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renecdote · 2 years

Note

#5 feeling for a pulse because I think this is just so soft and tender 🥰

Anonymous asked: 21 (kissing the other’s brow) or 22 (falling asleep on the other’s shoulder) for buck & Eddie 🥰

If you’re wondering whether I matched these two prompts together because they both had the 🥰 emoji, the answer is yes.

Also using this as a fill for a BTHB square: doesn’t realise they’ve been injured.

[Read on AO3]

Buck can’t quite see Eddie’s face, but he can feel the way that he keeps dozing off, then pulling himself back from the edge of sleep. His head tips against Buck’s shoulder, then jerks back up; a jolting rhythm that doesn’t quite match the rocking movement of the engine as they wind back toward the station.

It’s a little known fact that car rides put Eddie to sleep.

“Ever since I was a kid,” he admitted to Buck one night, trading some of the less tragic stories of their childhoods. “My mom used to drive laps around the block just to get me to sleep.”

Buck is pretty sure that no one else knows. It doesn’t usually happen at work—the firetruck isn’t exactly a car, after all, and the trips between calls aren’t long. The twenty hours it took to get to San Antonio to help with the wildfires don’t count, either, because everyone slept as much as they could then. And nobody else has driven hours out of LA to go hiking and camping with Eddie dozens of times. This is privileged information that Buck holds; the kind that Eddie wouldn’t share with just anyone.

But it’s late, night long since fallen outside the windows, the trip from out in Arcadia longer than their usual drives between calls. Everyone is sleepy and quiet. Hen has one arm propped on the window, blinking slowly at her phone; Chimney is staring vaguely out at the passing streets; Bobby is talking quietly with Nelson in the front; and Eddie is falling asleep on Buck’s shoulder. He doesn’t quite get there before they’re pulling into the station, everyone rousing themselves to get out of the truck and shuffle to the bunks instead. Eddie is slower than most, wobbling when he jumps out of the truck, and Buck reaches out to steady him automatically.

“You okay?” he asks.

Eddie rubs at his eyes, trying to make himself more alert. “What time is it?"

“Just past one.”

Eddie frowns, face scrunched up like it doesn’t quite make sense, but thinking too hard about why hurts. “How long…”

“How long were you asleep?” Buck guesses, when he trails into silence. “Not long, just a few minutes here and there.”

Eddie shakes his head a little, wincing, and rubs at his temple.

“Eds?”

They’re still standing by the truck, the bay empty around them now. Buck steps closer, worry gathering like ants beneath his skin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just need to sleep,” Eddie replies, trying and failing to smile reassuringly. He’s slow stripping out of his turnout gear, movements tired and fumbling, none of the fluid grace that Buck is used to seeing. He hovers close even after his own gear has been hung up, more certain in his concern with every second that Eddie doesn’t roll his eyes and say that he’s being ridiculous.

Buck wishes he was just being ridiculous.

They don’t make it more than a few steps away from the lockers. The railing along the staircase is just as close, but Eddie reaches for Buck, and Buck just manages to get an arm around his back as Eddie sways into his chest.

“Whoa, okay, I’ve got you.” Buck lowers him to sit on the steps, crouching in front of him, the ants swarming under his skin. “Did you hit your head?”

“I—don’t know. I don’t think so?”

He doesn’t sound sure. Buck tries to think back, but there was too much time where he didn’t have his eyes on Eddie. Too much that can go wrong in a fire, even when you do everything right. Their gear is designed to protect them, but Buck knows better than most that helmets aren’t a complete guarantee against head injuries. Half of the upper floor was collapsing by the time they evacuated, and Eddie said he was fine, he seemed fine, but—

Upstairs, someone drops something, loud and ringing in the quiet of the night, and Eddie winces. Sensitivity to noise, Buck mentally catalogues.

“I’m getting Hen,” he says, starting to stand.

Eddie grabs his hand, holding him in place. “No.”

“What?” Buck tries to pull his hand back, but Eddie doesn’t let him go. “Eddie, you might have a head injury.”

“Just—” The heel of his palm digging into his temple, this frustrated, can’t be hurt noise caught in the back of his throat. “Wait.”

It sounds like stay.

“Okay,” Buck says, even though it goes against everything in him that desperately wants to get Hen, or Chimney, or Bobby. Someone who can fix this better than he can. “Okay, I’m right here.”

He sits down, turned slightly on the step so that he can still watch Eddie’s face. Eddie doesn’t let go of him, but he lets Buck twist their hands so that he’s the one wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, counting the beats of his pulse: fast, but only slightly. Better than Buck’s heartbeat, fluttering in his chest.

“I have to pick up Chris in the morning,” Eddie says after a long moment, and Buck hears the words behind the words: if I don’t pick him up, he’ll be worried, and I can’t worry him any more.

You’ll worry him more if you drop dead from a brain bleed, Buck thinks, and fucking Christ, he hates his brain sometimes. He hates that he doesn’t even have to imagine what life would be like without Eddie because he almost lived it not even a year ago. He hates that it’s always there, just under the surface.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, and he’s trying so hard to sound normal but he doesn’t know if he succeeds. “Christopher won’t think anything is wrong if I drive.”

Eddie’s hand is over his eyes when he replies, a huff of laughter falling flat, “He thinks it’s funny that you always drive me around.”

The rest of their friends and family give them shit for it too, but Buck doesn’t care. He likes driving and Eddie doesn’t; it just makes sense. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

(Even if he wishes, sometimes, that it did.)

“Can I get Hen?” Buck tries again, quieter.

Eddie drags his hand down, pinching the bridge of his nose, then letting it fall. He blinks up at the shadowy cavern of the ceiling high above.

“Yeah,” he breathes, shaky. “If—if she’s awake.”

She is, but Buck wouldn’t have felt any guilt about waking her up if she wasn’t. They move up to the couches and he hovers while Hen runs through all the concussion checks, shining a pen light in Eddie’s eyes and asking him questions, running her hands through his hair to check for any bumps or bruises. It’s stupid, the spike of irrational jealousy Buck feels at that, wanting to run his own fingers through Eddie’s hair. He tucks his hands under his arms instead, hugging himself while Eddie sighs and says, “No, Hen, I didn’t know. I don’t even remember hitting my head.”

Hen glances at Buck, then, and he shrugs. He didn’t notice either.

“Well,” Hen says, sitting back. “I think it’s just a mild concussion, but if your symptoms don’t get any better, you should go to the hospital.” She gives a wry kind of smile. “I’m not actually a doctor yet.”

“I can’t go home,” Eddie says, jaw jutting out as he looks to the side, emotion blinked back before it can properly form.

Hen looks at Buck again and he doesn’t know exactly what question she’s asking, but he does know the answer: “Christopher.”

He’s not sure that she really needs the confirmation; with Eddie, all roads lead to Christopher.

“It’s better if you’re with someone who can keep an eye on you anyway,” Hen says, like that’s all it is. “I’ll talk to Bobby, let him know that you’re not going on any more calls. Buck can drive you home in the morning.”

She gives Buck another look as she leaves, but he can’t even begin to decipher this one. Hen’s medical expertise hasn’t put him at ease the way he thought it would; all it has done is validate the voice in the back of his head that is telling him he should have noticed something was wrong. More than that, he should have stopped anything from happening to Eddie at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and his voice is tired, his head tipped back against the couch with his eyes closed, but he has never needed to see Buck to see right through him. The it’s not your fault is heavily implied.

Buck sits down in the nearest armchair, knee bouncing. Then he stands up and moves to the couch, sinking down beside Eddie instead. It only takes a few seconds for Eddie’s head to settle on his shoulder, keeping him there. It also answers the question Buck wasn’t going to ask about whether they should move to the bunks, maybe try to get some proper sleep like everyone else.

“You don’t want Tylenol?” he asks, unable to help reaching up and tracing the pained lines around Eddie’s temple with his fingers, emboldened by the night.

Eddie’s words are half mashed against his shoulder when he replies, “In a sec.”

It doesn’t feel like enough, to just sit and do nothing. To not… fix.

Eddie’s hand finds the edge of Buck’s shirt and holds on, fingers curled in the tight-fitting cotton, and Buck has to flatten his palm on his thigh so he doesn’t do something stupid like reach out and offer his own hand to hold instead.

“Dizzy?” he asks because he remembers having concussions. He remembers the way it felt like he couldn’t trust his own centre of gravity, the whole world spinning away behind his closed eyes.

There’s a pause, barely noticeable, and then Eddie mutters, “yeah,” and—it doesn’t feel like a lie, but it doesn’t feel like the whole truth either. Buck has the sudden, dizzying feeling that if he offered his hand, Eddie would take it. And then he wonders if he should have Hen check him for a concussion as well.

“Maybe you should lie down,” he suggests, and Eddie makes a sound like agreement, but neither of them move. The station is still and quiet, everyone else is resting in the bunks, and Eddie is falling asleep on Buck’s shoulder. Buck can’t bring himself to make him move.

“Okay,” he says quietly, relaxing back against the couch. “In a sec.”

And even if Eddie is still awake, he’s probably not going to remember this in the morning, so—Buck runs his fingers gently through his best friend’s hair, and Eddie sighs and presses closer, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

(Even if they both wish it did.)

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Hen Wilson #911 Fox #fic #badthingshappenbingo

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artxyra · 3 years

Text

The Return of the Premier Chaotique

Marinette was only eight years old when her primary school life changed for the better.

On that fateful day, in Mlle. Gilbertine’s classroom was the introduction of a new transfer student. He introduced himself as Damian; there was no last name. And if there was one, Gilbertine made sure she didn’t say a word of it.

To Marinette, Nino, Chloe, Nathaniel, and Kim, he was an odd boy. Someone that would fit right into their group after a push, as Damian stressed for no social interactions with anyone.

During the early weeks of his stay, Marinette had caught him several times engaging in lonesome activities, whether they were in the classroom or out in the field messing around. Marinette, being the outgoing child that she was, began to plot.

Created from that plotting period was her life’s mission to befriend the emotionless kid.

It was hard at first.

She and the others tried tricking the young man into hopscotch matches, and when that didn’t work, it was a game of red light, green light. Occasionally, Nino and Kim would challenge Damian to dance battles.

Damian was very much against the childish games claiming that they were beneath him, but humored them into defeat.

That was until Marinette decided on a shooting game with water guns and makeshift go-carts out of bike parts. Damian’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Marinette knew right then and there that she finally fulled her goal.

After being soaked from head to toe and laughing amongst friends, Marinette and the others swore Damian into their friend group, thus changing their lives forever.

Soon newer and crazier games began to take over the classroom of Mlle. Gilbertine.

The moment Nino would bring out his portable CD player and the music began to boom out of the speakers, everyone knew what was about to happen.

One day, while the group was in the school’s pool area pretending to be sea monsters attacking each other with kickboards and pool noodles, they were officially dubbed the “Premier Chaotique” cult. As they were youthful and the material they came up with was more chaotic than anything the future Hawkmoth could ever create.

Everyone knew that Marinette and Damian were the leaders. Together they oozed power, as Marinette was their strategist while Damian was the chief.

Chloe was their lawyer and location scout. The blonde knew what areas had cameras and heavy guarding. Kim was their chaotic developer. He knew what methods were more chaotic than the rest. Kim never failed to disappoint. Nino was their sound design and videographer in some cases. His love for filmmaking and DJing started here and continues to grow. Nathaniel was the tagger as he made sure every graffiti they did was perfect.

Nothing could ruin these kids.

Mlle. Gilbertine, bless her soul, was determined to get the Premier Chaotique cult under control, but they were slick and made plans at random. She remembers the day when empty ice cream cups filled her classroom. Every desk was covered, and nothing could explain the appearance of snow sleds in the class.

It was no rumor that the mini cult managed to create their own little snow resort using ice cream and shave ice. It was a pain to clean up.

Marinette remembers the days when the mini cult would paint the city red with flowers and chaotic goodness. Or turning the entire city into a roller skate derby.

It’s a miracle that the cops never brought their parents into the investigation. Then again, with a child as pure as Marinette in the lead, people would fall over when they saw her smile.

Their significant achievement was when the school’s kitchen managed to catch on fire during a lunch period. During the evacuation, the group somehow managed to slip through the adults and back into the cafeteria.

Kim had brought marshmallows that day.

When the firefighters entered to put out the flames, the six children greeted them with wooden sticks eating s’mores and telling scary stories.

That fire had been their last valuable success because they experienced the worst nightmare a couple of days later, Damian had to go back to his home country.

It was heartbreaking for everyone within the cult but groundbreaking for the city.

Marinette fell into depression along with the others. After a month without Damian, they vowed to never speak of the best year of their life unless they were ever to meet Damian again.

It was no secret that Marinette had a crush on the foreign boy, so the cult disassembles along with any memories of Damian and the cult.

Years passed since that day.

Chloe took it upon herself to bully Marinette when they had entered college, as those who knew them in their younger days forgot that they were ever friends. Marinette took up fashion designing and making her seem like the perfect student. Nathaniel started working on comics based on their adventures. Nino stayed friends with all but Chloe and continued with his calling in music production. Kim began busying himself with sports, specifically swimming.

Soon the name that used to strike fear in the hearts of the Paris citizens began to fade away into a false memory.

Little did anyone know, the spirit of the Premier Chaotique cult lives on and would ignite in a blaze of fire.

At sixteen, Marinette works her butt off to make their end-of-the-school-year trip a reality.

The trip was not for the approval of her classmate, which has gone stale but for her sanity. Three years of being Ladybug have put a toll on her, and she plans to take advantage of the lack of akuma attacks going on.

When the acceptance letter landed in her hands, her parents swear they saw a boulder lifted off their daughter’s shoulders. She was smiling more and appeared less stressed than she had ever been since finding out the school board decided to move teachers with their students as a handful of teachers left Paris, some even left France altogether.

Her allies (remaining friends) were the first to know about the trip to Gotham, New Jersey, and they cheered happily for her. Lately, someone else has taken the credits for her work.

The day before the trip, Marinette rundown the patrol routes, and emergency protocols with Luka and Kagami, ensuring the safety of Paris if and when Hawkmoth decided to go active while the rest of the team was away.

She then goes on to convincing Kaalki to come with her to Gotham only to be used as an emergency. Marinette was ready to leave Paris and head to Gotham.

Upon entering the streets of Gotham, a cold chill runs down everyone’s spines aside from the former mini cult members. Too Mme. Bustier, the chill was all too familiar, bringing up memories of the kids that terrorized the streets before Hawkmoth. She looks around to see nothing out of place before promptly calling out her students so they would make it to the hotel.

Everyone who felt that chill had every right to be wary.

On the first day, everything seemed fine, but when you leave nearly all the members of Premier Chaotique alone for a moment, well, chaos was sure to happen.

Chloe and Marinette had put aside their differences during the Lila era of the classroom reign. Even after it was over, they managed to remain friends, rekindling the essence of primary friendship. The boys joined in on them not long afterward.

Plans were made but not yet enforced. It did not feel right, and they knew why– it was because they lacked their chief, the one and only Damian.

~☾★☽~

All Marinette wanted was a cup of coffee, but instead, she got something--someone much more pleasing.

Frozen in place, she calls out a single name, “Dames?” The dark-haired male turned around; she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes soften at the sight of her first crush. He hadn’t changed by much, though he was now taller than her.

“Mars?” That nickname sent the French-Asian teen running into the arms of the Ice Prince himself. Instead of pushing her away, he wraps his arms around her.

Time froze in that café for several reasons, but the main one was definitely because they just witnessed Damian Wayne hugging someone willing.

Their embrace ends with them staring into each other’s eyes. It felt surreal. They couldn’t find the words to say, but they didn’t have to.

Life continues in the cafe as Damian leads Marinette away from the flashes of lights. It wasn’t long before Damian’s phone began to blow up with notifications. He turns his phone off and stuffs it back into his pocket.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Marinette pulls Damian in closer. Lifting herself onto her tip-toes, she whispers, “The others are here too.” into his ear. She steps away to see what she has unleashed, hoping that nearly a decade away from each other hasn’t altered their relationship.

This time it was Damian who smirks, bringing Marinette closer to him. “Mm, shall be bring Gotham to its knees?”

They share a smirk that ends with an explosion, thus, reigniting the Premier Chaotique cult with a burning passion for mayhem.

They decided to meet that night after hours.

Music blared in the streets of Gotham, seemingly close to the classroom’s hotel near Wayne Enterprise.

The members of Premier Chaotique strut down the middle of the streets in inflatable dinosaur suits dancing to the remixes that played from the boombox on one of the dino’s skateboards (Nino’s).

Jamming to Bats @crazyforbats Did anyone else wake up to music and dancing dinos last night?

Bearbe @Bearbe Replying to @crazyforbats THAT WAS REAL!!??? I THOUGHT I WAS HULLACINATING

Krazie Kay @gokaykaer [A one-minute video with various strobe lighting colors flashing around and six dinosaurs doing the Cha-Cha-Slide] I swear I just saw @thebloodwayne for a split second.

Vera Pitts @vera_pitts [A short video of inflatable dinosaurs chaotically dancing to the Harlem Shake.] I thought this trend of over and done *crying emoji*

By the morning, Twitter was blowing up with various videos and gifs of the events that happened the night before. The only people who weren’t affected by the popularity were the people who were a part of it.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce could already feel a migraine coming as his two oldest play the videos repeatedly in the main room.

Damian scoffs at his family members, while Dick complains about why they haven’t thought of that for a family outing. It’s all about class, Dick; it’s all about class.

Alfred, being all-knowing, takes notice of Damian's hidden smirks and recent purchase from his account at a party store. Nothing to worry about in this household. However, Damian asking him about where to find used pocket bikes (mini motorcycles) and wire rope reels was troubling.

The next night began the fears of every Parisian that experienced the reign. Blessed that it wasn't not happening in their city for once.

Per their plan assignments, Chloe and Kim found the buildings necessary for the zip line. Nino was in charge of setting up the equipment with the help of Nathaniel. Damian’s task was to get the bikes and zip line wire. Marinette’s job was to keep the class and others from finding out their plan.

Once everything was ready, the Premier Chaotique entered their playground wearing hooded leotards (or bodysuits) with matching latex masks stretched over their eyes.

Kim went first down the zip line as Damian race down the streets on the bike. Initially, they were going to use the bikes, but the zip line couldn’t hold the weight of the bike and the person on it, so they turned it into a race instead. Of course, they put challenges throughout the route to make it more even.

Their mayhem took a turn for the best when someone had called the cops, causing the for once silent night into a regular night of crime. Instead of stopping, like normal people, the mini cult went on a high-speed race against the GCPD.

Gotham’s Twitter users were having a blast with the events. It was the best and bravest thing to surface since Batman, though some were very vocal with their opposing thoughts.

The GCPD never caught the Premier Chaotique members, and they went on as if nothing happened.

It was during the tour of Wayne Enterprise that the Premier Chaotique members learned Damian’s last name. He was an effing Wayne.

Marinette had asked Damian what his last name was when they were eight, and he replied nonchalantly with something along the lines of not being a Wayne until he was ten. Afterward, they continue hanging out and plotting throughout the tour.

After seeing their younger brother interact with teens his age, Dick specifically begs Bruce to invite the group while the rest stands there in shock. The sight of seeing Damian doing what they thought was impossible needed to go into the history books.

While it was a momentous occasion for Damian’s brothers, it was a reality check for Mme. Bustier. Her screams echo against the halls of WE as buried memories of the chaos awakens.

She stared pointedly at Marinette in denial. There was no way her star student was in the cult that did so much damage all those years ago. When Chloe, Nino, Kim, and quiet Nathaniel joined her, Caline started to feel faint. She immediately excused herself to call her therapist. Her wails for help could reach the lobby.

Bruce unknowingly invited even more chaos into his household that night.

It didn’t take Chloe and Marinette much to convince their teachers to let the five of them stay with Mr. Wayne for the night in hopes of “catching up” with Damian.

After getting the approval from Mr. Wayne and their parents, she agreed, secretly ecstatic that they wouldn’t be in her care for the next several hours.

~☾★☽~

“I’m bored. Let’s play a prank?” Kim randomly shouts, playing catch with himself, when they were all staring out the TV waiting for something good to come on.

“What do you have in mind?” Marinette asks, making her way over to Damian. He pushes her away, knowing that she’ll use him as a throne.

“Hey Dames, do you own go-carts are something of a familiar nature?”

Damian thinks about it for a minute, “Tt, father wouldn’t dare let those things in the house. We can prank my brothers. Scaring them would bring me joy.”

“Well I have a few ideas, we can use.” Chloe states, pulling out the book of mischief from her purse.

They all huddle over the book with smirks on their faces.

-----

A retouch version of Request #9.

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #artxyra one-shots #slight daminette

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maggies-scribblings · 3 years

Text

Yarning For Her

Adrien is smitten with the girl who's always been there, in the row behind him. But when his plans to ask Marinette out unravel, a secret throws him for a loop…

Written for the Miraculous Writer's Guild April Event 2021: Followers sent five emojis as prompts to the @mlwritersguild Tumblr for the writers to pick one to write for. I chose the emojis sent by @ladycat1: ✨ 😊 👀 👩🏻 🧵

Canon compliant up to Season 4, Episode 4: M. Pigeon 72.

👩🏻

It was finally happening. The event everyone was waiting for… well, everyone except the main protagonist of said event.

Marinette could feel it, though she could hardly believe it. She noticed Adrien looking at her with more intensity, when he thought she wasn’t looking. How he had trouble finding the right words when talking to her. All the tiny gestures of attention, like offering to help with a difficult subject or a complex art project, or praising her outfit every day, even if she’d worn it several times before.

Nino could tell, too: questions about Marinette and her favourite colour, food, flower, or whatever else were whispered in his right ear all day.

Actually, the whole class noticed Adrien’s marked change in behaviour. His cheerful hellos were now stuttered in Marinette’s general direction. His head hid on his shoulders whenever Marinette sighed or yawned, as if his neck couldn’t handle her fresh breaths. Even his athletic skills were now replaced with an unexplained jerkiness. The fact that the weather was warmer and the girls’ gym suits gave way to short shorts and strappy tops might have had something to do with it.

In short, Adrien fell in love with Marinette. Hard.

👀

When it started, Adrien couldn’t exactly tell. Ever since that first day of school, Marinette had held a special space in his heart (most of which had been stolen by Ladybug the previous day). She was one of his first and dearest friends.

But now… after getting to know Marinette, her loving and kind nature, after seeing her helping others without asking for anything back, after finally noticing how pretty she was… he wasn’t so sure.

That day at the pool was definitely a turning point.

First there was that unplanned double dive. During those milliseconds when they were falling, Adrien’s thought process went something like this:

Danger!—Why is Marinette here?—Protect!—Wow, she looks so cute in that swimsuit!

As they hit the water, their arms instinctively reached out to the other as they sank, swirling back up to the surface in a soft embrace — just like that night in New York, when they had danced floating in the air, under the full moon.

And when they were leaving the pool, Adrien was so happy and surprised to see she still had the umbrella he’d given her way back then! Sweet as always, she offered to give it back to him, even though it was raining and she had to walk home.

She was standing next to him (she linked her arm in his!) when that pesky umbrella decided to close on them, and they were pulled even closer for a few seconds. Very close. He could smell the chlorine in her hair mixed with the scent of sweets that always surrounded her. He thought he felt her heart beating faster and faster. Maybe it wasn’t. His heart certainly was. He could feel her warm breath through his shirt, and it drove him a little crazy.

When they said goodbye that day, he could hardly take his eyes off her. He even bumped his head on the car door frame. Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the charming, elegant model Adrien Agreste, unable to enter a car (come to think of it, he seemed to have a bit of a problem with doors whenever Marinette was around).

✨

The few weeks that went by did nothing to sort out Adrien’s feelings about the two black-haired girls in his life. His days were mortifying, his nights restless. On one such night, Adrien tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn’t come. The full moon and bright stars shining through the window frames painted his room with grid patterns, a constant reminder of his confined life.

Adding to that, his mind was racing with memories of his (now frequent) clumsiness and embarrassment at school. He recalled the fumble of the day: going into the classroom while trying to look cool, he managed to snag his bag strap on the door handle, causing him to jerk back and hit the ground on his butt in front of the whole class.

Adrien groaned and turned again. Worst thing was, he had no idea how she felt for him. She kept sending mixed signals. Her behaviour towards him wasn’t as weird as it had been, but that didn’t mean a lot. He’d even asked her a couple of times. He remembered the time they visited the wax museum, when she said she didn’t like him like that.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Plagg yawned from his side of the pillow, annoyed by his bearer’s restlessness. “Who is it this time? Spots or bakery girl?”

Adrien didn’t bite, going back into his musings instead.

His mind turned to Ladybug… These days, Spots occupied a much smaller part of his thoughts. He still got the occasional butterflies in his stomach when he saw her, or when she praised him and his humour. She would always be his first love, and not an easy girl to forget… but she was right, of course — she was always right — as long as they had enemies, they couldn’t reveal their identities, much less deepen their relationship. Back when Bunnyx first showed up, they found out that there would be a new Hawkmoth and countless akumas in the future, and who knew when that would end?

Plagg was still grumbling about sleep and cheese. Adrien playfully flicked his kwami’s ear.

“Shut up, Plagg! I’m trying to sleep!”

“Very unsuccessfully, I might say,” Plagg flew out of his reach. “You sighed four-hundred and fifty-eight times in the last hour.”

“Come on… can’t you see I’m in turmoil here?” Adrien turned his back to the kwami. It was no use arguing with a deity, no matter how minuscule.

“Four-hundred and fifty-ni—” Plagg’s teasing was interrupted by a pillow hitting him.

😊

This wouldn’t do. Adrien couldn’t stand his own indecisiveness any more. He decided to ask Marinette out, that very day. After a reviving shower, he got dressed and looked in the mirror. The dark circles around his eyes were evident, but he hated wearing concealer to school. He might as well add a couple of details to his usual get-up: a pair of Gabriel’s new collection sunglasses and his favourite blue scarf.

He arrived at school early, and while most of the class was either chatting in the courtyard or going into the classroom, Marinette was nowhere to be seen. Adrien went into the locker room, and lurked behind the last row of lockers while students got in, got their things and left.

Finally, the hurricane that was late-for-class-Marinette thundered in, scolding herself for oversleeping as she got her books for the morning. When she closed the door, there was Adrien, leaning against the cabinets with his best Chat Noir smirk as he looked over the rim of his sunglasses and greeted her.

“Good morn—”

He didn’t have time to finish his line, as a very startled Marinette squeaked and grabbed his free arm to spin him around and pin him to the lockers with an elbow to his throat.

It took a few moments for Adrien realise exactly what had happened, before she released her hold.

“I’m sorry, I… panicked,” Marinette said, as she stepped back and continued to gesticulate wildly and mumble more awkward apologies.

Still frozen in place, Adrien managed to adjusted his crooked sunglasses.

“Marin—” he had to clear his throat. “No, I— It’s o-ow!”

Adrien tried and failed to step forward, as he heard a ripping sound — his scarf was caught in Marinette’s locker, and the momentum slammed him back into the metal doors with a loud bang.

The proverbial stars that blurred his vision cleared up to show Marinette very close to him, fumbling with the lock to release the scarf.

“Sorry, so sorry, I’m such a klutz!”

“It’s okay, no harm do—”

Adrien stopped talking when he saw that the scarf had a large rip, disappointment obvious upon his face.

“Oh no!” Marinette covered her mouth as she saw the damage. “Your scarf! I ruined it!”

At this point, Adrien would usually smile and say something like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘no worries’, but he couldn’t lie: he really loved that scarf. It was his favourite colour, warm and cosy, yet light enough to wear on a spring day, and a rare thoughtful gift from his father. He pouted a little as his fingers traced the tear.

“I can fix it!”

He lifted his eyes to Marinette as she got on her tiptoes to unwind the scarf from his neck.

