

Text

aot guys: boyfriend does your makeup challenge

reiner: knows what everything is because he loves standing in the doorway to watch you get ready any chance he gets. has also asked you questions about it before while sitting with you. he finds it so relaxing. reminds me of the guy in a video that FaceTimes his girl to talk about their days while she does her makeup. also actively pays attention to the brands and colors you prefer buying when you're out shopping together. but just cause he's watched you apply everything and technically knows the steps, he doesn't have the steadiest hand or smoothest application skills. gives it a valiant effort and it doesn't look half bad in the end!

jean: an artist so at least he gets color theory? lol But feels completely overwhelmed when presented with the task. Even if you aren't someone that has a bunch of things to choose from. Does have the common sense to read any labels to see what an item is for tho. So whether for eyes, lips, blush, etc. Takes soooo long with your eyeliner because he wants to try and do the winged eyeliner he's seen and wants it to be perfect. He's not used to such a tiny brush though, or the fact that skin moves and pulls with the pressure of the brush unlike canvas or paper. But he's a quick learner. In the end everything looks good! blended well and wings sharp enough to slice a titan! he's so proud when you tell him how well he did!

connie: taking this opportunity to experiment with a bunch of wild colors you'd never wear. doesn't care to look at what each thing is for. just chooses by color, texture, shinyness. claims he has some artistic direction/ theme he's being inspired by but is talkin straight out his ass. as soon as he's done and you get a look in the mirror 🤡🤡🤡... you are reaching for the makeup wipes cause WTF Connie?? He's laughing but swearing up and down he legit tried and thinks you look cool. 😒

marco: this sweetie!! I headcanon he grows up with older sisters and has watched them put on makeup before. therefore he knows pretty quick and easily what is used for what part of your face. knows a bunch of little tricks he's seen/heard his sisters talk about. Like using an index card edge or scotch tape to get a perfect wing. Or being sure to do the bottom lash mascara first so when you're opening your eyes wide the top lashes won't leave marks on your eyelids. best way to apply lashes. he knows so much! contouring and such is beyond his depth but he's got you dolled up ready for a date night on the town or photoshoot worthy in no time at all!

bertholdt: he's so nervous. when isn't he? lol he ends up choosing the minimal look to avoid messing up too badly. applies your eyeliner just to your top lid and gives the tiniest little baby wing from the corners. no eyeshadow. uses some blush on your cheeks that isn't a super bright or noticeable color cause he's scared to overdo it. bypasses the foundation and concealer. claims there's nothing about your face that needs to be concealed because you're so beautiful. surprisingly chooses a bold lip color though. he thinks it suits you. and turns bright red when he mentions liking when you leave lip prints on him but completely forgot this was all being recorded. he wants to curl into a ball and die of embarrassment but it's so cute!

porco: you think this is going to be a disaster. you're actually pretty surprised when he's picking up things and you're asking him what it is and he knows it exactly without having read the label. apparently he's paid closer attention to you getting ready than you getting ready than you ever thought. His hands are also steady as he holds your chin and gently turns your face to whatever angle he needs to apply your eye makeup. does take a long time though cause he's determined to make everything look perfect. he claims it's cause he doesn't want it to look sloppy and get roasted in any comments. it actually looks really good in the end, something you may have done yourself. but you tease that he's never allowed to complain about you taking a long time to get ready, ever again.

#saw the prompt idea in a tag and got hit with thoughts #so self indulgent especially w the porket one cause imma grade a simp #aot x reader #reiner x reader #jean x reader #connie x reader #marco x reader #bertholdt x reader #porco x reader #connie's is probs cliche and uninspired but oh well #i tried #kinda long but dont feel like its readmore worthy long sooo....#nat writes

307 notes · View notes

tranny-alcchemy · 2 months

Note

Hello! Im finally sending another science thing! studying zoology Im back at my intial believe, I used to believe in the kingdom classifications as any young biologist would. Then I started believing in the domain classifications. And now im like, non clade taxonomy doesnt make any sense

so even the newly published paper asking for an empire or even a 3 life taxonomy structures are just.. trying to tape over the old sciences I dont see a pro of a non clade taxonomy structure It only made sense before we started DNA sequencing life bc now we know that life only was created once in the entire history of Earth. So everything evolved from one thing So have a taxonomy where there different types of life from the start is.. wrong

It only helps to keep the non scientific terms alive. Bc if we dont have the hierchy taxonomy we cant call only specific animals what we call them like cats wont be just the things we casually call cats if we adopt a clade structure And humans would be monkeys and apes depending on which clade u go back to

From what I read so far, biologists already use clade classifications in research. And microtaxonomists neontologists handle the kingdom classifcations later And im kinda fine with that, but I wouldnt use the kindgoms in my head atleast

Disclaimer: I'm not a taxonomist so stuff i say may be wrong

honestly? the traditional biological ranking system sucks. i mean, its okay, but cladistics give the viewer much more information about what am organism is and how theyre related to others imo.

it also offers much greater room for nuance like in the case of birds and crocadillians. in traditional taxonomy, or at least the way i was taught in school, birds fall under class aves and crocadilians under class reptilia. this, ofc, implies crocadillians are closer related to other traditional reptilians than they are to birds, which isnt true. a cladistic approach, imo, is better suited to reflect those actual relationships.

