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lost-st4rs · 4 days ago

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Posting this here as well in case any of you don’t have an ao3 account :) NOT BETA READ BTW so try to ignore any mistakes I might’ve missed!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64942672

Bendystraw Debt Collector AU

~4,608 words

Cuphead jumps forward, rolling low to the sleek wooden ground of the stage, then ducks as a thin razor-sharp blade swooshes above his head, slightly grazing his straw. He jumps up onto a floating cloud platform just as his opponent — a nutcracker — charges forward with a thin sword.

He is so close this time to actually getting their contract. This nutcracker isn’t even the main boss, he’s just one of the goons of the actual debtor, which is an annoying porcelain ballerina. Cuphead rolls his eyes at the thought of her. But he can’t take his focus off of the fight right now, not when he’s so close to the last phase. Cuphead fires at the nutcracker, ever slowly chipping away at his sturdy wood.

Just as the nutcracker falls to the ground in defeat, strings come down from the roof and attach and tie themselves onto Cuphead’s arms tightly. The red cup groans in discomfort. This is the part he’s having trouble with… These strings limit his movement and sometimes he isn’t even in control, letting the ballerina get a few good hits in.

“OHOHOHOHOHO!” Cuphead grimaces as a shiny porcelain ballerina gracefully descends from above the roof, a devilish smile adorning her sleek white face. She lands on the floor but doesn’t give the cup teen a moment to prepare for her attack. Here we go again…

…

Cuphead tsks painfully while dabbing a damp cloth on his bruised arm. Rina really didn’t hold back this time around… He hates that ballerina so much. He’ll try to get her contact some other time, he can’t handle her cruel taunting today, or ever. Cuphead finishes up by wrapping a bandage around his already severely cracked arm. That’ll hold the pieces together until they fully heal.

Cuphead stands to his feet from the log he was sitting on and treks into the forest. This is one of the more peaceful areas on this island, where Cuphead could finally catch a break and bandage up from a fight. He’d been going at it all day ever since he got here two days ago. Cuphead reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out two slightly torn contracts. So far though, he’s been unsuccessful in collecting these new debtors' contracts, only racking up two out of the twenty-eight he needs to collect before the month ends.

The teen puts the contracts back into his pocket and kicks a rock on the small dirt trail while grumbling frustrated to himself.

The Devil might’ve warned the debtors that he was coming. That bastard. Oh well. He’ll defeat them all the same, just like he did a few years ago back in Inkwell Isles.

Cuphead grimaces at the mention of his home, stopping in his tracks momentarily. He shoves his hands into his pockets and continues on the dirt trail, glaring at the ground.

The trees and bushes open up into a clearing where a little village is. This is where Cuphead would stock up on supplies and get some well deserved sleep occasionally (if he had any money to spare for a night at the motel). Cuphead approaches the quaint village, walking straight to Porkrind’s Emporium. Seriously though, Cuphead thinks to himself, it’s like this guy’s shop is everywhere. How does he do it?

“Damn, ya look like shit, Cup.” Cuphead shoots the pig a glare, but the older isn’t at all intimidated by the teen. “Healing potions again?” Cuphead nods. “Yer’ quiet today, bad fight?” The pig turns his back to grab two healing potions, he then turns back to the counter and places them on it, opening his hand for the coins. Cuphead doesn't give Porkrind an answer as he hands the pig four gold coins. The red cup gives the older a nod before promptly leaving. “Tch, teenagers.”

It’s not like he hates Porkrind, it’s just that it’s none of his business. Also, since when did that guy care? Cuphead scoffs to himself.

Since he just purchased two healing potions for the price of four coins, Cuphead can’t exactly afford a room at the motel. Dammit… But surviving is better than comfortability so he definitely made the right decision. But, if only he had Mugm-… No, actually, he’d rather not finish that thought. He can handle himself. He doesn’t need someone else to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Not anymore. He’s sixteen now and that means he’s mature and serious.

But anyway, the game plan for finding a place to sleep — he has no idea. Actually, he does have one but it doesn’t sound too fun… Cuphead thinks back on to last night when he camped out in the forest. He’d been abruptly woken up to bugs in his head, crawling in there for a midnight drink. Eugh… He shivers just thinking of it. But does he really have a choice? Cuphead sighs, but just as he’s about to go back into the forest…

“Hey, you brat, if ya needed a place to stay ya could’a just asked.” Cuphead turns to see Porkrind leaning at the door of his shop with his arms crossed. The teen thinks to himself for a moment, thinking it over. “Get over here before I change my mind.” Cuphead quickly nods and rushes to the shop, following the pig inside. “I’ve got some sleeping bags in the back, don’t get ‘em dirty.” The teen nods and heads toward the back of the shop.

“… Thanks, Porkrind.” Cuphead disappears into the back of the shop before the older can grumble out a ‘you’re welcome’.

Cuphead takes out a sleeping bag and lays it down onto the floorboards. It is surprisingly cushiony, which is a plus. The teen lets out a small grin, sliding in the sleeping bag he closes his eyes and rests his head against the soft pillow. Maybe Porkrind does care after all. The red cup drifts off to sleep fairly quickly, giving into exhaustion from today’s battles.

—

Cuphead is up and early in the morning, he doesn’t wanna burden Porkrind any further than he already has so he leaves before the pig notices and goes on to battle the next debtor.

Cuphead stops at the gate of a big mansion, looking down at his map to make sure that this was the right place. He looks back up and stuffs the map into his pocket then enters.

…

Surprisingly, that fight with the spooky ghosts was easier than Cuphead had originally anticipated. It was just like when he freed Ms. Chalice at the Mausoleums all those years back, he just had to perry them. And now he’s got three contracts! Not bad.

Cuphead travels to the next one, which is a four group of hedgehog thieves. Eh, ‘should be easy ‘nuff.

… Is what an IDIOT would think.

Cuphead plucks out a big quill from his hip, his eyes watering as he did so. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and heaves in a breath to prepare himself to pluck out another quill from his arm. Thankfully, he found most of the pieces from his porcelain, so these wounds will heal in no time.

Those hedgehogs do not go down easily…

He was so close to defeating them, though! Once he heals up he’ll get right back into battle and get those damn hedgehog’s contracts. It’s personal now. Cuphead downs his healing potion, his wounds instantly healing up and his body feeling like brand new. The teen stands up and walks back into the den in the ground.

“Hey, guys! The little teacup wants some more of our fury!” The blue hedgehog says and the others laugh along with him. Cuphead’s eye twitches at the stupid nickname.

“Let’s show him that we won’t go down so easy!” The pink one adds.

“C’mon, fight us!” The white one says after her.

“I hate you guys.” The black one says.

They all corner Cuphead, quills in hand. But this time Cuphead knows their dirty tricks and goes for the white hedgehog, tackling him to the ground harshly. The pink hedgehog immediately goes to help but Cuphead uses the white one as a shield.

“H-Hey! Let me go! That’s no fair!” Cuphead smirks and throws him at the pink hedgehog. Knocking them both out cold on impact.

The blue hedgehog charges at Cuphead while rolled up in a ball, knocking Cuphead into the wall. But he knows better than to sit around for too long. Cuphead ducks down when he sees the black one charge at him with a quill like a sword, but the quill gets stuck in the wall. Cuphead kicks the black one in the stomach as hard as he can while they’re distracted and they fall to their knees clutching their stomach tightly. Cuphead grabs him by the scuff and twirls around and around and around, picking up speed like a mini tornado he throws the black hedgehog to the pile with the white and pink hedgehogs.

Cuphead huffs, trying to catch his breath before finishing off the leader of their small group, said leader is the blue hedgehog that is currently cowering in fear before the red cup. Cuphead heaves in a few ragged breaths then goes into a fighting stance, his eyes filled with determination.

“You-!!” The blue hedgehog charges at Cuphead with his special move that he calls a ‘spin dash’ but Cuphead stays in place and catches the speedy blue spiked ball heading his way. It burns, it hurts, but this is the only way to defeat this last one. Cuphead groans, the dash pushing him back but he stays grounded, digging his feet in the soil he pushes back. Push back. Cuphead‘s hands start to bleed through the yellow fabric of his gloves. Don’t stop. His knees feel weak. But he’s stronger. Cuphead tightens his grip on the spiked ball and he pushes it down into the soil. It digs into the ground and when the hedgehog stops spinning, he’s stuck.

Why isn’t Cuphead shooting at them? Oh, well, he learned the hard way that his gun doesn’t work on them because of their armour (quills), so now he’s resorted to dirty tricks.

Cuphead backs away and stares at his bloody hands. He just sucks in a sharp breath and gulps. He lets his hand out in front of the hedgehog stuck in the dirt. The blue one just growls, but he knows he’s lost this fight so he just gives in.

“Just take them!” Cuphead smirks and reaches into the hedgehog’s quills carefully so as to not scratch up his hands even more than they already are. He takes the contract and stuffs it into his pants pocket.

“This teacup-“ Cuphead huffs, “can fight like a *%#$@“ He huffs again, “jerk.” Cuphead walks away, leaving the blue hedgehog in the ground as payback for calling him a teacup and ruining his hands.

—

“Geez, kid. Ya’ really ruined yer’ damn hands fer’ a couple of petty thieves?” Cuphead glares at Porkrind as he finishes drinking a healing potion.

“They had contracts. They weren’t just any petty thieves.”

“Still, they should’a been nothin’ to ya’ with those weird powers of yers.” Porkrind crosses his arms, giving what Cuphead would only recognize as a look of disappointment mixed with worry. Cuphead waved him off.

“Eh, I ain’t too worried ‘bout it. ‘Sides, it didn’t even work on ‘em. Their stupid dumb quills protected ‘em from the blasts.” Cuphead grumbled as he bandaged up his hands.

“You really have no self preservation…”

“It keeps me alive.” Cuphead says and Porkrind’s face contorts into one of worry. Cuphead rolls his eyes, tightening the bandages on his palms to keep himself distracted from the older man’s concerned look in his eyes.

“It’ll be the thing to get you dead.” Cuphead pauses and he looks up, but the pig has his back turned, washing some bottles in a bucket. Cuphead looks off to the side. No, it won’t, Cuphead thinks to himself and his brows furrow. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Well, get goin’ to another debtor.” Porkrind sighs, “I’ve got healin’ potions galore fer’ you here when ya get back.” Cuphead nods even though the other can’t see him and he hops off of the bar stool and exits the tiny shop.

It went on like that for the whole day and then the days after that. Cuphead collecting more contracts one by one. Some of the bosses were more difficult than others, and then the next is easier than the rest. He’s still having trouble with Rina Balleta… She plays dirty, okay? More so than Cuphead himself when he’s in a tough spot.

But he’s been able to successfully rack up a total of seven whole contracts in that time! He’s going to clear this island’s debtors in no time. And then he’ll finally be able to fix everything.

However… there’s one thing that just wasn’t adding up… Some of the debtors he didn’t even beat up were already defeated. Which was… odd. To say the least. Cuphead is supposed to be the only debt collector here from what he knows. Did the Devil send out another? Why would he do that when he knows Cuphead needs all twenty-eight to get his end of their deal?

It’s almost the end of the day, and the sun is already starting to set. Every debtor he comes across has already been defeated. This crab better not have gotten a visit from that damn demon.

Cuphead walks up to a defeated gigantic crab stuck on his side in the sand with his little crab goons laying down beside him. Cuphead clenches his fist tightly, his cup fuming until he finally bursts into a rageful fit of anger. He kicks a seashell into the ocean then picks up a tiny crab and throws it into the water as well. But then immediately regretting it because that poor crab didn’t deserve that. He slumps down to the sand with his elbows on his knees and his hand cupping his face.

“Are you angry that you didn’t get my contract first?” Cuphead doesn’t answer, he just stays glaring at the sand with his head steaming. “That demon boy took it if you’re wondering. We debtors hadn’t anticipated another debt collector coming to help you.” Cuphead snapped his head up at that.

“Help me? No, it’s the opposite! I need all those contracts! All twenty-eight! And he’s stealing them!” Cuphead stands up while shouting at the gigantic crab. But the crab doesn’t react which only makes Cuphead fume even more. “Say something!” The crab just stares at the teen silently. Cuphead grits his teeth and he just gives up and starts walking away from the crab.

“You’d better be careful when facing that demon, he’s a sneaky one.” Cuphead continues to walk away without as much as a second glance at the giant creature.

He’ll keep searching, even if it’s the last thing he’ll do. Porkrind won’t be too happy that Cuphead is going yet another night without rest, but that pig isn’t his dad. Cuphead doesn’t have anyone, he can do what he wants.

—

Cuphead approaches a flower field where The Tulip Trio was supposed to be, but there they lay on the grass, defeated, heaving and huffing with their petals scorched and burned. Hm. The teen approaches the flowers to which they flinch and cower beneath him when they see the angry scowl on his face upon seeing them.

“We don’t have it!”

“Yeah! We really don’t!”

“The other guy already took it!”

Cuphead furrows his brows. “The other guy?” He asks, stomping on one of the triplet’s leaves and they shriek under his intimidating glare.

“The demon boy!”

“The one who fights with blue flames!”

“The Ink Demon!”

Cuphead lifts his foot off of their leaf, the beaten tulips sighing in relief when he does so. The Ink Demon… Cuphead puts a hand to his mouth as he thinks to himself. He doesn’t know if he wants to face this guy who’s stealing his contracts. No matter how mad he may be. He doesn’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to demons.

“Thank you.” He says finally then he departs into the forest from where he came from.

“You’re most welcome!”

“You’d better show that no-good demon what’s what!”

“You have to! Oh, you just have to!”

Cuphead rolls his eyes. They don’t have to tell him twice. He’ll find that bastard stealing his contracts.

But, for right now, he so desperately needs to rest. Walking all day around the whole island without sleeping for days is really taking its toll on his body, and he’s not sure about how long he can stay awake. The cup walks through the forest, fighting to stay awake, his eyes fluttering close every second or so but he wills them to stay open for a little longer.

Ah, hell. Whatever. He’ll just take a nap right here. No one is around. Cuphead lowers his body down to the lush grass and rests his back against a tree, his legs finally giving out to exhaustion. The teen lets out a laboured sigh and his shoulders release their tension. A little nap wouldn’t hurt… Just for… for… a few… minutes… Cuphead’s eyes flutter close and in a second he’s off in dreamland.

—

A demon with a sharp tail and horns emerges from some thick bushes, stepping over them carefully. He looks back from where he had come from and his expression sours. He looks down at the contract in his hand and his gaze softens. The demon clenches the contract tightly in his fist, stuffing it into his vest and going on his merry way, probably to deal with another debtor.

Another one down, only a dozen many more to go. He'd honestly lost count at this point.

It was strange though, some of the debtors had already been dealt with. No one but him should be the only contract collector on this island. The demon hummed in thought. Or perhaps someone else — another debt collector like him — was here unbeknownst to him.

As the demon walked along, he observes the lavish green forestry all around him. Tree’s shading him from the warm sun rays from above, it's comforting light seeping through the tree’s leaves. The grass and moss like a soft carpet with each step he took. It’s peaceful, calming. Quiet with the exception of the birds chirping and regular forest noises. This type of scenery never gets old.

The demon passes by a thick tree, looking to his left, he sees someone laying down beside a tree. He keeps walking- WAIT… He stops dead in his tracks. Then he slowly walks backwards to take another look. The demon hides himself behind the thick tree and peeks an eye out, his tail swishing lightly behind him with keen interest.

A cup boy who looks to be about his age is sitting down leaning his back against a tree while resting peacefully. He looks… exhausted. And pretty beaten up, If his rugged clothes and bruised up face were anything to go by. They’re stained with mud and grum, tethered with small rips and holes in his baggy black sweater and red shorts.

The demon cocks his head to the side, curious of this strange yet intriguing cup boy. Their guard is down, and they could easily get jumped by a debtor in the area if he wasn’t careful.

The demon emerges from his hiding spot and quietly approaches the cup, being careful at watching where he steps. He kneels down to take a closer look at him.

Now that was a view to behold, he thought to himself. The boy was pretty attractive, one might even say cute or handsome. The demon watches their steady breathing, chest rising up and down in a slow and steady motion. Now taking a closer look he can see visible dark circles under the other’s eyes.

Is he staring too much and for too long?

…

This is probably really weird to see in an outsider perspective.

But the demon can’t really find it in himself to care.

The boy grumbles, furrowing his eyebrows, he yawns, putting a hand to his mouth and slowly blinking as he stirs awake.

Oh no, this isn’t good.

He could run away right now… but this boy has piqued his interest in a way no one has before in a long while. So, he decides to stay still as the other wakes up. The red cup rubbs the tiredness from his eyes and sits up straight, then he freezes, tensing right up as soon as he sees the demon in front of him and waaay too close for comfort. The demon grinned.

“Mornin’.” The boy backs up into the tree as if the other was going to attack him. Ah, it’s because he’s a demon, right? Made sense, that’s usually the response the demon got whenever someone saw him. Or that reaction was because he is uncomfortably close. That too. Perchance.

