#i mean she hasn’t actually Asked but she goes on and on about the socks my godmother makes and how good they are and then looks at me like 🥺

[fingertipsmp3]

Gotta love seeing a cute knitting pattern that is free for Valentine’s day only, being excited at the prospect of saving money, and then immediately spending almost £30 on materials to make the damn thing 🤦🏻‍♀️

[heavenlyakin]

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat  

- Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader

cw: loosely based on the movie 10 Things I Hate About You, college au (set in America as well), reader is in a sorority (this author was never in one so sorry if I made up shit), reader goes dress shopping, mentions of eating, drinking, dancing, kissing, groping, and sexual themes. Not edited!

a/n: for @bloompompom romcom collab! I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. The songs in the story are Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap, Mr Brightside by The Killers, and Dance Dance by Fall Out Boy.

wc: 5.4k 

--

You drop your backpack on the ground beside the picnic table Vera has claimed outside the student union. She looks up from her laptop to smile at you but you shake your head. 

“Bad day?” 

“Bad day,” you confirm. “Fuck math, honestly. I don’t even need it for my degree, the university just requires it so they can drain our bank accounts even more.” 

“Have you eaten today?” She laughs, sliding you her lunch box, three Onigiri sitting perfectly in it. 

“Osamu drop by again?” You ask, picking the one closest to you. 

“Mhmm,” she hums. “He just went to take his brother some. He’ll be back.” 

You roll your eyes at the mention of his brother. Atsumu Miya, the star setter of the university’s volleyball team. Arrogant, flirtatious, and insufferable to be around. Since Vera started seeing Osamu, you’ve been caught in the crossfire since wherever one twin is, the other is sure to follow. Unfortunately, your love for your friend outweighs abandoning her when he shows up. 

So you’ve put up with his insistent flirting, his stupid jokes, and his innuendos when he’s drunk. 

Osamu kisses the top of Vera’s head as he sits down, muttering something in her ear and making her smile and smack him. He’s been teaching her filthy phrases in Japanese, and apparently, she liked this particular one. 

“How was Atsumu?” Vera asks Osamu, nudging him with her elbow. 

You look at her and frown. She has that look on her face that indicates she’s up to something. 

“Oh great!” He smiles at her and then looks at you. “-----, I was actually going to ask-” 

“Stop. Stop right there.” You hold up your finger to him. 

“You don’t even know what he’s going to say!” Vera smacks your finger away. “Listen to him.” 

“Fine,” you roll your eyes and force a smile. “What is it?” 

“Atsumu,” he starts and you sigh, “he’s not adjusting well. He acts like he is but when he’s at our apartment, he never comes out of his room unless it's for class or practice.” He takes a sip from his water bottle before continuing. “He needs someone to go out with and I know he likes your company.” 

You scoff but Osamu doesn’t budge. “How? I’ve not been nice to him since I met him.” 

Osamu smiles, “I think he’s into that. Caught him listening to “She’s So Mean” the other night, actually.” 

You look to Vera and her eyes are pleading. You know from a conversation with her that she hasn’t slept with Osamu yet, but she wants to. It’s probably because Atsumu never leaves the apartment and is killing their mood. 

“You both owe me. Big time.” 

“I just so happen to have two tickets to your favorite band next month,” Vera says casually, taking a bite of her own Onigiri. 

“Since when? Those were way overpriced when we checked!” You frown, looking at her shrug. 

“Got ‘em the day after.” She says through a mouth full of food and you laugh. 

“Fine, I’ll do it for the tickets. Just tell me how to get Atsumu to go out with me.” 

“We have the formal next week,” Vera smiles. “He knows about it since Osamu is going with me. Just ask him to do that.” 

–

The hallway smells like sweat and dirty socks outside the boy's locker room. You wonder how they can stand it themselves, but realize they’re probably nose-blind to it after years of smelling it. You lean against the wall, hoping it’s not going to ruin your white sweatshirt. 

Men trickle out, one by one, soaked with sweat or wet from their shower. You hope it’s from the shower. You’re ready to give up when you spot his blonde hair. Atsumu Miya is wearing a university-branded black sweatshirt and matching sweats. He has a gym bag thrown over his shoulder and he’s laughing with a teammate. 

His eyes catch yours and he looks away. His facial expression changes, his eyes lighting up as he realizes it’s you. He says a few more words you can’t make out to his teammate before strolling towards you. 

“Hey, —--, what are you doing here?” He asks, that sleazy grin on his cheeks. 

Fighting back an insult, you grin. “So, this is embarrassing really.” You twirl a strand of hair between your fingers. “My sorority is hosting a formal in a week, so I wondered if you’d be my date.” 

His eyes widen for a moment, but he nods. “I would love to be your date.” Then something on his face changes. “In exchange for something, however.” 

“What is it?” You frown, irritated he’d even think this was a negotiation. 

“We have a banquet for the team in two days. Come with me to that, and I’ll go with you to the formal.” Atsumu’s smile is confident, but something in his eyes tells you he’s worried you’ll walk away. 

“Fine. You have to buy me a new dress for it though. I already bought one for the formal, but I am not about to buy one for the banquet I don’t want to be at.” 

He laughs. “I don’t really want to go either, but since we won this year’s tournament, we kinda have to attend, y’know.” 

You nod, understanding. You don’t want to attend the sorority’s formal or be in the sorority either. However, Vera begged you to join and you know it’ll look good on your resume. So you’ve been in it for the last year and a half despite hating most of the events.  

“Meet me at the mall later? Seven o’clock?” 

“Sure,” he smiles at you and you give a quick one back before walking away. 

The walk back to your apartment is chilly, so you pull on your hoodie. The weather is quickly turning, and the leaves changing on the mountains around your campus. Vera isn’t in the apartment when you get home, as usual since she pretty much lives with Osamu now. You don’t mind, especially since she doesn’t leave messes around the apartment when she’s gone. 

Somehow, you manage to kill two hours between playing Stardew Valley on your Switch and scrolling through socials on your phone. You notice it’s nearing seven. Groaning, you get off the couch and force yourself to take the elevator down to the parking garage to your car. 

Atsumu is standing in the food court when you walk into the mall, finding it strange that he’d know this is where you would like to enter from. When he turns around, he’s holding two smoothies. One, half gone as if he’s been here a while. He holds it out and you thank him. 

“Vera said you like strawberries and bananas,” he tells you and you nod and thank him. It’s a very kind gesture, something he didn’t need to do. It softens you up a bit, whether you like to admit it or not.  

“Were you here with her and Osamu?” You ask after taking a long sip. 

He shakes his head no. “She was at the apartment. I think they were rushing me out.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand like he’s uncomfortable. 

“Ah,” you feel for him, you do, but he can be annoying so you understand Vera. “Well, let's get a dress then.” 

He follows you down the mall hallway, not saying anything but a few comments on the stores you pass. Most of them are either hosting sales for the coming holidays. You insist you don’t want to go look for anything but something to wear to his banquet. Once in the boutique where you bought your formal dress, you pull him over towards the side with your favorite colors on the rack. 

“I can’t get anything green,” you tell him. The dress you bought for your formal is a strappy emerald green, so you’d rather have something in a different color. 

“What about purple?” He asks, holding up a long-sleeved plum dress. The fabric looks soft, but like it’ll cling awkwardly. 

“I like the color,” you take it from him, feeling the fabric. “But, this might get hot in a crowded room.” You hang it back on the rack. Another look through the purple dresses, you see that it’s been picked through. “I guess we have to try a different color.” 

“Black is always a good look, classy.” He tells you and you roll your eyes. 

“Now I don’t want black,” you tell him with a sweet smile and he rolls his eyes now. 

“What other colors do you like?” He asks as if he’s genuinely trying to help. 

“I don’t know. I don’t like shopping when I don’t know what others are wearing.” At least when you were shopping here with Vera, the other sorority sisters were here too so you could all know what one another was wearing and coordinate to an extent. 

“I’m wearing a black tux with a blue tie.” 

“What color blue?” You ask. 

“Um,” he looks around, sipping on his smoothie. He walks down a few racks. “This shade.” He holds out a baby blue dress. It’s very cute and would look nice on your curves. 

“Let me see the sizes they have,” you sigh, not sure about the color despite the shape. They do have your size, so you go to the dressing room, to try it on. 

You were right, it hugs your body in the places you want. You open the door, letting Atsumu see it. His eyes go bright and wide when you meet them and you cover your body with your arms and shut the door. 

“What?” He whines, knocking on the door. 

“Don’t look so surprised.” You tell him. 

“I’m not! I knew it’d look good on you, and I was right! I was just excited to see it.” 

You open the door, letting him see you again. “I do like it.” 

“Then let me buy it for you.” He grins, leaning forward so his face is just above yours. 

You freeze, feeling his breath on your skin. This is the closest you’ve been to him since you met him. You know it’s impossible, but you swear you can feel the heat from his body leaching yours away. 

You step back. “You really don’t have to. I was just being an ass earlier. I can buy my own-“ 

“No, I insist.” He smiles, taking the dress from your hand. 

You don’t fight him as he walks up to the register, paying for the dress and then asking you if you have shoes that’ll match. You inform him of your shoe addiction and assure him you’ll have something that looks good with the dress. 

“Y’know, I also collect shoes. Mostly sneakers though, nothing fancy like I’m sure you have.” Atsumu keeps the conversation going as you walk back to the food court. 

“Mine is nothing fancy either.” You smile at him, a genuine smile. Maybe he isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s just because he’s trying to butter you up so you don’t decide to go back on your agreement to go to the formal and banquet with him. 

It’s definitely the latter. 

“Have you had dinner?” You ask and he shakes his head. 

“Your bestie rushed me out before my noodles finished microwaving.” 

You laugh at the way bestie sounds on his lips. You find yourself wondering if there’s a Japanese equivalent to the slang word but stop yourself from asking. You don’t have to befriend Atsumu to get tickets to the concert, just go on these two side quests with him. 

“Can I at least buy you something as a thank you for the dress?” You ask and he smiles at you, his teeth shining… but you notice a berry seed stuck between two of his teeth. 

You don’t tell him about it, but find yourself thinking about how adorably childlike it was. You shake your head, clearing the thought, and then gesture to the multiple food establishments around you and him. 

“Noodles? Sandwiches? Pizza?” You ask, eyeing the different booths. 

“I think I’ll go with Chinese,” he tells you. “Unless you want something else.” 

“I love Chinese,” you tell him and follow him to the vendor. 

After ordering your food, you sit across from him at one of the less dirty mall tables and awkwardly eat together in silence. It’s not that you have nothing to say to him, it’s just all your thoughts happen to be funny insults or sarcastic remarks. 

So you keep your mouth preoccupied with the mall Chinese food. 

–

Two days pass incredibly quickly. That happens when things are coming up that you don’t particularly look forward to, you suppose. You have about three hours until Atsumu told you he’d pick you up on Snapchat. You weren’t about to give him access to your phone number. Plus, you have a secret habit of stalking people on the SnapMap feature. 

You decide it’s time to get ready, so you do. By the time you’re showered, dressed, makeup and hair done, it’s just a few minutes before Atsumu is due at your door. Tossing your lipstick and gloss into your clutch, you sit down on your bed to slip on your strappy silver heels that look good with the dress Atsumu picked out. 

For a split, unpredictable, second you begin to wonder what Atsumu will think of your shoe choice. 

You shake your head, clearing the thought and making your hair bounce around your face. Pushing it out of the way, you stand up and head to the living room. As you approach the center of the room, the knock at the door startles you. Glancing at your phone, you see he’s a few minutes early. 

“Hey!” He’s dressed in a black suit, with a light blue tie that matches your dress almost perfectly. 

“Hi,” you don’t smile, but you don’t grimace at least. Shutting the door, you lock it behind you, no longer worrying if Vera has her key or not. She can always go to Osamu’s. 

The drive to the sports campus isn’t long, honestly if you weren’t wearing heels it would be a nice walk with the slightly warmer evening you’re having. Atsumu plays a band you don’t recognize, but you enjoy it silently. 

I don't want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do, like me

Is it okay

That I don't want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do, like me?

The last time it plays, you hum along and glance over to Atsumu who is mouthing the lyrics. You can’t hate him for having a decent song playing. You smile looking back out the window. Maybe he isn’t who he likes to portray himself as at those parties you’ve been to where he’s been a total douche. 

Atsumu parks outside the volleyball center, pulling into one of the closest spots he can find to the walkway, which you appreciate. These shoes are comfortable enough for a few hours but you don’t want to push it, especially when you like to walk to campus as much as possible during the week. Having blisters for the next two days and then your formal on Saturday would be a bitch. 

Your hand grazes Atsumu’s hand and you pull it back closer to your body, cheeks warming. You keep looking forward, despite feeling the burn from his eyes on you. He must have that signature smirk on his lips, but you can’t bring yourself to look. 

He holds the door open and you can hear the music filling the hallway from the gym. When you make it inside, you see it’s been transformed from the standard gymnasium into a beautiful banquet hall. The hardwood floor has been covered in a dark carpet and the drapes cover the high ceilings and bleachers around the room. 

“Wow,” you dazzle at the room, taking in the beautifully set tables and the gorgeous people filling the room. 

“Pretty cool right? Looks nothin’ like the gym usually does.” He grins, holding his arm out. “I’ll show ya to our table.” 

You take his arm and let him lead you. It’s towards the front and you notice it;s organized by rank. He’s a third year, and a starter, so he gets to sit at the front row of tables. He pulls your chair out and you sit next to the dark haired man already at the table. Atsumu introduces him as Sakusa, he knows him from back home in Japan. 

Sakusa doesn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation so you don’t press. You’ve been there after all.

Turning your attention to Atsumu, you listen in as he talks to another player, who’s name you’ve forgotten. They discuss their last game, the setter dump Atsumu played to win the match. They both talk so enthusiastically you almost wish you’d been there for it. It was hosted here, and Vera went with Osamu. 

You’d chosen to stay in and read one of the books you’d been assigned for your Victorian Lit class, claiming it was more important than school spirit. Really, you were just avoiding seeing Atsumu anymore than you have to. 

Atsumu stops talking when someone takes the mic, you look up to see it’s their coach. He gives out some awards, two of which go to Atsumu. You clap for him and cheer the second time. He blushes as he sits back down. You don’t push away his hand when he places it on your knee underneath the table. 

“With that, I conclude the season. I’m proud of each of you boys. Enjoy the rest of your night!” The coach steps off the stage and “Mr. Brightside” starts blasting across the speakers in the gym. 

Boys and their dates get up, rushing to the center of the room where a dance floor has been staged. They all look so excited and happy to be here. Without turning your head too much, you look over to Atsumu. You don’t want him to notice you watching him, but you see a longing in his eyes you can’t ignore. 

“Wanna dance?” 

“We don’t have to…” he stares off to the crowd again. 

“Oh, come on.” You stand up and take his hands. 

Jealousy

Turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies

Choking on your alibi

He walks with you as you try to not trip walking backwards to the dance floor quickly. Atsumu’s eyes are bright and wide as you spin him around at arm's length. He laughs and so do you. He pulls you in closer, starting to jump at the same beat as everyone else on the floor. 

“I’m comin’ out of my cage!” he shouts. 

“And I’ve been doin’ just fine!” you finish and he laughs, spinning you around a few times as the music plays and your head spins. 

“How did it end up like this?” 

“It was only a kiss!” You’re now in each other’s personal space shouting the lyrics and jumping and laughing to the music. 

Just as the song is about to end, someone bumps into you and you fall against Atsumu’s body. He holds you against him, catching his breath and smiling. His eyes don’t move from yours as you straighten in his arms, body flush with his. He’s just millimeters away. So close you can feel his breath on your lips. 

He closes your eyes and your stomach erupts into butterflies. 

You push him away. 

–

The morning of your formal, you think about texting Atsumu to cancel.

The last few nights have been fitful attempts at sleeping. Your dreams are full of Atsumu and self loathing for not taking the opportunity you had to kiss him. You wanted to, you did. In fact, you’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more when you think about it. 

However, it would make this messy. You can’t fall for someone you’re being paid to haul around. So you decide to not cancel. 

You have to go to support the new pledges and you agreed to take him for the concert tickets. So you go through the day, still ignoring the multiple unread snapchats you have from Atsumu until you get a text from Vera. 

Text him back, bitch. He won’t stop freaking out at me and Samu. This is our deal!

You reply with an emoji and open the snaps from Atsumu. 

Hey… sorry about last night. 

I hope I didn’t freak you out. 

—--, please answer me. I’m sorry. 

Hey, what time should I pick you up tonight? 

You see his bitmoji pop up as you start typing and you sigh. You lie about coming down with a cold the last few days and then let him know you’re all good for tonight and he should get you at eight. You can’t help but smile knowing he was freaked out that you weren’t answering him. 

By the time eight rolls around, you’re ready and waiting by the door. He arrives on time and smiles as he looks you up and down. You can’t say it doesn’t flatter you, but you’re already on edge after him almost kissing you… 

Or was it you who went in first? 

No… no it was him. It had to be him. 

In the car he plays that song again. 

I used to call you my best friend

Way back before you were my everything

Now I’m sucking your neck 

And you wrote my favorite song

Now I’m fucked up and carrying on 

I do not know the words to it yet, oh 

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do 

Like I do, like me 

You hum along with him, before asking him the name of it. He shows you his phone while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. You favorite it on Spotify then put your phone back in your purse. 

“We’ll probably have to park in that garage a few blocks from the house. We’re not going to be able to find any parking near it.” You tell him as the music fades out and another song starts. 

“Oh good idea,” he says, turning on his blinker to turn towards the garage nearby the sorority house. 

The walk towards the house is littered with other members and their dates for the night. You stay far enough away to where waves suffice as an acknowledgement of their presence. You’ll have plenty of time to socialize once you’re inside. 

“Did Vera say when she’s coming with your brother?” You ask as you both start up the steps to the main entrance of the house. 

The sorority house has been completely transformed from living quarters to an elegant formal event. Furniture is sparse besides high tables and some bar stools for those tables. The living room still has the comfortable couches, but they’re pushed up against the walls and full of the new pledges waiting who must be too shy to mingle just yet. 

“I think they should be here now,” Atsumu finally answers. 

You look around. “I’ll go get us a drink and then we can look for him.” 

On the way to the kitchen you run into several girls who want to know just how you got Atsumu to come with you. You just laugh and make a few jokes about it before finally getting two cups of champagne and bringing them to Atsumu. 

He’s flocked by a few of his friends, and Osamu. You hand him the drink and then walk away, no longer feeling obligated to keep him company. Vera is standing with a girl named Heather who’s the president of your chapter of the sorority. 

You join them in conversation before Heather is swept away to handle something with the pledges. 

“Where’s Atsumu?” She asks, dragging out the last vowel. 

“Where’s Osamu?” You mimic. 

“Looks like they’re having a good time with each other.” She says and you nod, taking a sip of your drink. “Thank you for bringing him.” 

“Eh, it’s worth the tickets.” 

“Shh,” she hushes you and you roll your eyes. 

“He won’t find out, it’s fine.” The music is way too loud for him to overhear you. 

“I think he likes you,” Vera says after a few moments of listening to the new song that’s started. “He’s been a mess for a few days since you didn’t answer him.” 

You frown, this definitely was not something you had accounted for when you agreed to bring him to this as your date. 

“Did you know he would-” 

“Hey, wanna dance?” Atsumu interrupts and you frown again at Vera before nodding to him. 

“Sure,” you pound the drink, handing the cup to Vera before taking his hand and going to the dance floor. 

The music is loud and all consuming. So many people are dancing, you don’t even notice Atsumu much, besides when his hands slip around your waist and you wiggle away from him as nonchalantly as possible. 

He doesn’t stop though, and you like it despite knowing this isn’t making it easier on him… or you.  

A few songs pass before someone calls out for some shots, and everyone runs to get one but you and Atsumu. He looks at you and takes your hands in his. 

“Want a drink?” He asks. 

“Eh,” you shrug. “The champagne doesn’t do well with all this dancing. 

“We don’t have to keep dancing,” he grins and you avert your eyes. 

“I’ll be right back.” You tell him, walking off and towards the stairs you’d seen Vera go up a song or two ago. 

If Atsumu had feelings for you before this started, it was fucked up of Osamu and her to make this deal with you. You want to call it off. Let them go to the concert together and you can go back to being the awkward third wheel when you get to see her. 

Trying to open a door you find it locked and you laugh. Already? It’s barely nine now. To each their own, though. 

Another door opens, but it’s just one of the bathrooms. The third and final door down this hall opens to a bare room with a bed in the center. Not many of the girls actually stay in the sorority house anymore, it’s mostly just for events like this one. 

Vera must be in the locked room. 

You turn to leave the room, but find Atsumu standing in the doorway. He shuts the door behind him, stepping forward and beginning to speak. 

“-----, I need to tell you something-” 

“Atsumu, stop.” You hold up your hand, and he pushes it away. 

“No! I’ve been wanting to tell you that I’m sorry. I know I made things weird the other night at the banquet-” 

“I’ve been lying to you.” You blurt it out. “I never wanted to bring you here.” 

He laughs, turning away from you and rubbing the back of his head with his right hand. He turns back to face you. He steps closer, pushing you back on the bed. 

You fall back, pushing yourself back up ready to yell at him for pushing you down. Before you can curse him, he is hovering over you, his eyes wild and you feel every nerve in your body awaken. His lips graze yours. 

You can’t help it, you kiss him back. You dig your fingers into the back of his shoulders. Oh, and you spread your legs just enough so his thigh can press up against your core as he kisses your neck. Everything about it feels more real than anything else you’ve experienced in your life. 

“Atsumu,” you groan as he palms at your breast. 

“Please,” his voice is pleading with you just as his words do. 

“I can’t. Atsumu I can’t,” you try to push him off you, but he stays put looking down at you. 

There’s tears in his eyes. 

“Do you think I’m stupid, —--?” He asks and you frown. 

