#SOMEONE SEND ME A SHARPIE QUICK!!

[evermorre]

seeing this in the women’s restroom at a bar i’m at is so special 🥹

[imbored1201]

Can I send a request of barca teen reader who is very mischievous and tries to prank everybody

Piggy

Barcelona Femeni x Teen reader

A/N: I though of a situation of pranking someone then causing trouble with another situation👍

Word Count: 1,344

"Give me that." Ingrid snatched away the sharpie you had. "Hey! I'm using that for my notes.

"A sharpie for your notes, really?" She put her hands on her hips and gave you a mom look. You were sitting in the trunk of her car doing the remainder of your 'school work'. At least that's what you told her you were going to do.

"Yes, people do that; you haven't been to school in like 15 years, so you wouldn't know," you shrugged. Ingrid shook her head. "You always complain about the smell of sharpies, and you’re calling me old; this is such an old prank.

She was talking about the sign you had; 'kick me' it read, and it was supposed to go on Patri's back. "So, it will still be funny to see.

You took the paper back, applied tape to it, and shoved all your material back into your bag. "Don't be a snitch," you told Ingrid, and skipped away.

————

"Hey, Patri," you said joyfully as you hit her back, applying the note. "You're happier than usual," she said suspiciously. "Of course I am; I'm officially on Christmas break." She smiled at that; now you were off the radar.

—————

"Ay!" You turned as you heard Patri yell, seeing Claudia there giggling as Patri held her butt. "You said to do it." Patri looked confused at what Claudia said but just went on with training.

It kept happening as training went on. Aitana, Ona, Lucy, Salma, Oshoala, Mapi, Jana, Cata, and Gemma all kicked her.

Ingrid would just shake her head at you when you walked or ran past her. All the older girls, too, knew you were the reason for that sign on Patri's back. Everyone did, but they decided to ignore it and let you have your fun.

It was a harmless prank anyway.

—————

"Okay, what the heck is going on?!" Patri demanded as she entered the locker room after a long training session. You held a smile as everyone turned to her, confused. You looked down as Alexia gave you a look, and you were surprised she didn't say anything about it.

You were already changed and only waiting on Alexia; you were the first one in the locker room, knowing you would have to make a quick escape.

"Why is everyone kicking me today?" Everyone shrugged at Patri's question; she scowled and got changed.

You stared at her as she took off her shirt. You quickly grabbed your bag, grabbed Alexia's hand, and dragged her outside.

"Y/N!" You heard Patri yell, and you bolted. Alexia sighed as she ran with you, already used to this.

It happened every training, and she just went along with it now since it put you in a good mood instead of a crappy teenager attitude.

—————

"Are you ready?" Alexia knocked on your door, "wait, I'm packing." "For what? It's just a gathering." You rolled your eyes as you fed Piggy and put her into your bag, leaving it a little bit open.

"Okay, I'm ready." Alexia gave you a look; she knew you were up to something. "Why are you taking a bag?" "I always carry a bag with me," you said.

The team was having a little gathering to celebrate the last game of 2023.

"We're already late because of you; I told you to be ready by 4; it's already 6," she scolded. "I fell asleep; Lucy says I need my rest to grow," you tried defending. "Get in the car."

—————

When you got to Frido's place, you rushed to find Patri and sat next to her. She gave you a little glare and went back to watching the movie Frido had put on. Everyone else was too busy drinking and talking outside or in the kitchen about the upcoming games.

"Patri," she turned to you, "yes." "Can you help me prank Aitana and Ona?" She smiled a bit; she was happy it wasn't her again.

"What's your idea?" You grabbed your backpack and took out the tiny box. A tiny box that had a tiny spider. The "tiny spider" was a tarantula.

"How the hell do you have that?!" She said in shock, and you shushed her. "Her name is Piggy, and I got her yesterday." Patri looked terrified as she scooted over a little bit.

"Does Alexia know?" You shook your head. "I need to tell her because I need to get Piggy a home." "Then how did you get her?" "Mapi took me; I told her I was getting fish food, and she didn't question why I had a box or if I even had a fish." Patri shook her head.

"You have to promise me you won't prank me anymore for a month," she said, holding out her pinky, and you took the deal.

Patri went up to Aitana and Ona, who were in conversation and drinking together in the kitchen. She grabbed them by their shoulders and dragged them outside.

You followed but got run over by Lucy. You dropped the box, and Piggy automatically crawled away, sick of being in that tiny box. "Jeez, sorry kid." Lucy helped you up. You looked around on the floor, and your heart dropped when you realized you couldn't find Piggy.

"Lucy, Piggy is gone," you said in a panic. "Who's Piggy?" She questioned, but you guys heard a scream. A loud, loud scream. "Shit," you cursed as you ran to the kitchen.

"No!" You yelled, seeing Frido holding a shoe in her hand, ready to destroy Piggy. "Piggy!" You yelled as you ran and picked her up.

"Why do you have a tarantula!?" Keira yelled as she stood on the counter. "I adopted her," you told them, and they both looked at you in shock.

"Alexia let you get a spider?!" Lucy said surprised. Alexia walked in; her eyes widening when she saw what you were holding.

"Where- how did you. You're returning that." She let out a sigh as she shook her head and walked away. "Great, I'm in trouble now. Good going, Lucy," you said, sticking out your tongue at her.

You walked outside, looking sad. "What's wrong, Amiga?" Patri asked, confused. "Alexia said I have to return Piggy." Aitana's jaw dropped as she saw what you had in your hand.

"Nope," she simply said as she went back inside, dragging Ona with her. Patri looked at you and patted your shoulder in sympathy, but quickly backed away when you lifted Piggy up to her.

You had a plan, though, and you knew Alexia would let you keep Piggy.

—————

For having to return your pet Tarantula you were already attached to, you were quite happy. Alexia was just glad you weren't going to throw a tantrum about it.

She was leaving to pick Olga up from the airport, and you were waiting to put on your class act. "I'll be back in a bit; please don't break anything." You nodded, and she left.

You sat patiently by the door, working up your tears. You rushed to your feet once it opened. Alexia walking in first with Olga's luggage. Then Olga walked in.

"Olga!" You cried out, running straight into her arms. Alexia looked confused on why you were crying. "What happened?" She asked, confused.

"Olga, I got a pet Tarantula, and Alexia is trying to make me take her back," you cried, and Olga glared at Alexia. "Bebe, you can't have a tarantula," Alexia tried explaining.

"Yes, I can! I bought her, and I love her, so she's mine," Alexia groaned as Olga smacked her on the shoulder.

"Okay, you can keep her, but she's your responsibility, and I want you to keep her far away from me." You nodded.

"Okay, now that's sorted, let's go out to eat, yeah?" Olga said as she wiped your tears. You nodded happily and skipped off to your room.

You grinned as you texted Patri the good news and got ready. With the look Olga kept giving Alexia, you knew Alexia was sleeping on the couch tonight.

[willowser]

i have been in the anti-gojo coalition server for one (1) hour and this is what it has done to me. nerd gojo. EDIT TO SAY: OH MY GOD PHYSICS PROF GOJO !!

the physics professor grades papers in the campus library. way too late.

you're only there until nine, but gojo satoru always comes strolling through the doors sometime after seven with his book bag and sleek laptop, looking entirely too excited to care about quantum field theory. you suppose he always looks like that, though, especially in his classroom, in front of a whiteboard while droning on and on about infinities.

almost immediately after he sits down, he covers the entire surface of the table closest to the front (closest to you) with his belongings; blue and red sharpies, coffee from the shop around the corner, stacks upon stacks of paper. he even hums to himself — in a library — like he's just having the darndest time taking up all of yours.

it would be a lie to say it isn't amusing, though, even on nights like tonight. outside it's storming, albeit quietly, and the day has taken all it could from you; watching him with sleepy eyes as he mutters to himself is — cute, no matter how late it's getting.

"i have a question, professor,"

you're the only two left in the library at such an hour, but he still looks up with raised eyebrows, as if you could be talking to someone else. his grin spreads across his face slowly once he realizes, like a balm.

"and i have an answer."

you snort, tired and amused, when he wiggles his eyebrows. "is it possible for hours to sneak into the day? because it really feels like it's been more than eight today."

"hmm," he makes a show of thinking, tapping his pen against his pursed lips as if he really has to. you know he's full of it, though, because he's only twenty-eight and has more accolades than some of the oldest instructors. "each hour of the day corresponds to a specific duration based on earth's rotation and its orbital motion around the sun." he shrugs, smile dropping the more serious he gets, and — you kind of wish you wouldn't have asked, because you're too tired for this. "time dilation is a thing, but that's more...changes in the perception of time because of differences in realtive—"

gojo suddenly stops, and you can see the quick cut of his eyes over his glasses as he looks at you. when you raise a single eyebrow at him, he sticks out his tongue and blows a long raspberry, before turning to hunch back over his laptop.

"uh," he lets out a quick laugh and taps his pen against his forehead, a little aggressively. "short answer, no!"

and — you're sleepy. tired. the mascara you'd put on today is almost all dried out and flaking off underneath your eyes, you can hear the comfort of some sweatpants and your bed calling your name, but — gojo fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck, angling his head away from you. embarrassed, maybe.

despite the heaviness to your eyes and the 9: 02 PM that shines in the corner of your computer screen, you ask,

"well, what's the long answer?"

his head snaps up to you again, but he doesn't respond, only watches with parted lips; the smartest man you've ever met needing a hint.

you glance towards the windows, the dark storm beyond them, before sending him a smile that spreads to his own face. "i think we might be here a while with the rain, if you wanna tell me."

he shakes his head at you and lightly clicks his tongue against his teeth, almost like he's disappointed, before reaching into his bag to pull out an umbrella. "should have checked the radar! though i'm happy to share, if you'd like." and despite how much of a dork you think he is, the little wink he sends you over his glasses has your tummy flipping.

but he's still — not getting it.

"satoru," you say, quietly, shaking your head when his playful expression drops and his cheeks turn a little rosy under the fluorescence. "sit here with me and tell me all about time, would you?"

you can see the gears turning in his big, fat brain, and another laugh slips out of him, light and yet full of nerves. after a moment, he runs a hand over his face, takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes, like he's tired, too.

but then he's blinking at you, excited, and you wonder if his eyes have always been so bright.

"well, time is a fundamental dimension in the universe..."

[honey-minded-hivemind]

X men Evolution. Yandere Duo Lance and Kitty and future child reader who has both of their powers.

Ooooo, the Rocky Road and Kit-Kat couple! They're funny together, so their kid is likely the one who's serious (as serious as someone younger than eight can be). Let's do it:

Okay. So. This wasn't planned.

They hadn't even got to the kissing stage, let alone having a BABY.

But, here they are, staring up at them with a serious look and clutching a rock in their hand.

"Hi, Momma. Hi, Daddy. You look weird young," they say, then sit down and start messing with a handful of loose stones.

To say they're shaken is an understatement.

"Uh, kid, I hate ta break it to ya, but we're not your parents. We don't have kids," Lance says, hissing sharply when Kitty elbows him in the ribs.

"Lance! Don't be rude!" she chides, then squats down to be eye-to-eye with the child. "Like, look, kid, we can't possibly be your parents. We aren't even, like, dating."

"We aren't?" Lance pipes up helpfully.

Kitty facepalms, groaning. "Why am I the only one with a braincell?" The kid nods, still serious as ever. Well, there's one way to figure out what's going on... "So, who ARE your parents? And why do you think they're us?"

The child sighs, then holds up the rock they'd previously held in their hand. She stares at it, then back at them.

"Um... kid... that's, like, a rock."

"Yeah."

"..."

With an irritated sigh, the child throws the rock at Lance, who catches it, fumbling as he tries not to drop it. "Read what's ON the rock," the child says, then stares at them with a scrunched up face.

The two look at the rock, which has a scribbled-on message in sharpie:

Dear past me-

Yes, this is our kid. Yes, they're from me- we- and Kit-Kat. Don't punt our kid into yesterday, or I'll crush you with the Hulk-

Signed- Future Lance

P.S.

I- We- join Shield. Deal with it.

The two teens look up, then sharply down at the small tot, who is staring at them boredly. They share a quick look with each other, then bend down to talk with their apparent kid from the future.

"So... um. Hi, I guess," Kitry says, holding out her hand. The child shakes it, then their hands passes through hers. She feels herself freeze, until the child pulls their hand back, picking up a pebble.

"Oh wow... Our kid has powers..." Lance whispers, and his eyes are full of awe.

A rumble comes from beneath them, then cracks begin to form.

"Found it," the child says, then sticks their hand into the fissure, pulling out a chunk of crystal. "Here you go, it's a present." They deposit it into Lance's hands, almost sending him tumbling over.

"They're definitely ours..." Kitty groans, and goes to help her (kinda) boyfriend drag the crystal cluster inside. "What did you say your name was, kid?"

"I'm Reader... That was the one name you two could agree on without tossing the other out of the delivery room," they inform her, then crack a wry smile. "You better remember it, Momma. You too, Daddy! Uncle Hulk said if you forgot, he'd drop you off the Helicarrier!"

Both teens wince, and decide they'll make a reminder. They really don't want to deal with whatever a Hulk is, let alone be tossed around like a ragdoll by him...

[maybeimamuppet]

"For the record this is self-destructive/ For the record I'm aware of that" w rejanis

send me a song lyric and a ship and i’ll write something based off it!!

tw for self harm/scars

mentioned outing/general homophobia

-

“I need a second before we go in, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you inside,” Janis says just before she and Damian enter the doors for Spring Fling.

“Ew,” Damian eloquently responds before he shoves her off in that direction and goes parading through the double doors. Janis rolls her eyes and clunks her way down the hallway towards the ladies’ room.

It’s kind of weird, being somewhere she’s been so many times before this late at night. She can hear the music from the gym thumping all the way down the hall, and all the lights but one are out. Almost like she’s in another dimension.

The one constant in every dimension is Regina George.

Janis is reminded of this as the blonde steps out from the stall furthest away from her and struts up to the mirror. She’s still unfairly gorgeous even in that spinal halo.

Janis tries not to let her shoulders tense as she pointedly refuses to acknowledge Regina’s presence. She touches up her dark lipstick, combs through the ends of her straightened hair.

“Janis,” Regina says, sounding almost surprised. Janis sags against the sink a little. Shit.

“Hey.”

Regina pulls a tube of glittery lip gloss out of her purse. She puts the tube in between her lips to unscrew it and swipes it on that way. She’s put her lip gloss on like that since they were in sixth grade. It’s almost comforting to know that some little details of her former best friend are still in there. It’s muffled around the tube when she says, “You look nice.”

Janis blinks in shock. Did-did Regina George just compliment her?

“Seriously?”

“I just said so, don’t be thirsty,” Regina tuts. So Plastic Regina is still there too.

“No, I mean- thanks, I guess,” Janis says. “But after everything you’ve done you’re just gonna say that like… nothing ever happened?”

“Yeah,” Regina shrugs. Well, as best she can with the halo. “Look, I know I have to change. I know I’ve been a bitch-”

“You can say that again.”

“But how am I supposed to start?” Regina says softly. “Unless it’s with you. I’m also, like, off my face right now, so I don’t really have a filter and now felt like a good time.”

Janis blinks at the pink-tiled wall behind her. Someone has brilliantly sharpied ur fuckin gay across it. And in a strange way, it makes Janis smile.

Because she is fuckin’ gay, and she’s proud of it now. And all it took was… the worst experience of her entire life, and the girl in front of her.

“You never cared,” Regina continues softly, knocking Janis out of her trance and back to the gross bathroom they’re in. “About anything I did to you.”

“What?” Janis says, unable to contain a dark laugh. “You seriously think I didn’t care? Did you miss the part where I tried to kill myself and was out of school for a year?”

“…You what?” Regina asks.

Janis shakes her head and undoes the buttons on the cuff of her navy blue sleeve. As she rolls it up she sighs, “Unbelievable.”

Regina reaches out a tender, immaculately manicured finger to run over the white, raised scar tissue permanently etched into Janis’ flesh. Space dyke. Cut as deep as the words did.

“That’s why you were in art therapy,” Regina says. Janis looks at her in confusion when she notices her voice is thick with emotion and sees tears rolling slowly down her face. “And I made fun of you for it.”

“Yeah,” Janis agrees softly. She feels like she’s dunked her head in a bucket of ice. Regina George is touching her scars. Janis hasn’t even let Damian touch them.

“I loved you too,” Regina says suddenly. “I-I panicked when you told me you liked me. You were so brave, and I’ve always been… such a coward. And I took all of it out on you. And you never deserved any of it. I’ve always loved you. And-and I still do.”

“I have too,” Janis says softly. Regina looks at her, icy blue eyes reddened by tears and probably a significant amount of painkillers. “Do you have any idea how fucking irritating it is to still be in love with the girl who ruined your life?”

“No,” Regina says. “But I know how much it hurts to hurt the one you love.”

“Then why did you keep doing this?”

“I couldn’t stop,” Regina says. “I got… hooked.”

“For the record, that’s self destructive.”

“For the record, I’m aware of that, thank you very much,” Regina huffs. “You’re a fucking boss, Janis Sarkisian.”

“You’re high,” Janis scoffs.

“Hohoooo, yeah,” Regina agrees with a goofy huffed laugh. “But I’m serious, too. You’re a fucking phoenix. You rose above everything I ever did to you, and now look at you.”

Janis does, turning to look at herself in the mirror. She can’t really see in the weird lighting, but she… likes what she sees looking back. She hasn’t felt that in a long time. Since the before time. “Phoenix.”

“And I wish I wasn’t the one that set you on fire, but I’m glad it made you who you are now,” Regina continues. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Janis says. “For everything Cady and I did this year. I know Cady’s been eating herself up about it, too.”

“Does that girl ever sleep?” Regina chuckles.

“I don’t think so,” Janis laughs back. “But hey, first apologies for both of us are done. Makes letting her apologize easier.”

“True,” Regina says softly. “Can we be okay?”

Janis is quiet. She’s hit with wave after wave of memories and feels like she might drown. She looks in front of her and sees a life preserver.

She surges forward and kisses her. Regina gasps, but carefully maneuvers the halo to a good place to kiss her back.

“I think we can be okay. If we work on it,” Janis gasps when they break apart.

“For the record, this is self destructive,” Regina teases.

“For the record, I’m aware of that.”

But I don’t think it is.

[strandnreyes]

Want to come over for dinner after your shift?

Carlos shoves his phone in his pocket after sending the text. If he’s being honest, he’s not expecting a reply anytime soon and as much as he hates to admit it, he’s not expecting a yes, either. 

After three days of dodged calls and short responses to texts, Carlos is forced to admit that TK is avoiding him. 

He didn’t think so at first, and that was partly because he had been so busy himself with writing, but even TK declining his offer to come over a couple of nights could be easily explained. 

He’s had the morning shift at the diner the last few days and they had been spending a lot of time together before this. He can’t blame TK for wanting some space, though it does sting a little. He just wishes TK would be outright about it. 

Carlos tries to ignore the weight of his phone in his pocket as he gets out of the car and walks down the short stretch of sidewalk to the bookstore. Mateo’s behind the counter with a customer, but he nods to Carlos and points to the back.

The sharpie and a stack of paperbacks are sitting on the table in the office just like they were when Carlos was in here last week to sign them. Except this time there’s at least twice as many copies, a good idea considering how fast the first batch sold out.

With the tourist off-season in full swing now, the businesses that benefit from out-of-town consumers feel the hit the most, Mateo’s bookstore included. Marjan called Carlos last week, asking if he’d be willing to autograph a few copies to get more traffic in the store, hoping those shoppers would purchase other items as well.

It seems to be working as far as Carlos can tell. It’s the middle of the week and nearly closing time, yet there were still a couple of people in line.

Sometimes Carlos still can’t believe he wrote a book good enough to achieve that.   

He goes through the motions, flipping over the front cover, running the sharpie over the paper time and time again. He tries to focus on the curve of his name instead of the fact that his phone sits silent. 

He gets about halfway through the stack when Mateo finally catches up to him. 

“Dude, Marjan knows what she’s talking about. Usually by this time of the night this place is so slow that I start sweeping the floors for fun.”