The boy stays completely still, not daring to move even an inch. He shifts a bit and the demon notices some familiar looking yellowed paper peeking out from their pants pockets. Contracts. Ohh… It’s all so clear now. This is that Cuphead kid The Devil warned the demon about before he arrived on this island.

“Wh-who’re you?” Cuphead aimed his finger like a gun at the demon. A vibrant blue energy radiating from his fingertip. The demon’s pie-cut eyes widen a bit at that. Things just got even more interesting! The demon grins widely and the red cup glares at him.

“Ya’ don’t know me? Now, that’s interestin’. I’m pretty well known ‘round these parts.” The demon responded casually, resting his hand against the side of his face, taking no mind at the gun currently being pointed at his face.

“Answer the question.” The other teen’s serious gaze sharpens and the blue glow from his fingertip shines even brighter, the raw energy crackling quietly almost like thunder. Fascinating!

“Now, now. Don’t get so feisty, sunshine. I'll tell ya, alright? I’m Bendy. The Ink Demon as some like to call me.” The demon toon offered his hand out for a handshake, Cuphead tenses up, staying in place like a statue. “Tough crowd, huh?” Bendy retracts his hand back.

Then, Cuphead’s eyes widens at the title ‘The Ink Demon’. This is the guy who’s been stealing his contracts! The one who the tulips and crab were talking about! But suddenly any emotion is quickly swept away from his face as he processes what the demon had just called him.

“…Sunshine??” Cuphead gives the intruder a puzzled look, and if you really looked close enough, you could see that he is slightly blushing. Aw, how cute, Bendy thinks to himself, grinning.

Bendy hums. “Yep! ‘Cause yer just an absolute ray of sunshine.” Cuphead gives a ‘really?’ look at the other. However, the demon’s grin just gets wider at that. This is more entertaining than it probably should be. Bendy giggles and Cuphead seems like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the teasing joke.

“Why are you… here?? No, wait, lemme rephrase that. Why were you watchin’ me sleep?” Bendy stands up to his feet and Cuphead tenses up again, the energy from his finger going ablaze once more.

“Relax, toots. I’m not gonna hurt cha’.” Cuphead doesn’t ease up. He doesn’t trust him. “I only needed this. Nothing more, nothing less.” Bendy lifts his hand with a contract in hand. Cuphead stares for a second confused, then his face contorts into one of shock and he frantically searches his pockets. Empty… He looks back up and basically gives the demon toon a death glare.

“If looks could kill, haha!” Bendy jokes playfully. Cuphead stays silent.

“Give that back.” He cautiously stands up, still aiming his finger at the offending demon. Bendy puts his hands up, but doesn’t look at all threatened by the other teen.

“I don’t think I will, thank you.” He puts the contract in his vest pocket and melts into a puddle of ink into the forest floor. Cuphead stands there while staring bewildered at the ink puddle before him.

“Over here!” Cuphead snaps his head around, spotting the ink demon sitting on a branch from the tree he was resting against earlier. His gaze hardens and he fires at the demon, but the toon sinks into a puddle of ink again. Cuphead tsks, whipping his head around to try to figure out the other’s next move. He feels a tap on his shoulder from behind and spins around to see Bendy way too uncomfortably close for his liking. Again. Seriously what is with this guy?! Cuphead’s face grows warm which illicits Bendy to bark out a laugh at that.

“Just wanted ta’ say goodbye before I go! It was nice meeting ya, Cuphead. I’m sure we’ll be seein’ each other again very soon.” Bendy gently takes hold of the red cup’s hand and kisses it. That did it for the hotheaded cup and now his head is boiling over with little bubbles dripping down his head, too flustered to even utter a word as he stares at the ink demon baffled. Bendy just grins a big toothy smile then sinks into the ground for the last time. Disappearing in a second.

Cuphead stands there completely still. His head dizzy and swirling by how hot it was now.

The red cup holds the hand Bendy kissed with his other hand and stares at it. His face getting redder and redder by the second as he replays the scene in his head over and over again. He glares at his hand and huffs. Stupid emotions… They made him lose a damn contract! Ugh, this is so stupid…

Cuphead shakes his head, trying to cool it off and trying to also push away any embarrassing thought that invades his brain. He wasn’t thinking straight. Okay, he’s definitely going to kill that guy. He doesn’t care if that douchbag isn’t on the list, when Cups gets his hands on him…

Cuphead grumbles, checking the contracts to see which one that damn ink demon had stolen from him.

“That debtor isn’t even a top grade… So why…?” He stands there puzzled. Cuphead could only wonder what that strange demon’s motives are.

Yeah, he’s definitely not sleeping outside again. He’s learned his lesson.

—

“Ya look a li’l out of it, Cup. What’s wrong?” Porkrind asks as he cleans a glass beer cup with a rag. Cuphead blinks and looks up at the pig when he’s taken out of his troubling thoughts. The pig raises an eyebrow as if asking his question again. Cuphead’s mind wanders to the… encounter.. he had with a certain demon a few hours ago. His face flushes a bright red and he swivels the bar stool around to hide his blushing face.

“N-nothing. It’s none of yer’ business.” Cuphead folds his arms across his chest. Porkrind gives the cup a skeptical look, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. He then mutters something under his breath about teenagers and how they’re complicated and then walks to the back of the shop.

…

Bendy walks towards the three tulips, his face emotionless and unmoving, so very different from his usual whimsical and teasing personality. He harshly stomps on one of the triplet’s petals and they shriek in pain and begin to cry.

“So…” He starts, a grin growing on his face as he glares down at the flowers, “Tell me more about this ‘Cuphead’ guy.”

( A/N: Ty if you stayed around to read my little fic! :3 I’ve got a bunch planned for this so stay tuned for more >:] )

#fanfic #fanfiction #my writings #my art #bendystraw #cendy #bendy x cuphead #cuphead x bendy #cuphead #bendy batim #Debt Collector AU

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thesecretdcblog · 7 days ago

Note

Do you have any batfamily headcanons?

BOY DO I EVER-

I'll go in age order for simplicity's sake.

I tend to base headcanons off people I know in real life, and also what I think makes sense for the character

Bruce

- Hella autistic

- Constantly mixing up his kids' names (based off my grandad, who had seven kids with my nan)

- Exposure to the bats in the Batcave has lessened his fear of them but not completely gotten rid of it

- One of those celebrities that always have the wildest stories to tell on those late night talk shows

- Huge ABBA fan

- Bisexual with no gender preference

- Duke once showed him an 'eat the rich' meme and he took it seriously enough to apologise for being a billionaire on twitter. He became a meme.

- Great at dancing, prefers slower ballroom dances

- Sometimes on quiet nights, he and Selina will dance on rooftops together

- Doesn't know how much things cost, gets memed on by his kids for this

Duke: How much is a loaf of bread?

Bruce: (internally) this is a trap (outwardly) ...$12?

Duke: *starts wheezing*

Babs

- Half Irish, Half Puerto-Rican

- Metalhead

- Loves big dogs, the bigger the better

- Wants a borzoi one day

- Doesn't want to be the mum friend and yet

- Cass and Steph are her favourites

- Allergic to birds

- Swears like a sailor

- Dad joke connoisseur

- Will roll her wheelchair over people's feet if they annoy her

Dick

- Eldest Daughter Syndrome. This is basically canon at this point.

- Undiagnosed ADHD, everyone knows he has it but he doesn't care enough to get tested

- He learns languages for fun. Pick a language, he probably speaks it, and if he isn't fluent he will be in a week.

- Can cook but gets distracted most of the time so he ends up missing an ingredient or skipping an important step or accidentally burning it

- Contortionist level flexibility (might be canon I don't remember)

- Had a MySpace account

- Pulls out circus skills at the most random times

Someone: we need a distraction

Dick: Say no more

Someone: Where did you get a unicycle?

- The actual coffee addict in the family

- Cries during any Disney movie

- Bisexual with a preference to women

Cass

- Can technically cook, but doesn't care about flavour so if left to her own devices she's making plain rice and unseasoned chicken (I do this irl)

- Twins with Tim

- Is a couple months older than Jason

- Probably has a weird pet like a tarantula with the most cutesy name like Buttons or Princess

- Favourite ballet role is the Rat King in The Nutcracker

- Selective mutism but also uses it to get out of speaking to people she doesn't like

- Favourite sibling is Tim

- Loves capybaras - they're her favourite animal

- Biromantic demisexual

- Can't drive a car but can drive a motorcycle lol

Jason

- Quarter Native American and White on his mother's side, half Colombian on his father's side

- The best cook in the family after Alfred and also stress bakes

- Never actually apologised for the Titans Tower incident, doesn't want to bring it up because it's been so long and it'll be awkward. He's pretty sure Tim doesn't even care that much (Tim doesn't but would still like an apology out of principle) (based off my two brothers, the older broke the younger's arm and never apologised. Younger is still bitter)

- Is that one insufferable person that complains about book to movie adaptations and how "it was better in the book"

- Aromantic-asexual but isn't aware of it just yet

- Plays Neopets

- Unironically listens to bubblegum pop

- Got a teaching license solely to fuck with Tim, and later Duke and Damian

- Recites Shakespeare to annoy goons with the audacity to kidnap him

- Very physically affectionate but holds back due to fear of rejection

Tim

- Half Russian, half Vietnamese (I think it was starrykitty013 who wrote a couple Russian Tim fics and I love the idea so much). And I don't remember who the artist is but I saw some Vietnamese Tim art and love that as well. So combine the two. (Edit: Artist is @/Axiliern)

- Sneaks out every now and then to go perform as a drag queen at a gay bar. All the tips he makes get donated to queer and youth charities.

- Has a bunch of random skills from either High Society Expectations(tm) or random shit he picked up while in boarding school or just living in Drake Manor by himself.

- Such skills including but not limited to: horse riding, playing the accordion, dancing, skateboarding, surfing, snowboarding (anything with a board), tennis etc

- Can cook but doesn't like to cook for himself, he will only do it if he's feeding multiple people. If he's eating alone he'd rather just order takeaway

- The Worst Road Rage

- When Jack started getting better they bought an old muscle car to fix up together and it's one of Tim's best memories with his dad. He still has the car.

- Not a coffee addict, but he is a soft drink/energy drink addict

- One time on a family vacation to Bondi Beach, he got stung by a blue bottle and it was one of the worst things he's ever experienced and he's been stabbed on multiple occasions

- Had a scene kid phase. With the side fringe and everything.

- Also had a MySpace account and found Dick's account. He also has a Tumblr account where he posts his photography

Steph

- Also had a scene kid phase

- Has a Tumblr. Mutuals with Tim

- Has German ancestry from Crystal's side but struggles to learn the language

- Undiagnosed ADHD because her parents couldn't afford the test

- Huge fan of Kesha. Went to see her live once with Tim and almost passed out from excitement (based off my best friend)

- Really obsessed with fish and has like 3 aquariums in her apartment

- Used to go swing dancing with Tim when they dated and she really enjoyed it so she just kept going even after they broke up

- Puts stickers on everything

- Favourite ice cream flavour is dulce de leche

- Allergic to honey

Duke

- Heteroflexible (Makes "I'm not gay but $20 is $20" jokes

- Redditor but solely to read the AITA subreddit

- Somehow gets away with everything, despite personally giving Bruce at least 5 new grey hairs

- Will start arguments because he's bored

- Bullies Dick for being a cop

- Was a dinosaur kid (still is a dinosaur kid)

- Learned to sing in the church choir (I did and I'm projecting)

- Will throw hands if someone leaves a room without turning the light off or leaves his room and doesn't close the door

- No PR training and refuses any and all attempts to make him do it

- Loves 90s and 2000s music

Damian

- Actually did eventually apologise to Tim for trying to kill him (Tim called him a wuss for it though)

- Constantly complaining about not being able to drive the Batmobile

- Vegetarian, and will tell you the differences between vegetarianism and veganism

- Will pull the "Baby of The Family" card to get his way

- Autistic as fuck. Special interests include animals and horror games.

- Knows all the FNAF lore

- Wants to be a veterinarian

- Calls his siblings by nicknames in Arabic, but hasn't yet caught on that they all speak Arabic at least a little

- Warrior cats kid

- Currently trying to convince Bruce to get him a horse, and some more cows so BatCow has some friends

#these are meant to be silly and light hearted but if anything is offensive please let me know #batfamily #dc #dc comics #batfamily headcanons #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #cassandra cain #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #damian wayne #barbara gordon #asks

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an-empty-cuppy · 7 months ago

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hello nutcracker i miss you so much nutcracker

#lethal company #lethal company nutcracker #lethal company bracken

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goldingwrites · 4 months ago

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after hours (chapter 16)

⯈ previous chapter: chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight - interlude - chapter nine - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12 - chapter 13 - chapter 14 - chapter 15

⯈ pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x female!reader

⯈ summary: the nights in Gotham are always unforgiving, you, you strip for money, to feed your son and to forget some of your troubles. it’s easy, it’s simple until Vengeance appears in your night.

⯈ rating: mature.

⯈ tw: stripping, violence (description of physical abuse), blood, angst, (for this chapter) rough sex

⯈ chapter word count: 8.6k

⯈ note: yes, I am still here, enjoy this update, merry xmas depending when you're reading this, we're in the homestretch now girlies, I know where I want the story to end... I just need to get there, so enjoy ❤️❤️❤️

(ONE)

You eventually return to work. Even though there is some guilt and dread sitting in the pit of your stomach, you soldier on. You promised Bruce you would give this job and this normal life a shot, and it wouldn't be fair to hide.

And why hide?

You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, you have no reason to cross paths with Marvin, even if you have decided to tell him the truth. it won't happen right away, you might be cruel but you won't do that to your own heart, you need to ease yourself slowly.

The first step is to set foot in The Wayne Orphanage knowing your previous tormenter is close by.

It's not a comforting thought. It's almost suffocating, but still, you press on. The large sweater you have on is soft, it's cashmere, borrowed from Bruce's closet, and it serves as a dress today, paired with black leggings and your boots. You bury your hands in the fabric whenever you need some courage.

Although, and thank fuck for that, the day is pretty much uneventful. You apologize to Velma with a basket of muffins, both from you and Bruce, and you mean every word you say to the older woman. You didn't mean to worry her, to suddenly put more stress or your entire job on her.

"Oh it's okay love," Velma releases you from a hug with a smile, her glasses a bit foggy. "I know you're here to stay!"

"Right... anyway, what did I miss?"

Is it a lie?

Is it hard to swallow?

You ignore all of that.

You're not here to dwell on every single feeling that makes your heart tremble. You're not going to trace all of this in your diary later. You can do this, you're a fully capable adult, with a job, a family, and the healthiest relationship you've had in years... So you keep on.

The day is as boring as it was previously: answering some calls, some emails, showing some people around. You avoid the cafeteria altogether, you've come prepared today, and you have a sandwich and a few books at the bottom of your bag. You borrowed them from Bruce's library, you might as well use all the downtime you get between a call or actually being needed. People working office jobs have to keep busy, right?

You were never much for reading though, and you get bored after two chapters, you've borrowed a murder mystery from the Wayne's library and you're pretty sure you've already identified the murderer.

So it's back to the computer and scrolling online.

It's a complete coincidence that you end up on the Gotham University page. Would it be such a bad thing? You don't have a diploma, you've barely finished high school and maybe you could... you could... You scratch the idea by looking at some of the curriculum, if you're bored at your office job, how the hell are you supposed to survive a lecture? No, that's a shit idea.

...

Gotham City's Royal Ballet.

You don't even know how you end up on that page either, but for a few minutes, you're fascinated by the dancers and you look at the program. It's October and yet, it's possible to book seats for the winter season: The Nutcracker is being advertised in bright bold letters on the front page of the website. You're more fascinated by the few videos you find as well.

You can dance.

And people do that for a living, right?

...

Maybe, that's the real shit idea.

You forget it all together when the phone rings and you're happy for the distraction. The rest of the afternoon flies by quickly, and once you step out of the building, bag over your shoulder, you're only half surprised to find Bruce, already there, waiting for you.

It's raining, slightly, and the Wayne is looking at the sky with a slight frown on his face, a massive black umbrella in one hand. Even he doesn't have the power to stop the rain whenever he wishes, you think with a gentle smile on your face.

"Waiting for someone?" you start, immediately catching Bruce's attention.

"Hmm, my girlfriend, you've seen her?" He returns your smile without a single hesitation, those blue eyes on you the next second. They don't match the sky, no, they are clearer, soother, just like that, it all clicks and makes sense.

Just like that.

"Well," you take a step in his direction, not at all bothered by the light rain. "What's she like?"

"Like a storm actually. Stubborn and loyal... loves to borrow my clothes, which I should find annoying, but surprisingly... I like it." By the time Bruce finishes his sentence, you're in his space, pressed right against him, both underneath the umbrella. You smile before you reach for his face and give him a proper kiss. It's a bit uncoordinated and messy because you're grinning too much, but that's the taste of him underneath your tongue, you'd recognize it anywhere.

"Bruce Wayne is a dork, who knew?"