“No I-” 

“You think I don’t know Osamu and Vera are bribing you to spend time with me and bring me here? Do you thin k I’m that fucking stupid?” His voice is cracking. 

“Atsumu, I really don’t know what to say.” 

“Just use me then! Use me for what I’m good at.” 

Something in you breaks now. This was wrong. This was all so so so wrong. You’ve made a huge mistake and now he wants you to keep doing it just so he doesn’t have to feel rejected. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry now too, but you know you don’t deserve to. 

Your tears are worthless to him. Instead of letting him see your remorse, you think of the quickest way to get away. You manage to crawl out from under him and run out of the room and down the stairs. 

If you’ve ever been good at one thing. It’s running away. 

–

Turning your phone off was easier than dealing with Atsumu’s emotions, Vera’s rage, and of course, the sorority sister’s gossip. You leave it off for the remainder of the weekend. Vera didn’t bother to come home, which didn’t really surprise you. 

However, when you open your phone up for the first time in 48 hours, there’s an alert from ticketmaster that tickets have been transferred to your account. Two tickets for a show no one is going to want to go with you to. 

It’s not for two weeks, so you could sell them, but what good would that be? You already made Atsumu feel like shit, something that wouldn’t have bothered you a week ago, but now you do. Something about going makes you feel like you’d be rubbing salt in his wounds. 

Even if you try justifying that you didn’t know he had feelings for you, you still feel… icky.

The only saving grace is that fall break is this week, so you don’t have to see him on campus. Once the week passes though, there is the chance you’ll run into him since Vera is in kahoots with his twin, afterall. 

When the time comes, you find it’s actually easier to avoid him than you imagined. Osamu has taken an internship at a local restaurant so Vera is freed up during the day’s she usually spends with him. Without Osamu around, Atsumu was sure not to follow. 

“I don’t know what to do.” You tell Vera, the night before the concert as you’re both sat in the living room watching 10 Things I Hate About You. 

“Just invite him to the concert. It’s like an olive branch or something,whatever they call it” she says, staring at the screen. “It’s not like you can write him a deep thoughtful letter in one night. Just text him.” 

“I don’t have his number,” you admit. Within a few seconds she’s sent you the contact for him. 

“Fine,” you get off the couch and pace in your room for a while. 

You type out about a dozen different apologies, all of which would do nothing for someone who thought you were just going to use him after what you’d just done. Words have never been your strong suit. 

So, you just send him a screenshot of the spare ticket. 

The next day, you arrive at the concert venue near campus where the band is playing. You wait for as long as you can at the gate before deciding to go in. When you make it to your seats and the two openers play, you decide he isn’t coming and you’ve just royally fucked up any chance of recovering it with him. 

Fall Out Boy takes the stage and you’re out of your chair without a single thought. At least for the next hour you can not think and just feel everything in the music. When it gets to one of your favorite songs, you have completely forgotten about anything going on in your life now. 

That is, until you feel two hands grip your waist and nearly give you a heart attack. You freeze when you feel breath on your neck. Just as you’re about to turn, you hear the lyrics repeated in your ear. 

“I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me.” Atsumu sings with them. 

“Atsumu!” You scream, turning around and throwing your arms around him.  “I’m so sorry,” you sob into him, but you doubt he can hear you. 

He holds you against him until the song ends, then he holds you by the shoulders before pressing his forehead against yours. 

“I forgive you,” he says and you feel the tears threatening to spill again. 

“Ats-” before you can finish, his lips are on yours.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You: Part Four

A/N: Look! I'm posting today's chapter at a normal time! Anywho! What's that? ✨Feelings✨? Sure hope these two don't start acting a fool or anything 😉 Hope everyone enjoys! :) @elucienweekofficial

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Lucien

Lucien still hasn’t decided how he feels about seeing the infamous Prince Cassian on the news. He knows that he should be happy, that he should be excited for Elain to get her supposed true love back, and yet he… doesn’t. Instead, he feels almost disappointed. In fact, he had half started to convince himself that Cassian didn’t actually exist, that he wasn't actually coming to whisk Elain away again, but there he was, stabbing a bus with an actual sword on the news.

Lucien sighs softly and rolls over onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. The morning light has already started flooding through the windows and into his room, and if he listens closely, he can hear Elain and Willow speaking quietly from the kitchen. He knows that he needs to get up. He knows that he should get up. And yet here he lays, desperately trying to put off the inevitable.

He shouldn't be feeling this way. Thankfully, with Elain’s help and two tickets to an upcoming ball, he was able to repair the damage of the previous day with Nesta. He should be focused on her. He should be thinking about what they’ve built over the past five years, about the ring that sits ready and waiting in the back of his sock drawer. He should be happy that, if all goes well, after today, Elain will finally walk out of his and Willow’s life, and they can finally go back to that comforting routine.

But something about Elain just keeps drawing Lucien in, like a golden thread tied right in the middle of his chest and tugging. There's just something in those bright brown eyes. Something in that too sweet smile. Something in that lilting laugh. It’s dangerous territory, has Lucien standing precariously on the edge of the cliff and questioning if he should jump.

Another sigh and Lucien drags himself up and out of bed. He pulls his hair up and away from his face and pads into the kitchen, finding Elain and Willow sitting at the table with what remains of a large stack of pancakes plated in front of them.

“Morning, Daddy,” Willow greets brightly, syrup dripping down her chin.

“Good morning,” Lucien offers back, bending down to press a kiss into her hair.

“Are we still able to go down to the news station today?” Elain asks, sipping at her cup of tea. “To see if they have Cassian’s information?”

Lucien forces a smile and pointedly shoves down the feelings twisting in his chest. “Of course. We can head over there after we drop Willow at school.”

“Perfect,” Elain tells him brightly, gathering up the plates and walking over to the sink.

“Perfect,” Lucien mutters.

~ * * * ~

The office that houses the news station is relatively quiet when they step through the glass doors and into the lobby. A woman sits at the front desk, typing away at a computer even when Lucien and Elain step over to her. It’s only when Lucien clears his throat awkwardly, that she finally looks up at them.

“Can I help you?” the woman asks, raising a single, manicured eyebrow.

“Yes, hi. We were actually wondering if you might have some information on a news story that you ran last night,” Lucien explains, offering his best winning smile.

“It was my Prince Cassian,” Elain adds, earning a confused look from the woman behind the desk.

“He was the one on the bus, with the sword.”

“You mean the psycho with the weird velvet outfit like he jumped out of a renaissance fair?” the woman asks dryly.

“Psycho…”

“That’s the one,” Lucien confirms, cutting Elain off.

“What about that news story?”

“Well, we were wondering if you had any information about the man, Cassian,” Lucien continues. “Maybe a number or an address was taken down by someone?”

“Sorry, but all we had was that video we aired from an onlooker and an interview with the busdriver. The man you’re looking for ran off when the police arrived, way before we got there.”

“Oh, no,” Elain sighs dejectedly, the sound pulling right at Lucien’s heartstrings.

“Thanks for your help,” Lucien tells the woman before gently guiding Elain out of the news station and out of the building.

When they step back out onto the streets, Elain has her arms wrapped around herself, her brows pinched together and lips tipped down in a frown. She looks over her shoulder back at the new station, her expression almost forlorn, before her gaze sweeps across the buildings and people bustling around them. She looks so lost, and Lucien hates it, his fingers itching to reach out to her.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien offers; although, he’s not sure his words provide much comfort.

Elain takes a deep breath, and when she turns her head back toward Lucien, she’s smiling again. “It’s alright. Cassian is looking for me, and I know that he’s going to find me.”

The words sit heavy on Lucien’s tongue, begging to be released. Words of disagreement. Reminders that the city is a big place and statistics aren’t on her side. Arguments that if this Cassian had any sanity, he would just move on. But Lucien swallows them all down despite the sour taste it leaves in the back of his throat.

“I’m sure he is,” Lucien assures her, praying Elain can’t hear the falseness in his tone. “You know, there’s a bakery just a few blocks from here. Maybe it will help lessen the sting of the news station not having any information.”

“That sounds lovely.”

The sweet scent of chocolate and the buttery smell of other baked goods floods the air as soon as Lucien opens the door for Elain to step inside. The bakery is relatively quiet, so after ordering some pastries and tea, they settle into one of the small tables set near the window. The sun’s rays pour in like a personal spotlight, showering Elain in golden light as she carefully stirs her tea. It bounces off the soft strands of her hair where they fall in wavy curls along her shoulders, off the warm brown of her eyes, and when she smiles softly at Lucien, he has to duck his head to focus on his own drink.

“Thank you for taking me to the news station today,” Elain tells him, gently clinking her spoon against the rim of her teacup before setting it down.

“Of course,” Lucien assures her. “I’m happy to help you get back to…”

“Andalasia,” Elain finishes for him. “You’d love it there. It’s so magical. The Enchanted Forest stretches on and on, and there’s a beautiful, crystal blue river that cuts through it.”

“It must be quiet. Compared to this city.”

“You’d be surprised. Especially, when the bluebirds get into another of their arguments.”

Lucien has to bite back a smile at that, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I do hope you and Willow can come visit. You’re both, of course, invited to the wedding, and I’m sure she’d love it there.”

“Yeah,” Lucien agrees quietly, thinking of his daughter and her love of all things fairy tales. “I bet she would.”

“Does she miss her terribly?”

“Who?”

“Her mother.”

The change in topic takes Lucien by surprise, and for a moment, all he can do is blink dumbly at Elain. Despite the years that have passed, despite all the work he’s done to move on, to keep himself and Willow protected from that past, it’s a patchwork at best over that wound. One tug could send the whole thing unraveling. It’s why he keeps those cards so close to his chest, why he almost never talks about her, about Jesminda, about what happened.

But the earnestness, the sincerity, in Elain’s eyes, in her expression, has Lucien wanting to tell her. Wanting to crack himself open until every scar is on full display. Because, even though he’s only known her for a few days, he knows he can trust Elain, knows that she would never judge, never ridicule. Knows that she’d only show him more of her kindness, more of her compassion.

Even now, Elain watches him with patience, nothing but openness in her gaze. He has to swallow around the lump trying to press in around his throat, but Lucien is able to find his voice again.

“She… she left us,” Lucien explains quietly. “It was when Willow was still just a baby, so thankfully she doesn’t remember her really.”

“I’m so sorry, for you and for Willow. You were in love, weren’t you?”

Lucien smiles sadly. “We were. It’s how I know all that true love you talk about isn’t real. Happily ever after doesn’t exist in the real world.”

“You’re wrong,” Elain argues, reaching her hand across the table to give Lucien’s a squeeze. Lucien’s eyes snap down to the contact, warmth radiating up his arm and spreading through his chest. “And one day, something wonderful will happen, and you’ll see.”

~ * * * ~

Elain

“I want Elain to help me get ready for bed.”

“I would be honored,” Elain tells Willow, before looking to Lucien to make sure that’s okay.

Lucien gives an easy shrug of his shoulders where he’s scrubbing down the dishes from their dinner at the sink, so Willow grabs Elain’s hand in hers, pulling her out of the kitchen. Willow leads the way down the hallway and into her bedroom, and Elain takes a moment to admire the pink floral wallpaper plastered to the walls, the gauzy fabric hung like a canopy over the bed, and the pile of stuffed animals stacked neatly atop the blankets.

“These are my pj’s,” Willow explains, pulling free a pair of bright yellow pants and shirt from her drawer.

“Perfect.” Elain glances around the room again, spotting the small basket piled with various hair products, hair ties, clips, and a hairbrush. “How about I help tie your hair back for sleep?”

Willow’s face completely lights up at the suggestion, her smile wide and toothy, until Elain can’t help but smile back. She instructs Willow to sit on the bed, and Elain settles on the mattress just behind her with the basket. She grabs the hairbrush first, carefully pulling the bristles through Willow’s bright red hair, a near perfect match for the little girl’s father’s hair.

“Let me know if I tug too hard.”

“It’s okay,” Willow assures her, practically slumping back into Elain.

Elain continues to brush through Willow’s hair until all the knots are detangled. She splits the hair in two next, tying off one half while she focuses on dutch braiding the other. She hums quietly while she works, her fingers working in practiced movements until two braids curl around Willow’s ears and down her back.

“There,” Elain declares, leaning forward and giving Willow’s shoulders a squeeze until the little girl falls into a fit of giggles.

Elain gets up from the bed and gathers back up all the hair supplies to put away. While she does that, Willow changes into her pajamas. Elain helps her to clamber up into the bed, pulling back the blankets and tucking her back in. Willow gets comfortable, gathering up all her stuffed animals into her arms as she snuggles in.

“Would you and your friends like a bedtime story?” Elain asks, running a soothing hand through Willow’s hair.

“Yes, please. I have all my storybooks on that shelf over there.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I know plenty of stories.”

Willow scoots over in offering, so Elain slides into the bed beside the little girl. She curls her arm around Willow’s shoulders, and Willow cuddles in close, resting her head on Elain’s collarbone and peering up at her with wide, excited eyes.

“Now, I have this chipmunk friend named Pip…”

By the time Elain finishes her story, Willow is fast asleep, little puffs of breath tumbling past her lips as she lay curled up against Elain. Elain smiles softly at the sight, her heart practically ballooning in her chest. Carefully, Elain raises herself from the bed, gently guiding Willow down so she’s laying against the pillows. She tucks one of the stuffed animals back into Willow’s arms, and slowly backs away from the bed, keeping her steps light and quiet so as to not wake the little girl.

When she’s sure she’s finally in the clear, Elain turns back around only to come face to face with Lucien. He’s leaning casually against the door jamb, arms folded neatly across his chest, and those russet eyes already pinned on Elain. His smile is fond, but when Elain jumps slightly at seeing him there, that smile morphs into a smirk. Just that small expression sends Elain’s heart skittering and squeezing, and she raises her chin stubbornly, strolling right past Lucien and out of the room.

“That was a nice story that you told her,” Lucien says, closing the door to Willow’s bedroom.

“Yes, Pip does have some fun adventures,” Elain agrees, stepping into the living room and the bed that’s become hers on the sofa.

“You know, I was thinking…” Lucien begins, following behind Elain. “I could help you if you want. Find a job. Find a place to stay. Get you back on your feet.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lucien, but it’s not necessary. Cassian is going to come for me, and then we’re going to go back to Andalasia.”

“I know what it’s like to be disappointed. I told you about Jesminda earlier. You don’t have to keep putting on this front.”

“I’m not putting on a front,” Elain argues, crossing her arms across her chest and stepping closer to Lucien. “Cassian is coming for me.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

He says the words with such kindness, such genuine concern, but all it does is have heat flaring through Elain’s veins like molten lava. It sends her heartbeat thundering in her chest, fingers curling into her palm until her fists are clenched. It’s certainly a new feeling swirling away in Elain’s gut, but she grasps onto it with two hands.

“He is coming.”

“I don’t think he is, Elain. No.”

“No?” Elain snaps, her voice raising in volume. “Is that the only word that you know? No?”

“No, I just—”

“There it is again,” Elain cuts him off, shoving at Lucien’s chest until he stumbles back a step. “All this negativity. All this no, he’s not coming. All this no, over and over again.”

“Elain—”

“Gods, it just makes me so… so… sometimes, you just make me so…”

“I make you so what?”

“Angry!”

The word hangs in the air, in the space and the time between them. It feels strange putting a word to the feeling crashing through Elain. Stranger still for it to be an emotion she’s so unfamiliar with. And yet, at the same time, it’s exhilarating.

Before Elain knows it, she’s laughing. She can’t help it. She tries to press her hand to her mouth, to stifle the sound, but there’s no stopping it. No stopping her excitement at feeling angry. Soon, Lucien is laughing with her, that deep melodic sound of his. Elain clutches at Lucien’s tee and laughs and laughs until her sides start to feel sore, until tears of joy begin to prickle at the corners of her eyes.

It’s only when Elain finally stops laughing that she realizes just how close she and Lucien are standing. Practically toe to toe, and close enough that every breath has their chests brushing together. Close enough that Elain has to tilt her head back to keep his gaze.

Of course, his eyes are already on her, an emotion that Elain can’t quite put her finger on swirling and burning amongst that russet color. It has a shiver raking its way up her spine, a quiet gasp falling past her lips. The sound has Lucien’s eyes dipping down to her lips, and almost instinctively, Elain leans forward still, presses up onto her toes.

Suddenly, the moment feels like something more, feels precarious. Suddenly, Elain feels like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff, like she’s standing back at that wishing well about to tumble down head first. But this time, Elain doesn’t feel scared. In fact, this time, Elain wants to jump, a voice in the back of her mind goading her, whispering at her to leap leap leap. It promises safety beneath, promises strong arms and a net of golden thread waiting below.

A second passes. Two. And then Lucien steps away from her, the moment shattering around them like broken glass. Lucien clears his throat, pushing a hand up and through his hair and keeping his eyes on anything but Elain.

“Lucien…” Elain starts quietly, unable to find the words to finish the thought, but it doesn’t matter because Lucien is already turning away from her.

“Goodnight, Elain.”

—

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[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[paralleledmediaexperience]

right before my birthday back in May someone made a post about Jack needing more love and hugs, and I had this idea in the tags and then went and wrote about a thousand words of this and then. forgot it existed!! anyway I’ve mostly polished it up now. enjoy Jack telling one of his dads he loves him and then not only being hugged but also hearing it back!! it’s what our boy deserves!!!!!

Now with part two!!!!!

-

Jack hadn’t meant to fix everything, in his defense. Yes, they’d defeated god with his powers, which had unintentionally released Amara, who had agreed to take her brother’s powers from Jack and then let the world mostly be as long as she got the chance to see him every once in a while. She’d returned the universe to normal, with a few additions for their happiness, as Amara had said. Dean had choked out Cas’ name, and Amara had frowned before replying that it might take a bit more time. 

They had gone back to the bunker and then the bunker had been thoroughly overrun the whole next week by- it seemed- everyone the Winchesters knew, including a few faces who were apparently as back from the dead by Amara’s hand as Mary was last time she owed a Winchester a favor. Through it all- old friends and odd allies and more- Jack knows Dean isn’t doing well. Isn’t sleeping well. There’s only been one night- well, Jack hadn’t seen Dean drinking but he’d heard Sam’s arguing and Dean’s short, choppy answers, and it was familiar enough.

He’d googled “what to do when my dad misses someone and we can’t talk to them yet,” and wikihow had good suggestions- he’d read through the sections for both short-term separations, and managing the death of a loved one. He hadn’t really been able to figure out which would be more helpful. It had turned out to be the death of a loved one, which… shouldn’t be surprising, no matter that Cas would be back. Soon. 

He couldn’t make Dean do any of the things on the list, but it had suggested that the person would like to feel loved during their time of grieving.

And when he’d searched “how to make someone feel loved,” the first article had said the easiest way was simply to tell them. So when Dean hands him a plate of pancakes with the bacon cooked just how Jack likes it, Jack thinks it’s such a small thing to make his heart feel so big and warm. And he smiles and says, “Thanks Dean. I love you.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn’t actually grabbed the plate when he says this, and Dean’s hands drop it. The sound of the plate shattering on the tile is only half as upsetting as the wounded look in Dean’s eyes as he looks back at Jack. And Jack isn’t sure why it went so wrong but he looks away immediately, the shame of causing that hurt somehow and the slow horror of realizing he’d ruined the breakfast that Dean had made him turning his stomach into knots. He steps back almost unconsciously before remembering the plate had just broken, and in just his socks, a piece of ceramic jabs into his heel and slices him open, and he actually can’t help the small cry of surprise and pain that slips out.

“Jeez, kid,” Dean breathes out, and Jack gets pushed into the nearest chair. “Get that out of your foot while I clean this up.”

The warm feeling in his chest was gone, pressed into something cold and tight in Jack��s throat. He’d just- the article had said it makes people happy to hear they are loved in times of grief. 

He watches, silent as Dean turns off the stove and sweeps up the wasted food and plate pieces, soundly dumping it in the trash before digging under the sink for a second and coming out with a clean dishrag and a box of bandaids. It’s only when he sees Dean stop and take a quiet, private shuddering breath to forcibly relax his tensed shoulders that he lowers his gaze again. He picks the sharp sliver of plate out of his skin through the sock before peeling it off to examine the cut it left. Very shallow, but it still stretches two inches along on the inside of his heel, the blood sluggishly dripping out. 

It’s not bad, but very inconvenient, so he almost heals it before remembering that Amara had said not to use his powers after she took Chuck’s powers. Not until she returned and okayed it, at least. He sighs, pinching it together with his fingers, half heartedly wishing it had been more awkward and antagonistic between his aunt and his dads, so he could have maybe convinced Dean that they shouldn’t listen to what Amara told him to do. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

He hears Dean turn the water on to damp the cloth, but he can’t make himself look back up again. His gaze goes back down to the floor as Dean starts to turn back toward him, focusing on the small smear of red on the floor, where Dean had dragged the broom through the spots of blood he’d left.

He raises his hands as Dean approaches, ready to be handed the stuff to bandage himself up, but Dean just beats them away as he sits down next to Jack, hunching in as he grabs the injured foot. Jack still feels unbearably small in the silence between them, both him and Dean leaning in and feeling small and unwilling to speak as he wipes away the blood and then dries the skin around it. Jack grabs two of the bandaids and opens them, and Dean wraps them around the cut before patting it and drawing away, and Jack doesn’t know what else to do.

“Sorry,” He says softly, because he isn’t sure what he did wrong but it hurt Dean. And he wasn’t even angry, Jack could tell, cause his shoulders hadn’t tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to lash out- they’d tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to fall apart. Jack’s felt like he had to know the difference for a while now.

“Jack,” Dean says, and it’s so sharp that Jack jerks up to look at him. Had he read that wrong? Was Dean angry? But when he meets Dean’s eyes it’s still that hurting, the one that Jack could remember all the way from back when he was a newborn, or something close to it. “No, you don’t-” Dean lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down with a rough breath, and Jack wasn’t expecting him to look back at him but he did, eyes burning into Jack’s. “You don’t have to be sorry. That was on me- I dropped the plate.”