Of course, this does lead to some interesting conclusions since, cladistically, once an organism is something, it will never stop being that thing. For example, this means all tetrapods are technically fish. However, personally I would not consider that a flaw but moreso a feature. After all, when would tetrapods stop being fish? There's no good point where you can accurately say they aren't that isn't super arbitrary. theres more to be said, but im tired so ill leave it at this for now

#fairypost

11 notes · View notes

toshidou · 1 year

Note

give us those personal hcs 🫶🏻

gaz hcs:

he's the type to leave notes. lots of notes. whether he's home for a while, or just about to set off for another gruelling deployment, he'll always make sure you have plenty of little pieces of paper scattered around your shared home for you to randomly find.

his hiding spots range from the bottom of the laundry basket, to under his pillow, you even found one taped to the back of the toilet seat once. each one says something short yet sweet; a simple "i love you" or, "you look so cute when you're concentrating" with a doodle of your face next to it.

he loves to bake. whether it's sweet stuff or delicious savoury breads, he loves nothing more than to watch your face light up at the mere scent of whatever he's got in the oven that day. your favourite thing he's made was a duck cake for his niece's birthday, a bright yellow masterpiece that had this adorable 6 year old screaming in delight the second it was placed in front of her.

gaz is a family man at heart, and though he never brings any photos of them with him on deployments, he'll always make sure to call his parents on a secure line at any chance he gets. after all, he knows his family worry about him, the least he can do is reassure them he's still alive and breathing, ready to come home and let his mum fawn over "their little hero".

this means he also wants to be a dad. so fucking much. he's amazing with kids, all bright eyes and giddy smiles as he crouches down and asks them what game they're playing today. each of the kids in his family adore their uncle kyle, and every time you watch him swoop them through the air whilst making the worst plane noise you've ever heard, you can't wait to watch him cherish the children you'll have in the future.

he's a sucker for disney movies. his favourite is either the fox and the hound, or mulan. don't make him pick, because he can't. you've also watched him cry at several other disney movies. but you're technically not allowed to tell anyone about that, even if you think it's hopelessly endearing.

he loves 40s/50s/60s love songs. something about how pure and sweet they are have always had such an impact on the way he's envisioned his future relationships. that means he's nothing but an absolute gentleman; always running out in front to open doors for you, bringing you home flowers at every opportunity. and if he's away on an assignment for months? he schedules a florist to deliver you a personally arranged bouquet every month, each accompanied with a note, of course.

as a kid, he always wanted a really niche hobby that he thought would impress his friends. so that's how he finds himself as a grown adult, being able to flawlessly tap dance. it's not a fact many people know about him, the number reduced to close family and the odd very close friend, in fact if it were up to him he'd take that secret to the grave with him. but it was only a matter of time until his mum ushered you to the couch and put on a home video of him being the solo at a tap dance recital, and you haven't let him live it down since.

#anon.exe #i love him so much #and this is only really scratching the surface of all my personal thoughts about him #i'm truly obsessed LMFAO #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick #gaz headcanons #gaz imagine #cod mw22 #☁︎⋅writing

91 notes · View notes

alittlextrathatway · 4 months

Note

If you’re gonna kiss me, kiss me like you need it + bedroom.

I’m gonna cheat a little bit with the location on this one.

Also this is part 3 of the universe where Sylvie works at Firehouse 40. You can find part 1 and part 2 here and here.

***

Sylvie wakes up at 40 the next morning and starts counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until her date with Matt. She has known him that long but the strength of their connection makes it feel as if it’s taken them forever to make it happen. It seems almost dying on that call yesterday was all the inspiration they needed to move heaven and earth to make it happen. For Sylvie that means issuing Shay an I.O.U. in exchange for her working first shift. Lila, their first shift PIC, still has a fever and hasn’t been cleared to come back to work. Until then they’re short handed on one shift.

Sylvie and Shay both have paperwork to turn into Boden to finalize the work exchange since Sylvie’s technically the one getting cover for her extra shift. She could turn her papers into Grainger, she supposes, since he’s the senior officer at 40 but for now that would still be horribly awkward.

Shay agrees to wait at 51 for her to finish up at 40 so they can get everything settled this morning. When she arrives, third shift is firmly settled in and eating breakfast. A member of third watch’s Squad, who’s she’s never seen before, tells her she can find Shay in the locker room and points her in the right direction.

Stepping into the bunkroom, she takes a moment to glance around and get her bearings. She can navigate 40 with her eyes closed, but 51 is bigger and more populated not to mention a little more twisty and connected. There’s a lot of doors in and out of each room in this place.