"No one, not even me, that's new, anyway... shall we go?"

"Sure... but something tells me you already have plans for this evening," you make the guess, grabbing his free hand as he leads the way.

"Did I tell Alfred to go pick up your mother and my favorite little guy and take care of them for the evening... just so I could have you all to myself... Maybe?"

"How thoughtful of you. And what are we doing?"

"Just dinner," Bruce shrugs, he leads you to a car, oddly enough, no sign of Orlando, it's not the usual Bentley either. The car, still expensive, is smaller but still black. He opens the door for you and earns himself another smile.

"Just dinner?" you repeat when Bruce is finally in the driver's seat.

"Yeah... I may have booked the entire restaurant for privacy but... it's mainly so I don't have to share."

"Share what?"

"You, of course."

And with that, Bruce starts the car, the engine roaring and cutting any chance of a reply. You want to be mad, but you can't. Dating Bruce Wayne is not like anything you've ever done and you're growing used to this. Not the special treatment, but the fact that Bruce wants to spend time with you and you alone.

You know the restaurant, it's an institution in Gotham, you also know that without Bruce you couldn't afford a table here. But as Bruce revealed earlier, the place is empty. You're greeted by the entire wait staff, as well as the chef. You let Bruce order for the both of you because you don't know half of the things on the menu and you're not trying to impress anyone. The food is of course lovely, as well as the wine and he tells you about his day and you tell him about yours.

It's light, easy, normal.

For a moment or two, you could forget about his alter ego. About Marvin and what you have to confess, what you should have confessed years and years ago.

About the fact that this is Gotham, about all the bad that happens and that here?

The rain is a true blessing because it washes all the sins away.

Every single one of them.

"Oh which reminds me, do you think you could get us some tickets for the ballet? I'd love to go see one, I don't care which one," you ask as dessert, a chocolate mousse, is served.

"Yeah, I can ask Alfred..." Bruce shrugs. "I'm pretty sure I get sent tickets either way."

"Good, I was on their page earlier, they look really good, and I've never been," you nod, diving into your dessert. You won't tell Bruce why you were on that page and you're glad when he doesn't ask.

"I'll do my best," Bruce assures. "Also... there's something else I want to ask you."

"Oh?"

That stops you from grabbing another spoonful of chocolate, instead, you abandon it in the desert, chin in your hand next, looking up to Bruce. On the other side of the table, he looks a bit hesitant. Then he frowns and continues.

"You know what's about to go down... soon", he insists on the last word, Bruce's gaze is fixed on you, so much so that you can automatically tell what he's referring to. For a few seconds, it's as if Vengeance is in the room too. You know it's the same man, but sometimes, you forget, because their demeanors are not the same, the voice, the way they move...

But right now? There's a slight shift.

It's Bruce who wins however and you nod.

"Would you..." Bruce sighs. "Would you consider going away... for a while? You and the family?" Bruce asks and as you remain silent, he rambles. "We can say you're visiting someone, and you can go wherever you want I'll take care of it of course. But that way, I know that you're s-"

"Safe."

You interrupt him, sharply at that.

Bruce nods vehemently.

You take a deep breath, thinking. You can't say you're surprised. He wants nothing but the best for you, and he'll have to go out himself.

And you both agreed not to lie to each other.

You could take the easy way out. The safest route, and just leave him alone to do what he needs to do. What Vengeance needs to do.

But you've only fled one time in your life, and he knows why.

This is different, you're together, and you care about him as much as he cares about you.

And who, you think, who's going to keep you safe, Bruce? Who's going to keep Vengeance safe? If you go too far, who's going to bring you back? Alfred? Yourself?

...

You already know the answer to that one.

So you sigh, reaching over the table to grab his two hands.

"I get why you're asking..."

"But?"

"My answer is no. I'll do everything to be safe, here. But even if I won't be much help, I'm not leaving you. Not now."

Or ever, you think fiercely as Bruce stares back. He looks sad for a few seconds but he nods, squeezing your hands back.

"Thank you for being honest..."

"Anytime."

"So how's that dessert? Let me take a bite..."

Just like, it's almost like you're two ordinary people.

Almost.

(TWO)

You still haven't worked up the courage to talk to Marvin. And tell him about the little boy. Tell him about the nine-year-old boy that exists because of you and him. Because it's one thing to want to do what's right, it's another thing to do it.

Bruce is wrong when you're concerned, you're not brave, you're not fearsome, and you're a coward when it matters the most. After all, didn't you leave Marvin's side, more broken than ever, because it was the only thing your tired mind thought about doing?

...

The thought swirls in your mind as you avoid the cafeteria, yet again, and you eat at your desk this day too.

Velma did comment on it a few moments earlier, asking you if you were on some kind of special diet (you young girls and your slim figure! I don't know you do it, she had commented, earning herself a laugh). Your simple nod and smile had been enough for an answer for the older woman and you are so grateful that she didn't push. Maybe Velma too is aware of the fact that every single woman has a fucked up relationship with food, maybe that's why she's leaving you alone.

It's better this way you think, biting into your sandwich. Your son made you that sandwich, right before leaving for school too, with a proud smile on his face.

Here you go, Mom, I'm taking care of you because you're always taking care of us.

What kind of child thinks like that? A good one. One who's being raised right. The only thing you did right.

So you owe it to him. To the boy. To be honest. To tell Marvin and later, when your son is older, you'll tell him too. You'll answer all of his questions because he deserves the truth. He deserves to know that sometimes, love is not the answer. Sometimes, you can love as hard as you can, but it's not a solution. Sometimes, you have to be selfish to survive. Sometimes, you have to be selfish to be allowed to leave.

Also, you don't want him to find himself in that position. He could never be like Marvin, no, he might have inherited his hair, his eyes, and... most of his physical traits. But that heart? No, that's unique. The boy is kind, thoughtful, smart and he thinks about the future, his future, in some kind of untainted way you don't ever want to take from him.

You sigh before taking the next bite of your sandwich, you need to compliment the chef tonight and request more lunches. Just as you manage to bring a smile to your face, your phone rings. You're puzzled because Bruce usually texts you, your mother knows you're at work so unless it's an emergency... The number is labeled as unknown by your smartphone, still, curious, you pick up, one eyebrow raised.

"Hello?" You mumble, mouth still full, not caring about being rude.

"Hey, sweetheart! There you are, I was wondering if you'd even pick up the phone!"

You know that voice, you know that tone, it's just weird to hear it in the daylight, over the phone no less... and not when you're entering the club at the other side of Gotham, heels clacking on the pavement and wondering if you'll be aware of this night passing or not.

"Derrick?" Surprised, you name the owner of the club you left behind, for this job, the current job you should be doing instead of being on the phone. Well, you still have ten minutes of your lunch left technically...

"The one and only! Took me a while to track your number down, wasn't even sure you gave me the right one but..."

"But?" He's rambling, and you can tell, even over the phone, that he has a cigarette at the corner of his mouth, smoking as usual. His entire office reeks of smoke, you can still see it, you remember how you always made sure to wear a wig to go collect what he owed you, so the smell would linger on the fake hair and not your own.

"But yeah yeah! Some girls like their privacy and all of that, which is fucking funny if you ask me, cause y'all are comfortable being practically naked and-"

"Derrick? Was there a point to this call?" You interrupt him again, you're not in the mood for one of his rants. They were already too long in the middle of the night, you don't even want to imagine right now. Also, you're not even sure you're supposed to take this call. What about your promise to Bruce? Was it all a lie?

"Yeah, yeah, sweetheart, relax, I'm getting to it..." You roll your eyes as you hear him take a long drag out of his cigarette. "It's been a bit shit since you left, I've got people asking for you left and right... well fuck, they don't know your name, but when they ask for the girl with the never-ending legs and the great ass, I know they're talking about you!"

"Thank you?"

"Honestly, thanking me is fucking useless, the best you can do is come back to the club. Tonight if you can, that'll be lovely!"

"Yeah, I... Derrick, I found a job, a proper job, and..." You swallow your saliva, pressing the phone against your ear. "I'd like to give it a real shot, it's not going to work if I'm spending all my nights on that stage."

"Pff! What do you need a proper job for? You want more money? I'll pay you more, you keep your tips as usual and I'll double your hourly!"

"I..."

"We can get you your own locker room, so you don't have to share with the rest of the girls," Derrick presses on. "And fuck if guys have been asking for you, you'll get more private dances and you can dictate the price of those as well."

"It's... it's not about the money," you whisper.

You can't use that as an excuse anymore, you've saved up quite a small fortune for your son's future working at that club during all of those years. And then some. And, you hate yourself for the thought, you know Bruce would be more happy to jump in if you simply asked him to. You don't plan to, but still, he would. That's just who he is and you two are in a relationship after, all. It's how it's supposed to work, right? Being able to rely on each other in case of trouble.

"Then what? You want a normal boring little life?"

"Yeah... I guess," you shrug, mouth dry.

"Look if it were any other girl, I'd buy it. But you? You've been doing this for years, and you're so good at it. That stage is fucking yours, sweetheart, it misses you... you're telling me you don't miss it?"

"I..."

Of fucking course, you want to tell Derrick, you miss it.

You miss it like air and if that doesn't show that there is something wrong with you, then there's something off with the universe too. You should be simply happy here, with a job surrounded by children and people who want to help them, the orphans. That's a noble cause, the kind of calling that's enough for well-adjusted people. That, your family, the fact that you're healthy, don't need anything else, your son, Bruce... all of those things, they make you lucky, they make you protected, they make you privileged.

So it should fucking be enough.

And yet, it's not.

And yet, Derrick is one hundred percent right, you miss it. You miss everything about it.

You miss the thrill of getting ready for the night, using your most expensive makeup, wearing your highest heels and flashiest outfit, all of that barely hidden by a coat. You miss the wigs of various textures and colors hiding your hair, thanks to that and the makeup, you could become a different woman every time there was music or an outfit change.

And that stage? Oh, that stage, it's the safest and most familiar place in Gotham to you. With that metallic pole. Enough for you to dance, enough for you to captivate, mesmerize, live, and be free...

"I don't. It's better like this. I'm sure you'll find another girl, a better dancer... Don't ever call this number again, Derrick, okay?"

It's not a question and you hang up the next second, hands trembling.

...

You can add liar to the list of your sins.

God, you're pathetic.

(THREE)

"Mom?"

"Hmm...?"

You’re brushing your teeth. At least you were, you spit quickly and you turn around. To face your son standing in the doorframe, staring at you from a hallway, a soft smile on his face. He motions for you to finish what you were doing and you turn back to the mirror quickly, brushing as fast as you can before you rinse your mouth.

This seems important, you don’t want to make him wait.

The next minute you turn to him, toothbrush tucked away inside the mirror cabinet, and you nod in his direction, so he can go on. He is wearing his school uniform, any minute now, he’ll go with your mother and she’ll drop him off at school.

Any minute now.

"You know... this upcoming Saturday?" The boy ponders, looking at your feet for a few seconds then back up to you.

"Yes?"

"Do you have anything planned with Bruce?" He asks with a frown and you fight down the urge to just scoop him up and have him in your arms. He seems and sounds serious, and you know, when he gets like that, a hug won’t help. He wants to speak his mind as clearly as possible and make sure you hear him out.

"No, why?"

"Could we do something... just...” The boy has a slight pout on his face, interrupting his sentence before he keeps going. “Just the two of us?"

The request is innocent and sweet, how could you deny him? The answer is quite simple, you can not. Just like you can not resist your maternal instincts and lean in, you wrap one arm around the little boy and he is in your arms the next second. He doesn’t seem to mind, he’s quite relieved actually, and if it’s not as easy as it was when he was younger, you do not care as your eyes meet his.

"Of course, did you have something in mind?" Did you neglect the boy on top of everything? You have no idea, maybe you did. Between your new job, Bruce, all the planning with Vengeance, and then... Marvin coming back into your life... you’ve been distracted, that’s for sure, even you can not deny that, you have.

The boy nods negatively at your question, did he just assume you would say no?

As if you could ever say no to him.

"Wanna go fly kites? We haven't done that in a while... or we could go to the library or the museum..." The list goes on, you’re happy to do anything with the boy.

"Library sounds nice, maybe they'll have more pilots' autobiographies!" He says, excited, that bright innocent smile on his face, and you can’t help but chuckle. He is still clinging to that dream of being a pilot someday, it’s good. And with enough time and dedication, it could happen, you are one hundred percent sure of it. You want to encourage it, you’ve never had a dream like that, for yourself, and it’s good that the little boy does.

"Yes, and we can go get breakfast at the dinner you like before... so we can spend all day at the library, okay?"

“Yes, I'd like that!”

Tiny arms wrap themselves around your neck, and you two are sporting matching smiles as the little boy presses your foreheads together. You watch as he closes his eyes, breathing in and out next. Is it because he needs to make sure you’re okay? That you’re here? Or the gesture is just for himself and because he needs it? You do not have the answer to that question, whatever the case, it steadies your heart and more than anything else, you’re sure you’ve done a good thing with him.

Yes, you have.

“Okay now put me down please, I can not be late for school!”

“Yes, Sir.”

You say goodbye in front of your building, the little boy and your mom are going in one direction and you’re going into another one. Your heart still feels light in your chest as you hail a taxi.

...

You’re going to do it today.

You’re going to tell Marvin the truth today.

Not for your sake, not for Marvin’s sake, but for the little boy’s sake.

Because he deserves a mother who can own up to her mistakes, who can stand tall and face absolutely anything. Yes, he deserves that more than anything.

You go about your day as usual at the orphanage, many emails are waiting for you, some for you and others for the teachers and you find yourself busier than ever today. A lot of paperwork to be signed by someone in particular, more emails to send back, more copies to do... One of the teachers even has you keep an eye on his class while he takes a student to the infirmary. Nothing happens and the children are happy to keep reading, some of them are even taking notes, and before you know it, the teacher is already back, thanking you as well.

It’s not until the late afternoon that you make your way to the kitchen. Lunch has been over for a while and some of the workers are unloading a delivery, while others are cleaning. It doesn’t take you too long to find Marvin. He’s cleaning a fridge, gloves covering his hands, his long black hair still protected by a fishnet, and a plastic apron over his clothes as he scrubs.

Okay, deep breath.

“Marvin? Can we talk?”

You startle him, that, you can tell, he almost hit his head inside the fridge as he tries to stand up, he swears under his breath and you simply pretend you didn’t hear him. Finally, he turns those brown eyes landing on you. You do your best not to turn back as he mumbles your name next.

“Oh, yeah sure...”

“Somewhere private,” you specify the next second, with more intent.

Marvin nods, he drops the sponge he was using to the floor, eyes still glued to you. His next expression indicates that he’s ready to follow you, it’s your turn to nod before you lead the way.

Just like that day, you head outside, to the unloading bay, figuring it will be the safest place to say what you have to say. Plus, you need to feel the fresh air crawling into your face if you are going to tell him the truth. It seems only right.

Outside you take a deep breath, and after a few quick steps, you turn to him. Marvin is in the middle of removing his hairnet, you wait, you wait as he shoves it in his pocket, he then frees his long hair from that messy ponytail he has. It falls somewhat elegantly, it’s longer than what you remembered, it’s past his shoulders and it looks soft.

Years ago your favorite thing ever was to be naked in his arms and run your fingers through Marvin’s long hair.

Years ago.

The memory is so distant, it’s almost like it belongs to another person and not to you.

“You wanted to talk?” Marvin’s question anchors you back into the present. And now, and what you have to tell him. You nod, you ball your hands into fists, nails inside your palms for another sensation, just so you don’t get lost. You haven’t practiced this and maybe you should have. Or you should have at least written down, to have some idea of what you’re going to say.

But...

Isn’t it easy? Isn’t it the easiest thing in the world?

Yes, you think taking another deep breath, filling your lungs as much as you can: it is the easiest thing in the world.

“Yes. But it’s not a talk. Or a discussion. I have something to tell you, something about us, about... our past. I don’t need you to do anything about it, I don’t even need you to agree, fuck... I don’t care what you’re going to do once I tell you, I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. You just need to know the truth.”

“O-kay?” mumbles Marvin, he’s puzzled and intrigued, you can tell, you don’t even let that deter you, you keep going.

“When I left you... no, when I ran away that night and you never saw me again, it wasn’t just me that left. I was pregnant. Yes, with your kid, my baby boy,” you add the last part quickly, louder as well. Just so Marvin can understand. That’s not his son growing up right now, who dreams about being a pilot, who wants to spend time with you this weekend and go the library.

No, that’s your son.

You carried him for nine months, scared shitless, so sure you were going to mess up. Fuck, you still remember the doubts, the tears, the dread, the fucking joy every single time you felt that little life in your tummy kicking, living, growing... And you made a promise to your belly, to try your best, to make that kid so damn happy...

In a sense you have.

You.

Not him, not Marvin. If anything, his contribution was nothing but short.