Jack tries not to squirm, because it’s not about the plate, is it? The food had been thrown away and the plate had hurt him, but he’d said he loved Dean and that had made him drop it. “I’m sorry that I-”

“Jack,” Dean cuts across again, and this time his brows are drawing together the way they do when he’s angry. But he looks away from Jack again, and he can tell somehow that it’s not anger at him. Dean doesn’t even want Jack to be looking at this anger. “You say whatever you want, okay? I’m not upset that you said it.”

It isn't that he thinks Dean doesn’t mean the words, but Jack’s also not sure Dean believes them either. “I am, though,” he says, petulant, crossing his arms and letting his foot fall back down to the ground, ignoring the bite of pain from treating the cut so roughly. “If it hurt you, I shouldn’t have-”

Dean cuts him off again. “No. Jack, that’s-” He struggles for a second, but Jack just wants to understand. Unbidden, he holds his breath and Dean draws his in, trying to find the words.

“You get to love me if you want to,” Dean grinds out, and Jack realizes there are tears gathering along his lower lashes. “And you get to tell me if you want to. This hurt ain’t about you.”

That does clear it up, somehow, and Jack nods and looks back down at his hands, realizing there’s still blood on his fingers, too. Dean turns away enough that they can almost pretend he’s not rubbing the tears out of his eyes. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to either, though,” he says, and he grabs the cloth from the table where Dean had left it, finding a clean spot on the damp corner and using it.

“That ain’t how it works, kid.” He doesn’t elaborate. He just grabs the box of bandaids and closes it before gathering up the paper wrapping. It gets thrown out, and the box stowed back under the sink, and then Jack is just staring at Dean.

“How does it work?” 

They both stop. Jack didn’t expect to actually let the question out, but it’s off of his lips before he can seal them. 

Dean is frozen, staring at him.

“Not like that,” Dean says eventually, weariness dripping from each word. “Jack, do you… do you want us to say…”

He doesn’t say it, the kitchen fan blowing white noise into the quiet air between them. Jack knows that he could ask and Dean would say it right now. Dean always gives the people he loves what they want, what they need, and this would just be the next thing he could offer. Something he could give.

“I don’t need you to.” Jack says, honestly. “I know. I just wanted you to hear it, because I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to say it to you.”

Dean squints at him. “You... “ His eyes are wet again. Without warning, Dean grabs him and pulls him up, into a hug, and Jack grabs back as tight as he can, feeling lost. But it’s good, it’s good just like every time Dean hugs him. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as if he can’t feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, hot and stinging. “I love you too, Jack. I don’t get- you and-” Dean sputters off, still holding him. “If you want to hear it, you let me know. I’ll get better at it.”

“Maybe every once in a while,” Jack says, trying not to let his voice sound like he’s crying. It does anyway.

“Alright then,” Dean says, and he squeezes him one more time before letting go, turning away abruptly and bustling back to the stove. Jack wipes his eyes on his sleeve, his whole chest feeling empty and full all at once. The rag had fallen out of his hands sometime in their conversation, and he leans down to grab it, pausing to wipe up the blood on the floor. Dean comes back a minute later and pulls it out of his hand before passing him another plate. “Here, since the last one humpty-dumpty’d.”

They don’t continue the conversation. Jack eats his breakfast as Dean fixes himself another cup of coffee, and they sit quietly, waiting for Cas to come home.

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Gojo Satoru general headcanons

Let's get one thing clear: this man is absolutely chaotic. He is always full of energy. His energy levels never reach below 50%. He is loud and proud, always running, and never takes a minute to relax.

Do not give him Monster. Shoko did that once and it took her forever to get him off the ceiling. Also, avoid caffeine. Shoko replaces his normal coffee with decaf and he still hasn't noticed the difference. Keep it that way.

He was the class clown when he was younger. He wasn't exactly a trouble maker, but he may as well be. I cannot word that sentence and I am sorry. Next.

All of his teachers assumed he never listened in class, so they always called in him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. It still shocked them every time he rattled off the correct answer.

Not only did he answer the question correctly, but he could also explain his reasoning behind the answer, and if it was multiple choice, explain why the other answers were wrong. 

This tall man child would march up to the board and absolutely fill it to the brim with work, turn around, drop the chalk-like a mic drop and walk back to his desk with the smuggest look on his face.

That doesn't mean he did the work tho

Idk how schools in japan work but we all know schools in America only care about the amount of work you do and not what you actually know so we'll use that for the sake of the headcanon: he had straight D's bc he never turned in his work

Despite not doing the work snd goofing off, teachers actually really liked him

A lot of people liked him and he was super popular, but he still felt alone

Fake friends, you know how that works, he didn't meet any real friends until he became a shaman

Clean freak. This dude actually makes his bed. He scrubs his bathroom twice a week. His desk can get cluttered but he straightens up once a week. He's not exactly a germaphobe because

He cannot respect your personal space and that's actually canon but let me take it a step further 

He's a slapper. Especially when he laughs. It doesn't hurt, it's playful dw. He hugs you from behind especially when he's cold. He picks you up and carries you around. He will grab your wrist, arm, or hand and lead you around even if you're following him. He lays his legs across you or lays across your lap. Puts his head on your shoulder. Platonic cuddling between friends is mandatory. He's just so hands-on it's ridiculous.

Unless you explicitly tell him you're uncomfortable he won't stop

Don't worry, if you aren't in that type of relationship, your no-no square is safe. Except, if you seem chill, he will slap your ass regardless of friendship status. His ass is also slappable. You can't tell me Geto and Gojo didn't run around slapping each other asses, okay

He was weird and scrawny as a child. He didn't start beefing out until he started training to be a shaman and he's still kinda smaller than most beefy boys

He can pick you up and throw you around easily. He carried around a 170 pound Yuji like a sack of potatoes and can easily carry around three times that weight

It's amazing he's so tiny because you remember 2014 Shane Dawson making all of those wack ass desserts that was just s pile of chaos wrapped in chocolate?

He can eat every last bite of one of those monstrosities without getting a stomach ache, gaining weight, or dying basically

He knows bc Yuji dared him to do it

He has really cold hands and feet

He sounds old. Let me elaborate. He's constantly cracking his joints. They also creak when he moves. He complains about body pains like he's 80 y/o

He also shares wisdom with the kids as if he's actually 80 y/o

It's irrelevant advice that doesn't make sense but is also useful. Megumi can't count the number of times he's asked Gojo for feedback on his technique but had been told to remember to chew 40 times or never go to bed angry

Starts off sentences with "now son" and "when I was your age"

He uses his blindfold as a headband when he wants his hair out of his face. He also uses headbands as... Headbands... When he wants to wear sunglasses but get his hair out of his face

He owns so many pairs of sunglasses but he always wears the same pair

He's only bought a handful of them himself, most of them are gifts

No one knows what to get him for Christmas or his birthday bc he has everything, so they resort to sunglasses

His favorite pair is a pair that Shoko and Geto bought him as a gag. He thought they were dead serious, though, so he wore them around for a month

They were heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses

Can you believe this man doesn't use any gel or anything to keep his hair spiky with the blindfold on? It just naturally defies gravity when the blindfold is on

Tell this man he's pretty because he already knows. He's narcissistic but not the cringy kind

Photogenic as hell. Takes great pictures from any angle. 

He gives everyone a different story as to why he covers his eyes. Sometimes he says it's because his eyes are too pretty and are a distraction. Sometimes he says it's because the sunglasses/bandages/blindfold look cooler than his eyes. Sometimes he says it's to protect the six eyes from seeing things he doesn't want to see. The world may never know

He's tried covering his whole face before, but he thinks he's too pretty for that. He at least wants one of his many amazing features to be shown at all times.

So about his driver's license;

He knows how to drive. He can be a good driver. When he wants to be. He just doesn't have a driver's license.

Now he TELLS people he just never got around to getting one, however, there's a rumor he lost it due to too many parking tickets

It's amazing the only tickets he's ever gotten have been from that and once he got caught without a seatbelt; he would have gotten out of that one if he hadn't been flirting with the police officer so bad

This doesn't stop Gojo from driving places though

He steals Ijichi's car a LOT and Ijichi DOESN'T KNOW HOW like??? The windows are never broken and it doesn't look hotwired-

Gojo has a key

You're not even supposed to be able to duplicate car keys but Gojo did 

Also; none of the first-year trio knows he doesn't have a driver's license, though that much should be painfully obvious

He whips around corners, speeds up at yellow lights, goes "watch this" and does a donut, it's just a mess

The poor students have to sit in the backseat too. Just imagine Megumi with all three seatbelts around him like that one meme.

He thrives off of Nobara and Yuji screaming from the backseat, and he can see Megumi being smooshed because he thought the middle seat was the safest through the rearview mirror

Which he doesn't even need because of the six eyes

Despite being such a reckless driver, he knows when danger will happen, so he's never once gotten in a wreck

He blasts the radio, which makes up for the driving.

Has a habit of getting in a car and ending up in the McDonalds drive-thru

Steals other people's fries and keeps the fullest one for himself.

He was rebellious as a kid and teenager, but hey, at least his juvie record is sealed 

He's been detained and in the back of a cop car many times, but the reason was never really bad enough for him to be arrested. Mostly he's just being mouthy. And the time he got caught spray painting on the side of a building. And that one time he and Getou hopped the fence to get into the local pool. And that other time-

It got worse after Getou wasn't around to get him out of trouble. Suddenly, breaking the rules wasn't fun anymore and he mellowed out. 

Tried alcohol and cigarettes before he was legal. Decided neither was his thing, however, he did start drinking occasionally when he was legal.

He's a fucking chaotic drunk. Oh my god he's absolutely feral

Most bars in the vicinity know him by name and they sigh whenever he walks in

Shoko is his emergency contact. She hates it

Shoko has to drag drunk Gojo home at least twice a month and is not happy about it

Once she left him in an alley. He made it home okay so she guesses it's fine

Once he got so drunk he spilled beer on his sock. The thought the fastest way to dry them was by sticking them in the microwave. Forgot about it until someone asked, "Who the fuck is cooking socks???"

I feel it important he was in the break room of the local grocery store and no one knows how he got there

As he was escorted out he stole a grocery cart and rode away in it while singing Don't Threaten Me (With A Good Time) by Panic! At The Disco

He has no alcohol tolerance at all what so ever

He will literally just stare at you and giggle

It's funny he's really flirty but also doesn't seal the deal. Literally, every woman in that bar is willing to get in his bed but he declines every offer. No one knows why

Its because he respects women

He helps his students break the rules as long as they're within reason. Once night Yuji was really hungry and after having a temper tantrum he couldn't order Uber eats bc the school is supposed to be secret Gojo helped sneak him out to get food. Who needs curfew anyway.

The shirts in his closet range from like twenty bucks to the iconic rich bitch shirt the kids ruined in that one chapter we all know the one 

He still wears that by the way, he calls it "art" 

When he was younger, Megumi drew a picture of Gojo being eaten by his shadow dogs. Gojo found it and now it's framed in his room.

He keeps up with current trends and memes like no one's business. This is how he bonds with his kids.

Don't call him old, but also, he'll tell you to respect your elders it's a mess

He has a lot of games on his phone. You can usually find him holding his phone sideways playing some RPG game he probably spent too much money on 

He did hop on the Pokemon Go hype train but after becoming overpowered he got bored

This happens to a lot of games. He pays way too much money, gets to be the strongest in the server, and gets bored

He likes games where you can kill other people's troops and likes to watch as they lose all their power

I canon him as being borderline sadistic

This is why he's Sakata Gintoki reincarnated

White hair, sweet tooth, black leather clothes, dad vibes, never takes anything seriously bc when he does he's scary as fuck, the works.

He is Sakata Gintoki

He liked Gintama growing up. He watched a lot of iconic shows as they aired. He considers himself an og

He's hella bilingual

Because he's the strongest he goes overseas for missions a lot. Because of this he speaks a lot of languages and knows a lot about international cuisine 

He takes pictures of himself eating disgusting foods like snails. He never likes them but he loves the idea of Nobara gagging back in japan

Has paperwork sitting untouched on his desk from three months ago that he will not touch for at least another three months

Does the crossword puzzles in the newspaper every week

Uses humor as a coping mechanism and it honestly just became a personality

Constantly popping his joints. I'm sorry if you find this gross I too find it gross.

Probably brought home every stray animal he ever met ever until he was at least like 22 y/o

Tags: @wasabito @kittaliapenn

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here!

A/N: I apologize for all the profanity in this part ahead of time. I think I’m going to do M/W/Sat updates, as long as my writing permits, and then maybe Wed/Sat updates. I got the day off because it snowed so I thought I would post this since it’s ready haha

* Well you’re royally f*cked

* There’s a big stupid smile curled on your face, and every time you try to hide it, it just comes back wider

* You really shouldn’t be happy right now

* “What has you in such a good mood?” Edward’s got a matching smile of his own.

* Oh shit. It’s fine, you’ll just play dumb.

* “How do you know I’m happy?” How about the dumb grin you’ve got on your face you stupid b*tch.

* You would have smacked your own forehead if you weren’t aware Edward was watching your every move

* You’re lucky Edward’s nice and he doesn’t call you out on it

* “Whenever you’re happy it kind of radiates off of you,” his voice lowers “you know because of your powers”

* Ah, you didn’t know you did that

* “So what do you think about the new girl?” You blurt it out like it’s an intrusive thought

* F*ck. Just-okay just play it cool. Play it cool.

* F********ckkkkk what’s wrong with you.

* Is being happy making you act like a moron?

* He shrugs

* “Just another human, I kind of wish everyone would shut up about it though. Having to hear people talk about her and think about her is getting annoying. It’s like being in a tunnel with one too many echoes.”

* Ah, so he hasn’t noticed yet.

* “I wonder what she’s thinking about.”

* Edward just shrugs again.

* What the f*ck Edward take a hint!

* “Edward?”

* “Yes dear?” He has the nerve to grin after using that pet name. The criminal is teasing you. Some best friend.

* And still it makes you outrageously happy

* You have to force your smile into a straight line

* “What’s the new girl thinking?”

* He looks over to her, Tyler and Mike are fighting for her attention, both of them a moment away from tugging on each arm and shouting “mine!”

* You see him search, you’ve heard enough about his powers to know right now it’s like mall food court level of chatter for him, but in a few seconds he’ll focus on her and realize he can’t hear her thoughts.

* Knowing how prideful he is though, he’ll probably deny it.

* “I don’t know I can’t read her mind” he says bluntly. “Do you think the school music teacher would teach me how to play violin if I asked?”

* “What?!?”

* “I know it’s kind of inconsiderate to ask but-“ you click your tongue

* “No not that!” You gesture towards Bella “you can’t read her mind?!? Isn’t that kind of a big deal?”

* His eyebrows thread together

* “I can’t read your mind either”

* Yes but you’re from a completely different world, in a body that radiates despair (and apparently joy now). You’re basically like some type of eldritch being from another dimension. 

* Edward doesn’t see it that though

* “Honestly it’s a relief, one less mind I have to tune out.” He walks ahead of you as you stay motionless in the middle of the hallway

* What the f*ck is happening?

* “Are you coming? We’re going to be late for Biology if you keep lagging behind like that.”

* How could you forget? The whole story starts because Edward is super into Bella’s blood! He fantasizes killing her for like- the entire class period.

* You were worried for nothing, just because they didn’t have the cafeteria moment isn’t that big of a deal

* The thought makes you both relieved and a little sad

* Still it’s for the best, this is the way things are supposed to be

* And who knows, if you have to leave maybe you can poach Rosalie and Emmett to leave with you

* And maybe Jasper, he won’t like having a human around the house all the time

* “Mr. Cullen, Ms. Eleazar” Mr. Banner hands you each a worksheet.

* Oh right the onion cell worksheet. Ah right the mitosis crap. Well hopefully Mike remembers enough that you both can hobble through

* “New year means new seating arrangement!” He tells you both excitedly. The seating arrangements on the projector.

* “Why am I next to Edward isn’t the seating arrangement supposed to be alphabetical?”

* “I decided to go by grade this time, you should be happy! Aren’t you two...friends?” You can tell your teacher is confused by the nature of your relationship, almost as much as you are. 

* “Super happy Teach.” You mumble taking your seat next to Edward who’s grinning like an idiot

* “You can’t say he’s picking favorites when it’s merit based.” He grins and you roll your eyes

* Angela’s sitting next to Ben Cheney, they seem to be discussing the trigonometry homework, and how it’s basically impossible

* Oh right, he’s supposed to be her boyfriend this year. 

* Personally you think Angela could do way better. But love is blind, you’ll ship it if you have to. 

* And right on cue Mike walks in, Bella following close behind. He takes his seat on the table behind you while Bella talks to Mr. Barnes

* “Why didn’t you guys sit with us at lunch today?” Mike is practically leaned over the entire width of the table.

* Before you can say anything Edward snorts

* “Because (Y/N) was getting lectured for staying out all night again”

* Mike looks like his eyes might pop out of his head

* “W-what? Out all night?! Without inviting me!” You roll your eyes.

* “He’s making it more dramatic, I went out for a run early in the morning because I couldn’t sleep and everyone was freaking out because they thought I got kidnapped.”

* Like any vampire or human stood a chance against you and your violent mood swings

* Mike’s so caught up in lecturing you about how you need to be more careful

* “There’s a lot of weirdos out there!” Yeah you live with them

* That he doesn’t even notice Bella’s taken a seat next to him

* Now that you get a better look at her, she is kinda pretty. She’s the kind of person who probably always looks good in photographs, no matter what the angle. Nice cheekbones and big brown eyes. Modest on boobs and butt, but she’s skinny so it works for her.

* “Hey, you’re Bella right?” You give her your friendliest smile, and you don’t miss the light blush that blooms on her face.

* You’re not sure whether it’s from your beauty or because she’s just not used to so much attention. She just nods.

* “Have you already seen the three whole things there are to do in Town on a Friday night?”

* Bella actually laughs at that. She’s got dimples, and little wrinkles that show up at the corner of her eyes. It’s cute.

* “One of those things is going to the library, so really it’s only two things.”

* She giggles again.

* “Is the other one going over to your house to play monopoly?” Mike asks, a grin arching onto his face

* “No my house is out of town, the other thing is to go to the school football game”

* “I’m not really a big fan of football” Bella hesitantly says, and Mike and Edward laugh

* “Yeah no one here does, everyone goes for the half time show, or just to hang out.” 

* You’re pretty sure your entire friend group only goes to the games to see your cheer routine, especially this year since you’re captain now. The first junior captain in a long time apparently. The news actually made the local newspaper.

* Everything is going good, and you’re starting to think maybe you and Bella might be friends.

* “Why don’t we have a board game night at our house again? Last time was-“

* You stop sentence, you were having so much fun you almost forgot why Edward was so obsessed with Bella.

* The slight breeze from the air conditioning brings her scent to you.

* You cover your mouth and nose with your hand

* Her scent is REVOLTING

* “(Y/N), are you okay?” Mike asks

* You vaguely feel Edward’s hand on your shoulder, has he not caught her scent yet?

* It’s pretty hard to miss

* Like gym socks, with a overly sweet base, it’s like-

* Your head snaps up, and your hand clamps over your mouth and nose even harder, but not because the scent is revolting

* She smells like cheese, perfectly aged Gorgonzola cheese, or maybe Brie?

* You smell the sweeter undercurrent stronger now, it’s like warm juicy peaches

* Roasted peach salad tossed with Gorgonzola and olive oil

* How many times have you dreamed about eating that while basking in the warm sunlight

* “I knew you shouldn’t have eaten those leftovers at lunch,” Edward says, but you know it’s performative, thank god he’s still got some sense after smelling her.

* “Mr.Banner, I think (Y/N) ate something bad, is it alright if I help them to the nurses office?”

* “Yes and hurry!” He’s practically shooing you out as Edward pulls you by the arm

* Nooooo, you wanna smell her moreeee

* You have the sense to not wine and keep your mouth covered.

* Edward doesn’t take you to the nurse, you both don’t stop walking until you’re at the parking lot

* “What the hell was that?” He asks, it’s the first time he’s seemed even remotely angry with you

* He seems more confused then angry though, you’re so shocked you actually sit down on the curb.

* And after a moment of hesitance Edward sits beside you, placing his hand over your own

* “She smells good Edward, like really good.”

* Edward laughs

* “Yeah I gathered that” he shakes his head. “I thought you were supposed to be a picky eater”

* “I aaaaamm” you moan, your head is cradled in your left hand. “She’s like one in a million”

* “You’re one in a million” you lift your head to see Edward looking at you with that stupid sh*t eating grin.

* “Really Edward my life is falling apart because I want to eat someone, and you think the appropriate response is to flirt?”

* To be fair, he’s always flirting, it’s basically apart of his personality at this point

* “You’re being melodramatic.” He chuckles and throws an arm over your shoulder. “Worst case scenario you kill her, Carlisle doles out his funeral punishment-don’t ask, and then we have to start over as freshman again somewhere else.”

* You groan, you finally worked your way up to a junior, you were just starting to get used to this crappy town, you don’t wanna start all over again in a new one

* “What’s the best case scenario?”

* Edward thinks hard for a minute.

* “Best case scenario...the music teacher agrees to teach me how to play the violin and I impress you with my magnificent playing.” You smack him on the arm.

* “Not the best case scenario for you!” You know he’s doing it on purpose. He just wants to make you laugh

* It works, you do laugh. How much more absurd could this situation get?

* “Everything’s going to be fine, if Jasper can handle having to smell 300 students he thinks smell good, you can handle 1.” 

* He’s got a point

* “Wait-didn’t she smell good to you?” Wasn’t that like, the whole d*mn point?