“I can make it look as good as new. I know you’re worried, after all it’s your dad’s birthday gift,” she rambled as she delicately folded it, “but I have leftover yarn— I mean, I think I have the same colour, and it’s a simple pattern.”

There was something odd about the way she worded that, but Adrien dismissed it. He must have made a weird face, because now she had a concerned expression.

“I mean, if you trust me with it… I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t after I destroyed it. ”

“No—I mean, don’t be silly, it was an accident… I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you like that!” He managed a relieved little smile. “Still, my father might be upset if he saw I ripped it. Are you sure you can fix it?”

Marinette’s eyes averted his for a moment, as she returned the folded up scarf.

“I’ll do my best! I’m not a pro like your father, but I’m sure I can make it as good as new in no time at all!”

They agreed to go to Marinette’s place after school so that she could start working on it right away, then ran off to class as the second bell rang.

Not exactly the way I planned it, Adrien thought as he scrambled onto his seat, but I guess it worked!

🧵

Adrien reclined in the chaise-longue and looked around Marinette’s bedroom. It was the total opposite of his, huge and aseptic and cold. On the contrary, these walls had warm colours and pictures everywhere, and it smelled amazing, fruity shampoo mixed with glue and ink from her many design projects, mixed with sweets from the bakery, and everything about it was so welcoming and cosy and so… Marinette.

“Yes!” Her delighted voice interrupted his reveries. “I knew I still had it!”

Adrien chuckled as he saw Marinette triumphantly holding a ball of light blue yarn, then get several needles from her yarn basket and sit at her sewing station to start working. He switched seats to her desk chair and rolled close to her.

“Can I help?”

“Sure! Let me just…”

Marinette picked up a long, thin knitting needle and started to thread it on the scarf, just above the tear. She was so concentrated and her movements so careful and precise, she might as well be defusing a bomb. Adrien noticed her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth and wondered what her kisses would taste like.

“There. I have the brakes on, now let’s get going.”

Marinette found the end stitch at the corner of the scarf and cut it. Giving Adrien the end of the yarn, she continued.

“Hold this. Make a ball while I unravel it.”

“Huh? Un-what?” Much as Adrien trusted her skills, he panicked. “Won’t you make it worse?”

“No, because I’m holding the knitting with this,” she pointed at the longer needle she had threaded through the scarf.

Marinette turned her chair, so they were sitting face to face, knees almost touching, and started to quickly unravel the bottom part of the scarf, while he rolled up the thread in a ball, both enjoying the comfortable silence. He noticed a small piece of fabric falling from one of the edges and bent down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” Adrien thought out loud while examining it.

As soon as Marinette lifted her eyes from her work and saw what he was holding, her eyes went wide and her cheeks red.

“Oh, it’s nothing—” she tried unsuccessfully to snatch the fabric from his hand. “Probably just the washing inst—”

It was not an ordinary washing instructions tag. It was tiny and had been woven into the knitting, so discreetly he’d never noticed it before. He turned the fabric over to see a recognisable signature.

Marinette

“Wait— you made this?” Adrien picked up the other end of the scarf from her lap and examined like he’d never seen it before. “Wha—? How? D-did my father buy it off your website?”

So that’s why she was so confident about fixing it. He searched Marinette’s face for an explanation, but she just shook her head and kept looking down, unravelling the loops one by one.

“No— of course not— your site wasn't set up back then, we only took those photos later…”

Adrien thought back to the time Nathalie handed him the present, neatly packed in a box with a ribbon. He’d never seen that kind of care in his father’s presents, just standard gift bags with expensive pens, straight from a corporate catalogue. His train of thought was broken by a couple of tears falling on his hands.

“Marinette…” he murmured, lifting her chin to look into her misty eyes. “Did you make this for me?”

She nodded with a tiny smile. He moved his hand from her chin to cup her cheek, wiping her tears with his thumb.

“Was this supposed to be your present for me?” Another nod. “How did this mess happen then?”

“I…” Marinette had to clear her throat and finally looked at him. Something in her eyes changed from avoidance to determination. “I wanted to give it to you personally, but I couldn’t gather the nerve… then one thing led to another, and I left it in your house, and I even signed it, but…” she shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just… couldn’t. You were so happy with the present from your dad. I couldn’t ruin it for you.”

Adrien made a mental note to find out exactly what had happened, then set all his negative feelings aside. His heart was too full of love to think about anything other than the girl in front of him.

“Oh, Marinette…” he softly chided as he hugged her. How could this girl be so selfless, on top of everything else? She cared for him, really cared for him, even back then. “I wish you’d told me.”

He released the hug and pulled her closer, into his lap. Marinette set the scarf on the sewing table and put her arms around his neck. Her tears were gone and a hint of a smile played on her lips.

“That way,” Adrien caressed her nose with his, “I would have thanked you properly.”

“Oh yeah?” Marinette breathed, her lips very close to his. “You can thank me now.”

They closed the distance between them, their lips melding into a sweet kiss, then another, and then a few more. Adrien’s heart was beating so fast he could hardly bear it. Then he remembered he should probably breathe at some point.

“Wow.”

“If that’s the way you thank a person for a present, I’ll start giving them more often,” Marinette joked.

“Not anyone.” He pecked her lips. “Only you.”

They kissed again, this time more passionately. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her neck, then back up to her lips…

The scarf was left forgotten on the sewing table. It could wait a few more hours before repairing.

Fin

Thanks to @hari-writes and @deinde-prandium for the beta read! ❤️

Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. English is not my first language and I tend to use UK English. If you catch any inconsistencies, please let me know.

My AO3. My Twitter. My Instagram.

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celestial-fucking-weeb · 4 years

Text

Anonymity be Damned

Hi, everyone! This is my first ever fic, and it’s a part of the Citrus Server collab! I’m so excited about it, and I know it’s super self indulgent, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you like it. Please give me feedback and tell me what you like and what I can improve on; also, please be nice to me, I’m a baby.

MASTER LIST IS HERE Go check out everyone’s hard work!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, brief angst, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x chubby!female reader

Taglist: @reinawritesbnha

Prompt: "Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits started to flow.

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist.

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…"

—————————

Of course, not thinking twice about accepting came back to bite you as soon as the realization set in that you would, in fact, have to go. Suddenly hyper-aware of your need to buy a dress, and knowing how little you enjoy shopping, you call your best girls for the job. A quick text to the groupchat had Mina and Yaomomo screaming with excitement that you were actually asking to go shopping. Jirou and Ochako sharing your apprehension, and Hagakure and Froppy bowing out due to their schedules, but wishing you luck with sweet emojis.

Yaomomo chose the dress shop, under the enthusiastic offer that she’d pay to ensure everyone would receive something from her favorite designers. You knew this was a place only Yaomomo could frequent- beautiful gowns lined every wall, display mannequins donning the most gorgeous dresses, made of the best fabrics with jewels perfectly beaded in, none of which had price tags so as to not “ruin the material” as she had told all of you. Whisking you all into dressing rooms bigger than your entire apartment, the staff practically fawned over each of you, offering assistance, refreshments, recommendations, and- oh fuck- measurements. Nerves shot through your entire body and made you nauseous, ready to make a stupid excuse to leave before your insecurities were announced to your girlfriends. You’ve always been...bigger.

The word tasted bitter on your tongue. The consultant made barely a sound as she pulled out her tape, but you heard it. That little “hm” noise, indicating judgement, knowing that most of their stock isn’t going to fit you properly, what with your plump thighs, soft tummy, squishy arms, the rolls that seemed to stay no matter how many workouts you do..

“We don’t carry plus size gowns, but I’m sure I can find something for you.”

All is confirmed when she says those stupid fucking words with that Joker-esqe smile and that hint of disgust in her tone. ‘I shouldn’t be here, I never should’ve accepted that invitation, why did I even think this was a good idea, the whole thing is for beautiful skinny girls like your friends, this is all a mistake,’ you think to yourself, insecurities and anxiety flooding your brain. Mina’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we asked for your personal opinion on her body. In fact, I believe we only asked for you to do your job, but if you can’t complete such a daunting task, I’m sure there are 20 other people who’d love to take your place.” she grinned, in a tone too perky for her threatening choice of words.

“Also, as I happen to frequent this shop, I know your entire inventory. As such, I know that you do, in fact, carry gowns for each of our sizes. If you can find one to fit my chest, I know you have a variety of gowns to fit my beautiful friend, y/n. I suggest you begin pulling them, as I’m sure you’ve gotten the measurements you need. Now.” This time it’s Yaomomo, handling the situation with dignitary-level finality, before gracefully walking to you with a comforting smile. Ochako wipes a tear you weren’t aware had fallen, attempting to comfort you with false empathy, saying how you two are “practically the same size”, but you know you’re not. It’s comforting nonetheless, having the support of your friend group. Jirou cracks self deprecating jokes to lighten the mood, complaining, “If I have to wear a frilly gown to this bullshit, so do you, y/n. You’re not getting out of this that easy,” and you absolutely know she means it.

With your spirit slightly renewed and the consultants carrying in a multitude of dresses, you all end up having a blast laughing about how the pink ballgown does not fit Jirou’s aesthetic and the skintight green satin number Ochako tried on would quite literally have Deku passed out on the floor. You giggled with Yaomomo about how certain dresses looked risqué and nearly pornographic on your respective figures. Mina whined about how each dress didn’t have enough glitter, her complaints falling on deaf ears. Over the course of two and a half hours, each of the girls had secured a dress. Mina, in a teal mermaid-style dress with enough sparkle woven into the tulle to blind. Jirou, in a simple deep purple velvet gown that gracefully fell off her shoulders. Ochako, deciding, after much peer pressure, to opt for the green satin to make Deku drool. Yaomomo, in a red gown with beautiful beading, and a deep V neckline. You, on the other hand, were struggling to find something that doesn’t have you hyperfixating on one aspect of your body or another, limiting your breathing and movement so as to not further sink into the mean thoughts swirling around inside your head. The girls have gone into full support staff-mode, bringing you dresses of every cut known to man, offering more champagne to dull the anxieties, Yaomomo even offering to make you a custom dress with her quirk. Jirou sheepishly comes into the room, head down, hoping no one brings attention to the fact that she just sifted through dresses for a good 15 minutes and didn’t hate it, before nudging your soft side. You turn to her, defeated, and ready to give up, when you realize what she’s holding. She’s picked a dress for you, even though she hates shopping anywhere that isn’t blaring music through the speakers and dimly lit. You smile sweetly at her shy offering, reaching out to take it before she pulls back.

“No, I have an idea… I know it’s easy to look at your insecurities before the dress is all the way on, and I think you should let us help you into it with your eyes closed… Then, when you turn around to the mirror, you can see all the beautiful parts, like we do!” She looks down at the floor as she mutters the words, as though she’s embarrassed to be so soft and sweet.

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, JIROU! OH MY GOD, Y/N, YOU HAVE TO LET US DRESS YOU, IT’LL BE JUST LIKE CINDERELLA WITH THE BIRDS AND THE MICE, COME ONNN…” Mina bounces up and down, grabbing your hands and pleading, knowing you never say no when she gives you such excited eyes.

“Uh… fine… Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. It’s not like I have anything to lose.” You shyly whisper, looking away.

If it were anyone else, you’d never want them to see you getting dressed, soft tummy and extra squish uncovered, leaving you vulnerable to their judgement. But these are your best friends, you’d known them for years. They’d held your hair on your 21st birthday, and cuddled into bed with you when you were crying over unrequited love. They’ve had your back, they’d never make fun of you, and Jirou chose this dress all special for you, you couldn’t say no. With that, you turned around and closed your eyes, arms out and waiting for them to help you into whatever Jirou had deemed right for you.

“Okay, y/n, almost done, just have to zip this last part up and… DONE!” Mina and Yaomomo stepped back from their positions holding the sides and pulling the zipper, respectively. Finally admiring the you in the dress, there was a moment of absolute silence. You started shifting uncomfortably, wondering just how horrible you looked if they didn’t even have words to describe it. Ochako was the first to break the quiet and a teary-sounding “You’re so beautiful, y/n.”, followed by Mina’s signature squeals of excitement. Yaomomo clasped her hands together and began ranting about “how gorgeous you looked” and “how perfect the dress was” and “how she didn’t even know they had this one yet”. Jirou, sensing your anxious shifting, finally told you to open your eyes and turn around with a hand on your shoulder, the satisfied smirk on her face audible in her now assured voice.

“Oh… wow…” was all you could manage to say, eyes wide as you saw yourself in the full length mirror. This was, in all honesty, the first time you felt beautiful in years. The dress did nothing to hide your body- no- it somehow managed to accentuate every single curve in the most beautiful way possible. The gown was black, made from silk and taffeta, with some built in structure, and oh so soft. Simultaneously comfortable, secure, and elegant, the strapless gown mimicked a one shoulder, right side jutting up in an asymmetrical style and the left dipping just low enough to show your cleavage before cascading down your curves, hugging each roll of your body gently, showing off your figure and flowing down to the floor with a slit up your thigh, only visible when you walked and showing the ample flesh of your hip and thigh. God, it was perfect. You felt strong and classy and sexy and beautiful. Turning to Jirou, you pull her into your chest and hug her, thanking her a thousand times for finding it.

“Whoa, hey, okay… I’m glad you like it, you look absolutely beautiful. But- um- hey, can you let go? I’m suffocating in titties here.” Jirou laughed, genuinely struggling to breathe in your embrace.

“Oh shit, sorry, Jirou! I’m just so happy, I love it so much! I kinda forgot you can’t breathe when I do that…” You chuckle nervously, releasing her from your embrace.

“Yay! Okay, now that everyone has a dress, let’s go purchase them and get some food. I’m starving!” Yaomomo pitches the idea, and everyone agrees, excited to hurry out of the shop for a meal.

_____________________________________________________________

The day had finally come, and your nerves felt fried. The other girls all had dates; Momo and Jirou deciding to go together, Ochako with Deku, even Mina was going with Kaminari. But here you were, riding in the car service alone, makeup absolutely flawless, complete with falsies and red lipstick that was the perfect shade to stand out against your skin. Such a shame no one was going to be benefiting from your efforts tonight, although the thought that your longtime crush, Sero Hanta, would be in attendance was enough to urge you to adjust your carefully placed mask, ensuring your anonymity and polishing your confidence. Sero had been in your friend group since high school, and was the first person you truly warmed up to upon your acceptance into the group. You quickly became the “shy little sister” to the loud ones in the group: Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina. Jirou and Sero were more your speed; quieter, more laid back and chill, with great senses of humor that not everyone was privy to. With Jirou as your designated best friend, Sero was proclaimed the unrequited love interest. You friendzoned yourself almost immediately, assuming Sero wouldn’t go for a girl like you, not when he was tall, dark, handsome, and muscular. A budding pro hero wouldn’t want you, not with your shy insecurities and soft body…

Little did you know, Sero had been pining after you since the beginning, flirting with you subtly in hopes that you’d express your interest. Eyes wandering down your curves during movie nights, taking in your too-small shorts and how your oversized shirt would raise just enough to see your little tummy pouch, wishing his face was buried between your plump thighs, praying he would be able to leave hickeys on every delicious roll, pleading he could see those cute chubby cheeks covered with tears while your plush lips wrapped around his cock… No- he couldn’t think of you like that. After all, you never returned his flirting, and there’s no way you’d like him when you could crush on manlier guys like Kirishima and Bakugou. ‘He was just a “dollar store Spiderman”, as Bakugou liked to call him, just a guy… Nothing special…’ he thought to himself as he adjusted his own mask in the bathroom mirror at the gala. His friends had all confirmed that you were coming, and that you were coming alone (said by Kaminari while wiggling his eyebrows). Every other person in the group had a date, including Bakugou and Kirishima, who had to practically drag the former to the event in the first place. He was the only one “stagging it”, aside from you, who would no doubt attract attention and end up going home with some flashy hero higher ranked than he was. He sighed, adjusting his tux jacket and cufflinks, and exited into the main ballroom to get a drink.

You walked into the venue, checked in, and stood frozen outside the ballroom entrance. You adjusted your mask, steeled your nerves, and squared your shoulders, reminding yourself how absolutely gorgeous you looked and donning your best “bad bitch” aura. You strut into the place like you own it, suddenly very aware of how many people there are, scanning for familiar faces as you sway your luscious hips to maintain your balance in your heels.

“Holy fuck... “ Sero utters, jaw slack and eyes locked on you. You’re so perfect, breasts bouncing with every step, thighs and tummy jiggling, soft smile gracing your face. He’s staring, and Kaminari has to elbow him to wipe the drool from the side of his mouth before you get there. You’re equally as enchanted, seeing Sero in his black fitted tuxedo, crushed velvet lapels, tapered pants making his quads look positively biteable, crisp white shirt tailored over his pecs, black bowtie (slightly crooked, very fitting of his personality) and mask obscuring his face, leaving him as nothing more than a handsome stranger. A yellow pocket square catches your attention, reminding you of your favorite hero in his costume. You smirk to yourself, knowing you chose yellow gold heels specifically because they reminded you of him.

“See something you like, Sero-buddy? You’re staring so hard, you’d think she was God.” Kaminari punches Sero in the ribs, trying to break the spell. “Maybe you should talk to her, finally get over your crush on y/n by getting under someone else.” he winks, completely unaware that he’s talking about you in both respects.

“Uh… I don’t know, man. I think I’ll give it a minute, maybe grab another drink and enjoy the party for a while. I’m not trying to start hitting on some random chick just yet, though hot she may be.” Sero laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. He diverts his eyes down to his drink, downs the rest of the liquid, then focuses back on you. You wait at the bar for your drink of choice, aware of that beautiful stranger still staring and leaning against the counter just enough to push your ass out. You hear him nearly choke on his drink, and move around the party satisfied with yourself.

A few drinks later, you find yourself on the dance floor, watching from the edge and lightly swaying to the music. A masked man with shaggy black hair, who you can only assume to be pro hero Grand, given his mask barely covered a fourth of his face probably only worn to fit the theme, approached you for a dance, hand extended and bowing at the waist.

“A lady as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be a wallflower. Care to dance?” he asks, voice low and alluring, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes.

“I might…” you smile shyly, taking his hand and letting him lead you.

Once out on the dance floor, he pulls you into his chest with a hand on your lower back. It’s nice to be wanted, to dance so close to a man who finds you beautiful, especially one as chiseled as Grand. ‘Wait- is he…? Are you fucking kidding?’ Your fight or flight response kicks in as soon as you feel his hand drift lower and lower onto your ass. You pull away, ready to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before you can get a word out, he puts a hand over your jaw, fingers tightly snapping your mouth closed. Unable to speak and too shocked to move, you feel helpless as he whispers in your ear.

“God, I love fat girls. Your self esteem is so low, I can do whatever I want and you’ll fall for it. So stupid, so fun.” His laugh is so dark, and you start to panic before a large, strong hand reaches between the two of you and wraps around Grand’s throat, yanking him back and off of you.

“Listen, this is a classy place, so I’ll give you a choice. Either you apologize to this absolutely gorgeous woman and get the fuck out of here, or I beat you to a bloody pulp right here and ruin both your suit and your face.” The handsome stranger who had originally caught your eye growls, voice so low and intimidating you didn’t doubt for a second he meant every word. ‘His voice sounds so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He’s so angry, and he’s speaking so low, I can’t figure out where I’ve heard that before.’ Thankful for his saving assistance, and trying to calm yourself from hyperventilating, you watch Grand’s retreating form before turning to the man who is quite literally your Prince Charming of the evening.

Voice still low and angry, “Listen, I need you to distract me. Calm me down so I don’t turn around and kill that guy.” he seethes. “You are stunning, absolutely gorgeous. He was so wrong. He’s an asshole, absolutely vile, and he never should’ve even had the nerve to approach you, much less touch you. God fucking damn it, I should-”

You cut him off by pulling him close, placing your hands on his chest and letting them roam up to fix his still crooked bowtie.

“Thank you…” you whisper, tearing up as you put your head on his chest. His cologne is so calming, his scent enveloping you as his arms instinctively wrap around you and his hand finds the back of your head, holding you to his chest.

The two of you slow dance in silence, his head resting on top of yours, the scent of your shampoo and hairspray comforting him and taking him to a dream where he was dancing with the y/n he knew, feeling your soft body pressed against him, imagining how you’d look in the dress on the girl he was actually dancing with. ‘Oh fuck, y/n would look so fucking perfect in this. Her curves- fuck, this dress is soft- I would absolutely love to run my hands along her body in this dress, press her up against me like this, fuck her thighs- wait… SHIT-FUCK-NO’ Snapped out of his thoughts by the increasing tightness of his tux pants, he prays to god the sexy girl pressed against him doesn’t notice.

You notice something nudging against your thigh, breaking you out of your daydreams about the mystery man being Sero Hanta, opening your eyes before you realize exactly what you’re feeling. ‘Oh… OH. Holy fuck, did I make him hard just dancing? He- uh- feels… big… Maybe if I just-’ you subtly shift your hips, thigh brushing up against him and slotting between his legs just enough. A deep groan rises from his chest, and he leans down to your ear.

“Babygirl, if you keep doing what I think you’re doing, I’m going to have to return the favor~” His voice sounds so familiar, but the lust clouding the low rumble has it taking on an entirely new timbre. You lean in, feeling emboldened by his words, swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear with a simple “Oh really?~ And what if that’s the goal?”

With that, he crooks his finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. What starts as a sweet and simple kiss quickly evolves into a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His fingers gently resting on your neck, just above your collarbone, and tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You sigh into him, granting him access and letting his tongue explore your mouth, relishing in his deep rumbles and pressing impossibly closer, hoping he’d get the message and take you somewhere more private. Luckily, it seems he seems to read your body language and leads you to a side hallway by pressing his hand on the small of your back, possessively guiding you. Pushing you up against the wall, he leans back in to resume kissing you, with an arm steadying himself above your head. In a simply embarrassing display of clumsiness, your hand reaching for his cheek goes slightly off course, accidentally knocking off his mask and causing you to fumble to the floor to retrieve it. Upon looking up, you see Sero standing with a flushed face and his hand reaching up to the back of his neck, the endearing nervous tic you’d learned from him over the years. Oh God, if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it sure as fuck was now… The man you had yearned after for years not only swooping in to save you from some low-life creep, but also having you in a kabedon against the wall of the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. He laughs, nervous now without his anonymity, and reaches down to help you up.

“I- uh- sorry, I might’ve gotten carried away. I hope you’re okay, I know I’m probably not the hero you wanted. I really do think you’re beautiful, you actually remind me of someone I know and- wow- I’m rambling…” He goes on like this, panicking that he’s somehow ruined your fantasy and disappointed you by existing. He only shuts up when you stand back upright and kiss him softly.

“You’re exactly the hero I want… The hero I’ve always wanted.” You blush, staring up at him with the most loving doe eyes you can manage.

‘Wait… Her voice… Is that- ?’ Sero came to quite possibly the best and utterly terrifying realization; that the girl he’d been lusting after all night and the girl he’d been wanting for years could be the same girl. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face, lightly grazing your mask as though asking for permission. You nod, never breaking your gaze on his concentrated expression, and parted your lips. He gingerly lifts the mask from your features, damning your anonymity, and each of you hold your breath in anticipation. The way he looks at you is like something out of a movie, or one of those shōjo manga you love to obsess over: pure relief, adoration, lust, love. Oh, you want him to look at you like that forever.

“Y/n, I-... You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you. I have been wanting to kiss you for years, and to finally do it, and with you looking… Wow- you are so fucking stunning, I have never seen anything as beautiful in my life. Fuck, I just- I wish I could tell you how perfect you are, express in words how flawless I’ve always thought you were- still do… “ Sero breathed all of this as though he had to get every word out before you disappeared. He held your face in both hands, lightly squishing your cheeks and stroking his thumb over your lips, taking in your hopelessly enthralled expression. “You know what? Fuck this. No- I mean- not ‘fuck this’, I just… I want to do this right. I want you, I need you. I want to express how important you are, I need to show you that you’re everything to me. I want to worship you, kiss every inch of your body and make you feel so incredibly complete and full and whole and appreciated. Do you understand?”

“Hanta… I- Yes. Yes. Please take me home, I need you. I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” You lean into his touch, wanting to be ever closer to his warmth.

You yelp as he suddenly picks you up, bridal style, as though you don’t even provide a struggle.

“HANTA, you can’t be carrying me, I weigh more than you, no no no, I’m too heavy, you can’t-”

“Y/n. I’m a pro hero, are you seriously telling me I can’t carry you? I can carry 3 people at once while hanging from a strip of tape in midair. I’ll hold you up forever if you’d let me.” He squeezes you in his hold, emphasizing his point.

His cocky attitude was majorly driven by how good you felt, soft tummy and jiggling tits against his torso, the perfect squish of your thighs in his powerful arms, chubby hands and cheeks tucked into his chest and the crook of his neck. He swore he could die happy right there. In the elevator, he took a moment to take in your entire figure, but upon reaching your feet, something turned him absolutely feral. Your shoes. You were wearing his colors. Every single piece of clothing matched his hero costume. ‘Holy shit… You knew. You wanted him before this even happened. You were his.’ The possessive growl that tore from his chest startled you as he adjusted you in his hold. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, hands unapologetically on the ample crux of your thighs and ass, lips on yours in a desperate kiss that was all tongue and teeth, grinding his hard cock against you. You whimpered against his lips, shocked by his sudden change of demeanor.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my colors, aren’t you? You want me to claim you? You want to be mine? I’ll give you anything you want, babygirl. I just need you to ask for it.~” He growled against your neck, nose tracing the column of your throat.

“Hanta, please, yes- ah~. I want to be yours. I only want to be yours. I need you. Please, please, please.” Normally, you’d be way too shy to beg this much, embarrassed about how desperate you sound, but fuck he’s making you so needy. The gasp that escapes you when Sero licks a stripe up your neck turns into a moan when he starts sucking a hickey over your pulsepoint. He feels so good, the heat between your thighs steadily building with every nip of his teeth and roll of his hips. You thread your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and pull gently, earning a groan and a buck of his hips. He works his way up to your jaw, leaving pretty little marks in his wake, and returns to your lips like a safe haven. He strokes your tongue with his own, committing your taste to memory. He never wants to forget this moment, especially not when you lightly suck his tongue and pull him in further with those perfect fucking thighs. You’re so soft, being wrapped in your plushness with his fingers digging into the pliable flesh of your ass is too much. Sero’s sinful thoughts are interrupted by your fucked-out voice, so small and innocent, as though you’re afraid of his answer.

“Um… Can I- can I touch you? I mean- I- can I mark you, too?” You sound so unsure, not used to someone wanting to show you off. You’re so breathless, and he’d be lying if the pleading in your voice didn’t make his dick twitch in his pants.

“Awwww~ is my babygirl shy now? You want to mark me, too? Go ahead, mi amor, sí se puede. I’m all yours, just like you’re mine.” Sero cranes his head to the side, baring his neck to you, waiting for you to bless him with those full lips, waiting for you to make a show of him finally having the most perfect girl he’s ever known.

If he could’ve taken a picture of your face in that moment, he’d look at it every day. Squishy cheeks blushing, eyes wide with surprise and excitement, gaze clouded with lust. You were so pretty, he couldn’t wait to ruin you. Sero moaned as you sucked a small dark mark onto his skin and happily carried you from the elevator to his room. You tighten your arms around him when he reaches for his key card, involuntarily pushing your chest together and pressing up into him.