“He’s nine, ten in a few months, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And you’re his biological father. But. That’s it, I don’t want money, I’m not expecting you to pick him up for a playdate or after school. He doesn’t even know you exist or what you did to me. Maybe one day when he’s older, I’ll tell him the truth, but not right now... Now he just needs to be a kid and he’s good at that... so good at that, and that’s all I need him to be, a kid. My kid,” you are rumbling by now. No, you didn’t practice any of this, maybe you should have? You have no idea, no idea if you’re pouring your heart out or if you’re issuing a warning to Marvin. To stay the fuck away.

Maybe it’s both.

Doing the right thing is fucking exhausting, you’re shaking by now, hands still closed into two fists, ready to strike if necessary, ready to flee if that’s needed. You’re telling the truth and it’s only a bit too late that you’re aware that some tears have formed into your eyes. Only as one, salty and wet, starts rolling down your cheek and makes you painfully aware of how messed up the situation is.

That’s when you finally decide to actually look at Marvin, and not the empty spot above his right shoulder.

His mouth is wide open, the expression one of pure shock on his face. As he stares back, he gulps, audibly, the sound unpleasant to your ears, no doubt of that, and Marvin takes a deep breath next. His eyes are closed next, and when he opens them again, you can guess a million thoughts in his head and the million questions that are sure to follow.

“You were... back when we...” Marvin mumbles it, he can’t finish his sentence, and the uglier part of yourself, the one that claws and has sunk its teeth into Bruce’s heart, roars and wants to laugh.

Yes, you fucker, I was pregnant when you were beating me up, you could have killed me. You could have killed my fucking baby too.

Except he didn’t, Marvin was weak in that sense. Out of this outcome, you were the strongest.

Fuck, you still are. He has absolutely no idea of what you can do, what you have done, what you’ve seen... No fucking clue at all. Maybe Bruce and Vengeance know, yeah, they have seen all parts of you: broken, ugly, bloody, messy, all of those parts, and decided that it was enough. Or that you were as messed up as them, messed up enough to join their little dance. Messed up enough to be their partner.

In a sense, Bruce and Vengeance were right.

“I was.” You shake your head. “That’s all I wanted to say, the truth, so there is no secret or lies between us. And since you’ve updated me on your life well...” You shrug, you want to fucking laugh, this is one hell of an update and the look Marvin gives you is enough to tell you he thinks so as well.

“I wasn’t expecting that, that’s for sure,” Marvin mumbles one hand into his hair, he sinks to the ground, he sits like that. He stares at nothing, for thirty seconds, you know because you count it in your head.

That’s enough, you should leave, you don’t owe him shit.

That voice in your head is very similar to Vengeance, and fuck, you know he’s right.

Just as you’re about to move, Marvin’s eyes move back to yours, and that stare pins you into place in a way. Because deep down, you already know what he’s about to ask.

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

It’s loud the way you say it, the way you deny that request, it echoes and reverberates in between you two and if Marvin wasn’t already sitting down, it would have been enough for him to drop to his knees. That and the glare you have for him, the anger simmers, it's about to tip over and let you fucking destroy him. Hot boiling rage you could use to remind him of so many truths and why you deny such a request.

“You’re not going to see him. I didn’t tell you that so you could feel like you had to do something.”

“So why did you tell me?”

“Honestly? I don’t fucking know... But it’s done now, I don’t want you doing shit about it.”

“He’s my...” Marvin tries to argue, he sounds and looks desperate, and you resist the urge to draw closer and spit in his face. That would have meaning, that would be justified, it would be less cruel than anything he ever did to you in the past.

But you don't.

“He’s your fucking nothing, Marvin. So what? You came in me nine years ago? Big fucking deal, that doesn’t give you any right, that doesn’t make you a father!” Your anger is going to tear him alive, you think darkly as you approach, you’re towering over him now. You could use something else than your words, but you’re not him. You’ll never be him.

“Oh and what... I suppose your new boyfriend gets to be around him and raise him with you?”

“Yes, he does actually. Bruce never hurt me like you did, Bruce cares about me, he’s earned my trust time and time again!”

Unlike you.

It’s unspoken, you know he reads between the lines, as he suddenly stands up. You don’t move, you’re closer to Marvin than you’ve been in years and you can see it, a faint of that hunger, of the monster he used to be. Right there, on his face, the way he frowns, the way he breathes in next.

You still don’t back down.

“Bruce loves me,” you assure him, a smile now finding your face. It’s as simple as that, and you’re a fucking fool who took it for granted, you realize. A fucking fool who thought Bruce was using it as a weapon when he was merely offering protection. However, the reason why you can’t see the difference between the two, the reason why you’re so cautious? Is right in front of you, it’s Marvin who sighs, reigning down his anger. His mouth is a thin line as he glares back, he’s trying to not be the monster you’ve known him to be.

“And I did... in my own twisted and fucked up way, and we made something tog-”

“Shup Marvin, just shut up. If this is what you need to tell yourself to sleep and move on then fine, I won’t say anything. But let’s get one thing clear.” You raise your finger, your index pressed deep into Marvin’s chest next. So deep you can feel his heart pounding underneath your fingertip. “It was not love. I fucking forbid you to call it love because it wasn’t. I know how it’s supposed to be now, yes, it’s work, but on some level, it’s also so easy. It’s some kind of peace and protection. The truth? We had sex and I was too scared to end the pregnancy because I was still a frightened little girl in more ways than one. I’m fucking lucky it ended great, I’m fucking lucky my boy is amazing, but you...” You press your index even further into his chest. “You know the truth. You have to live with that knowledge and to stay the fuck away from me and my family.”

“Or what? Your rich boyfriend will come after me?” Marvin tries to be sarcastic, but you can see some hint of fear in his eyes, in his tone even.

“Bruce coming after you is the easy way out, Marvin! Do you want to know one thing people never talk about? Motherhood makes you fucking crazy. ”

The kind of crazy he could never match.

The kind of crazy that would have you move mountains for your little boy and your little family.

The kind of crazy that would murder the monster he was.

That kind of crazy, no any other kind.

There’s a silence between the two of you next, as you stare each other down. Marvin looks positively scared next while you smile. You’re not scared of him, you’ve just told him, you’ve changed, and you’re not the lost girl who ran away from home and had no prospect of the future. You’ve lived, you’ve survived him, you have a family. A family you’re ready to defend.

...

Marvin is the one to back down first. He sighs, nods, he understands and he walks away, heading back inside the orphanage.

Good, you think, he got the message.

I told him. No, it didn’t go great. But he knows to stay away. Or else. Be here when I finish my shift? My mum is making lasagna, I’m sure she’ll love to have you around, I could use a family dinner ngl.

I will be here, you can count on me.

Good.

Collapsing into Bruce’s arms later that day feels like an out. Almost like cheating but you decide to ignore it, that and the voice in your head telling you that you’ve been so strong when he wasn’t there.

Was it all for show?

No, honestly, it wasn’t for show.

It was a real threat, a real warning, and now you’re seeking some comfort in your partner’s arms.

You’re almost small in Bruce’s arms, you disappear into his coat as he presses searing kisses to your mouth. Yes, you’re desperate for it, arms wrapped around his neck, you want to forget. You want his taste to replace the sour taste of your conversation with Marvin, you want to remember this. You. Bruce. The cold rain pouring over you both as he kisses you, the coffee you can taste on his tongue, his firm hands on your hips.

Bruce parts away because you have to breathe, otherwise, you know he would have spent hours here, kissing you right outside the orphanage, without absolutely no shame, you are more than aware of it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce manages to ask, as he catches his breath, a mere inches away from your face.

“Not even a little bit.” Your hands are cupping his defined jaw, one of the first things you noticed about him. You lick his chin next, then goes up, to the corner of his mouth. It’s enough for another messy and clumsy kiss like teenagers do as if you’re both on borrowed time, you’re not, you’re absolutely not.

“Come on, Bruce, let’s get out of here.”

This time, Orlando is with him and you salute the driver with a nod, more than happy to see him there. That means you can cozy up to Bruce in the backseat. The next stop is to the school, to pick up your son after his club, soccer you tell Bruce as you face the newly appointed guards at the school’s gate.

Large men in suits, like in the movies, one of them nods at Bruce, like they know each other (and they probably do) as finally, the children start pouring out of the school. Mostly boys but also a few girls in the same uniform, your son is last, soccer uniform in place, knees dirty with grass and mud. He’s talking with one of his classmates, and it all dies down as he spots you and Bruce. He hastily says goodbye to the other boy and then rushes to you two. He gets a hug from Bruce and yourself, the boy in both yours and Bruce’s arms as he doesn’t touch the ground anymore.

It’s familiar and easy, what you need you think as you head back to the car.

The rest of the evening is as comforting actually. You supervise bath time with the little boy while Bruce helps your mother in the kitchen. He looked a little bit lost there, she tells you later and you can not help but laugh, of course, he does, you’re not even sure Bruce would still be alive if it weren’t for Alfred. Despite Vengeance, his survival instincts are completely shit and the only thing you’ve ever seen made his coffee.

But still, it’s all good, soon enough, the smell in the kitchen is enticing, the table is set and you smile at the head of the small table, Bruce on the other side.

Bruce loves me, you told Marvin and it’s even more apparent now, as he’s in this little run-down apartment, listening to your son talk about his day, taking a second serving of lasagna as per your mother’s request because he’s just too damn pale, he surely needs the food.

This is what you needed, this is why you said yes to that normal boring job, this is what you try. For evenings like this, just this. It might not be much and maybe you should strive for more, and have more ambition for yourself, but fuck, aren’t you supposed to want some sort of peace? For yourself and your loved ones? Yes, you figure, that’s what you’re supposed to want.

You let Bruce help your son get ready for bed as you help clear the table. The leftovers go in the fridge and while your mother assures you you found a good one, all you can do is nod. You don’t even argue this time, you don’t want to.

It’s even easier to put the boy to bed and judging by the way he yawns, he will fall asleep in the next ten minutes or so, between the exercise and the warm meal, the little boy is half asleep by the time you press his goodnight kiss to his forehead. That makes Bruce laugh, he follows your gesture, making sure that the boy is well tucked in bed. And comfortable.

Yes, Bruce protects and cherishes that life as well, another reason for you to not let Marvin approach, he will not approach the little boy, you won’t let him.

The door of the bedroom is closed and you drag Bruce to your room, without thinking. Your mother is somewhere, probably finishing the cleaning or in front of the TV judging by the sound, but you don’t care the slightest.

Bruce loves me.

It rings true now more than ever and when the door of your bedroom is closed, it’s for you to push Bruce against it. He lets you do it, there’s no other explanation for your sudden strength. And judging by the smirk on Bruce’s face and the unsaid question, he lets you do it. You’re not that strong, you think as you press your small frame against his broad chest. Bruce shivers as you slot yourself perfectly against him, he bites his lower lip to fight back a moan, you’re not alone after all.

But you don’t care, your shoes are long gone, so it’s on your tiptoe that you beckon him for a kiss. Licking his Adam’s apple and Bruce is so quick to react, it’s fucking dizzying. One moment he tries to keep his breathing in check, the next, he’s cupping your face, shifting it to the perfect angle, and again he presses your mouths together. You seem to forget yourself and any sense of what you should and shouldn’t do after that.

You want Bruce, all of him, what he can provide and what he can do for you. The kisses are hungrier, and needier by the second, you find his shoulders, and pulling at the fabric of his large shirt, you manage to sneak a hand inside and craze at the skin. You find muscles you’ve already traced and you know by heart, and yet, you never get tired of feeling them against your fingertips, it’s enough for you to shiver. You tremble in anticipation, you’re ready, you want, you want, you want...

Bruce loves me.

That contact is enough and you gasp in Bruce's mouth when he hoists you up next. Easily, too easily, you cage him between your thighs, euphoric, grinding against him for some sort of friction. You need him, you need that release, you want to feel him, you need him so badly. You say it with the way your hips buck against his firm chest, you say it with your tongue smearing saliva on the corner of Bruce’s lips and going up to the shell of his ear, you say it with how tightly you keep him close, how you don’t want to be apart right now.

It’s messy and Bruce stumbles further more into your room, with you wrapped all around him like the best vice he can not get rid of. He shuffles around, towards your dressing table and you laugh, giddy, as with one swipe of his hand, Bruce discards some of your makeup, books, and wigs to the floor. It doesn’t matter as you finally collide against the dressing table, as you rest on it.

The rhythm doesn’t slow down there, you don’t know where the urgency comes from, but you welcome it, Bruce removes your top with shaky hands next, and you help him, your top is on the floor, your bra too, and then he discards his shirt. The next kiss as you see stars as your soft chest is pressed against the hard line that is Bruce, you want more, you want so much more. You bury your hand in his hair, pulling and this time when you buck against him, he has a low groan as you feel all the power of his arousal.

“I know,” he quickly follows it by your name. “I know, I want you too, but you have to be quiet, think you can be quiet for me, beautiful?” You want to moan a full and earnest yes, because of the nickname, the intense stare Bruce is giving you as he unbuckles his belt, it’s too much, but surely, it would defeat the purpose and his question. So you just nod, you nod and you watch as he lowers his pants and underwear, just enough, just a little bit, just to free himself and give you both that release you sorely need.

You lick your lips when he turns his attention to you, Bruce smirks as his hands slide underneath your skirt, to slide off your underwear. The Wayne almost does it too slowly, almost, blue eyes anchored into yours, his pale and long fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, then your knees, and then the underwear is past your ankles.

Bruce looks back up with so much of everything, you know you’re ready for him, you can feel it, so glad to be on solid ground, otherwise your knees would have given away because of how ready you feel. You are slick and so wet, just for him, you don’t even know if you’ve ever been this turned on, you can’t care right now. He doesn’t toss your underwear, no, he balls it into his fist and then he shoves it into the back pocket of his pants.

“Bruce!” you gasp, a blush creeping on your face, even though, out of the two of you, you’re the one with the experience, and yet, he surprises you.

“Shh, you said you could be quiet, right?” He whispers back, Bruce straightens his posture, beautiful just like he called you, hair falling over his forehead, bare chest and scars visible, his arousal on display. Just like that, he finds his space back between your legs, mouths colliding with yours. You don’t think anymore, your legs are around his waist the next second, arms around Bruce’s neck, it’s so close to what you need. So close your desperate pleas and moan are swallowed by Bruce’s tongue.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bruce reassures you slowly, the line of his nose pressed against your temple next. He’s moving, you want to look down at what he’s doing, but soon enough, what the Wayne is doing is more than clear as he pushes right into you. He doesn’t pause, Bruce doesn’t wait, it’s slow and almost heavenly, just one thrust of his hips, one move of his body and you’re one once again.

Fucking finally, you think, head falling backward in pure bliss. His next move as you choke on a moan, because you are so full, so fucking full of him. Your nails are deep into his skin when Bruce moves once again, it’s a snap of his hips to get out and back into you, to carve a place for himself right there, right where you need him the most. You can’t even stop the next sound that manages to escape, even though you assured him you could be quiet. If you keep this up, the whole building will know what you’re up to, including everyone in this apartment.

Except that on the next thrust, Bruce clamps one big and warm hand over your mouth. Just like that, he silences you as your eyes fly back to his face, it’s a good thing because he puts more strength in the next push, it’s a good thing because your whole body tightens around him and you don’t want to let go.

“Shh, I know, I know...” Bruce mumbles, his mouth is still over your temple and his thumb strokes your cheek. Softly, like a brush, to reassure you. It’s a stark contrast to what he is doing with the rest of his body, to the movement of his hips as Bruce soon enough builds some sort of pace. And it’s too good, so good you relax all around him, you let him dictate the pace, silence you, have you, fill you up as you just hold on. That’s all you can do as he fucks into you. Gently, slowly, his breathing hard and loud, filling the room. There are no other words for it, this is fucking, you two have made love before, but this is so not what this is about.

This is about want and lust, this is about filling a need, the need of your bodies, and being there for each other. It’s primal, it’s essential, it’s more vital than air, it’s, it’s, it’s... It’s perfect, finishes your mind at one punishing thrust, the dressing table wobbles slightly and Bruce has to put more pressure on your mouth to keep you quiet.

You want it, you want that, all of that, and the next moments, Bruce grinds into you with more force, and the dressing table trembles again, and again. Maybe he’ll break it, you don’t fucking care.

This is what you want, this is what you need.

And when you break, when you tip over the edge, it's just like that, with Bruce into you, pressed to the hilt, and you tremble, as your orgasm washes over you. Bruce is quick to follow you, you feel it, right inside of you, and he whispers your name all over, hips slightly shifting.

But finally, he doesn't move anymore, finally, he frees your mouth and you take a deep breath. Only to whine as Bruce pulls out. He looks down at the mess you two made, between your legs, and then back up to you, with a small smirk on his face.

"God, I fucking love you," Bruce says in a rough voice.

And you barely have time to recover, that he's already kissing you.

#batman x reader #the batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x you #story: after hours

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msfandomsblog · 4 months ago

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Alastor x fem!ballerina-reader

This is my first alastor x reader fic! I don't know how many parts imma make but it will be somewhat a slow burn.