* His eyebrows thread together and he shrugs

* “Um, she smelled alright, no better or worse than the others. I’m not sure what you smelled-“

* What you smelled? The rich but refreshing flavor profile is sublime

* The f*cking heathen doesn’t even know what he’s missing

* “But to me she smelled like peaches”

* Well he kinda knows what he’s missing

* “She’s definitely anemic though, there’s a sever lack of iron in her scent” ah that must be that cheesy smell you’re getting

* Well ain’t this ironic. The girl who’s going to steal your best friend is only getting noticed because of you.

* “I don’t know, personally I prefer Henrietta the 3rds blood, but that’s just me” he’s lying, your blood is good and all, but it’s definitely still not on par with a humans blood

* He’s just trying to make you feel better.

* He rubs your shoulder, before patting it and moving to stand up.

* “Now come on, we have to make you eat some human food so you can throw up in front of the nurse and she lets us leave school early”

* You roll your eyes, anything to leave school early huh?

* “Yeah all right, lead the way Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding”

* “Why do you always say that? I don’t brood that much anymore!”

* “You know how some people have resting b*tch face? You have resting brood face.”

* “Says the person who literally radiates despair” you shove him as you both walk towards the vending machine

* You take a deep breath as you watch Edward fumble with the vending machine

* The dork literally sticks a credit card up to the glass and demands the machine give him chips. 

* (Y/N/N) why isn’t this working? Am I supposed to insert my card through this slot?” 

* You laugh. You’re pretty sure he’s not doing this on purpose.

* “You’re supposed to use cash Edward.”

* You watch as he fumbles with his wallet muttering:

* “Do you think it’ll take a twenty dollar bill?”

* You watch in amusement as Edward tries - and fails- to use a twenty dollar bill, and then proceed to use obscure profanities to curse “this vile wretch of human technological advancement” 

* You feel a sigh of relief escape you.

* Yeah, everything is going to be fine. 

Tags:  @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @smileygirl08 @imdoingathingmom @iconicgguk @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show @wicked-watering-can @lazydreamers @xxxmuxxx @puritanicalhypocrite

[waywardavatarenthusiast]

Why Azula Letting Her Hair Down, and *Not Cutting it, has so much meaning

I just saw a post saying that Azula’s short hair is release and Zuko’s short hair is rebirth and I didn’t want to reblog it because it was a lovely take and I know how I feel when people hop onto my posts with their own *unasked for* takes. 

See, the thing is, Azula and Zuko both have tons of symbolism within their hair. But they symbolize different things. Azula’s hair symbolizes not just perfection, and acceptance, but emotion. Zuko’s hair actually symbolizes freedom. Think about it. 

In season one, Zuko’s hair is one half long and the other shaved. Because Zuko is half away from his captor. See, the ponytail is like a rope. It’s the only piece of his hair, a symbolism of his honor. But in season one, Zuko ties restoration of his honor with being accepted back home in the fire nation.

At the start of season two, Zuko cuts his ponytail. He doesn’t know yet that he will one day rule the nation he yearns to be welcomed back into. This version of Zuko sees himself as a fugitive and not a prince trying to make his way back home, and we know that because he cuts his hair after Azula makes the little speech asking why their father would let him come home. 

So, Zuko’s hair regrowing while he’s in the Earth Kingdom. It symbolizes him having freedom that he doesn’t quite understand to flourishing and making a place for himself within his newfound freedom. He makes such a place for himself that he needs to be convinced to return home. I’m not even talking about the crystal catacombs. In an official comic in between the seasons, Zuko doesn’t want to return home even after betraying Iroh. Azula sets him up on a date with Mai so he will follow love right past the Great Gates of Azulon and into the fire nation. 

Now, Azula’s hair. 

In the start of season two, Lo and Li critique Azula and a hair is out of place. She then says her famous line, “almost isn’t good enough.” 

Despite Azula’s performance being almost perfect, it’s not enough for Azula to ignore the flaws she must have because she is human. For basically entirety of the show, Azula wears her hair in a loose, but neat bun. In that hairstyle contains Azula’s flaws. It also contains her empathy and emotions, but the importance of that is the fact that Azula sees emotion as a flaw.

We see Azula’s hair down about five times.

The first time Azula is shown with her hair down, she is in her bedroom trying to sleep. It’s actually in a ponytail. Azula doesn’t need to display perfection in her sleep. But anything can happen when she isn’t awake. She’s not quite relaxed even then.

The second time she is shown with her hair down, she’s just getting her hair washed and I can’t really think of anything behind that.

The third time we see Azula with her hair down, it’s very important from the styling to when it is shown. This is the Beach episode. Azula hasn’t been to Ember Island in years, she knows no one. The first day she arrives and plays Kuai Ball and meets Chan and Ruon Jian, her hair is in its usual style. Azula lets her hair down after deciding to drop her status as princess on this beach. She doesn’t act like a princess either by forcing Chan to talk to her or demanding people at the party pay attention to her. Azula’s hair is down, she is awkward and trying too hard and her flaws on on full display the first time her hair is down for a long duration of time. It’s still neat though, Azula is still showing what she wants to show. As the episode comes to a close, Azula shows us her Achilles heel, and there is loads of emotion in one sentence. As soon as she does, she quickly tries to pull the sock back up and change the subject.

The fourth time Azula’s hair is down, there is no styling to it. It is completely loose, and billowing in the wind. Now, Azula was just fine previous to falling into the air. She was falling to her death. The amount of emotion that would go through her is wild, and she definitely wasn’t looking to compose herself. She only smirked after securing her life. But she was most likely still running like a chicken with its head cut off in her mind.

The fifth, and most important time that Azula’s hair is down, is Sozin’s comet. In the novelization, Azula goes on about there is no one to do her hair and it’s a mess. Ozai is gone, and Azula would have had to contain herself in front of him for her safety. She has no friends or family to remain collected for. The exact reason why I don’t think Azula cutting her hair is release is because of the scene where she cuts her bangs. See, Azula cannot tame her hair(her emotions) and so she cuts it (tries to detach herself from them).  At the start of the Agni Kai, Azula’s hair is messy, but it’s tied. Halfway through, it is completely down. It is still down when she is chained to a grate and crying. See, she had flaws and emotions that she refused to express gently at different periods of time. Instead she bottled them up inside herself. (In her neat little bun). But they simply could not be contained and they exploded, causing her body and talent to fail her when she needed it most. (Causing her hair to look terrible on the day of her coronation).

Post finale Azula doesn’t acknowledge her emotions. Post redemption Azula shouldn’t run away from her emotions(cut her hair) but accept them and let them be (let her hair down).

[harrygroves]

part four

part three

of course i did a part four of the willing victim Steve/ lifeguard Billy fic.

*

Max is getting ice cream with Lucas the next time she runs into Steve. They get to the front of the line, order, and Steve hands their respective cones to them with a smile.

“Oh, you got your name tag back.” She mentions casually, licking at her strawberry ice cream.

Steve looks down at his chest, like he’s confirming it’s there. “What?” He asks when he looks back at her.

“Your name tag.” She repeats, louder and more aggressive like she’s annoyed.

“I got it...back?” He prompts with a small shake of his head. Steve didn’t say anything to any of the kids, and Billy didn’t really seem like the type of brother to bond over a tub of ice cream and hair rollers while talking about all the mean shit he did that particular day.

“Yeah, it was in a box under Billy’s bed.” She says with a small shrug, like it’s no big deal.

Says it so calm and flippant that Steve doesn’t really understand at first.

Then he processes what she said.

It was in a box.

That’s weird.

Steve is caught up in his thoughts, heart deciding on it’s own to double in speed at this little revelation because it feels innately personal. Max and Lucas have the audacity to turn away and leave.

“Robin! Take the register!” Steve yells as they move through the crowd.

“Jesus, Steve, I’m right here!” Robin snaps back at him, no more than two feet away. She doesn’t ask where he’s going, just slides over to the register before realizing he’s not replacing her at the ice cream stand, then shouts after him to get your ass back here!

He ignores her and springs around the corner of the counter, chasing Max and Lucas who’re already heading out the door.

“Hey!” He yells after them.

He yells again when he exits the shop. They glance back and stop in their tracks, but they both appear confused and slightly concerned.

“Max!” He shouts, stopping in front of her. “Wait, explain.”

“Ex...plain?” She says.

Steve’s breathing is haggard, but it’s not the short jog, it’s this feeling that’s shooting through his body, a lightbulb goes off in his head that this is important. “Yeah, you said it was in a box under Billy’s bed?”

“Yeah, with like, a bunch of other weird shit. He never cleans his room.” She says with a disgusted face, a roll of her eyes.

“What else was in the box?” He asks.

“Uh…” She trails off, eyes defocusing like she’s trying to remember.

“What else?!” He yells at her. He doesn’t mean to do it, it just happens because of the roaring in his ears and the heat on his face. Whatwhatwhat???

“Okay! Okay!” She yells back, eyebrows drawing together, but she’s not mad, it’s more like wide-eyed concern. “Uh...there was like, I don't know, random shit. A party invite -- ”

“What did it say?” He interrupted.

“God, I don't remember, but I think it was, like...a Halloween party? And...um, there was one of those drawings from Will’s house, your name tag...a sock…”

“What?” Steve blurts out incredulously.

“Yeah, it was like a gold and green sock.” She tells him.

It’s his sock. It has to be. It went missing from his gym locker -- he kept thinking it had fallen out and the janitor had thrown it away. As for the other stuff...it sounds like a curated collection of items to remind Billy of...

“Oh!” She says, startling him out of his thoughts. “And your yearbook picture!” She says with a snap of her fingers.

“What?” Steve asks hollowly, but he’s no longer fired up. No. Now, it’s a molten heat pooling in his cheeks, tugging in his stomach, making the back of his knees quiver.

Oh.

Oh.

Max starts babbling while Steve is having his mini panic attack. “Yeah, like, I really don't know what his problem is. I don't keep shit that reminds me of people I ha--”

She stops, mid-word and her eyes suddenly get really wide, mouth hanging open. Lucas’ mouth falls open in perfect mimicry.

“Holy shit.” She says. The ice cream is trailing down her hand. She doesn’t appear to notice.

“Max.” Steve starts.

“Oh my god.” She says thickly, a little aghast, volume rising. The ice cream is now dripping onto the floor.

“Max, look.” He tries again.

“I...Steve. I think--”

“Stop!” He puts both his hands up and she stops talking. “I know, I get it, okay? Look, I need you two to...keep this quiet, okay? Seriously, no telling the others. Just leave it alone, alright? I’ll give you free ice cream for the rest of the summer.”

They look at each other. Lucas tilts his head at her, she nods shortly in return and looks back to Steve after their silent discussion.

“A year.” Max negotiates.

Steve scoffs. “God, okay, a year. Just keep it zipped. Promise?”

They both nod and walk off, moving close together, heads bowed in deep conversation.

Holy fucking shit.

*

On Steve’s next day off, he goes to the pool. It’s blistering hot and the humidity hangs around through the afternoon, into the evening. The sky darkens a bit too quickly for this time of the year, thick gray clouds rolling in, the promise of a summer storm approaching.

He waits until the pool closes.

Pulls into the parking lot close to the end of the day, parks next to the Camaro and waits. Sweat drips slow down his back, gathers at his hairline. He’s in khaki shorts and a thin, white shirt but his body can’t keep cool.

He slides out of his car when the last round of children and teens trail out and he waits, barely breathing, ears perked, jaw tense as he listens to the shuffle of Billy moving chairs back in place, the plastic sounds of gathering up floating devices and shoving them into the shed.

He watches the tall lights around the perimeter of the pool turn off.

That’s when he makes his move.

Steve, limbs feeling sluggish and numb but his mind in overdrive, heart in his throat, pushes open the pool gate.

“We’re closed.” He hears Billy grumble before he sees him. He’s over by the employee entrance, facing away from Steve but he turns his body halfway, glancing over his shoulder to see who has interrupted his shutdown routine.

Steve freezes, unsure. Confused. Billy’s eyes lock him in place, and he can’t move. Steve feels like an animal suddenly caught in a trap, like one of those metal rabbit cages, the gate to the pool slamming shut behind him only amplifying the tension. A sound threatens to spill out of him, but it dies in his throat. The heat in the air has seeped into his lungs, filling them to burst.

“Harrington?” Billy chokes out with a lilt in his voice, one of surprise and anger at the same time. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

That seems to be Billy’s whole deal. He’s as equally happy as he is annoyed when Steve is around, and Steve’s been thinking about all those moments -- ones filled with jabs and shoves but also with glints of light in his eyes and suggestive tongue wagging; he leans in, takes up space, like he’s trying to make sure he’s the only thing Steve’s focused on.

And, well. Steve’s finally paying attention.

“Drowning.”

He’s positive that he said it aloud, but the thunder in his chest, the electric fizzle crackling in the air making the tips of his fingers feel fuzzy; it’s overstimulation, and he can’t be sure that he said it, only that he hears it come out of his mouth somewhere very far away.

Steve can’t even be sure if Billy heard him.

He walks forward and pitches himself into the deep end of the pool.

*

Steve hadn’t actually remembered to take a deep breath before doing this. He’d been too preoccupied with the way Billy was looking at him. Every thought in his head was solely focused on the curve of Billy’s back, the bulge of his calves, the angle of his long neck and the bob of his adam’s apple, the way his eyes bored into Steve when he realized who it was.

So now his dumbass is underwater and he doesn’t have any intention of coming up and it’s for two reasons: one, he wants Billy to jump in after him and two, he feels like an absolute moron for doing this and if he dies it’ll be a blessing. It’s a win-win.

He’s underwater for maybe a full fifteen seconds before getting a little worried that Billy isn’t coming to save him but then the water breaks next to him as Billy jumps in.

Steve watches as Billy swims down to him, staring at him through the water with a strange mix of bafflement and rage. Steve stares back, eyes stinging, letting bubbles of air fall out of his mouth and float between them. Billy grabs his arm roughly. The water is cold but the place where Billy holds him is warm, and he’s pulling Steve up to the surface.

They explode out of the water, Billy keeping his death grip on Steve’s arm.

“What the hell is your problem, Harrington?” He yells instantly, water splashing around them, rolling down his face.

Billy’s holding him close, their legs brush in the water below. Steve stares into his eyes, watches Billy’s face change between curious and irate, pensive and scared.

He hasn’t said anything -- he realizes this, and they both tread water while the low rumble of thunder builds around them.

Billy opens his mouth and starts to say Steve’s last name again but Steve pushes himself closer and slots his lips over Billy’s.

It’s unhinging.

They both taste of chlorine, Steve craning forward, the determined, wet weight of his mouth keeping him afloat as Billy’s hand relinquishes Steve’s arm. Steve doesn’t care though, solely preoccupied with the heated, damp feeling of Billy’s mouth balanced against his perfectly. Steve lets out a long, deep groan, the sound of it coming up from his chest, rumbling through him in a hum against Billy’s mouth.

Billy jerks his head back all of the sudden. Steve’s eyes slowly flick open, but Billy doesn’t explode the way Steve expects. He stares at Steve’s mouth, eyes heavy and lidded, mouth open. They continue to keep themselves afloat, bodies cutting through the water as they bob up and down.

The thunder grows louder.

Steve takes a deep breath and plunges himself below the water’s surface.

He stares at Billy’s torso, the swayed movement of his swim trunks for a moment before Billy lowers himself to match Steve head-on. For the first time ever, Billy doesn’t look angry, doesn’t look like he’s playing a game where only he knows the rules and the outcome. He looks...soft. His features aren’t tense, no pent-up emotion boxing his shoulders.

In this hastily-created private world they look at one another without apprehension for perhaps the first time in either of their lives. A crack of muddled lighting flashes above them, barely registering through the clouds and the water.

Billy swims forward and pushes his mouth against Steve’s.

It’s hard to properly kiss underwater. The space between them diminishes quickly. They don't grapple for one another, both too nervous but there’s hesitant slide of hands over bare planes of skin, the timid tangle of legs, eyes pinched shut.

They pull back at the same time and swim upwards, gasp in lungfuls of air simultaneously.

Steve doesn’t -- he can’t let Billy get away for too long, knows the moment will be broken so he moves back in, crowds close and kisses him, hands coming up to touch Billy’s shoulders. The soft pads of his fingers sink into his flesh, skid over the edge of his collarbone. Steve feels the tentative press of Billy’s fingers along his sides where his shirt has floated up. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue flash out and run against Billy’s bottom lip. Billy actually opens his mouth, let’s Steve teasingly dip his tongue in for the briefest moment and Billy makes this soft, strained noise against Steve’s mouth before jerking back again.

Apprehensive eye contact is exchanged before Billy starts swimming towards the edge of the pool, moving in skilled, even strokes.

Steve scrambles after him and hoists himself up onto the cement, and they both lay back against the warmed cement, staring at the sky. Steve lets his feet stay submerged in the water.

Time passes as the clouds roll and tumble past them, indistinguishable shape-shifting with sudden bursts of white lightning. Steve keeps trying to think of something to say but he’s coming up blank.

What the fuck is he doing?

Billy finally breaks the silence. “Like I said. The pool’s closed.” He says, sitting up. His face is angled away from Steve.

Steve sits up too, retracting his feet from the water, moving to stand in tandem with Billy, trying to decipher his tone, his body language, but he’s getting nothing. Billy is stoic, each movement purposeful as he starts walking away from Steve towards the employee building. Steve feels the moment pass, and finally -- the sky breaks. Soft rain starts coming down around them, dripping into the pool, cement exploding in dark circles.

Say something, Steve thinks angrily.

Billy stops walking, but he doesn’t look back. “Go home, Steve.” He says firmly before he starts walking again. A thread of lightning flashes, turning everything white and blue.

Say something! Steve’s mind screams.

Steve opens his mouth, but a loud crack of thunder steals his voice.

[oreoambitions]

Would love to see supercorp “I’ve never been festive”! Glad to see you back on my dashboard!

The thing about Lena, Kara thinks to herself as she strolls down Main Street with her hands shoved in her pockets, is that she wants to seem tough. That's the problem in a nutshell. And anyone else here in Midvale would tell you that it's just a city thing, that all the city kids want to seem tough, that Lena is no exception, but Kara doesn't think that's true. Well, okay, she knows it's true. But with Lena, it's something else. Something deeper. Something maybe related to the way that Lena has withdrawn into herself day by day as Midvale has begun to dress itself up for the holidays.

But Kara can do I'm-so-tough. She can do I-hate-Christmas, and she can do I-don't-believe-in-fun because at this time of the year she can do anything and get through to anyone. A little bit of light, a little bit of magic... maybe a little bit of love. That's how Christmas goes, right? Especially in a place like Midvale.

Kara likes to think of Midvale as a postcard town: the kind of town folks are only ever passing through on their way up and down the coast, a scenic detour, a cozy place to spend the night or just the afternoon before you move along. It's a place where time seems to have come to a standstill or at least a crawl, where it was a big deal when the first (and only) Starbucks opened, where nothing at all is open after 8pm, and you'd be hard pressed to run any errands on a Sunday, and you'd better not let Mrs. Nal catch you doing anything untoward or you can expect you'll be the topic of every conversation in or out of church for the next week or so at least. Kara would know; she's been the talk of the town on more than one occasion.

But these last several weeks the talk of the town has been the young woman who pulled up one evening in a car worth probably more than every vehicle on Main Street put together and strolled into the aforementioned Starbucks in a beat up hoodie sporting red rimmed eyes and trembling hands to ask the barista whether possibly anyone had a spare phone cable. She didn't want to bother anyone, only she'd left Metropolis in a hurry and forgotten hers and without GPS she didn't have any idea where she might stop to purchase one. She'd slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter as payment for the manager's beat up old charger and rolled right back out of town before anyone could tell her just how far from home she was.

Only then she'd rolled back into town some six hours later and booked herself into the bed and breakfast. And then she hadn't left.

The Danvers have assured Kara that in all the years Eliza and Jeremiah have run the bed and breakfast, and all the years Jeremiah's parents ran it before that, stretching back all the dusty decades since Midvale was founded, they have never had a longterm guest, no sir. It has simply never happened before. Kara doubts the veracity of such a statement but it has been delivered to her with all the solemn weight of sacred fact, and so she's taken it in stride - something which Alex seems to have found suspicious. And, true, on another occasion Kara might have been found elbow deep in records on a personal mission to prove that Jeremiah has pulled this particular historical "factoid" from some place the sun don't shine, but, well, she's been a little distracted these past weeks. Distracted by sad green eyes and coy smiles and the overwhelmingly mysterious circumstances that have delivered Lena directly into Kara's home.

Unfortunately Eliza has strictly forbidden Kara from asking the hundred and one questions perpetually on the tip of her tongue, and Kara's objections that she's twenty four now and she'll ask her questions if she so pleases haven't actually outweighed the sense that, at least where Eliza is concerned, she ought to do as she's told. So she's restrained herself. And as the weeks have gone by, she and Lena have fallen into an amicable, if not entirely comfortable, routine.

Kara serves Lena breakfast in the dining room with the other guests at precisely 8:15 every morning: two poached eggs with avocado on a thick slice of Winn's sourdough bread, a cup of coffee (black, diluted with hot water), and a side of roasted vegetables (no potatoes). Every morning Lena invites Kara to join her at the table, though Kara only does so when there are no other guests around to serve. They eat - together or not - in a silence broken only by small talk and the occasional lingering gaze when one catches the other looking until, at precisely 9:15, Lena excuses herself to seek out Eliza and enquire after the availability of another night's lodging. She pays in cash, one day at a time, without fail. She and Kara see one another again on the stairs, Kara on her way out to work a shift at the library and Lena on her way back up to her room. A small smile passes between them, affectionate and familiar, and Kara thinks perhaps... But no, the moment has passed and they've gone their separate ways for another day.