Carlos cracks a smile, pushing the newly autographed book to the side. “Yeah,” he says half heartedly. “She’s great.”

Mateo goes to say something else, but Carlos is distracted by the vibration of his phone against his thigh. His mom would have words for him for checking it while someone’s talking to him, but he briefly glances at it anyway, needing to know TK’s response. 

Might be stuck late here. Table in the corner doesn’t understand that closing at 8 doesn’t mean you sit down 10 minutes before that. 

On the surface it seems light hearted, but Carlos knows better than that. TK will probably be held up there for no more than a half an hour extra and he could easily come over anyway, they don’t even have to have dinner. Carlos just wants to see him. 

But he doesn’t want to push. He doesn’t want to have to convince his boyfriend to spend time with him. 

“Carlos?” Mateo asks.

He shoves the phone away again, masking the hurt he feels with a forced smile. “Yeah, sorry. What?”

Mateo watches him carefully for a moment before jerking his thumb behind him. “I was just saying that one of my regulars is here and trust me, I’ll be with her awhile. You can just head out when you’re done. Thanks again for doing this.”

“No problem,” Carlos answers, barely registering what he’s seeing in front of him as he quickly works through the rest of the stack. 

By the time he’s back in his car he’s all but convinced himself that he should just pop into the diner real quick before he goes home since it doesn’t seem like he’ll be seeing TK tonight. Just to have TK smile at him for the surprise visit and have everything feel okay again. 

But just as he’s about to start the car, he gets another text. 

His first thought is that it’s TK again, but it isn’t until he sees Tommy’s name on the screen and reads her message asking how TK’s feeling that Carlos realizes he’s been lied to. 

TK had called in sick to work the past two days. 

[jackhughesismyhusband]

Michigan Move pt. 2

This series is going to be more like a TV series than a movie. It’ll have different episodes with different scenarios while the characters develop, but allowing for lots of content. Feel free to send in requests/ideas for this on going series!

~

You raise out of bed abruptly to the sound of a door slamming.

“Luke, shut up! You’re gonna wake her. She’s still sleeping.” An intense whisper muffled outside of your door. After realization of your surroundings, you recognized the voice belonging to Jack. Glancing over at your phone, the clock read 6:58 am. After debate of whether you should get up or not, you decide against and stick with the original plan to wake at 9:15.

Your start to fall back asleep when the sound of a car door closing causes you to shift your attention the window against your bed, looking out the front of the house. You catch Jack and Luke pulling off to school and place your head back on the pillow.

Two hours later, your annoying as ever phone alarm went off. You couldn’t complain with 8 hours of sleep, usually getting much less when working in the industry. You make your way to the connecting bathroom to start your day. You throw on leggings and an active wear top for dance. A crew neck was thrown over for easy ability to take it off when you start dancing.

After your morning routine, you head downstairs with your backpack and phone in hand. Coffee changed the smell of the house as you followed the smell to the kitchen.

Ellen was sitting at the kitchen counter in comfortable clothes, looking at something on her computer.

“Good morning, y/n! Did you sleep okay? I hope the boys didn’t wake you this morning.”

“Good morning, Ellen! I slept great, thank you. It felt like a cloud after sleeping on a couch for the last 3 months.” You smiled and added, “The boys were no trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I made some coffee. Help yourself.”

You direct yourself over to the pot of coffee calling your name on the corner of the counter. You notice donuts with quick handwriting reading “y/n” in sharpie laying next to the pot.

Ellen notices your curiosity and explains,

“The boys noticed you liked Tim Horton’s yesterday and insisted on getting you donuts this morning before they got to school. There’s one right down the road.”

You slightly blushed at the kind act. They had been so good to you.

“Luke wanted to make sure you knew they were for you and wrote your name as Jack was dragging him out the door,” Ellen added as she laughed to herself.

“That was so sweet of them. You guys have made me feel so welcomed, thank you, Ellen.” You walk over to where she was sitting and give her a side hug with a smile.

“It’s our pleasure, sweetheart. You’re not only family to us, but to everyone in the hockey community. Anything you ever need, you come to one of the boys or I.”

“Thank you,” you looked at the generous woman with the most sincere look of gratitude.

Plating up the strawberry frosted donut, you grabbed a glazed and set it next to the motherly figure. You smiled at the first sight of the pink donut, knowing it was Jack’s doing after your conversation last night about your favorite pastry from every donut place you’ve been - on both the east and west coast.

“Are you excited for your first day?”

“Very. I’m a little nervous since this is new to everyone and I don’t exactly fit in a hockey arena, but I think it’ll be a fun new adventure.”

“They’re all going to love you. The coaches are great, but learning everyday from someone 40 years older than you can’t be as effective as working with someone your age. It’ll be really good for the boys. Especially the ones who don’t know how to talk to girls.”

She added the last part with a wink and you laughed a little.

“Yeah, I just hope they don’t hate they’re doing something that isn’t necessarily hockey related. I know it’ll help them with hockey, but it’s probably hard to see the big picture when you’re doing a grand jete in leggings.”

Ellen smiled.

“Don’t worry, honey. They all practically live here with how much they’re hanging out in the basement. They haven’t stopped talking about their excitement since they found out at the beginning of the summer.”

Her words comfort you. You finish conversing and the delicious donut and grab your backpack with your car keys, now with the addition of a house key Jim had given you before you went up to bed. Your car shipped in late last night. With some of your savings from all the gigs you’ve done and a little help from your parents, you were able to buy a white Lexus when you got your permit. You got your license in July.

“Are you going to do school work while you’re there?”

Ellen questioned looking at the black North Face on your back.

“Yeah. In case I have any free time, it’ll be nice to get some things done. Maybe when they’re studying, I can, too.”

“Great idea! Have an amazing day, sweetheart! You have my number if you need anything at all. I mean anything.” The blonde pulled you into a final hug before sending you off with an extra strawberry donut included in the lunch she had kindly packed you.

She waved at the door while you pulled out of the driveway with directions to the rink and your favorite playlist at the moment playing through the car speakers.

About 7 minutes later, you pulled into a slightly busy parking lot. You added your lunch into your backpack and headed towards the entrance.

Immediately, you were greeted by USA honorable decor and a friendly receptionist.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?” The cheery woman asked.

“Hi, yes. My name is y/n. I’m the director of the new Grace and Agility program?”

“Oh, yes! Come right this way.” You followed the stout woman with spunk into the hallway. “I’m Martha. You ever need anything, honey, you let me know.” She looked back at you with a wink and a smile. “Those boys can be rowdy, don’t be afraid to give ‘em some sass back or send ‘em to me. I’ll out sass them real quick.”

You laughed at her suggestion of “out sass”ing the boys you have mostly yet to meet. She stopped outside an office with a plaque labeled, “Y/N L/N USA NTDP HEAD DIRECTOR OF GRACE AND AGILITY”

“Here you are. The room next to you on the left is the dance studio we just installed. Feel free to make it all your own.” She smiled at you and continued, “The boys will be here in about an hour and will start with your stretch class. They’ll warm up under your control then hit the shooting room and film before they head to the ice. After the ice, they’ll study and end the day with dance. I left the full schedule for the day in your office.”

“Thank you so much, Martha. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything.” She started to walk back, but not before handing you a bundle of keys. One for the dance studio, one for your office, and one emergency key to the entire facility.

You head into your office and quickly notice the red, white, and blue basket sitting on your desk. Your desk was facing the door with two chairs on the other side and a comfortable couch perpendicular to the desk, on the right side of the door as you enter. A large window looking out at the woods on the side of the facility is behind your desk.

You notice a plaque on your desk identical to the one outside of your office. You peer into the welcome basket and notice a note.

“Dear y/n, we’re so grateful to have you on the USA Hockey team! Please accept these gifts as a small act of our joy and gratitude to have you. Feel free to reach out if you ever need help!

USA Hockey”

You smiled at the hand written note and the little heart drawn next to the end of the message. You set the note aside and sat in the plush rolling chair behind your desk. Inside the basket were three USA themed leotards, four leggings colored a solid red, white, blue, and black, four dance shirts, three USA themed sports bras, a keychain - of course it’s USA themed, a yoga mat with y/n and NTDP written on it, a NTDP sweatshirt with your l/n on the side, and an NTDP water bottle.

The clothing were custom made from Lulu. You smiled at the gifts and made a mental note to send a thank you note to Martha for the entire staff.

You placed your bag down after noticing a bulletin board on the wall to the left of the desk, looking from the door. The note was pinned on the board and you headed into the hallway with the keys.

The moment you entered the dance studio, the lights turned on. The facility was brand new and built with plenty of your input - at the NTDP’s request. A sleek, untouched floor, two ballet bars on either side, and three walls of mirrors capturing you. The entrance wall had built in cubbies for the boys’ water and shoes and above it had a long observation window out into the hallway. The NTDP had mentioned a remote controlled tinting system on the window, so you could make it a series of tints from completely transparent to unable for the outside to look in. A compartment clearly for you separate from the others, labeled “Coach Y/n” had the remote for the window and the colored lights they’d installed at the top and bottom of the mirrors. The NTDP made sure to install the best sound system and paid for your Spotify Premium, even though you were already on a family plan.

You decided to spend the 45 minutes you had until the boys arrived to check the roster again, even though you had plenty times to try to familiarize yourself with the team. The U-17s were the guinea pigs. The program decided to start the department with the U-17s since they don’t know much of what the NTDP is like without it. If it was successful, the U-18s would be added into the conversation.

After settling in a little and getting some school work done, you decided to head back to the studio with 15 minutes until the boys were set to arrive. You decided to stretch a little because even though you’d be stretching with the guys, you were sure you’d have to walk around to help. You play your playlist and get carried away into the music, starting to do some leaps, jumps, and turns to the beat of the song. You planned to keep the crew neck on until the afternoon class where you’d actually break a sweat.

As you were mid-turn, you heard muffled voices outside the studio. You turned to look and saw the boys all huddled around the window watching you in awe. You smiled and waved them in.

They had their matching USA Hockey navy blue puffer jackets on with NTDP backpacks. Some were wearing NTDP hats as well.

“You guys can leave your stuff in your compartment, along with your shoes please,” you tell them as you walk over to your station to turn down the music to become background buzz.

After everyone was ready to go, you had them all sit cris-cross in a circle. You made the mistake of calling it “cris-cross applesauce”, which Jack would later tease you about.

“Hi boys! My name is Y/n L/n. You can just call me y/n. I’m so excited for this program and to be working with y’all!” ‘Y’all’ would become another point of attack from Jack and Alex at a later date. “I’m going to start you off with a stretch and then we can go around and say our names.”

You got the boys into a butterfly pose. You let Case McCarthy start, who was to the right of you. As the boys went around and introduced themselves, you corrected some back posture while they stretched. Alex Turcotte was having a bit of trouble, but you realized it was because he was trying to twist his feet in opposite directions and stretch in the butterfly pose at the same time. Jack wasn’t having any trouble, but you took the opportunity to be by someone you know and gently moved his back down more, so he was further into a stretch. Since you already knew their names from studying the roster, you took a moment to whisper in his ear while you stretched him.

“Thank you for the donuts this morning. Come to my office during lunch if you can. I saved one for you.”

His face lit up at your offer, but quickly changed as you slowly pushed him further into the stretch. He clearly wasn’t at the flexibility level yet for it to be easy.

When names were done, you switched them to stretching out to one leg and then eventually swapping sides.

“Trevor, did I hear you’re from New York?” Some of the boys had added where they were from in their introduction.

“Yeah! Are you?”

“I was born in Hartford, Connecticut, but I’ve lived mostly in New York.”

“I’m from Connecticut, too!” Spencer Knight lit up at the mention of his home.

You continued to chat and get to know the boys until you decided to have them warm up through cardio. You had them put their shoes back on.

“Alright, follow me.”

“Yay! Field trip!” You heard Trevor cheer behind you which caused you to smile.

You stopped at the entrance of the rink.

“I wouldn’t get too excited yet, Trevor.” You paused and looked around for dramatic effect as they patiently waited for you to continue. “We’re running today, boys.”

Groans and heads tilted back in disappointment ensued. You evilly laughed to yourself at their despair.

“Alright, up and down the stairs 20 times to start.” They unhappily started their trek up the arena stairs. “Please don’t fall!” You called after them. Your comment made them smile at your motherly-like care for their well being, despite forcing them to do something displeasing.

“Aw, try not to look so happy Caufield!” You teased as he was the first to make his way down. He poked his tongue out at you before he turned around to go back up.

You connected to the sound system and started playing a hype playlist to help them out. Once the music started playing, you got some cheers out of them. You knew it wouldn’t be so bad if “Party Rock Anthem” was keeping them going.

Jack called from the top of the stairs, “Thank you, y/n!” When he heard the music start. You later would find out most coaches don’t let them listen to music because they think it would distract them, so this felt like a treat. It was the least you could do after forcing them do go up and down the steep stairs so many times. Little did they know, this was just the warm up.

About 15 minutes later, the last of the group finished up. Before you was a group of panting, red teenagers crouching over themselves. You felt a little bad, but had to remind yourself they had to have good endurance for their games and they were likely put through worse from other coaches with no mercy or sympathy.

“Good job, boys. Take a breather, it’s alright. You all did great.” Your praise caused a few to look up at you from their tiredness and smile. You believed in bringing them up, rather than pushing them down. Especially as impressionable, and though they wouldn’t admit it, insecure teenage boys. Ballet training was rarely kind to its students and you knew first hand the negative repercussions of having to hear mean things aimed at you each day.

“Don’t hate me, but we’re not done.”

That earned a playful glare from Marshall Warren. You laughed.

“It’s okay because I promise to do it with you. I can’t just sit here and expect you to do it all yourself.”

You took lots of pauses to give them as much time as you could to catch their breath.

“We’re going to run some laps around the rink.”

“More running?!“ An out of breath Henry Thrun questioned. You chuckled to yourself.

“Yes, but it’ll be fun, I promise.”

That earned a lot of skeptical looks. Martha was right, they are sassy. You liked it, it meant they were comfortable with you already.

“Just follow what I do and try not to think about it too much.”

They shrugged their shoulders and followed as you started running around the bottom of the arena. Of course, not before starting up the music again.

After the first lap, you started skipping. Some confused noises were heard behind you, but after a few seconds, the boys got the idea and started skipping, too. You smiled at the boyish giggles you heard behind you.

Next lap, you galloped with your right leg and then the left on the next one.

The lap after, you ran five steps, then spun in a circle. That was harder for the laughing boys. At one point, you caught Cam York spin himself in the boards. The crash was so loud, everyone stopped and toppled over in laughter.

For the last lap, you changed the music to your favorite song and yelled out, “Dance!” You grooved to the beat and saw a bunch of silly improv including the Macarena and disco that almost caused Trevor to poke Alex Vlasic in the eye.

You stopped at the entrance as you waited for the happy boys to meet you. You reminded yourself to check the security cameras later to get the footage of the dancing and Cam crashing into the boards. It was really sweet how they all genuinely tried for you and enjoyed it in the process.

“Alright, boys. Unfortunately, my time with you is done for now.” Whines followed the statement. You felt honored they wanted to stay with you. “If you guys need anything, my office is right across from the studio. Don’t hesitate to come visit. I’ll see you later today!”

You were surprised by the chorus of “thank you”s they gave you as they left the arena with laughs echoing down the hallway.

You decided to head back to your office for a bit to plan out the first dance lesson later today some more. You grabbed a bar Ellen had packed you and got lost in your choreography. When you finally looked up at the clock, it was 1pm. The boys should be heading off the ice around now. You paused the music you had playing through the speakers built into your office and headed out to the ice. You caught the boys picking up pucks. Jack saw you and waved happily while he skated to the exit on the opposite end of you. You smiled and waved back with warmth in your heart at the welcome everyone in Michigan had given you.

You knew they were going to have lunch and study. You decided to do the same, but walked outside for a second to get some fresh air. It was pretty nice out and you were excited to spend some more time outside when you were done.

You went back to your office to find Jack sprawled out, waiting patiently on the couch. He smiled and sat up a little at the sight of you.

“Hey, y/n/n!”

“Y/n/n?”

“Yeah, I just thought of it. Do you like it?”

You laughed and nodded your head.

“How’s your first day so far?” He asked as you sat in a lounge chair in the corner by the door, next to the couch.

“It’s actually been really nice. I’m definitely not nervous anymore and everyone has been so nice. I really appreciate you guys bearing with me and not thinking things are too stupid to do. I’ve taught teens that older than me at the time and pre-teens and the trend was to act ‘too cool’ for anything I had them do.”

“Yeah, I mean we don’t get to do fun stuff like that all the time. We’re just a bunch of kids excited to be here like you, so I don’t think you’ll run into many participation problems. We all want to be here.”

You found yourself smiling at his clear passion for what’s he’s doing and the comfort his statement gave you.

“Before I forget,” you got up and headed over to your desk. “Here is a donut, kind sir.” You handed him the strawberry frosted donut and bowed down in medieval character.

He accepted and played along, “Why thank you, my lady.” You attempted a British accent that definitely needed work. You laughed at his attempts of an accent from over the pond. You watched him split it in half at reached one half out to you.

“No, no. I want you to have it. You’ve been very kind to me. It’s the least I can do. Even though you bought it.”

“I insist. I got it for you. I know it’s your favorite.” He raised his eyebrows. You gave in. He cheered when you finally accepted. You decided to “cheers” with the donut and tapped yours to his.

After the conversation lead into school work and a realization of you having to help Jack with English while he helps you with Math, Alex Turcotte walked in.

“There you are! I was just about to start French and was wondering where my partner was.” Alex looked at Jack then over to you. “Hey, y/n!”

“Hey, Alex! What are you guys doing in French.”

“Conjugations,” Jack answered while licking his fingers of the pink frosting and rolling his eyes.

“As much as I’d love to help, I speak Spanish, not French. But I’d love to learn sometime if you guys wanted to teach me.”

“We’d love to, but Jack and I probably aren’t the best French tutors. Dom Fensore and Cam Rowe would be your guys. TZ and Cole are trying to get to their level, but a safer bet would be Fensore and Rowe. I’m sure they’d be happy to help. They’re the only reason why Jack and I are passing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Does the NTDP require French? I guess it’s smart since you could go to Canada, but I figured since Spanish is more popular here, you guys would take it.”

“Yeah. Spanish is offered, but French is encouraged for that reason. All of the guys take French, but some also take Spanish to have both under their belt.” Alex answered.

“Hm, that’s cool.” You looked over to see Jack playing with a kinetic sand box on your desk like a child waiting for his mom and her friend to stop talking at the grocery store. “Well, I’ll let you get to it! See you after studying and lunch.”

“See you!”

“Bye, y/n!”

~

I hope you enjoyed! Please know my inbox is open for any conversation or any requests for this series or another fic! I love getting asks from y’all! (Yes I occasionally say “y’all” like our wonderful y/n.) Thank you so so so much for your support and patience <3

[celestialrry]

stood up

3.5k

hello everyone!!!! I've been awol for literally weeks because i had absolutely NO motivation to write but i finally finished this piece ˊᗜˋ so YAY. ALSOO thank you for following me, liking, and reblogging my pieces (it encourages me somuchsothankyouireallyappreciateit-- and remember reblogging really helps us writers :))) )  here’s a hug for all ur patience and feel free to send me asks or requests i love talking to you guys! ε(♡'-')з

summary: Harry keeps standing Y/N up. (request from @ballerinrry! thank u love)

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol and sex, angsty but with a happy ending cause for some reason i can never let them end on a bad note

Y/N was excited.

It had been a while since Harry had asked her to go on a date, it was always the other way around recently. She couldn’t blame him though, Y/N knew just how busy Harry always was, and it wasn’t like he was purposefully not asking her to go do things, he just had a lot on his plate.

That’s what she kept telling herself anyways. 

It’s what she told herself when it had been 2 weeks since they had even eaten a meal together, and given the fact that just a few months ago Harry had come back to London for a while, that was rare. So, Y/N asked him to grab lunch on a Saturday while they were lying in bed together, and when he agreed, but failed to show up, leaving Y/N sitting at the cafe, her lips morphed into a frown and her eyes not focusing on the phone in front of her, she told herself he was simply booked up with meetings and studio time and such. 