Also this is mostly your backstory

Hope you enjoy!

warnings: use of y/n, being laughed at, implied death, blood, readers insane like Al, guns, suicide, kinda short anddddddd yeah

In life you were one of the greatest pointe dancer in the world. In death, eh, not so much. Yes you danced but this was simple practice, hell wasn't exactly known for its refined~ practice. Your demon form was simple, you were tall (charlie sized) pale and had small wings on your back. Swan wings, that you could enlarge in and out at your will, not that you usually needed to. You mostly had them compact to your back. Most of your friends wondered why you were in hell to begin with, you were always civil to most characters. There was ofc the off-hand time where you'd threaten any demon who'd dare touch you or close friends, but... who's keeping count!?

As for the reason why you were there well... yes being a dancer had its purks but, it had just as many faults.

More then once at a young age in life you were cast for the villain rolls of dances, plays, etc.

You asked you teachers why and their answer was always, "the way you play it y/n! your body language, face and being on stage! you just do it so well"

As you progressed through as an actress and dancer you were never the 'princess' or the main heroin. Only the dark, cold villain. The black swan, The mouse king, Maleficent. How you longed to be the beauty and not the beast.

Not only did this anger you but soon after a while many other dancers would avoid you because of your 'villain' demeanor on stage. This caused you to grow a hatred for your fellows. It all became too much one day.

It was dress rehearsal, your last one before your last show, and the boys got a wise idea for a prank to play on their black swan. When rehearsing your first entrance you moved over to stage right when suddenly a type of slime/glue pored on you, burning your eyes and ruining your clothes. Then the lead boy shot what looked like a party popper at you but instead of confetti, landed black feathers. The boys were on hunched over laughing, 'childish' you thought while glaring at them.

Every other dancer turned their heads or ran over to see what was oh so funny. Once they all started laughing or turned their head to hide smiles, the director yelled at them all, "oi! that's enough, this isn't a baby recital that you did when you were 5! this isn't mature! Boys, help y/n and run 40 laps around the stage ey?" But it was too late, you'd decided right then and there.

So they saw you as the villain hm? You'd be happy to oblige.

The next day you played your part amazingly well but it was your next audition that excited you. It was for the seasonal part in the nutcracker. As always you were given the part, The mouse king.

When you met the lead playing Clara, the young girl heroin, you saw she was a perfectly civil young dancer. She met her end quickly enough tho.

When you came around to auditioning for The Sleeping Beauty and once again did not get Aurora, you found it quite enjoyable to get rid of the blonde broad that played her.

Then there was Romeo and Juliet. you never did audition for this one, reasons unknown to you. But when you did you somehow found that you felt no sadness you got the email saying that you didn't get the part of Juliet. You instead found joy when you cracked a wide smile as the blood of the girl who did get the part flowed down your hands.

Pretty thing she was, good dancer too. poor thing. ah well.

After about 3 years of of getting away with this little 'hobby; of yours you were found out and surrounded by a large S.W.A.T team. The team leader spoke softly to you.

"Miss y/n, please put your hands up, and drop the gun."

You were so annoyed by this, you'd had to use the damn thing to kill a small African-american girl who was playing Coopelia. You didn't like using guns but this was supposed to be quick. You'd even bought a silencer for the job.

"No officer, I don't think I will." You said back. you smiled as you turned to face the 20 guns pointed at you.

"You won't make it out alive L/n" He said trying to convince you.

"I don't plan on it," And smiling you flipped them off as you shot the gun at your own neck.

OKKKKKKK that was part 1! I hope ya'll like it and stay tuned. I don't know if you could tell but I am ballet dancer, I'm not professional yet but I know quite a bit.

y/n might be oc just a warning but again my first fic sooooo.

Anyway!!!!!! have a good day/night little humans!

part 2!

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #fanfic #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n #hazbin x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin au #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #ballet dancer

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theitgirlnetwork · 11 months ago

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Earn It

Ch. 7: Heaven's Happiness

Note: As always, the love this story receives amazes me. Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for the notes, the reblogs, the comments and messages. Interacting makes this so much fun! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. There will be a lot more time skips from here on out! So you'll all get to know the gang as adults. I will ask that if anyone wants to use my story as inspo for one of your own, or anything else, you let me know, it's more fun that way. I also don't post this or any of my other stuff anywhere else. Once again, hi to my best friend who now reads this story, love you miss girl <3 Anywayyy, I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading <3

Taglist:@spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

Warnings: Some strong language

“She’s very gifted, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock. The best I’ve seen at this age in my career. You could have a professional dancer on your hands.”

The three adults watch from the observing window as Heaven demonstrates Grand Adage for a group of her peers. Her little back straight and stomach tight as she accomplishes the move with a stern discipline that many adults struggle to achieve.

“We know. So why is she playing Clara?”

“Beatrice-”

“I’m just wondering, Luca, I mean I just believe it’s our right as her parents to ask Madame Sidorov why our 9 year old daughter is teaching the snowflakes that are twice her age the dance she doesn’t get to be a part of.”

Madame Sidorov swallows hard as she brings her clipboard to her chest. She’s been running her youth dance company for over 20 years. Many of her dancers have gone on to be successful, working artists. But she’d never seen talent like Heaven Whitlock. The girl came into her studio at the age of 6, excited to show her that she already knew how to go en pointe even though children really shouldn’t and normally couldn’t do it until they were 11. Madame Sidorov had been overcome with excitement. She had a star on her hands.

The older woman also learned that Beatrice Whitlock also knew what she had. The teacher has dealt with gunner parents before, but none like the stern young woman who trailed in behind her prodigy daughter with her nose in the sky and demands on her tongue.

“Mrs. Whitlock, Clara is the lead role in the Nutcracker-”

“Bullshit, Sidorov, we both know that the prima dancer role is the Sugar Plum Fairy and the arguably most complicated dance is the Waltz of the Snowflakes, the dance you had my daughter demonstrating yesterday. So,” Beatrice’s heels click as she shifts her weight from one leg to another, hip jutting out. “Why is your best dancer playing the dumb little girl who spends most of the ballet watching everyone else dance?”

“I think my wife is frustrated because we all know our daughter is talented. So we’re having a hard time understanding why those talents aren’t being showcased.” Luca cuts, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist in an attempt to calm her.

“Heaven is only 9. We need to allow the older dancers to play the more advanced roles-”

“Then they should be better.” Beatrice interrupts, swinging her purse over her shoulder, pushing her shades up onto her head. “How about this, until your priorities are straight, we can take Heaven somewhere where things are fair and you can dust off your pointe shoes and start teaching again instead of using my child.”

“But, all of my friends go there.” Heaven whines as they speed their way down the highway for the hour drive back to their home. “I don’t want to find another studio.”

“I know, Stellina, but we want you to have every opportunity. Wouldn’t you want more chances to dance?”

Heaven is stubbornly silent in the backseat, her step father softly pats her foot, reaching back from the driver seat. Her mother turns to face her, a noncommittal look on her face. “Baby, when you came to Mommy a couple years ago, what did you say you wanted to be when you grew up?”

The younger girl bites her lip, tugging irritably at her seatbelt. “A ballerina.”

“Just a ballerina?”

Heaven huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, looking away from her mother. “The best ballerina ever.”

“The best ballerina. Ever. And Mommy and Papino have worked very hard to make that possible for you, yes? Practice everyday, paying for lessons, buying you everything you need. But you’re a big girl now. You’re going to have to learn how to work very hard too if you want to be the best, baby. We can only take you part of the way. You need to think super hard about whether this is what you want. You need to think about if you’re going to earn it.”

Beatrice’s voice is soft and kind, but her words are harsh. She turns around, not waiting for a response from her daughter, satisfied that her whines and complaints had quieted to obedient, stifled little sniffles.

Heaven stares down at her hands through wet lashes, her bottom lip wobbling as she smothers her sadness. She does want it. She wants to be the best ballerina ever. She is going to be the best ballerina ever. And she’s grateful. Papino and Mommy had given a lot. And she won’t disappoint them. So she’d go to a new dance studio. She would make new friends. And if not, that wasn’t what she was there for.

Luca Whitlock frowns as he drums his finger on the steering wheel, looking forward at the traffic ahead of them. “How about some ice cream, Stellina? Might cheer you up?”

Identical sets of brown eyes meet in the rearview mirror. The little girl in the backseat simply sinks against the leather, forcing indifference into her voice. “No thank you, Papino, I’m…not hungry.”

“And you have your, um,” Heaven scratches her head, mentally scrolling through the list of items Tashi would need at home. She was going to spend the first few weeks post-knee surgery with her parents. Heaven had stayed with her girlfriend for the days following the injury, lying to her school and telling them she had a death in the family that required her to take some time away. She just wanted to get Tashi settled before she headed back to UCLA.

The dancer had assumed that their boyfriend would emerge out of the shadows, and use his charm to weasel out of an apology, ultimately taking over Tashi’s care since he had the most free time.

Unfortunately, he continued to disappoint her. So, instead, she lingered. Slept in Tashi’s bed with her, unwrapped and rewrapped her knee. Cleaned her dorm, brought her any work she missed. The girls in the athletic dorm thought she’d moved in. But now, Tashi’s parents were here to take her home for a little while.

“I have everything, Hev, you made sure of that.”

Her heart aches. Tashi sounds so tired. So down. Heaven is so frustrated. She’s ready to move past this part. She wants Tashi to just be better. She tells herself over and over that the surgery would fix it. That once she got the treatment she needs and a little physical therapy, she’d be back to where she was, ready to take over the world with her.

“I’ll see you when we open, right? You’re still gonna come?” Heaven rocks on her feet, careful not to bump Tashi’s crutch. “You don’t have to, you’ve seen me do most of the dances and I know it might be hard to travel-”

“Babe, I’ll be there. Okay? I need to go.” Tashi lifts Heaven’s chin, giving her a halfhearted peck before turning to climb into her dad’s truck, gesturing for Heaven to stop when she goes to try helping her into the high seated vehicle. “I’ll call you. Why don’t you have Art help you get your stuff from my room? He probably wants to say goodbye.”

“T, are we gonna talk more about that-”

“I told you,” Tashi shrugs, hand on the car door handle, her pajama pants poorly covering the large brace on her knee. “M’not mad. It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Heaven isn’t stupid. Ever since Tashi and Patrick found out that she’d done…stuff with Art, Patrick has been radio silent, and all Tashi does is encourage Heaven to spend more time with Art who she was decidedly avoiding. She’d gotten…caught up in the infirmary. The combination of the heightened emotions and Art’s soft attention and care caused another moment of weakness. She’d accidentally said something that she’d been denying to herself ever since, and thanking the good lord above that Art had apparently missed. She was determined not to tempt fate for a…fourth time?

Which is why she’d gone back to Tashi’s room and started packing her stuff and straightening up without alerting the blond tennis player who’d been haunting her dreams as of late. And it’s also why she almost pissed herself when he’d somehow materialized in the dorm room doorway, rapping his knuckles against the light wood, in a failed attempt not to startle her.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but, um, Tashi texted me and said you might need some help getting this stuff to your car.”

He looks good. She can’t ignore that, but she can refuse to get caught up in staring at him as he leans in the doorway, muscled arms on full display as he leans in the frame, a poorly hidden pout on his face.

“I’m good.” Heaven shrugs, slinging her bookbag over her shoulder, trying to lift her purse and her other two bags at the same time, only to have all of her belongings fall out of her purse. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, let me help you.” Art bends and starts grabbing the miscellaneous items from her bag.

“I can do it-”

“It’ll be quicker-”

“Art.” She huffs, tucking her hair behind her ears and sitting criss-crossed on the floor. “I meant it, when I said that I was done…Tashi might be trying to teach me a lesson in some kind of twisted way, and I’m sorry you’re getting mixed up in it, but I’m…I can’t be around you and be with her at the same time. Clearly, I can’t handle boundaries.”

“So…so what does that mean? Not talking at all? Is that what you want?” He asks, shoulders dropping, eyes filled with hurt as he inches closer. “Heaven-”

“Sure. If that’s what it takes for it to get you to get I can’t do” she gestures between them. “This, then fine, let’s say that’s what I want.”

Art clenches his jaw, blinking quickly as he tries to think something he could say. Anything to change her mind. “Heaven, please, I’ll…we’d be friends. We can just, I can’t…please don’t.” he finishes, giving up on trying to articulate his thoughts through his panicked haze. Through all of this back and forth, chasing and running, he’d forgotten the chance that once Patrick was out of the picture, that he might get written out too.

His eyes scan her face as she shakes her head, shoving the last of her stuff back into her purse and standing. “Art, it’s not like I don’t wanna be around you. But stuff is getting too complicated. This shit is just too much. I haven’t been back to my school in days, Tashi’s leg is fucked and I don’t want to make things any harder for her, Patrick is just fucking gone and I really can’t handle anything more. So when you say we can be friends, I need you to mean it. I need you to tell me we can do that.”

Art finds himself in between a rock and a hard place. He wants to be honest. He wants to acknowledge that he can’t see himself getting over her within the foreseeable future. He wants to tell her that he’s glad she’s probably not with Patrick anymore, and as bad as he feels about Tashi’s leg, he quite frankly does not understand why it has to change anything between them.

But he’s desperate. Art is humiliated to admit it to himself but, he would do anything to keep the line of communication between him and Heaven open so if he had to appease her by saying that they would be platonic despite the fact that he quite literally gets dizzy standing next to her, fine. Like he’d told himself before, he was playing the long game, collecting the points that matter. So, offering her a tight smile, Art sticks his large hand out to her, encasing her smaller one and jumping to stand at his full height. “Friends. But, friends don’t ignore each other for days, Hev.”

Heaven bites her lower lip, choosing to ignore the blue-brown eyes that drop to her mouth before looking back up at her and shaking his hand. “Okay. Yeah.” The pair slowly pull their hands apart, Heaven shivers as she feels the calluses on his palm slide across her hand. “As my friend, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Is,” the girl rolls her eyes to the ceiling, releasing a heavy sigh. “Is she done? You saw it, and you obviously know more than me…is that something she can keep playing with her knee like that?”

He can’t bring himself to dash the hope she was clearly harboring on the behalf of Tashi but the girl’s recovery is…unlikely. Art tucks his hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he chooses his words carefully. “Tashi’s strong, and really fucking good, if anyone is going to recover from that kind of injury, it’s her.”

“So…no.” Heaven sits down on Tashi’s bed, staring forward at the wall that’s littered with pictures of some of the best tennis players in the world. A shaky breath leaves her as she stares at the professional posters, accompanied by the posters Adidas had made with Tashi on them.

“You’re a really good girlfriend.” Art whispers.

“I cheated on her with you. I’m pretty much the worst girlfriend ever.”

“No, I mean, you’re really invested in her. In the thing she loves, like you care about tennis the same way we do, f-for her.”

Heaven smiles softly to herself, grabbing Tashi’s pillow and hugging it to her body. “I fell in love with Tashi watching her play tennis. Just like everyone else does.” she jokes, poking Art’s leg with her toe. “When I’m watching her, it’s like I’m getting to witness something. It’s…corny but tennis is her calling. She goes to some other little world when she’s playing, and, even though I’m not a tennis player, she takes me with her. It’s this feeling of closeness that I can’t get anywhere else, you know?” Or at least, nowhere else I’m willing to talk about.

He does know. Art does know exactly what she’s talking about. He felt it. Once, when he and Patrick sat and watched Tashi play for the first time. It’s an all encompassing feeling. He was so caught up in watching her every move that he hadn’t looked anywhere but at Tashi. If he’d just looked three rows in front of him he’d have seen the girl in front of him now.

The second time, the feeling was more intense, more of a sensation than a mere feeling. It was when he was sitting in an empty theater, watching Heaven dance, just for him. Art had never felt the things he’d felt before. He’d never had the thoughts he thought. He’d held his breath for the entire minute and 26 seconds that she gave him. He sat on the edge of the red, fabric auditorium seat, scared to blink and get left behind. He wanted to capture the feeling and keep it forever. And he has. He’s kept it. And everytime she gives him another taste, a smile, a kiss, a laugh, a touch, he goes back to being alone in the theater, experiencing euphoria for the very first time.

If that’s the feeling Tashi gives Heaven, then he’s very jealous. And he wants it.

And that’s another new feeling the girls introduced him to. He’d never wanted something like her…or…uh them.

Jealousy. Longing. Needing.

Art knew exactly what Patrick was talking about when he said he liked seeing him fired up about something. Because, as much as he loves tennis, it didn’t make his blood boil. It didn’t make his stomach muscles clench with intensity. He didn’t feel that satisfying nervous burn. Not until…

Art needs to test a theory.

He scratches the back of his head, looking down at his sneakers before clearing his throat. “Uh, so, Hev, I’ve got a match this afternoon. And, I know things are weird right now, so you might think I’m a dick for even asking-”

“Arthur.”