Kara has resolved that this pattern will not repeat itself again. Not now, not when Midvale is draped in heavy golds and greens, when the smell of Christmas pastry is wafting through the streets, when the trickle of seasonal tourists is threatening to become a thunder which will by necessity pry Kara's attention away. Not now when Lena is withdrawing further and further, when those lingering glances at breakfast seem to be few and far between, and it seems the onslaught of Christmas cheer is threatening to drive Lena out of Midvale altogether. If Kara is going to get through to her, today is the day.

She swings into J'onn's diner with a determined expression, sidestepping the younger Arias who has eyes these days only for her iphone and not so much for where she's going. J'onn is predictably behind the counter; Kara isn't sure he's taken a day away from the diner in all the time she's known him.

"I need two to go mugs of Bad Day Danvers Brew," she tells him. "It's urgent."

He plops two large paper cups down onto the counter almost before she's done asking. "I thought your sister was on duty tonight."

"She was. Is. It's not- It's for me."

"I don't suppose this has anything to do with a certain green eyed young lady from out of town."

It's not really a question the way J'onn says it but Kara somehow still feels pressured to answer. She flushes, turns away, scans the room. The dinner rush hasn't quite arrived. J'onn bustles about behind the counter without further comment, though he does arch an accusatory brow when Kara meets his eyes again.

"You do know," he says as he slides the drinks across the counter, "She's going to leave this place. She may not be ready yet, but the day is coming."

Kara frowns at him. "Leave is a four letter word."

"L - e - a -"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe you should consider it too. Whole world out there waiting for you, Little Danvers. Seems a shame not to go out and see it."

Kara thinks for a moment of this world as she saw it first: a little marble hanging in a black sea, so fragile and small, so far away from home. Midvale is home now, and she'll be damned if she's going to leave it behind. She forces a smile for J'onn's sake.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she says. She tries to pay him for the drinks. As he has a hundred times before, he turns her money away. Kara slips the cash into the tip jar on her way out the door.

When she gets home it's to the smell of apple pies bubbling in the oven and the sound of some old 50's Christmas record playing almost too loud for Jeremiah's battered old bluetooth speaker and hardly loud enough to compete with Jeremiah himself. Kara creeps up the stairs two at a time, one Bad Day Danvers Brew clutched in either hand, quiet quiet quiet. If Eliza catches her she'll try to put her to work and Kara isn't sure she can explain exactly what she means when she says she's too "busy" right now to help out.

She occupies herself with that thought, thinking up excuses for Eliza, each one more improbable than the last, and then she finds herself standing in front of Lena's door. She feels suddenly grimy, foolish, clumsy. What she hasn't considered in all her planning for this moment is that with both hands occupied she can hardly knock on Lena's door, and with her heart pounding an urgent rhythm in her chest and her body trembling with something that is distinctly not fatigue Kara doesn't trust herself to tuck one of the drinks into the crook of her arm.

So she does what any sane person would do: she kicks the door. Gently. As gently as she possibly can, but it still feels brutish and Kara winces as the sound of it tumbles down the hall to clash with Jeremiah's crooning and the roar of the vacuum cleaner in the foyer. Grimy, foolish, clumsy. But then the door swings open and all such thoughts fall from Kara's mind.

She has words picked out for this moment but they don't come to her. Lena stands in the doorway in jeans and a cardigan and socks that have bumble bees on them and Kara feels like she needs just a moment but the moment is already passing. Green eyes search hers, curious, bemused. Kara wants to reach out and tuck that stray lock of hair away, but-

The drinks. Right. "I brought refreshments," she says, proferring the paper cups. "For us," she adds, in case it isn't clear.

Lena reaches out for one of the cups, hesitant, then pries the lid off to take a whiff. "Hot chocolate?"

Kara wants to melt on the spot but she sticks to her guns. "It's special hot chocolate," she clarifies. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go. She had this exchange all planned out, there were contingencies, it was all perfect and here she is muddying it all up. "I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight."

"Like on a date?"

Oh, Rao. Kara's eyes drops to Lena's mouth without her say so and then they travel a little further south to the line of that cardigan and she swallows. "No," she forces out, "like on a walk?"

There's a long pause and then Lena laughs. "You're really very charming, Danvers," she says, and Kara feels an unexpected thrill at the sound of her last name in Lena's mouth. "Let me just get my sweater."

"You're already-" Kara starts, but the door clicks shut before she can finish. "Wearing a sweater," she mumbles to herself.

Lena emerges some minutes later, just when Kara is beginning to get fidgety. She's thrown on a hoodie which is perhaps a size too big and a pair of converse rather the worse for wear and Kara isn't sure what she was expecting but it wasn't this. Which is not to say that she doesn't like it. Lena licks her lips and fixes Kara with a pointed look.

"There is whisky in that hot chocolate," she says.

Kara shrugs. "I did say it was special."

They make it down the stairs and out of the bed and breakfast without Eliza noticing, though Kara is all but certain Jeremiah saw them leave together and will have Questions with a capital Q about it later. The sun is just now sinking below the horizon as the two of them turn down Main Street, ducking around Mr. Schott who is occupying most of the sidewalk with a rickety old ladder in an attempt to install another strand of lights above the toy store window. Already the street lamps bear oversized red bows and long, heavy pine garlands, and it will be only a matter of days now before every storefront from here to the edge of town is bright and warm and magical. Kara takes it all in with a growing smile. Lena takes it in with an expression that borders on an outright scowl.

"So are we going anywhere in particular?" Lena asks. They duck around a knot of visitors asking after a table at the brewery and for an instant Kara is almost certain she feels Lena's fingers brush hers.

"We are," Kara admits. And then, because she doesn't want to give away their destination, she adds, "You don't like Christmas."

Lena grimaces and takes a long sip of the Bad Day Danvers Brew. "I wouldn't say that I don't like Christmas."

"But?"

"But I've never been festive. And this year..."

Kara's mind fills in the words that Lena doesn't say: This year it's hard. Hard to see the joy and the magic and the laughter all around when you're alone and far from home. Well, Kara knows a thing or two about that. She takes a sip of her own drink and, resolutely, carefully, looking straight ahead, she reaches out to touch Lena's hand, so gentle it could have been an accident.

"This year you have me," Kara says. She's shocked the line comes out of her mouth as smoothly as it does. Her heart is so far up her throat she almost fears she'll choke on it.

Lena steps in closer until Kara swears she can feel the heat radiating between them even through both of Lena's sweaters and her own Christmas flannel. They walk in silence for a block or so, shoulders bumping once in a while, before Lena asks, "Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?"

Kara shrugs. "I like the carols. Jeremiah and I always go out caroling on Christmas eve. Oh! And the cookies. Pie for breakfast on Christmas morning."

Lena laughs at that. "Pie for breakfast? Lilian - my step mother - she'd have a fit."

"Well you can have pie with us this year if you want; I promise not to tell Lilian a thing. If you're still hanging around."

Lena looks at her sharply and then looks away, leaving Kara to feel silent and small and a little rejected. But Lena touches Kara's wrist as they move through the crowd and then, when Kara doesn't pull away, she takes her hand.

"Christmas is always an important social event for my family," Lena says. She glances at Kara as if to check that she's listening and then away again so quickly that Kara almost wonders if she imagined it. "Everything has to be perfect. The food, the decorations, the music. The family. And it's beautiful, really. Imagine a pine tree towering up to the very rafters, all the ornaments carefully curated and arranged, and a cellist flown in from Italy perches in the corner playing O Come Emmanuel while the city's elite pass through pretending to enjoy bite sized Christmas pastries prepared overnight by a team flown in from France. I suspect it would feel magical if it weren't so much work. It's hard to enjoy the magic when you're a part of it. Especially as a child."

Kara frowns. Her fingers tighten around Lena's, tugging her ever forward towards the Christmas tree in the center of town. She's thinking of Krpyton, of a perfect family, a perfect people, and a perfect world crumbling under the veneer. But she can't say that to Lena, so she flashes her a bright smile instead and says, "In Midvale, everyone who wants to gets to put an ornament on the town tree."

"Everyone? That doesn't seem practical. There have to be, what, at least a thousand people living here."

Kara nods. "Yeah. Not everyone participates, but most people. And of course that means the tree isn't curated like your family's, but it's got a special kind of magic to it. The kind you get when you aren't trying to make magic follow the rules."

It occurs to Kara that there is a sort of comedic timing to this, as this is the moment Kara steps over the low fence with the sign that reads "do not walk on the grass" and tugs a protesting Lena after into the shade - or, in this case, the light - of the Midvale tree.

"Rules," Lena is saying, "Generally exist for a reason, and when you break them willy nilly you don't get magic, you get chaos. It's important to- Wait, is this your Christmas tree?"

"Yep," Kara says. She reaches out to press a hand to the trunk and then stares up at the tiny golden lights wound among the branches with care, ornaments dangling here and there, some homemade and some not. She's definitely not supposed to get this close to it but, well, it's Alex on duty tonight and she doubts her sister is about to arrest her for trying to make a move on a pretty girl. "This is the one."

"But it's an oak tree," Lena observes. She steps up beside Kara to touch the trunk.

"Couple hundred years old, or so they told us in middle school," Kara says. "She's a gorgeous tree, isn't she? Not a pine and not perfect, but. Our own kind of magic." Then she grimaces. "Sorry; I'm being terribly cheesy right-"

"Did you know that mistletoe often grows in the California oak?" Lena interrupts.

Kara falters. She did know that, but this tree is carefully tended. No mistletoe here. She opens her mouth to say so when Lena holds up a finger to stop her again.

"To be perfectly clear I'm suggesting that we kiss here under this tree. Because you're charming and a little over the top and I hate that I love your Christmas flannel and I would very much like to have pie with you on Christmas morning. So if you'd like we can pretend there's mistletoe in the Midvale Christmas tree. It would be a very reasonable mistake; mistletoe really does grow on-"

Kara kisses her. The surprised gasp that falls from Lena's lips almost makes her laugh, but this is a serious moment so she tries to keep it in. She's got only one hand to work with - the other is still hold her Bad Day Danvers Brew - so she slides it around Lena's waist to pull her closer, and it's her turn to gasp when Lena tilts her head to slide her tongue along Kara's bottom lip.

Someone on the sidewalk cheers, and that is when Lena drops her drink. And then they do laugh together there under the tree, spiked hot chocolate splattered over the bottom of Lena's pants, Kara pressing her own drink into Lena's hands, and the sound of Mrs. Nal nearby screeching about public indecency while James tells her to go suck an egg. The two of them will be the talk of the town for weeks. Certainly through New Years. Kara doesn't think she minds.

///

Merry Christmas to everyone celebrating; Happy Holidays and a lovely morning to everyone who is not! Thank you for this prompt! I expected to write a quick 800 words but it got away from me and took all month.

[in-tua-deep]

au where five found out about vanya's powers in the apocalypse? Like maybe he found Reggie's book or he saw the eyes of vanya's corpse?

oh man like. that would be interesting to be sure, if Five managed to find Reginald’s book in the apocalypse

(He doesn’t read it at first, not for a few months after he finds it. He opened to the page that detailed Reginald’s experiments with how long Deigo could hold his breath in clinical unfeeling words and has to put it away while he breathed - not too deeply though, he didn’t want to breathe in more ash than necessary)

But he eventually does. He sits Dolores up and rages and vents to her, cursing Reginald’s name with every new sordid detail, every new terrible sin he now knows to hurl at Reginald’s feet. He reads no great loss under his section and he’s too dehydrated to weep but something breaks inside his chest nevertheless

(He’d never thought that dad loved them, not really. He might have hoped, back when he was little but he knew better now. He was thirteen, old enough to know better. But he’d at least thought that dad found them useful. 

Five had tried to hard, trained so much, been so adaptable. Even then he was no great loss.)

Five finds out from Reginald’s book about Ben’s death. Cold words that describe the way his brother died. Reginald seemed to care more about Ben’s death than Five’s presumed death, but that could be becuase Ben’s power was always bigger than Five’s. More violent. More efficient. Of course Ben was a greater loss, Five’s power wasn’t even inherently useful for fighting.

(Klaus’s power wasn’t useful for fighting either. Reading Dad’s dismissive words calling Klaus a failure makes him bristle. Reading about Reginald locking Klaus away in the mausoleum for days make Five want to hurl the book against the wall.)

Finding out about Vanya is - it’s weird. Vanya was always so ordinary. He loved her of course, for fucks sake he was the only one who cared to interact with her half the time. He loves all of his siblings but he has no illusions about how casually cruel they could be to one another.

But he reads about her powers and clenches his fists and wonders what Reginald would have done if Five had stayed, if Five had kept on his path of rebellion. Would Reginald have drugged him, too?

(Reginald had the power to take their powers away. Five wonders what Klaus thought when he found out, if he had cursed and sworn and raged at the man who watched his son suffer and turn to drugs to deal with seeing things no child should ever see. Reginald had the power to help, and he tortured Klaus instead.)

Because - of course Five assumes that they know. He reads Vanya’s books as well when he comes across it, tucking it into his wagon. He wonders when the truth came out, because the rage that drips from those pages is very real. Vanya doesn’t mention her powers in the book of course, but she would have been what, in her 20s when she wrote it? 

Vanya said in her book that she left home at 18, which means she’s had years to get the drugs out of her system and discover what their father had taken from her. Did she think that they knew? That they had kept it from her? Is that why the pages of her book drip with bone deep hurt, making Five’s fingers shake with the ache of them

(Or it could be the hunger, a now constant companion)

Five keeps both books close, even though he wants to vandilize Reginald’s book half the time. It’s strange to see the insight on them and their powers from the perspective of a scientist, odd to see the written results of the torture they went though

(He almost rips the page on the effects of electricity on his warping powers out on principle, but he just ends up curled around Dolores as he trembles involuntarily at the memories)

Five has so few belongings when he is recruited to the Commission, or at least has very few personal ones. He leaves Dolores behind in the apocalypse with a heavy heart but she’s too big to take with him. Too big to hide.

(Five always learned to only take what you can hide, because what you can’t hide will always be used against you.)

He tucks Reginald’s notebook in the waistband on his pants, the hard edges against his back a constant almost reassuring pressure. Vanya’s book gets pushed into one of his deep pockets. The glass eye gets shoved into his sock the same way he used to hide scavenged bills and quarters he would then place beneath the floorboards of his room

(He wonders absently if his money stash was ever found, but it doesn’t really matter now does it?)

He goes through the Commission with the knowledge that he has a bomb hidden away. As much as he keeps the notebook around out of a sense of sentiment he knows he doesn’t want it to fall into the hands of the commission, doesn’t want them to have this dissection of his powers on hand

(he has so little of his siblings left, just the bitter words of Reginald and Vanya both - the irony is that no matter how much Vanya extolled being excluded she had constantly been by Reginald’s side to write down observations, listening to his words, by his side more than any of them. sometimes he reads Vanya’s vicious words and hears the echo of their father in them. It makes sense. He still hates it, just a little bit)

He writes his equations into Vanya’s book instead of Reginald’s. He doesn’t like to read the red book, only opens it to look at the photos included so that he won’t forget what his siblings look like, tries to ignore the words that detail exactly how much force it takes to pop Luther’s bones out of his oh-so-durable joints

He solves them one day, or at least comes close. Closer than he ever had before, and he figures why not? Time for another little experiment. Who knows? Maybe he’ll add this one to dad’s book.

He pushes, and pushes, and then he falls and he’s in a courtyard he hasn’t seen in decades staring at people he hasn’t spoken to in just as long. He looks at them all with wide eyes

(He looks at Allison and hears his father’s clipped tone stating how Allison in improving at overriding survival instincts, he looks at Luther and hears Vanya’s childish voice accusing him of caring more about being a hero than anything else in his life, including his family, he looks at Klaus and sees a face covered in ash and blood with unseeing eyes)

He looks down at himself and sees smaller hands with smoother skin, absent of the burn marks from the variety of fires he’d set in the apocalypse, absent of the crooked knuckles from when he’d crushed two fingers in some rubble trying to get to a can of food, absent of the cracked and brittle nails from malnutrition and food issues

“Shit.” He says, with feeling.

He can feels the press of the glass eye against his leg, the solid weight of Vanya’s book in his pocket, the edges of Reginald’s notebook digging into his skin as he hauls himself off the ground and into a standing position.

They have a family meeting in the kitchen.

Sort of. Five flits about, snagging bread and peanut butter and marshmallow fluff from the cupboard to make himself a sandwich, trying to avoid looking too desperately eager. He hasn’t had his favorite food in so long that the anticipation is actually insane.

“What’s the date?” Five asks, and learns that he doesn’t actually have all that long until the end of the world. But hey, it’s doable. Probably. Unless the reason the world ended was like, political nuclear war or something? But there would probably be survivors of that somewhere, so it was more likely something bigger scale.

(It has to be something he can stop, or this was all for nothing. He refuses to believe he doesn’t have a chance.)

“Cool, so like, the world is ending.” Five says, because why the fuck not? He has all his siblings in one room (except Ben, he has failed Ben, will always have failed Ben because he’s a coward who couldn’t return to a time when Reginald Hargreeves was alive) and he has Reginald and Vanya’s words pressed into his brain, “We have eight-ish days to fix that.”

“Five, what the hell are you talking about?” Luther demands.

Five waves his hand, “Dad sucked, I time-travelled, the end is nigh. I figured even you could grasp that.”

(His eyes ghost over Luther, skittering about the room. He can’t look at Luther’s body without remembering the cruel diagrams pain stakingly inked into the book as Reginald grumbled about failed experiments.)

“You went to the future?” Diego says, voice full of doubt that make his voice harsh. It’s so much deeper than when Five left, no more of the cracks of puberty.

“No shit.” Five says, and he’s so tired. “I was in that hellscape for forty-five years.”

“Forty-five years?” Diego squawks, as though he’s personally offended.

“That would make you... fifty-eight?” Luther’s voice also has doubt in it, and Five can’t really blame him looking at his squishy little barely teenage body.

“Dad was right,” Five manages to get out without gritting his teeth, “Time travel is a crapshoot and sometimes your body does fun and wacky things on you, blah blah blah trees and acorns.”

“Prove you’re from the future!” Klaus demands, eyes bright as he leans across the table, “What’re the lotto numbers, baby brother?”

“I think they’re ‘fuck you the world had already ended by the time I ended up stuck there,’ Klaus.” Five says, mock thoughtfully before tearing off a chunk of his sandwich.

It tastes like ash and peanut butter. Only Five’s genuine trauma regarding food waste and the fact that most things tasted like ash in the apocalypse have him still chewing his food and swallowing.

“Rude.” Klaus says, making a ‘blat’ noise in disappointment.

“Dad’s rich as fuck, wasn’t him kicking the bucket essentially like winning the lottery?” Five points out, and this time it is Luther squawking at him in disapproval.

“Don’t talk about Dad like that!” He demands, and Five has some more uncharitable thoughts about the way Luther’s arms flex just a little unnaturally underneath that big trenchcoat.

“I like this version of Five better.” Klaus declares, looking like Christmas has come early.

“Dad was murdered and you guys don’t even care.” Luther spits out, looking very offended.

“You were murdered and I care very much about that.” Five retaliates, and the entire kitchen goes quiet.

“Can you elaborate a little, Five?” Allison says, ever the diplomat.

(That’s a lie. Allison started more fights than Diego, probably. She just got caught way less often.)

“Well. I mean, I dunno if murdered is the right word considering everyone was dead. You might have just been collateral damage, who knows? Does murder imply intent?”

“Everyone was dead?” Vanya says, voice very quiet.

Five shrugs, then nods, then shrugs again. He doesn’t like thinking about it. “Yeah, but that’s not going to happen this time.”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Luther mutters, and Five valiantly tries to ignore him. 

“Five, are you - are you sure you’re alright?” Vanya’s voice wobbles and she looks like she wants to reach out and hold him or something ridiculous like that. She looks at him with big sad brown eyes, “Dad did say that time travel could... mess with you a little.”

Allison nods and oh, Five does not have time for this bullshit. 

“I have proof.” He says, and he reaches back and pulls out Reginald’s red notebook and slams it onto the table.

“Is that Dad’s - ” Luther cuts himself off, looking at the notebook with wide eyes.

It is very clearly beaten up to hell and back. Ash has stained the edges of the pages grey and there may or may not be a gouge across the front from a near miss with a bullet while working at the commission. It is a book that has clearly been through hell.

Five also dig’s Vanya’s equally beaten up book from his pocket to dump on the table as well, equally stained with ash and barely held together after being read over and over again for decades, including being used as a notebook in the final years.

(Vanya lets out a little gasp, hand flying up to her mouth with the knowledge that at least one of her siblings read her book. Certainly not the one she thought it would be.)

Five reaches into his sock to pull out the glass eye triumphantly, setting it down on his small stack of treasures.

“What the fuck?” Diego is the one to ask.

“If I time travelled from that day in 2002 to right now, how the fuck would I have Vanya’s book?” Five says triumphantly, “It came out in 2015.”

“Why do you have an eye?” Allison sounds slightly horrified.

“It’s the key to figuring out who caused the apocalypse.” Five says, turning it over in his hands, “It’s gotta have something to do with it at least.”

“Why does he have Dad’s notebook?” Luther demands, sounding equally outraged.

“Found it.” Five shrugs, like the little scavenger he is.

(Emphasis on little. His suit still almost fits, and reading the numbers in Reginald’s notebook versus seeing how fucking tall all his siblings got in person is frankly unfair.)

“Oh my god, okay.” Allison says, throwing her hands up in the air like they’re all nuisances. It’s a familiar Allison look, and Five actually feels a little soothed by the memory. “So the world is ending, Five is back from the dead, and our only clue is a goddamn eye?”

“I was never dead.” Five points out, “But basically, yeah.”

“I don’t have time for this, I have to get back to my daughter.” Allison says, shaking her head.

“I mean if you want Claire to live I would think stopping the apocalypse would kind of be a priority.” 

This draw Allison to a halt from where she’d been gathering herself to leave, “You... know her name?”

Five makes the executive decision to not mention the torn out magazine cover featuring his sister and niece that is pressed between some of the pages in Reginald’s journal. “I’d like to meet her one day.”