Thats what he told her when he got into bed that night to apologize for accidentally standing her up. She forgave him, of course, and suggested they could just get dinner the next week. He agreed, even walked around to his calander her to show her he was marking the date off in his calendar with a heart, her first initial, and 7:00 PM etched into the little box with red sharpie. 

So, the week passed with quick kisses of good mornings and good nights, and while Harry was gone Y/N had on a black dress she had been excited to wear for a while now, with those little mini silver heels and a coat strung over her shoulders as she sat on her couch waiting for Harry to swing by to pick her up. She shot him a text that simply asked “You otw? xx”

He was not.

It took about 30 minutes of waiting on their couch to realize he was standing her up, again. And it took until the next morning for Harry to see her text (his phone had been on do not disturb while he was at the studio and he ended up spending the night at Sarah and Mitch’s after a few beers), and for the guilt to seep through his veins. 

He apologized, again. And Y/N forgave him, again. 

Only until it got to the point where Y/N no longer remembered the amount of times Harry had stood her up, for being at the studio, or sleeping after a meeting, or simply just not paying attention to his phone, she knew there was a problem. 

Harry was fully aware of the problem too. He knew that this was no way to ever treat a partner, and if someone was doing this to him, he’d dump them— well, he’s never been one to end a relationship unless it was necessary, so that’s an exaggeration, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Which is why when he got home one day around 11 PM, gave her a kiss to the forehead after she sat up in their bed to give him a hug, and a soft  “Can we talk?” escaped her lips, he knew he had to fix this. So he asked her if they could talk over dinner the next night, he just wanted to sleep but also wanted to fix things with his girl, asking her if she was free of course, before telling her he’s gonna make a reservation at that nice restaurant the two of them used to go to quite often, because “it’s been a while since I’ve taken my favorite girl out”.

A grin broke out on her face because he had asked her! And if Harry was planning it, there’s no way he’d cancel or stand her up. 

 So yeah, Y/N was excited.

She woke up that morning with a smile on her face, and something akin to a what she thinks a rainbow would feel like running through her veins. It had only been a few months since she’d last been on a date with her boyfriend of almost 2 years and a half in person, and she was going to make the most of it. Because after this date, things would change. They’d spend more time together again and it would be like this little bump (that neither had acknowledged) never happened.

Y/N did, well, everything to prepare. Took a long shower, shaved, put on that coconut lotion Harry likes— he tended to dig his face in her neck when he smelled it while holding her—, brushed her teeth more than 3 times, dug in her closet to find that one patterned soft purple dress she bought ages ago but never had a change to wear it, until now, put on those really cute heels Harry said he liked once (“Looks like something you’d wear on a runway pet, I love ‘em.”), and even styled her hair differently than normal.

He had told her he would swing by at 8 on the dot after the studio, and soon enough, it was 8, with no sign from the man who made the promise himself. Y/N thought maybe there was traffic, he was just running late, texted him a quick, “Can’t wait to see you!! xxx” and put her phone on the coffee table, waiting on their couch. 

8 turned to 9, 9 turned to 10, 10 turned to 11, and soon it was midnight. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt more empty than how she felt then, walking to their shared room of a year, slipping off her heels and tossing them towards the closet, as well as pulling her dress over herself and letting it fall to the floor behind her, grabbing that one t-shirt she always wears when she needs comfort (which just happened to an extra 2018 Live on Tour shirt Harry had laying around that she snatched just 3 months into them dating), and flopping into bed.  

She couldn’t fall asleep, and instead spent her time curled up in their bedsheets, a steady flow of tears making their way down her blush covered cheeks.

。:°ஐ

Harry usually didn’t make mistakes.

Sure, he had his moments, grabbing the wrong coffee off the counter when his name was called at the cafe, forgetting to text Jeff that he actually couldn’t make it to a meeting that was scheduled in a few hours. Just little things, things that didn’t matter that much, and could always be fixed. He didn’t usually make mistakes that weren’t easy to fix. He just wasn’t that kind of guy.

Until, he was.

Harry loved Y/N. He loved having her around, loved spending time with her, loved loving on her, loved kissing her, loved touching her, loved the way she went about almost everything. He was so in love with her, that hurting her was out of the question. He never wanted to be the one to make her cry, make her bottom lip quiver before the tears rushed out like he’d seen many times before, due to movies, his songs (which as sadistic as it sounds was an ego builder to have someone so close to him so affected by the music he wrote), her school work, or even her friends that weren’t being so nice.

In fact, he was so in love with her, even being so afraid of commitment (it took him over a year of them dating to ask her to move in), all he wanted to do was blurt out those 4 dreaded words. “Will you marry me?” It was a bond for life, and he was terrified of that, but with Y/N all he wanted to do was spend the rest of his living days with her.

When Harry had come back from being in L.A. for so long and finally being in the same city as his girlfriend back at their home, all they did was spend time together. Every time he saw Y/N all he wanted to do was say those 4 words that he hadn’t even fully come to terms with himself. It was dangerous, and Harry’s self control when it came to Y/N was lacking, so he simply did was every normal person would do in his situation.

He stood her up. 

Many more times than he could count, and of course he felt like the shittiest person in the world— shittiest boyfriend in the world—but at least now she can’t possibly be under the impression that he wanted to marry her, which is what he wanted. Or thought he wanted, until Sarah called him up one day after he had stood Y/N up for dinner the night before and told him off. Told Harry just how fucking terrible he made Y/N feel, how unwanted she thought she was, how she felt like they were loosing their relationship, and Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. (Of course Y/N had sobbed to Sarah about it over the phone while she was drunk off the wine she opened 40 minutes after Harry said he would be there, so she really didn’t even remember the conversation).

And later that day Harry had come home, heard her wavering voice asking if they could talk, and decided in his head he would tell her how he felt, how sorry he was, and how he wanted to be with her forever and love her forever if she allowed him. He had a few expectations for their dinner, that Y/N would probably tell him how he’s made her feel, and Harry would apologize, tell her why he did it, explain he thought it was no excuse, then tell her he plans on marrying her (obviously not proposing just yet, but finally bringing up the conversation they had never had even though they were in a serious committed relationship) and they’d go back home, have the most amazing sex ever, and forget about the whole thing. 

What Harry didn’t expect was to get a call from Jeff around 5 asking him to come to the studio to fix few vocals, then end up nailing down 2 songs in one night, go to a bar with the band to celebrate, get drunk, then pass out at Mitch and Sarahs flat. 

But that’s what happened, according to Mitch, who woke Harry up the very next morning. 

“Good morning man, wakey wakey,” Mitch’s teasing tone echoed through Harry’s (what felt like full of vodka) brain as he groaned and squinted his eyes. “Why are you waking me up at this hour in the morning?” Harry asked drearily, sighing and simultaneously regretting last night as a whole because the last thing he wanted to do while hungover was be up before at least 9 AM.

“We’ve gotta go to meet with Jeff about tour in like a hour, H” Mitch stated .

At Mitch’s words Harry sat up on their couch, eyes wide in fear. “Wait mate, I thought tha’ meeting was on Wednesday.”

“It is Wednesday H, god how drunk did we let you get last night…” Mitch said, beginning to recount some of Harry’s antics the night before. Harry however, couldn’t hear a thing with the blood pumping through his ears. If today was Wednesday, that meant yesterday was Tuesday, and he went and got trashed at a bar with his friends Tuesday night when— when he was supposed to be on a date with Y/N, when he was supposed to confess his intentions, when he was supposed to apologize for standing her up over and over, yet instead he went and did it again.

Now this, this was a mistake.

“…H. H. Harry? Are you there?” Mitch’s voice came back into focus and Harry shook his head. “I- fuck, I was supposed to take Y/N out last night.” Harry said, his voice trembling.

‘I’m sure she’ll forgive you, it’s just one night.” Mitch tried to make Harry feel better. He knew Y/N was a very forgiving person, she would get over this in no time.

“No, she won’t. I-I’ve stood her up for the past month and a half, Mitch.”

At these words, Mitch stands straight up  making pained eye contact with Sarah in the kitchen who was overhearing most of this conversation with her eyes wide. She had no idea it was this bad. “Month and a half? I thought it was just that one time a few weeks ago, Harry what the hell is wrong with you?” Harry simply shook his head and didn’t reply. He had absolutely no idea how to make it up to her. “I-fuck, I don’t know Mitch!” Harry raised his voice. “I need to see her and apologize, now.” Harry said, standing up and rushing over to the front door and slipping on his shoes. 

“This meeting is mandatory Harry, as much as I want you to see her too, she’d probably still asleep, and I don’t think this can be solved in under an hour.” Mitch said calmly, already knowing Harry was close to walking out his door. Harry stayed silent for a moment, weighing the options. Either go apologize to his girlfriend, or prioritize himself over her again. 

“We can do it another day, I’m sorry, but I have to go see her, tell Jeff I feel sick.” And he walked out without another word.

。:°ஐ

The morning after Harry stood Y/N up again was brutal. 

She stayed up all night, replaying moments with Harry in her head, analyzing if he wanted to be there with her, wondering if maybe he felt like he had to stay with her out of pity. It was torture, and the pain seemed to turn into numbness as time went by, and eventually the sun came up, and she stayed in bed, her motivation lost.

A loud crash and “Fuck!” woke her up, swollen eyes fluttering open to the invasive noise. Y/N furrowed her brows, her mind connecting everything that happened yesterday and unfortunately reminding her of the unbearable pain she went through the night before. A groan escaped her lips as she sat up and flung her legs out of her bed sheets that had been flung off the bed in the middle of the night.  She began grumbling to herself as she made her way downstairs, ready to tell Harry off for making so much noise.

Her mouth stopped moving, and instead remained in limbo as her eyes met Harry’s. His mouth opened to speak, but his words were caught in his throat as he saw the state she was in. It was when her mouth pressed into a line that he could begin talking. “Y/N, baby, please I know you don’t wanna see me or talk t’me right now but I’m so fuckin’ sorry, love. So so sorry, it was an accident, I went t’ the studio to fix a few things then got hung up on the songs and by the time we went to celebrate I completely lost track of time, and I was too drunk to drive home so I crashed at Mitch’s.”

Her mouth fell open at his words. Everything was happening too fast. Hearing that he stood her up to drink at a fucking bar to celebrate himself, then coming home and accidentally knocking over a glass in their kitchen (which she put together was the crash earlier after seeing the shards of broken glass on the floor) frustrated her to no end. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him any longer, and Harry had stopped talking after realizing what he just admitted to her. Without another glance, instead of looking at Y/N’s tear stained face, all he saw was her back, walking up the stairs to their room. 

“Fuck,” He said to himself before following her up the pink stairs. “Y/N, love wait-please, I’m so sorry, I just need to talk to you, I need to explain myself, please.” He begged as she shut their bedroom door in his face, his voice turning into a desperate whine at the end. 

。:°ஐ

It’s been 3 days since then, and she hasn’t spoken to him. He would leave in the mornings, kissing her forehead and mumbling an “I love you” and telling her exactly what time he’d be home, before leaving and coming back on time to find an empty plate in the sink and her lying in their bed, whether it be reading, scrolling on her phone, or typing on her laptop. He would apologize many times, reaching his hand out for hers and she would simply situate herself in their bed and lay down, back turned to him. 

Harry just couldn’t take it anymore. 

It was when she had finally let him kiss her forehead goodnight that he decided to take his chance. “Y/N.” He spoke softly, with no response or anything to indicate she heard him. “Baby, can we please talk- or I’ll talk and you listen, I just- I really need to say some things.” 

She was still faced away from him when he leaned against their headboard and he decided to keep going. 

“I- um. I’m sure you know how sorry I am, but I really am- sorry I mean. Not just for tonight but for every other time I’ve stood you up. I’m so sorry for not showing you how much you matter to me, and how much the things you do matter to me.”

It was then that she slowly sat up next to him and looked at him, eyes begging him to continue. He blushed at her intense eye-contact that he had barely gotten over the past few days and took a breath, opting to look at his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“We’ve been together for 2 and almost a half years, which is the longest relationship I’ve been in, and it’s no excuse to treat you this way, but I had just been thinking about how things progress even further than now,” He coughs. “Which is marriage, and when I finally came home, all I wanted to do was ask you to marry me- I don’t- m’not proposing right now, I just- I got really scared because wanting to spend the rest of your life with someone is crazy to me,

I’ve never thought that way about anyone else until you, I didn’t even really want to get married before you, and I started to distance myself before I ended up telling you this, but obviously that blew up in my face.” He chuckled a bit, locking eyes with her unreadable ones for a moment and lifting a hand to run through his hair. “What I’m trying to say, is that I love you, so so much, and I plan on marrying you— obviously if you want to too, of course— and I’m so sorry for trying to make you think that I didn’t care about you anymore or love you any less, because it’s the complete opposite of that.”

His eyes were watery now, as he started down at his interlocked fingers, and his eyes widened when her hand was gently placed over his own. “Harry,” Y/N began. “Look at me, please.” 

His head lifted to see her facing him, her brows knitted and a small smile on her face. “I forgive you, okay? I could tell you were kind of scared of commitment when we first started dating, and I wish I could say your reason for standing me up is surprising but it’s not.” They both chuckled a bit at this. “I- I’m still upset at you, I need you to know that, because 2 months of thinking the love of your life is avoiding you doesn’t feel all too great, so you suck for that,” she said, planting a quick kiss to his cheek which quickly turned pink. “But Harry, even if you asked me to marry you a year ago I would have said yes. I love you, so much, and I plan on spending the rest of my life with you as well. I’m sorry for giving you the silent treatment, it was… unnecessary and immature. So, thank you for apologizing. I love you.” She confessed again.

“S’okay, I deserved it, and I love you too. Maybe even more. So um, we’re okay?” Harry asked, a hopeful smile on his face. 

She nodded with a smile and pulled him into a much needed hug and pulled away only for him to bring her into an even more needed kiss. “If you ever try to pull that shit again, I’m breaking up with you.” She laughed and he tackled her into the sheets hiding his face in her neck.

“Duly noted, love. Duly noted.”

[ptergwen]

love is more than a word

w/c: a very ouch 3.6k

warnings: so so so much angst and an unhealthy (ish) relationship

summary: after nearly four years together, peter has stopped trying

a/n: listen y’all i don’t know what came over me when i made this but i think it’s the saddest thing i’ve ever written? uh try to enjoy tho

-

you never thought this would happen, but you’re getting tired of peter. it isn’t your fault. that cliche it’s not you, it’s me line doesn’t apply here.

at first, you actually did find yourself believing the it’s me part. you’d came to the conclusion that you expect too much from peter. he goes to class, he works, patrols, sometimes parties, takes you out when he can. he’s got a lot going on for a full time college student, which is a busy life to lead on its own.

it’s why you don’t complain when he wants to spend the night in and order a pizza instead of cooking together like you’ve been wanting to try. it’s why every time your friends ask you two to hang, you have to reluctantly explain that peter is passed out at eight o’clock on a saturday.

there’s a lazy “wanna make out?” some nights, if peter isn’t yawning when he steps through the front door. even that has lost its enjoyment. kissing peter doesn’t give you the rush it used to, the taste of his strawberry chapstick not flooding your senses and intoxicating you. it’s become predictable. comfortable. boring.

peter is boring.

you’ve slipped into unspoken routine. say your hello’s, work on separate assignments in different rooms. peter eventually yells something like “babe, you hungry yet?” across the apartment, his passive way of asking you to make dinner. you usually order takeout because why make an effort if he doesn’t?

you might watch one of the ten movies peter has liked since before the start of your relationship. he’ll usually fall asleep during it. no surprise there. his overpacked schedule exhausts him, which you’ve talked to him about spreading himself too thin. peter is too nice and can’t say no, so this is where it leaves him.

the main reason you’ve stayed with him is that he can’t take care of himself. he’s clueless about paying the bills, sorting his laundry, simply remembering to drink water. peter wouldn’t be able to go a week without you. he even says it himself.

“crap, i totally forgot about these,” when you picked up his special ordered textbooks from your school library. “can food go in the garbage disposal?” a rare time you didn’t wash the dishes. “thank you, y/n/n. you’re literally a lifesaver,” whenever you do a task for him that someone in their 20s shouldn’t need assistance with.

you didn’t used to mind much. he watches over the city every night. you felt you should return the favor. spider-man could use some help, too. after the almost four years you’ve been together, peter has become completely dependent on you. it only got worse when you moved in together your junior year. you’re concerned how he’ll manage later in his adult life.

you’d think he’d be a little more passionate about your relationship considering how much he needs you. you know peter still loves you, of course he does. that’s not what the problem is. he’s become content with the mutual feeling, so he doesn’t try anymore. he expects the spark to keep itself lit.

no more random joke of the day texts that he used to send you. he stopped surprising you with your coffee order in the morning, the one that he memorized the first time you two went to a starbucks. what you initially found most endearing about peter was that he remembered every little thing you told him.

he put whatever energy he had into showing you that he listened. he’d do it all with rosy cheeks and that toothy smile of his. it seems now like he’s under the impression that being in a long term relationship means none of that matters anymore. there’s no need to impress you, keep you guessing, make you feel special.

tonight is your breaking point. as you go over all of this in your head while peter lays peacefully next to you, you can’t take it. you’ve been making so many excuses for him. you lie to yourself. you’re desperate to believe this is okay and normal and you can work this out, and you can love whatever version of him this is.

but, you can’t. you can’t do it. you need to tell him now because if you sleep on this, you’ll end up feeling bad and be stuck under these suffocating blankets forever.

“peter?” you whisper his name, your back turned to him in bed. you haven’t cuddled each other to sleep in a while. his arms don’t make you feel held now, they make you feel trapped. you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore his look of hurt when you reject his open embrace.

“peter?” you speak louder after a moment of silence, except for his occasional snores. a loud one escapes him before they stop altogether. his eyes stay shut as he mumbles out a, “uh... huh?” your heart is thudding through your entire body. you take a breath in from your nose. “i wanna break up.”

the breath you let out next is one of relief, those three words that have been scratching your throat for months finally out. peter slowly turns his head over his shoulder. he blinks rapidly at your motionless figure. you’re still not facing him.

“what?” is all he says. his voice is surprisingly steady, the confession not yet registering with his sleepy mind. his eyes are burning into you. “i wanna break up,” you repeat and squish your face further into your pillow. peter suddenly sits up, flicking on the lamp on his side. he tries to sling an arm around you. you move further away until you’re at the edge of the bed.

“i’m serious, peter. everything we had, it’s gone.” your words cut through him harder than literal knives he’s been stabbed with. “i- i don’t understand. where is this coming from?” he rakes a hand through his mess of curls. you turn onto your back, looking up at peter. his eyes are fixed on your lower half.

he’ll most definitely cry if he meets your eyes. he really doesn’t want to cry, not ever again when you won’t be here to make him feel better.

“it’s been coming,” you almost scoff at him as you prop yourself up against your pillows. peter’s teeth tug at his lower lip. “all we do is this.” you gesture to your bed, slapping your hand down at your side. “i get tired,” he speaks quietly, refusing to look at you. “i know you do, peter. i know, but you’d be a lot happier if you ever listened to me.”

your statement comes off as condescending to him. he works up the courage to look you in the face. “are you kidding? all you do is boss me around, and i take it. i’ve never once complained.” anger is coursing through his veins and voice. at the situation, that he’s about to lose the one stable part of his life. you’re getting pissed, too.

“that’s because you can’t do anything yourself!” you throw the blankets off you and swing your legs over the bed in one motion. peter hops out of bed entirely. “my whole life, i’ve been on my own half the time,” he spits as he comes over to stand in front of you. “sorry for taking you up on your offers to help.”

your peter would never spew that shit out. he wouldn’t guilt you for something he’s in the wrong about. this peter takes you for granted. he has no clue how fucked he’d be without you.

the first time you spoke to peter was on your way to history 227. you’d recognized him from your class, much more interested in the pretty boy taking notes with his tongue stuck out than whatever war your professor would lecture about.

he was carrying some books, a pencil case that didn’t fully zip, and a five subject notebook. you watched him do his balancing act through the halls until his legs started to wobble. a knowing smile on your face, you tapped his shoulder. it was a gentle one so you didn’t scare him and make all his things fall over.