“Come watch me play.” He blurts. Heaven’s eyes widen and he finds himself taking a tentative step forward as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I don’t know, I just figured…I mean, you might miss watching someone play, with Tashi taking a break and Patrick being…himself.” When Heaven continues to look unsure, Art puts himself out there again, trying to entice her the way he knows how. He moves to stand in front of where she’s seated on the bed, crouching to be just below her level. “When I win it will be for you. I’d like you to be there.” Art carefully tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, before grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger, moving her face around playfully. “As a friend.”

As a friend. That’s exactly what Heaven repeats to herself, over and over when she carries her bags over to the tennis courts, placing one foot onto the metal bleacher and opting to sit in the seats down on the front to rows. Just so she can see better. And it’ll be easier to slip out before the match is over. Besides, she couldn’t bring herself to sit with the women’s tennis players towards the top. All she could think of when she saw them was that it should have been one of their legs cracking instead of Tashi’s and it didn’t exactly make her feel like a great person.

She slips into the seat and crosses her legs, struggling as she pushes her overnight bag under the low seat.

“Hey, let me help you.” A blonde girl crouches beside her, pushing along with Heaven and getting the back underneath.

“Oh,” Heaven offers her a bright smile. “Thanks, I have to head back to my school after this so I have all my shit with me, didn’t think I was gonna come.”

“No problem,” the girl chirps, plopping down into the seat next to Heaven. “Sara. Myles’ girlfriend, he’s playing after this first match. Whose girlfriend are you?”

Tashi’s name is on the tip of her tongue. She swears it is. But the girl is clearly talking about the players that were starting to filter in, with their red shirts that Heaven could see fitting Art perfectly from her seat. His blond curls flopping as his head moves side to side, she knows he’s looking for her. Heaven gives a soft wave to catch his attention and can’t help but match his smile when he spots her, waving back. “I’m not dating a player.”

“Well these are girlfriend seats, so don’t let anyone else hear you say that.” Sara says lightly, pulling her shades down over her eyes.

Heaven turns to look at her, tearing her eyes away from Art stretching. “What the hell are girlfriend seats?”

“They’re seats…where girlfriends sit?” The girl sits up to get a pixelated picture of her boyfriend on her razor. “You know, the players’ girls sit, so they can see them. No wonder I don’t recognize you, you’re a plant.”

“I’m Heaven, I don’t go here, I’m just watching my friend before I go back to UCLA.”

“Oh, shit,” Sara’s eyes widen in realization. “You’re Donaldson’s girl right? Myles’ cousin Kyle, trust me I know the names kill me too, but he was saying how Donaldson brought his hot girlfriend out with them the other night and was dick trying to show off for her.”

“Again, we’re friends, m’not his girl.”

“Hey, Hev!” Sara ducks her head, watching out of her peripheral as Art jogs over, racket in hand, pushing up onto the fence so he could be eye level with Heaven. “Match is about to start, kiss for good luck?” He grins, holding his racket handle out to her. He playfully pouts until she gives in, leaning forward and pressing her glossed lips to the handle, looking at Art through her lashes. The blond wets his bottom lip and pulls the racket back. “Eyes on me, okay?”

“Whatever, just remember you promised me a win.” Heaven giggles, crossing her arms as she settles back into her seat. Art beams even wider, hopping down off of the fence and jogging backwards back to where the players sit. “And spit out your gum!”

Faintly, she could hear Art’s teammates reprimanding him for ‘making the rest of them look bad’ and she smiles to herself, bringing a hand up to play with her name chain.

“Girl.” Sara snorts.

“Just friends.”

“Yeah sure.” the blonde girl shrugs, pushing her shades back down. “Don’t tell me, tell Donaldson.”

Art delivers a win, as promised. It wasn’t hard, really. One thing Patrick had gotten right was that college kids weren’t really much competition. And maybe he had some very good motivation sitting out in the crowd with her eyes locked on him. So he showed off a little, served a little harder, made the other guy run a little bit more than necessary. He could always explain that away as wanting to impress his coach and any possible reps looking to endorse him. And sure, he might’ve looked over at her for each point he wrenched out of the poor guy from Temple’s hands but…well he didn’t have an excuse for that other than it gave him a rush knowing that she is sitting pretty, legs crossed, perched with the other girlfriends, watching him, rooting for him, breathing heavy for him.

When matchpoint is declared his, Art smiles cockily, strolling up to the net and shaking hands with his opponent before making his way over to Heaven again, this time climbing completely over the fence, leaving behind his tennis bag on the opposite side of the court. This time she stands, catching him a little as he lands in the small space in front of her and the fence. “Well?” he pants, lifting his hat to adjust his hair before placing it back on his head.

“Well, what? You want me to say congratulations?” Heaven grins, sweeping some sweat that dripped from his forehead off of his cheek. “Congratulations, Arthur.” she hums.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah,” Sarah calls from her seat, smiling smugly up at the pair. “Good job, Donaldson. Why don’t you try to pass some of that mojo to Myles, huh? Getting kinda tired of coming out to these things just to watch you play.”

“I’ve got a lucky charm, that’s all.” Art nudges Heaven, wrapping an arm around her waist so she doesn’t stumble too far away from him.

“Yeah, so, lucky, or the other guy sucks and Art is good-”

“No, I think you’re my lucky charm, don’t try to ruin it-” Art laughs, taking his hat off again, his messy blond hair falling all over as he places it on Heaven’s head, holding her to him as she squirms.

“Ew, Arthur, it's sweaty!”

“It’s the fruit of my labor, Hev, that win was for you!”

Sarah scoffs, shaking her head as she watches the pair, leaning away to avoid getting hit when Art lifts Heaven, swinging her to the opposite side of him to help her get to the steps before grabbing her bags. As she sees him guide her by her waist down the bleachers, both of them cheesing as they chat as if no one else was there and she realizes that Art is leaving the courts before his fellow teammates play, Sarah commends her own instincts.

And then she makes a note to herself to start saving the returning girlfriend seat next to hers for Heaven. The other girls were sort’ve bitches, anyway.

“So, I should head back.” Heaven leans back against the driver door of her car, clasping her hands together behind her. “But, this got my mind off of things for a little, so thank you.”

“It’s what friends are for.” Art laughs, stepping in front of her, hand behind his neck.

“Pft, you’re such a dick. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one?”

“I am nice.” he smiles, rocking on his feet, feeling his chest tighten as Heaven bites her rose petal bottom lip again. His eyes soften as he stares down at her delicate features and thinks about how right things feel when they’re together. How he hasn’t felt this good in…ever. “So nice, I’m not gonna say what I want to say. I’m just gonna say,” he takes her hand gently, toying with her fingers, pushing her thumb with his own, “goodnight.”

Heaven’s lips part, and looking up into his eyes, how kindly he looks down at her. What she can see in them almost does it. She almost got lost, just like that. But a buzz in her jacket pocket has her grabbing her phone and the message has her taking a small step backward and placing her hand on her door handle. “Goodbye, Art.”

“One two three, one two three, and Peter please keep up with Heaven, Heaven a little less hatred on your face, thank you, two three and up, I want her in the air-” Madame Fontaine claps her hands to the pace of the movements she wants from her two leads, following them as they move across the floor. Heaven holds her breath as she’s lifted into the air for two counts before she’s slid down Peter’s body, draping herself across him romantically as he kneels to accommodate her. “Yes, that is exactly it. Now kiss.”

Heaven feels herself wince, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels Peter’s lips press against hers.

“Still doesn’t look good, Madame.” Fallon calls from her seat.

“No, no it doesn’t, does it? You two, what’s the issue, tu veux m'humilier et me faire me suicider ou quoi?”

“No, Madame,” Heaven huffs, swatting Peter’s hand away from her waist. “We don’t want to humiliate you or make you kill yourself, I don’t understand why we have to do the version with the kiss, there are plenty of variations without it-”

“You understood her?” Peter squints at the girl next to him before huffing, “Fine, whatever, MacMillan intended for there to be passion between Romeo and Juliet, and you curl your lip up everytime I kiss you.”

“I don’t like doing it.” Heaven shrugs. “I’m a professional dancer, not a porn star, and I’m playing a 15 year old girl, I don’t know why any sane, adult audience would want to watch me lay on top and kiss a grown man and then kill myself to be with him-”

“We open tonight. We are doing the ballet as we rehearsed, you two will kiss and you will tolerate it. Practice if you must, pretend he’s someone else, take a shot before you do it, I don’t care.”

“Madame, we’re 19.”

“Oh please.” The older woman storms off, her assistant behind her and the two dancers are left side by side.

“So…should we practice?”

“Absolutely fucking not, thank you very much.” Heaven pushes past Peter, snatching her dance bag from the floor. “You’re gonna practice until your knees bleed for the next hour and then you’re gonna soak in the athletic building so you’re actually ready for tonight and I’m gonna go…I don’t know, pray.”

As Heaven storms away, dramatically slamming the theater door behind her, she can recognize she was in a bitchy mood. She felt like she had a lot of shit to be annoyed about and was frankly pissed to feel her world collapsing around her on the first night of her first college role in which she’s the fucking prima.

First, she once again demonstrated to herself that she has absolutely no fucking self control when it comes to Art Donaldson, a truth that she’s learned about herself that really agitates her. She discovered this as she struggled into the routine of only responding to the blond every couple of days and found herself sitting up in the privacy of her own dorm, reading and rereading every message she sent, the bright light of her phone shining brightly on her shame.

Second, she still hadn’t heard from her boyfriend (ex?), Patrick. She’d watched a couple of his matches while she was on the treadmill at the gym and as he does, he wins the first two rounds only to lose in the third. He found time to get lazy in his tennis playing but failed to pick up his goddamn phone and call either of his girlfriends.

Which leads to the third thing haunting her. Tashi is fucking irritable as shit. Apparently, surgery does not agree with her, because Tashi had been crabby for the last few days. It started with the day of Art’s match when she’d sent her perfectly timed message. 'Did he win?' It was like she was taunting her. Like Tashi knew Heaven couldn't stay away. It pisses Heaven off even more that she was right. Then Tashi had moved on to venting about how Patrick was absolutely wasting his talent, how the fact that he’s not winning pisses her off even more now that she can’t play. How she’s going pro as soon as she gets the chance because if this injury told her anything, it was that there was no time to wait. How now that she’s got time on her hands, she’s been thinking more about her plan for her life and Heaven’s.

And lastly, the real kicker, what had Heaven gritting her teeth as she did bar warmups this morning, was that fucking phone call. The one from her mother that she received at 5:00am when she was stretching. The one where her mother said she wouldn’t be able to make it to her first night of her first ballet in college in which she’s the fucking prima. And when she expressed her disappointment, Beatrice responded ‘It’s just a school ballet, I’ll come to your first professional one.’

So, yep, she was in a shitty fucking mood.

But she wouldn’t let all of that stop her debut as an adult dancer. She was going to be a pro, she was going to do it her way, even if the 5 seats she had reserved in the front row were empty.

So, she sits at the vanity backstage, putting her hair into Juliet’s first hairstyle. She listens to music that reminds her of when she was 15 to get into the right headspace as she puts blush on her cheeks. She offers Peter a soft smile when she sees him in his costume and forces herself to try to look at him the right way. Because the things that are pissing her off don’t matter right now. Right now, all there is is Juliet.

It doesn’t matter if Heaven’s smile is fake as the lights shine down on her when she first prances her way onto the stage. Juliet’s smile is real. It’s meaningless if Heaven’s tears are real when she squints and sees that her mother’s seat is indeed empty, her stepfather attempting to send her a thumbs up to distract from the woman’s absence. And so what, if Heaven can’t go to her happy place as she solos because she sees both Patrick and Tashi’s seats are empty as well. As long as she can still breezily get through her motions, as long as it looks beautiful for the crowd, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter.

And it definitely doesn’t matter, that as she came out of her fake balcony in her sleep gown to blow everyone’s minds with the most loving, fucking passionate pas de deux they’d ever seen, she accidentally caught eyes with Art in the audience, staring up at her intensely.

So she doesn’t have to feel guilty that when she kissed Peter, she envisioned him with curly blond hair and heterochromatic eyes. Or the fact that Madame Fontaine told her when she stepped off stage to change into her next costume that it was the most romantic, realistic kiss she’d ever seen.

Does Art know he's stupid? Absolutely. He's never dared call himself intelligent. He didn't need the little voice that sounds like Patrick calling him pussywhipped. He knows. But, he still found himself on the highway, traveling at a breakneck speed, eyeing the bouquet of flowers that he has placed in the seat.

He'd known Heaven was serious about this whole friend thing. She's so good, and kind. And she cares so much about Tashi and Patrick. But Art knows he can treat her better. He's sure of it. Despite what he knows to be true, Art refuses to pressure her...anymore. He'd just rely on the fact that if they were supposed to be together like he believed they should be, they would be. Eventually. Soon. Hopefully.

So he came fully ready to play the dutiful friend. He was gonna stand politely by as Heaven leapt into Patrick's arms after the show. Art was gonna smile politely as she and Tashi shared kisses and exchanged giggles as they talked about inside jokes that they only understood. But then he got there. He'd been directed to the front where the two premier dancers families were arranged to sit and found three empty seats separating him from a man with peppered hair and smart looking glasses who had his own bouquet of flowers across his lap and a Chanel gift bag next to his feet. As he inches into his seat the man looks at him with a smile.

"You must be Patrick. I'm Heaven's stepfather, Luca Whitlock, I'm sorry I missed you at her birthday." The older man holds his hand out to Art with a kind smile. "Nice to meet you."

Art offers him his own awkward grin, accepting the tight squeeze of the man's hand. "Uh, no, I'm Heaven's friend, Art. It's really nice to meet you Mr. Whitlock."

"You as well." The man lifts his wrist to check his watch. "Show is meant to start in a few minutes, hopefully he will be here shortly. Stellina won't like for her boyfriend to be late.

Art shifts uncomfortably again, checking his phone. Patrick had reached out to him a couple days after Tashi's injuries. Mostly to make insults thinly veiled as jokes, clearly still pissed that he yelled at him. Art responded with short, one worded messages.

It's the least they'd ever spoken since they'd met.

The guilt he feels for his part in this fight they were having is very real. But it was currently heavily outweighed by his annoyance at the fact that his friend was seemingly punishing Heaven by not showing up for her big night. He knew Patrick didn't deserve her, and he was only proving his point.

"Is Tashi with Mrs. Whitlock or..."

"Oh, my, my wife couldn't make it. And Tashi is still...healing. Her mother called right before I was supposed to pick her up."

Oh. "Oh."

As much as he's glad he could be here for Heaven, he knows that Tashi and her mother being there would mean more. His heart aches for her as he settles back into his seat and the lights dim. The pain he feels for her only intensifies when he sees her step out onto the stage. She's beautiful. The perfect Juliet. If anyone would make a man fall in love within a few glances, ready to die at the thought of not being with her, Heaven would be it.

Her eyes are sad as she eyes the empty seats, using them as a tragic point of focus as she completes her expert turns. Behind him he could hear people whispering about how gorgeous the girl playing Juliet was, how talented she is. All Art can think is that they have no idea. They don't know how she's managing to be so elegant, so beautiful, so perfect, even as she's in the type of pain she's in.

Art would do anything to bring the light back into her eyes so they would shine the way the rest of her was.

He loves her.

He knows it. He feels it as her eyes finally make their way to his seat and her smile is a little more real. A little bit of light slips back into her eyes. She dances even more beautifully, more genuinely than before. And his mind is filled with the same thought.

Yes baby, that's right. Eyes on me. I'll make it better. I'll make you happy.

And he means it. Friends or not. Lovers or not.

It's on Heaven's first night of her first ballet in college where she's the fucking prima ballerina that Art makes a vow to himself.

He was gonna dedicate himself to Heaven Whitlock's happiness. No matter what that meant.

3 Years Later (California)(Age: 22):

Tashi shakes her head to herself as she watches Art pace in the kitchen. She brings her coffee to her lips, blowing at the smoke slowly as she observes him from the couch, taking a small sip before setting the mug loudly on the glass coffee table. She rolls her eyes when he doesn’t stop his steadily paced steps across the floor. “You good?”

The blond finally pauses to look at her, jaw clenching and unclenching before he opens his mouth to speak. “This is just different, you know?”

“How? It’s still tennis.”

“It’s pros, Tashi, I’m just nervous.” Art says, running his hand through his blond curls. “These guys are good.”

“You’re fucking good.” She asserts, crossing her arms. “Look, I can’t make you believe in yourself. If you can’t do this, please, let me know now, because I need to know if you’re not going to make this happen. We have a deal.”

Art sighs, planting his hands down on the counter, staring down at the scattered marble with a frown as he tries to get out of his head. Suddenly, he feels a hand slide across his back and an envelope lands on the counter between his hands, into his line of sight.

“Something for you to consider while you decide if you’re gonna fuckin’ play like I know you can.”

With that, Tashi storms out, heels clicking on the hotel room floor and the door beeping as it slams shut behind her. Art stares down at the envelope, reading and rereading the name of the sender.His heart both clenches and races as he thinks about what the 4 little words on the small, insignificant piece of paper could mean for him. How those 4 words and whatever they’re hiding behind them will ruin his life.