While sorting out the room and how to get around, her eyes land on the officer’s quarters. One of which still has someone in it -- hunched over a desk. She makes a quick pittstop, deciding Shay can wait just a moment more, and knocks on Matt’s door.

He glances up, blinking away his deep concentration, and beams at her. Hurriedly rising from his seat, he unlocks and opens the door to let her in.

“Hi,” he says, looking slightly confused. “Did I forget something? Were we supposed to meet up?”

She chuckles and shakes her head, waving the paperwork she’s holding at him to emphasize the reason she’s here. “No, no plans. Shay and I are working out the red tape so she can take 40’s first shift for me. Should be quick.”

“Alright, then I’ll go even slower on my paperwork. That way I’m still here when you’re done and I can walk you out,” he says, a mirthful grin on his face. “Shouldn't be hard. I hate these incident forms.”

“Deal,” she confirms, eagerly anticipating any meager amount of alone time with him. “I’ll swing by on my way out.”

As expected it takes maybe ten minutes to sort out the forms with Shay and walk them into Boden’s office. When she comes back through the bunk room, Matt is still there waiting for her like he promised he would be. She opens the door and lets herself in, since the door is cracked open an inch or two when she arrives, and then sits herself down on his cot.

“Let me just sign the bottom of these papers and then we’re good to go.”

“Take your time,” she encourages. “I have this date with this guy tonight but until then I’m free as a bird. I can wait.” She lets herself admire him while he writes. Not a lot of guys can really work a white Captain’s polo, but Matt Casey can. The red bugles on his collar suit him too. She’s never been one to lust after authority, but while she’s looking at Matt she can understand why someone would.

“Oh, yeah?” He asks. His tone is playful even though he doesn’t look up at her. “What’s he like?”

“Modest to a fault,” she says, a cheeky grin pointed in his direction. “He would never fish for compliments.”

“I bet he would if those compliments came from the woman he’s trying to impress enough to get at least a second date out of her.”

She hums, watching him as he finishes signing and puts his pen down. “Hard to agree to a second or third date before a girl’s been kissed. Gotta find out what that’s like first. That’s what Cher says anyway.”

“Cher, huh?” She can tell he’s barely managing to hold in a laugh.

“For sure. I mean, she has a whole song about it. It must be true.”

He stands up, tucks his desk chair in, and then calmly and slowly sits down across from her on his bunk. “I think the bigger question is, do you care if that kiss happens before or after the first date?”

She unleashes a broad smile and then tries to tamp it down by gnawing on her bottom lip. After the way he held her close yesterday in an effort to protect her from the danger around them, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about touching him. In ways that are less fraught with fear, of course. Kissing him is at the top of the list for most wanted type of content. “The sooner the better, I say.”

“Good to know,” he says as his eyes roam over her entire face before eventually stopping on her lips.

She knows where this conversation is heading. She can feel it in his stare and the way he shifts his body closer to hers. But no amount of understanding would have prepared her for the reality of his lips slanting over hers and his hands framing her face.

It’s like an electric shock to her system. A buzzy current sizzles over the tiny hairs on her arms and then seeps into her bloodstream. Her hands come up to encircle his wrists as he holds her face, gripping at him for dear life -- worried he might stop or completely disappear -- while she whimpers. He takes that as a sign to take the kiss a step further. She gasps when his tongue traces over her lip, parting her lips for him. He takes full advantage. What was a hesitant and exploratory kiss becomes a hungry one.

Matt Casey is a hell of a kisser. He kisses like he needs the air from her lungs to survive. Like a connection with her is essential to his very being. No man has ever kissed her this way before. And she has a feeling no man ever will again.

When they break apart, she has to rest her forehead against his while she catches her breath.

“How’d I do?” Matt asks, a wicked smirk appearing on his face.

She laughs but it’s a hoarse, wild laugh that she has absolutely no control over. “Oh, there will definitely be a second and third date. For sure. Wow.”

Truthfully, she’s not sure she would survive a make out session with this man -- that’s how hard and fast her heart is beating right now.

His eyes are warm and bright as he once again lets his gaze float over her whole face. “Come on, let me walk you to your car before I go in for round two and we draw an audience.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Sylvie agrees, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to lean away from him.

Getting up from the bed, he takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. “Besides, we still have tonight to look forward to. Wouldn’t want to spoil all the anticipation.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she admits, letting him thread their fingers together and drag her out of his quarters.

If anything, the butterflies in her stomach have gotten worse now that she knows what it feels like to kiss him. She’s in danger of getting ahead of herself. There’s a lot more to learn about each other and no certainty that dating him will lead to anything, but for the first time in a long time…she’s hopeful.

#brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #matt casey x sylvie brett #tvshowconfessions #prompt fic #my fic #angellwings writes

13 notes · View notes