“Oh, mi corazón, if you keep pressing into me like that, voy a tener que lamer cada parte de ti y puede que no te deje ir…” His threats sound more like promises when he’s carrying you through the threshold and placing you down gently, though his hands never leave your body. Tracing your sides, memorizing your curves, squeezing any part he can get his hands on. His right hand inches down your torso, resting on the pouch of your tummy and making you flinch. Sero notices and worries he’s hurt you, or that you don’t want him to touch you. The hurt in his eyes is obvious when he takes in your tense muscles and eyes squeezed shut, realizing it’s your own insecurities holding you back. He wishes you could see how beautiful you are, see yourself through his eyes. He was going to make you feel so fucking loved, he just had to show you what he couldn’t express in words. You stripped him of his jacket as he unknotted his tie. With nervous hands, you unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it past his broad shoulders, fingers trailing down his sculpted chest and lean abs, admiring the enticing adonis belt and pretty trail of coarse black hair disappearing into his pants. Sero, with his ego now boosted by the lustful look in your eyes as you took him in, returned your gaze to his face with an intensity that made you shiver. He kept eye contact while sweeping your hair to one side, and slowly unzipping your gown. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans down to place open mouthed kisses along your shoulders as he pushes your dress down your body, kissing down your arms as it falls, and places a sweet kiss to your hands. Pushing you onto the bed with a soft thud and climbing over top of you, he moves the hands that raise to cover yourself , grasping your wrists in one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, as he softly reassures you.

“Princesa, please don’t hide from me. I’ve waited for you for so long, and I want to worship every inch of you. I’m going to make you cry out my name, and show you just how perfect you are while you cum on my tongue. You will not say a single bad thing about mi amor, you understand?” he says lowly, so loving yet commanding.

“Yes, Hanta… I- I’ll be good for you, I promise.” you whine, praying your submission would please him.

The sound of his given name in that pleading tone has him painfully hard, but he’s too focused on hearing his name from your sweet lips again to care. You pull him down into a passionate kiss and roll your hips against his clothed cock when he laves down your neck and leaves love bites across your chest. He sucks your nipple into his warm mouth and rolls the other between his forefinger and thumb, earning a high pitched keen from you. He switches to give the same attention to the other side, tongue swirling around the peaked bud and relishing the way your chest heaves just from his mouth on your tits. ‘So needy… Fuck, how did I ever wait this long to see y/n like this and hear her sounds?’ Sero thinks to himself, so ready to watch your eyes roll back in your skull the minute you feel his cock fill you. The thought of you bouncing on his dick, watching you jiggle with his thrusts, letting him grip the fat on your hips and help you fuck yourself on him, feeling your lovely thighs straddle him, has him impatiently rutting into the mattress. He needs to taste you, leave marks all over your delicious tummy and thighs, and feel you coming undone beneath him. His large hands slide down your sides, rubbing back up under your breasts, gripping the extra flesh over your ribcage, the soft love handles on your sides, caressing the perfect pouch of your belly and settling on your hips. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing and licking every place you had deemed undesirable like they were the sexiest pieces of you, leaving dark hickeys on the front of your hips to remind you that all of these parts were now his to love.

“Lo siento, babygirl, pero no puedo esperar más, necesito mi lengua en ese bonita coño jodidamente ahora. Estas necesitan estar en el suelo ahora.” If his panting growl of Spanish didn’t already have your pussy gushing, his strong fingers ripping your panties and hoes off your body had you dripping onto the bed. Your shocked squeak turning into a moan when he parted your legs and nipped at the soft skin of your inner thigh, Sero is beyond delighted by feeling your beautiful thighs squishing against his face. If he could choose his end, it would undoubtedly be suffocating between this plush heaven. He snaked his arms under your parted thighs to hold your hips, squeezing and marveling at the feeling of your warm body protruding between his spread fingers, trying to fit as much of you in his grasp as he could and never getting enough. You’re just about to plead for him to touch you where you need him most when you lock eyes and hear the teasing lilt in his voice when he groans “Itadakimasu~” and flattens his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

“So wet for me, princesa, is this all for me? You’re so thoughtful to give me a meal so sweet.”

“Hantaaa, please. I want you, please don’t tease me, please touch me. I need- ah~”

Your begging is interrupted by his tongue diving into your sex, lapping at your slick like a man starved. The moans coming from the man between your thighs were sinful; in this moment, Sero Hanta was no longer the friend you’d watched superhero movies with and silently crushed on for years- he was a man, a lover, all you’d ever wanted. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking the sensitive pearl into his mouth, he pulled one hand from your hip and slowly slipped two long fingers into your sopping heat. The callused pads from years of hero training now rubbing perfectly against your walls have you crying out for him and grasping his hair, begging him to go faster. He suddenly props himself up, bringing his palm up to grind against your clit and slowing his thrusts, wanting to hear you beg for him and watch your desperate facial expression.

“What is it you want, babygirl? C’mon, you’re going to have to use that pretty little mouth of yours. Tell me what you want, baby, use your words. I wanna hear you beg for me.” That normally dopey smile was replaced with a lewd smirk, hungry and covered in your juices.

“H-Hanta, please please please. I need you, need your mouth. Please I wanna cum, please let me cum, I want you to fuck me! Please please pleaseeeee~” Hips bucking forward, sweat lightly covering your skin, hair splayed out, body covered in his marks, begging for him… Shit, he’d give you anything you asked for. Oh, he’ll give you what you need- don’t you worry.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me. I’ll make this pretty pussy cum. Hold onto me and just relax, princess.”

His lips returned to your clit, flicking his tongue and sucking lightly, and increased his pace. He curled his fingers just right, finding the spongy underside of your clit and he chuckles darkly to himself when your back arches, head falling back onto the pillows.

“There it is~, there we go, babygirl. Cum for me, just like this. I’ve got you, let go, cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long after his mouth goes back to nursing on your clit and his fingers continuously hitting your g-spot for the coil in your belly to finally snap. You climax hard, eyes screwed shut and screaming out his name as his tongue works you through your high. Once you’ve come down, you open your eyes and see Sero sucking his fingers clean of your release and unbuckling his belt with the other hand. You sit up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, and unbuttoning his pants. He grows impatient with your pace, shoving his pants and tight boxers down at once. ‘Fuck, his dick is pretty’ you think to yourself, marveling at the masterpiece before you. He’s long, maybe 8.5-9 inches, thick enough to stretch your walls so deliciously but not too thick to fit in your mouth, prominent vein running along the underside and leading from the neat crop of black hair to the leaking tip, begging for your tongue. You start to rise to your knees before being pushed back into the duvet, looking up at him in confusion.

“No, no, mi amor. As much as I want to see your beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, that’s gonna have to wait. I want to be inside you, I need to fuck you until all you can think about is me and how fucking beautiful I think you are.” His eyes are so sincere. He looks down at you with the most loving stare you’ve ever felt, so calm and safe in his presence. You’re lulled into submission, every doubtful argument you had died on your tongue, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He leans over you, bracing himself on an elbow with his hand on your jaw to keep your eyes fixated on him. The other hand wraps around the base of his cock and teases the head along your slit, pressing on your clit just enough to have you squirming, trying to impale yourself.

“So needy for me, so wet. You’re so perfect, babygirl, I wouldn’t want to go too fast now. I want to savor every inch, feel you stretch around me while I watch those e/c eyes roll back in pleasure.” He holds back from thrusting into you when you whine in response, breathing heavy and struggling to get him inside. “Damn, baby, if you’re that desperate, why don’t you tell me exactly what you want? Beg for my cock, mi amor.”

“PLEASE, I need you inside me, please! I need your cock. Please fuck me, Papi~” You gasp out in succession, trying out the name you had once heard Kaminari teasing him about. It was a desperate attempt to get him to move, one your fucked-out brain decided was your best shot at getting him feral. And holy shit were you right. Sero fills you in an instant, hard length thrust to the hilt in your tight hole, causing you to cry out, eyes rolling back just as he promised.

“FUCK!” He’s losing restraint, driven mad by the filthy name coming from your angelic lips. The squeezing and fluttering of your walls is the only thing grounding him to Earth as he smirks down at you, baring his teeth while his other hand comes to wrap around your throat and apply light pressure to the sides. “Oh you know what you’re doing, don’t you? You have no idea how many times I imagined you calling me like that with these soft thighs wrapped around me; trust me, it’s nothing close to how sexy the real thing is. If you want to play dirty, princesa, don’t blame me when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

He backed up his statement with a few deep strokes that had your mouth falling open and eyes unfocusing, still unable to look away from the man about to wreck you. In a weak attempt to ground yourself, you reach up and place your hands on his back to feel the flexing of his muscles as he gave you slow, deep thrusts. Running your hands along his shoulders had your pussy clenching, and the groan pulled from his chest accompanying a harsh increase in his pace had your nails clawing at the corded muscles, causing him to put more force into fucking you into the mattress. A cycle of reactions, spurring the other on to continue and escalate.

“You feel so good, babygirl. S-So tight, you feel like you’re fucking made for me. I love you so much. I love everything about you. God, I fucking love your body- I love your curves, I love your legs wrapped around me, I love your sexy fucking thighs, I love your cute tummy- love how you feel pressed against me, I love running my fingers up your arms and kissing back down, I love gripping your hips when I hold you, I love watching you jiggle when you walk and bounce when I fuck you like this. You’re so fucking beautiful, so perfect for me.” Sero babbles out praises like he’ll die if he doesn’t get them out. You’re a blushing mess, knowing these words are completely true, tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously as he thinks them. “I love that expression, angel. Still so shy at my praises, even though I can feel you trying to milk my cock at every word. Such a good girl for me. Why don’t you tell me who makes this pretty pussy feel so good, huh? Say it, angel.”

“Hantaaa~ you feel so good. Please don’t stop!! I’m so close, please. I wanna cum, I wanna cum on your cock, please Papiiii~. You make me feel so good. I love you, I love you, I’m all yours. Please, I’m yours-ah~, I wanna be yours. I need you, I love you so much. Only you could make me feel like this-fuck- it’s only you. Please make me cum, Papi~” Your moans and pleas are getting louder and louder, chasing your impending climax. Every emotion flowing out of you, combined with the wonderful overstimulation, had tears rolling down your pudgy cheeks. You hadn’t yet realized you were crying when Sero leaned down to kiss and lick away the salty streams.

“Okay, princesa, I’ll give you what you need. How can I say no when you're being so good for me? Such a beautiful mess, all for me. So perfect. My good girl~” His right hand smoothes down your torso and settles between your thighs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Come on, babygirl. Papi’s got you, I’ll take good care of you. Cum for Papi. Cum on my cock.”

Your final orgasm has your back arched off the bed, eyes crossed, tongue lolling out, screaming out a string of “Hanta”, “Papi”, and “I love you”. Sero keeps his pace steady, fucking you through your climax and trying to prolong it as long as he can. The feeling of your doughy pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice, the gloriously wrecked ahegao face, and the sound of your cries as you creamed on his dick had him right on the edge of his own high. He started to pull out, not wanting to cross any boundaries, when he felt your legs pull him in even further. He looks back to your face; hazy, loving eyes drawing him in with that innocent look.

“Please cum inside me Papi, I want it! I’m yours, I want you. I want you to fill me up.” The permission to claim his longtime love and the aftershocks of your orgasm having you still pulsing around him finally push him over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting in a feeble attempt to muffle his moans of your name as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum warming your insides and painting your walls white. You feel so full and so content. Staying inside you, Sero rolls the two of you over to lay on his back, still holding your sweaty bodies together as he kisses your forehead and strokes your hair, telling you how good you did, how happy he was, how proud he was of you.

No one has ever made you feel so good, so wanted. Normally, your post-sex thoughts are plagued with insecurities, but instead all yoou can think about is Sero and how perfect this was. How beautiful he made you feel… and how you didn’t want it to end.

“H-Hey… Um… Sero?” you timidly get his attention.

“Y/n, I’m gonna need you to start calling me Hanta if we’re gonna be together. It’s a little weird to call your boyfriend by their family name, isn’t it?… Unless you wanna call me Papi, of course~” He says, his normal goofy grin and teasing tone returned.

“Wait… You- you really want to be with me? You don’t want me to keep it a secret? I will if you tell me to… I don’t want to embarrass you, I know I’m not exactly the ‘trophy wife’ the other heroes go for… I just really like you- um- actually, I’ve been in love with you for years now, and I just got really excited that you wanted me and-” Your nervous muttering is cut off with his lips softly pressed against yours, his hand moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Mi amor, I’ve been in love with you for just as long. You are my trophy, the greatest part of me. Every single thing I said is true, and I’ve thought those things for our entire friendship. If you think for a second that I won’t be walking around shirtless, showing off all of these marks to Kirishima and Kaminari, you don’t know me at all.” He winks at you and brings your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss there. “Princesa, babygirl, mi corazón… Nunca te dejaré, yo nunca te dejaré salir, yo prometo. I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you, too, y/n.”

You fall asleep on his chest to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat and steady breathing. Upon waking up, you assume you had just dreamed the entire affair, chalking it up to your vivid imagination and drinks at the ball. That is, until you realize you’re trapped in a tangle of limbs with Hanta, leg hiked over his body and arms encompassing each other. You try to shift slightly to see his sleeping face, but he stirs and rolls over on top of you with a groan. The jolt of his muscles jerking awake told you he also thought he had dreamed the entire thing, believing that the prospect of your mutual pining actually coming to fruition was too good to be true.

“Good morning, angel. I’m so glad you’re real… And that you’re all mine.” Sero softly sighs, voice rough from sleep, nuzzling his face into your chest and squeezing your soft midsection to hold you closer.

“Good morning, love. I’m so so happy, but there’s one thing…” You say, trying to hold back your giggles.

“What is it, baby? Is something wrong? What did I do?” Sero starts thinking of every possible scenario as you soothe his thoughts with a cheeky smile.

“I- um… I think I need you to carry me to the shower, you weren’t lying when you said I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.” Both of you erupt in a fit of laughter. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the shower, so content in finally having his girl.

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A/N: WHEW okay… I’m actually really proud of this, and I hope you guys like it. The Latin Sero headcanon hits me so hard and I just absolutely simp for this sweet tape boy. Huge thank you to @reinawritesbnha for inspiring me to write this matchup, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten for encouraging me and giving me the courage to post, and my dear, sweet Sage for reading it to make sure I don’t embarrass myself and inspiring me to write in the first place. <3

#sero x reader #sero hanta #hanta sero #sero hanta smut #bnha #mha #mha sero

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headoverheelsforramsey · 3 years

Note

Hey hey hey! Here are this week's newlywed questions! So excited!

Note: Once again, this week’s round focuses on photos! Dialogue is entirely optional, though for some of these, it’d be fun to know the story behind the pictures ;) Tumblr mobile only allows 10 picture uploads (there are 10 questions), so collages are highly encouraged! Otherwise, the non-beta version of Tumblr desktop will allow more than ten.

Have fun!

For MC

Favorite childhood photo of Ethan

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Contact name and photo for Ethan

Top three photo results when you Google Ethan

First picture of or with him that you uploaded to social media

For Ethan

Favorite childhood photo of your spouse

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Contact name and photo for your spouse

Top three photo results when you Google your spouse

First picture you ever took of or with your spouse

*Credit to the anon who sent me the first three questions!

Hi Bree! These questions were so fun to answer, I loved it! 🤩 Thank you for sending these to me! 💖

P.S. : Ignore my mediocre editing skills, I tried my best! 😬

So lezz go!

FOR MEERA

Favorite childhood photo of Ethan

Meera : Ooh! Starting with a bang!

Ethan : No, Meera. Bree said favourite not embarrassing.

Meera : What if the embarrassing one is my favourite?

Ethan (with a snug face) : Fine then, I have ammunitions too.

Meera : You do?

Ethan (nods)

Meera (thinks for a moment) : Fine, so can we call it truce that no embarrassing pictures this round? (extends hand)

Ethan (shakes hand) : Sure Dr. Ramsey-Bose.

Meera : After the infamous CPR pic, this has to be my favourite. Look at this kid. Isn't he adorable? 🥺 You were always a dog person, no doubt we are soulmates.

Ethan : That's Tito. He was the pet to an elderly couple that lived accross the street from us. He was a very good boy.

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Meera : This picture from our wedding is one of my favourite.

Ethan : Mine too.

Contact name and photo for Ethan

Meera : He didn't allow the 🥵 emoji so I bargained it for the 🔥 one.

Ethan : I neither understand the purpose nor importance of this.

Meera : Try being a millenial to understand babe.

Top three photo results when you Google Ethan

Meera (chuckles) : Remember the first time you did this for the pictagram profile.

Ethan : I said this that day, I'll say it again, the internet is a scary place.

Ethan : Officially off the market? What even is that?

Meera (not being able to stop laughing) : You look so cute when flustered.

Ethan rolls eyes

Meera : Okay this is the article from when you announced on national television that you are not single. And the rest two are your recent achievements.

Ethan : Yes but how is something from four years back still the top result?

Meera : You did break almost a million hearts that day.

Ethan (a huge grin on his face) : Damn. Bad luck, I am stuck with you.

First picture of or with him that you uploaded to social media

Meera : Oh my my I have to scroll waayyy back for that.

Ethan (looks at Meera's screen as she scrolls) : Howcome there are more pictures of me on your profile than yours?

Meera : Because you are hotter and more famous and that gives me much more likes and followers.

Ethan (shakes head) : Kids these days.

Meera : So, a little backstory. Dr. Ramsey kissed me infront of the entire hospital on the day of the Gala. But then didn't want to make our relationship public. I agreed because everyone was not in a right mindspace with the hospital closing and losing jobs.

Ethan : We were also figuring things out since we no longer would be working in the same place.

Meera : Then the hospital got saved and everything went back to normal. But he still didn't want to make it public. Next he wanted to take me for a getaway before the hospital opened after the remodeling. So I told him that I had to make it public now.

Ethan : As far as I remember, you ordered.

Meera : Yes I did. You tell me Bree what was I gonna tell my roommates? That I am going away for a romantic getaway with my BOSS? So I had to make it public a week before we left with this post. And all my friends and acquaintances literally roasted us alive in the comments. (facepalms)

Ethan : In my defense, how was I suppose to know that every single person knew?

Meera : You weren't quite subtle about it babe.

Ethan : But at the end it all paid off. (kisses Meera)

FOR ETHAN

Favorite childhood photo of your spouse

Meera : Remember no embarrassing ones.

Ethan : I got you, love.

(just breaking character here to say this is me lol 🙈)

Meera : Oh my God! How did you even get this?

Ethan : Maa (Meera's mom) sent this.

Meera : This was at my uncle's wedding. I was what? Four.

Ethan : and the cutest four year old.

What’s your phone wallpaper image?

Ethan : One from our Indian Wedding, where she looked like a queen.

Meera : I LOVE this picture!

Contact name and photo for your spouse

Meera (sighs) : Gonna be something boring for sure.

Meera : Okay Ramsey, I see you played well. Now what about adding a 🥵 emoji beside the purple heart?

Ethan : I'll delete the picture and the heart if you try to bring me to put one of those faces.

Meera : Okay, okay, I hear you. Better be happy with what you have!

Top three photo results when you Google your spouse

Meera : Am I even famous enough to be Google searched?

Ethan : Ofcourse you are, darling!

Meera (chuckles) : Yeah I am, after marrying you.

Ethan : That's not true see this one is about you heading the DT.

Meera : And the other ones are about our wedding and honeymoon respectively.

Ethan : Don't worry you will recieve all the recognition and love within a few years, I promise. (kisses her forehead)

Meera : With a husband and mentor like this, ofcourse I will.

First picture you ever took of or with your spouse

Meera : Shit! Why can't I remember this?

Ethan silently pulls out the picture.

Meera : Oh yes this was in Miami, with Ines!

Ethan : Absolutely correct.

Meera : Now I remember. I was too afraid to ask you for a photo so Ines made you click one of us. And look at you know, my designated photographer for life!

Ethan (grins) : Can't say, I don't enjoy capturing your beauty.

Meera : Aww!

(they kiss)

Phew! Another week done! Thank you Bree for this once again! 💖 @jamespotterthefirst @messrprongs

A/N : I realised after creating the social media post that @gryffindordaughterofathena had used the same photo. But she gave me a green light to post mine so thank you Dri! 🤗

Tagging my usual : @starrystarrytrouble @mm2305 @charisworld @choicesfanaf @potionsprefect @genevievemd @shanzay44 @little-flowers-on-heaven @schnitzelbutterfingers @coffeeheartaddict @gryffindordaughterofathena @chemist-ana @adiehardfan @custaroonie @ireneadlerisseggsy @takemyopenheart @natureblooms24 @mainstreetreader @izzyourresidentlawyer @a-crepusculo @quixoticdreamer16 @starryeyedrookie @barbean

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. Also if you want to sit out only the answers to the newlyweds game then hit me up too. There will be no hard feelings I promise! 💜

#newlyweds game with your host bree #queen bree supremacy!#ethan x meera

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costellos · 3 years

Text

a/n: here are all the Bucci gang asks from last Thurday’s Halloween headcanon ask game! I decided to compile them into one giant post bc... hoo boy... there were a lot. nonetheless, thanks for participating, friends! this was so much fun!! (also, side note, there are still a ton in my ask box. I’ll get to those sometime this week, so hang tight!)

tw: minor gore mention in Abbacchio and Fugo’s descriptions

❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang & some misc. halloween headcanons!

bruno bucciarati.

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@buuni asked: ahhh the Halloween emoji game seems fun !! could I ask for Bruno 🍂 thank you !! And I hope you’re doing well this spooky season 🐇💕

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🍂 what their favorite fall activity is

participating in All Souls Day. although Bucciarati was raised Catholic, I don’t think he’d remain a practicing one. still, there’s something comforting about honoring the deceased. he’d tell you fun, little stories about his father and the kind of household Bucciarati was raised in. you can’t help but notice how happy he looks as he talks. how his eyes sparkle, that rare, genuine smile on his lips. at the end of the day, he tucks a chrysanthemum behind your ear and places a kiss on your temple. “I appreciate your patience, amore,” he hums, that smile still on his lips. “it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

leone abbacchio.

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@heartsllabyul asked: OMGOMGOMG TOYAAAAAA 🍂🍿 with the loml leone abbacchio please 🥺

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🍂 what their favorite fall activity is

trying seasonal foods. Abbacchio finds a lot of it fascinating since “fall” isn’t really a season in Italy. it gets colder sure, but the culture around autumn isn’t nearly as big as it is in your country. he thinks a lot of autumn-based foods are odd. pumpkin spice anything tastes artificial to him, though he thinks butternut squash soup is decent. his favorite is spiked apple cider! but he’d never admit it. he thinks it’s entertaining watching you desperately search for some seasonal food that he’d like.

🍿 how they react to watching a horror movie

he doesn’t! Abbacchio doesn’t see the appeal behind horror movies. besides, his time as a police officer and mobster has made it difficult for him to see them as anything other than cheap entertainment. and that goes for slashers, psychological thrillers, and gorey flicks. despite all that, he’ll watch horror movies if you like them. he finds your interest endearing. he gets more embarrassed than he’d like to admit when you hold onto his arm as you watch.

giorno giovanna.

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anonymous: giorno + 🏠🍂? Abbababy Anon asked: Hmm hmm~ how about 🎃 for Fugo and Giorno?

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🏠 how they would react to being in a haunted house

pretty well! Giorno isn’t someone who scares easily. the most he’ll do is take a step back when something gets him. he keeps his fingers laced with yours, ready to advance (or abandon ship) whenever you’re ready.

🍂 what their favorite fall activity is

watching meteor showers. autumn is an astronomy hot spot, an event that he would love to share with you. anything about life and human existence is a topic of interest of Giorno. how to preserve it, how to observe it. he’d happily share everything that he knows with you. Giorno would take you far away from the city, far enough for you to clearly see the night sky, and far enough to be completely alone. but once the meteor shower starts, strangely, he wouldn’t be watching what seems to be falling stars. no, his eyes would be locked on his other favorite spectacle: the person sitting right beside him.

🎃 how seriously they take carving pumpkins

not seriously, and he’s not a big fan of it. he hates scooping out the pumpkin’s guts to start carving. the wet and sticky texture, along with the smell... no thanks. he’d rather watch you do it. and once you’re finished, he’d be happy to sprinkle some cinnamon in so that the pumpkin smells more palatable once it’s lit.

guido mista.

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@zellyroo asked: 🍂 and 🎃 w/ mista please? 💛💛

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🍂 what their favorite fall activity is

Mista loves picking apples. it’s a laid-back activity with a high return rate. spending time with you and getting food while feeding the Pistols? count him in. plus, he loves feeling like the perfect boyfriend when he has to help you grab those hard-to-reach apples. and dear god, don’t get him started on apple cider donuts. oof. he could eat 10, easily.

🎃 how seriously they take carving pumpkins

very seriously. he’s seen so many cool designs, how hard can it be? Mista quickly learns, however, that carving pumpkins is quite difficult. you laugh when you hear him curse under his breath as he tries to cut through it. the Pistols bully him for his ugly design, but it’s hard to understand them when their mouths are stuffed with pumpkin seeds. Mista just tells them to shut it. in the end, he gives up on his elaborate design, opting for something more simple. after all, he hates anything that complicates his life (and boy, is this stupid pumpkin doing just that). it comes out like any other jack-o’-lantern.

narancia ghirga.

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anonymous asked: Hi; May I ask 🧙‍♀️ for Narancia, please? Thank you! :D 🧡

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🧙 if they would dress up & what they would dress as

it would take a little convincing to get Narancia to dress up. he really, really wants to do it, but he doesn’t want to come off as childish! you’d have to tell him that everyone in the U.S. dresses up on Halloween. but once he’s convinced, he’s convinced. he’d be bouncing a variety of ideas with you; he’d probably have a new one every hour. in the end, he’d settle on something spooky with you, like dressing up as zombies! (much to Fugo’s dismay.)

pannacotta fugo.

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anonymous asked: 🧟‍♂️ 🍂 for Fugo! Abbababy Anon asked: Hmm hmm~ how about 🎃 for Fugo and Giorno?

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🧟‍♂️ a non-serious fear that they have

zombies. the idea of a virus spreading, how it wrecks your immune system and makes you lose control of yourself... it reminds him too much of Purple Haze. on a less serious note, he just thinks they look gross. he’s seen his fair share of innards and bodily fluids during his time in Passione, but. still. eugh.

🍂 what their favorite fall activity is

corn mazes, surprisingly! it was one of those things he thought was stupid at first, but loved once he was actually in one. the maze attendant gave you both a series of riddles mapped according to different intersections in the field. Fugo had a blast trying to figure it out; after all, it was just one giant puzzle. he had a smug look for the rest of the day once he found out that he beat Mista’s time.

🎃 how seriously they take carving pumpkins

too seriously for it to be fun. being raised in a demanding household has built him to be a huge perfectionist. carving pumpkins was something he thought would be really easy until he got to it himself. the pumpkin’s rind is so difficult to cut through that it makes his lines look jagged. and god, he was not expecting it to be so messy. Fugo had this elaborate design planned out, but once he finished, he ended up with a standard jack-o’-lantern face. you’ll have to remind him that it still looks great.

trish una.

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anonymous asked: 🍂 and 🎃 for trish?

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🍂 what their favorite fall activity is

getting fall-themed coffee, obviously! but not pumpkin spice lattes. god, no. Trish thinks they’re overdone. she’d rather go for anything with caramel and / or cinnamon. bonus points if it’s sugary (bitter coffee is only tolerable). she laughs when you get whipped cream stuck on your top lip, but her honey-sweet giggle is always followed by her swiping her thumb over your face. it’s a great excuse to touch you.

🎃 how seriously they take carving pumpkins

not too seriously. at least not initially. she sees it as another part of American culture that she doesn’t understand. but when she sees how much fun you’re having, she can’t help but get into it herself. it’s a fun past time, albeit difficult (who knew these gourds were so thick?). Trish makes it her personal goal to make her pumpkin look nicer than yours. although she’s unsuccessful in her endeavor, she’d admit that pumpkin carving was “just okay” — aka really fun.