The Paris Opera Ballet

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starmocha · 4 months ago

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and this year i promise [Rafayel/Reader ★ 1220 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Impromptu Christmas shopping with Rafayel. Day 01 — to: my true love (Sylus/Reader) Day 02 — do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) (Zayne/Reader) Day 03 — in a gingerbread house built for two (Rafayel/Reader) Day 04 — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart (Xavier/Reader) Day 05 — ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls (Sylus/Reader) Day 06 — you're the only one, my love (Zayne/Reader) A/N: Merry Christmas~ Kind of disappointed I ended having to miss a few days of writing and that threw off the whole schedule. :’) But I hope everyone still enjoyed this series. The remaining stories will go up gradually. I still intend to finish at twelve stories in this series. Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia 【 request to be added 】

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not.”

“Someone’s lying.”

“Rafayel—mmph!”

You glared at Rafayel when he grabbed your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks tightly.

“Quit it!” you protested as you gripped his arm, gasping when he finally released you. You shot a quick glare in his direction, but he shrugged it off.

“I’m not mad,” you repeated firmly before adding quietly, “Just…disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Rafayel questioned with a confused furrow of his brows. “About what? The Christmas tree?”

“I was hoping…”

“Hoping what?”

“To decorate it together,” you finished meekly, “I didn’t think you were going to hire professionals to do the job…”

“I mean, only because the tree is so tall and…”

“Aren’t you always sitting on that ladder?”

Rafayel discreetly glanced at the ladder he used when he painted. “That’s…different,” he answered vaguely. Noticing you still seemed upset, Rafayel leaned down, forcing your eyes to meet. He smiled. “Is this really that important to you?”

You tried to look away, but Rafayel refused to give you a chance. His finger lifted your chin higher. You nodded reluctantly, a little embarrassed, “Just…a bit.”

“A bit, huh,” he murmured thoughtfully, and then he beamed, exclaiming, “Okay! That settles it!”

Before you could question what Rafayel meant, his hand was already wrapped around your wrist, and soon, he had you sitting in his car, and the two of you were already speeding away to the shopping district in Linkon City.

“Wait, isn’t this too much, Rafayel?” You gasped as he tossed a giant peppermint-shaped throw pillow into the shopping cart. You frowned when a matching candy cane-shaped pillow followed. “This doesn’t seem like your style…”

“You’re right, cutie, it’s going over to your place.”

You gaped at him, and then glared. “Why are you trying to clutter my place with these items?”

You grabbed some of the random Christmas-themed items from the cart to put back on the shelf, but when you turned back around, Rafayel was already tossing new items in, negating your progress. You whined helplessly at him, “Rafayel!”

“What?” he asked, confused, as he leaned against a four-foot wooden nutcracker soldier.

“Don’t you dare put that thing in the cart!”

He glanced at the nutcracker again, and nodded. “You’re right,” he said solemnly, “We should have a sales clerk keep this on hold for us at checkout—”

You quickly pushed the shopping cart away, forcing Rafayel to chase after you.

“Okay, okay!” he rushed past you and then gripped the opposite end of the shopping cart to stop you. He sighed and awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “What do you want then?”

He looked up, appearing embarrassed. You quickly forgotten your earlier exasperation with him, realizing he was doing his best to cheer you up. You smiled. “We don’t have to decorate…it’s not a big deal��”

He walked around, and suddenly you found Rafayel had trapped you between him and the shopping cart. His larger hands rested on the cart handle next to yours, his presence looming behind you as he looked down.

“What if I say it’s a big deal to me now?” he asked with a smile. He pretended to pout at you, asking with a pitiful whine in his voice, “You’re not going to deny me this Christmas joy, are you, Miss Bodyguard? Even you wouldn’t be that cruel to this poor, fragile fishie, right?”

You stifled your giggles and shook your head. You turned around and leaned up to kiss his cheek, delighting in the growing blush on his face and the red in his ears. “It’s still important to me…spending time with you, at least.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, cutie…” he said, his eyes softening. Suddenly, it looked like something caught Rafayel’s interest, his eyes sparkling brightly like a kid in a candy store. “Hold on…”

Confused, you remained in your spot as Rafayel dashed down an aisle. A moment later, he returned with a small Christmas tree, about the same height as his torso. “Ta-dah!”

You smiled. “How cute.”

“We can decorate this tree together,” he said, “And I know the perfect spot.”

You nodded excitedly, watching as Rafayel placed the small tree into the shopping cart. He gripped the cart basket, leading you down an aisle with miniature ornaments and Christmas lights. For the rest of the afternoon, you happily let him led the way, watching as the cart filled up with Christmas decorations and treats until it was nearly overflowing with an assortment of goodies.

To your surprise, when you returned back to the studio, Rafayel pulled the Christmas tree out of the shopping bag immediately, placing it on the coffee table next to Reddie’s fish bowl.

You knelt down next to him as he adjusted the tree, frowning and contemplating as he appeared to be searching for the perfect angle. Smiling in satisfactory, Rafayel stopped and looked down at you expectantly.

“Why are we putting the tree here?” you asked.

His eyes glanced over at Reddie, who swam closer to the glass, appearing curious by the sudden sight of the Christmas tree next to his fish bowl. Rafayel chuckled. “I thought our Reddie would appreciate celebrating the holiday with us as well.”

You smiled at his explanation, turning your sight to the red fish swimming happily side-to-side. “You’re right,” you agreed, “Our Reddie should be a part of this.”

You sat down on the floor, your head resting against Rafayel’s shoulder as he strung up the fairy lights around the tree. The sun slowly set, the studio darkening, but Rafayel called out, “Let there be light…”

In that instance, the miniature Christmas tree lit up brightly, the fairy lights glowing warmly in the dark living room. Your eyes shined as it took in the wonderous sight. “How cute,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” Rafayel agreed, his eyes resting solely on you, “Very cute…”

The time passed, ornament after ornament quickly found their rightful place on the little tree. You smiled across the table, touched by Rafayel’s thoughtfulness and determination to make you feel better. Pondering now, you did feel a little silly about your earlier mood swing, but happy to know that Rafayel didn’t dismiss your feelings, and instead made it his mission to make you smile again.

Once the last decoration went on the tree, you crawled back over to Rafayel’s side. Instantly, he had you settled in his lap, your head resting against his chest as you both admired the bright tree on the table.

“Next year, I won’t hire professionals,” Rafayel said, promising, “I’ll wait for you.”

You shook your head and leaned up to kiss him. “It wasn’t about the tree,” you explained, looking a bit embarrassed, “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Rafayel’s cheeks appeared rosier, his smile tender. “Then the feeling is mutual,” he answered, taking your lips for himself, long and slow, just as the larger Christmas tree by the windows also lit up, casting the whole room in a bright warmth.

“I promise,” he whispered, his forehead against yours, “we’ll make many more memories together in the future. Christmas, New Year’s, a random Wednesday, all of our memories will be golden.”

“They already are,” you answered back, kissing him again, both of you unaware of Reddie swimming away to hide.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #lnds series — dreaming of a winter wonderland #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #ngl i kept bouncing back and forth between the document for this and xavier’s #i wanted to at least get the second set of stories out on christmas day #.____.

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lovelaetter · 5 months ago

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simi my love it’s 🌷anon omg how i’ve missed you!!! i’ve had so many thoughts abt rosie posie lately, something must be in the air lol

main thoughts ive had center around either ballerina rosie x ballet director reader or opera singer rosie x opera director reader

either way rosie is significantly younger, in a subordinate position, and SUPER naive with a very obvious thing for you. you being older and in a senior position to her, find this to be an opportunity that you can’t pass up. inviting her to stay back late for.. special lessons.. and using this time alone with her as an opportunity to pounce.

petting her pretty cunt through her panties, promising her the prima ballerina / primadonna role if she’s good for you, telling her how she has so much potential, calling her your number one girl- and all the while she’s in her element- panting and gasping, her nails digging into your forearm and her mewls echoing through the theatre.

after this she becomes a total perfectionist, does way more than what’s asked of her, and has to stop her knees from buckling whenever you praise her.

this perfectionism and grabbing for your attention turns into her becoming a bit obsessed, following you home, sneaking into your house and touching herself while she watches you sleep.

she’s just so !!!!!! my gorgeous little weirdo <3

ANOON!! MISSED YOU 😚

how i love weirdo rosé with nothing in her mind but you, the narcissistic partner that totally does not manipulate her. btw i loved the ballet idea so much that my rosé x oc fic was going to be based on it but yeah… not coming.

anyways, girl would turn into some kind of music box ballerina whenever you are in the studio, doing perfect turns on her pointe shoes to follow you around, gaze burning holes on your back but her knees completely failing her once you lock eyes. she would accept your invitation to stay behind so quickly because she so obviously wants to be the best dancer in the company, the apple of your eye, so of course she can stay a little longer to discuss her role in the next performance and a few other things.

heavy breath feeling your hands on her waist and arm, fixing her position in front of the mirror, hand gripping the barre a little too tightly that leads you to whisper “see, i told you, you’ve been so tense lately… what’s wrong, my dear?”. so cute opening and closing her mouth dozens of times trying to explain herself but losing her train of thoughts looking at your reflection, your chin resting on her shoulder, smiling, and your hand sliding from her waist to covered cunt, not much in between your fingers and her slit. whimpering so sweetly, not being able to look away from the mirror, probably thinks she’s imagining all of it, gripping your wrist, trying to slow your movements as you promise her things and call her your favorite because she’s too close, she doesn’t want it to end, don’t take this from her :(

i keep thinking about her as the sugar plum fairy in the nutcracker, it would be so fitting, she is your sweet girl after all.

things getting to her little head because she wants more than sneaky touches between costumes or late nights after practice against the studio’s floor and because you’re not taking her seriously, she’s hurt, she heard another dance say they saw you with someone else and another even said you flirted with them, is she not special then? it’s not bad to follow you home, she needs to see, keep an eye on you and if she does end up breaking inside it through the back door one night, well, it was so cold… you wouldn’t let her outside in the cold night, she knows you wouldn’t. so what if she goes through your clothes and puts into some pjs and gets underneath the covers with you? she is also so sleepy… but you are so, so pretty, as always, and that’s a huge problem for her because now she has to bite the back of her hand and go so slowly to not make other noises because you say she has such a noisy little cunt and it’s true, she’s too wet and it’s loud, too loud. she doesn’t want to wake you up, you work so hard every day with them all, you deserve to rest, but of course her needy self had to risk to ruin it all.

#asks #blackpink smut #rosé smut #🌷 anon

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ponstermenis-writing · 9 months ago

Text

✩ (There’s No Place Like) Home For The Holidays ✩

Darrel Curtis & Everyone Johnnyboy, Stevepop, Darbit

̣̥☆·͙̥‧‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙冬˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧·͙̥̣☆̣̥

Ever since their folks died, Darry’s been handling the holidays.

The first year they didn’t do anything—they died relatively close to thanksgiving, so it felt wrong to celebrate. But ever since then he goes overboard .

None of them are complaining, a lot of greasers don’t celebrate at all—Johnny and Steve both didn’t even know what Christmas was before the Curtis folks introduced it to them. The only reason Dallas knew was because, well, New York is kind of the place for Christmas.

Their mother loved the holidays. She and Dad would take off work and spend the day with them—it was a lot like those hallmark movies she forced them to watch. Darry didn’t dare let those memories die—he’d put up all the decorations on the first weekend of December, The Beach Boys and Brenda Lee would be on the record player until January.

It was currently December 23rd. Darry didn’t plan on waiting this long to put up decor. But he’d been swamped with work and he knew Pony and Soda would half-ass it. He enlisted Steve, Johnny, and Two-Bit to help.

“Do people even use Nutcrackers?” Two-Bit asked, opening and closing the mouth. “It’s more of a looks thing, Two.” Soda laughs, trying desperately to hang up lights over the fireplace. “Yeah, lord knows Darry doesn’t have enough decorations already.” Two-Bit teases, laughing nervously when Darry glares at him.

“When you finally get your own place, you’re gonna wish I was still around.” Darry gripes, untangling lights for the roofline. “Aw, you wouldn’t come with me?” Two-Bit says, putting his hands in a prayer motion with an obnoxious pout in his face. “I couldn’t deal with the mess you bring.” Darry can’t help but laugh at his own comment—Two-Bit is less amused, an offended sound coming out of his mouth.

“Do you boys want to help me put these up?” Darry asks before Two-Bit can say anything in return. Johnny and Ponyboy share a look—they always managed to communicate without ever actually saying anything. “Sure.” Ponyboy says, standing. “Beats translating Feliz Navidad for Soda again.” Johnny adds.

Soda whips around to frown at him, looking utterly heartbroken. “The lyrics never change, man.” Johnny laughs, bumping into him as they pass by.

Getting onto the roof was always a struggle. Ponyboy’s terrified of heights—but putting up the lights out there makes him feel grown. Darry lifts them up one by one, letting both boys stand on his shoulders and hoist themselves up. Darry can reach The roofline by using a small stepladder from work, so he’s never really had to climb up there.

Putting the outdoor lights up used to be Darry and Mr.Curtis’s job—it’s probably why he’s so insistent that one of the boys do it with him—like it’s a right of passage, or something.

He tosses the lights and the little plastic clips up to the boys and tells them where to put ‘em—he usually fixes the lights after they’re done anyway, but he knows the boys both like helping out.

They’re about halfway done when Johnny pauses, glancing down at the ground just past Darry.

“Jesus.” Dallas groans. “Going all out again this year, huh Darry?” He teases, standing beside him with his arms crossed. Dallas is what the gang lovingly called, a grouch. He doesn’t like the holidays, even when he was little he’d roll his eyes at the mention.

“Hey Dally!” Johnny calls down to him, leaning over the roofline to smile at him. Darry doesn’t miss how Dallas falters—like Johnny’s gonna fall and he’ll have to catch him. “Be careful! Jesus.” Dallas grunts, The other three laughing at him—Dallas was easily the least cautious of them all. But he’d wrap Johnny up in bubble wrap if he could.

“I thought you were going to New York for Christmas?” Johnny asks, ignoring his comment and still very much leaning over the roof.

“I couldn’t leave you guys all alone.” Dallas shrugs. Darry knows deep down that he loves the holidays with them—but he’s smart enough not to comment too obviously. “Besides, nothing up there I haven’t seen before.”

Darry can’t help but smile, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Dallas isn’t much younger than he is—but just like the rest of the gang, he’ll always be Darry’s little brother. “You wouldn’t mind helping us out, would you Dal?” He asks, glancing up at the roof.

Dallas scoffs. “No, Than—“ he pauses, seeing Johnny stare down at him hopefully. “Fine.” He groans, squeezing onto the stepladder beside him and hoisting himself up. He makes a point to drag Johnny and Pony both back a bit so they won’t fall.

Even if they did, they’d crash into snow-covered bushes just a few feet under them. If it were any higher, Darry’d be worried too—but Two-Bit skydived from the height when he was really drunk last summer, so he knew it was fine.

Dallas was actually pretty damn good at putting the lights up where they belong. “For someone who hates it, you sure do have an eye for Christmas decor.” Ponyboy jokes, narrowly dodging the smack Dallas aimed at the back of his head.

Just as their hands were beginning to freeze off, they were finished. Darry helped them all back down—Much to Dally’s chagrin, he did not like help in any sense of the word. They all stood back to take in the house.

“Looks shit.” Dallas says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’ll look better at night.” Pony retorts matter-of-factly. “Speaking of,” Darry says, heading inside while the others trail after him. “You both are staying over tonight, right?”

“I don’t see why not.” Dallas shrugs, slinging his arm around Johnny's shoulder. They all look at the boy expectantly. “I think my Ma wants me home.” He mutters, not looking at them. Dallas scoffs, Ponyboy frowns—but Darry has learned how to get him to stay.

“Aw… I already started making some Mac & Cheese for you.” Darry sighs—he hates guilting Johnny—really, he does. But hey, it works. “Yeah! I thought you were gonna walk with me tonight, too!” Ponyboy adds, looking at the boy expectantly.

“I-I’m sure they won’t miss me too much.” Johnny says finally, giving them an awkward smile. Darry and Pony share a secret high-five—they officially had the whole gang together for Christmas. Two-Bit and Steve often go off with their families for the actual night of Christmas Eve, but the night before works just as well.

“Geez, if I hear one more Christmas song, I’m gonna riot.” Dallas says as they walk inside—hearing Perry Como croon on about being home for the holidays. “My house, my rules.” Darry says, shucking off his jacket. “Which means the Christmas music stays on .” Dallas groans loud enough to alert everyone else of his presence.

“Well, if it isn’t New York’s sweetheart!” Two-Bit calls from the living room. “Glad to know you stayed home, Dal.” He teases, nudging him lightly as he walks back. Two-Bit was the first person of the gang Dallas became pals with—Two was one of the few people who could poke fun at him without getting clocked.