“can i carry something for you?” you laughed out and pushed one of your backpack straps up on your shoulder. peter only stared at you, his doe eyes prompting you to reach for his pencil case. “uh, no, it’s fine. i got it. see?” he proved that to you by hiking everything up in his arms. he gave you a smile of his own.

“are you sure? we’re going to the same place,” you’d checked again and pointed at his impressive pile. “i’m not gonna steal your sharpies.” “really, i’m fine,” peter insisted with a heart clenching chuckle. “you can have one, if you want,” he offered and attempted to unzip his case, one handed. you put your hand over his to stop him.

“wait until we get to class,” you let go of him, leaving the tips of peter’s ears a shade of pink you’d later fall in love with. “i’ll sit with you.”

peter was once determined to do things on his own, to be self-sufficient. it used to be something he was proud of. now, he’s completely incapable of holding his independence.

“we’re done, peter.” your tone is short, you getting to your feet. “you’d probably forget how to fucking breathe without me, but call it bossing around, i guess,” you laugh bitterly and go over to your drawers. peter’s face falls as he grabs your wrist, stopping you when you pass by him. “where are you going?”

no answer. you pull yourself out of his grasp with your lips pressed into a stern line. peter follows you step by step over to the dresser. “wait, wait. don’t leave, baby. please,” he begs you, getting onto his knees beside you. you’re pulling random clothes out as quick as you can. a science t-shirt peter outgrew is in your hands.

peter used to give you all his old clothes. the signature smell of his cologne lingered no matter how many times you washed them. they kept you calm on nights he was out late patrolling or away on missions. peter would sport a smirk whenever you wore them out in public, pulling you closer to him and complimenting the look.

it started when he was packing for his first mission since you two had begun living together. he’d realized he became too buff to fit in some shirts. remembering how many times you’d giggle at their funny sayings, peter gave them to you. you threw one on and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. it became your tradition.

peter would set off for a new continent, but a piece of him would stay home with you.

the stretched out hoodies and ripped sweatpants just sit in your drawer now. another meaningful thing discontinued. whatever he doesn’t want goes to may for donations now. the memory of what they used to mean to you makes a fit of rage burst through you.

you slam down his ‘find x’ shirt in the space between his knees and yours. you’re on a mission of your own this time. you aren’t going anywhere until you get rid of all the stuff that went from him to you.

“y/n, don’t do this. i- i love you. i love you.” peter chokes out, tears filling his eyes. his vision is clouded while you toss more clothes to your side. “i love you, y/n/n,” he whimpers again, and this time you briskly push the drawer shut. the whole dresser shakes. this is the most emotion either of you have shown in the past few months of your relationship. it’s a little too late.

“love is more than a word, peter. you have to back it up with actions.” you’re doing your best not to cry. the memories of how loved peter made you feel play in your mind. he briefly wipes under his eyes and shakes his head. he’s so oblivious. “i thought i- i did.” “exactly, you did. you gave up at some point.” your voice gets weaker as a tear drips down your chin.

you didn’t plan on breaking down when you imagined this moment. part of you wishes you could give him another chance. most of you knows it wouldn’t do any good for you or peter. you’re not right for each other anymore. he outgrew some sweatshirts, you outgrew him.

that takes you all the way back to it’s not you, it’s me. it’s really both of you.

for the last time, you pull peter in for a hug. the two of you need this. he loops his arms around your back, keeping them loose around you as he tucks his face into the side of your neck. you’re a mix of tears and sharp breaths with your chin on his shoulder. you bring a hand up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of curls.

he sobs right into your ear, effectively destroying whatever composure you had left.

even though you’re not in love with peter, you haven’t stopped loving him. somewhere inside of him is the goofy boy who asked you out on a post-it during class. the kindhearted man who gave so much of himself to the world and saved enough for you. the one whose fingertips left goosebumps on your skin with every touch.

seeing him like this, having caused it feels like a dull pain rippling in every part of your body. you’ve been there to soothe him during countless breakdowns over the years. you managed to stay strong for all of them. this is the only exception. he lost people, felt down about life, made mistakes. you were there to pick up each piece and put them back together.

the one mistake peter made that you can’t fix is not loving you right. you became his rock, his anchor whenever he let grief and sadness rule over him. you’d get him back to himself. he could’ve at least bought you flowers once in a while, or done anything that showed his gratitude. every iteration of awful put together isn’t enough to describe how he feels.

“i’m so- i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i don’t deserve you. i never have,” peter murmurs as he cries, wetting your skin that his face is still pressed into. your fingers pull roughly at his hair. hot tears overflow from your own eyes. “i should’ve done more.” his voice cracks on the last word. “that’s all i wanted to hear, pete,” you breathe out and pull away from him.

“does that mean you’ll stay?” he croaks, arms still wound around your body. his eyes are hopeful when they lock with yours. a frown pulls at your lips. “only for tonight. i should... one of us should sleep on the couch.” “oh,” his voice is gravelly, so he clears his throat. “i’ll do it.” you’re not going to fight him on it for once.

peter removes his arms from your waist, you sitting back down on your thighs. you give him a blink and you’ll miss it smile because you can’t keep one for long. it’s to let him know you’re not mad. you were at the start of this conversation, then he took accountability. you also came to terms with the fact that the downfall of your relationship was a joined effort.

there are more factors than peter not giving you what he should have. time, different goals, new outlooks on life. you can’t hate only him because a whole bunch of things lead to this.

instead of a smile, since he physically can’t put one on his splotchy face, peter brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of your lips. he gets up to leave the room, but you stop him with a “wait!” he freezes in front of you. you get out a hoodie from his pile of old clothes and stand up. “it’s cold.” you put it in his hands, earning a grin that he didn’t think was possible.

“thanks, y/n,” peter sighs and holds the hoodie against his chest. “goodnight. um,” this is the part where he’d usually say i love you. “sleep well, okay?” the replacement stings for both of you. you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without hearing that phrase first. as much as you didn’t feel it anymore, you’d become used to it. “you too, peter. night,” you say softly.

you head back to your bed while peter walks out the door. he glances at you once, and you’re already settling under the covers. he shuts the door behind him before finding his way to the couch.

your bed has always seemed too small. it’s gigantic without peter. you aren’t sure how you feel about that yet.

peter lays across the couch, the hood that doesn’t quite fit him pulled over his head. he’s only wearing it because you gave it to him. you doing that not even five minutes ago was how you backed up your love with actions. it’s so easy. silent tears spill from his eyes at the realization.

he wishes on every star that he could’ve figured out he wasn’t doing enough sooner. you’d be together right now, had he just caught on. there was a time he prided himself on knowing you fully and completely. how to turn you into the shy one with certain combinations of words, what your schedule was each week so he could plan his free time around it.

your relationship became something he thought would last unconditionally. if only he was able pinpoint the exact moment he went wrong.

you’re right in the other room. he can go in there and bawl, plead for you to take him back. how could he do that and claim to love you, though? you’ve made it clear you‘re over him.

the best way for peter to show you he loves you is by letting you live your life, without him in it.

-

you don’t see peter again for weeks. he moved back in with may, and you got to keep the apartment. you were the one who took all the care of it, anyway.

your semester ended at the perfect time because peter isn’t in any of your new classes. the city is too big to bump into each other. you’re free from the hold he had on you, which would’ve been four years long since yesterday. you’ve been good at picking up his broken pieces for too long, and now it’s time to pick up your own.

for all the hangouts you missed on his behalf, you made up for it. you called mj the day after your breakup and met for lunch. she never explicitly said it, but she took your side. peter had a feeling because when he had the same idea as you, to lean on his friends for support, she never reached out.

betty is indifferent, ned stays cordial with you. his real loyalty is to peter. you can’t blame him.

peter hasn’t been doing well since you broke up. he’s not eating enough, he can’t focus on work of any kind. you were right when you said he would forget how to breathe without you. he often wonders how you’ve been.

he finds out today.

you’re walking around campus, heading in the direction peter just came from. he has a class in the building your last one was. the two of you are on the same sidewalk, opposite sides. he almost doesn’t recognize you.

mj is on one side of you, a guy he’s never seen before with an arm around your shoulders. you’re all laughing about whatever dumb thing your professor said during the lecture. your hair, which is done in a new style, flows behind you in the spring breeze. a smile takes place on your glossy lips. the smile is directed towards that guy. your new boyfriend, peter assumes.

you look amazing, and not only physically. you seem happy with your small group of people. peter hadn’t been able to give you that happiness in years, so it’s nice to see you got it back somehow.

he must have stared too long because you notice him. you fall behind mj and your potential boyfriend, both of them wrapped up in discussing your next project. peter stops walking. you do the same. he’s not sure if he upset you, or what’s going on. his instincts tell him to apologize. his mouth stays closed.

that infectious smile of yours appears once again. you thought about peter yesterday, it being your anniversary and all. you’d only let yourself remember the good things. they outweighed the bad ones when you look back on everything.

“aye, grandma! get over here!” mj calls to you, your boyfriend nudging her side. “take your time, y/n/n. i’m not in a rush to write seven long ass pages.” you laugh to yourself at the two of them. peter fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. it’s from the drawer of things you used to wear. “one sec!” you yell back.

“hey,” you turn to face peter, who’s giving you a tight lipped smile. “how’ve you been?” “i’m okay. just, you know,” he shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. there’s a short silence before peter says, “you seem good. really good.” he smiles for real this time. “yeah, i am. i hope you are, too,” you tell him and genuinely mean it.

you’d like to catch up soon, but it’s not right yet. you both need more time. “i’ll see you around?” you’re already starting to walk, backwards so you can see peter. “uh, sure. bye,” he gives you a quick wave and continues on his way.

you get back to mj and your boyfriend, his arm returning to your shoulders. they waited for you by the stoplight. “what’d ya get up to over there?” he teases, mj suspiciously watching your face for any tells. you carefully think through your answer with a grin. “love.”

[soulmate-game]

Well, here is the stupid thing I was alluding to. It’s mostly a filler chapter, but yeah.

Harley’s Plea for Help, Chapter 3

“Well, that took a while,” a relatively deep female voice smoothly drawled. The plants placed right next to the window pulled away, no longer blocking the pathway inside. The two figures who were perched right outside the windowsill took the invitation and climbed inside, the shorter of the two looking at the woman who had spoken and smiling widely.

“Auntie Ivy!” Marinette happily exclaimed, making the redhead across from her grin back.

“That’s me. It sure is nice to actually see you in person, little Marigold,” she held out her arms for a hug, which Marinette instantly ran in to accept. “Video calls are never quite enough, are they? You’re so tiny! Are you sure you eat alright?”

“Auntie Ivyyyyyy,” Marinette whined, knowing full well that Ivy was just teasing her.

“So, what took you all so long?” Ivy asked Red Hood, even as she kept her arms wrapped around her soon-to-be daughter in law. “Usually you bats are all about getting back on the streets to punch people, we didn’t think you’d be bringing her in at almost one in the morning.”

Hood shrugged, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Your little garden fairy nearly gave us the slip. Went straight out the back exit instead of doin’ anything showy like we half expected and we almost missed her.”

“I stopped as soon as I noticed who they were, I swear!” Marinette pulled away from Ivy, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t expect Momma to send them to babysit me before our first full day being in Gotham. In hindsight, though, I really should have.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Ivy agreed with a smirk, ruffling Marinette’s hair and making her pigtails go a little crooked. “And I know for a fact that you’ve done some stunts off your balcony back in Paris, so at least I know you can be responsible and hold yourself back from doing the same here. Must get that from me, because we both know it doesn’t come from Harley.”

Marinette and Hood both had to laugh at that. Being responsible was definitely not a trait that Marinette could have inherited from anybody in her family tree, that was for sure.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me in front of my daughter?” the comically scandalized voice announced the arrival of one Harley Quinn, who walked into the room in white onesie pajamas with a poker print on them. All of the “joker” cards were crossed out heavily with red sharpie, and a few of them had black-sharpie devil horns and handlebar mustaches vandalizing them. Marinette even caught one such card with a googly eye on it, the matching eye having fallen off and leaving only a small circle of since-dried hot glue where it used to be. “If you guys are gonna be that way, fine! Ivy dyes her hair!”

“No she doesn’t,” Marinette deadpanned, clearly fighting against a giant grin. The corners of her lips gave her away, they never stopped twitching with repressed mirth. “But you do. I got the pictures to prove—- aah!” Harley tackled her daughter to the ground, attacking her with tickles immediately.

“Take it back! My hair is naturally blond!”

“Yeah, naturally— hahahahaha! Sandy blonde! You— hahaha! Have just as much brown— stop I can’t breathe! hahahaha!— as yellow!”

“Hmph,” Harley finally backed off, crossing her eyes and looking away from Marinette with an exaggerated pout. “How dare you reveal my darkest secret?”

“I was a natural redhead even before I got my powers,” was all Ivy had to say, looking all too amused at this turn of events. “Your original costume completely covered your hair.”

“Don’t worry, Harley,” Red Hood butted in, reminding the three girls that he was still here. His tone suggested that he was definitely smiling under his helmet. “We found out about your hair dye years ago.”

“I just cover up the brown parts! It’s not like I’m changin’ much,” she argued before standing up again. “Thanks for gettin’ my cupcake back safely, little birdie. Oh, that's right! I made cupcakes! Hang on, lemme grab one for your trip back!” with that, she span on her heels and ran back further into the apartment. Marinette dashed over to Hood, immediately shoving him to the window.

“Quick, save yourself! Momma can’t bake for her life!” she whispered urgently. “I’ll say you were called away for an emergency, just hurry!”

“It’s not even a lie, getting away from Harley’s baking is an emergency,” Ivy agreed, waving as the vigilante took their advice and fled. It was only three seconds later that Harley slid back into the room, nearly falling due to the feet of her onesie having pretty much zero friction. Her face immediately fell when she saw that her victim was gone, leaving her standing there with a cupcake that was about twice as much frosting as actual cake, covered in sprinkles like a kid’s craft project that was smothered in glitter. The frosting was also shapeless, just heaped on the cake like a half-melted scoop of ice cream. She sighed in despair.

“There goes my chance of giving a bat diabetes. You guys warned him, didn’t ya?”

They both nodded shamelessly. “We’re not that cruel, Harley,” Ivy defended, getting up from her spot on her cushioned armchair and wrapping an arm around her fiance’s waist before she kissed the top of her head gently. “Hood got our little Marigold back safe and sound, and he’s even started a garden at his apartment. He doesn’t deserve to be poisoned by you.”

“I thought you said he got a single cactus at the flea market last month,” Harley deadpanned, making Ivy shrug.

“Might as well be a garden for him, and it’s something he’s not likely to kill so that’s a plus to me. He’s actually taking really good care of the little baby.”

“Speaking of garden!” Marinette gently took the sad excuse of a pastry away from her mom and sat it down on a side table before ushering both of them over to the living room and onto the sofa. “My garden back home is growing so big, I don’t think I can keep everything much longer. I barely have room to walk on the terrace, with all the vines and leaves and branches. Got any ideas of what I can do?”

“Of course! Do you have pictures, Marigold?”

—*—*—*—*—*

Slipping back through her hotel window at six in the morning was risky, since it involved climbing the wall and hoping nobody saw, but her classmates were so unpredictable that it was the only way she could be sure nobody would find out that she had violated curfew and snuck out. Of course, having Red Robin waiting outside her mom’s apartment’s terrace to escort her back helped. At least she knew that no street cams would record her comings or goings, and his grappling hook made the whole scale-the-hotel-wall business much more efficient.

Once she was inside, she sighed happily. “Thanks, now—“ her apology was cut off as Red Robin held up a finger to tell her to wait.

“Hold that thought, be right back. Don’t move.”

Thinking, rightfully, that something was wrong, Marinette obeyed. She watched Red Robin leap off of her hotel balcony and disappear into the streets. Immediately, she began a search to make sure her room had been left untampered— everything important had been packed in the backpack that she had taken to her mom’s place, but still. Could never be too careful. By the time she finished checking for bugs or any signs of snooping, Red Robin landed back on her balcony.

“Here we go.”

Turning to face him, Marinette opened her mouth to ask what the problem had been— only to tear up a little and walk over to the vigilante.

“Oh, my hero. Truly, my one and only savior. Knight in shining red Kevlar. I’m running on two hours of sleep and you have read my mind!” The pigtailed drama queen eagerly took the coffee that he offered her, and he sipped from a larger cup that looked like he had grabbed it from the same place. Marinette almost instantly sighed in gratitude when the hot drink lightly scalded her tongue. This. This was the elixir of life.

To his credit, Red Robin was able to restrain himself to merely an amused smirk. Probably because he was running on just as little sleep as she was. “Sorry it’s only a small, I figured it was best to have something you could finish quickly and easily hide the evidence for. If you need more caffeine, I happen to know that Wayne Enterprises has a very good coffee shop in their main hall. You’ll be touring there today, right?” He asked, taking another sip as he waited for the answer that he already knew.

Marinette nodded absently, drinking in the euphoria of her coffee as she tried to both savor it yet finish it as quickly as safely possible. When she came up for air, she said; “Yeah, that’s right. We’re touring Wayne Enterprises for most of the day, having lunch there, and leaving for dinner after the tour. Then we have a visit to the Gotham Museum of Fine Art, and we’ll stay there until about eight-thirty before heading back to the hotel.”

Red Robin nodded, then turned and looked out the window at the slowly rising sun. Sunrise was always a bit later in Gotham, partly because of the abundance of high-rises and partly because of the thick cloud cover and ever-present fog on the edges of the city making everything seem darker than it should have been. He had to be at work soon himself, which is why he had been chosen to escort her to the hotel in the first place, but that meant that he had to be heading off.

“Alright. We arranged for a bodyguard we trust to keep an eye on your class during the WE tour, but he doesn't know who you are or that we’re the ones who asked. We’re still in the process of arranging someone to shadow you after the tour, but we’ll tell you about that once it’s solidified. Until then, follow the usual self-defense procedures if you suspect anyone of following you. You have the panic button we gave you?”

Marinette nodded, gulping down the last of her coffee and carefully putting it in her room’s tiny trash can. “Got it. Thanks, again. Seriously,” she met his eyes— or, probably did since they were hidden behind that weird white film that the whole Batfam had covering the eyeholes of their masks. “I mean it. For listening to me, for listening to Mom. It means a lot. I’ll keep the panic button on me, and I’ll use it if I think I can’t handle a situation on my own. I’ll cooperate with the people you get to watch over the class, and I’ll do my best to not get into any trouble. No promises, but I’ll do my best,” she maintained eye contact until Red Robin nodded, hiding his expression behind his coffee cup. After a second, he cleared his throat.

“Well then. We’ll contact you once we have anything to say about your intel. Until then, I gotta go. And by the way?”

Marinette tilted her head curiously as Red Robin paused for just a moment on her balcony railing, aiming a smirk back at her. “Yeah?”

“Welcome to Gotham.”

And if she couldn’t help but smile widely as he grappled off into the fog-veiled sunrise? Well, only she had to know. She wasted no time closing and locking the glass balcony door, and pulling the curtains over it completely. Once that was done, she couldn’t help but do a little shimmy of Joy. She was caffeinated, she met Auntie Ivy in person for the first time, she got to sleep next to her momma— and she was in Gotham! Technically her hometown— or town she was conceived in? Didn’t matter. Point was, even with the chaos and dark energy clouding the very air, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in that city. Like that was where she was always meant to end up, where she could thrive and the environment that she was made to thrive in. The environment that she was born to start fixing.

She beamed at herself in her bathroom mirror as she gave herself one more once-over. Yeah, so far her visit to Gotham was going much better than she could have hoped. Now, she just had to make sure it stayed that way.

Three businesslike raps sounded against the door to her room, just in time for Marinette to feed Tikki one more cookie and straighten her purse on her shoulder. Madame Mendelieve’s voice called out from the other side of the door in her usual no-nonsense bark;

“Dupain-Cheng! Room check! It’s time to get up, we’re meeting down in the lobby in ten minutes.”

Marinette ran up to the door, not quite able to contain her energy, and swung it open with her trademark large, beaming smile.

“Way ahead of you, Madame Mendelieve!”