Just like that, Allison has been won over.

“Do you think it has something to do with whoever murdered Dad?” Luther asks seriously, even if the question makes Diego groan like this is an argument they have had before.

“Who knows?” Five shrugs, “But if we’re splitting into investigation teams, I call Vanya.”

Vanya startles from where she has been sitting quietly, “Me?” She asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Five nods, “I mean, with Ben gone you’re probably the team’s heaviest hitter.”

“What?” Several voices ring out in confusion.

Five blinks, a little confused himself. Unless - “Wait, did you never train your powers?”

“Five,” Vanya says slowly, like she’s explaining a simple concept to a particularly dim child, “I don’t have powers.”

This was - this was unexpected. Why did he not think of this explanation? It’s just - he has now known about Vanya’s powers for like way longer than he hasn’t. It’s almost second nature to think of Vanya as having powers by now. And she doesn’t know.

“Oh boy.” He says, picking up Reginald’s notebook, “This debriefing may take a bit longer than I first thought. Oh, and at some point we should probably cut the tracker out of my arm as well.”

“The what out of your what?”

Yeah the day doesn’t really get much better from there.

[phoenixes-and-wizards]

tua headcanons (vanya + music):

considering how vanya is a violinist + was part of an actual orchestra, i think it’s safe to assume that she went to a conservatory after she left the academy

and since she’s a strings major, there’s a very big chance she would’ve had to take up piano lessons as a minor subject

so think about this

what if after every apocalypse has been dealt with, the siblings move back into the mansion and of course, there’s a grand piano waiting just for her, perfectly tuned even after all this time, thanks to pogo’s constant upkeeping for the last thirty years

she hasn’t played in a while of course, but as soon as her fingers are properly warmed up, muscle memory takes over and she’s on a roll

it becomes a part of her daily routine, along with getting her violin skills back on track. it’s a lot harder than it used to be, considering how she hasn’t held an instrument in more than a year, but hey, they’ve got all the time in the world now

it especially warms her heart whenever her siblings--new ones included--randomly pop into her music room and sit for a while with their books or laptops, extremely willing to listen to her as she slogs away at scales and etudes and tchaikovsky

eventually, it becomes a Thing

most of the time, you’ll find at least three of them at once in the music room with vanya, reading or working or sprawled out on the floor contemplating the meaning of life with vanya’s music curling through the air in the background

sometimes, when vanya goes to get food, she’ll hear the piano playing by itself. just rough strains of a melody that somewhat sounds like whatever she was working on that day, but by the time she returns, whoever it is will be gone

sloane takes to her like a house on fire, and sooner or later, the sparrow girl is asking her for simple piano lessons

jayme and fei are still quite wary of her, but eventually, they start sitting in on sloane’s piano lessons, and sometimes, vanya catches them poking at the keys together under sloane’s careful guidance

christopher takes to hovering nearby whenever she practices. apparently bach relaxes him

even the sparrow academy boys warm up to her eventually, but ben still avoids them like the plague. vanya tries not to let that one sting. she’s already come to accept that he’s not their ben, not the same brother who saved her and held her and told her she was never a monster, but this one wears his face and still has all his mannerisms, and sometimes, when she forgets and he shrugs off her efforts yet again, she'll simply disappear into the music room for hours and practices until her fingers are numb and shaking

luther tries to learn at first, just so they can bond, but after he breaks a piano key one too many times, they finally decide that piano isn’t for him and he simply takes to working out in the next room over while she practices

diego’s hands are perfect for both piano and violin, but after a couple of lessons, she asks him if he’d want to try the cello instead

she sets him up with a cellist friend from her old orchestra, and soon enough, the sounds of yet another instrument fill the house

diego is a natural, his perfect aim meaning he never misses a note, no matter how high up on the fingerboard, and sometimes, vanya catches him blissing out at three in the morning as he practices, and it’s adorable enough that she never tells him, if only to keep seeing him love music almost as much as she does

of course klaus, being the little drama queen that he is, starts complaining that she’s got to teach him as well, which leads to everybody gaining a daily, very unwanted alarm clock in the form of klaus mercilessly butchering clementi

“oh god what have i done,” vanya groans as they all stand in the doorway of the music room, bleary-eyed and half her hair falling out of the ponytail she’d pulled it into before sleeping

marcus, who is annoyingly chipper even at four in the fucking morning, simply pats her on the head. ”there, there, tiny, he’ll probably tire of it in a few days and find something else to bother us with,” he says, and wanders off towards the kitchen with allison in tow to get breakfast started

after a few months, ben starts to hover in her peripheral vision, leaning against the doorframe whenever she works on her violin concertos, but when she turns to greet him, he’s already gone, leaving no trace whatsoever like the ghost he once was

so she lets the matter be, never mentioning it at dinner when the others ask her how practice went for the day, simply tuning louder when she’s about to start practicing the tchaikovsky as a signal for ben to come listen if he wants

one summer day, she goes to the music room, only to find ben already sitting there. there’s a second violin case by his side, already open, and when vanya starts to ask, he cuts her off by saying “look, that stupid piece you were working on wouldn’t leave my brain, so i figured i’d learn it so it’d go away. tchaikovsky, right?”

vanya nods and shuts the door behind her. “yes, but that’s a concerto, ben. it’ll take years of practice before you even get to that level and--”

“try me,” ben replies, cutting her off, and vanya hides a smile. no wonder this version of ben and five get along so well somehow: they’re both arrogant little shits

they start working together most afternoons, and eventually, ben stops avoiding her and starts seeking her out instead, asking her opinion on his intonation and technique today, asking if she’s already heard this version of a piece they both like, if she’d like to practice with him today, and it isn’t quite like old times, not just yet, but she’ll take what she can get, because her entire family has finally been returned to her, has doubled in size even, and this is the most peace she’s had in what feels like ages

they hold mini-recitals at the end of every month for those who’ve recently taken up instruments, and yes, it is a Mandatory Thing, stop rolling your eyes, five, we know you love it when diego plays

they all groan when klaus gets up to play but to everyone’s surprise, he plays an excellent nocturne instead of the sonatina him and vanya have been preparing, and when alphonso asks him where that came from, klaus finally reveals with an enormous shit-eating grin that he’s actually known how to play piano since childhood

there’s like a beat of silence as everybody processes that nugget of information

calmly, jayme flips the nearest cushion into diego’s waiting hand with one socked foot

fucking whoop his ass, her eyes say, and diego’s mouth curves dangerously

klaus starts backing up in horror but there’s nowhere to go

and thus the Great Pillow War ensues

vanya tries to stop them at first (”hEY MY VIOLIN CASE’S STILL OPEN THAT’S AN AUTHENTIC STRAD, I SWEAR TO GOD--”) and promptly pauses when sloane nails her in the head with one of the many stuffed toys klaus brought to the party

OKAY FUCK THIS NOW ITS ON

its pure pandemonium for the next fifteen minutes, and what’s even better is that it’s a free-for-all, so nobody really stops anybody from hitting klaus over the head with pillows

in fact there’s even a line

vanya takes a break from whacking five in the face and looks around at her tiny family, at its chaos and mess and fei yelling “aL, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T STOP HITTING ME--no, not you, allison, the other al, there’s too many of you--five, i can fucking see you lurking, you cheater, stop it!" and just sinks back into the cushions with a big smile

because this is it; this is exactly what she’s wanted ever since she was a child

vanya hargreeves is home

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xiii

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: swearing 

word count: 1.8k

g/n: decided on a bit of a filler for this one as a sort of prelude to future scenes 👀👀 ((likewise manifesting my plan to post another chapter this week))

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie @moonchild1​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Jungkook locks his apartment door behind him, jiggling the doorknob afterwards for ‘double security’ as one would usually call it. He grabs his backpack from the floor and places one of the straps on his shoulders and heads on his way. As he passes by two of his neighbors who live in the same floor, he nods at them, adding a brief hum in greeting. 

“Hey man!” One of the men, Jikwang (as what Jungkook believes this man’s name was), calls out just before Jungkook reaches the elevator. “There was this hot girl asking about you last night.” 

Jungkook raises a brow. He hadn’t really met anyone recently, besides that one cute law student who was looking for a new tenant - and eventually turned out to be your neighbor this whole time. She was cute and all, but she didn’t seem like the type that was ‘hot’ to these types of people. 

Jungkook racks his brain for anything, trying to remember the very few number of his one night stands.Surely,none of them would have gotten pregnant with protection on….surely? On top of that, he hadn’t really disclosed his address to a lot of people too, so there was no way someone would be looking for him, all the more a “hot” woman,as these two would claim. 

“Did she say what her name was?” 

The one beside Jikwang shakes his head, adjusting his beanie. He’d seen this dude a couple of times hanging around, but he never actually got his name.  “Nah bro, I don’t think you’re the commitment type of dude…” he comments, dark eyes looking at Jungkook from his head down to his toe. Who was this guy anyways and who was he to judge whether Jungkook was the type to enter a committed relationship or not? 

“She just...looked rich, rich. She had a driver... who helped her come down from a nice Benz.” 

Jungkook feels his heart drop to the ground. No way in hell. 

“I think her name was Hee something...Junghwa? I dunno man, I’m not good with names. But it sounds similar to that…” 

“Was it Junghee?” 

“Yeah I think that’s it…” bonnet-dude replies, tapping a finger against his chin as he approaches Jungkook. “You think maybe you can set me up? With you know…” 

Jikwang knocks the back of bonnet-man’s head. “I got dibs first, shithead. “If she’s not already yours though,” he adds, delivering a wink aimed at Jungkook. “Her friends will do.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at the duo. “No. She’s my sister. And she doesn’t have any friends.” A chill courses through his spine as he replies, wondering how she managed to find out where he lived, and why would she even reach out? Why now, when she had so many years to do so? 

Beanie guy simply laughs at him - if it was even considered laughing, when he was practically splitting his sides with laughter - like the thought of having a sister was hilarious to him. “You’re real funny, man. There is no...way...in hell… that that lady was your sister.” 

Ah yes, this man is a health vice personified. Jungkook notes the discoloration of his teeth, the god-awful odor coming from his mouth, and they both reek of alcohol and drugs combined. From a safe distance, Jungkook watches their amusement over the subject that is his sister, thinking about why he even indulged these two in the first place. For all he knows, they might have been shitting on him the whole time. 

“Sorry man. I mean...she’s rich and hot… and you?” Jikwang shrugs his shoulders. 

‘And he?’ What about him? 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

Jungkook clicks his tongue silently, clearly taking full offense with Jikwang’s statement. Did they just imply he didn’t look rich and hot too? Well, compared to them though, they’ll obviously have way longer to go. 

Jungkook blinks before equally returning their level of disbelief. “For real, bro?” These men diss him, won’t believe he has a sister whose aura dwarfs his by a million percent, and now they want him to set up a date with her? He shakes his head. Only crooks like these would say insane shit like this. 

If only this wasn’t the cheapest and most convenient apartment he could find to accommodate his daily hustle, Jungkook would have moved out of this crap excuse of an apartment building a long time ago. 

“Keep dreaming man.” 

“Hey, this is what I get for selling you my bike for a good price?” Jikwang eyes Jungkook, taunting him. 

“I owe you nothing. I paid for it ages ago.” Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the two in the crusty ass corridor of their apartment building. He needs to get a new place. Quickly. 

With a sigh, he pulls on his down jacket, keeping himself warm as he walks to the garage. 

‘King Auto’ 

There’s a certain warmth that envelops Jungkook whenever he sees the garage, a place he’d rather call home than his terrible apartment building. It sits right at the corner of two busy streets, just six blocks away from his apartment. 

Funnily enough, it wasn’t him who first found out about the garage but the other way around. Well, technically, the owner did. Lee Dongmin, owner and manager of ‘King Auto’ repairs and restores almost all types of cars and bikes alike, occasionally servicing high-end cars on lucky days. 

Dongmin would usually see Jungkook pass by the garage in the morning on his way to the university or his part-time job.Well, being located at a busy street in the city of Seoul, there would normally be a lot of passersby but Dongmin knew these people either worked or lived around the area; Jungkook, however, always lingered when he walks past the garage. 

It had come to Dongmin’s knowledge a few months later that Jungkook purposefully used a longer route on his way, walking two extra blocks just so that he could pass by the garage. Dongmin hadn’t initially done anything about it, as he thought Jungkook simply took interest in cars - especially when the shop had its fair share of servicing cars from the western market. 

There was this particular day though one summer, that their paths would finally cross. Jungkook’s bike, the same bike he bought from sketchy Jikwang, broke down. Coincidentally just in front of King Auto too. Funnily enough, no one in the garage was familiar with fixing up bikes, but Jungkook simply asked if he could borrow a few tools and he’d fix his bike himself. 

Ultimately, Jungkook became part of the King Auto family. He’d spend his spare time in the garage when he’s not busy with his part-time jobs and on occasion, Jungkook gets to keep a tiny commission whenever he helps out with the repairs. 

Jungkook goes through the front door greeting the new receptionist, Clark, a good morning before heading straight to the garage. Jungkook spots a familiar shade of blue peeking through the scissor lifts, just by the end row. He practically dashes to the car in excitement, too thrilled to greet his favorite car he had worked on previously. 

“My baby!” The boy exclaims as he rests his chin on the Porsche Panamera’s roof. “Kook! Get your hands off that! I just had it cleaned!” gruffs Mansik from the other side of the car, flinging his towel at Jungkook who mumbles a sorry but continues to cradle the car, a little more gently this time. 

“If you continue doing that, you know a towel isn’t the only thing Mansik is going to throw at you.” Lee Dongmin’s voice is low, careful that the man he’s referring to won’t hear his words. “I’m glad he hasn’t resorted to tools yet...just a couple of smelly socks and a t-shirt that smells like it hasn’t been washed for months... “ 

“Fuckers.” True to Jungkook’s foreboding, Mansik does throw a sock ball from out of nowhere, one which barely misses Jungkook’s face. Dongmin simply shakes his head at his workers, who he has considered family at this point, Jungkook included. “I’m just glad none of that fell into my first coffee of the day.” Dongmin observes, drawing himself father from the Porsche and any flying objects later on. 

“By the way, the owner is actually here to pick up the car. I may or may not have mentioned your infatuation with it.” 

Jungkook almost instantly jumps to his feet, searching for the owner inside the garage, but disappointingly ending up with all the familiar faces at the garage. “Chill, kid. He just grabbed some coffee down the street,” Dongmin mentions as he takes a sip of his own. “Ah, speaking of the devil,” the latter states, nodding his head towards someone behind Jungkook. 

“Seokjin-sunbaenim?” 

“Oh hey! Wasn’t expecting to see you here...Jungkook, right?” 

“Yes sir!” Jungkook’s pupils shake, animatedly looking back and forth between the garage owner and his upper-level resident. “So...you’re the one who owns this Porsche?” Seokjin raises his cup, adding a small nod in Jungkook’s direction. He internalizes his excitement, before confessing his love for Seokjin’s Panamera. 

“And so, Dongmin here mentioned. Also said you were the one who fixed her up. Thanks man!” 

Dongmin looks at the two of them, eyebrows creased in the middle. “You two know each other?” 

“Seokjin-sunbaenim is a senior of mine at Woocheon.” Seemingly shellshocked at the new piece of information, Dongmin turns to Seokjin, “You’re a doctor?” The owner of the Porsche rolls his eyes fondly, “Yes, Dongmin. We can have lives outside the hospital too, you know.” 

“Anyways, ‘Mera’s ready to go yeah?” 

“Of course. Kook fixed it up just fine.” 

“Alright. Got a shift today man? Need a ride to the hospital?” 

Jungkook is tempted to give in, but merely fixing Seokjin’s car is enough honor for him and he can’t take advantage of his generosity. “No thank you, sunbae. I’ve already got a ride to work today.” Jungkook points to his bike on the other side of the garage. 

Seokjin tuts his disbelief. “You’re kidding me right? In this weather?” The older doctor points outside, then rubs his palm against his down coat. “No way in hell, kid. Get in the car.” 

“Really?” Jungkook mumbles, dimple on display as his lips form a thin line. Seokjin makes a hum of approval as he takes off his jacket while Jungkook dashes back to where he’d left his backpack. “He’s a good kid, Jungkook. Can be a bit of a delinquent sometimes, but he’s good. Take care of him, yeah?” 

“Huh,” Seokjin smirks, “this handsome face got nothing he can’t handle.” Dongmin rolls his eyes this time, “Seriously doubt we’re the same age honestly.” 

Jungkook returns to where the Porsche is parked, and Seokjin gets a spur-of-the-moment idea. The surgical resident throws his keys to Jungkook before settling inside the passenger seat. Jungkook, surprised as ever, simply stands there in surprise. “Well?” Seokjin asks, ducking towards the dashboard so he could take a look at Jungkook, “We’re gonna be late!” 

© joontier 2021

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VI. (Harry Styles)

part 6 omg!!! ahh, these christmas chapters are my favs, i hope yall will like them asmuch as i do! as always, feedback is much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

“So how did you two exactly meet?” your dad asks over the dinner table. You are all sitting around the long pine table, the tremendous amount of food lining in the middle as the plates are going around, getting filled.

“Oh, um, we were set up, actually. It was all Rosa,” you admit with a soft chuckle, sharing a look with Marcus beside you. 

“I just thought they would be a good match, guess I was right,” Rosa grins, clearly satisfied with the work she’s done.

“What do you do for a living, Marcus?” Jeremy chimes in while helping Margaret cut her meat beside him. She is the youngest of the cousins, only five, but she can boss around anyone as if she was Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. 

“Oh, I work in sales. We had a project with Steven’s company, that’s where we met.”

“That sounds interesting,” Joe nods, but at the same time you hear Harry huff on the other end of the table. Looking in his way you see him with his eyes fixed on the plate. He hasn’t said a word since Marcus arrived and his silence is quite worrying if you’re being honest. You haven’t seen him be silent for this long ever, you’re afraid he might be plotting something. 

“It’s so weird that all four of us are here with a significant other this year. I remember when we were all just kids, running around in our backyard,” Etta sighs with a nostalgic smile.

Your eyes wander over to Harry, who is still relentlessly staring down at his plate, as if he wasn’t even there. 

“Yeah, now there are just two single people sitting at the table. Aunt Monica and Harry,” you say and his head finally snaps up, eyes meeting yours, but you can’t read them. 

“You’re single?” Lily asks Harry, leaning forward a little so she can see him since they are sitting on the same side of the table. 

“I, uhh--I am, yeah,” he nods, clearly uncomfortable he is being discussed all of a sudden.

“Would have sworn you have someone waiting for you at home.”

“No, it’s just me,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I could pair up with Aunt Monica so there wouldn’t be any single people,” he jokes, making everyone laugh at the table. Aunt Monica looks up from her plate and winks at Harry.

“I’ll leave my door open for the night,” she cheekily comments and Harry almost chokes on his wine as another round of laugh runs over the table.

“Monica, he is not a lonely soldier,” your mom tells her, but she just shrugs her shoulders grabbing her glass and downing the rest of her wine. Joe is quick to refill it for her, knowing well she was about to ask someone to do that for her. 

“Thanks for the offer though,” Harry nods shyly and you think it’s hilarious how his cheeks have turned red from a nasty comment your aunt made. 

His eyes find you again right when Marcus reaches over and squeezes your thigh gently under the table and you catch Harry’s grimace before you turn to your boyfriend and share a short peck on the lips. 

For your biggest surprise Harry doesn’t try to drop any nasty comments about you during dinner, not even after, when all adults gather in the living room while the kids leave to play video games in their room. Rosa is sitting on Harry’s thigh as he is supporting her back, letting her curiously look around in the room. You’re sitting on a loveseat with Marcus, curled up to his side and he has an arm around your shoulders. Occasionally you catch Harry’s eyes on the two of you, but you try to pay little attention to him and just enjoy the evening.

“I should get going soon,” Marcus tells you, checking the time. It’s past ten and he has to leave early in the morning.

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Teresa asks when she sees the two of you getting up from the sofa.

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother too long, it’s my first time meeting you all, thought a dinner would be just enough,” Marcus chuckles and you bite into your bottom lip. Does he believe this or did he want to stay, but only tells this everyone because you didn’t invite him to stay the night? You’re not sure if you want to know the real answer...

“Silly, you don’t bother,” you mom huffs. “Isn’t it too late to drive home?”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I didn’t bring my stuff so I would have to leave extra early in the morning to make it in time. But thank you for having me, it was wonderful meeting you all.”

Marcus goes around and says his goodbye to everyone before the two of you head to the front door. 

“Drive safe, text me when you get home, alright?” you tell him as he throws his coat to the passenger seat before turning to face you. 

“Yeah. Have fun with your family and I’ll see you in a few days.” A genuine smile stretches across his face and it immediately triggers your guilt. He could have stayed the night avoiding to drive back to the city so late, but even now, standing out on the driveway you don’t feel like you want him to stay for longer. 

What you keep telling yourself is that it’s all because you haven’t been together that long and it would have been a too big of a step just yet. Seemingly Marcus is fine with your choice, but something is telling you that it bugs him deep inside. 

Leaning down he kisses you softly, a hand sliding to your waist and pulling you closer before you part your ways. Standing on the side you wave at him as he backs out of the driveway and disappears in the darkness of the woods. 

You stay out there for a little longer, the spicy coldness of the night feels numbing in a soothing way. Chewing on your bottom lip you contemplate if you’ve made the right choice by not inviting him to stay. You don’t find an answer for that before you head back inside.

Not much has changed since you left, but you notice that Valerie is back in Rosa’s hands and Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask sitting on the ground next to your sister, eyes on Valerie as she is adorably babbling at you.

“He said he’s tired, went to bed.”

You look in his room’s way. That sounded like absolute bullshit, but you don’t have a right to question it. Maybe he truly was tired, he probably had to wake up quite early to pick you up and be here in time.

Nodding you reach for Valerie and take the little girl into your arms, making yourself busy with her.