#bucci gang #jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #headcanons #golden wind #part 5 #ask game response #giorno giovanna #Bruno Bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #Narancia Ghirga #Pannacotta Fugo #trish una #gore mention /#after about 3 months of running this blog #I finally got a Trish request #bless u anon :')#she was a joy to write for

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a-bts-world · 3 years

Text

Fake dating II part 4 II Wong Yukhei

see masterlist for part 1-3

fashion designer ! wong yukhei x florist ! reader

It has been a few weeks since your high school reunion when Yukhei texts you without any warning. But since you are at work, you decided to ignore the text for now. You will deal with it later, atleast that was your plan. With every passing minute you get more curious, wondering why he would even text you after three weeks with no contact. With your mind not at your work you cut yourself instead of the flower’s stem. ‘y/n, what happened? You are usually not this clumsy. What is on your mind?’ your boss asks your concerned. Your boss is an older lady who’s love for flowers is almost bigger than the love for her husband. You answer her question it’s nothing and you are just a bit tired. ‘You know what, you can get five minutes of to get a band-aid and ease your mind. So you do as your told, going into the back of the shop to get a band-aid and a glass of water. Your curiosity got the best of you and after aiding your finger you decide to unlock your phone and up the text Yukhei sent you.

Hii,

Lucas here. Do you remember me talking to Kun at the reunion? Well he was willing to invest in my fashion line. But he still thinks we are dating, so he invited the two of us over for dinner. Are you willing to help me out? If not I can just tell him we broke up.

Let me know what you think

Bye

Not knowing what to respond to this you just leave him on read and decide to text him back when you finish work. So after finishing your glass of water you go back in to the shop, helping your boss making a few bouquets.

It has been a long day at work when you arrive home. After finishing the bouquets for the next day, another order came in for four more bouquets. You offered to stay overtime and finish the bouquets, since your boss is a bit older and you don’t want her to overwork herself. So when you finally open te door to your apartment you just want to go to bed. But as you enter the living room you see Da-hee sitting on your couch and as you want to ask her what she’s doing her, you notice Ten walking out the kitchen. ‘Hey y/n, how are you? We thought it was time to have a small get together. We missed you, our hard working girl,’ Ten excitedly explains why they are at your apartment. Setting down the glasses and bottle of water he was carrying. You just sighed and sat down next to Da-hee on the couch. ‘what’s with that sigh, my friend?’ Ten asks you curious.

‘I’m just very tired from working all week,’ you answer, forgetting about the text Lucas send you halfway during the day. You grab the bottle of water and fill your glass, gulping the water down in mere seconds. Da-hee follows your example and also fill her glass with water. Ten however grabs the remote from the television and puts on some show. ‘Do you guys want something to eat as well? I haven’t had dinner yet, so I will just make some ramen. Nothing special,’ you tell them and they shake their heads. They probably had dinner before going to your apartment. You get up from the couch and walk towards the kitchen. While making the ramen your hear some screaming from the couch.

‘y/n! why didn’t you tell me this?’ Ten questions you about something you apparently should have told him. ‘Since when are you and Lucas texting?’ He screams excitedly, and that is when you remember the text you were still supposed to answer. You hurry to the couch making sure you can get your phone back from Ten. You see another text

Okay, I knew this was a onetime thing. But leaving me on read, when I ask a favor back is a bit low y/n. I hope you know that.

‘F*ck!’ you scream not explaining anything to Ten and Da-hee. You sigh and fall down on the couch, your head in Da-hee’s lap. She just starts stroking your hair to calm you down. ‘Guys, I f*cked up,’ You then see and Ten starts laughing. In between his laughs you can make out that he grabbed your phone and saw Yukhei’s text. ‘Ten! Stop laughing,’ you whine, feeling really bad for yourself.

‘I’m sorry, but this is hilarious and such a Lucas thing to do.’

‘Well since you know him so good, why don’t you help me?’ getting a bit angry with Ten for only laughing at you. Atleast Da-hee is trying to comfort you even though she still doesn’t know what happened. ‘now please hand me back my phone.’

‘Okay,’ Ten answers and hands you your phone back. Since you are feeling so bad for yourself you don’t want to explain what happened to Da-hee, so you just hand her your phone. She looks at you confused but your eyes tell her to read the texts.

‘Okay, I think your reaction was a bit too much. You can just tell him you forgot to answer since you were busy at work. I don’t think it’s that bad,’ Da-hee comforts you after reading the texts. She also starts typing immediately. Within a minute she shows you the text she thought out. You read it over.

Hii,

I’m sorry for not replying earlier. I was very busy at work and when I read your text a costumer came in and it stayed busy after that. To answer your first text, I think the least I can do is going to that dinner. How is your fashion line working out so far, do you have any options for me to buy?

Bye

‘Thank you so much girlie!’ you scream at Da-hee and click send. Afterwards you give your friend a tight hug and put your phone away. ‘No it’s time to have fun,’ you tell your friends excitedly and your evening with a lot of laughing and drinking starts.

It’s been almost two weeks since Yukhei had texted you about Kun wanting to meet the both of you again and you have been texting every day since. It started out as getting to know each other more, so nothing weird could happen, but now you actually enjoy it. Right now you are at work, but when you get off in an hour or so, Yukhei will be here to pick you up. You have a change of clothes in your bag, so you can change out of your work clothes at the shop.

Hii, I will be a bit earlier to pick up a bouquet for Kun and his girlfriend. Is that okay?

You read the text Yukhei just send you, you just answer his text with a thumbs up emoji. Then the bell rings announcing there is new costumer in the shop. ‘Hello! How can I help you?’ you question the costumer and start picking out a bouquet. After this costumer a few other costumers also come in. Up until five minutes before closing time it’s pretty busy in the shop. You sigh cleaning everything as fast as possible. Just before it’s closing time your hear the bell again.

‘Hello? y/n?’ you hear Yukhei ask. Relieved it’s not another costumer you answer him that you still need to clean. ‘no problem, take your time. Just know that I still need to have a bouquet, so if you can request anything that would be great,’ Yukhei casually lets you know and sits down on the stairs that are next to the counter.

‘Yeah yeah, I remember. I have them ready in the back. Just need to clean and count the sales and then after I changed we can go. You answer starting the cleaning process. Yukhei walks to you and takes over the vacuum cleaner. Cleaning the floor, you thank him and go to the counter to count the sales you had today. After cleaning and counting you quickly go to the back of the shop and change into your outfit for the night. Nothing special, a white blouse and black jeans. It still looks classy, but it doesn’t look like you tried to hard. When facing Yukhei you notice his eyes on your body. ‘let’s go, before we are too late,’ you say trying to avoid his eyes. Yukhei nods and opens the door for you, since you are holding the bouquet. He follows after you, until you realize you can’t find his car.

‘Hello Yukhei, nice to see you. Good to see you brought your girlfriend along,’ Kun beams at you two. Yukhei enthusiastically hugs him, while you shake his hand respectfully. He is still a older than you, can’t forget to show him respect. ‘how are you guys?’ Kun then continues to ask while looking at you. As if he knows Yukhei’s answer already.

‘we are good. I just finished work so Yukhei picked me up to join the diner. It is nice seeing you again,’ you respond friendly but with manners. Kun just smiles, apparently content with your answer. He does tell you, that his girlfriend Ji-su is going to be late. She got hold up at work, but you don’t mind it. Since was one of the bullies at your high school.

After ordering and some more small talk, Ji-su arrived at the restaurant. She instantly looked shocked, as if she didn’t realize you would join the dinner. ‘Hi baby, how was work?’ Kun asks her as he places a quick kiss on her lips after she sat down at the table. She answered telling it was a lot, but it was also still fun.

‘what do you do for work?’ you decide to ask her, showing her you could be the mature one. Feeling slightly scared by her stare at you, you look down. Your hands fumbling with the ring on your finger. Yukhei notices and grabs your hand under the table. Hoping the other two wouldn’t notice your anxiety.

‘I work as a nurse at the hospital. I hope to become one of the head surgeons some time in the future. But what about you, what kind of work do you do?’ She asks you weirdly curious. You expected her to say something about not getting to know it at the reunion, but somehow she doesn’t.

‘I am a florist, I work at a local flower shop,’ you answer her question.

‘Oh really? That is so amazing! You must see a lot of different people every day. Each of them requesting something different for you. Must be pretty difficult,’ she mocks you and your job. You just sigh and nod your head, being used to it. Yukhei however doesn’t enjoy it and looks at Kun accusingly. Who notices the animosity between the two of the girls as well and tries to minimalize it.

‘She is right. I think it is a hard job y/n, not everybody can do it and a lot of people underestimate it. I mean, I know I couldn’t make a bouquet look pretty,’ he soothes everything down a bit. And everyone let’s out a little chuckle at his remark.

‘So while the girls catch up with each other. Shall we talk about fashion?’ Kun continues his conversation with Yukhei. As if Ji-su heard it as well she ask you a few question about your job and the place you live in. But she also asks about Yukhei and how things are going, if you are living together, or planning on getting married. You surprise yourself and answer all her question without any anger, and most of them even honestly. When she gets to the questions about Yukhei you start doubting your answers, what would someone in love say. But since Ji-su is interested in your answers, you can’t dodge the questions. Which means you got to think about them.

‘you know, that is a good question Ji-su. I don’t immediately know what I would say is Yukhei’s best feature. And do you mean like personality wise or appearance wise?’ you answer Ji-su’s question.

‘You can answer both, and I know it’s a good question. I asked it,’ she answer laughing softly.

‘it’s my humor, of course,’ Yukhei saves you once again laughing at his own joke. You just nod in agreement and look at him. You notices the sparkles in his eyes, it makes it look like he really does enjoy this dinner. Well he should, he is talking about his fashion line. But deep down you know, you hope it is something more. You hope he enjoys your company.

‘you are indeed very funny Lucas.’

‘thank you,’ Yukhei mutters a bit flustered. She seemed to be lowkey flirting with him, even with her boyfriend present. You sigh at her actions. Yukhei turns his head to you. ‘is there something wrong, babe?’ he questions your sigh. You shake your head and tell him you’ve got to use the bathroom.

Dinner with Kun and Ji-su was a success according to Yukhei. He seems over the moon with everything. You guess you would be too, if someone wants to invest in your clothing line. ‘y/n, I don’t want this to end yet. Do you want to come over to my apartment?’ he sing-songs his question to you. He did have a bit too much to drink, so maybe it would be safer for him and you if you would drive him home.

‘Yeah sure, why not. Shall I drive us?’

‘No! I can drive. I didn’t have that much to drink. You see, I can still walk in a straight line,’ he tells you walking in front of you. Indeed he did walk a straight line, without wobbling or stopping in between. Maybe he really didn’t have that much to drink. So you give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.

‘okay, you can drive. Where is your car?’ you ask. Yukhei doesn’t answer, instead he puts his arm around your shoulders. Leading you towards his car. he opens the door for you and you sit down in the car. he jogs around the car to the driver’s side and sits down as well. As he starts the engine, you realize you’re actually going to his apartment. You start to panic a bit, you didn’t think this through, if the both of you drink more alcohol you won’t be able to go home. But you also can’t stay at his place, what are you supposed to do now. Did Yukhei even think this through? Suddenly you feel his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing circling in order to try and calm you down. At least, that is what it did. How he knew you were stressed is still a mystery to you, but at least you calmed down. His hand remains on your thigh for the rest of the drive, except for when he needed to switch gears of course.

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

when your love reaches me (i)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 9.3k+ (i am abundantly sorry for how long this is. curl up with a snack, my dudes)

warnings: required: total suspension of disbelief. also: screwed up historical timeline, slight angst, language, innuendo, suggestive moments and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: hi! a day late, but i wanted to respect the ‘out of time’ epilogue which came out yesterday as this is very much inspired by @perriwiinkle and her lovely fic. this is my take on a similar theme, only with brian and just three (3) parts. thank you to @deacyblues for your beta-ing help on this mini-series; i heart emoji you. anyways, let me know what you think. enjoy! xoxo!

in this chapter: something—be it fate or otherwise—transplants you to a place you do not belong.

it’s raining hard, thunder and lightning battling for dominance in the gray sky. you clutch your textbook to your chest and duck your head against the onslaught, feet nearly slipping on the flat stones of the sidewalk. london weather has always been unpredictable, but you’ve never seen a storm like this, never been caught in one either. it’s too far to make it back to your flat without catching pneumonia and the library feels just as far away so you push forward. the sky turns bright white followed closely by a boom of thunder, and you squeak, picking up your pace.

across a muddy patch of grass stands union concert hall. it’s likely to be locked on a saturday evening, but it’s worth a shot. you squelch through the mud and run the remaining hundred yards to old brick building. your hands, wet with rain, scrabble against the brass doorknob, which, to your surprise, turns with ease. muttering a prayer of thanks, you wrench the door open as a gust of wind turns the rain sideways. you slip inside, breathing heavy, and fall against the door as it shuts.

silence. blessed silence.

you heave a sigh of relief and run a hand through your drenched hair.

the concert hall is empty, but the lonesome rows of chairs and desolate stage come as no surprise. with fall break around the corner, imperal college is largely devoid of students on the weekends. there’s parties to be had, memories to be made; no one wants to be cooped up on campus. you, however, don’t have that luxury. there’s too much to be done in too tight a span of time.

as the rain pounds the roof and slides down the windows, you take a seat at the back of the hall. the plastic chair creaks underneath your weight, and each time you move a soggy squish echoes about the room. your textbook—creating exhibitions: collaborations in the planning, development, and design of innovative experiences—rests open on your lap. the laminated binding curls as it dampens, but you’re soaked to the bone. there’s no avoiding the damage. if you must, you’ll pay the thirty pounds at the end of the semester to turn your rental into a purchase.

if you think about it, it really is quite sad, the way you’re sitting on your own on a saturday night, highlighter clamped between your teeth, eyes scanning the pages of your textbook with far too much interest. if you think about it, you know you should be out with your friends. this morning rachel had tried to convince you to come out after your shift at the museum, but you’d said no—again. you’ve been given a full ride in the masters of science communication program, and you’ll do nothing to jeopardize the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. rachel insists that a simple evening at a local pub is harmless, and you know she’s right, but your answer is always the same: no. it’s easier that way.

you read for awhile, highlighting the text and annotating the margins of your textbook with the thoughts or questions that flit through your mind. as you dry, the legs of your jeans turn stiff, and your hair feels frizzy with humidity. not for the first time, you wish you’d remembered the pink umbrella leaning against the coatrack in your flat.

an hour passes, maybe two. with a heavy sigh, you shut your book and meander through the rows of chairs toward the bathroom. the washroom light flickers a muted yellow when you switch it on, an incessant electronic buzz filling the room. crossing to the counter, you stare at yourself in the mirror. you look atrocious: tired bags under your eyes, streaks of mascara on your cheeks, hair unruly, clothes sodden and weighed down on your body. you’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn depressing. you look like a madwoman, like some sort of victorian nightmare. in an effort to clean yourself up, you splash cold water on your face and scrub the makeup away until your cheeks hurt. you wet your hair, run your fingers through the tangles, and attempt to dry yourself under the hand dryer.

it’s still raining outside. there’s a single skylight in the bathroom, and when you look up, it’s a funny sensation, watching the rain slam against the window but never hit your face. you smile faintly; there’s just something about being inside when it rains. it’s similar to a warm hug or a—

a crack of lightning breaks you from your reverie. the sound goes straight to your heart, stopping it with the force of its blow. with a gasp, you clamp your hands against your ears, eyes screwed shut, and you’re suddenly six years old again, scared of a simple thunderstorm. white light pours through the skylight, drowning the room in an almost heavenly glow. thunder trips over the heels of the lightning in an effort to make itself known. the thunder is more like a roar, and you swear you can feel the foundation of the building jostle.

then all is quiet. even the sound of the rain on the roof has stopped.

you pull your hands from your ears, breathing heavy, and look around the bathroom. maybe... maybe you should call a cab or an uber. you’d rather not be stuck in the concert hall overnight, and the storm feels eerily close.

grabbing your bag from the counter, you fumble for your phone in its depths. you come away empty-handed, but you must have left it on your chair alongside your textbook. you pull open the bathroom door and step into a crush of bodies.

your heart stutters in your chest, confusion stealing the air from your lungs.

there’s a crowd of people in the concert hall. it’s hard to move, to breathe, to think. the room is dim, lit only by orange and white lights on the stage. there’s music pounding through the room, and it sounds vaguely familiar, but you’re too stunned and confused to place it. a haze of smoke filters over the heads of onlookers; the air smells like cigarettes and sweat. where had everyone come from? how long had you been in the bathroom? surely not long enough for a band and a crowd and—

a thought strikes you: this is not the union concert hall you were just sat in seeking shelter from a bad storm.

a hand circles your arm, and you startle, head twisting to the left. “you okay, love?” a voice asks. the man is short with warm-toned skin, his hair like a dark halo around his head. he stares at you in earnest, and you’re sure you’ve gone pale.

in lieu of answering, you stumble backwards, back into the bathroom. the subway-tiled walls of moments past have turned a dull green, and the hand dryer has been replaced with a paper-towel dispenser. the linoleum under your shoes is grimy, unwashed and stained. the air is heavy with cigarette smoke thanks to the women lounging around the open stalls, dripping ashes to the floor with a simple flick of the wrist. the scent clings to the inside of your nose, and you blame the tears pricking the corners of your eyes on the smell.

“excuse me,” you mutter, shouldering past a lithe woman with blown-out blonde hair. she gives you a once over, her brow furrowed, before leaving the bathroom.

at the sink, you brace your hands against the edge. the sink feels like cheap plastic, easy enough to rip from the wall. where the sturdy white countertop has gone, you aren’t sure. for the second time in one day, you splash water on your heated face.

“hey. are you okay?”

you look up and meet the doe eyes of a short girl standing behind you. her hair is bobbed at her neck, her eyes lined with a deep purple liner. her appearance is warped by the faded mirror, but you can see the way she’s looking at you, and you don’t blame her. you’re sure you look as crazy as you feel.

you straighten at the sink and shut the water off. “i’m just...” you flounder for a good excuse. your insides feel like mush, and your brain has paused, as if the loading symbol is looping over and over in place of producing any coherent thought. “do you have a phone i could borrow?”

“there’s a payphone around the corner,” she says, her words slow with apprehension. “did something happen out there? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

there’s a pounding in the back of your head, hard and steady, and you rub your temples. “i was studying and then i was here and i don’t really remember the rest.” you pause. “it’s been a long day.”

the girl’s face softens as she smiles. she moves to stand beside you and withdraws a thin tube of lipstick from her clutch. “i know what you mean. i can get pretty bogged down and feel like the time’s flown by and i’ve been asleep the at the wheel, but, god, it’s queen! they started here, you know, in this very concert hall. and now they’re back, just for us! how bloody exciting is that?” as she speaks, her irish accent grows stronger, in tandem with the excitement lighting her face.

you frown, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. “queen? like... the band queen or queen elizabeth?”

she pauses in her lipstick application. “the band queen, silly. are you really that knackered?” with a grin, she puts the lipstick down and takes your shoulders in her hands. “you’re at a queen concert, love. it’s friday, september first, ninteen-seventy-eight. has been all day, ever since you woke up in your jammies.” she laughs, her blunt bob swaying as tilts her head to the side. “you gonna be fine?”

your first thought: no, absolutely not.

the only answer you can give, punctuated by a weak smile: “yeah. yeah, i’m gonna be all right. thanks.”

the girl puts her makeup away and gives your shoulder a final squeeze. “i think they’ll be finishing soon, so i’m gonna pop back out so i don’t miss it. try and get some rest, yeah? you look like you could use it.”

she exits the bathroom, a song momentarily pouring through the door, and you find yourself alone in the empty room.

before you can stop yourself, you twist on your heel and lunge for the nearest toilet. you vomit, heaving what little remains in your stomach, until there is nothing left to unearth. dropping back against the stall, you duck your head between your knees.

this is just a fever dream. maybe you got scared during the storm, hit your head, and passed out on the bathroom floor. there’s no way in hell—no way in hell—this is nineteen-seventy-eight. that’s preposterous. and sure, queen might have gotten their start at imperial college—everyone knows that—but that was eons ago. freddie mercury is dead, john deacon is retired, and brian may and roger taylor are well within their seventies. the girl must be mistaken or strung out or high or all of the above.

or maybe you are. you can’t be sure anymore.

your legs tremble beneath you as you stand. if any good has come of this, it’s that you’re dry now—suspiciously so. despite the pale sheen on your face and layer of sweat on your forehead, it’s as if you were never drenched to begin with. your cream pleated trousers have no wrinkles along the back after you spent all afternoon stuffing and unstuffing boxes on the floor. your navy top is void of the stubborn coffee stain you’d gotten this morning as you rushed into the museum ten minutes late. it’s almost as if the day never happened.

it’s almost as if the day—saturday, september fifth, twenty-twenty—is still forty-two years in the future instead of thirty minutes away from ending.

“all right, we’ve got one more for you lovelies tonight! this one’s new, so keep it a secret ‘till the record comes out, okay?”

you turn at the sound of a familiar voice amplified over a loudspeaker.

freddie mercury.

though you’ve never been a huge queen fan, you’re positive anyone with even a passing knowledge of classic rock could hear his voice and pick it out in a lineup.

heart in your throat, you sling your bag over your shoulder and squeeze out the door. the energy in the hall has heightened tenfold since you last stood in the bathroom doorway. perhaps it’s due to the fact that the concert is rapidly drawing to a close and everyone wants to drink in the last moments before it’s all over.

perhaps it’s simply because it’s queen.

as your eyes slide to the stage, you can’t help but feel a giddiness rise in your chest. your throat goes tight, eyes misty, as you weave through the crowd on auto-pilot. you’re drawn to them; who wouldn’t be? the floor shakes beneath your feet as the music surges around you. he’s magnificent—freddie. he commands the crowd with ease, and you feel at home, relaxed, like you’re watching a friend goof around. seeing him there—whole, well, happy—is nothing short of a miracle.

“aren’t they marvelous?” you turn to see the girl from the bathroom. she holds your bicep tight in her fingers. her smile is radiant, her face glowing with unbridled joy. “i’m glad you made it out for this!”

you nod dumbly, swiveling back to drink in the final moments. matthew at the coffee shop you frequent would kill for something like this. you want to text him, to rub it in his face with a good-natured wink, but he hasn’t been born yet, has he? seeing freddie mercury on stage confirms it.

you’re not in twenty-twenty anymore.

the song draws to a close, and you find yourself smiling despite the uncertainty of your current situation. you can’t help but applaud alongside the rest of the audience. someone shouts “encore” but freddie waves him off with a laugh.

“we just did a fucking encore!” he says.

they take their bows—all four of them—and then disappear backstage. a moment passes before the house lights flicker on, and the crowd begins to disperse. trash litters the floor, and the room doesn’t feel as magical as it did seconds before, but you find it hard to breathe nonetheless. try as you might, you can’t tear your eyes away from the stage.

“oh my god, wasn’t that brilliant?” bathroom-girl practically jumps up and down on her ballet-slippered feet. “i’m anna, in case you were wondering,” she says.

you hesitate. there’s too much going on around you, so many things you’ve only read about or seen in pictures: the fashion, the hair, the fucking band. you feel dizzy—dizzy with fear and excitement. it’s like you’re standing in line for a rollercoaster. you know what’s coming: the slow climb up the first hill, anticipation bubbling in your stomach before the first drop, then the madness of letting yourself plummet at incredible speeds. all you can do is laugh, just like you do on the rollercoaster.

“[y/n],” you say between fits of amusement. “sorry! i don’t know what’s gotten into me!” you press a hand to your mouth, shaking your head back and forth.

anna grins. “that was me when the concert first started.” she bends her head toward yours conspiratorially. “i nearly pissed myself when i saw john deacon walk out for the first time.”

your laughter turns to girlish giggles and holding her forearm is all you can do to keep from falling to the floor. you’re drunk, surely. drunk off what, you can’t say, but you’ve felt like this before.

“hey!” anna’s eyes go wide, and you can see the lightbulb turn on above her head. “i saw where they parked their vans. we could go have a look-see!”

your initial reaction is a resounding no. just the thought of standing mere meters away from queen makes you want to break out into hives. you’re sure to say something stupid and embarrassing or screw up some time-continuum-thing. you’ve seen enough doctor who to know not to mess about with time.

oh god, you must be really fucking crazy if this is what you’re life has come to, deciding what the right or wrong move is based on a children’s television show.

yet there’s still a sliver of your heart holding on to the hope that this is all a dream. you could wake up at any moment, still in the concert hall, yes, but where you belong and a soaked mess from the rainstorm. so, even though you know you shouldn’t, even though your heart of hearts tells you that you’re a girl out of place and far away from home, you nod and let anna drag you toward the a side-exit door.

outside, the air is chilly, but it soothes your hot skin.

standing outside the concert hall is perhaps more strange than standing in it. you know this spot; you walk behind the building every day. if you follow the winding path toward the dormitories and then veer to the left, you’ll eventually reach your flat—or you would if this were some other time. it’s not a terribly long walk, and most of the time, you find it refreshing. but today, with the sun replaced by the moon and the evening air and anna’s nervous energy, you find yourself a mite too cold. the cold settles in your stomach, not on your body, and you catalog the area. the parking lot has been repaved, all the dips and cracks you know so well gone. the tree which overhangs a dumpster in the corner is but a small sapling, and the dumpster is nowhere to be seen. the cold in your belly spreads to your chest, and, for a moment, you forget what it is anna dragged you here for.

but then her fingers grip your wrist tightly, and you remember: queen.

“look,” she whispers. “there they are.”

you follow her eyeline to the gaggle of men descending a ramp propped beneath a set of double-doors. in the thin veil of darkness you inhabit, it’s hard to make out who is who. brian is unmistakable, what with his gangly arms and legs and tilted shoulders. freddie is easy to pick out, too; he walks with a swagger only he can pull off. everyone else is a jumble of faces obscured by the night and a cloud of cigarette smoke. they’re loud, but not rowdy, and it reminds you somewhat of a group of teenage boys out to make trouble.

“let’s go over.” anna steps forward, but you stop her with a hand on her elbow.

“no, we shouldn’t. i’m sure they’ve got security, and we really can’t just waltz up there. besides, what would we say?” you shake your head. “this is close enough, don’t you think?”

“fuck no!” her exclamation startles you, your eyebrows lifting, and she laughs. “this is likely the only time we’ll be able to meet true rockstar royalty. you can stay back if you want to, but i’m gonna go.”

“go where?”

in unison, you turn with anna on the ball of your foot. your movements are slow, hers hurried, but you both come face to face with roger taylor and you both inhale sharply.

your first thought is foolish: he looks so young. but of course he does. he’s twenty-nine here, not seventy. half a cigarette hangs out of his mouth, and his blond hair brushes the collar of his jacket as he goes to remove the cigarette and puff a plume of smoke to the side. he wears sunglasses, despite the late hour, and if you weren’t so bloody unsettled, you’d find him attractive.

anna finds her voice first. she points her thumb over her shoulder. “well, we were gonna go and... that is, we thought we might...” she heaves a sigh, and her smile turns angelic. “you put on a great show tonight.”

roger grins, his eyes fixed on anna. “i thought i saw you in the crowd.” his voice is raspy and high and dripping with innuendo. you all know he did not see anna from behind his drum set, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling her lower lip between her teeth and batting her eyelashes.

“oy, rog, can we get a move on, please?”

roger frowns and slips between you and anna, his hand firm on her bicep. he shouts in the general direction of the disembodied voice. “don’t get your fucking knickers in a twist, crystal, jesus!” he rolls his eyes and looks back at anna. “sorry, he’s like a damn mother hen. i didn’t catch your name.”