Her science teacher blinked, adjusting her glasses on her nose as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ah. You’re already awake and ready?”

Marinette giggled and nodded. “Yup! I was so excited for the tour that I could barely sleep! Does the hotel breakfast include free coffee?”

—*—*—*—*—*

The hotel breakfast did, in fact, include coffee. What it did not include, however, was free coffee that Marinette could reasonably stomach. Especially after the heaven in a cup that Red Robin had gotten for her earlier, the watered down motor oil in the hotel lobby had been unbearable. She had barely managed two sips before regretfully throwing the rest away. Which is what brought her to stand in line at the very same coffee shop that Red Robin had mentioned was in the main hall of Wayne Enterprises, as the rest of her class mingled and waited for their teachers to check their tour group in and their tour guide to arrive.

“Hmm. Sorry, this is my first time ordering here,” she apologized when she reached the counter, gaining a slight lopsided grin from the barista at the register. “Um, I usually like strong coffee, with a lot of caffeine, but I also like something sweet. I don’t need anything too complicated though, do you have any recommendations?”

The barista gave her a customer service smile that seemed just a tad softer at the edges than usual. “Sure! So, we can add an extra shot or two of espresso to any of our drinks, to make it stronger and give it an extra kick. If you’re looking for good sweet flavors, the classics are our white chocolate or caramel. But we also have a seasonal syrup right now that I personally love, which is our cinnamon butterscotch. Did you wanna try that?”

Marinette smiled widely. “That sounds delicious! Then, if I could have your largest size café latte, hot, with… two extra shots and that syrup? Does that sound good?”

The barista actually let loose a soft laugh, already keying in the order. “If you’re a coffee lover and a sweet tooth at the same time, then you’ll love it. If not, come back during your tour’s lunch break and I’ll make you something else.”

Marinette made a little more small talk as she handed over the proper cash for the order, and grabbed her drink after just another minute’s wait. She turned around, taking a sip of the unsurprisingly heavenly coffee and started off to join her class.

Only to realize none of them were where she had left them. She sighed, starting to reach into her purse to see if anyone had texted her about where they were going, but a heavy presence stopped her. She could feel him approaching from in front of her, slightly to her right, but she couldn’t hear him at all. On guard, she straightened up and turned to observe the potential threat.

A security guard. Marinette blinked, running over what she had been told earlier that morning. Was he..?

He seemed to notice her instinctually defensive posture because he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he apologized. “I’m the guard that was assigned to your tour group. I offered to stay behind until you got your coffee while the rest of your group went ahead and got the run-down on all the boring rules and whatnot of the tour. Figured you’d already know everything they had to say anyway, you’re the class president right?”

Marinette relaxed her posture, nodding and sending the man a relieved smile. “Yeah, that’s right. Well, that explains why they left without me then. Usually Madame Mendelieve is strict about following rules though, how’d you convince her to go on without me?”

The man chuckled, jerking his head to show that she should follow him as he began to lead the way to a side door. Marinette kept her guard up just in case, but wasn’t too worried. If nothing else, she was still in the middle of a super crowded building and the other security guards around didn’t seem concerned. She could easily yell for help if she needed to.

“Well, can’t you tell it was my devilish charm?” He teased, grinning. He waited until she rolled her eyes to continue; “but really, I’m like a second tour guide. She made me show a lotta proof that I’m actually assigned to you guys and not just faking it, not that I can blame her. Eventually she saw the logic in my suggestion and agreed. See, there they are,” he pointed casually ahead of them in the large side hallway they had entered. Sure enough, near the end of the hallway was her class at what looked to be the tail-end of a standard rules-and-guidelines speech from the tour guide. “By the way,” the guard spoke up again, holding his hand out. “My name’s Jason. You’ll be seeing me more often, since I’m supposed to guard you guys for all of your visits to the Tower. Call me if you need help with anything, ‘kay kid?”

Marinette grinned, now positive that this guy really was the guard that Red Robin had said was assigned to her class. She switched the hand she was holding her coffee in so that she could properly grab Jason’s hand for a shake.

“Got it, Monsieur Jason. Let’s both hope I don’t end up needing your help though, I think that would be easier on both of us,” she joked, earning a chuckle from the large man. And— yeah, now that she was relaxed, he really was big, wasn’t he? Then again, Marinette didn’t always realize when people were a bit larger or more buff than they should be. Living with her dad had seriously skewed her perception of the normal size of an adult male (which, she learned when she was seven, most definitely was not almost seven feet tall and muscled enough to make a pro wrestler jealous). But she would like to think she had gotten better in that aspect, and Jason was definitely a big guy. A little over six feet tall, she thought, and though the guard outfit hid a good portion of his physique, she could tell he carried enough muscle to do serious damage if he wanted to.

With a wave, she left him to join her class and sipped at her latte. She had figured that the Bat Clan’s criteria for civilians that they would put to guard her class had to be high, but now she had to wonder just how high. Most police officers or security guards were fit, sure, but not like Jason. Casting a quick glance back at him, she confirmed that he had quite a few faded but visible scars. Again, more than your average officer even for Gotham. Who had they tasked with her class’ safety, exactly?

An elbow in her side distracted her from her thoughts, forcing her to blink and stop her cup from going back to her lips. The grin of none other than Adrien Agreste greeted her when she snapped out of her own head long enough to pay attention to her surroundings. He jerked his head to indicate that the class was already starting to move off.

“Come on, Mari or you’ll get left behind again,” he teased. She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes but falling into step beside him as they followed at the back of their class. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna marry that coffee. You haven’t zoned out that badly in years,” his tone was light and cheery, but Marinette didn’t miss the concern in his emerald eyes. She sighed, gently bumping her shoulders against his in silent reassurance.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. But this really is good coffee. Elixir of the gods,” then, just to provoke him, she took a giant gulp of the still steaming hot drink. Adrien grimaced in pained sympathy even though Marinette didn’t seem affected at all.

“Oww, Marineeeeeeeeeette,” he whined. “Don’t do that, my throat hurts just watching you guzzle hot coffee like that,” he complained, rubbing at his neck to make his point clear.

“Wimp,” she teased, unrepentant. Adrien just groaned dramatically.

“I’m not a wimp, you’re just concerningly used to burning your throat from the inside out,” he accused. “Anyway, how’d it go?” He was being deliberately vague, but it was obvious to her what he meant. He was only one she had told about visiting her mom, after all, just in case she needed a quick getaway.

In fact, he was the only one of her friends that she had even told about her biological parents. Alix knew too, but only because of time shenanigans. Marinette was fine with it now, but still.

“It went great,” she smiled widely at him, keeping her voice low but casual. “If I have a chance, I’ll introduce you sometime during the trip. I have a feeling you’ll love Auntie Selina, but I have to meet her first. All I have so far are stories.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien agreed easily. “But you don’t have to, you know that right? I’d love to meet your family, but I’m also fine just being your pseudo-brother like I have been up until now. I know it might be a bit… uncomfortable, for you.”

“Nah,” Marinette shrugged. “Nerve wracking, maybe. But that’s also about half the things that I do in my life period, anxiety is no joke. I’ll catastrophize for a while, but I know you’ll love them and they’ll love you.”

“Sounds like they have paw-some taste,” he didn’t even miss a beat with his puns, earning a playful glare for his efforts.

“Never mind. You’re a heathen. Disowned. Who are you?”

“Mariiiiii,” he whined, causing them both to laugh for a while before focusing on the tour.

So far, so good, Marinette thought.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1 Part 2

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman @deathssilentapproach-blog @user00000003 @frieddonutsweets @blur-of-colours @prettylittlebutterflie @ladyqnoirr @a-star-with-a-human-name @mizzy-pop @laurcad123 @dorkus-minimus @chocolatecatstheron @tazanna-blythe @golden-promises @literaryhiraeth @asrainterstellar @hewantedbeefintheparkinglot @miraculous-trinity-leo @missanalysis @lovelyautumnsunflower @lolieg @ann0631 @whitetiger1249 @meow-now @toodaloo-kangaroo

[corpsedaydream]

point of view

corpse husband x reader

word count: 2.4k

_______________________________

pov

Growing up, you’d spent so many afternoon and nights in your childhood bedroom scribbling down notes into diaries. Some of it was reality, some of it was fantasy, but all of it was you. Once you were done, you would hide the journals all over your room, they were for your eyes only but your brother use to have a habit of finding them and reading them and teasing you if you happened to write about a boy you had a crush on.

Ironically, when you’d first started talking to Corpse, before he became your boyfriend, your brother had caught you sending him some heart emojis, and even as grown ups, he still teased you about it.

You weren’t surprised that hadn’t changed, but something that did change that did take you by surprise is how that hobby of writing brought you to where you were in your career.

You were on your way to your boyfriends place and in the passenger seat of your car was a CD. In a very early 2000s style, there was writing scribbled onto it done with a black sharpie and the letters read, ‘POV demo’. You could feel nervous butterflies gathering in your stomach as you neared closer and closer to Corpse’s place.

You’d had an incredible past few days. Writing always felt like something for fun, never something that would actually be a career prospect but when your YouTube videos of you sharing your original song ideas started to take off, people started to notice. Someone in particular being Ariana Grande. She’d fallen in love with your writing style and wanted to work with you to create a song for her next album, so of course you graciously and excitedly agreed.

It seemed you and Ariana were in similar phases of your life, both falling in love with someone who seemed so perfect for you. So the song came so easily for you, all you had to do was think of Corpse.

Your car came to a stop out the front of his place and you took in a few deep breaths as you unbuckled your seatbelt and picked up the CD from beside you. You’d written about Corpse before, but never something that was as confessional and honest as this song was.

Will he even like it? You thought to yourself and for a second you contemplated placing the CD under your car to run over it to destroy it. But you wanted him to hear it before it was released to the world. So with one last deep breath you shook your head to try to send the nervous thoughts to the back part of your brain as you exited your car with the disc that had the song on it in hand.

The time between knocking on his front door and him coming to open it had never felt this long before. You were chewing on your bottom lip and your forefinger was picking at the corner of your thumb nail as you anxiously waited. Then when the door opened, you spoke up before Corpse even had a chance to greet you. “I have a surprise for you!” You blurted out as you stepped inside and avoided bumping into him.

Corpse had a humoured yet confused expression as he watched you slip past him, usually you greeted each other with an exchange of touch, but you were barely looking at him right now and seemingly keeping your distance. “What-”

“No, please don’t say anything.” You held your hand up that wasn’t holding the CD as a signal to shoosh your boyfriend. “I have to show you right now before I change my mind.” You were visibly nervous, he could see it so clearly in you right now, so he listened and kept quiet. He wanted you to feel okay, but now you had spiked his curiosity, he had to know what the surprise was. “Can I put a disc in this?” You asked as you walked to a laptop that sat on his coffee table and sat down on the floor to place the CD beside it so you could inspect.

“A disc for what?” He was puzzled by the question.

“Just answer!” You didn’t mean to snap at him, this was supposed to be a good surprise, but god your heart was beating so fast and it felt like it was lodged in your throat. You were about to spill your heart out to him like you never had before and you were terrified of a potential rejection if he thought it was too much. Instead of questioning or arguing or snapping back at you, he neared you instead. Corpse could see your hands shaking a little and you were hunched in on yourself. Usually you were the confident one of the two of you so seeing you in this insecure state was something he wasn’t exactly used to. However, he had seen it before, but only a very few times. As confident and bright as you were, he’d been slowly learning your more deep seeded fears and vulnerabilities, so he was learning how to handle it when you were in a state like this.

“Hey,” He called for your attention as he crouched down beside you his voice ever so calm, one of his hands coming to land on the small of your back and his other grabbed hold of one of your hands. “Look at me.”  Finally, you did. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth you turned your head and found his gaze, your eyes flickered between his, you were still so nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah, I am. I’m just-” You cut yourself off and you broke away from his gaze.

“Just what?”

“Scared.”

At that answer, his hand on your back rounded around you further as he let go of your hand so he could instead shift closer to you again and use that hand to bring it to the side of your face, encouraging you to turn to him again. “Why are you scared?”

“I’ve really just got to show you this.” Was the only answer you could give him without spoiling what the surprise was.

“Do you want to?” How badly he wanted to know what the surprise was, but he wouldn’t push for it if it caused you to be more on edge.

“Yeah.” You answered him and he smiled before leaning in to kiss you.

“Go ahead then, baby.” Corpse told you after you broke apart, his hands falling from you as you scooted forward to be in front of the laptop and he leant back against the couch.

One last time, you looked back at him over your shoulder, you were more in front of him now, but he was still within an arms length. He nodded fervently at you, watching with interest as turned your attention back to the laptop and opened the device and inserted the disc. With a few clicks, the beginning of the song started to play and you dropped your vision to your hands that sat in your lap before the first lyrics were sung.

It's like you got superpowers Turn my minutes into hours You got more than 20-20, babe

Hearing this, Corpse sucked in a quick breath, it was clicking in his mind what the surprise was.

Made of glass the way you see through me

He directed his gaze to the back of your head, how he wished he could see your face right now, but he knew you must have needed to be facing away from him right now to feel okay with doing this.

You know me better than I do Can't seem to keep nothing from you How you touch my soul from the outside? Permeate my ego and my pride

You spent so much time laughing and joking around, you were a very playful person and sometimes, you found it hard to get more serious. Corpse had been one of the only people to be able to see through this, to be able to reach a more exposed part of you. And as he listened to those lyrics, he recounted a time the two of you were wine drunk and and it was one of the first times you’d ever really opened up to him. But then right after, you’d attempted to laugh it off and he stopped you and made you feel okay with not having to seem like you were at 100% all the time, especially with him.

I wanna love me The way that you love me Ooh, for all of my pretty And all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view I wanna trust me The way that you trust me Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do I'd love to see me from your point of view

The chorus played and Corpse couldn’t help himself, he leant forward slightly to make contact with your elbow. And even though nothing was said, you understood fully what he wanted, because you did too. Your hand left your lap and without turning your head towards him, you reached your arm behind you, he grabbed your hand once more, intertwining your fingers with his.

I'm gеtting used to receiving Still gеtting good at not leaving I'ma love you even though I'm scared

These lyrics caused his hand to squeeze tighter around yours. It was only a few weeks ago the two of you had a pretty big fight, although it was only born out of fear and it ended in tears. When you were apologising, you’d told him you were so happy he was still with you and you’d also opened up to him about how with every past relationship, you never let yourself get in too deep, you always made a run for it before your heart was too in it. But you didn’t want that to happen with Corpse.

Learning to be grateful for myself You love my lips 'cause they say the Things we've always been afraid of I can feel it starting to subside Learning to believe in what is mine

The chorus began to play again and Corpse tugged on your hand.

I wanna love me The way that you love me Ooh, for all of my pretty And all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view

At first, you didn’t respond, and he really didn’t want to interrupt the song, but he wanted you to be in his arms so badly. “Come here.” He tugged again and this time, you finally moved. Your hands broke apart as you scooted back to sit beside him where he was still leaning against the couch and as soon as you were there, his arms came around you, pulling you in so close.

I wanna trust me The way that you trust me Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do I'd love to see me from your point of view

Your heart was beating so hard and your cheeks were flushed as you nestled your head into his neck.

I couldn't believe it, or see it for myself Know I be impatient, but now I'm out here Falling, falling, frozen, slowly thawing, got me right

His arms were around you so tight and your emotions were running so high. Tears were pooling in your eyes as your hand grabbed ahold of his shirt, the material pulling taut as your hand tightened into a fist over the material.

I won't keep you waiting All my baggage fading, safely And if my eyes deceive me Won't let them stray too far away

Corpse turned his head in order to be able to press his lips against your forehead as the chorus begun to play out one last time.

I wanna love me The way that you love me Ooh, for all of my pretty And all of my ugly too

Just like earlier, one of his hands would come to cup around the side of your face, encouraging you to look at him again. With his aid, you’d move your head out from the hiding spot you’d found in the form of his neck.

I'd love to see me from your point of view

Corpse swiped his thumb across your cheeks upon seeing that a few tears had spilled over the edges of your eyelids, you were still keeping your eyesight down.

I wanna trust me, ooh The way that you trust me, baby

He’d dip his head then, still trying to connect eye contact. You’d glance up and much to your surprise, tears had begun to bubble in Corpse’s eyes too. You’d let out the softest gasp and your hand would lift to grab a hold of his wrist of his hand that was still cradling the side of your face.

'Cause nobody ever loved me like you do

As the songs last lines were playing, the two of you moved your faces closer together to meet for a passionate kiss.

I'd love to see me from your point of view

The both of you poured every emotion you were currently feeling into the physical display of love and adoration. Deepening the kiss, you’d kneel up briefly so you could climb into his lap and sling your arms around his neck and his arm would tighten around you.

When you both parted to catch a breath, you’d have your foreheads resting against one another until you lift your head back up to look at Corpse properly.

“Did you like it?”

He smiled and shook his head in disbelief at your question, how could you not know that the answer already? “I loved it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“It’s everything I’ve always wanted to say to you.” Yet again, you moved your eyes away from his.

He could see that still, you were feeling vulnerable about sharing the song with him. “Baby,” And once again, he was using his hand against the side of your face to coax your eyesight back to his. “It was perfect.” He assured you and he would feel so pleased to finally see a smile appearing on your face. “Should we only communicate in songs now?” He’d joke and he’d feel even more delighted to hear you laugh.

“I love you.” You’d tell him.

“I love you, too.” He’d reply.

“No, like, I really fucking love you.”

“I get it, because I really fucking love you.”

The both of you would laugh again and when it subsided, you shared another kiss.

“Play the song again.”

[otptings]

Reunited

✖︎Idol: Park Jisung

✖︎Genre: Fluffffy

✖︎Word Count: 1237

✖︎Synopsis: Tours are hard, but being reunited is all you could ask for

✖︎A/n: edited, the original goes by the name of tour. requests are open for enhypen, treasure, and svt. if you enjoyed this please like, reblog, or donate to my ko-fi in my bio thank you so much

“I miss you.” You held back your laughter at the sight of Jisung puffing out his cheeks in an obvious pout.

“Only two more weeks, then you’ll be back in my arms.”

“That’s boring, why can’t I just teleport there now? Or better yet you teleport here?” Shaking your head at his childishness you couldn’t help but feel the same. There have been more than enough lonely nights to last you for the rest of your days. Nights that were spent looking at all of the various photos and videos that Jisung - tried to-  regularly send you, along with scouring the Dreamies Youtube channel for any videos he forgot to tell you about.

You were more than grateful he was able to experience the tour, especially now that his knee was fully healed, but a miniscule part of you wanted him to be here, wrapped around you like a koala, your favorite habit of his. You’d give anything to be suffocating because of the immense warmth he constantly radiated, your head laying on his chest to listen to his heart beat. The moment when you’d look up at him only to see him already staring back, a sweet smile on his face as he leant down to place a kiss on your temple. Moments you wished you hadn’t taken for granted.

“I miss you more than you know, but I’ve seen all of your performances. You make me so proud everytime I watch them.” A dark blush spread of Jisung’s cheeks. He was weak to compliments. A mumbled ‘he’s on the phone’ was heard before the dressing room dorm burst open, the rest of the Dreamies making an appearance. The boys rushed to the camera, the sound of their screams and greetings making you giggle.

“Don’t think I forgot about you guys, I miss you too.” A mix of Korean and English could be heard, but due to their overexcitement actually understanding was out of the question. Jisung muttered a quick ‘bye’ before the phone beeped, signaling that he hung up. You laughed at his panicked expression before realizing he didn’t end the call with an I love you. Or the next time you’d talk.

Touring makes it hard to schedule things, having an estimated time when you two could talk did help. Giving you something to look forward to between his performances and your school schedule. You had started to get deep into your thoughts when your phone dinged.

Jisungie🐹

I love you ❤️i’ll try and call you tomorrow before practice

A smile spread across your face at his text. Jisung wasn’t forgetful, you don’t even know why you were so worried. Laying back against your pillows you grabbed your stuffed bear, a present Jisung had given you on your 6 month anniversary, hugging it close to your chest, attempting to ignore the empty sensation in your chest that had been steadily growing since he boarded the plane.

Three weeks can’t pass quickly enough.