***

Tossing once again in the bed you growl in annoyance. You haven’t gotten an ounce of sleep since you’ve come to bed hours ago. Turning to your side you tap on the screen of your phone and it shows you that it’s already past two in the morning. No position feels comfortable anymore and you’ve flipped your pillow way too many times, there are no cold side anymore. 

On cue, your stomach growls and you let out a sigh staring up at the ceiling. Maybe if you had a late night snack your body would finally relax and let you rest. Kicking the covers off you put on a pair of fuzzy socks and throw a hoodie on before heading out to the kitchen to find something you could feast on. 

You stop in your way surprised when you see that the lights are on in the kitchen and someone is clearly out there, probably with the same intention as you. Walking down the hallway you hear a plate getting placed on the kitchen island and soon enough the person starts eating, the fork meeting the plate.

Harry is sitting at the kitchen island in a plain white t-shirt and checkered pajama pants, a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf sitting in front of him. His head snaps up immediately when he hears that someone has joined him and you stop at the door.

“Hey,” you smile softly. “I see I’m not the only one having trouble with sleeping,” you chuckle shuffling your way to the fridge. 

“I don’t sleep too well at new places,” he admits, eyes following your frame as you pass by him before he turns his attention back to his plate. 

Grabbing the milk you are about to close the fridge when your eyes lay on the absurd amount of eggnog. Hesitantly you grab a bottle and take it out as well, thinking that a few sips might help you fall asleep easier. Then you grab the cookies the kids decorated this afternoon and sit on a stool next to Harry.

“Woah, in need of having some fun?” he chuckles seeing the eggnog and you just shrug your shoulders, pouring milk into a regular glass, then some eggnog into a smaller one in hopes you won’t go overboard with it. 

“I’m just… having a hard time falling asleep.”

“Empty bed?”

“What?” you ask taking a bite from a cookie.

“I mean, Marcus left. You must be used to sleeping next to him,” Harry explains and you look back at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, I do sleep better with someone next to me, but it’s not like I’ve done that a lot with Marcus,” you admit, turning your attention back to the cookies.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, not really in the mood to get into it, because it’s a whole spiral that would bring you down into depths you definitely don’t want to talk about right now. 

“You haven’t slept with Marcus?” he asks, and you notice how it could mean two versions. Either he is only talking about just sleeping or he is nosily trying to find out if you’ve had sex with him.

“That is… none of your business,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. Harry holds his hands up innocently before returning to his plate. 

A few minutes pass by in silence, just your munching and Harry’s chewing breaking it. As you pour a little more eggnog to yourself Harry stands up from the stool upon finishing his food, and after putting his plate to the sink he gets a glass for himself and sits back, holding the glass in your way.

“Want to have some fun too?” you ask, but pour him some eggnog anyway.

“Might help me fall asleep too.”

“Sometimes I feel like mom is right saying that I have a drinking problem,” you snort finishing up your cookie.

“Don’t think that’s true,” Harry tells you with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, you have seen me drunk quite a few times, but it’s nice that you think it’s alright.”

“What’s wrong with having a few drinks occasionally? It’s not like you blackout every other day.”

“My mom would want me to never blackout in general, but I don’t seem to know my boundaries with alcohol,” you tell him with a sigh.

“Happens to everyone, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, but I’m sitting here at two in the morning, drinking eggnog for no specific reason, because it surely won’t help me sleep, so... Maybe there is some truth to it.”

Harry thinks to himself a little before pouring some more to himself and some into your glass as well.

“I literally just said that I should stop,” you say, giving him a puzzled look.

“It’s fine if you have a reason,” he answers with a cheeky smile. “We’re gonna play never have I ever.”

“Oh hell no!” you chuckle looking at him with wide eyes.

“What? Are you afraid I might find out something nasty about you?” he challenges you, clearly trying to push you to play. “I don’t think you can surprise me with anything.”

“Excuse me? That’s pretty hurtful you think I don’t have surprising secrets,” you say putting a hand to your chest. “I think I’m the one who can’t find out anything surprising about you.”

“Hah, we’ll see, Y/N. All you gotta do is play,” he smirks and you already know you’re fucked. Sighing you take your glass and look at him with a murderous look, but the corners of your mouth are curling up. “You can start, just so you see how generous I am.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you mock him. “Okay. Never have I ever… gotten into a physical fight,” you say and watch Harry raise his glass to his mouth, but at the same time you do the same, already sure he is gonna be shocked.

Just as you expected, he freezes seeing you take a sip from your eggnog.

“Alright, rule is that we gotta explain them, because there’s no way you’re leaving without telling me about who you got into a fight with,” he tells you pointing a finger at you, but then adds: “Fighting with your sister does not count, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t Rosa,” you chuckle. “I had a huge fight with my best friend in third grade and we somehow ended up kicking and punching each other in the middle of the gym in class. We were both sent to the principal’s office.”

“Who would have thought you were a feisty little kid!” Harry chuckles and you just shrug with a proud smile.

“See? I told you I can surprise you. Your turn.”

“Okay. Never have I ever had a threesome,” he easily says and brings his glass up to his mouth as you stay put this time.

“If you think I’m surprised, I’m not. It’s literally written on your forehead that you’re the kind who enjoys that kind of stuff,” you scoff.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you haven’t even thought about having one.”

“I’m not admitting anything outside the game. You have to ask that next if you are that interested,” you smirk, but you’re certain your eyes give you away, because Harry is chuckling and shaking his head. “Never have I ever cheated on someone,” you say and watch Harry’s glass stay on the counter.

“I’m not that bad of a person.”

“Never said you are, I was just curious,” you shrug and nod at him letting him know it’s his turn again.

“Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher of mine.”

You both drink.

“My finance professor, junior year in college,” you inform him.

“English teacher, senior year in high school,” Harry replies and you are already picturing him sitting in the first row just to be close to her during class.

“Did you write poems to her too?”

“You said no questions outside the game!” he retorts laughing and you roll your eyes at him.

“Alright, I have thought about having a threesome before, now your turn, spill the tea!”

“I wrote a song about her,” he admits and you raise your eyebrows at him. “Even planned on showing it to her, but my friends talked me down, luckily.”

“It’s kinda sweet and romantic.”

“Yeah, and very inappropriate,” he adds chuckling. “Alright, enough of Miss Hastings, your turn.”

“Never have I ever stolen something.” You both raise your glass and you smile at him swallowing the alcohol. “Virginities do not count,” you tease him, earning a laugh.

“Still would have drank. I was a little kleptomaniac when I was a kid. Liked to steal small things in the store just to see if I would get caught.”

“And were you ever?”

“One time, yeah. My mom was so mad at me, I got grounded for a week, never stole anything again,” he admits chuckling. “What about you?”

“It wasn’t regular, but I definitely have stolen candies when I didn’t have enough money to pay.”

“What a rebel,” he teases you and you just smack his upper arm jokingly. “Never have I ever snuck out.” Only Harry drinks and you roll your eyes at him.

“Again, not surprising.”

“I just wanted to know if you have ever snuck out, chill,” he smirks. “Guess you were a saint.”

“Never have I ever said the wrong person’s name while having sex.” A devilish smile sits on your lips as you watch him drink while you do the same. You see his eyebrows rise over the glass.

“Nasty,” he huffs. “When did that happen?”

“First year of college. I was casually seeing a guy, but I wasn’t really over my last ex from high school and accidentally called him Ethan.”

“And what was his real name?”

“I don’t even remember,” you admit with a laugh, clearly feeling the alcohol slowly kicking in. Harry’s mouth hangs open before his expressions turn into that iconic ‘not bad’ face.

“Never have I ever had a wet dream about a friend of mine,” Harry asks and you feel your cheeks heating up right away, eyes snapping down at your glass. Unwillingly, but you drink as Harry does the same. “Who was it?”

“I’m not answering this one,” you shake your head. 

“Come on! I promise it’ll stay between us. Was it Steven?” he grins at you, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “I bet it was Steven.”

“Shut up, it wasn’t!” you snap at him rolling your eyes.

“Okay, then who? I won’t sleep tonight if you don’t tell me!” he begs, but you shake your head stubbornly. “Do I know him?” Oh, all too well, you think to yourself. “Is it someone who was there at the bar last time?”

“Can we move past it?” you sigh painfully.

“No, no way. I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me!”

“It was you.”

The words slip out fast and a little quiet, but he hears them clear. His lips part, a truly stunned look pulls on his face and you just wish you didn’t say a word.

“Happy? Now you know,” you snap running a hand through your hair.

“Was I any good in your dream?” he then cheekily asks and you gasp at the nosy, nasty question.

“Now that I won’t answer.”

“I have to know if I did good!” he protests and you laugh.

“It wasn’t even you, well, not your real version, why does it matter?”

“I’m a maximalist, I have to know if my dream self did good,” he pushes further and you can’t believe this is really what you’re talking about.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it was good!” you admit throwing your hands into the air, giving up to keep anything to yourself. He is just too damn annoying and stubborn to ever have anything other than his way.

“If that makes you feel better, I’ve had a few about you as well,” he admits with a straight face and the heat is back in your cheeks immediately.

“A few?”

“I didn’t count, but yeah. And you were awesome, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I was not,” you say with a meaningful look, but he just smirks at you. “You’re such a pig, Styles.”

“Says the girl who was probably moaning my name in her dreams.”

“If you keep talking about this, you’ll be the second person I get into a physical fight with,” you warn him and he chuckles, but takes the hint and finally moves on. 

You easily forget about time as you keep playing for quite long. Question after question, some shocking and surprising things come up, but there are some absolutely ridiculous facts too. You’re definitely over the line of being tipsy, but you’re not at the drunk state yet. 

Harry clearly enjoys asking questions that make you nervous, but you don’t shy away from risky questions either. By the time the bottle empties out you are both laughing on something he said, your eyes are teary and you gasp for air, holding onto the edge of the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck!” you breathe out when your gaze wanders over to the windows and you see that it’s starting to brighten out there. “The Sun is coming up, what time is it?” you slur, having a hard time to get off the stool and keep your balance at the same time. Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and his eyes widen.

“It’s six in the morning!” he whisper-yells and you almost faint.

“Shit, mom is usually up around six thirty, she can’t find us here like this! Quickly, we have to clean up!”

Harry takes care of the empty eggnog bottle while you wash the dishes and then the two of you head back to your rooms, but you just really don’t want to go to bed alone. Alcohol tends to make you clingy and you need the presence of someone next to you.

“Harry,” you whisper as the two of you stop in the hallway.

“Hm?” he hums, looking back at you with glassy eyes.

“Can I… sleep at yours?” you shyly ask.

Part of you expects a smart comeback, something dirty, but he looks down at you for a long moment as if he is debating what he should say and you start to think he is about to reject you, but then he takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of his room.

“It’s strictly friendly, okay?” you tell him once the two of you are in his room and the door is closed behind you.

“Like the dream you had about me?” he cockily asks grinning at you and you’re quick to smack his hard chest, making him chuckle.

“Shut up! I just really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Chill, it’s all good,” he chuckles and stepping to the nightstand he plugs his phone in to charge as you crawl up to the huge, comfortable bed.

Tugging a pillow under your head you turn your back against him, only hearing as he lies down next to you, tugging some of the cover off you since there’s only a big one. He shuffles a bit more until you both stop moving, but you still have your eyes open. 

Knowing that he is right there behind you irks your mind and the urge to cuddle to his side is stronger than you will to stay still. You want to feel his body heat, his touch, hear his heartbeat under your face as you curl up to his side. You are dying to listen to his steady breathing from up close and your self-control is slowly but surely dissolves. 

Before your rational side could talk you down, you find yourself turning around and snuggling to his side, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“It’s totally friendly, wipe the satisfied grin off your stupid face,” you mumble as you lay your head to his shoulder, bringing a hand up to his chest. One of his arms curl around your shoulders as he stays silent, letting you snuggle up to him all you want. 

It’s even better than you remembered. Last time the two of you were like this, the morning ruined everything and it had a whole different antecedent than now. You can only hope history doesn’t repeat itself and you don’t have to go through the same embarrassment like last time.

“Y/N?” he whispers and your eyes open at his voice.

“Yeah?” There’s a short pause before he speaks up again.

“Do you really… think that… there was not much Etta was missing?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at how self-conscious he just sounded, still thinking about the joke you made in the car on your way here. For a split second you think about lying again, but it’s clearly been bothering him, so much he felt the need to ask after several rounds of eggnog.

“No. I was just joking,” you admit and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think I have a fat ass?” you ask referring back to the time the two of you encountered at the hospital when Valerie was born. You feel him huff as his hand on your shoulder squeezes you gently.

“You have a great ass, Y/N. The best I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you just exaggerating?” you ask, lifting your head up and narrowing your eyes at him in the dark.

“No,” he smiles. “Swear to my sister’s life it’s the truth.”

Knowing well he wouldn’t bring his sister into it if he wasn’t telling the truth, you put back down your head, finally closing your eyes.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling yourself drifting to sleep.

“Good night, Pretty Eyes.”

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[blush-and-books]

i’m sorry, but i fell in love tonight

short fic based off of this gifset by @juliesmolinas and the song is there somewhere by halsey. in fact it is mandatory that you listen to the song/read the lyrics/both before/during reading this. yes i said mandatory.

angst with a sappy ending, julie goes through a lifetime of emotions in less than 3k, was originally gonna write when i was in a more emotionally raw state but writing this made me emotionally raw so... enjoy <3

warnings: swearing

Julie made the promise at some point -- she just doesn’t know exactly when.

It may have been when he appeared at her school, all shy smiles and soft glances, professing that she made him a better writer. Or, more definitively, it could have been when she forlornly pulled him into her arms a moment before she was positive that she was to lose him forever. 

All that she knew was her time with Luke was fleeting. So she swore that her butterfly-wing crush was not allowed to fill her chest or dizzy her thoughts; that his lyrics would mean nothing more next to hers than words on a page and his touches would bring her little to no comfort.

Luke Patterson could not complete her. 

The universe wouldn’t allow it -- and neither would Julie Molina. 

But -- either Luke was blissfully unaware of their impending doom or he genuinely didn’t care -- he forced himself through every barrier she attempted to erect. And it was driving her nearly insane, because she made a promise to protect herself. 

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Or maybe the universe, despite refusing to give Julie Luke in his entirety, did not want her to be protected. 

It was all in the little things-

When she stayed up with him in the garage, playing him all of the songs he’s missed in 25 years, and he danced around on the slippery floor in his socks and grinned at her with wide green eyes. The neon emerald in the dim light was reminiscent of driving on the highway and passing sign after sign leading to the exits she could have taken, but couldn’t bring herself to.

How New Years Eve arrived and the Molina family gathered in the driveway to light sparklers; Luke’s hand brushing hers as he passed off one of the two in his hands. 

In his head lulling onto her shoulder while she was trying to finish some homework with his help on the torn couch and his lips moving against her bare skin  as he mumbled that she needed to take a break before driving herself insane; followed by her braiding her hair to get it out of her face.

She already had driven herself insane -- but not over her homework. 

(His mouth on her shoulder was the answer to a prayer she never dared to murmur aloud.)

Luke never failed to be present when he was needed. If she was sick or stressed or depressed, he knew when to fuse to her side and when to offer some space. Through careful observation rather than conversation, he knew which of her many sweatshirts were reserved for illness or emotional support. 

In most of those situations, she needed him, too. Her fingernails would curl into his biceps through a cramp or wave of tears and he would wrap her in his embrace and swarm her with warm words that dried her eyes.

She hated it.

When they wrote music, it felt as though they were already reading each other's minds before either of them had spoken a word about their plans. Their journals contained inky black waterfalls spilled from an intimacy that Julie did not want to dissect. 

Again, she hated it. She loved it more than anything and hated that she loved it all -- because it could never be real. 

She would always play second fiddle to death. 

Julie made the promise to herself to not let Luke complete her because, while she had him for now, the night of the Orpheum was a reminder that the universe would not hesitate to snap it’s fingers and eliminate him from existence. 

The universe, being the confusing, stubborn bitch it is, just didn’t get the memo on that promise. 

Because Luke filled every crack and restored every gap in her being, and he shouldn’t.

The hopeless, pining romantic in her that constantly argued with her realist side said they were meant to meet. Even if it was brief and heartbreaking and had the power to hurt her in a way she didn’t understand, it had to happen. If it wasn’t supposed to happen, then how and why did he cross space and time only to fall at her feet?

(Soulmates, a taunting voice whispered. Soulmates.)

((The voice was locked in a closet as punishment.))

She didn’t want to entertain the word. It had too much of a forlorn, wistfully romantic sound to it that Julie didn’t need to associate with Luke when she spent most moments with him at this point convincing herself that she wasn’t in love.

Until tonight.

It is past midnight, which is when anyone’s mental state starts to alter. Things that would be labelled as bad ideas in the daylight could very possibly become fair game when shrouded in a darkness that made everything private. The two of them, Luke and Julie, Julie and Luke, are nestled together on the piano bench as her fingers tiredly press each cut of ivory in a working melody.

“I have an idea,” Luke says, gently shifting his left hand to cover hers on the keys. “Why don’t we press pause on this song for a minute?”

Then, she finally looks up at him. Her eyes probably have crescents like the dark side of the moon crossing her skin, and her hair is all over the place, but he’s staring at her in one of the rare ways that she hates.

She hates it because the look convinces her that she completes him.

This time, however, there’s a hope. A hope, and a hesitance, and she’s simultaneously extremely nervous and beyond curious as to what his plans are. 

“Did- Didn’t you want to finish this tonight?” 

Regret strikes across his face, but he recovers. The softness is back. “Yeah, I just think we need a change of pace.” Right hand on the back of his neck: A telltale sign of a confession of some kind. She’s seen it more times than is healthy. “There was another song I wanted to show you, actually.”

“Oh.” She blinks, he waits. “Yeah, uh, I mean, yeah. Show me. What do you have so far?” He clears his throat as he thrums through the pages to find his target. “The whole thing.”

Julie doesn’t have time to react -- although she’s already in a panic -- before the leather-bound book is being awkwardly shoved into her hands, and the first thing she sees at the top is Luke’s nearly illegible scribble of Dark Room (song for Julie).

“Luke-”

“Just read it.” His voice is significantly raspier than it was a minute ago. “Please.”

She can’t. If he feels the same way and the confession is undeniably in front of her, then what is she supposed to do? Would she rather break Luke’s heart now to save them both down the line, or delay the misery a little longer?

It’s not that she doesn’t want it -- she does. But she doesn’t know if she’s emotionally equipped for any of the options that are offered to her. The destination of any path she chooses leads to a world of heartache.

So, she does the only thing she can think in the moment: She reads the song.

Instantly, the lyrics are blurred from the tears in her eyes because she sees the words “love” and “together” and her greatest fears and grandest wishes are coming true. The sonnet proclaims that she’s his light that illuminated his once-dark forever, and that he was hers when they didn’t even know each other, and that he will be hers wherever he ends up next.

He just wanted her to know that he would have waited another lifetime in the blank, limitless limbo he was in for 25 years if he knew she would be there when he was set free.

And, in the moment, Julie allows herself to acknowledge that her promise is broken.

She’s fallen in love. 

And, apparently, he has too.

(Maybe they can claim just one night. The universe owes them that much, doesn’t it?)

“Julie?” God, he sounds so worried. A shaking finger trails up her jaw to catch falling tears, and his contact makes her gasp. He pulls away and shoves his hands together to fidget in his lap. “Julie, are you- Fuck, I’m sorry, I just fucked this up, didn’t I? I fucked it all up. Fuck, I-”

When she chances a look up at him for the first time in the couple of minutes that she’s been staring, hopelessly, at the song in her lap -- he’s got his face covered by his hands pressing roughly into his eyes, and he’s turned to face the piano instead of her.

He takes a deep breath, and it sounds… 

Stuffy. 

Three more tears leak from Julie’s eyes. More build up every minute as her right hand runs along his shoulder, “Luke…”

“No, Julie, please just drop it.”

“Luke.”

“I clearly misread a lot of stuff, and I’m tired, so maybe you can just go to bed and forget-”

Her hand wraps tightly around his upper arm like it’s done so many times when she has been in distress. “Luke.”

There’s a crack in her voice from sheer desperation. She needs him to look at her, so that she can wipe his tears and smile through the sobs and tell him he didn’t misread a single thing. She would wait a lifetime for him to come out of the dark room, she loves him too, and she’s going to forget all about it. 

And ask him to do the same.

At least the scratch of his name catches his attention long enough, because he angles back towards her, and swallows thickly before meeting her eyes. Salty teardrops linger against his eyelids and eyelashes; the red rimming illuminating the oceanic green to look like a gemstone. Her grip relaxes.

“Yeah, Julie?”

She attempts a smile. “The song is beautiful, Luke. I love it.”

I love you.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful, and you love it, but you don’t… I’m not in your dreambox, huh?”

He clearly hasn’t dug through it in awhile. He’s everywhere. Discarded guitar picks and notes he’s left in her school journals and plenty, plenty of songs.

It’s funny, because she told him her dreambox was for things that didn’t make her sad. Luke was a double-edged sword -- making her happy every day in a new way, and making her cry into her pillow at night.

How does she explain this? There’s a whirlwind of responses running through her brain and she can barely coherently comprehend any of them. 

“No,” she finds herself sighing as she raises her hand to his cheek, followed by her other hand so that he can’t try and turn away. “No, Luke, no… You’re wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘I’m wrong?’”

Her bottom lip starts to shake. “You think I don’t love you back.”  Both of them feel their breath catch at her use of the word out loud. It feels like a secret that shouldn’t be repeated. “And you’re wrong.”

“... I’m wrong.”

“Of course you’re wrong! You really think I don’t love you back?”

“Why are you crying if you love me?”

“Because we can’t do this!”

He scoffs, and Julie’s heart is racing in her chest as he pushes himself off of the piano bench and her hands fall from his face. What has she done?