“anna.” she’s breathless, ready to drip to the floor in a puddle of goo. it’s painfully obvious, and roger seems to like that. his hand rubs an untraceable pattern over her shoulder.

“and your friend?” he doesn’t look at you when he speaks, just jerks his head in your direction.

you should be offended, but really you feel like crying. an overwhelming homesickness builds in your chest. everyone you know, every place you hold so dear, none of it is as it should be. those fleeting magical moments during the concert are quickly wearing off, and you feel yourself slipping back to the panic you’d fought in the bathroom.

“that’s [y/n].”

“would you gals like to join us for some drinks?” this time roger does look at you, his gaze soft but purposeful. he’s daring you to turn him down.

maybe it’s the homesickness. maybe it’s the idea that you can be anything, anyone, here with few personal repercussions. maybe it’s the haughty glint in roger’s eye. whatever it is, it finally gets you talking.

“lead the way,” you say, your eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

roger’s smirk widens, and he tugs anna against his side with an arm around the waist. “gladly.”

the inside of the tour bus is cramped. you suspected it might be so based on the outside, but you didn’t realize just how tight the quarters would truly be. you’re stiff, sat on a stool between two men with long brown hair and equally long faces. there’s a tremor in your leg, and you itch to steal the cigarette out of the man-on-your-left’s mouth and smoke your anxiety away.

for anna’s part, she seems at ease, and you envy that. she’s wrapped around roger’s arm, pressed against him on the couch, and in that moment you feel a certain flare of hatred toward her. you’d always been jealous of the girls who could so effortlessly flirt and make a move and get what they want. you never had to the confidence to follow suit. sitting as you are near the back of the bus, crammed between two sullen and tired roadies, you’re reminded of secondary school lunches. a rush of discomfort heats the back of your neck, and you shift on the stool. your movement must disturb to the man next to you because he shifts, too. he leans away, twisting his neck to look at you.

“you good?” the smoke that leaves his parted lips circles around your head, stinging your eyes.

“i wish everyone would stop asking me that,” you mutter. it comes out before you can stop it, and when you realize what you’ve said, you sink down further on your stool. your hand comes to squeeze your forehead. “oh god.”

but the man just laughs. “here.” he hands you an unopened beer. it’s cold to the touch, dripping with sweat. “you look like you could use it.”

you lift it slightly in a sign of thanks before popping the tab and taking a swig. it’s cheap, and that surprises you considering it’s queen, but you drink it anyway.

“so, who picked you up?”

your eyebrow arches, and you look at the man on your left with a mixture of shock and distain. “no one, thank you. i came on my own accord and i’ll leave in the same way.”

out of the corner of your eye, from his place on a low bench in front of you, you think you see brian turn slightly, his curls swaying with the movement. but he doesn’t face you after all, so it must have been your imagination.

“okay, okay!” the man holds his hands up in surrender, mirth etched along the lines in his face. “sorry!”

you resist the urge to huff, cross your arms, and pout like a child. you pull at your beer instead.

the man nudges you with his elbow. “chris taylor, by the way. crystal.” he points to the man on your right. “that’s ratty—pete.”

pete looks tired enough to fall out of his chair. all he can do is raise his eyebrows in greeting and drop his head back against the wall.

“i’m [y/n].”

crystal mirrors ratty’s movements and stretches his legs out underneath the card-table. “well, i must admit that you might be one of the most level-headed lasses we’ve had in here—and we’ve had plenty of girls grace this bus.”

you aren’t sure if he’s bragging or simply making conversation, so you ignore the comment and say, “i’ve had a... strange day. it’s a lot to take in.”

you’re not lying. really, it is a lot to take in. the tour bus is hot and sweaty, but conversation is quiet, like a background hum. it’s not what you thought it would be; nothing is.

“didn’t think you’d end up here?”

you shake your head. “absolutely not.”

crystal smiles, and you find yourself smiling back, the truth in your words humorous to you and you alone.

the bus door opens, and a flurry of sound enters the already-cramped space. crystal sits forward; ratty seems to wake up. at once, the energy is higher. you feel your heart begin to pound against your ribcage.

freddie enters the bus in all his post-concert glory. you’d been a baby when he died, but now you sit at the back of his tour bus, watching as he laughs and jokes and lives. it makes you want to throw up all over again.

he stands in the center of the bus, hands on his hips, surveying the jumble of roadies and groupies and band members. “well?” the corner of your mouth quirks upward at the sound of his voice; you can’t help it. “have we decided where we’re crashing yet?”

“uh, yeah.” john deacon pipes up from his spot at the front of the bus. you hadn’t noticed him all night, but there he stands, leaning against the driver’s seat, a map in hand. “i think we’re gonna—”

“oh hell, we don’t need that!” roger slaps the map out of john’s hands. it crumples between his fingers, and he all but pulls anna onto his lap. she squeals in delight. “we’ve got our own personal tour guide right here. not to mention brian. he’s got to know his way about.”

“don’t forget [y/n], roger!” anna says, ever the good friend.

no, please. please, for the love of god, forget [y/n].

as one, the tour bus turns to look at you. this time bile does rise in the back of your throat.

sitting in the back of the bus you can handle. crystal is nice, and simply being in the presence of music royalty is sure to be the peak of the rest of your life—whatever that may look like. but having them all look at you, expectantly, waiting for you to giggle or blush or say something, it’s that too much you told crystal about moments earlier. only this time, it’s so much you feel like your head might explode.

even though it feels like decades, only a few seconds have gone by since everyone began waiting for you to make a peep. so when you look at anna and say, “i’m sure you know better than me,” it doesn’t sound awkward. it sounds like a comment shared between friends. you’re thankful for that, at least.

“okay, fine.” anna claps her hands together. “what are you in the mood for, freddie?”

your eyebrow lifts at her familiarity, and beside you, crystal chuckles behind his hand. god, she’s good. you are... decidedly not.

“anything fabulous. we’ve just had a good show, if i do say so myself, and i want to have some fun before we really have to start working.”

“we are working, fred.” it’s the first thing you’ve heard brian say all evening. you can’t see his face from where you’re sitting, so his voice sounds far away. far away but ever so nice to the ears.

freddie waves his hands dismissively. “you know what i mean.”

“there’s a disco club a few blocks from here,” anna offers. “it’s not garishly disco, but it’s fun.”

there’s a pause before freddie says, “it’s late, so it’ll have to do.” he turns to brian with a grin. “do you think we should call ahead?”

twenty minutes and three phone calls later, you’re walking side-by-side with crystal and ratty, hands twitching at your sides, desperately wishing for the comfort of a pair of pockets. if you’d hazard a guess, you’d say there’s about twenty people headed for the club. you know you should feel happy, exuberant at the chance to party with queen in the 70s, but your head hurts. it really, really hurts, and you haven’t the faintest idea where you’ll spent the night. you have no money, no contacts—nothing but the clothes on your back and the half-empty purse thrown over your shoulder.

“[y/n], where are you from?” ratty asks. his questions is harmless enough, but it breaks your underarms out in an uncomfortable sweat. how can you explain that you’re from here, the very here you’re walking on, without also explaining why you have no idea where the disco club is or where the charming flower stand on the corner has gone?

you settle on something vague, but passable. “not from around here.” the toe of your shoe kicks at a loose pebble, which skips forward, nearing the long strides of brian.

“on holiday then?”

“something like that, yeah.” you smile to soften the blow of your unsubstantial answers, and it seems to appease.

you chat with the roadies about inconsequential things—roger’s horrible morning breath, the oil crisis and its impact on the upcoming tour, whether or not pigeons lay eggs. it’s small talk, and you ask more questions than give answers, but it relaxes the ache in your shoulders. you have to remind yourself breathe, drink in what you can while you can. you’ll be okay.

you have to be.

the group rounds the corner like an amoeba, all uneven edges and uncertain direction. though the hour is rapidly closing in on one a.m., the road is filled. a few of the cars closest to the curb honk and frenzied arms reach out windows to wave as queen passes them by. a girl flashes her tits from the sunroof of her car; roger gives her a thumbs up.

“is it always like this?” you ask.

crystal laughs. “this is nothin’, dove. we’ve got this party planned for october in new orleans, and i am honestly a little bit afraid of what might happen.”

the club comes into view, music ebbing through the open front door. climax is written in bright yellow lightbulbs across the marquee, and someone squeezes anna’s shoulder with a laugh. the line waiting to enter is long, roped off in anticipation of your arrival. those in queue push forward as your party begins to enter. freddie signs a few autographs on the back of receipts. brain scrawls across the crest of someone’s hip with a shit-eating grin on his face.

the resounding thought that you shouldn’t be here flickers through your mind and not for the first time. you ignore it as crystal leads you into the club, a hand tucked in the small of your back. his touch is anything but sexual, and it’s a relief. he likely sees you as a lost puppy, out of her depth, and you might have to lean into that come closing time.

“do you want something to drink?” he shouts over the music and laughter and shouting.

you nod eagerly. “yes, please!”

weaving through horde of dancers, you find a spot at a cocktail table tucked near a back corner. “boogie wonderland” plays over the louder speakers, and it grates against your headache. the disco ball in the center of the room spins and spins and spins, casting sprinkles of white light over the room. you can’t stop watching it, wondering what it would feel like to wrap yourself around the ball and stay there forever. it probably wouldn’t feel very different from how you feel right now, though your legs are planted firmly on the ground.

“lost in thought?”

you turn, expecting to see crystal with your drink, but you’re met with the incredibly tall form of brian may. you have to tip your head back to meet his eyes he’s standing so close. he must notice because he takes a fraction of a step backwards, his smile widening.

your mouth goes dry, but you manage a shaky nod. “yeah, i guess.” you blink and run your eyes over his face. like roger, he’s painfully young. his curls are dark and full, his skin smooth. he’s handsome, ridiculously so, and despite what some may believe, you think he knows it too.

“you’ve been awful quiet tonight.” he leans against the table with ease. the edge, which reaches your chest, seems to dig into his hip, and he adjusts himself to a more comfortable stance. “most girls are chatty.”

“that’s what crystal said.”

brian chuckles under his breath. “yeah, crystal would know.” he glances over his shoulder then looks back at you. “[y/n], right?”

you’re surprised he remembered or overheard or asked someone before walking over. it’s a simple thing, but just hearing your name grounds you. you don’t care who says it; it reminds you that you are, in fact, still human. and it doesn’t hurt that brian’s voice is like butter. it could put anyone at ease.

for the first time that evening, you feel a lightness in your chest as you smirk and meet his gaze. “brian, right?”

at this, he throws his head back to laugh. his reaction brings a blush to your face, and you duck your head, uncertain where your burst of flirty energy has come from. moments ago, you’d been yearning for the comfort of a good bed and solid night’s rest. now, you could stand in this dark corner and look at brian, hear him laugh, until you fall asleep standing.

when he’s calmed, brian looks at you again. there’s a shift in his stare, one you can’t quite place. “what do you do, [y/n]?”

this time, you decide to answer honestly. “i’m a student, most of the time,” you say. “but eventually i’ll be a curator for museums.”

his eyebrows lift. “a curator? that’s bloody brilliant.”

you shrug. “i like history and photography and design. it’s kind of the perfect blend.” glancing at your empty hands, you fumble for your words then meet his eyes through the underside of your lashes. “a little birdie told me you’re pretty smart yourself.”

he tilts his head in a noncommittal manner, and you swear you can see a tinge of color rise along the top of his exposed chest. “i suppose.”

“what is your specialty again? besides the guitar, of course.”

“astrophysics with a concentration in interplanetary dust.” before you can make a quip about how much interplanetary dust is actually around to study, he leans close. he has to bend at the waist to lower his mouth to the shell of your ear, and when he speaks, it’s hardly above a whisper. “i’m good at other things, too, you know? besides space and the guitar.”

you draw back slightly, enough look into his eyes. his pupils are dark, overpowering the hazel tint of his irises. if you move an inch, your lips will brush his mouth; you stay still, your eyes darting back and forth between his.

you feel utterly ridiculous for a fraction of a second. he’s brian may, first of all, and you are decidedly not worthy of his attentions. but more than that, this isn’t your home, your time. the thought makes you cringe.

fucking hell, you don’t belong here.

his long fingers skim your waist. the touch is feather-light, a mere whisper, but it pulls you from your thoughts.

“what are you thinking?” he breathes.

“not much.” it’s a half-truth; you can barely focus on your existential crisis with his fingertips working along your skin as they are. he’s brazen enough to dip underneath the hem of your shirt just enough to touch the skin of your hip. you bite your tongue. “wondering where you got the nerve to be so cheeky all of a sudden.”

he withdrawals his hand as if he’s been bitten by fire, cheeks gone red as flame. “sorry, sorry,” he stammers. “i just thought that—”

you know you shouldn’t, that it will only lead to trouble, but you do it anyway.

you grab his wrist and squeeze tight. “i’m only joking, brian.” your grip relaxes as you grin. “come dance with me.”

he huffs a sigh of relief, shaking his head. “damn, you really—”

you interrupt him again, your feet moving on their own accord toward the dance floor. there’s this strange desire in you—a desire to forget—and he seems willing enough to be the one to help you lose track of your troubles. “come dance with me.”

“i don’t really know how,” he admits, though his smile is wide, showing off his teeth.

“me neither! we can look like idiots together.”

somewhat reluctantly, brian follows you onto the dance floor. the music is louder here, the song changed to something you don’t recognize. you weren’t lying when you said dancing wasn’t your forte. in primary school, you’d stepped on the toes of every boy in your music class during the week of mandatory dance lessons. things haven’t changed much since then as you promptly land your foot on brian’s seconds into the song.

you gasp and clamp your hands over your mouth in an effort to obscure your laughter. “shit, i’m sorry!”

“it’s fine!” he yells, straining to make his voice heard over the thrumming of the music. “the clogs, they’re kinda like a protective shell.”

swaying to the beat, your hands slide along his forearms. “oh yeah? what do they protect you from?”

“klutzy girls like you.”

looking back on the moment years later, you wonder if that’s when you fell in love with him first, on the dance floor, his gangly body unaccustomed to fluid movement. he makes you laugh with his two left feet, and you forget, like you’d hoped, that you do not belong in his arms. as the music ebbs and flows like the tide, you follow it, swinging, swaying, twirling in whatever way you can. you’re sweaty, and he’s sweaty, but you’re both smiling. at some point, you bump into anna who bumps into roger who bumps into freddie and then it’s some version of disco mosh pit, arms and elbows and feet tangled together. you’re laughing—truly laughing for what feels like the first time in ages—and, if you could, you’d stay in that moment forever.

the music slows. you breathe hard, nodding as anna whispers something in your ear about leaving with roger. you aren’t sure if you’ll see her again, aren’t sure if it matters, but you’re thankful for her nonetheless. hers was the first kind face you met, and for that, you can never repay her.

a pair of arms wrap around your middle, pulling you tight against a lean chest, dipping you side to side as the music trills in the background. he mumbles against the skin of your neck. “rog’s leaving with anna.”

you nod and curl your fingernails around his forearms. “i know.”

“is it too presumptuous of me to ask if you’ll do the same? not leave with him, i mean. leave with me.”

you could say something about his proposal being too forward after only a handful of hours together, but you don’t. you feel dizzy from dancing, dizzy with a sense of freedom. normally, you’d never follow a guy home after just meeting. it’s never been in your nature, despite the times you wished it were. tonight, though, you feel like you can do anything.

and if that means letting brian may take you back to his hotel where he’ll likely screw the daylights out of you, so be it.

you twist slightly in his arms, enough to look up at him. you repeat your words of earlier. there’s no hint of a challenge in your voice this time, only desire. “lead the way.”

by the time you reach the door of brian’s hotel room, you’re fumbling with what buttons on his shirt are actually buttoned. his lips are pressed against yours, and you can feel his smile on your teeth as you struggle to both kick the door open with your heel and work the last two buttons.

“you know,” you mumble against his mouth. “you’d make it a lot easier for me if you just don’t button any of them. you’re halfway there, anyway.”

“so i’ve been told,” he replies, his own fingers pushing the three buttons of your blouse through the small holes.

the comment gives you pause. your hands still on the warm skin of his shoulders, and you pull back. his eyelids are heavy, his lips parted and plump. you don’t know what it is about his words that make you stop. maybe it’s the idea of him in a similar situation with another girl. of course, you know you aren’t the first concert-goer he’s dragged home; you aren’t that much of an idiot. still, the thought niggles at the back of your brain.

his hands slide away from your shirt to cup your face, and he bends down to kiss you softly. this kiss is different from the ones he’d given you in the lift—hungry and demanding—and in the hallway—earnest and consuming. he’s gentle, painfully so, and tears spring to your eyes. you’ve never been kissed like this, not so tenderly. it makes your heart stop.

“just you and me, [y/n],” he whispers when he breaks the touch. “just you and me.”

you nod and finish pushing the white shirt off his shoulders.

he doesn’t fuck you. he truly makes love to you, worshipping your body until you both are spent and sweaty, sheets tangled around your limbs. when he collapses beside you with a soft groan, you feel the overwhelming urge to cry. it’s embarrassing, really. but it’s been such a long day, and you’re tired—tired and happy and warm. you throw your arm over your eyes to keep from showing your emotion. you absolutely refuse to be the girl who cries after having sex with brian may.

you feel the bedsheets rustle as he props himself up on his elbow. his fingernail skims along your collarbone. “you’re so... divine.”

you drop your arm to stare at him, heart thumping in your chest. his eyes flick up to meet yours. he smiles and looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, not seven hours. there’s nothing you can say that will capture how you feel in this moment, so you simply grab him by the neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss.

later, when you’re drifting off to sleep, one of his sleep shirts swallowing you, his chest against your back, one leg pushed between both of yours, you wonder if you’ll wake up in the morning and find it was all a dream. it certainly would make for a good story once you make it home to your flat. even so, if it isn’t a dream, the part of you that so desperately yearned for home hours earlier is slipping away.

you could stay here, like this, if he let you.

shaking your head, you burrow against him. such silly thoughts. even if you have to stay here, out of place, for the rest of your life, this night was a one-time thing. you must know that. so, you’ll cherish his arms around you while you can and commit everything to memory.

come morning, you find yourself still in nineteen-seventy-eight and deliciously sore. you’re embarrassed to say you smile at the revelation of both situations.

stretching your arms over your head as your eyes flutter open, you groan with your stretch. after your eyes have adjusted to the bright morning light streaming through the open curtains, you look around the room and find brian sitting at the small table in the middle of the kitchenette. he has the hotel phone cradled against his shoulder and ear and looks delightfully sleep-muddled. you slip from bed, uncertain how you should act.

will he send you away now that the night is gone? you wouldn’t blame him. your fingers twist the hem of his shirt as you sway from foot to foot at the base of the bed.

he looks up and waves you over. a good sign, at least.

bare feet padding against the carpet, you cross to his side, but don’t reach out to smooth the unruly curls on his head as you wish you could. the thought crosses your mind that you are painfully in love with him already, and it doesn’t even phase you. it just makes you laugh to yourself.

“what do you want for breakfast?”

you blink. “sorry?”

“breakfast? what do you want?”

“i don’t really care. anything,” you say with a shrug. at his pointed look, you concede with a roll of your eyes. “fine. a waffle.”

he adds a waffle to the order, thanks the person on the other end, then puts the phone down. he’s quick to grab your waist and pull you to his lap, his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck. you giggle and swat his shoulder.

“i thought you wouldn’t be so keen about me come morning,” you admit, keeping your tone playful as you pull back to brush the hair from his face.

his forehead crinkles. “why wouldn’t i be?”

you shrug. “we barely know each other. plus, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n] and you’re brian may. not exactly an obvious match.”

he’s quiet a moment, eyes searching yours, before he says, “what do you think about plato’s allegory of the cave?”

you choke on a laugh. “i’m sorry?”

“you know, plato’s cave—what do you think about it?”

he’s being serious, something that absolutely stuns you into answering honestly. you settle on his knee, arms twisted around his neck, as you consider your response. “well, i mean, i think it’s a good metaphor.” you pause. “it makes me think of people and their cell phones.”

“cell phones?”

shaking your head, you backtrack. “i mean, just technology in general. when it comes to technology, we never really know what we’re getting, do we, usually until it’s too late. i know it wasn’t his intention, but the cave makes me think of that. the way technology can so easily take control and we’re powerless to stop it.”

your words hang in the air for a long while. then he dips forward and claims your mouth with his. you shuffle in his lap, surprised, a soft oh parting your lips. he kisses you with that same hunger you’d felt in the lift the previous evening. when he draws back, he presses his forehead to yours.

“come with me,” he breathes.

you still completely, hands dropping from his neck to his arms. the clock on the desk in the corner ticks, loud and annoying. “what?”

“come with me.” he draws back to run a hand over the hair framing your face. “on tour. we leave next month.”

“you’re insane, brian.”

he shakes his head. “no, i’m not.” his words are resolute, anything but unsure.

“we’ve only just met and i don’t think you know what—”

“i know what i’m saying, [y/n].” his hands move to hold your face. “come with me. i’m crazy about you. say what you will about the timing, but i don’t care. you’re smart and funny and beautiful and i want to get to know you more, but i’m leaving. i’d kill to have you by my side.”

“brian...”

your head is spinning, your throat gone dry. someone knocks on the door in the hall—room service—but he keeps talking.

“it’s north america first, then europe, then asia. it’s long, i know, but you don’t have to stay the whole time. i couldn’t ask you to leave your studies like that. you can leave any time you want.”

“brian,” you say again, this time more forcefully, yet he continues.

“i just think that... after last night... fuck, i really like you, [y/n], and i’d hate to see some other guy swoop in while i’m gone.”

he stops at last, breathing heavy, his wiry frame practically trembling with anxiety. you smooth your hands down his neck and across his shoulders, smiling softly. and maybe you’re just as crazy as he is because you lean in, kiss his lips, and say, “okay, i’ll come with you.”

you don’t think twice. don’t have to, really.

he grins, his fingers squeezing your thighs. “really?”

you nod. “really. but only so long as we can go to a disco every now and again. i think john would like that.”

he laughs and delves his fingers in your hair, kissing you hard. you forget about the breakfast waiting in the hall. it doesn’t matter.

a month and a half later, you’re stood outside the record company’s london office, thumbing through your hastily-acquired, perhaps-not-totally-legal passport. crystal had gotten it for you. there being no record of your birth, you aren’t sure how he managed it, but you don’t ask any questions.

the last month and a half have been a whirlwind, to say the least.

you’ve been, largely, happy. any chance you get is spent by brian’s side, and he seems just as eager to pass his free hours with you. you were able to snag a job at a corner diner to make some money for basic necessities—a change of clothes, for starters—and anna, also invited on the tour, gave you free reign of her pull-out sofa without asking for an explanation.

but despite spending more time in brian’s hotel room than anna’s living room, and despite the blissed-out evenings and comfortable mornings and long chats and shared moments of quiet, despite everything that makes you happy here, you still know it’s not right. it’s not where you belong.

so as you’re standing outside the record company, heavy suitcases at your feet, roadies and groupies alike milling about, you can’t help but feel on edge. it’s that same feeling you had the first night you arrived: your heart is in your throat, your chest tight.

maybe it’s the clothes: the tight, flared jeans, white prairie blouse, chunky tan heels. it’s cute, but it’s not you. not yet, anyway.

maybe it’s the hair: you’d had to get it cut earlier in the month, anna dragging you to a salon after claiming your hair was too dowdy. when you look in the mirror now, you feel like farrah fawcett, and that’s not totally bad, but it’s taken some getting used to.

maybe it’s the lack of technology: you’re so used to your phone being attached to your palm, or your car keys jingling in your purse, or your earbuds falling out of said purse at inopportune times. now, you just have a bag with a book in it and a few pieces of really uncomfortable makeup.

all of it serves as a reminder that this is not home.

“ready to go?”

you look up from your passport and squint as the sun hits your eyes. brian stands in front of you, and he moves to block the sunlight. you laugh. “you’re like my own personal sunblocker.”

“it’s a gift and a curse.” dropping a duffle bag, he bends to unzip it and pull out a box wrapped in plain brown paper. “here, i got you something.”

you frown. “brian, that’s not necessary.”

he pushes the box toward you. “just hush and take it.”

with a sigh, you take the box from his hands. over your shoulder, gerry stickells, tour manager, calls for everyone to load the bus with their belongings. the flight to dallas doesn’t leave for several hours, but he likes to be punctual, and the band plus thirty-odd crew and three or four extra girls makes for a hard group to wrangle at once. you don’t envy him his job.

brian leans a little closer, dropping his voice as he watches gerry herd stragglers toward the bus doors. “open it before he comes to shout at us.”

“fine, but you still shouldn’t have gotten me anything.”

you rip the paper from the box then slide your nail under the edge. pushing back the cardboard folds, you find a camera nestled amongst sleeves of tissue paper. it’s a small camera, the name canon etched along the silver rim. a thin leather strap is curled around the black casing.

“brian,” you breathe. you meet his eyes, which shine and sparkle and send a thrill to your chest. “this is too much.”

“when we met you said you liked photography. i figured there might be things you’d like to take pictures of while we’re gone.”

cradling the box against your chest, you rise to your toes to press a firm kiss to his mouth. your fingers wind in the hair at the back of his neck, and his hands come to rest on your sides. as has become custom, you feel his smile on your mouth.

“does that mean you like it?” he murmurs.

drawing back, you nod. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide. “yes, of course! thank you!”

gerry’s voice interrupts brian’s response, and you turn to see him, red in the face, pointing to the running vehicle. “hey, you can do that on the bus! get a move on!”

by the time you find your seat on the bus, the tour is already running behind schedule. gerry blames brian, who only shrugs in apology. there’s a brief speech of general safety and schedule from gerry then one of excitement and giddiness from freddie. then the bus rolls out of the parking lot.

you’re nestled on brian’s lap, his arms around your stomach, a game of scrabble on the table in front of you. to your right, john pulls at a cigarette.

“fred, we haven’t even left the country. i don’t want to be sick of this game before tomorrow.”

freddie sticks his tongue out. he places a letter square down and rubs his hands together. “ha! that’s... sixteen points. deaky, write it down!”

brian shifts to glance over your shoulder. “no, that’s not a word, fred.”

“of course it is!” he points to you. “[y/n], please tell him it’s a word.”

instead, you smile and take a picture of him, consternation on his face, finger pointed in the direction of the camera. he groans and rolls his eyes, dropping back against his chair. brian snuggles you close, his breath ghosting over your neck.

as the bus heads for the airport and the game of scrabble continues, crystal leaning over your seat to add his two-cents, you lean back and sigh. there’s a warmth in your chest, in your heart, that you haven’t felt in a long time. you intertwine your fingers with brian’s and squeeze his knuckles.

maybe... maybe this where you belong after all.

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan

#brian may #brian may fic #queen #queen fic #j writes #brian may x reader

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smollestnerd · 3 years

Text

XigXem SFW Headcanons

I love doing these to get ideas for headcanons I wouldn’t normally consider, and since I finished filling these out today I thought I’d share! Borrowed from the @otp-imagines-cult post here!

(Just a heads-up, this is a messy mashup of canon-compliant and modern au headcanons)

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other?

Xemnas spends so much money on Xigbar. He doesn't even try to say no at this point, he knows Xig will get his way.

Xigbar sometimes feels guilty about how much Xemnas spends on him, but those feelings fade as soon as Xem comes back from shopping with bags full of gifts for Xig.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

Xigbar sleeps in Xemnas’s lap. It's rare that it's the other way around, usually only if Xem is extremely tired or upset (he'll fall asleep while being comforted and held of course).

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

They both do. Well, Xigbar runs around HALF naked, Xemnas is just full frontal at any given point if they’re home alone. Xig will tell him to cover up, but he doesn't ever mean it.