Stuffing your hands in your pocket you huffed impatiently. You were waiting, just standing there waiting for the aircraft to deplane and the door to open revealing the purple hair boy, for the aching in your chest to finally be alleviated when he held you in his arms for the first time in months.

You felt your breath hitch when the gate doors opened without warning. 6 months, 26 weeks, and 4380 hours without Jisung, he’s finally back. People slowly started to trickle out, and your impatience only grew when none of them were your boys. After what felt like hours - approximately 5 minutes - Mark’s bright blue hair came into view. A mixture of relief and elation rushed through you at the sight of Jisung, his eyes moving rapidly before meeting yours, the same emotions flooding through them.

What you did was stupid, giving the company free ammunition to be mad at you. In your defense NCTzens already knew about your relationship, after 1 year together the company released a statement before Dispatch had the pleasure of creating a scandal. So what if you gave them a few couple pictures to leak.

Jisung met you halfway, his neck pillow laying discarded on the ground, arms wrapping around your waist tightly, as if he was scared you’d leave. That wasn’t a problem, your arms draped over his shoulders, holding him just if not more close. In your brain you could make out the Dreamies cooing over you too, but your attention was mainly on the feeling of your chest finally being full for the first time in 6 months, your other half was back.

You hadn’t realized just how much you missed the feeling of his arms around you, feeling protected in the way he seemed to fully wrap around you. You pulled away only long enough to look up at Jisung, frowning at his watery eyes.

“You’re crying.” Jisung’s hand came to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear you hadn’t realized you were shedding. Giggling, you buried your face back into Jisung’s chest. You refused to let go.

“Are they really crying? Oh my god we’re gonna be here all day.” You couldn’t see the aftermath of Haechan’s dramatic yelling, but you did hear the soft thud of someone smacking his arm - later you found out it was Renjun due to Haechan's whining about how unfair it was.

“It’s young love, they missed each other let them be.” Jaemin began to scold them, protecting his two babies as he always does.

Come on guys, let’s head to baggage claim. Sooner we get there, sooner we can go home.” Jeno’s voice broke through and you finally pulled away, not before he wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you tightly pressed to his side as you walked.

In a total of 37 minutes all 7 of the boys got their bags - including Haechan’s extra bag for souvenirs - loaded them into the van with the help of their manager, and returned back to the dorms, where you were currently curled into Jisung’s side as the other boys were spread out around the dorm, minus Chenle, Mark, and Haechan who were at their respective residences.

Jisung’s head laid on your chest while your fingers ran through his hair, massaging his scalp and listening to the soft sighs that left his mouth, his own hand playing with the bottom of your shirt, fingers threatening to touch the smooth skin underneath.

“I really missed you” Tilting his head up Jisung looked at, relief still evident in his eyes, “It’s hard being so far away from you, I can’t sleep in those different hotel rooms. Of course I have my members, but it’s not the same as having you beside me.”

“You’re back now, and you can’t act as if the tour was all bad. How was it anyway?”

Jisung recounted the tour days for you, making sure to spare no detail of how they convinced Renjun to reenact his voice crack on the stage during the encore, or when they woke Mark on his birthday by pouring water on him and how Haechan was the one to take all of the blame, or when they all decided to gave themselves temporary tattoos with a sharpie and how the makeup artists lectured them for hours while trying to get rid of the black ink - except for Mark who use blue because it was his favorite color.

Tours are rough on both of you, but being reunited is all you could ever ask for.

[creativeashproductions]

What If...? I // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: The story of Sunset Curve if someone had been able to stop them from the fatal street dogs. A rock and roll family legacy, the reader meets Luke at a concert where he decides she is his endgame, this is a story of their life together.

Warning: Swearing, fluff, female!reader, do street dogs count now??

Words: 3.0k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog . The request was detailed so this request with be 5 parts and shorter since I have no clue where 3.0k came from?! Enjoy.

A/N: Interesting fact about the stand where the guys get the streets dogs is the name of shady business is a play on words. Say the name fast and you’ll catch on.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Los Angeles, Early 1990s

Sunset Curve started as a fun little project for a group of four teenagers from all walks of life and different stories. It came about when a kind blonde boy was trying to find a socially acceptable way to hang out with someone he was currently seeing. It worked because Alex had learnt drumming as a way to work his frustrations out, he didn’t feel like he could punch someone, so boxing was a no go. Luke, the guy he was seeing, had received a guitar from his parents and self-taught himself how to play. The Patterson parents believed it would be a phase and he’d get serious about education.

The duo found out that an acquaintance had been having taken guitar lessons for several years, as a date Luke and Alex discovered him in the music room at school. Somehow another guy, Bobby, joined and then when the relationship between Alex and Luke mutually ended the band floundered. Alex, however, refused to let the breakup affect their friendships. Luke refused to give up the band. Sunset Curve was then forever changed to a permanent band.

In 1993 Luke attended one of his favourite local bands at a venue where he bumped into you. Chemistry and attraction instantaneous between you two, unlike anything before. IN that few second you both knew that you had see the other again.

“Hey! Sorry!” You called out over the loud music glancing over his shoulder at your friends grinning in response. After a bad breakup, Jay and Ro had been pushing you into failed blind dates.

“No worries!” Luke replied, “Gnarly song, hey?”

You nodded glancing at your friends once more, “I better get back to my friends.”

Luke frowned as you gave no indication you felt the spark, he did in the minute of interaction, but he hoped he could change your mind. The encounter settled in his mind as the concert finished, and the clock struck midnight.

Ro and Jay hounded you for leaving a gorgeous guy with the same music taste, but you just felt wrong to lead him on. Sure, you felt something for the guy but look how the previous relationship turned out.

“After James…”

“He’s an ass,” Ro spoke frowning at the tone you used for your ex. A two-year relationship with a guy you thought would be your forever love, “Girl, I would date you in a second! You’re a strong woman who doesn’t need a man. But that doesn’t mean having a little fun…”

“He’s gorgeous.” Jay supplied looking over at the boy whose attention was sucked back into the music by the band Weezer. The band is an inspiration for his music, “Look at his arms. Cut off muscle shirts were explicitly made for him.

“If I see him again. I’ll think about it.” You sighed chuckling as Jay made a face at the song being played. Jay didn’t like this kind of music, but she loved you too much to not be there when you were still hurting.

A few weeks later in a bookstore, you waited for your Aunt’s book club to end so you could help close the store and go home. The sound of a guitar brought your head over the couch to see that guy with a band from the concert; all of them playing instruments. Godlike he couldn’t get any more perfect, then he started singing. You were a goner.

“You should try the cheesecake bites.” You spoke coming up behind the guy at the snack table, “So you like Weezer, play guitar in a rock band and you sing?”

Luke was surprised at the sight of you, “Hey. I..uh…yeah. Always been a fan of rock.”

“I grew up on it. My parents met at a Rush concert, and a year later they were married.” You spoke leaning back against the wall, “Dad’s on the road right now.

Alex noticed Luke talking to a girl across the room as he packed up his kit, a pinch of sadness felt, but he pushed it away. They ended for a reason, and they just didn’t care about each other the same way. Alex was happy for his friend.

“Is he in a band?” Luke asked glancing at the band shirt you tied into a crop top and a pair of shorts. It was gorgeous but straightforward on you.

“Yeah. The tour bus was kind of my first home, I guess.” You chuckled looking at the guy, “Hey sorry for being standoffish at the concert. It was lame of me.”

Luke smiled, crossing his arms and smiling when he noticed your eyes wander to his arms before you met his gaze again. He usually wasn’t so confident, but God, there was something that drew him to you. He’d hoped he would bump into you again.

“It’s cool.” Luke shrugged, “If I say something really cool, could I get your number?”

You smiled, grabbing the sharpie in your back pocket before gently taking his arm. Scribbling the number on his arm to glanced up to his awed expression.

“Call me.” You replied before pushing off the wall to head to the where your Aunt was starting to close up, “I have a personal line.”

Luke beamed happily following Reggie out the door, a grin that didn’t leave his face. He called. After a date, he called nightly, and a relationship was born.

Your converse slapped on the sidewalk as you sprinted to the band studio beyond excited to see Luke after two weeks of family time on the road. You missed him. He was coming out of the studio they rented when he glanced up. He stumbled back when you slammed into him full force.

 “Whoa!” Luke yelped as he caught his balance and squeezed you close to him, breathing in the scent that was just you, “I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” You breathed hurriedly kissing him in response, “I just got back, and I had to see you.”

The entire world fades away as you guys kissed as if you hadn’t seen each other in months rather than a few weeks. His one hand moving to cup the back of your neck and the other squeezing your hip. Yours wrapped around his neck.

Your heads tilting to deepen the kiss when a voice interrupted you.

“Gag me with a spoon.” Bobby spoke, walking by with a grimace, “Nice that your back so Luke will stop moping but too bad since I’ll have to see that.”

“Oh, shut up, man.” Luke shoved him playfully before he picked up his abandoned guitar case and held your hand tighter, “You’ll understand when you find someone.”

Reggie and Alex waved as they continued on, Reggie would have to endure a tense supper with his parents, and Alex had family plans as well. Luke, however, was bringing you home to see his parents; out of his life choices, Emily and Mitch adored you.

“Come on.” Luke smiled, kissing your cheek as he tugged you to the sidewalk refusing you let you go on the walk to his place. Luke listened as you told stories from your time with your parents; he had allowed to meet them. Every time, however, last-minute details kept Luke from meeting your father.

“So, I have some news…” You playfully said coming to a stop at the front door of his house with a grin. Luke’s little grin appeared at how happy you looked and the sunburn on the tip of your nose.

“Yeah?”

“You know Poison Monarchy, right? The club.” You questioned moving to lean against the brickwork, you were expected to see his reaction. Luke’s eyes brightened at the mention of a famous club that jumpstarted a few bands.

“Of course! The guys and I snuck in to see this radical band. We got kicked out, but man it was such a cool night.” Luke grinned slipping into the memory of being where local bands got big, and most went on to place The Orpheum.

“Well-“

“Luke.” Luke’s dad Mitch spoke from the open doorway with a look of displeasure at the guitar case resting at the teen’s feet.

Luke automatically straightened his posture at the sight of his stern father waiting in the entrance. His hand keeping yours when it started to slip out.

“Dinner is getting cold,” Mitch spoke, turning his attention to you. His stern expression breaking into a genuine smile, “Y/N, it’s nice to have you over.”

Luke was led into his own house by you as you enthralled Mitch in a story about something you saw on the road. His Mom was putting the last dish on the table when the kitchen livened up with the new additions. Emily was quick to tug you into a huge before everyone washed up.

Luke was kind to walk you home after dinner with his parents where he could breathe again from the expectations in his home. His arm slung around your shoulder, humming a new melody that had been in the back of his mind.

“So, I hope you guys are free Friday.” You spoke nestling further into his side content in his jacket he had draped over your shoulders.

“Why?” Luke questioned, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fringe tickling your forehead as he did so.

“The regular band isn’t able to play, and they were looking for a replacement. My Aunt-“

“-who owns the book store you finally talked to me at-“

You chucked at Luke’s words, “Anyways, her brother-in-law went to high school with the owner, and I may have dropped your band, and well you have a gig.”

“I love you,” Luke exclaimed stumbling back at his words. Your eyes widened in response, “Oh god. That is not how I wanted to tell-“

“You love me?” You shyly spoke, staring at the boy that held your heart in his hands ever since the first real conversation. Luke’s face turned bright red as he stuttered out mindless words. Something in your eyes changed that, and the confidence returned with a shade of shy.

“Yeah. I do. I have for a while, but I know how that loser broke your heart, and I didn’t want to rush you.” Luke spoke cupping your cheek in his hand, “But I really love you. Like, not some puppy love either. I see two things in the future. Sunset Curve and you.”

“Luke-”

“And I know it’s only been a year, and we’re barely seventeen, but I’ve only been sure about two things in my life. You don’t have to-“

“Luke! I love you too.” You laughed, reaching up to kiss him with all the love you could pour into it. Love you loved him, and God help him, he adored you, “Well Rockstar, better plan your setlist.”

You breathed cradling his hands still cupped on your cheeks each bearing a grin of pure happiness because this was a perfect moment; just Luke and you in love. That was all that was needed.

Two years flew by for Sunset Curve and your relationship with Luke did as well and with every relationship came ups and downs. After a nasty fight, you came to a compromise to never go to bed angry, Luke had spent the entire night on your porch. He got sick, and you made up. After performing at Poison Monarchy, the first time they had monthly gigs there, they would busk on the street for extra cash. Luke bought you a promise ring with his busking savings just before the big blowout with his parents on Christmas.

“Luke?” You yawned opening the door to a sobbing teenager. You were quick to yank him in the house out of the cold.

Luke broke down that night after running out on his Mom for the usual argument he had based on his dreams. The next few months he would alternate staying at Reggie, Alex’s or your place if your parents were gone. The subject was too sensitive, so you ignored the elephant topic in the room instead of addressing it.

“Babe, we did it.” The glee in his voice was by far one of your favourite things to listen to. You were sitting on the bar with him leaning back between your legs. Both your eyes scanning the empty area of The Orpheum.

“You guys did it.” You breathed, “You pour yourself into this band. You guys finally get the accomplishment.”

The rest of the band had joined you guys in complete silence to take in the monumental moment in their lives. Something you didn’t want to tell the boys was that with a little nudging, your father had spread the word of an up and coming band. His words would be bringing people in the business tonight.

“So, I’m thinking we close with Now or Never.” Alex offered, “It’s our high-level energy song, and to close with it would be perfect.”

“Our third song could be ‘Home is Where My Horse Is’ and go int-“Reggie cut himself off when the band gave him the usual look, “Oh come on! We need to give a little taste for when we dropped a country album.”

“I-“ Luke shook his head disregarding the same thing that happened at every gig they had done, “We’ll start practising. See you in a bit.”

Luke swiftly kiss you before shoving around with the boys to the door backstage glancing over with a heart-stopping smile. You watched intently as they began their soundcheck for the gig buzzed on the excitement.

“They’re good.” A beautiful girl spoke wiping down the counter beside you—her brown eyes watching the band perform.

“They are. I’m Y/N.” You grinned as she introduced herself as Rose, “The two on the ends are single.”

Her chuckle spoke for itself as she moved away to put glasses away behind the bar, her tight curls bouncing as she walked. You see Bobby and Reggie had their eyes pinned on her while Luke’s head was in the clouds or his eyes meeting yours.

“So, the restaurant is ready when they are.” The gritty voice spoke from behind you. Standing in the flesh was your father who you immediately jumped at.

“Dad!” You exclaimed happily that he had finally been able to come to see the guys play. It was always a wrong time when he was supposed to meet the band.

It’s what happens when he happens your father happens to be in one of the biggest rock bands around. Little people knew who your father was, even Luke just knew he was in a band and called him by his last name out of respect. He had never met him face to face, however.

“So, the frontman is Luke?” Lancaster, Lance for short, questioned his daughter leaning beside her, “Remember when your type was a football player?”

You snorted at his words since he had never liked your ex-boyfriend James. Lance had heard stories from your mother and you about Luke. Lance so far liked the teenage boy. He trusted you wholeheartedly to make responsible decisions.

“Oh, shut up.” You spoke, pushing his shoulder, “How was London?”

“Same as usual. Met up with the guys.” The sombre tone was enough for you to know he had been celebrating a close friend. Even with Freddie’s illness, your father hadn’t been able to leave his side and even four years after the death of Freddie Mercury, it still cut Lance up.

“I’m happy you’re home.” You spoke smirking when the band finished their soundcheck heading to the waitress immediately after. Bobby, no doubt flirting while the other searched for you, “Man, this is gonna be good.”

You raised your hand to your boyfriend, who quickly made his way over with a huge grin and heavy breathing.

“Man that was as exhilarating as our-“

“Luke!” You nervously chuckled quickly kissing him before he could embarrass himself in front of your father. Luke frowned at your tone before he glanced over to the side. Alex and Reggie making their way over, “Guys, things aligned perfectly. I want you to meet my father.”

Luke’s eyes widened as it clicked that he had almost told his girlfriend’s father he was sleeping with her. His Adam’s apple gulped at the fear that flooded his veins. The father in question turned, and the band as a collective released the most hilarious gasp of shock.

“That’s-“

“Lance Y/L/N. By your expressions, I assume you know my stage name.”

“Lancaster Jameson.” Alex squealed having to grab Reggie’s arm to keep himself upright.

“Your father is Lancaster Jameson?!” Luke exclaimed, “You didn’t tell me you’re a literal rock legacy!”

You could hold back the laugh waiting to fall from your mouth at their reactions to your family history. The excitement was overpowering everything else.

“He just watched us perform.” Reggie breathed, hitting Alex in the chest, “My dream has been reached. My goal is finished.”

“While they calm down, I’ll see you later,” Dad spoke kissing the side of your head as he whistled his way to the entrance. The group was collapsing almost only regrouping to make fun of Bobby. You are tugged with them.

“Ok, well, I’m thinking we fuel up before the show. I’m thinking of street dogs.” Luke announced happily, whereas you made a disgusting face.

“No.” You shook your head at the suggestion. There was no way you were going to down a street dog before their gig.

“It would be fitting.”

“No. I have a feeling that street dog would have been your last. The place is called Sam N Ella’s guys, if you say it fast, it comes out salmonella.” You spoke glaring at Reggie went to say something, “No. We’ll head to have food with my folks and some of their friends.”

“Getting food with a rock legend? Heck, yes!” Alex spoke already heading for the door with Reggie right behind, “Street dogs are in the past!”

It was a beautiful night. Sunset Curve got a ton of offers, and many demos were taken from the group as well. They also didn’t die.

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[mythologymondays]

It’s that time again, the time where we all gleefully sit down on the nearest mound and regale ourselves with totally normal Welsh tales of magical women and horses and enchanted bags, because that’s just how the Mabinogion is. Fun sources and FACTS beneath the cut, as always.

Press J on your keyboard if you hate stories about Medieval etiquette, liminality, and magic mounds.

The Prince and the Horse Girl: a temporally disconnected romance for the ages

So, the last we heard of Pwyll, he had successfully cockblocked himself into becoming best friends with Arawn, the Lord of the Underworld, which sounds like a pretty average Friday night in Cardiff, let me tell you. Anyway, Pwyll at this point is just kind of riding high on the fame that being best pals with Arawn brings, and he’s showing his friendship bracelet to everyone he meets and saying stuff like “yeah, it’s great to have the Lord of the Underworld Arawn-ed whenever I need him,” and everyone just sort of rolls their eyes good-naturedly and thinks about death.

One day, Pwyll is at his court at Arbeth, which is one of his most important courts. There’s a huge feast in front of him and all of his courtly pals are there, just chewing the fat. Pwyll tears off the leg of another whole roast pig, probably his eighth of the session, and he’s about to bite into it when he realises that everyone sat around the table is staring at him, so he puts down the pig leg really gingerly and says, “do I have hog spleen around my mouth or something?” and one of his courtly crew, who doesn’t get a name in the original text and so will henceforth be known as Brad, says, “no, my lord, but you do have practically an entire herd of pigs in your stomach, so maybe it’s time for a walk?”

Pwyll blinks at him and he’s like, “I don’t really see why I would want to go for a walk in the yucky outside when I could be sitting here and savouring delicious morsels of tenderly roasted flesh,” and Brad shrugs and says, “well, I read an article about nutrition in this scientific journal last week, and apparently it’s not actually that good for you to just eat constantly and never go outside ever,” and Pwyll is like, “no, but it’s super fun,” and Brad sighs and he’s like, “look, I wasn’t going to tell you this, just in case you got too excited, but there’s actually a mound outside,” and then Pwyll’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates and he cries, “a mound? Seriously? You’re not just fucking with me to get me to go outside?” and Brad is like, “no, there’s seriously a genuine, 100% organic mound outside, and it’s only a short walk away,” and so Pwyll pushes his chair out from under the table and he’s all, “lead the way, pal, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner that there was a fucking rad mound outside, you know how much I love mounds.”