“That’s bull, Julie.” His fingertips tug at his hair. “You don’t need to make a big dramatic show to convince me it’s wrong just to let me down easy. You aren’t going to talk me out of this.” Dead-on, he stops pacing back and forth, and looks her in the eye. “I love you.”

Listening to him say it, the way his mouth moves and his voice ticks with conviction at each syllable, is what makes her break. 

“And I love you too.” 

He reels back. He probably wasn’t expecting her voice to raise from their odd, in-between whisper and normal volume.

“But don’t you get it? Luke, we aren't in some magical place where we can meet each other in the middle. A place like that doesn’t exist. You’re dead, and I’m alive, and any future here ends with both of us losing each other.” 

“Julie-”

“You said you would wait another lifetime, right?” Using his own lyrics against him. She watches his hands twitch before nodding; the movements of his head barely visible. “Then wait. Another lifetime, another two -- the fucking universe clearly didn’t want us to have this one, so we’re stuck waiting for the next one.”

Even through his clear and fighting need to argue, to talk with her about this, he stiffly nods his head. It’s obvious that she has thought way too much about this from the way she’s barely choking out each word before crumbling into tears before his eyes -- but then again, he’s thought about it too. 

Callused hands are running along her neck to tilt her face up out of the blue. She was too busy crying to notice that he had crossed the distance between them to stand right in front of her and assure that she was meeting his eyes.

“Luke-”

“No, Julie, it’s my turn. Please.”

She won’t argue with him. So, with a tender swipe of his thumbs under her eyes, he proceeds.

“Look, I get it. You think I don’t get it? I fucking hate being dead, for so many reasons, Julie. But if I never died, I never would have met you.” Her lips part, and maybe he thinks she’s going to protest because he smoothly lifts a finger in front of her lips that barely makes contact. 

(Julie almost presses her lips into it.)

“And you’re right. I wish there was somewhere that we could meet in the middle, but we don’t have that. I wish so many things, Julie. But none of them involve a life where I don’t have you.”

She whimpers, because listening to the man that normally chains his emotions in a cage bare his soul to her at nearly one in the morning is a seriously more out-of-body experience than she expected. She knew, deep down, that she loved him. But she never allowed herself to feel the all-encompassing warmth that she feels now.

“But hey, Julie, look at me,” he coaxes her with a tone that drips with affection. The pads of his fingers are nearly kneading into the back of her neck. “Like you said: The universe didn’t want to give us this lifetime. They couldn’t let us have all the fun, right?” Both of them let out a watery chuckle. “But they still brought me to you, didn’t they? They let me know you in this lifetime, even if we couldn’t have forever. I said I would be yours wherever I am. So even if this,” he gestures to his ghostly form, “isn’t forever, even if we don’t have this lifetime… You know I’ll love you forever, right?”

It was a monologue straight from one of her dreams that left her waking up with a manic smile and tears running down her face. 

Unable to form any other response besides an unaware nod, Julie waits for him to continue.

“And maybe, the universe will give us the next lifetime, or a whole new universe, or… Just somewhere where we can get forever.” 

Abruptly, his hands slide from her neck and grasp her hands like he needs to hold on firmly enough to believe that she’s still real in front of him. Julie is still speechless and teary, and in the most sentimental gesture, Luke kisses the back of both of her hands. 

“We’ll get forever, Julie.” His warm breath puffs against her skin. “I promise you.”

And, well, if he promises forever in the next life -- then why can’t she take what she can get in this one?

--

tags: @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @lydias--stiles @moreflowersthanweeds @pink-flame 

[thebonerpit]

cheerleader [FIC]

cheerleader

Rom Howney, 3896 words, [E], read on Ao3 here

A very seasonally appropriate fic in which Robert throws a Halloween party. Tom hates Halloween but decides to wear a costume he's wanted to try for years.

“I just don’t understand it.”

Tom frowns as he stares at the racks upon racks of zombies, clowns, vampires, and sexy nurses in front of him.

“I mean, to be fair, you don’t understand much of anything, do you mate?”

“Fuck off,” Tom says, whacking Harrison on the arm. “But seriously! Why do Americans go so absolutely mental for this stupid holiday?”

“Again, having trouble with the fact that you, an actor, who plays dress-up FOR A LIVING, doesn’t understand this. It’s not like this is any weirder than a fancy dress party. Plus, you get candy!”

Ok, he does have a point there.

Tom lets out a deep sigh. He wouldn’t even be bothering with all this if it weren’t for Robert. An invitation appeared in his inbox last week for a Halloween party, and when you’re invited to a Halloween party at Robert Downey Jr.’s house, you don’t turn it down. Even if Halloween is incredibly stupid. He shuffles along through the rows of costumes, rolling his eyes at werewolf masks and inflatable dinosaurs.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters. Harrison groans, his hands already full of the various parts of a Mad Hatter costume.

“Just pick something, who cares?!”

“There’s too many options!”

“Ok, look. Halloween is the chance to dress any way you want to and have no one judge you for it. Just think about that. What have you always wanted to be?”

Tom immediately knows what the answer is, but instead of replying he just huffs and turns down another aisle that’s covered in fairy wings and glitter. He can’t possibly do it. Especially not for this party. For Robert’s party. It would be… inappropriate. He rounds the corner again and is faced with a shockingly huge assortment of superhero costumes. A foam version of Thor’s hammer sits on the shelf to his right, and he smirks as he picks it up and gives it a good twirl.

“In your face, Hemsworth,” he mutters quietly.

There’s a whole row of different Spider-Man costumes which makes him smile, especially when he sees a flimsy synthetic fabric version of the Iron Spider suit. And right next to that – a placement that thrills him even more than the suit alone - are the Iron Man costumes. Plastic faceplates, arc reactor gloves with LED lights, fabric onesies with fake, puffy muscles sewn in… it’s all there. Tom runs a finger along the edge of the faceplate before snatching his hand away like he’s been burned.

It’s all he can think about, even as they leave the store after Harrison buys his costume and Tom walks out empty-handed. He thinks about it on the ride home and through dinner until he finally makes excuses and runs off to hide in his room, laptop in hand, and puts on Iron Man 2. It doesn’t take long to get to the scene he wants. Tony Stark, diving through fireworks, landing on a flashy stage, surrounded by his Ironettes. Tom bites his lip as he stares intently at the bright red booty shorts, the long gloves, the crop tops… maybe, if he altered it just a bit, if he wore the mask… He can already feel his face heating up at the prospect of walking into Robert’s house dressed like that. Would he laugh? Would he be weirded out? Or… would he like it? Tom pushes the laptop off to the side and lets the movie play as he touches himself, coming to the sound of Robert’s voice in his headphones.

* * * * *

Tom is going to throw up. It’s inevitable, at this point. He’s in the back of a car squished between Harry and Harrison and he’s going to throw up. His stomach is in knots and he can’t remember ever being this nervous in his life. He’s used to the fluttering before a big stage performance or audition, but those nerves are more like excitement. This is sheer terror and he is going to THROW UP.

“Can you calm down? Jesus, you’re going to ruin my costume if you don’t stop squirming!” Harrison jabs a sharp elbow into his side and Tom jerks away into Harry who pushes him back.

“I just… I need some air.”

“The windows are all open! Take the mask off!”

That is the absolute last thing he wants to do. He was only able to leave the house in this costume with the mask securely over his face and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to take it off. He must be red as a tomato.

“Look, we’re here!” Harry crows. The car finally comes to a stop and they all pile out. Tom wants to collapse on the soft grass but he’s pulled along by four strong hands.

“Maybe I should… Look, I’ll just wait out here for a bit, ok? I just need—”

“Nope, absolutely not. Look mate, we already told you, he’s going to love it. Maybe not in the way you want him to-“ Tom punches Harry in the arm for that “-BUT, regardless, he’ll love it. You look great. And this is coming from someone who never turns down an opportunity to tell you you’re an ugly twat.”

“That was… almost sweet,” Tom says, and then yelps as they both drag him inside.

The party is in full swing and is absolutely packed with people. Small groups are standing around chatting, all in costume, and a live band is playing in the huge backyard to a crowded dancefloor. Tom recognizes only a few people – it’s hard to miss Scarlett even when she’s dressed like Morticia Addams – but that doesn’t bother him. Normally he loves mingling and meeting new people, and even dressed as he is it’s still exciting. It’s even easier after he quickly downs a few strong drinks, careful to only pull up the mask as far as it needs to go. The urge to vomit has pretty much dissipated and he’s actually beginning to enjoy himself, twirling around the dancefloor like a maniac until he’s slightly sweaty and out of breath.

“Water break!” he yells to Harry and squeezes through the crowd of people to get some air and hydrate. He finds a relatively quiet corner where he can chug half a water bottle in peace and is enjoying the cool air on his skin when someone taps him on the shoulder. He startles and nearly drops the bottle but manages to save it before turning around.

“Nice catch.”

Oh fuck. It’s him. It’s Robert. He hasn’t seen him the whole evening and assumed he was off being a good host so the whole thing almost slipped his mind, but now it’s all rushing back and he has to grip on to the fence post beside him to steady himself.

“Love the costume. Not exactly how I remember the Ironettes looking but I gotta say, this might be an improvement.”

Tom nearly chokes. He decided he couldn’t pull off the real Ironette costume as the distinct lack of breasts made it look a little awkward. So, he improvised. The shiny red and gold booty shorts stayed, of course. They made his ass look incredible. He bought the long red and gold arc reactor gloves and the plastic faceplate from the Halloween store, and instead of heeled boots he found a pair of gold high-tops and knee-high red socks. The shirt was the most difficult part, though. He went through a few variations before settling on something cute and comfortable: a red, cropped tank top. It was a bit loose and thin, so it flowed around his chest nicely and was short enough to show off his abs and his tiny waist. He also managed to find an LED necklace to serve as his arc reactor. It glowed a soft blue through the thin fabric of the shirt. Overall, he’s incredibly proud of what he came up with. Especially for someone who hates Halloween.

And now, with the way Robert is staring at him, he’s VERY happy he was brave enough to wear it.

“Is there someone under that gorgeous mask? Or are you too shy to say hello?”

Tom steels himself, takes a deep breath, and pulls the mask off.

Robert’s face goes through a myriad of emotions almost all at once. Shock, delight, amusement, and what is unmistakably arousal.

“Well. Tom Holland. As I live and breathe.” His voice is lower than before, more intimate, and when he takes a step forward Tom swears he feels the temperature go up by at least two degrees. He also notices that Robert is wearing eyeliner. The black kohl makes his eyes look even more gorgeous, and then there’s the red glitter dusted across his cheeks and around his hairline that is giving him an almost eerie glow.

“What are you supposed to be, then?” Tom asks. Robert smirks and points to the two small horns sticking out from his hair.

“The Devil, of course.”

“Of course,” Tom repeats weakly. It was barely a costume, the deep maroon suit looking more like red carpet attire than anything else, but fuck it looked incredible on him.

“I am the purveyor of sin on this fine evening,” he says, gesturing to the party, “so I thought I’d play the part. But you… you look far more sinful than me.”

Tom squeaks as Robert steps even closer and taps at the arc reactor on his chest.

“Cute,” he murmurs.

“Just… just wanted to show you how much of a fan I am… Mr. Stark.”

Robert’s eyes snap up to Tom’s and he doesn’t think he’s ever been looked at so intensely in his entire life.

“Is that so… Mr. Parker?”

Tom whines, loud enough for Robert to hear it. His hand travels down Tom’s body to squeeze at the bare skin of his waist.

“I think—”

“Robert!!”

They both jerk back as if they’re waking up from a trance. Someone is yelling for Robert and waving him inside, and he acknowledges them with a quick gesture. Turning back to Tom, he licks his lips and leans in to whisper in his ear.

“I think we’ll have to continue this later. Don’t leave without saying goodnight. Alright?”

“Yeah. Yes. O-ok. See you later,” Tom stutters, and when Robert disappears inside he chugs the rest of the water bottle and collapses back against the fence to catch his breath.

* * * * *

All the telltale signs of a party winding down are there. Most people have left, the band has stopped playing leaving only some low background music emanating from the speakers around the house, and the guests that remain are splayed out on various couches and chairs, half their costumes missing and happily drunk. The kitchen is a disaster and Tom feels bad adding more bottles to the mess, but he’s on a mission and can’t stop to tidy. After his run-in with Robert he only saw him briefly a few more times, mostly through a massive crowd, but he didn’t forget his words from earlier.

Don’t leave without saying goodnight.

Harrison and Harry have already gone home. They tried to get him to come with but Tom pretended to be enthralled in a conversation and told them he’d catch up in a bit. Now he’s wandering the massive house, peeking into various rooms as he looks for Robert. He gave up on wearing the mask after they met in the yard so it’s pushed up on his head like some sort of strange visor, his curls a sweaty mess beneath it. The second floor is quiet and empty; no one really came up here during the party anyway so it’s also much cleaner. A set of closed double doors is in front of him, and it’s the only place he hasn’t looked, so…

Tom slowly opens one door and pokes his head inside. Robert is lounging on a massive bed, scrolling on an iPad, glasses perched on his nose. He’s still got the horns on his head, and when he glances up over the rim of his glasses to smirk at Tom, he really does look positively devilish.

“Found you,” Tom says, trying to appear completely casual when his heart feels like it’s about to explode from under his ribcage.

“So you did. Come in. Close the door.”

Robert makes no effort to move so Tom slowly walks over to the bed, suddenly very conscious of how tight his shorts are as Robert unabashedly roams over his body with hungry eyes. He stops at the edge and toes at the plush carpet with one foot.

“Have you been drinking?”

Tom nods.

“How much?”

“Not that much,” Tom replies, understanding what Robert is trying to ask. “But maybe just enough to give me some liquid courage.”

Robert raises an eyebrow but waits patiently for Tom to make the first move, only shifting slightly to drop the iPad and his glasses on the nightstand. Guess it’s now or never.

He kneels on the edge of the bed with one leg first, testing the waters. Robert stays perfectly still. A deep inhale to steady himself and then Tom goes for it, pushing up on the bed and straddling Robert’s lap. He hesitates for only a moment before settling right on the seam of those expensive maroon trousers.

A pleased hum rumbles out of Robert’s chest as he runs two smooth, warm hands up Tom’s spread thighs to his waist.

“My own personal cheerleader, hm? I always knew you looked up to me but I never expected this… Pete.”

He catches Tom’s eye and gives him a brief wink. Tom’s heart speeds up even more as excitement bubbles in his stomach. Playing. Robert is playing with him. He was desperately hoping he wouldn’t drop this, leave it as the brief tease it was back in the yard. Acting with Robert is one of his favourite things in the entire world, and being able to do it like this? God, for the first time he’s actually happy that Tony Stark is dead because he’s never going to be able to act across from him again without thinking of this moment.

Robert nuzzles into his neck and starts leaving wet, sucking kisses all along the line of his throat. Tom shivers at the sensation and then starts to giggle when the tickle of Robert’s beard is too much against his sensitive skin. Robert laughs into his neck and nips playfully.

“You’re so darn cute,” he whispers. Robert has always been free with his compliments, telling Tom he’s handsome or pretty or talented, but somehow it just hits different when his hands are also squeezing Tom’s ass.

“Want to touch you, Mr. Stark,” Tom murmurs into his ear, easily switching his accent to sound even more like Peter. He feels Robert shudder underneath him and can’t help the pleased smirk that crosses his face.

“Yeah?” Robert says, grasping his chin gently so he can look into his eyes. “Do you even know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”

Tom absolutely knows what he’s doing, but Peter…

“I… uh… I was hoping you could teach me. I’m a really quick learner, sir,” he says softly.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Robert mutters, breaking character for a moment. He collects himself quickly though, shifting Tom in his lap just enough so he can undo his trousers and pull himself out. Tom’s mouth literally waters at the sight of Robert’s dick and he uses every ounce of willpower not to just pounce on him immediately.

“Want to feel your mouth, Pete,” Robert says, rubbing a thumb along Tom’s lower lip. “You can go slow. Use your tongue.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Tom replies, trying not to sound too eager. He shuffles down a little and purposely sticks his ass up in the air. The red and gold shimmer on the shorts catches the dim light and he gives his hips a quick wiggle when he sees Robert staring.

“Maybe I should’ve reworked the design on your suit, hm? You like wearing little shorts like this?”

Tom nods and presses his face into the curls at the base of Robert’s dick, inhaling the scent of him. He feels the thick cock jerk against his cheek and angles his head to lick up the whole length of it, swirling his tongue at the tip. The bitter taste of precome blooms in his mouth and he moans, forgetting himself for a moment as he starts to give a much more experienced blowjob than what Peter would be capable of. Robert knocks the mask off Tom’s head so he can tighten his hand in his messy curls.

“Jesus,” Robert groans, “you’re good at this, kid.”

“Mmm, just want to make you feel good, sir,” Tom hums. He manages to remove one of the arc reactor gloves so he can grip Robert’s cock while he uses his mouth everywhere he can reach.

“Well, you’re doing a—fuck, god—a damn fine job.”

Tom thinks he could stay here forever, on his knees, mouth stretched almost painfully around Robert’s cock. He explores up his chest with his other hand, rubbing at one nipple with his thumb which makes Robert jerk underneath him.

“Keep doing that,” Robert spits out as he pushes Tom’s head down even further. He gags a bit but the incredible sensation of being stuffed and used overrides everything else and he takes every inch Robert gives him while tugging and pinching at his apparently very sensitive nipples. He drifts for a bit, so content and fuzzy, and only comes back when Robert pulls him off and throws him down on the bed.

“Pull up that shirt for me, sweetheart. Gonna paint your pretty chest with my come.”

“Oh my god, fuck, yes, please, please, want it,” Tom moans, shoving the fabric out of the way as Robert jerks himself off quickly above him. He can’t decide whether to watch his dick or his face when he finally comes, thick and white all over his chest and the arc reactor necklace. Robert’s slightly red in the face and gasping for breath as he steadies himself with a hand beside Tom’s head. Tom leans to the side to kiss at his knuckles and then dares to run his fingers through the come on the necklace and bring it to his mouth to taste.

“You’re going to give an old man a heart attack,” Robert says. His pupils are all blown out as he watches Tom hollow his cheeks as he sucks. Tom understands the feeling. He’s so hard in his shorts that it’s painful.

“Please,” he whispers, biting his lip, “will you touch me, Mr. Stark?”

“It would be a pleasure, Mr. Parker,” he replies. He palms him over the shorts which makes Tom buck into his hand. “As much as I love these… they have to go.”

The shorts are so tight that they both struggle to pull them down but finally they’re tossed off to a distant corner of the bedroom and Tom hisses as Robert immediately get his mouth on his cock. It feels absolutely heavenly, especially after being trapped in the confines of that uncomfortable fabric for so long. Robert takes his time, licks and sucks everywhere he can, all the way down to that sensitive spot right behind his balls. Tom whimpers as his tongue gets so fucking close to his hole but then pulls away.

“Want to use my fingers… s’that ok?”

“Y-yeah, please, yes!”

Robert grabs some lube from the nightstand and even warms it first before sliding one thick finger over Tom’s hole, pressing just the tip inside. Aside from the thrill of having Robert’s finger inside of him, the most incredible part is that he doesn’t stop sucking him off. The level of coordination is astounding and Tom would have complimented him on it if he was able to speak beyond moans and pleas for more. A second finger quickly joins the first and Tom’s body accepts it without hesitation.

“Good boy,” Robert murmurs in between gentle licks, “look at you, hm? So pretty and pink.”

Robert shifts him down a bit more which makes his legs fall open even wider. He feels so exposed and whines a little, trying to draw his knees close without squeezing Robert too much.

“Aw, don’t be shy sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” Robert says. “You can put your legs up on me if that helps, ok?”

He hears the rubber of his high-tops squeak against Robert’s skin and somehow the sound is more obscene than anything else. He tries not to thump his heels too hard but fuck, Robert is doing something with his tongue that should be illegal and Tom can’t stop squirming. A low chuckle reverberates against his stomach as Robert pulls off briefly, his fingers still working in slow, gentle pushes.

“Aren’t you sensitive, hm?”

“P-please, Ro—Mr. Stark, please, need to come,” Tom begs, accent slipping slightly as he tries to shove himself down even deeper on Robert’s thick fingers. He’s held in place by the firm grip of Robert’s other hand on his waist and he whines petulantly.

“Anything for my favourite little spider,” Robert coos. He crooks his fingers and Tom arches up off the bed like he’s been shocked. He feels like he’s been on the edge since they first met in the yard and now Robert’s fingers are pressing right on his prostate and his hot mouth is back on his dick and he doesn’t think he could possibly hold off any longer if he tried.

“Gonna… gonna…” Tom’s whole body is taut, like a wire ready to snap, and when Robert takes him all the way down his throat he comes with a ragged gasp. Distantly he thinks he should be considerate and pull out but it’s like his body isn’t under his control anymore, and even though he hears wet choking noises it seems like Robert is just fine with him coming in his mouth. His fingers have stopped moving and he lets Tom clench around them for a few moments before gently sliding them out. Tom whines at the loss even though he’s so oversensitive right now he couldn’t possibly take anymore.

After taking a minute to catch his breath and regain any semblance of normal brain function, he finally looks down. Robert’s eyeliner is smudged and Tom feels a bizarre sense of pride about it. He can’t stop running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair which is also a complete mess.

“Just FYI,” Robert finally says, his voice a little raspy, “you’re going to be finding red glitter in every nook and cranny for about three years after this.” He punctuates that sentence by rubbing his cheek against Tom’s thigh, grinning as he does it.

“You’re a dick,” Tom says fondly, giggling even more as Robert continues to just rub his face all over his body. “But can’t say I’m gonna care that much if I’m being reminded about this.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Robert says, that absolutely devilish grin returning, “I can give you more than just glitter for that.” Tom squeals as he starts sucking a deep bruise into the inside of one thigh, teeth marks and all, that Tom presses on every time he sees it for the next week.