When they have guests, Xigbar is fully clothed 100% of the time. Xemnas, though? There’s always at least a 10% chance he’ll forget wearing a shirt is a thing people expect from him. Everyone is either too afraid or horny to tell him to put one on, thus the responsibility falls on Xigbar to tell him. (Again, about a 10% chance he’ll “forget” to tell him to put on a shirt.)

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

Bold of you to assume they both don't have 11pm bedtimes.

But every so often Xemnas will lose himself in his work and suddenly it's 3am.

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

Xigbar is forbidden from cooking anything that isn't microwaveable.

Xemnas's fallback career was fancy chef if “Superior of the In-Between” didn’t work out.

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”?

Neither, but only because neither of them are very online. I think if they were though, Xemnas would see their relationship in everything but not say anything out loud. He just smiles to himself and moves on.

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes?

Xigbar is an accomplished hoodie thief. Xemnas wears Xig’s croptops sometimes to work out in, but always returns them when he's done.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?”

Xemnas is usually the one running errands, but he rarely forgets anything on the list. Xigbar always asks if he remembered everything, though, just to soothe his own anxiety, and quietly hoping to catch Xemnas slipping up so he has something to tease about.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

Xigbar drives ever since Xemnas got his license suspended for running too many red lights.

Or; Xig drives like a maniac and Xem is just so used to it he doesn't even bother to insist on driving anymore (unless he's the designated driver, which usually he is). Xem is lowkey surprised Xig has a clean driving record.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws?

Xemnas poses, Xigbar draws. Xig’s had plenty of lifetimes to perfect his hobbies, and even though he hasn't had time for them in a while, it doesn't take long for him to get back into the swing of things. What better way to capture his lover's radiance than through charcoal drawings and oil paints?

Plus, Xemnas absolutely adores the attention. He just basks in the glory of another being finding him beautiful enough to immortalize on canvas.

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips?

I want to say Xemnas is the super cool backflip guy and Xigbar is the one with the chips, but honestly? It's the other way around. Xig likes to show off in front of his man, and who could blame him?

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking?

Xemnas overdoes it. He doesn't drink nearly as often as Xigbar does, so he doesn't exactly know his limits. Xig tries to keep his eye on him and make sure he doesn't drink too much, but unfortunately Xem is REALLY good at acting sober, so Xig never realizes Xem has overdone it until its too late.

He takes really good care of Xemnas, though, no matter how drunk he is himself.

13: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

Xemnas and Xigbar both surprise each other quite often. Xigbar gives Xemnas little things like seashells and shiny baubles he finds on missions/outings that he thinks Xemnas will like for his office shelves. Xemnas sends Xigbar flowers when he senses Xig having a bad day, and buys him every new book that Xigbar expresses even a passing interest in.

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

Xemnas. He's definitely the romantic here. He's got an Entire Notebook filled with different combinations of their names squashed together.

Xigbar is lowkey terrified of major commitment. He'd say yes if proposed to of course, but he'd never offer himself up like that.

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside?

Xemnas saves it, Xigbar just squishes it. Neither are afraid but they have different approaches to dealing with bugs.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket?

On most cold days you can find Xigbar wearing a too-big leather coat and Xemnas in naught but a t-shirt or turtleneck.

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling?

Ansem tried. He tried so hard. But he severely underestimated Xigbar’s resistance to intimidation tactics.

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

Xemnas. He planned out a whole mega-elaborate date for the two of them, and confessed his love for Xigbar.

Xigbar: "Wait we weren't dating already??"

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting?

They would make fantastic fathers, they'd care about their kids so much. But christ alive that household would be chaotic as all fuck.

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters?

Xemnas used to type with perfect grammar and spelling until he learned about text lingo. "It's more efficient, Xigbar, I am a busy man and don't have time to type everything out." It's a damn lie, though, he just thinks it's neat.

Hell will freeze over the day that Xemnas uses an emoji.

Xigbar relies on emojis and autocorrect and if it doesn't catch a typo or he sends the wrong emoji, “Oh well.”

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

The bully gets attacked by them.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

Xigbar is the pun king. Genuinely funny. “10/10 would hear again.” -Xemnas, probably

Xemnas tries sometimes, bless his soul. Xigbar just doesn't have it in him to tell him they're bad.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy?

To Xigbar's dismay, this has happened more than once. He's the dad that is against the pet but ends up loving it, and Xemnas just can't resist bringing home strays.

They have 2 big dogs, a little dog, and a cat, and have fostered a few puppies and old, sickly cats here and there.

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

When Xemnas gets too drunk to stand, Xigbar will give him a piggyback ride, but he never tells him the next day. Xemnas is too prideful and would be very ashamed to hear of it. Plus, Xigbar kinda likes keeping those moments between them to himself; like a secret he’s keeping safe for a special occasion.

Xigbar will ask for piggyback rides all the time, and Xemnas is happy to indulge him.

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering?

When Xemnas cheers for Xigbar, it's less overzealous and more normal cheering, it's just that Xemnas' voice is booming and carries over the rest of the crowd with ease.

(Don’t ask me what competitive activity Xigbar does, for I Do Not Know)

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

They both do. The main difference is that Xemnas focuses the camera on Xigbar, and Xigbar gets them both fully in the shot.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked?

Both of them would be willing to give the other a makeover, but neither of them have asked.

But! Xemnas does Xigbar’s makeup sometimes, and Xigbar has bought his own style of clothes for Xemnas on a few occasions, just to see what he’d look like.

(Unrelated sidenote: they have matching onesies with cat ears and a tail that Xigbar refuses to wear unless he has to, or unless Xem asks him while Xig is wasted)

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?

Before they moved in together, Xigbar refused to go inside Xemnas's house unless his husky was in the backyard. He got used to her over time, and now Xemnas sometimes comes home to them asleep cuddling on the couch.

Xemnas was never actually afraid of Xigbar's beloved corn snake, but he wasn't a fan either. He’d hold him, but he wasn’t thrilled about it.

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

Xemnas holds the umbrella, Xigbar holds the Xemnas

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

In a canon setting they’d go worldhopping for a week, but in a modern au they'd take trips every year to cities and small remote locations around the world.

They've never been properly camping though. Xemnas refuses.

Their first trip together was small, just to a little known beach on the west coast. They lounged on the beach most of the time, and every night they ate at a different food truck. The last night they were there Xemnas surprised Xigbar with reservations for the fanciest 5-star restaurant in the city.

Xigbar thought he took all the pictures until he was going through them after the trip, only to find over half the memory card filled with photos of himself that Xemnas took when he wasn't looking

#kingdom hearts #xemnas #xigbar #xigxem #xemxig #xemnas/xigbar #otp headcanons #my writing #headcanons #sfw

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excelsi-or · 4 years

Text

just a little sweeter (pt.6)

Hello wonderful friends. The start of this semester is a hARD one. My friend best explained it as “it feels like it’s December 13, the second week of finals week and it’s the home stretch”. Online school is not my thing. I hope for all of you who are went back to school are having a better time than I am.

BIPOC recs: If you’re feeling helpless like I was last night, watch AOC’s live stream that she did after the death of RBG. I admire the work this woman is doing and how hard she, and other progressives, are working to protect the American democracy. Follow Ty & Shay on IG. Their photography right now is so bright and happy. Something we all need right now.

w.c. 3.2k (oops, I apologize that it’s so long; fluffy fluff fluff, if you don’t like date stories, i’d skip this one; next part is a little more domestic-y/couple-y stuff :D)

pt.1; pt.2; pt.3; pt.4; pt.5

“She’s going to be fine,” Seungkwan promises.

Jihoon brought Eunha over an hour ago so that he could head out on his date. He wanted to make sure that she was settled in and enjoying herself before he disappeared for a few hours.

Jihoon, sitting on the couch behind Eunha, looks up at Seungkwan. “I know.”

“Then you can leave. Are you even dressed?” Seungkwan demands.

Hansol colours on the floor with Eunha, but looks up to gauge Jihoon’s outfit. “He looks dressed to me.”

“Where are you taking her?” Seungkwan puts a hand on his hip. “Isn’t this a first date?”

“You ask me as if you’ve been on plenty of first dates,” Jihoon retorts. He looks down at his outfit. He’d struggled to decide what to wear. Experimenting with his clothes before the date seemed like a bad idea. And the first two outfits he’d tried on hadn’t worked. So he’d gone with something he was used to wearing: a baggy top and jeans. He decided against a hat, because that seemed too casual. Fiddling with his currently grey hair is going to make him stick out like a thumb, but he’s never had a real issue with fans or the like. He’s hoping tonight is no exception.

“You still haven’t told us where you’re taking her though, hyung,” Hansol points out.

Jihoon stands. “I think it’s time for me to go.” He squats down and kisses Eunha’s head. “You be good, okay? Uncle Seungkwan and Uncle Hansol are going to watch you.”

Eunha tips her head back to look at him. “You’re going?”

“I’m going to go have dinner with a friend,” he answers. He brushes the hair out of her face. “But I’ll be back before you go to bed, hmm?”

“No, Dad’s going to be back after you go to bed,” Seungkwan insists. “He’ll take you home and give you cuddles there.”

Eunha’s gaze shifts past Jihoon to Seungkwan and then back to Jihoon’s face. Jihoon can see the lack of understanding in her eyes, but she nods anyway. “Okay.” She closes her eyes as he kisses her forehead.

Seungkwan walks Jihoon to the door. “Hyung, don’t cut your date short because of Eunha. We’re all here to watch her. The members are coming back after dinner.” He waves off anything Jihoon can possibly say. “She’ll be fine for one night without you tucking her in.”

“If the world starts ending, you better fucking call me,” Jihoon hisses.

Seungkwan nods, holding back an eye roll. “Yes, hyung.”

Jihoon checks his phone on the way to the elevator. There are good luck messages from the members to which he replies with an eye roll emoji. Then seeing her name in his phone makes his heart flip before wondering what she could be messaging him about.

They’ve been texting on and off for the past few days. If the café is busy, she can only really text him late in the afternoon. That’s the busiest time of day for him, but when he’s free at night, she’s usually already asleep.

So the fact that they could even pin down a day to meet up is a miracle.

What if she’s cancelling?

The message just says: Meet you at the café.

There are no emojis, no tildes (~), nothing to insinuate that she’s excited to see him. He gets a cab to the café, because getting on the train with his grey hair is a horrible idea. When Jihoon steps out of the cab, he sees her first. She’s sitting on the bench outside the café on her phone. Her hair, usually out of her face in some sort of half up-do, cascades around her shoulders. As he gets nearer, he can tell she’s dressed just as casually as he is. They telepathically communicated that this was a jeans and t-shirt kind of date.

When Jihoon walks right up to her, she takes a second to glance up at him. A wide grin splits her face. “Jihoon!” She stands and hugs him.

Jihoon is surprised at the contact, but lets his arms wrap around her waist in greeting. “Hey. I’m glad you also went casual for the date.”

She chuckles and pulls away, glancing down at her outfit. Up close, Jihoon can admire the design of her baggy white t-shirt. It’s a simple line drawing of a naked woman’s back.

“Where are we headed?” she asks.

Jihoon shrugs and starts to walk away from the café. “I had a few ideas in mind.”

She tucks her phone into her back pocket. “This should be interesting.” She glances over at him. “Is there a certain time you need to pick up Eunha?”

Jihoon snorts and shakes his head. “Seungkwan specifically told me not to cut my date short.”

She nudges him with her elbow. “I get you all to myself this evening?”

He hears the teasing in her tone and smiles a little. “Yeah, you do.” And it feels nice to say that.

They walk in silence for a while and it starts to feel heavy around him. They’ve done the basics already. He knows what she does. He knows where she lives. She knows where he grew up. The woman already knows he has a child. What’s left to even say?

“So what do you do when you’re not in the studio or taking care of Eunha?” she asks.

Jihoon meets her gaze and wonders if the silence had also been getting to her or if she just had impeccable timing. “At the gym or sleeping, really.”

She pauses, waiting for more. Then she laughs when nothing comes. “Seungcheol oppa warned me that this was your first date in a while.”

Jihoon’s brow furrows. “What did he say?”

“Just that you might be weird.” She look as if she’s about to reach for him, but stops. “I’ve also been forewarned that you don’t like to be touched.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I might as well call the date off now. Seems like everyone’s given me a bad rep already.”

She smiles.

“I don’t mind.”

She tips her head.

“The touching thing. I don’t always mind.”

She watches his expression carefully as she loops her arm through his. Jihoon likes the feeling of her next to him. When the members try to hug him, a lot of the time, it feels too overwhelming. This feels like they’re sharing space rather than someone overtaking his.

“They didn’t say anything bad. Just told me a few things.”

Jihoon encourages her to continue. “Well, Seokmin said that you would probably take me out to eat at three specific restaurants. Seungkwan said that you might be distracted all night between Eunha and work.” Her eyes go to the sky as she thinks. “Soonyoung said that you might not like to answer some of my questions, because you’ve been hurt before. Chan told me he’s surprised you’re willing to go on a date with me at all.”

Jihoon’s face is on fire at this point. “None of that sounds any good on my part.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “I think it says a lot about you that you have friends who want me to like you. Which is hilarious, because I’m pretty sure I liked you first.”

Jihoon looks to her. “Did you?”

“As soon as I saw Eunha on your hip at the grocery store.” She nods. “I was hooked.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “Huh. Didn’t think it would be my daughter that would land me a date.” He adjusts his hand in his pants pocket. “About what Soonyoung said, this is a date. I’m willing to answer any questions you have to ask me.”

“Really.”

“As long as you answer any question I ask you.”

“Seems like a fair trade. Can I go first?”

Jihoon turns left down an alley and he feels her move a little bit closer. “Yeah, sure.”

In the pause of conversation, she gauges their surroundings. A neon sign catches her attention. “You’re taking me to an arcade, aren’t you?”

“I’m specifically taking you to a bowling alley, but there’s an arcade there.”

“You bowl?”

“Not very well,” Jihoon admits. He holds the door open for her and lets her through first. “But I had an inkling to play.”

She grins back at him. “I suck at bowling.”

The sound and smell of the bowling alley is familiar. It’s a little bit musky, a little too loud, but the atmosphere is light-hearted. He stands at the counter and catches the eye of someone who works there. The man comes over from the lanes to step behind the register.

“Shoe size?”

“4,” she says.

“You’re a 4?” Jihoon doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Yeah,” she snorts when the guy puts shoes down in front of her. “Get it out of your system now.” She heads towards their lane while Jihoon waits for his shoes. He scoffs in disbelief when she passes him on his way to the lane.

“Too small?”

She rolls her eyes. “Too big.”

When she returns with her regular shoes in hand, Jihoon glances at her feet. She shows off her heel with the shoe size on the back.

“Awe, you’re a 3! I think Eunha wears those size shoes.”

She thwacks him in the arm and tucks her shoes into a cubby. She sits next to Jihoon while he sorts out their names on the board.

“Let’s play a game,” she says.

Jihoon presses enter. “We are playing a game.” He leads her towards the racks with the bowling balls.

“A game within a game then.” She lifts an 8 lb. ball and compares it to a 10.

“What is it?”

She decides to keep both. “Between every turn, we ask each other a question.”

“You’re gonna make me think of questions while beating you at bowling?” Jihoon demands. He takes two balls back with him to the lane.

“Exactly,” she chuckles. “I need to get something out of this too.”

“You make it sound like I’m really good or you’re really bad.”

“A good mix of both, I think.” She puts her bowling balls down and then holds a hand out to Jihoon. “Deal?”

Jihoon studies her. The blue light of the bowling alley soaks into her skin and turns her white shirt blue. “Deal.”

He put her name first, so she bowls first.

“First question,” Jihoon says when she knocks over 4 pins.

She lifts an eyebrow, glancing back at him. “Shoot.”

“What…” Jihoon tilts his head. “What is your favourite Seventeen song?”

“Easy.” She tosses her 10 lb. down the lane. It veers a hard left, only clipping two pins. She turns back and sits next to him. “Check In.”

“That’s an old one and it’s not even a vocal team song,” Jihoon protests. He goes to take his turn.

“You asked me what my favourite Seventeen song was. You didn’t say you had to be on it.”

“You didn’t think to choose a song I actually sing on?”

She smirks. “I’m not here to pretend to be anything I’m not.”

Jihoon grins and bowls a spare. He stands on the opposite side of the table, hands down, leaning towards her. Her chin rests in her hands as she stares up at him. “Favourite thing about your last girlfriend.”

Jihoon blinks in surprise at the question. She gets up as the pins reset, brushing past him.

She only manages to knock down two pins and Jihoon still doesn’t have a proper answer for her.

“You dated her. Must have been something you liked about her,” she snorts.

“Well, we broke up.”

“Yeah, but you dated her before you broke up with her.” She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Break ups aren’t always terrible and horrible.”

“She gave me Eunha. Does that count?”

Realization seems to dawn on her face. He has the baby. He’s raising her alone. Not all break ups are terrible and horrible; his definitely was.

“That’s sweet,” she decides to say.

Since she seems entirely okay with deep dive questions, Jihoon turns the question on her. “What was your favourite thing about your last boyfriend?” He gets up to bowl.

It only takes her a beat to come up with an answer. “He has a great sense of humour. Really dry and witty.”

When he returns to her, she asks, “Favourite thing that one of the members has ever cooked for you?”

The change in topic is surprising, but appreciated. Either she wants to keep their first date light-hearted or she sensed his mood change when Yeri had come up.

And it happens often. Their conversation starts to go down a certain road and each time they hit the road block of his ex-girlfriend, she finds a way to turn the conversation around. Jihoon feels a deep appreciation for her. While they can be serious, they spend a lot of time bantering and teasing each other about bad plays. She manages to find a groove during the second game and beats him by a few points.

After the third game, they agree that hunger is a larger priority than fun and they should get something to eat. Due to the question and answer she inserted into their game, they leave the alley nearly 3 hours later. Jihoon is pleased that he hasn’t had to check his phone, which is on sound and loud. A few text messages had startled the both of them out of conversation, but they were work related and could be ignored until he gets home.

She loops her arm through his as they wander the streets to find somewhere to eat.

“Are you able to go somewhere where there’s a lot of people?”

They’d had a few people come up to him while bowling. His grey hair and hairstyle are apparently pretty distinct. But it could have been much worse. “Do you have somewhere in mind you want to go?”

She shrugs. “It’s not exactly date-style food, but I want mall food.”

He laughs. “Let’s go then.”

She watches him run his hand through his hair again. “Do you want a hat?”

Jihoon looks around. “You just have one on demand?”

She rolls her eyes and points towards a store down the street. “Wait here.” She ducks inside and walks back out with a plain black cap in hand. She plops it on his head. Before he can say anything, she tips her head in contemplation. Then she reaches up and folds the bill of the cap and pushes it up slightly to show off a bit more of his face.

Jihoon watches an expression of approval grow on her face and he’s tempted to lean down towards her, but holds back. She pulls away a little too quickly for his liking.

“Now we can take the train!”

On the train, someone seems to recognize him and keeps sneaking glances. That is until she pushes Jihoon into the corner and gets closer to him. Jihoon is surprised for her to be underneath the bill of his cap. “You’ve watched Marvel movies,” she whispers.

Jihoon pecks her nose. “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”

A blush spreads across her cheeks from his affection and she bows her head in embarrassment. Jihoon pulls her a bit closer to him as more people get on the train.

“This is ridiculous,” she snorts. “All I wanted was food.”

“We’re going to eat,” Jihoon reminds her.

“This is a first date, we haven’t eaten yet and you’ve already,” her voice drops to a whisper, “kissed me.”

“I beat you in bowling,” he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, thanks.”

They wind up talking for hours and wander the mall after eating. When it closes, they go out and wander the brightly lit streets. When she starts visibly yawning, Jihoon glances at his watch. “Oh shit.”

“What?” she yawns.

“It’s almost 1.”

“That explains the yawning,” she mumbles.

“I should take you home.”

She pouts. “I would like to argue with you, but I won’t. I have to work tomorrow.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “You open at 7.”

“Yep.”

“You should have told me.”

“I’m having fun.”

Jihoon waves down a cab and climbs in after her. “We can meet up again.”

She lifts an eyebrow as she fires off her address to the driver. “Really?”

“You don’t want to go on another date with me?”

She chuckles. “I didn’t say that. I’m surprised you want to go on another date with me.”

He threads his fingers through hers.

When they get to her apartment, Jihoon asks the cab driver to wait. He walks her to the door of her apartment. “I’ll message you.”

“And I’ll try to reply,” she promises, as she unlocks the door. She holds it open with her body and turns to look at him. She waves him closer.

Jihoon closes the distance between them and smiles when she lifts the bill of his cap higher. She pecks his nose. “Goodnight, Jihoon.”

“Sleep well.”

She shakes her head with a laugh and disappears into her apartment.

Seungkwan is the one who answers the door. “How’d it go?”

“Is she sleeping?” Jihoon asks, avoiding talking about the date. There’s such an airy feeling in his chest and he feels like he’s walking on clouds. He doesn’t want to share the feeling with anyone else just yet. Maybe after he writes songs about it.

“She’s sleeping with Hansol,” Seungkwan answers. He glances over at Jihoon. “Do you want to spend the night here? We have schedules tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Jihoon collapses onto the couch and grabs a blanket nearby. He tosses his cap onto the coffee table.

Seungkwan shuts the lights off, but not before giving Jihoon one last look. He recognizes the messaging app and the slight movement of the bubbles as Jihoon messages someone back.

Seungkwan wasn’t sure what Soonyoung was worrying about until this moment. Seeing Jihoon vulnerable and giddy isn’t uncommon, but they sure don’t see him like this around other people.

#woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen #lee jihoon scenarios #lee jihoon

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dancethroughthethunder · 4 years

Text

The Best Kind of Eternity

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k (I cannot shut up ever about anything)

Prompt: I’ll take whatever you give me

Summary: You’ve had a terrible week so your best friends, Peter, Ned and MJ, have planned a night of yummy comfort food, face masks, and cheap wine to unwind. You’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, and unbeknownst to you, he feels the exact same way. Ned, and MJ are having fun watching the sweet disaster that is you and your Peterman. After a few glasses of wine and a long week, you’re ready to admit it. Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, and college!au all in one.

Author’s Note: It’s here!! My first fic in literally years and my first fic on this account! This is a college!au and everyone in this fic is of legal drinking age. There is mention of alcohol and feeling tipsy but nobody is explicitly drunk. I’m just really soft okay, please love my soft Peter.

Y/N = your name, Y/N/N = your nickname and Y/F/S = your favorite show

It had been a long week. No, scratch that, it had been the longest week that any human being in all of history had ever been subjected to. It was one of those weeks where you had every big test and assignment at once, where everything you did at your internship was wrong, where the food in the dining hall made you sick, and where you were both home sick and also so glad you were far from home as your loving mother nagged you about how much sleep you were (not) getting and the amount of vegetables your diet was likely missing.

Needless to say, you were beyond ready for a relaxing weekend. All week you managed to keep yourself going by remembering that once Friday afternoon rolled around, life would get so much easier. You had a surprisingly free weekend for once, and an easy week coming up and you were ready for the much needed sleep, and time with your friends that your weekend would bring. You just needed to get through the awful eternity that was this week.

Sometime between the 5th and 20th stressed out text from you at work earlier in the week, your best friends decided that what you needed was a night to relax. Even when the four of you were just hanging out, you were usually the one to make the final decisions about where to hang, what to eat, and what to do, but not this time. With MJ bringing the wine, Ned bringing the snacks and Peter bringing your favorite stressed out comfort food for dinner, your friends were ready to listen to you complain just one last time about your boss, your professors, and the idiot in your one class you’d dubbed “Loud Dumb Boy” and then ply you with drinks, face masks, and yummy food.

You’d never been more grateful for your friends than you were Friday morning when you received a text in your group message (named, to MJ’s chagrin (“What it’s just so lame”, she groaned when you’d suggested it), the Core Four):

MJ: Alright Y/N/N, we’re having a junk food & wine night tonight. What: the greatest night of your life. When: 7, so you have time to take a nap after class. Where: Your room, Who: You, Me, and the Idiot Twins. Why: Because people suck and you deserve it.

Ned: How: don’t worry Y/N/N! We’ve got all of the planning covered

MJ: I’m getting the wine, and the boys are getting the food. All you need to do is be in your room, awake and wearing pants at 7

MJ: Or not wearing pants

MJ: it’s a free country

MJ: somewhat

Peter: I can’t wait!!!

You let out a cross between a moan and a sigh at the thought of having a fun relaxing night that you didn’t even need to plan. And MJ made sure that you’d have time for a quick nap beforehand? Honestly, how do people make it through college without friends like these three?

Checking to make sure that you weren’t missing anything up on the board, you pulled your phone back out to type your reply

You: Sounds heavenly.

You: Also, MJ if you want to see my ass all you have to do is ask (wink wink)

MJ: Y/N, did you really just say wink instead of using the emoji

Ned: I think it’s funny

MJ: Stop encouraging her

You: At least Ned loves me

MJ: since you can’t see me I just want you to know I’m flipping you off

You: Fair enough

Thankfully, not only did texting your friends help pass the time but your professor was feeling generous and let you out a few minutes early. Just one more test to go and you’d be back in your dorm ready for a nap.

Five hours later and you had successfully taken your exam (thus concluding the week from hell), gone back to your dorm to clean up a little bit, taken care of a few emails, called home to talk to family and finally snuggled into your bed for your much needed and deserved nap. You rolled around in your bed wondering whether it was worth it to shut your eyes for the few extra minutes until your alarm went off, signaling you to get out of bed, put on pants and get ready for your friends to come over. The second your head hit your pillow again, you figured that if you didn’t get out of bed now, you’d still be there when MJ undoubtedly showed up earlier than she had said.

You jumped down from your bed, and began digging through your drawers to find your comfiest pair of leggings (listen, you’re a firm believer that naps are meant to be a no pants zone- and really, who could judge you for that) and to grab your deodorant to freshen up before your friends get there. As soon as your shirt is back on, there’s a knock on your door accompanied by what you’re pretty sure is the sound of MJ attempting to get your attention and make sure you’re awake.

You cross the room to open the door and find that your assumption was correct; MJ stands there balancing a heavy bag that you’re pretty sure is full of wine in one hand, phone in the other ready to call you if you were still sleeping.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting forever”

“You knocked like ten seconds ago, Michelle” You rolled your eyes, you loved your best friend but sometimes she could be impatient in a way that just really made you want to scream.

“Ten seconds, forever, who’s to say the difference. After all, time is a-”

“Construct” You finished for her.

“Exactly, you get it” MJ smiled as she bumped you with her hip.

Given that you didn’t have a roommate and had a double room to yourself, your room was the designated hangout spot. Without needing to say anything, MJ went ahead to put the wine in your fridge and started to make herself at home.

“Y/N, I say this with all of the love in my heart…. Have you looked in a mirror since you woke up?” To her credit, MJ was managing not to burst out laughing as you took a few horrified steps over to your mirror.

Uh oh, you had fallen asleep with your hair down and now looked like a cross between the Heat Miser and someone from Who-ville and somehow you thought your Christmas-inspired gremlinry was not the look you wanted to be sporting when Pete- uh your friends, yeah all of your friends, were over...

“Shit, MJ, the boys will be here in any second and I look like a gremlin” You ran back over to your dresser to grab some dry shampoo, a spray bottle of water, and a brush to try and contain the mess that was your hair.

“Ah yes, because Ned cares so much about the state of your hair. Oh, what was that? It’s not Ned you’re worried about? Could it be an arachnid adjacent friend of ours?”