So, they all traipse outside on horseback, and lo and behold, Brad wasn’t lying. There really is an absolutely incredible mound outside, all earthy and hilly, and… look. I’ll level with you. It’s hard to get excited about a mound, but Pwyll manages it. I have no idea how. God knows I’ve tried. But anyway, he leads his merry band of lads up to the top of the mound, and they’re all about to sit down when Brad puts out a hand and stops Pwyll from doing so. Pwyll is like, “dude, stop crushing my vibe, I’m about to become sedentary on this sediment,” and Brad just shakes his head and he’s like, “bro, I need to tell you something about the mound, because I may have undersold it.”

Pwyll is obviously in complete disbelief at this point, just like, “mate, there’s no way you undersold it. It can’t get any cooler than this. It just can’t. Have you seen it?” and Brad is like, “yes, it’s a really interesting geological formation, and the topography also makes it look a bit like a butt, which is obviously super rad, but I didn’t tell you that it’s also a magic mound, because if a nobleman sits on it, one of two things will happen: either he’ll see something absolutely fantastic, like the original The Mummy film starring Brendan Fraser or a cool dog, or he’ll get maimed and mortally wounded. It’s 50/50, to be honest with you.” 

Pwyll just blinks at him, and he’s like, “dude, those are two very different things, but you know, I really can’t pass up the opportunity to see a cool dog,” and Brad says, “I need you to know that the dog was just a random example, I make no canine promises here, I can’t stress that enough,” and Pwyll just shrugs and scoffs, “whatever, dude. Anyway, if I do get totally maimed, I’ve got my posse here, and you’ll do first aid on me, won’t you?” and Brad just sort of nods nervously, because they haven’t even invented antiseptic in Medieval Wales and all their bandages are just, like, old socks drenched in ale, and they don’t have St John Ambulance to teach them all first aid because there isn’t even a J in the Welsh alphabet, and then Pwyll grits his teeth and sits down.

Almost immediately, this brilliant white horse just zooms past them, and Pwyll is like, “oh, that’s fucking sick, my dudes! I thought a dog would be cool, but a horse? Are you kidding me? It doesn’t get much better than this! Equestrian displays are my jam!” and then Brad rolls his eyes and he’s like, “my lord, did you not notice that there was a phenomenally sexy and almost certainly magic lady in gold riding that horse?” and Pwyll is like, “honestly, no, I was kind of distracted by the fetlocks, but now you come to mention it, she’s pretty attractive, I guess. Hey, do you think I could catch up with her and ask her where she got her cool horse?” 

So he gets back on his horse and he tries to catch up with the lady, but even though Pwyll’s horse was sold to him as being the fastest ride on four legs, he can’t even come close to her. He walks back to his lads, his metaphorical tail between his actual legs, and he’s like, “dudes, we’re going to formulate a plan tonight,” and then a random guy in the posse is like, “oh cool, I brought Sharpies,” and they go back to Arbeth Court and spend literally all night just drawing diagrams and equations on a tapestry of England, because that’s probably the best use for it.

The next day, they put their plan in action. Pwyll gets his youngest, fittest lad, plops him on his biggest, muscliest horse, the one that’s like an equine version of that man in Game of Thrones who keeps breaking weightlifting records and is almost definitely earmarked to play Atlas in some big budget Greek myth film, and sends him after the lady. But still, no matter how fast they ride, she’s always one step ahead of them. At one point, they almost catch up with her, but when Pwyll reaches out to stroke her silky blonde hair in a totally normal and cool way, she pulls forward again and he just fucking eats dust. It’s humiliating. 

And this goes on for three days, because princes don’t have, like, hobbies in Medieval Wales, or apparently any princely duties that would make galavanting after a magic horse woman for half a week kind of inconvenient for the general populace, and gradually, Pwyll’s men all bow out one by one, probably because they’ve all developed an absolutely stonking case of piles from being on horseback for three days solid, and then Pwyll is alone in his romantic and also literal pursuit. 

Exhausted, starving and probably desperate for the loo at this point, Pwyll throws his head back and howls, “what the fuck is going on on this day? I’ve tried everything! I’m absolutely stumped. I don’t know what to do about this. I’ve considered it from every possible angle. I chased her, and that didn’t work. I got my wingman to chase her, and that didn’t work. Those are my only two options in the entire world. I just don’t know what else I can do. It’s completely fucking futile, I wish I’d just seen a dog instead,” and then a flash of inspiration comes to him, and he just calls out to the woman, “erm, could you maybe just, like, stop?” and, like a miracle, she does.

When he catches up to her, she glares at him, and says, “I’ve literally been waiting three whole days for you to just ask me to stop, why did it take you so long?” and Pwyll is like, “I sort of thought that it was implied, to be honest with you, what with all the chasing and me crying loudly about my unending solitude and the futility of love,” and she shrugs and says, “well, if we’re to be marred, we really have to work on our communication,” and Pwyll is like, “wait, what, who said anything about marriage?” and she just rolls her eyes, like, “look, I’m a sexy Medieval maiden and you’re a prince with some land and gendered expectations, so of course we’re going to get married,” and he’s like, “well, if we marry, that means I get to ride your horse whenever I want, right?” and she nods, like, “yes, that’s definitely the primary appeal of marriage.” 

But just as he’s about to get down on one knee, she looks at him again, and says, “I should just tell you something super quick, in the name of true love and Medieval marriage etiquette,” and he’s like, “what, your name?” and she says, “no, not that, although it’s Rhiannon, but mostly I’m thinking of the fact that you actually have to wait a whole year to propose to me, because I’m almost engaged to someone else, who I hate, and I need to sort that all out first.” 

Pwyll frowns and says, “hang on, is this going to be another one of those weird magic things where I have to wait a whole year and then conveniently murder someone in a previously determined location?” and she’s like, “what the fuck, no, there’s not going to be any murder at all, just a lavish engagement feast and some nuptials and probably some awkward standing around with the in-laws to-be,” and he’s like, “so why do we have to wait a year?” and she just waves her arms around and says, “temporally disconnected Otherworld shit, my love, I don’t make the rules. Just come to the court of Hyfaidd Hen in exactly a year, and we’ll do the whole ball and chain thing. It’ll be great.” 

So he agrees, because of course he does, and the next thing he knows, it’s a year later, and he goes to Hyfaidd Hen and Rhiannon’s there in this beautiful McQueen wedding dress, looking all Kate Middleton but without the colonial royal associations, and there’s an absolutely exquisite feast laid out, with a whole array of delicious Medieval food, like unseasoned meat pies and room-temperature ale that looks like piss, and Pwyll just thinks to himself how cool it all is, but he also secretly harbours a lingering regret for the previous year, where he was forced after a blunder of etiquette to kill a random man in a duel, and although he feels bad about it, a part of him longs for the decadent adventures of his bachelorhood, when murder was more than just a six letter word. 

They’re all just kind of milling about on the dancefloor, listening to the bards spit some absolute club classics like Y Gododdin by Aneurin, which really gets the toes tapping, when this random dude with a chiseled jawline and a playful glint in his eye comes up to Pwyll and extends his hand for Pwyll to shake. Pwyll, who is completely head over heels for manners and etiquette, shakes the man’s hand, and says, “hello, new friend! What can I do for you?” and Rhiannon elbows him in the side, and hisses, “be careful, fiancé dearest, don’t let him tangle you up in a web of etiquette from which there is no escape,” and Pwyll waves her off, saying, “my sweet darling, I am a prince of Wales; manners are my middle name,” and he turns back to the man. 

The man grins at him, and he says, “I’ve come to ask a favour of you, Pwyll, prince of Wales,” and Pwyll, still enamoured by this man’s manners, is struck by an overwhelming desire to just do whatever this perfectly polite man wants, so he spreads his arms wide in a benevolent gesture, conveniently using it as an excuse to set down his glass of lukewarm piss ale on a nearby shelf, and says, “literally anything you want, my friend, I’ll give you!” and then the stranger’s grin turns into a smirk and he says, “by your word?” and Pwyll is like, “fuck yeah, man, by all of my words, as God and all these noble guests are my witness!” and the stranger is like, “sick bro, I want to marry Rhiannon, and I also want your wedding feast.” 

And Pwyll has no idea what to say to that, because he just promised this man anything he wanted, so he decides that maybe silence is his best bet here, and the man grins at him, and stalks off, knowing that there’s literally nothing that Pwyll can do now except reconsider all of his life choices up to this point.

When the man has left, Rhiannon groans, “you phenomenal dick, that man was Gwawl and he’s the complete bag of dicks that my parents tried to marry me off to, and you just got me affianced to him!” and Pwyll just grits his teeth and hisses, “well, dear, you might have told me that before I told him I’d do whatever he wanted,” and Rhiannon sighs and says, “you’re right, but look, we can work through this. Here’s the plan. Firstly, we’ll tell him that he can’t have the feast, because it’s not yours to give, but mine, and we’ll prepare him an equal feast instead. Then, we’ll tell him that he can marry me a year from today, but here’s the thing - on the day of the wedding, you’ll secretly turn up in disguise with a very tiny magic bag and you’ll ask him, very reasonably, for just enough food to fill the bag. He’ll obviously say yes, because even he can’t turn down something that reasonable, but the bag will be enchanted to never be filled, so you’ll just take all the food, until he asks you how he can help you fill the bag, and you tell him that a fine nobleman has to step on it to seal it, and then he’ll step on it, and then you jump on him and pull the bag over his head and tie him up in the bag and hang it from a rafter, and then you’ll blow your hunting horn to summon your posse of lads and you’ll all beat him to a bloody, pulpy death in the bag.”

Pwyll just blinks at her, and says, “sweetheart, love of my life, light of my existence, did you perchance dream up that oddly specific plan a while ago, because if not, then your imagination terrifies me,” and this small, maniacal grin plays on her lips, and she says, “darling, you know how you asked me last year if you’d have to wait a whole year and then conveniently murder someone in a previously determined location, and I told you no?” and he’s like, “yes, I do remember that,” and she says, “well, ask me again,” and so he says, “babe, do I have to wait a whole year and then conveniently murder someone in a previously determined location?” and she’s like, “yes, sweetheart, but I’ve got it in the bag,” and then they high five each other and do a vengeful murder jig for like ten minutes.

And of course, a year later, they do it all over again, this time with a tiny enchanted bag and a goddamn point to prove, but that’s a story for another time.

My other retellings can be found here, and my Mythology Mondays Facebook page is here. My book is here. Yay.

I’m going to level with you: I typed out a whole bunch of super cool academic stuff and then my turdwallet of a laptop crashed and deleted all of it, and I honestly want to perish very slightly at the prospect of typing it all out again, but in a nutshell:

Some people think that Rhiannon was a horse goddess who was undeified by the Christian dudes who wrote down the pagan Welsh myths all those years later. While the Christian dudes did almost certainly sanitise the source material, we just don’t have any real proof of what they left out. The main argument for Rhiannon being a horse goddess is that she’s a woman and there was, erm, a horse. Not the most compelling argument. Some people also think she may be a cognate to the Gallic horse goddess, Epona, but this is basically extrapolated from the fact that they’re both female and somehow linked to horses, which I don’t think would fly in a court of law.

If you’re wondering why Pwyll didn’t just tell Gwawl to fuck off, it’s because he’s bound, as a nobleman, by a very strict code of honour and morals. By giving Gwawl his word, even before he knew what he was agreeing to, Pwyll made a binding promise. If he goes back on his word, Gwawl is well within his rights to challenge the fuck out of him.

Welsh myth and the Otherworld is super interesting. The Otherworld was generally believed to only be accessible at certain times and via certain places, called ‘liminal spaces’, such as bogs, bodies of water, and caves. Liminal spaces are essentially a sort of sacred space which exists in the in between, where the boundaries between worlds are porous and can be crossed, provided certain ritual conditions are met. The mound in this particular narrative is likely a portal to the Otherworld, which explains why Pwyll was able to access the magical realm of Rhiannon through it. The Otherworld, although not explicitly an Underworld, does have links with death and the afterlife, as do mounds, so that strengthens the connection. Bet you never knew mounds were so fucking cool.

Primary sources:

Davies, Sioned (2007) The Mabinogion, New York: Oxford University Press

Secondary sources:

Goldwasser, Michele (1994) What Drives the Mabinogi? Proceedings of the Harvard Celtic Colloquium, 14, 49-57

Linkletter, Michael (2001) Magical Realism and the “Mabinogi”: an Exercise in Methodology, Proceedings of the Harvard Celtic Colloquium, 21, 51-63

Wachsler, Arthur (1975) The Elaborate Ruse: A Motif of Deception in Early Celtic Historical Variants of the Journey to the Other World, Journal of the Folklore Institute, 12(1) 29-46

[thiswasinevitableid]

71. you’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account

Sternclay, NSFW, please!

Here you go! Let's end this round of meet uglies with a bang

The post-holiday slump is always the worst; everyone maxed out their credit cards last month and doesn’t want to buy anything, and the tourists won’t be back until the spring. It’s not that he’s concerned about keeping the lights on; Bookworms is popular and has a prime spot downton. It’s that he’s bored out of his mind.

All his orders for the day are in, everything’s been received and shelved, and he’s running out of things to tidy. If he’s lucky, the clouds that have been threatening a snowstorm since this morning will burst and drive some people to shelter among the stacks.

Dingdong

Thank the lord.

“Welcome to Bookworms, can I help you?”

The man stays by the door, peering through the glass onto the street while pulling off his beanie, “Huh? Oh, uh, nope, just coming in to, uh, get out of the cold.” He turns, and two realizations slap Joseph in the face.

One: this is the hottest man he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Two: He’s seen this man dozens of times, just never in person.

Barclay Cobb is a Food Network darling who got his start on Youtube, sharing recipes from vintage cookbooks he found at garage sales. That’s not why he’s starstruck, but it is probably why the taller man is hiding in the craft books alcove and keeps nervously looking his way.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here, Mr. Cobb.”

“Phew” the man sighs, unzips his jacket, “thanks man. Thought I’d be bundled up enough that no one would spot me while I was out, but I didn’t get my hat on in time coming out of the Chinese place down the block.”

“I love that spot, they have the best beer-braised duck.”

“Yeah, I always stop by when I’m in town, they’re food is worth getting photographed for.”

It’s odd, everything he’s read suggests chef Cobb is friendly and warm when approached by fans in public.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate that people like my shows but, I, uh, sometimes I just want to eat or walk down the street without someone taking pictures of me.”

“Do you want to head into the back sections? There’s no windows in that half of the store.”

“Sweet, thanks. Uh, would it be cool if I autographed any books of mine you have? I like doing that, means I can send a little business towards smaller stores.”

“Of course. Here, the cookbooks are on this wall.” He slips into his office to grab a sharpie while Barclay pulls a stack of books and sits down on the floor. As the scratching of the pen fills the air, Joseph takes a trip to the paranormal and occult section, coming back with three copies of The Case for Bigfoot.”

“Y’know, not everyone stocks these.” Barclay smiles as he adds the paperbacks to the pile.

“Which is terrible business; you’re just as famous in the cryptozoology community as you are in the foodie one. This is the best book on bigfoot ever written, and I should know; I run a, um, a blog where I review books on paranormal topics.”

“You a true believer?” The cook blows on his signature in the copy of Desserts for All Seasons

“More an optimistic skeptic; your book is perfect because you make your case using actual evidence instead of reporting the same ten, poorly verified stories that everyone includes in their books. And I appreciated that you included recipes from the places you visited; that was a very nice touch.”

“Funny story about that” Barclay freezes as the front door opens. There’s definitely more than one person coming in, and when Joseph pokes his head around the corner he sees fifteen people, all with cameras or phones.

“Shit. You might want to hide in my office for a few minutes.”

By the time the crowd reaches him, Joseph is almost done re-shelving the signed books.

“Good afternoon, let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Uh, yeah, we do, someone saw Barclay Cobb in your store-”

“Strange, we’ve only had one customer” he winces as someone’s shoulder knocks a hardcover off its display, “I didn’t get a good look at them before they went downstairs.” He tips his head at the staircase to the YA and Graphic Novel sections and is promptly knocked into the shelf as the throng hurries away.

“Come on, I can get you out through the back door” Joseph whispers to the Red Dust on his Soul poster on his office door. Barclay is remarkably quiet for a man his size as they sneak across the floor and let frigid, January air rush into the store.

“Thanks man” Barclay whispers, “I owe you one.” He sets a big hand on Joseph’s shoulder, squeezes it with a wink, then pulls on his hat and disappears into a crowd coming off at the bus stop.

---------------------------------------------------

Joseph always comes in through the back, flipping on lights as he goes, so the sea of bodies pressed to the front windows like a zombie horde surprises him. He knows Barclay tweeted about the signed copies, but this seems like excessive excitement even for a celebrity chef.

“Morning, Joseph--whoa, what the heck?” Aubrey clocks in without taking her eyes off the crowd, “why is everyone here this early.”

“Fan culture. I think.” The registers finish waking up, “I’ll pay holiday rates if you open that door for me.”

Aubrey gives a thumbs up, unlocks the double doors, and is swallowed up so quickly he worries she might have been trampled until she emerges near the greeting cards. Some people swarm the cookbooks, but an alarming number cluster around the counter, all shouting for his attention.

“How long have you been seeing Chef Cobb?”

“What?, I, I’m not-”

“Does he often visit your store?”

“No! He just came by yesterday!” There’s a horrible clatter of all the books on display near the door taking each other out like dominoes.

“Do you fuck in the backroom all the time?”

“Oh come on” He pushes past the man who asked that, deals with shouting all the way to his office and slams the door. A quick Google search for “Barclay Cobb” brings up a blurry photo of them in the alley, Barclays hand on his shoulder, and multiple headlines speculating on why the reclusive chef and author has chosen a nobody bookstore employee (he’s the owner, damn it) as his lover.

Okay, there’s a logical, easy fix to this.

He opens the door enough to speak, whistles so everyone will be quiet and listen to him, “I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Cobb isn’t in any kind of relationship with me; he just came into the store yesterday for some peace and quiet. So, if you’re looking for information about him, this is not the place for it. If you’re looking for the signed books, the cookbooks are there, and the paranormal section is just around that corner.” He gives his best customer service smile as the paparazzi exchange perplexed glances.

“...Is it true he bought you this store?”

“Wh--no! We rent this space.”

“From him?”

“Arggh!” He closes the door, slumps against it and cards his fingers through his hair. As he contemplates closing for the day, he spots a little, copper card on his desk. It’s Barclay’s, which is what he expected, but when he flips it over there’s a message scribbled in pen.

Main St Hotel, room 503, here until Monday.

He pulls out his phone, tells Aubrey she’s allowed to get the crowd out by any means necessary except for fire, and elbows his way out into the winter air.

------------------------------------------

Barclay almost purrs when he peers through the peephole in the hotel door; Joseph, as his nametag read, is standing on the carpet, looking twice as handsome as he did yesterday. His cheeks are even a little pink, and Barclay has some thoughts on how to make that blush deepen.

“Hey, glad you found-”

Joseph holds up his phone, screen in Barclays face, “please fix this.”

“Oh fuck.” He ushers him in, “I’m so sorry, I thought they’d stopped doing this shit.”

“No, and they’re fucking up my inventory as a result.”

“On it, lemme text my assistant, she’s good at drafting these kind of messages.”

“Thank the lord. Right, thank you for that, I’ll go now.”

“Wait” Barclay reminds his instincts that blocking the door is rude, “do you wanna stay a few minutes? You look kinda stressed.”

“Because my store is being overrun!” Joseph snaps, then takes a deep breath and straightens his sleeves, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for, this morning has just been a mess. And it, um, it’s a little bittersweet to have people thinking I could land a hot chef when I can’t get past a first date with most people. Um, sorry. Too much information. That’s a bad habit of mine.”

Barclay tucks his hands into his pants pockets, “About that. Y’know how I left my card?”

Blue eyes blink, then brighten, “I thought that might be the reason but I dismissed it as wishful thinking.”

“Nope. A guy who's hot, nerdy, and competent enough to sneak me away from the paparazzi? Sign me the fuck up.”

“I’m not opposed to a, um, tryst, but I really, really need to get back to the store, I can’t abandon Aubrey to deal with this mess on her own, that’s not fair, and now we’ll have to reorder things too....” He laughs, a tense sound, “good lord, I get a chance to fuck a celebrity crush and I’m turning it down for work.”