Without even turning around to look at her, you raised one hand to (lovingly) flip off your best friend. In any other friendship, you assumed it would be weird to be in love with your one best friend who had previously dated your other best friend, but MJ had declared an exception in girl code for you. It was no secret that MJ and Peter dated in high school, it was also no secret that it just didn’t work. There were no hard feelings, no big revelations, no massive fights or betrayals of trust, they just worked better as friends than they did as partners. You respected them both for making that decision before it got to a point where it might have been hostile, and while you knew there were no residual feelings you couldn’t help but be a little jealous of MJ sometime. You knew there was a reason it didn’t work out but at least she had the chance to try. Either way, you were pretty sure that there would be no chance for you if you looked like this when Peter knocked on your door.

“You’re infuriating sometimes, I hope you know that” You finished your sentence with a groan as MJ smirked, reminding you that she definitely knew that.

“Get over here and I’ll braid your hair” MJ got onto one of your desk chairs and patted the spot between her legs, indicating that she wanted you to give her the hairbrush, sit down and let her work her magic since she knew you couldn’t put your hair in a good braid if your life depended on it.

Right as MJ tamed the wildest part of your hair, there was a knock at the door, without either of you getting up, both you and MJ yelled out that it was unlocked and in walked the other half of the Core Four.

“Hey, Y/N!” Ned smiled as he came into the room carrying a bag full of snacks, both sweet and savory that definitely had far more food than you could have ever eaten. (“What, I wanted her to have all of her favorite options” Ned would say later when MJ and Peter teased him about buying the entire store).

“Honey, we’re hoooome” Peter Parker, your best friend and quite possibly the love of your young life, was right behind Ned, winking and carrying boxes of what you hoped were pizza and garlic knots.

“Took you two long enough, I want food.” You jumped up from your spot on the floor to grab plates and napkins so you could start eating.

“She’s cranky but she’s got the right idea.” MJ laughed.

“Hey, I’m not cranky, I'm hungry.” You tried to whine and pout at MJ but couldn’t hold it through your laughter.

A little while later you had all eaten as much pizza and garlic knots as you possibly could and had drunk a couple glasses of wine each already. It was time for part two of the night to commence: face mask time. You walked over to your dresser where you kept your various skin care products to grab a few of the face masks you and MJ had bought last time you went to Target.

“Hey, Pete? Which do you want?” You held up the various face masks in question, to show him his options.

“I’ll take whatever you give me”. You were glad that you were already flushed from the couple of drinks because otherwise there would have been a tell tale blush in your cheeks that would have given you away.

Cmon Y/N get it together, he’s just talking about face masks. It was just one innocent sentence. You’d said far heavier and romantically laced things to him before, but for some reason as soon as he said this, your heart started hammering so loudly in your chest you were sure your neighbors would think there was construction happening nearby. Was it a sign of trust? Did he just not care that much about the variety of face masks you were offering? Or was it something more? Did he really mean whatever? Of course not, you’re reading into it. It had to be the alcohol kicking in, you couldn’t possibly be that head over heels and flustered. Right? Right.

“Y/N/N? You good over there?” You blinked and realized you had completely zoned out staring at Peter, while still awkwardly holding all of the face masks in your hands. Cool, way to be subtle Y/N.

“Wha? Oh! OH! Ha sorry, I must have completely zoned out there.” Must have completely zoned out there?! Could you have picked a lamer thing to say? At least come up with a good excuse next time, damn.

“Oh Y/N, can I have that one?” Ned excitedly popped his head into your line of vision to ask about the lavender de-stress face mask that you know he says makes him feel like the “king of treat yo self”. What you would do without Ned and his perfectly timed distractions, you never wanted to know.

“Oh yes, of course. As if I’d give you anything else”. You winked at Ned, and without missing a beat he brought a hand to his chest and pretended to swoon.

“I’ll take that one thank you very much.” As MJ grabbed one of the face masks remaining in your hands, you made a decision for Peter and tossed one to him, keeping one for yourself as you went to find a headband to keep those annoying baby hairs out of your way when you had the mask on.

“Hey, Y/N/N?” You turned around to see Peter looking at you with the sweetest puppy dog eyes on the planet.

“....yes P?”

“So you know how sometimes I miss spots with face masks?”

“Yes…”

“And you know how you’re so good at them”

“Who the hell isn’t good at face masks, you just smear stuff on your face it doesn’t take a degree to figure out” MJ snarkily whispered to Ned who was unsuccessfully biting back a laugh.

“I mean in the sense that I know how to put them on my face and avoid my eyebrows and everything, sure I’m a regular aficionado. Why what’s up?”

Peter looked at you hopefully, looked at the face mask you had just tossed him, and then right back at you. A big grin broke out on his face as he held it right back out to you

“Are you asking me to put your face mask on you?”

“Yes please you’re just so good at it and it always gets stuck to me and you always do it anyways and pleeeease” Once again Peter was giving you the eyes that you and MJ had dubbed the “Spidey Pout” with you both joking that it’s the best weapon against bad guys he could ever have.

Okay, so this one was on you. The first time you ever did face masks with the guys, Ned wasn’t too sure how he felt about the texture so you offered to help him put it on, and then helped Peter as well. Ever since, Peter has always made a point to have you help him put on his face mask. (Neither of you will ever admit it, but you both know he knows how to do it and avoid his eyebrows but you both relish in the pure affection and domesticity that comes with putting a face mask on someone else. Who knew smearing gooey mud on someone’s face was a whole love language in and of itself).

“Okay, fine, come here Parker.” You grabbed an extra hair tie and handed it to Peter who excitedly pulled back as much hair as he could into the tiniest, cutest, ponytail ever. You looked over at Ned, who was putting on his own face mask and smiled when you saw that he too had a tiny little ponytail to keep his hair out of the way.

You gestured for Peter to sit in front of you in your other desk chair as you sat at your desk and started opening the mask to put on him. You’d given Peter a peel-off mask, which you knew he liked because he didn’t have to go wash it off making it easier and because of the satisfying feeling that came with peeling it off. When it comes to putting a face mask on someone else, you relish in having an excuse to be so close and to have physical contact, after all you’re incredibly physically affectionate. When it’s Peter, it’s even better. He sometimes closes his eyes, giving you a chance to just admire him. You can watch the stress melt away as you gently spread the mask over his face, and you get to take in the beauty that is Peter Parker. When he doesn’t close his eyes, he just watches you. It should probably make you nervous, feeling watched so closely and so intensely but there’s something loving in his eyes that makes you feel seen. Sometimes you take your eyes off whatever part of his face you’re putting the mask on and the two of you just hold eye contact- not long, just a few seconds, but given all of the feelings you’re both holding back, it feels like an eternity. It’s the good kind of eternity, it’s falling asleep in the shade at the beach listening to the water and losing track of time; it’s rocking a baby to sleep in a dark room knowing that nothing else matters; it’s falling in love in a second and knowing that even if you don’t say it, somehow it’ll be okay. After all, despite the awkward moments and the way that you’re sure it’s unrequited, it’s been an absolute pleasure to fall in love with Peter Parker.

You move your chair in between Peter’s legs so you have better access to his face, and try not to think about the way that MJ and Ned are undoubtedly making faces to each other about all of this. You misjudge the angle of your chair, just a bit as you go to sit, undoubtedly caused by the moscato coursing through you and you don’t even have time to catch yourself because someone’s already done it for you. You look down to see one of Peter’s hands on your hip, the hip hanging off the chair and, not for the first time in your life, you’re thankful for his spidey-reflexes.

“Woah there, you okay?” You sit into your seat as you nod in response to Peter and you try not to focus too much on how the hand that was on your hip as casually migrated to your thigh. You couldn’t know it but right now Peter is silently thanking whatever in the universe (your wine) that made you slip for giving him an excuse to touch you. It’s not sexual, he just likes physical affection as much as you do and he finds it’s even better when it’s you. Ned once told him that his love language is probably touch. Peter disagrees, he thinks his love language is whatever you’re doing. It’s like that tik tok trend with the sound of the Penguins from Madagascar or whatever that movie is, where in order to translate one penguin motions and only one other penguin understands it to translate. His love is already there, but no matter what it is he wants or thinks, you seem to be the only one who can translate and bring it to life. For example, he never knew how easy it is to memorize someone’s laugh. It helps that yours is just so you. He swears he could pick you out of a crowd, blindfolded, just by your laugh. But, you have no way of knowing any of this as your heart skips a beat when he absentmindedly rubs his thumb on your thigh.

You lean forward, and start to apply the mask to Peter’s face, giggling when he shudders at the initial coldness. Today is a closed eye day, it seems, and you don’t mind because you think that with his hand on your thigh still, you might not be able to handle intense eye contact without imploding.

“Y/N can I use a washcloth?” Ned’s face mask has already been on, and dried by the time you remember that there are in fact, two other people in your room.

“Yeah of course, dude.” You turn your head to indicate where you keep them, but see MJ already grabbing one for herself and tossing one to Ned.

“You know for someone worried about privacy and surveillance, you’re incredibly comfortable going through my things.” You flash MJ a smirk over your shoulder before going back to Peter’s face mask.

“Alright love, you’re done.” You stand up to go clean the residual mask goo off your hands as Peter stands up to check out your work in your mirror.

“Thanks, dear.” You feel a swell of pride every time Peter uses some pet name for you. You’re the type of person that calls everyone some kind of nickname or pet name, and throughout your friendship Peter has started to do it more and more but only ever with you. Well, maybe sarcastically with Ned too.

A little while later and you’ve finished with face masks, vented one last time about your week and have been playing some drinking games when Ned lets out a massive yawn.

“Ah I’m sorry guys, I’m just so tired all of a sudden.” Ned smiles sheepishly and glances toward your clock.

“Look at the time, wow. Thank you for coming over and helping me to unwind. It was a hell of a week and this was exactly what I needed. I know it’s late, you guys can totally stay for a bit or head out and go to sleep, promise I won’t be offended if you want to leave.” You smile sweetly at Ned, knowing that since you had such a bad week, his instinct is to stay until you kick him out, but also knowing that he’s so tired and you do honestly feel so much better.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna head out then. Do you wanna grab breakfast together tomorrow?”

“Make it closer to brunch, we all know I’m sleeping in.” You laugh as Ned stands up to leave.

“Alright, I think I’m peacing out as well. Things to do, people to see.” MJ gets up and starts to follow Ned to the door.

“MJ, you know we see past your whole ‘cooler than you mystery girl’ thing, we’ve been friends for years.” Peter rolls his eyes, laughing.

“Yeah but where’s the fun in that. You staying or coming with, Parker?”

“I’m gonna stay for a bit, I think Y/N and I are going to watch an episode of Y/F/S”

“Okay, good night!”

“Night losers.” MJ and Ned walk out of your room, letting the door shut naturally behind them.

“Okay, if you pour us another glass of wine and get the lights, I’ll queue up the show.” You pass Peter your wine glass and grab your laptop and a blanket, and sit back down on the pillows you put on the floor.

“M’lady.” Peter tips an imaginary fedora as he hands you both glasses, so he can sit down and get comfortable without worrying about spilling his wine.

Peter settles in next to you and takes his wine while you start the show. After a few minutes, you start slowly leaning until your head finds Peter’s shoulder. He laughs, knowing how extra cuddly you get while drinking and is surprised it took you this long. He hears you mutter something that sounds like the word comfy, and is genuinely surprised when you pick up his arm and toss it over your shoulder. While it’s nothing new for the two of you to sit together normally, and cuddle after a long day or when drinking, this is definitely something new. Not that he’s complaining.

Peter smiles down at you as he shifts a little in his seat, hand on your upper arm as he adjusts the arm behind you. Whether it’s the alcohol, his little comment from earlier, or the way things felt different when you put on his face mask, you aren’t sure what’s propelling you to be more forward than usual. Maybe you’re just sick of pretending you wouldn’t be his in a second, and the other things are just contributing to lessening your fears of rejection.

You look up at Peter, and let out a soft “hi”.

“Hey there, you comfy?” You nod, suddenly unsure of how to communicate your feelings without sounding like an idiot, while simultaneously feeling incredibly warm, inside and out. Luckily for you, Peter decides for once in his life to pick up on someone’s signals and decides he’s going to go for it.

“I, uh, meant it earlier, ya know?”

You raise an eyebrow, confused, as you sit up straight so his arm is still around you (his hand is still tracing absentminded circles but it’s fallen to your waist now) but you’re able to see him better.

“When.. when I said I’ll take whatever you give me. I meant it. I’ll take it. Happily.”

There’s a moment, a brief moment, where you’re scared. You’re scared that somehow despite what he’s saying, this is all one big misunderstanding or that you’re reading too much into it. But, the moment passes and you look into your best friend’s eyes and see love and a distinct lack of judgment and you realize that there’s no way you’re not thinking the same thing.

“Yeah? What if it’s my love, that I want to give.” You almost feel silly jumping right to the L word, but you’ve known for a while now that you love him, you capital L Love Peter Parker and suddenly you find yourself wondering how you’ve never brought yourself to tell him before.

Peter smiles at you, and your dorky awkward best friend finds himself at a loss for words. You’re here, and you love him and he doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s never heard anything better. So, he just smiles and nods and hopes that you can see it in his eyes, that you can see everything he’s thinking but can’t say. He wishes he knew how to tell you it all. He wants to say “I love you, you’re my best girl, my favorite person. I love the way you put your hair up when you’re thinking. I love the way you always listen when someone is talking, and make sure that nobody has to trail off because nobody in a group. I love the way you sing in the car and hum when you’re cleaning and in a good mood. I want to hear your sleepy content sighs when you put your head on my shoulder after a couple of drinks for the rest of my life. Name it and I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

But, he doesn’t know how to say any of that. So instead he says “Are you offering it?”

“I don’t think I have to offer it, P, you already have it. It’s yours if you want it. I just.. Just need to hear you say it.”

Peter sees you’re getting shy and knows he has to reassure you, he knows how important it is to you that he says it outright.

“I love you. I want it, I want you. Let me love you right. Please, Y/N/N, let me do this. You’re my best friend, be my girlfriend?”

Peter starts to lean into you and you nod, giving him your silent consent not only to the kiss but to everything: his love, his time, giving it a go.

It was the week from hell, but right now you’re sitting here kissing your best friend- your boyfriend, and he knows you love him and he loves you too. And as you kiss him, with his hands lightly on your waist (he needs to feel you, to know you’re real, to put as much love into your body as he can) and with yours cupping his face, you think that if you got to do this forever, it would really be the absolute best kind of eternity.

#in which meg writes #my writing #college!peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #reader insert #peter parker fic #peter parker #ragnarachael800challenge!#college!au #first fic jitters

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whatwouldmindykdo · 3 years

Text

I wrote a little something about coming to terms with my sexuality and thought I’d share it here...

For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of my wedding day. As soon as I was able to comprehend the concept of wedding and marriage it became my only goal, my ultimate achievement: I wanted, I needed to get married. This would make me successful and prove my worthiness. I would be happy forever. And so, for years, I’d spend hours imagining the magical day: the dress, of course, and its designer, the venue, the guests, the music, the menu, the bridal party, the decor. And of course, the groom. Because it was always a groom. However, I would find it extremely difficult to imagine him. I could think of qualities I would look for in a partner, but that was it. Looking back now, I think that, more than any of these things, what I dreamt of was being loved and being in love. I was just hoping to find the kind of unconditional love I grew up surrounded by. Not a person but a feeling. An ideal.

I grew up in what you would probably call a liberal family. My parents are very open-minded, left-wing voters and I grew up having political debates at the dinner table. But it was always about tolerance. Every love is love, they would say. Everyone deserves to be happy, they would say.

This, however, was not true for them growing up. Both my parents grew up in working class families and worked their way into the middle class. As liberal as my parents are, their own parents were rather conservative in thought.

My father’s parents had grown up on farms. Their own parents, my great-grandparents, lived a life I cannot even begin to comprehend. After the Second World War, as life was changing everywhere, and especially in the countryside, my grandparents left for the city (well, a city, not THE city) to work in factories. They were deeply religious and my father was raised a Catholic. However, he also enjoyed great freedom. He was free to come and go, almost as he wished, to play with his brother and friends. He was free not to work in school, drop out after middle school and go on to work with his father. Which he did, for a while, until he realized he didn’t want to do that his entire life. In other words, he was free to fail, and try again. Would it had been the same thing had he been a girl? We will never know, as he was one of two boys.

My mother, on the other hand, was not. Her grandparents had been mining workers, as almost everyone in the area. Her own parents had been saved from this life, and pushed to look for work in other industries. They had married young and my mother was the eldest of two. Her parents were heavily involved in political and union movements, pushing for workers’ rights. This gave her an awareness of the political situation and an ideal of what is achievable when you work for it. My mother, however, is also a woman. And as such, her parents expected her to behave a certain way.

She was expected to be the perfect little girl. Calm, pretty, smiling. Not to take too much space. Do well in school. Be polite. And so my mother tried her best to be this ideal girl. She excelled in school, practiced many sports, and took it upon herself to keep the family together and happy. She eventually went on to work and had to move out to another city, but always close to family as she was sharing an apartment with her aunt. When she found another job closer to her parents, she moved back home. Eventually, she met my father. They dated for a couple of years, but moving in together was unfathomable. Not before marriage. And that’s how my parents ended up married without having ever lived together, something I honestly find quite hard to imagine. Her brother, on the other hand, lived a life closer to my dad’s. He could not roam the streets or drop out of school but he did leave high school without graduating, moving out to work away and never looked back. He introduced many girlfriends to his parents before eventually having a child and getting married, in that order.

My parents would probably tell you that they raised me and my brother the same way. That not more was expected of me. That I could do the exact same thing he did. And to some extent that is true. We were both expected to excel in school. To be polite and respectful. We were both told we could dream of being whoever we wanted to be. But what had been instilled to my mother was also, somehow, perhaps more sneakily, taught to me. I also had to be the perfect little girl, no excuses. The one that doesn’t move. The one that doesn’t scream or make a scene. The one that helps at home. As Michelle Cliff says in Notes on Speechlessness, ‘I am reminded that a great compliment of my childhood was: ‘she’s such a quiet girl’’.

Instead of rebelling against this system I made it mine: it was my way of taking up space. My way of being remarkable. I was expected to excel at school: I was top of the class. I was expected to be calm and discreet: I would literally never speak. Even today it takes a lot for me to be able to do things I know my parents disapprove. Because I have built myself through others’ approval, and then who am I once they don’t approve?

What does that have to do with being a lesbian, you may wonder. See, I knew about lesbians. I knew about gays. It was not entirely unknown to me. I saw them on the news, we talked about them at home. But no one in my family was gay, lesbian or part of the LGBTQI+ community, at least not openly. That was not what we did. As much as my family rebelled against capitalistic society, we were expected to conform in certain areas, and this was one. We, as a family, are heterosexuals. And so I unconsciously associated being a good girl to being heterosexual.

I don’t remember the first time I heard of the LGBTQI+ community, nor do I remember the first time I had a crush on a girl. I am quite sure she was my primary school best friend. I very clearly remember wondering whether I was in love with her or whether that was just how you felt for your best friend (hint: I kinda knew the answer). And so, little me moved on with life. Eventually the feeling wore out, and there was a very intense and dramatic fall out. But that was it, no more questions about my sexuality. Not until I was well into my teenage years, at least. When I made it to university I had began what I would call my transformative journey, learning extensively about feminism, inclusivity and human rights. I was passionate about these subjects and wanted to learn more, and more. I surrounded myself with people who were open-minded, teaching me about these very topics, and, for some of them, part of the LGBTQI+ community. At about this time I began identifying as pansexual or bisexual. I have never been really sure about this. There was no major coming out though. I just stated here and there that I thought love was about a person and their soul, not their gender. Even though I was identifying as pansexual / bisexual, the doubt never really left. I felt ill-at-ease with the identification. Maybe I’m not into labels, I’d think. Maybe.

Deep down, I knew. I think I’d always known. I would get major crushes on women in films and TV shows. Maybe that’s just identification. I could hardly imagine being in a relationship with a man. Maybe I just haven’t met THE one. I would feel uncomfortable whenever a man flirted with me. Maybe I’m just not into him.

I just couldn’t imagine being a lesbian. And that’s not to say that I could fathom the very existence of lesbians. I knew they existed, I had a friend as they say. I truly believed that all love is love. What I couldn’t accept was that I was a lesbian. How could I not like men? Good girls like men. Good girls are straight. Good girls get married TO A MAN, and have children WITH A MAN. No way. I must be pansexual. Or bisexual. Not lesbian.

Funnily enough, the pandemic was a big transitional time for me. I was able to truly connect with myself. Away from the world and the mundanities of everyday life, focusing on what really matters for the first time, I came to a realization. I do not like men. I do not find pleasure in imagining a relationship with a man. This realization was validated by experience. I signed up on a dating app (what??? I know, don’t judge). My immediate reaction was to set up my preferences to women only (that should have been another hint right?!). However, almost immediately I changed those preferences to everyone (men and women). Why? Because, I thought, by excluding men I might miss out on the one (he’s always somewhere). What if I miss on the opportunity of happily ever after because I renounce to dating half of humanity? And oh boy did I regret that. I was instantly contacted by half the male population of my surroundings (the joys of being on a dating app) and it really felt like it was not for me. I was feeling miserable rather than happy, anxious rather than excited. I switched back to women only and I have felt safer and more myself ever since.

I guess you could say that I have been feeling rather at peace with who I am. I have come out to a few (selected) friends, in the least dramatic way possible (well, they also are the least dramatic women I know). There remains the question, however, of coming out to family. Because although I have come to term with being a lesbian, I am still scared AF when it comes to coming out to my family and the main reason is: what if I am not lesbian after all (eye roll emoji)? The real reason, though, is that I know that as open-minded as my parents are, a coming out also means a period of adaptation, of understanding what it means exactly. And for someone like me who hates both confrontation and disappointing this feels like a big deal. Selfishly, I wish someone had been there before in my family. That I would not be the first. The trailblazer. The odd one out. The lesbian aunt. But then, I think of my little cousins. And how I could be that person for them. If I allow myself past the fear.

Thing is, I also truly believe that I will not be able to be fully happy until I come out. I will not be truly happy until I can be who I am fully, knowing that the people who accept it are the ones who love me, for real. But what if that means losing my grandfather? What if it means that people will literally never stop talking about it?

As much as I have talked about the hardships of coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality, I will also mention that coming to terms with this reality has been a huge relief. It has opened me to a world where love and inclusion are legion. A world where you are accepted for who you truly are. It has given me role models, values and a political awareness that I probably would not have had otherwise. In other words, being lesbian is a blessing because it is who I am, fully. And when I get to be this person, I can finally start to breathe. I can finally start to live.

My problem lies with mainstream culture and the way it portrays lesbian relationships. I have grown up with the ability of seeing gay couples loving each other, hating each other, flirting, breaking up. Mainstream media and popular culture have very much romanticized gay relationships. What of lesbian relationships then? The reality is completely different. And how could it not be when Instagram still censored the ‘lesbians’ hashtag two weeks ago? When we only have The L Word as a reference? Where on TV and in films have lesbians been given the space and time to actually develop a relationship except in that show? And I’m not even talking about the perfect, happy relationship. Just any relationship. More than 3 minutes of screen time. You’ll have to agree that this is rather recent.

How different would my life have been if I had seen lesbian couples on TV? How different would my life have been if people had not shied away from lesbian relationships? It is time for pop culture to be inclusive of our people. Little girls need this representation. They need to know that this kind of love exists, is normal, and brings fulfillment. I wish this had been my reality so that I wouldn’t have been mad when Casey from Atypical dumps her boyfriend to explore her relationship with Izzie. Because then perhaps I wouldn’t have been mad at her for doing that. I wouldn’t have been mad at Izzie for being honest. Because that is how deeply rooted my fear of being a lesbian was: I was mad at these two women for having the courage to explore their feelings and be true to themselves, when Casey could have had the perfect ending with Evan. And that is not ok. I need to let go of the idea that the perfect life means being in a heterosexual relationship. Because I know that this is not for me. This will not bring me fulfillment.

#lesbian #lgbtqplus #about me #sexuality #coming out?#gays of tumblr

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crowsnests · 3 years

Text

taste of certainty - part two

Fandom: The Arcana Pairing: Julian Devorak x OC Apprentice (Syran Elkas) Tags: friends to lovers; modern times au; friend group dynamic; slow burn; pining; really just Julian being Julian and Syran being Oblivious Words: 6034 Warnings: mention of anxiety, migraines, insomnia, alcohol

part 1 2 3 4 5

playlist

I know that it can take me even deeper if I let it But my limbs are trying to swim away

- trust; half-alive

II. beach fire sparks

The car ride is mostly quiet, Nadia and Pasha sit at the front, humming along to the songs Pasha puts on– clearly some sort of playlist made just for the two of them. Syran looks out the window, buildings and lights passing by. The sound of Ilya’s voice doesn’t want to leave her mind.

Syran suddenly feels watched, so she pries away from the window, noticing how Pasha is leaning over the passenger seat to look at her.

“What?” Syran asks.

Nadia glances at her from the rearview mirror.

Pasha smiles, sly. “You know what.”

Syran thinks she does, but– she’s gonna pretend like she doesn’t. Mostly because she really doesn’t want to know what.

She shrugs, “I don't.”

Most of the time, if she focuses, Syran can be a good liar. She hopes to channel her talent right now, although she knows that sometimes Pasha has the ability to see through her.

“You really really don’t?” Pasha insists, smile getting wider.

Syran narrows her eyes, “You’re mad at me for the pizza choice?”

Pasha sighs, clearly impatient to Syran’s stubbornness.

“No! You and my brother!” She groans. “You got all cosy, and Ilya was all like ohhh hello and you were like oh shit, oh my god!!” She tries to imitate the two of them by changing her pitch. Badly. “Like, come on, just date already!”

“Wh– what?” Syran is a good liar, but hearing Pasha talk so earnestly about– whatever’s between her and Ilya is– weird.

“There’s no–” Syran swallows, trying to get her tone back to normal. “What do you mean? I’ve fallen asleep near you guys before– I mean. I just didn’t expect it to happen, this time. Why would we date? We’re friends.”

Please stop, please stop. She thinks.

Pasha furrows her brow. “Friends, huh? I mean, yes. You are friends. But mayyybe you could be friends that smooch.”

Nadia reaches to put a hand on Pasha’s thigh. Pasha turns to her for a second. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Your truth doesn’t mean it’s also Syran’s truth, babe.” Nadia’s tone is gentle, but she gives Syran an understanding look from the rearview mirror– Pasha doesn’t seem to notice.

Syran feels incredibly relieved. She is grateful to Nadia for bailing her out of this conversation.

“Yeah, my truth is very different from– whatever it is you think. Ilya and I are friends and we don’t– s– smooch.” Ah, she really wishes she didn’t say that last part.

Pasha narrows her eyes one more time. “Ugh, whatever,” she huffs, turning to sit properly, facing forward. “I just think you would be really good for my brother. He needs someone as nice as you.” She mutters, clearly more serious this time.

Syran can’t help but widen her eyes at that, flattered. She tries to ignore the heat on her cheeks, though.

“W–well, thank you, but there’s nothing like that between us.” Syran is trying to convince herself more than Pasha. Nadia throws her one last look from the mirror and she knows she’s caught on more than Syran would like.

As soon as Syran gets back home, a lazy meow greets her at the door. Her cat, Persephone, bumps her head against her calf. Syran reaches down to pick her up and scratch behind her ears.

“Hello, cutie, hope you didn’t feel too lonely today,” Syran plants a kiss on top of Persephone’s head. She lazily meows as a reply, in between all the purring.

The apartment is quiet besides that. Without Ran’s excited laugh and warm presence, the atmosphere in the house feels wrong.

Once Syran’s in her room and changed into comfortable clothes, all the embarrassment catches up to her as soon as she sits on the bed. She stares at the window for a second, then the thought of Ilya makes her want to hide herself further in bed and scream into a pillow, like she’s fifteen again and her emotions are all over the place.

Well, the latter is definitely true.

Persephone lays down beside her, kneading on the duvet until she finds a comfortable spot.

Just when she’s done strangling her pillow, Syran’s phone rings with the sound of a text.

from: dumbsra - 21:03

goodmorning (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Syran groans. She wants to punch him. She knows exactly what he’s referencing, but she is not going to fall for it.

to: dumbsra - 21:04

It’s nine pm

from: dumbsra - 21:04

Oh, i know (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

to: dumbsra - 21:05

good to know you can read a clock, then

from: dumbsra - 21:07

I’m just saying, you looked like you were really comfortable tonight (.❛ ᴗ ❛.) (－ω－) zzZ (¬‿¬ ) °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°( ´ ▽ ` ).｡♡(„ಡωಡ„)

Fucking idiot. What is she even supposed to reply to that? Fuck you, would be appropriate, but she knows that it will give him more ground to make dumb jokes.

Why is everyone onto her?

to: dumbsra - 21:08

we need to discuss the way you use emojis, honestly, it’s a problem

from: dumbsra - 21:09

Ignore my words all you want, you know i can read your mind (つ✧ω✧)つ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

to: dumbsra - 21:10

then i’m sure you know what i’m thinking right now

from: dumbsra - 21:10

that you should ask Ilya out on a date?

(☞°ヮ°)☞ ☜(°ヮ°☜)

to: dumbsra - 21:12

No, that i stole your favourite shirt once and i will do it again

Goodnight! ( ◡‿◡ )

from: dumbsra - 21:12

ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ don’t you dare

Syran puts her phone down, stopping herself from answering more. She hears it vibrate a couple times, definitely Asra complaining about being left on seen, but she doesn’t care right now.

She turns to her cat, who looks up at her, languidly, “At least you’re on my side, right, Persie?”

Persephone just yawns and goes back to napping.

Syran sighs. All she wants to do is get ready for bed and not think about Ilya’s comforting presence.

🂱

When she arrives at the park entrance, their designated meeting spot for the winter fair, there’s enough people around for Syran to not find her friends immediately. That’s until she spots a tall figure on the side of the entrance.

“Muriel!” She calls, waving towards him.

When she reaches him, breath forming little clouds of vapor, Muriel smiles down at her, “Hey, Syran.”

Muriel is wearing dark green gloves that Syran remembers getting him a few birthdays ago. “Aww, you still wear them?”

Muriel nods, “They’re warm.”

“Hello babe,” Asra pops up from beside him and beams at her, all bundled up in a puffy jacket and bright teal beanie.

“Hey handsome,” she teases back, hugging him briefly. “Where are the others?”

“Pasha and Nadia should be here soon, Ilya is– somewhere.”

Syran blinks. Ilya can be late sometimes but he lives with the two of them, so– “Didn’t he come with you guys?”

“Yeah, then he forgot his wallet in the car,” Asra rolls his eyes.

Syran laughs at the thought of Ilya scrambling to get back to the car and looking for his wallet.

Idiot.

She realises she’s said it out loud when Asra throws her a look. She tries to hide her face in her scarf.

Ugh, does he have nothing else to think about?

“Hey!” Someone exclaims from behind them just then, saving her from any comments Asra might make. “Found it!”

Except that someone is Ilya, waving at them and running, dark crimson scarf coming loose to show his neck.

For fuck’s sake, she can’t catch a break. He looks handsome as always.

“Oh– hey Syran,” he comes to a halt right in front of her, surprised, as if he hadn’t seen her before. To be fair, she’s only the second shortest of the group (first being Pasha by an inch or so, thankfully), so maybe he really didn’t see her. Then, he smiles and Syran wishes her scarf was big enough to become a cocoon for her to hide in.

She’s fine. She’s okay.

( “I don’t have a crush!” she told Ran over the phone last night, after recounting the events of the evening. “That’s ridiculous. Ilya’s been my friend for a long time. He’s just– nice, okay?”

“Of course he’s nice, wasn’t he nice before?” Ran laughed. “Feelings can evolve, you know?”

“No– no– he was.” Syran huffed. “It’s nothing, okay? I’m just– I’m just tired, all these years I’ve been fine, so I’m fine now too.”

She could almost see Ran raising her eyebrow at her, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Syran insisted. “I know very well what a crush feels like. Whatever I feel for Ilya is– not a crush. It’s fondness, friendship. Not– anything else.”

Ran sighed, surrendering. “Whatever you say, Elkas.” )

Ilya’s eyes are so hard to look away from, but Syran finds the strength to put her hands in her pockets and stare at her boots. Pretty safe defense mechanism, if you ask her.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ilya asks the group.

“Well, I assume since you found your wallet you’re going to pay for everyone?” Asra smirks.

Ilya scoffs, “You still owe me money for that dinner we had, Asra.”

“I paid you back!”

“A mug you shoplifted isn’t exactly the same,” Ilya retorts.

“It’s a beautiful mug and It reminded me of you! Isn’t the thought that counts?”

“It literally says World’s Worst Doctor, you little shit–”

“You still use it though!”

Muriel and Syran exchange a sympathetic smile, knowing very well the bickering between the two can be neverending. This argument comes up at least once a week.

Thankfully, Nadia and Pasha join them, interrupting the discussion.

“Market time!” Pasha exclaims as she runs for the entrance, Nadia and Ilya in tow.

They enter the park, all decorated, pretty lights illuminating everyone’s stunned faces.

They’ve been here before, when they put it up, but they have changed some of the stalls since– regardless, it’s always a fun night for them. The little wooden cabins sell all sorts of things. People crowd them, looking at the different displays.

Syran drifts towards one that sells honey from a small independent company. She and Asra sample some of it, while the others spread over the displays around them. Pasha buys a scented candle, Nadia some golden handmade earrings, Asra decides to get yet another set of incense, and Muriel takes a liking to a little hand-carved wolf sculpture.

Syran finds herself by a stall that sells minerals and crystals, all neatly separated by wooden boxes. She recognises some of her favourites: lepidolite, chrysocolla, black opal, agate. The stall owner smiles at her, reassuring her that she can look at them closely.

She picks up a lepidolite rock, looking at how the light reflects on the coarse lilac surface.

“Anything interesting?” A voice comes up behind her, startles her enough for her to almost drop the crystal.

She takes a second to regain her thoughts, still recovering from the small jumpscare. Ilya curiously inspects the display, like he didn’t just give her a mild heart attack.

“These are cool! Do you collect them?” He asks, leaning closer to look at some tiger’s eye.

“More or less,” Syran nods. “I’ve always liked to, since I was a kid.”

Ilya turns to her, grin on his face. “Aww, baby Syran playing with rocks!”

She rolls her eyes but not without a smile, “They are pretty rocks!”

Ilya laughs, then nods. “Yeah, I guess they are.”

Syran stares at him for a second, both of them just standing there as she still holds the lepidolite.

It’s not a crush.

Ilya turns back to the crystals, suddenly averting her gaze. “So, uhm– they all have meanings, right?” He points at the display with his gloved hand.

“Yeah, each has its proprieties– people use them for meditation, or for healing, things like that.”

Ilya looks up at her again, brows knotted. “You believe in that stuff?”

Syran shrugs, “I mean– I like the idea that something can help you find whatever strength or energy you need. Quartz gives you clarity, agate helps with stability, amethyst with intuition– you know, they’re quite empowering.”

“Still, why rely on something external to bring you those things?” He tilts his head, like he’s genuinely trying to understand, albeit a bit skeptical. “How can a stone give you that?”

Syran can’t help but chuckle. “Guess you could think like that. But they're supposed to help you find that in yourself, to bring it out. At least in my opinion.” She looks at the display again. “Plus, why not? If it helps somebody feel better, why take that away?”

She feels Ilya’s gaze on her for a second, before he turns to look up at the rest of the display. “Mh, that’s a nice take.”

Syran side eyes him. “Ah, men of science,” She sighs.

Ilya laughs. “Don’t you have a degree in biology? And– what’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, picking up another crystal to look at it. Citrine. “Nothing, just– people in your field are often cynical of stuff like this.”

“Are you calling me closed-minded?” Ilya sounds offended, but it takes Syran one look to know that he’s joking.

“Mh– you said that, not me,” she teases.

Ilya smirks. “Okay, what does this one mean, then?” He picks out a random crystal and shows it to her with childlike gall. Syran looks at it. Moonstone.

Oh, great.

“Uh– it’s about hidden feelings? Helps to heal relationships and opening up– yeah. I mean, it’s written on the paper there.” She vaguely points at the box where the moonstones are, turning away from him. She doesn’t need to tell him everything about it.

Ilya laughs, then delicately puts the stone back. “Well, okay, okay.”

A man steps up to the display right by Ilya, trying to look at the rocks in front of him. Startled, Ilya steps closer towards Syran, apologising to the man.

She sighs, small and imperceptible, because of course he had to get even closer.

Syran moves her gaze to look at the necklaces at the back, pendants made with various crystals. There’s an aquamarine one, calming blue and really pretty.

“What is it?” Julian is so close he’s basically whispering in her ear.

“Huh?” She doesn’t dare look towards him.

“Which one are you looking at?”

“Oh, that one–” She points at it. “The light blue one.”

“What’s that?”

“Aquamarine I think– uh, it’s connected to water. Healing, moving on. Stuff like that.”

Ilya hums. “Looks nice. It suits you.”

“Uh, I do–”

Syran gets interrupted when someone pats her hard on the shoulder, startling her. Again. Ilya seems to feel the same.

“We thought we’d lost you guys!” Pasha’s voice doesn’t sound reprimanding, rather she has a wide smile on her face when they turn to her. Behind her, there’s only Muriel, piercing eyes on them.

“Where are the others?” Ilya asks.

“Nadi’s already at the skating rink with Asra,” Pasha grins. “So you better get going.”

Ilya gasps. “That’s cheating!”

He darts away towards the rink, Pasha hot on his tail, taunting him with predictions of his downfall.

Syran can’t help but laugh. She and Muriel fall behind, taking their time to reach the others.

“That’s nice to see,” Muriel says, breaking the silence.

“What is?” Syran turns her head up to look at him.

“The two of them– being on good terms.”

“Were they– not?” Syran asks, brows knotted.

“Well– ah, it’s a long story. Probably not my place to tell.” Muriel shakes his head. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” She smiles, understanding. She can’t say she’s not surprised at the news, though. Ilya and Pasha seem to be really close, it’s hard to imagine them anything but.

Muriel smiles back, puts his hands in the pockets on his coat, shoulders rising up a little. “Yeah, I just– I wonder how it is. To have siblings.”

Right.

Muriel is an only child and he was raised by his grandma. Syran doesn’t know much about his life growing up, she’s always assumed he never wanted to talk about it.

She wonders if maybe he just never felt like anyone wanted to listen. That’s the case for her, anyway.

“It depends, I guess,” Syran says. “Everyone’s got their story.”

Muriel nods. “Yeah– do you– I mean, maybe I don’t remember but– do you have siblings?”

She thinks of her little sister back at home with her mother. Growing up without a second parent and having to mature early to help around the house, Syran never had the chance to get close to her sibling.

“I do. A younger sister, but–” Syran looks ahead as the skating rink comes into view. “We’re not like them. I rarely hear from her now. I don’t think she likes me very much. I mostly find out what she’s up to through my mother, so. Yeah.” She sighs. “Yvaine has always been a mystery to me.”

Muriel stops as they reach the edge of the skating rink. “Guess you can’t choose family,” he sighs.

“Guess not,” Syran smiles, bitterly. Then she looks up at Muriel again. “But hey, that’s okay. You got something better.”

Muriel frowns, looking at her with confusion. “Huh?”

She grins. “You got us.”

Muriel takes a second, blinks once.

Then he starts laughing. It rises slowly, his eyes crinkle up and his smile grows wide. He reaches out to ruffle Syran’s hair, affectionately. She’d complain, usually, but she can only laugh with him.

“Yeah– I do. We all got each other,” He says.

Then, Asra calls to them from inside the skating rink, leaning on the edge. “Hey, you two! Stop wasting time!”

🂱

Syran hasn’t skated in a while, but she quickly gets the hang of it again. She and Muriel seem to be the ones struggling the most, though. It takes a bit, but once she finds her pace, she starts going around the rink with more confidence, running into her friends now and then, sharing laughter, and throwing playful jabs at each other.

“You’re not that bad!” Ilya says as he comes up to her, starts skating by her side.

She shakes her head with a smile, “Please, I almost broke my spine earlier.”

“Not your most graceful moment, I’ll admit,” He teases.

“Hey, you’re supposed to support me!” She tries to playfully swat at his arm but ends up losing balance instead. Just when she thinks she’s going to fall on her face again, Ilya holds her steady. Close to him.

Too close, once again.

She can smell the musk of his perfume, she wonders if he can hear her beating heart.

It’s not a crush.

“Thank you,” She utters up at Ilya, words coming out in a puff of vapor.

“It’s okay,” Ilya smiles, still holding her. “Anytime.”

She looks away. “Hopefully not, I’d rather not risk falling again.” Syran laughs, still feeling the pain on her buttcheek from the last time she fell.

“Well, yeah.” Ilya laughs back.

Then it’s like he realises he’s still holding her, and– she remembers it, too. He slowly pulls away from her as she stands properly again. “Uh, hey, by the way–”

Asra skates up to them just then, interrupting Ilya. “You losers been still for too long, stop blocking the path!”

Syran gapes at him. “I wasn’t aware there was an ice skating police?”

Asra huffs, “There is one now! Move!” He goes to push her, but she slinks away with a laugh. He starts chasing her and Ilya yells back at them.

“Am I off the hook, then?”

Asra follows Syran, trying to get her, although he stumbles here and there. Differently from Syran, he finds his balance again quickly, laughing in glee.

It lasts only a moment, but she meets her gaze with Ilya’s across the rink. Wasn’t he saying something?

But before she can think about it Asra takes Syran for a spin, makes her twirl, holds her hand. It’s fun like this, and they properly start skating together. They enjoy their time and joke around– and sometimes still fall on their asses.

It’s great, but it starts to get a little taxing for her. “I think I’m done for now,” Syran heaves when they come to a halt in a corner of the rink, leaning onto the rail.

“What, giving up already?” Asra pouts.

“My face is going numb.” She puts her gloved hands on her cheeks, but it doesn’t help much– they’re all wet from falling on the ice.

Nadia comes up to them, perfect form and game face on her features. “Quitting so soon? You guys are hopeless.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Asra glares back. “We don’t claim to be professionals.”

“Not all of us see this as a competition, Nadi,” Syran smirks. Nadia almost looks insulted, but it’s all for show.

“Is that a challenge?”

“It really isn’t,” Syran laughs. Then, she notices Ilya coming their way. “Plus, looks like you’ve got your hands full already.”

Nadia turns just as Ilya catches up to them, breath heavy and hands on his hips. “What’s up Satrinava, ready to resign?”

“In your dreams, Devorak.” She glares. “Next one to touch the rail is out.”

Ilya squints at her. “You’re on.”

Syran smiles as they go off, skating away in the midst of the other people. Both of them look effortless, although Nadia is something else completely. She twirls and jumps, dares Ilya to do the same. He tries, but it’s not as graceful.

This is Nadia Satrinava we’re talking about, after all.

Eventually, Syran steps off the rink, finding Muriel already leaning outside by the rail, chatting to Pasha who’s still inside. They’re both acting like there’s no chaos generated by the others on the rink

“Done?” Pasha asks when Syran walks up to them, still feeling a little weird from having her feet back on normal ground.

“Yeah– it’s all fun and games until you get bruises everywhere.”

Muriel laughs, “Couldn’t agree more.”

“Aw, you guys need to believe in yourselves a little! The more you try the better you get!” Pasha’s encouraging words are sweet. “Plus, if Ilya can do it without making a complete fool of himself, so can you.”

“I don’t know, he seems to be struggling a little,” Muriel hums, nodding towards the others.

Pasha turns and Syran can see that Ilya looks definitely more tired than Nadia. There’s still resolve on his face, she can see it more clearly as they slowly approach their side of the rink.

“Go babe, show him how it’s done!” Pasha starts cheering.

A second before Nadia passes by them, she winks at Pasha and sends her a kiss, effortless and elegant. Ilya, hot on her tail, just sneers at his sister, raising up his middle finger. She gives back just as much.

“He’s gonna go down,” Pasha mutters. Then she turns to them. “Gonna do a few more rounds and see if Asra wants to do some stunts. See ya later!” She waves just before skating off.

Once again, Syran and Muriel are left alone, fondly smiling at their friends.

“This is quite the show, I have to admit,” Syran laughs. “Cheering from the sidelines.”

“Mh, I think no one is rooting for Ilya, though.” Muriel says.

Syran realises that’s kinda true. “Oops– well, hey. Maybe I’ll cheer for the both of them.”

Muriel side eyes her. “Mh. No preference at all?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean. We all know how Nadia can get, so I kinda feel bad for Ilya.” She chuckles, looking at Nadia as she expertly swings past a few surprised people, skating backwards to laugh at Ilya.

“Right,” Muriel says under his breath. Syran feels his eyes on her, so she turns back to him.

“What?”

For a second there’s a small smirk on his face, but then Muriel shrugs and turns back to the skating rink. “Nothing.”

Syran narrows her eyes, kinda weirded out.

Muriel is not the type to beat around the bush, he’ll usually say what he thinks and with as few words as possible, so it takes Syran a little by surprise.

“Not convincing.”

He huffs a laugh, ruffles Syran’s hair again. This time she pouts up at him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You’re being weird,” Syran turns towards the rink as she adjusts her hair. “What about you, big guy? Any bets?”

“Oh, hundred percent Nadia. Pasha and I have some sort of bingo going on, though.” Muriel laughs again.

“Bingo?”

“Yeah, like everytime Nadia flips Ilya off, everytime Ilya apologises to someone for almost bumping into them, everytime Nadia winks at Pasha, stuff like that. Winner gets fifty bucks.”

“You guys are ruthless.”

Muriel smirks, “Maybe.”

“What’s the criteria for this competition anyway? It’s like they just make up rules on the spot.”

Syran says, a little confused. It just looks like a weird version of tag where insulting shouts are thrown across the rink as the other patrons turn around in shock.

“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure they know,” Muriel shrugs. “Ilya looks pretty confident, though.”

And yet, no more than a minute later, Ilya stumbles on his feet and spins around, trying really hard to stay up on his own. However, he puts a little too much energy in his step and that makes him haphazardly skate his way towards where Muriel and Syran are.

“Oh no–” Syran starts.

“Shit, fuck–” Ilya comes to a halt right in front of them, hands on the rail and torso leaning forward. His chin is just a few inches to the left of Syran’s cheek. “Uh– hey.” He says with a side glance.

“H– hey.” Syran answers. It’s okay, her heart is doing absolutely nothing right now. She’s not mad at the universe at all.

He really has a nice perfume.

Ilya slowly gets back up, smiling awkwardly at her. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Then, pushes himself off the rail, looking at his hands with eyes wide. “Oh no. Shit. Did Nadia see that?”

Muriel raises an eyebrow. “I think everybody did.”

As if on queue, cheers of victory rise from behind Ilya, making him wince. Pasha kisses Nadia and Asra claps vehemently– then, they all start skating towards them, clearly enjoying Ilya’s demise.

“You owe me a drink, Devorak. Again.” Nadia beams when she reaches the rail. Ilya just side-eyes her.

“Whatever. You got lucky.”

🂱

They end up in the big cabin by the rink that houses a cafè/pub. Warm drinks in hand and sitting by the fire, all of their frozen nerves from the ice skating start to melt.

It’s cozy and comforting, a nice relief for Syran after the cold of the ice rink. All of them are chatting and teasing Ilya for his loss. He laughs with them, but eventually they start reassuring him too, even Nadia, saying that he wasn’t that bad, after all.

Syran decides to buy him mulled wine, served in a ceramic mug with some cheesy winter phrase printed on.

“Consolation prize!” She cheers, coming back from the bar.

“Oh my, this is such a beautiful gift Syran,” Ilya says, theatrically. “I shall cherish it with all my heart, thank you.” He mock cries, playfully dabbing at nonexistent tears under his eyes.

Syran laughs under her breath as she sits back next to Asra, rolling his eyes.

The patrons around them die out and Ilya excuses himself to the bathroom. The moment he leaves, Pasha cozies up to Nadia, the two discussing the victory again. They all chat a bit, Pasha making fun of Asra’s odd faces while skating. Then, a moment of comfortable silence between all of them.

Asra’s eyes are immediately on her.

“What?” Syran wonders, feeling put on the spot.

“Nothing,” Asra smiles. It’s his coy smile that says everything and nothing. She has the urge to punch it off his smug face.

Syran decides to ignore him.

“So, Muriel, how’s the bingo going?” She asks him.

“Oh, I’m winning.”

He exchanges a glance with Asra, the two of them almost communicating telepathically.

“Ok, now I feel like there’s something here.”

“I don’t know, is there?” Pasha asks.

“Yeah, is there?” Asra adds.

“Could you stop being a gemini for half a second?”

Muriel laughs at Syran’s joke, but she keeps a serious face.

“Aw, I love you.” Asra side-hugs her, trying to diffuse the situation. “Also no, I can’t. Just like you can’t stop looking at Ilya like that.”

“I don’t–”

“Who’s looking like what?” Ilya is back from the bathroom, and he slowly sits down back in his chair, perfectly arched eyebrows raised.

“You, like an idiot on the rink! Ha!” Asra immediately changes the topic, leaving Syran hanging. She won’t forget, not this time.

Muriel sips his wine, side eyeing them. There’s another sly motherfucker.

Just as it arrived, however, the weird mood is gone, and all is back to normal. Once again Syran finds herself being grateful for her friends. No matter how tough things get, she knows they will be all there for each other.

Even though they are most definitely hiding things from her.

🂱

Syran’s Sundays mostly consist of catching up on shows, cuddling with Persephone, taking time to cook meals she loves, and doing some grocery shopping. She also takes care of her plants and, sometimes, gets a headstart on work.

Asra calls her boring, but she finds peace in it. It’s not that she doesn’t like going out, she loves a good party every now and then, but there’s a different kind of pleasure in taking care of the small things. Plus, now that she’s got the apartment to herself for the week, she can play loud music and karaoke as much as she wants.

Really, it’s a blast.

When her phone rings in the middle of the day, just as she’s moving her big potus out of the sun, she groans. Her hands are full, so she shifts the big pot in one arm and lodges her phone between her head and shoulder without checking– she expects Asra to be calling her to continue their previous text conversation. She has not let go of what he said at the Winter Market.

“For the millionth time, it’s not what you think!”

“Oh, it isn’t?” A deep chuckle resonates from the other side of the phone.

Shit.

“Oh– fuck– uh, thought you were Asra– ah, I mean– hi, Ilya.”

“Hi, Syran,” He laughs, all throathy and low. Ugh. “Am I bothering you?”

“No, not at all– just taking care of my plants– uh, give me a second.” She puts the potus on the kitchen counter, grabbing the phone before it slides down her neck.

“Okay, all set, what’s up?” She tries to act nonchalant. Well, she is nonchalant. This is just Ilya, after all. Her good friend, Ilya. Yep. Nothing to worry about.

“Well, as you know, Pasha’s birthday is coming up soon,” he starts.

“Oh, yeah, right! Damn, I almost forgot.”

Ilya laughs. “Me too, to be honest.”

Syran can’t help but chuckle too, then gasp dramatically. “Why, your own sister?”

“Shh– don’t tell her or she’ll kill me. I’ve been very busy with my research, ‘kay?” He sounds solemn, but she can tell he’s smiling.

“All right, I’ll cover for you– if you buy me a coffee,” She laughs.

A little voice in her head asks where is this confidence coming from anyway?

Then again, this is just Ilya.

“Deal,” he answers.

Ilya, who’s now just being quiet on the other side of the line. “Sooo, why are you calling me?” Syran asks, tapping her fingers on her kitchen counter.

“Oh, right, well– Okay, so. Well, I don’t know what present to get Pasha. I know it sounds lame, but I genuinely have no idea what she might want this year.”

Syran stops for a second, thinking of Pasha and what she’s like. She likes plants, but she’s got plenty of those. She likes pretty clothes and cute shoes, but those would be hard to get right. Syran finds herself coming up short of a sure answer.

“I see– have you asked Nadia?”

“I tried, but she replied with something vague, and then got competitive because she is going to get the best present anyway, or something.”

His answer makes her laugh again. Of course: Nadia is extremely kind, gentle, and helpful– except when she decides to win against everyone else.

“I assume the others weren’t much help either?”

Ilya sighs, “Well, Muriel just shrugged and pointed out that she likes flowers, Asra suggested a glow in the dark lava lamp, so– yeah, no.”

“So, I guess now it’s my turn to give advice?” Syran chuckles, padding to the other side of the kitchen, where Persephone is lounging in the sun. She scratches her fur.

“More or less,” Ilya trails off.

“Huh?”

“Well, I was– uh, I was wondering if you could come with me. To get her the present? Really I don’t know if you’ve already picked something, but. Uhh– maybe we could work on it together? Since you know her well, and all? And I’ll get you that coffee, too.” He huffs a laugh, almost nervous.

A day going around shops with Ilya? Just the two of them? That’s fine, Syran’s fine, it’s no big deal at all.

“She’s your sister, Ilya,” she can’t help but tease him a bit. “I’m sure you know her well, too.”

“Yeah, I know she’s my sister.” He scoffs, fake annoyed, “But– I mean, yeah, I kind of know what she likes– but every year is hard, and I’m not the best at presents– and you seem to be great at it, so–” He trails off.

Syran listens, trying to figure out where this is really going. If she were actually great at presents, she would know what to get Pasha in a heartbeat. But, regardless, she likes to think she’s got a good eye.

She doesn’t know whether to stop him and reassure him or let him talk. But before she can decide, Ilya continues.

“And. Uh. This year she’s throwing this big themed party, too, and it’s the first time I get to meet all her friends, n’stuff. I don’t even know what to wear–” He sounds really concerned. “Truthfully, I just want to make her happy. I feel like the last two years I didn’t do great, so. Yeah.” He sighs. “And– and, I don’t want to lose to Nadia, either.” He ends it like he’s confessing a deep, dark secret.

It makes Syran laugh, thinking him cute for worrying about his sister so much.

Then, she swats away the idea of Ilya and the word cute in the same sentence.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy whatever you get her, Ilya,” Syran smiles, hoping to reassure him. Persephone turns to expose her belly, meowing coyly. “Don’t stress yourself so much, you clearly care a lot and that’s enough to make a good present.”

“Thank you, uh. That’s. That’s nice of you to say.” He mutters, and Syran thinks she can feel him be a little relieved.

“Just saying the truth,” she wishes the smile on her face wasn’t so goddamn insistent. She and Ilya have this sort of mutual understanding, where not many words are needed to guess how the other’s feeling. Well, most of the time. Still, she lately realised how surprisingly similar they are.

And yeah, recently Syran has been feeling a different kind of pull towards Ilya, but she doesn’t need to think about that. She’ll be dead before she catches anyone thinking him cute anyway.

“So…” Ilya starts then, shaking Syran from her thoughts. “Is that a no? On the– uh, present hunting?”

“What– no, it’s a yes, I mean, yeah, no, I’ll come!” Syran replies before thinking, surprised, and a little too eager.

Fuck. She takes a deep breath.

“What I mean is: I’d be more than happy to help you pick a gift. I need to get one myself, anyway.”

“Ah, that’s great,” He exhales, clearly relieved. Then, he seems to regain his composure. “Are you free on Wednesday?”

#an writes #julianxapprentice #julianxsyran #Syran Elkas #Julian Devorak #modern au #the arcana fic #ilya devorak #asra alnazar #muriel #nadia satrinava #pasha devorak #the arcana #part 2 #ilya x apprentice #fic writing #things are gettin spicy and syran is not getting it #apologies #my daughter is dumb

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