“Hey” Barclay sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “it’s okay. You’re not the first guy to be married to his job. But, uh, out of curiosity, you got any vacation days to spare?”

----------------------------------------------

“This is all yours?” Joseph takes in the sprawling farm as Barclay unlocks the front door of a charmingly rustic house.

“Yep, all the way to the creek and all the way to the road. Might surprise you, but I like my privacy.”

“I’d never have guessed.” He replies with faux shock.

“Smartass.” Barclay kisses his cheek, holds the door open with his shoulder so Joseph can pull his bags inside. He packed as light and efficiently as he could for two weeks away (he’d initially planned on one until Aubrey and Moira ganged up on him and told him he hadn’t taken a real vacation in years so he was taking one now, damn it) but his suitcase is still heavy as he rolls it to the stairs.

“I got that.” Barclay shoulders his own travel bag and hoists Joseph’s in the other hand, carrying them to the second floor like they’re nothing more than pillows.

The week the chef was in Madison, Joseph went to his hotel almost every night. Fell asleep in his bed more than once, when discussions of fusion cuisine or the Fresno Nightcrawler turned into frantic, heated kisses under the covers. It’s only when the cook drops all luggage into the master bedroom that the truth of why he’s on this trip sets in.

“You really invited me all the way here because you think I’m hot.”

“Yeah but no.” Barclay drapes his arms over his shoulders, lips still a little chilly as he kisses them, “brought you here because you’re smart” another kiss, this one on his jaw, “and funny” another, on his nose, “and you’re the biggest bigfoot fan I know.”

“You wrote a book on it!”

“Point stands. And yeah” he pushes Joseph back so he lands on the bed, crawling atop him as he growls, “I invited you here because you’re so hot I wanna pour sugar on you and see if it melts. Now get your pants off; I’ve been thinking about sucking your dick since we left the city.”

------------------------------------------

“How did the whole bigfoot thing start?” Joseph sips his Irish Coffee as Barclay puts his feet into his lap.

“Guess the same way any famous person ends up with two gigs; I was doing the thing I love, then was dicking around on cryptid hunter forums and found out I was also hella good at researching bigfoot. By the time I got really into it, I had enough cash that I could write my book without worrying about going broke. Helps that I’d handed off The Arch and The Lodge and was just the exec chef on them, since then I could travel if I needed to.”

Joseph nods, moves one hand down to rub Barclays foot; in spite of no longer working the kitchens of his five restaurants or having to test recipes for the books right now, he spent most of today on his feet making elaborate meals for two. Joseph teases him that he’s trying to stuff him to the point he can’t leave. Barclay always chuckles and says he doesn’t know how right he is. The last two days, Joseph then wraps his arms around his boyfriend and tells him he’d stay forever if he could.

He’s never thought of himself as romantic; he’s pragmatic, knows that relationships are things built out of time, trial, and error. But god help him, he’s fallen for Barclay like they’re rom-com leads with only ninety minutes to reach their happy ending.

They’re out near the creek--really more of a small river--the next morning, talking about books and speculating on the existence of life on other planets, when a storm sweeps through the trees. As trunks groan and roots pull loose from the snow, Barclay calls, “we better head back.”

He gives a thumbs up. Then the ice under him cracks.

He doesn’t correct course quickly enough, the rest dropping from under him and dunking him in freezing water. It’s deep, too deep to stand, but he’s a decent swimmer and kicks towards the surface. When the shadow covers the opening with a boom, panic threatens to push the rest of his precious breath away.

The tree that fell across the ice is heavy, and no matter how he pushes it won’t give. He bangs on the ice on either side, trying to get it to crack, but his lungs scream and his limbs alert him that the cold will soon shut them down.

He closes his eyes, trying to think, not ready to give up, not with Barclay so close. There’s a groan of wood and frozen water. His mouth opens without permission, desperate for air, and chokes him on frost instead.

-----------------------------------

“...be dead, please don’t be dead, please please please don’t be fucking dead.”

“Nnff.” That’s not what he meant to say, but it seems to calm the voice above him.

“Thank fuck. I’m so sorry, I got to you as fast as I could, do, do you need anything?” Barclay sounds exhausted.

“Cold.” He mutters.

“I’m trying to warm you up gradually, that’s what the first aid book said but, uh, here.” Warm, fuzzy arms draw him into a hug.

Wait.

The first thing he sees when his eyes flutter open are arms covered in reddish-brown fur. When Barclay rubs their cheeks together, it tickles more than his beard usually does.

“Barclay? What the hell is going on?”

“Uh. So.” He’s rolled with ease to face a creature he’s never seen and eyes that he’d know anywhere, “I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, a bigfoot. Maybe that’s kinda obvious now.”

His brain crackles to life, “What better way to stay undiscovered than get famous by giving people the wrong information about you.”

“Some of it’s true. Just not anything people could use to actually find me.”

“Smart, big guy” Joseph pets his face.

“You’re taking this pretty well.”

“I think my system is too shocked to experience more shock.” He shudders, “relatedly, how’d I get out of the river?”

“I lifted the tree off and pulled you free. Took my disguise off to do that and, uh, the fucking thing fell into the water when I got you. So I’m gonna be stuck like this until a friend of mine can get me a new one.”

“No complaints here. You look incredible.” He runs his hands up and down Barclay’s side and chest, warmth seeping into his fingers as he does, “But I’m a little surprised you were willing to risk someone seeing you or me blabbing to someone and trashing your whole life in the process.”

A low rumble as Barclay kisses his forehead, “It’s worth it. I, this is gonna sound so fucking cheesy, but I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and there was no way I was gonna lose you.”

“Oh.” Affection and surprise well up in his throat, pressing down his words so all he can do is nestle closer to the cryptid and let himself be loved.

His mind rebounds quickly from his misadventure. His body would like him to remember it for a while so he doesn’t put it in such jeopardy again any time soon. Instead of helping Barclay with cooking and chores, he lays under the covers while the storm rattles the roof and the cook clangs pots on the lower floor.

Barclay, attentive to a fault, is downright doting now that he’s stuck in bed. He’s never without a hot drink or something to read, and the cryptid is happy to answer the majority of his questions about the finer points of being bigfoot. When it’s bedtime, his boyfriend pulls him atop his massive frame and cuddles him, whispering over and over that he’s glad he’s okay, until they fall asleep.

Today followed much the same pattern, though when dinner time rolls around he gets a fantastic surprise.

“Chocolate fondue?” He peers hopefully at the bed tray in Barclays hands.

“Only the best for you, babe.” The cook sets the burnished wood down on the bedside table, “we lucked out, the berries I bought last week are ripe.”

Joseph reaches for the fork, but Barclay beats him to it.

“You should save your energy. Since you’re, uh, still recovering.”

He shrugs, sets his hands in his lap and opens his mouth for a chocolate dipped raspberry. It doesn’t take long to spy Barclay’s ulterior motive. The cook has a whole wardrobe designed to fit his cryptid form, but it’s having trouble concealing certain things.

“You’re getting off on this.”

“I, uh, I, maybe a little” Barclay blushes under his fur.

Joseph raises an eyebrow, tilts his head at the bulge in Barclay’s pants, “You call that ‘little’?”

A rumbly whine, the fork paused halfway to Joseph’s mouth, “I can’t help it. I’ve got a thing for taking care of partners, especially ones who are all competent and put-together the rest of the time, and you look so good when you eat and, ohfuck.”

Joseph inhales sharply as chocolate hits his exposed upper chest. It’s not hot enough to burn, and he moans as the sensation seeps across his skin. Barclays eyes, wide and ravenous, keep flicking between the splatter and his face.

“Looks like you made a mess, big guy.” Joseph begins undoing the remaining buttons on his pajamas, “you should clean it up.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay lunges, mouth first, lapping and sucking at the marked skin as Joseph laughs. Their shirts hit the floor together as he digs his nails into auburn fur. Barclay grunts at the pressure, sits up with a grin, and drips a line of chocolate down the right side of Joseph’s ribs.

“Oops. Better fix that too.”

“Cleanliness is importantAH, ahhnn.” He squirms a bit as Barclay nuzzles his stomach before dragging his tongue up his skin. There’ve been times he mourned the fact T didn’t make him as hairy as some other guys, but right now he’s grateful for the clear canvas Barclay can mark however he pleases.

“A mess can be more fun.” The cook licks his lips, sucks a hickey above his belly button, “and by the time I’m done with you, babe, won’t be a single part of you that isn’t one.”

“Then get to it.” He shoves his pants down, lets Barclay pull them the rest of the way off and fold them. He lays back, resting his arms behind his head, and moans as the cook drizzles chocolate on each hip. Joseph feels like a gourmet dessert and, from the growls between his thighs, Barclay intends to treat him like one.

His boyfriend is always enthusiastic when sucking him off, but tonight he throws finesse out the window in favor of burying his face at the crease of each thigh in turn, licking his hips clean while clawing at his calves and sides. He lifts his head, wipes his mouth with a satisfied grin that shows the points of his teeth, and dives down again.

Joseph yelps with pleasure, the hint of fangs hitting all his buttons, lighting him up like downtown on a dark night. It’s intense, the scratch of fur on skin just different enough from the usual beard to remind him of who’s down there, and his legs try to kick closed. Barclay growls again, holding them open with ease.

“Not until I’m done with you, babe.”

He surrenders to flood of feelings from both outside and within him, Barclay’s sheer delight at his body rendering all his doubts and worries toothless and small, quieting them until all he can think about is incredible creature holding and all he can say is some variation on-

“Barclay, please, right there, lordalmighty that’s good, that’s so good big guy, please.” He squeezes his eyes shut, craving the impending orgasm more than he has words for. Barclay sucks determinedly and huffs, pleased, as Joseph's thighs tense in his hold and his climax chases away the remnants of yesterday's aches.

As his brain insists that really, body, opening our eyes isn’t that hard, there’s a metallic zip and strong legs bracketing his thighs.

“Here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” He murmurs as Barclay gleefully strokes his cock, “as soon as my brain works again, I’m coming up with so many ways to use that gorgeous thing.”

“Can’t, fuck, can't wait to hear ‘em, but I only got one for tonight; I’m gonna use it to cum alllll over that fucking perfect body, fuck, Joseph, you look so good when you’re ruined, fuck.” An impressive amount of cum spatters up his stomach, chest, and neck as Barclay howlgrowlpurrs and then sets his hands carefully on the bed.

Joseph’s whole body is sticky with chocolate, sweat, and cum, and Barclay definitely has at least two of those things mussed into his fur.

“You’re right, big guy, a mess can be fucking amazing.”

That being said, being sticky gets old quick, and soon they’re in the tub, Joseph whistling as he shampoos Barclay’s chest. The cryptid hasn’t stopped purring, and every time he looks Joseph’s way the sound deepens.

“When are you next in the city?”

The cook yawns, “Was gonna check on how the new chef de cuisine is getting on at Kepler in about two week.”

“Would you like to stay with me? It’s not fancy, but it’s close to the Ismuth, so you can get to Kepler on foot without trouble, and there are fewer crowds there this time of year. I suspect paparazzi are also less likely to track you down at some random house than at a hotel. That might make up for my lack of, um, high class amenities.”

“Good point. But I gotta be honest babe; as long as you’re there, that’s all I need to be happy.”

[bosspigeon]

Adam versus that most evil of foes...the office printer?

two glass houses, twenty stones

Pairing: M!Detective/Adam du Mortain Word Count: 1711 Summary: Having recently learned that he is the target of a power-hungry vampire who wants to experiment on him because of his “special blood” (oh, yeah, and vampires are real, apparently), Detective Arlo Priestley deals with the aftermath. The aftermath, of course, including one Adam du Mortain and his sparkling personality.

So... I don’t even know what to say anymore. I get completely innocuous prompts and they become something COMPLETELY different than what i had in mind. so, uh, hope you enjoy an Arlo Character Study with a side of Printer Shenanigans! This takes place in Book 1, shortly after the detective finds out about, uh, everything. I had fun playing the unreliable narrator with Arlo! And I have a fun idea for a sequel that’s Adam’s POV! Title is from Type O Negative’s “I Don’t Wanna Be Me.”

“You can, uh, sit down if you’d like,” Arlo offers, picking at the chipped polish on his thumb.

Adam hardly glances at him, keeping his attention on the window that overlooks the rest of the police department. “I am fine standing,” he says shortly. It almost seems like he’s determined to not look directly at the detective at all.

Arlo winces a bit, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine too,” he mumbles, looking down at his pile of reports. He brushes the accumulated black paint chips he’s shed in his anxious fidgeting aside. He’ll have to paint his nails again soon, they’re looking rather ragged, almost to the point he can bite them again. He’s been trying to stop, he knows it’s sort of gross, but still…

He furrows his brow and starts thumbing through reports, absently flicking through his color-coded tabs that help keep him marginally organized even when his “system” doesn’t really work for anyone but him. He calls it improvisational. Verda calls it “slapdash.”

 He frowns, chewing on his lower lip and clicking his tongue when he notes his color system is out of order, and that one of the red tabs is missing. His eyes flicker up when he hears Adam shift slightly, but the vampire still isn’t looking at him, so he focuses back in, counting through reports again. He sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to his computer and pulling up his group chat with Tina and Verda.

big-depeche-mood: Tina, did you take my copy of Mrs. Holt’s police report?

big-depeche-mood:�� And why did you change my display name again?

BubblegumB!tch: how do u know i did it? why do u always blame me? 😥

big-depeche-mood: Because Verda has no reason to care about Mrs. Holt claiming her ex kidnapped the dog when they separated.

big-depeche-mood: And if you mean the display name, you’re the only one with admin privilege, because you made this chat.

BubblegumB!tch: i am being unfairly targeted 😭😭😭

BubblegumB!tch: im taking this to HR

DoctorDILF: HR has found no evidence to support this claim.

DoctorDILF: Really, Tina?

big-depeche-mood: Just tell me if I need to print another copy, please.

BubblegumB!tch: 👉👈

Arlo rolls his eyes and minimizes the window so he can start the task of going through his backlog to find the digital copy of the original report. Once he’s found it and sent it to the printer, he pushes himself upright, groaning as his spine pops in several places

Adam finally, finally turns to look at him. “Where are you going?” he snaps.

Arlo flinches, clenching his jaw to bite back the nasty retort burning on his tongue like acid. “To the printer,” he grits out, jerking his hand towards the window. “Literally twenty feet away. So unless you plan to go get that report for me, let’s just hope the megalomaniacal vampire that wants to use me as a lab rat doesn’t decide to snatch me from a police station in broad daylight.”

Seems he didn’t bite it back hard enough after all.

Adam recoils, like he always seems to when he realizes he's stepped directly on Arlo's nerves. He feels a little guilty for snapping, but he’s had more than enough of being treated like an unruly toddler. He wants to snidely suggest Adam see about requisitioning a bloody leash for him, but he snatches up a pen and starts furiously clicking it until he can calm himself down instead. Adam’s lip twitches, and Arlo clicks faster.

Adam turns sharply on heel and stalks out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the window rattles. Arlo is just grateful it hasn’t broken.

He sinks back into his chair and rolls his eyes skyward, dragging his hands down his face and wondering what the hell he’s done to deserve this whole situation. It’s bad enough he knows there’s some mad scientist vampire wanting to experiment with his freakish blood, but being shut in the same room as Adam for multiple hours a day when the man won’t even look at him, much less talk to him, makes nerves squirm under his skin and sets his whole body on edge. Unfortunately for the both of them, when Arlo gets nervy, it gets much harder for him to temper what comes out of his mouth.

He melts into his chair a little more, ignoring the pings from his computer that are probably Verda trying to convince Tina to change his display name back, and Tina reacting by changing it to increasingly ridiculous things. He just closes his eyes and focuses on breathing for a bit, trying to remember a single thing from his anger management classes from years ago when his brain is still buzzing with a squirming twist of irritation and guilt, a desperate need to apologize warring with the urge to snap and unload every frustration this whole thing has got knotted up inside him.

It's some sort of cosmic joke that Adam occupies so much of his attention, when Adam seems like he can't wait until he can get as far away from Arlo as possible.

He's just pretty, Arlo tells himself. Remember the last time you let someone pretty get you all stupid? Maybe remember what you learned from that.

He almost falls out of his chair when he opens his eyes to see Adam in the doorway, his shoulders so taut they're making Arlo's hurt just looking at them.

Maybe stop looking at them, idiot.

He forces his eyes up and is confronted with perhaps one of the most bewildering things he's ever seen.

Adam du Mortain, stoic, no-nonsense, terminally brooding Adam du Mortain, is standing just outside Arlo’s office, looking almost... sheepish. Arlo has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not seeing things. He’d almost say he’s imagining things, but at this point he’s so familiar with Adam’s general stone-faced demeanor that any sort of change to it is almost glaringly obvious. The scrunch of his eyebrows, the twist of his mouth, the almost painful stiffness of his posture, as if he’s pointedly trying to look as unaffected as possible and failing spectacularly. Arlo’s a detective, and while he doesn’t consider himself an expert at reading people, he’s still fairly decent at it. Adam, from time to time, can be pretty easy to read, but especially when he’s trying not to be.

Maybe Arlo’s been watching him a bit too closely.

“Uh,” he starts, already cringing internally at himself, “what’s up?”

Adam is silent for a moment, and then he exhales sharply through his nose, as if he is trying to calm himself down. Arlo’s nerves immediately ratchet up a few notches. “There is an issue with your printer,” he says.

Arlo blinks. “Oh. Um, I didn’t think you’d actually—” He bites his tongue when Adam’s brows furrow harder. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?” he offers instead, standing up. He hesitates to approach the door until Adam takes a step back to allow him through unimpeded. He lets Arlo lead the way and Arlo tugs his braid over his shoulder so he can twist it between his hands, because there is something a bit unnerving about Adam behind him, silent but radiating a tension Arlo can almost feel. It’s likely his imagination, considering his annoying awareness of the man, but still.

Arlo sees the problem almost immediately upon arriving at the little alcove that houses the station’s printer. The top cover for the document feeder seems to have been pulled off entirely. He turns to give Adam a bewildered look.

“The paper jammed,” Adam says stiffly.

“Yeah,” Arlo replies, “it does that sometimes.” He lifts the cover and turns it over in his hands, to see that, yes, the little plastic hinges that attach the feeder to the tray are entirely broken off. He frowns a little. Adam is so tense next to him, so still, Arlo wonders if he’s even breathing. “I can just ask Verda if I can send it to his, then see about calling someone for repairs.” He snags a sharpie from Tina’s desk and pops open one of the other trays to pull out a blank sheet of paper so he can write a quick “Out of Order” sign and slap it on top.

Adam still hasn’t moved, staring at the printer as if it has somehow personally offended him.

“It’s fine, Adam,” Arlo insists quietly, stepping a bit closer with his hands raised, though he doesn’t dare to touch. “Really. It’s a shitty old printer. I bet the second I let Tina know, she’ll go pester Doug until he calls his dad about it. We’ll have a shiny new one in no time.” He offers a wry little smile. “Say what you like about nepotism, but it has its perks.”

That doesn’t seem to help in the way Arlo hoped it would, because Adam raises an eyebrow and gives him a sharp look that has him shrinking back. “I am surprised you have that attitude, Detective.” He doesn’t have to say he’s disappointed, Arlo can hear it loud and clear and hates that it bothers him so much.

He steps back and turns away so Adam doesn’t see the look on his face before he can smooth it over. “Well, it’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?” he can’t help but snark. “And it’s the only reason you’re here too. Explains a lot about your attitude, I suppose.” No wonder Adam’s been so bloody sour about all this. Must be a pain to have to babysit your boss’s kid because she said so. His silence on the subject speaks more than he could hope to.

More than anything Arlo wishes Rebecca could just go back to ignoring him. Things were a lot less complicated then.

Shoulders tight enough to rival Adam’s, Arlo heads towards the stairs to the basement. “I’m going to get that report,” he tosses over his shoulder, trying and failing to sound casual as Adam’s eerily quiet footsteps begin to follow him. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped on the way,” he adds under his breath.

The way Adam’s footsteps falter tell him he wasn’t quiet enough.