“Yeah, Knew you fella’s would be lonely without me.” Dallas says—Darry doesn’t miss the glance back at Johnny, Dally’s un-official-but-also-un-questionable little brother. Two-Bit just smiles, handing him a balled up chunk of tinsel. “We sure missed the extra pair of hands!”

Dallas groans but does as he’s asked. Johnny goes back to putting up the candles, Pony tries his best to hang ornaments on the tree.

The candles actually weren’t something the Curtis folks ever did—in fear of burning the house down. But ever since Johnny told them that he was Jewish and the closest he’d ever gotten to a holiday with his folks was Hanukkah when he was really little, how could Darry say no?

Annually, at least two ornaments are smashed and one string of lights stops working. Two-Bit found this year's string, holding it up triumphantly. “Lookie here!” He calls, showing it to Darry before he trashes it. Darrel can’t help but chuckle. “It’s not a competition, you know.” He says, letting Two-Bit throw an arm around his shoulder—he’s a little shorter, so his arm has to reach awkwardly around his neck.

“Yeah, well. I still won.” He says, leaning in to smirk in Darry’s face. He’s shoved away a moment later when Ponyboy shuffles into the kitchen. They aren’t very… open about their relationship yet. Johnny and Soda both found out the hard way—but everyone else had no clue. It wasn’t homophobia they were worried about—it was the teasing.

“Can you make us some hot chocolate?” Ponyboy begs—he’s obviously talking about him and Johnny, but the poor boy can’t ask for anything even after all these years. Even when he was stuck in that wheelchair—he was insistent that nobody else move him around or help him carry things. He could walk on his own now, but his back still hurt when he’d stand for too long.

“Sure,” Darry says, smiling evilly. “If you can name all the reindeer I will.”

Ponyboy just groans, walking off. Two-Bit chuckles, grabbing two hot chocolate packets anyway. “I don’t get why he doesn’t make it himself.” He says, heating up some milk in the microwave—after many failed attempts at dinner, Two-Bit Matthews is not allowed to touch the stovetop. Ever.

“He claims that I make it best.” Darry shrugs. “He’s just too lazy to mix it all the way—there’s nothing I do different.”

“Really? Are you sure there isn’t a secret ingredient?” Two-Bit askes, making a kissy-face as he dumps far too many marshmallows into both cups. Darry just rolls his eyes.

Two-Bit walks the cups to the boys and Darry follows—partially to know he doesn’t spill it, partially because he feels lonely in the kitchen by himself. Ponyboy takes both of them gratefully, handing Johnny his cup.

Darry can’t help but feel love surge in his chest—he stands in the doorway that leads to the kitchen, watching over his boys. Johnny picks the marshmallows off and hands them to Dallas, leaning his head on his shoulder while he unravels tinsel. Ponyboy leans against Johnny's legs—he’s on the floor while Dallas and Johnny are on the couch—and sips idly at his own cup, humming along to the music. Soda and Steve keep trying to shove each other under the mistletoe, Two-Bit cheering them on.

“You look happy.” A voice says from behind him. Darry jumps halfway out of his skin, turning around so quickly that he almost smacks his head against the wooden door frame.

Tim Shepard gives him an amused look. Even he looks rather Christmas-y—he’s all bundled up with a hat and gloves that he definitely got from Mr.Curtis a few years back. He’s got a few presents in his hand and a slight smile on his face.

“You scared me.” Darry mutters, breathing out a sigh. “But yeah, I guess I am.” He spares a glance back—Dallas, Johnny, and Ponyboy are all staring at him. “Whatchu’ got there?” Darry asks Tim, trying to ignore the eyes on them.

Tim groans, handing him the boxes. “The bottom two are from Curly—to Johnny and Pony, I guess. But apparently they can’t know it’s from him.” He says, chuckling. “Top three are from me.” He says, not looking at him.

“Well, thank you.” He says, glancing down. “Can I ask who they’re for?”

Tim crosses his arms. “You, Dallas, and Johnny.” He shrugs—Darrel can tell he’s embarrassed. Tim might be one of the most hardcore guys currently in the house, but even he has his own nervous ticks. “I thought I owed you something—y’know, for all those times you gave us dinner and shit. Thanks, by the way—I don’t think I ever said that.” He rambles, still not daring to meet his eyes.

Darry can’t help but smile. “It was no problem.” He says simply, tucking the gifts under his arm. “I assume you have a reason to give something to Johnny and Dallas as well?” He says—he can’t help his teasing tone.

Tim glares at him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “They’re good kids.” He says simply, leaning back on the banister by the front door. “Someone’s gotta hang out with Curly, Y’know? Better Cade than anyone else.” Tim shrugs. “Dal has dragged both of ‘em home more times than I can count.”

Darry nods, setting the gifts down. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” He says, dragging a plate from the cabinets. “I assume they shouldn’t know these are from you either?” He can’t help but smile—he dumps the rest of their leftover cookies on the plate and wraps it with saran wrap. Tim pretends not to notice. “Looks like they already do.” He chuckles, glancing back into the living room.

Tim takes the plate gratefully, tucking it under his jacket before saying goodbye with his head ducked down. He’s gone a second later—cat-like agility letting him out of the house before Darrel can even answer him.

“Aw, you gave him the rest?” Ponyboy pouts, walking into the kitchen once Tim is gone—Johnny shuffling in behind him. “I’ll make more.” Darry chuckles. He finds the gift with his name on it and removes it from the pile, handing the rest to the two boys. “These are for you.”

“Really?” Johnny can’t help but say hopefully, glancing back at the door. Darry knows deep down that he looks up to Tim about as much as he does Dallas—he was a Shepard before he was ever a Curtis. And Tim is arguably cooler than Dal. “Uh huh,” Darry smiles, hiding his own behind his back. “One of thems for Dally, okay?”

Johnny and Ponyboy nod and walk off into the living room. Darry can hear Dallas laugh when he’s handed the gift.

He waits till they can’t see him to open his own. It’s simple—just a packet of new socks. But he knows it’s a lot from the Shephards. It means Tim was listening too—sometimes he’ll help Darrel out at work for extra cash—he remembers complaining about the holes in his socks that he couldn’t replace. Darry smiles to himself, tucking the pack back into the wrapping paper—it had been so horribly done, but it was clear Tim tried—and putting it aside.

He’s halfway through getting out the things for a new batch of cookies when Dallas and Johnny enter the kitchen.

“Me and Johnnycakes are gonna go say thank you.” Dallas says, ruffling Johnny’s hair. “No you aren’t.” Ponyboy calls from the living room. “You’re gonna make fun of ‘em!”

Darry crosses his arms, raising a brow at the two. “Are you?” He asks, glaring only at Dallas. “I got something I gotta give to Curly.” Johnny mutters—poor boy thinks he’s angry at him too. Darry just places a kiss on his hairline and sends him off, reminding him to stay warm even for the short walk.

“C’mon Dar, he knew this was gonna happen.” Dallas says, smirking. “Don’t be rude, Dallas. You should be happy he thought of you at all.” Most of the time—Dallas and Tim aren’t on the greatest terms. Darrry knows that better than anyone, having to patch them both up after a nasty fight or two.

“Ya hear that, Dal?” Two-Bit says, sticking his head in the room. He holds a hand up to his ear and pretends to listen. “That’s Santa Claus calling you an asshole.” He teases. Dallas smacks him on the back of the head—just hard enough to sting. “I’ll take the naughty list and shove it right up your ass.” He bites, still glaring at the redhead.

Darry rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna go over there and say thank you.” He commands. Dallas isn’t scared of him by any means—but everyone knows it’s not the best idea to anger someone twice your size. “I’m sure Johnny won’t let you be rude, anyway.” Two-Bit laughs as Dallas saunters off.

“What’d Tim give yuh’?” He asks once Dallas is gone, eyeing the rewrapped gift. “Socks.” Darry says simply, grabbing the ingredients for the cookies. “How sentimental.” Two-Bit chuckles, hoisting himself up to sit on the countertop right where he’s trying to work. “I bet my gift is better.”

“I hope it isn’t similar to what you tried last year.” Darry groaned, shoving him lightly to get him off the parchment paper. “You loved my gift last year!” Two-Bit says defensively. “Besides, it turned out to be, like… the best coming out ever.”

“I’m sure Johnny and Soda would disagree with you.”

“They’ve got their own things going on.” Twobit shrugs, leaning back on the kitchen wall. Darry pauses, raising a brow.

“Come on… don’t say you haven’t noticed.”

“Notice what?”

“You know what!”

“No—No I…I really don't.”

Two-bit groans. “I mean, don’t stay Steve and Soda aren’t a little… suspicious.”

“You act like they’re committing a crime.” Darry can’t help but laugh. “I think it is, in some states.” Two-Bit shrugs. Darry just rolls his eyes. “What about Johnny, though? What’s going on with him?”

“Darry…” Two-Bit sighs, looking at him like he’s about to destroy his innocence. “Two teenage boys don’t lock the door when they’re alone for no reason.”

He has to pause and think for a second. He immediately slaps the man upside the head, causing him to topple forward and almost hit the floor. “I don’t want to hear that!” Darry whisper-yells, acutely aware of the gang still in the living room.

I mean… he assumed something was going on. But he really doesn’t want to know what his sixteen year old brother—who in his eyes, is still a baby—gets up to with his seventeen-almost-eighteen year old friend when they’re alone—he doesn’t want to hear about what Sodapop is up to either!

“Communication is key in every relationship—“ Two-Bit begins as he’s shoved out of the kitchen. “Hey, ow! You’re only upset because it’s true—“ he pauses, glancing up at the doorway.

Ponyboy is standing there with an amused look on his face, glancing at the two. “Was gonna ask where you wanted this.” He says, laughing as he holds up an ornament Sodapop made when he was real young. “I’ll just guess.” He’s gone a second later, letting Two-Bit finally right himself. He puts his hands up in defeat and shuffles out as well.

Darry is halfway through making the cookie dough when Dallas and Johnny show up again. Dallas now has a reasonably sized bruise on his jaw—he definitely did not listen. Johnnys still laughing when they get inside, pulling off his jacket.

“Looks like you two had fun.” Darry says, raising a brow at Dallas—the blonde just walks off with a groan. “Tim was the only one home.” Johnny says, holding up his little present still. “Bummer.” Darry chuckles, watching Dallas throw himself down on the couch.

Johnny lingers behind a second too long, glancing at the bowl in his hand. “Wanna help?” Darry asks, knowing Johnny won’t say anything on his own. “Uh—“ He mutters, glancing back into the living room. “I uhm… I promised Pony I’d help him with the ornaments. Sorry Darry.”

“No problem.” Darry says, going back to mixing. “Can you grab Steve and Soda while you’re in the other room?” He asks. Johnny nods quickly and scampers off before anything else can be said.

Steve and Soda are his sous chefs when it comes to dessert. Not because they’re good at it—but instead because they eat the batter or dough, and will not hesitate to complain if they don’t get any.

He hands the spoon to Soda the second he’s there, trusting him with it while he searches the cupboards for vanilla extract. He’s in the middle of his search when he hears giggling from the other room.

Upon further inspection, Johnny and Ponyboy seem to be messing around under the doorway to the hall all of their rooms are in. “Cut it out, Pone!“ Johnny laughs, red-faced and actively trying to shove the boy off. Pony is trying to pull him closer, making kissy faces and missing Johnny’s face entirely. “It’s mistletoe, John! We have to!”

Two-Bit is sitting on the couch next to Dallas—who is really into getting that tinsel untangled, giving Darry a knowing look. The older simply rolls his eyes, heading back in the kitchen. He doesn't remember ever owning or putting up mistletoe, and he’d bet money that he was right about who did.

“Jesus, how much did you two eat?” He gasps, staring at the—now half full—bowl. “I don’t appreciate the fat-shaming, Darrel.” Sodapop says, crossing his arms. Steve wipes some of the dough off of the corner of his mouth, nodding along. “Yeah, We’re growing boys!”

Darry can’t help but laugh, nudging the both of them out of the way. “You both are considered legal adults in the eyes of the law.” He says simply, mixing in the vanilla extract into the bowl before the two finish it off.

He’s able to get it into the oven with only a few instances of him slapping the boy’s hands away with a spoon. The best friends give up once the oven is shut, retreating back into the living room. Darrel sets the timer and heads back into the living room to check on the progress.

It truly does look beautiful—just like their mother had done. Johnny and Pony were still quietly placing ornaments on the tree, Steve and Soda were back to string garlands on the mantle, Dallas had finally got the tinsel unraveled and was trying his best to be careful putting it on the tree—realistically the tinsel should go first, but he's so proud of the boy for trying that he doesn't dare comment. Two-Bit is off to the side fucking with the nutcrackers—because he’s Two-Bit.

Darry watches silently from the doorway. His boys truly are some genuine souls, aren’t they? He used to be so confused when Mrs.Curtis would watch quietly, smiling to herself like she truly had it all. Darry finally understands that feeling—love swelling in his chest, he can’t help but feel his eyes get wet.

Two-Bit had somehow managed to sneak behind him. “Looks like a hallmark movie.” He says, leaning his chin on Darry’s shoulder and watching alongside him. “Yeah—Yeah, it really does.” Darry chuckles, his voice cracking as he's unable to hold back just how happy he is. Two-Bit smiles, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. “You did good.” He whispers. “You raised some pretty hardcore kids. We really are like a big happy family.”

Darry has to take deep breaths to stop himself from sobbing—has he ever been this happy before? Has he ever felt so content?

Two-Bit just chuckles, placing something in his hands before walking off to get back to his work. It's thin and celluloid—upon closer inspection, it's a polaroid. It truly is something that should be something put in a museum.

It's a wide shot of the living room. He’s not sure when it was taken—Clearly it was Two-Bit’s work, but he’d been idly watching them all for half an hour now. In the middle of the picture is the tree. Dallas has his arm around Johnny’s shoulder while he’s pointing at one of the ornaments—it's one Mr.Curtis had gotten for Johnny on his first Christmas with them. You can only see the back of Dallas’s head, but you can just barely see the smile on Johnny’s face. Ponyboy is right beside him smiling just as wide, resting his head on Johnny’s shoulder while he listens in. To their right is the fireplace, setting a yellow-ish glow on the whole room—Steve and Soda are meticulously putting the garland in place and fixing the candles in-between, Soda’s got his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth—something he always did when he was focusing–and Steve is very clearly giving him orders.

To the left, just barely in frame, it's him. He really does look like his father—standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the wooden doorframe, a content smile on his face as he looks out at the whole scene.

Darry rushed off to his room before anyone could see. He sits down on his bed—staring down at the picture as tears fill his eyes. Something about having the memory caught in place forever really got to him. The fact that Two-Bit knew to take a picture, the warm glow the whole room gave, the content look on everyone's faces.

Darry didn’t consider himself an emotional being. That was Soda’s job—he was the dream-crusher who made sure everything went how it needed to. But in moments like these he couldn’t help loving them—he knows one day they’ll all move on and only visit him when they have to. But for now, all his boys are home. They’re home, they’re happy… they’re safe.

A few quiet knocks hit his door and he immediately knows who it is. He wipes away his tears and tucks the photo in his lap. “You can come in, Johnny.” He says, willing his voice not to crack. Johnny peeks his head in a moment later, looking all guilty.

“Are you okay?” He asks, frowning when he sees Darry’s sad look. He doesn’t really know how to explain this feeling to him—Johnny’s never had a family other than them, and everytime he gets comfortable here—his home, blood be damned—he’d always be forced back into the house with the two people who love him the most. “I’m alright baby, just a lot of feelings.” He replies, giving the boy the best smile he can muster.

Johnny gasps, shutting the door behind him. “Are you crying?” He whispers, brows furrowed and eyes wide. “Is this because I broke that ornament? I-I’m real sorry, Darry—It just slipping from my hands, I really didn’t—”

Darry interrupts him with a chuckle, holding his arms out for a hug. Johnny responds immediately, stepping up and letting Darry hug him. “No, it's not that.” Darry says, ruffling his hair. “I don’t care about some silly ornament.”

“Y-You sure…? I think I saw one like it at the corner store—”

“Johnny.” Darry interrupts, he knows the boy’ll talk himself back into that mindset that everything is his fault if he doesn’t. “I promise you, I’m not upset. Just happy tears.” He says, letting Johnny sit down on the bed beside him. He hands Johnny the photo, watching his face closely. “Gee…” Johnny mutters, smiling down at it. “Golly Darry, I think I’m gonna cry too.”

Darrel chuckles, ruffling his hair. “I think the cookies are done, if you want one.” He says, nudging him. “They should still be soft, I know you like them that way.” Johnny jumps to his feet–giddy with excitement. “Thanks Darry!” He says, handing him back the photo and rushing off to the kitchen. He can hear the boy excitedly tell Pony about the finished cookies and them both rushing to grab them.

He manages to fix himself up before he heads back out. “Everything alright?” Dallas askes as he passes, not looking at him. “Of course.” Darry smiles, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing slightly. “Just, happy to have everyone here.” He says, deciding there's no point hiding the wetness of his voice from his earlier sob-fest. Dallas, who was never big on expressing his feelings, rolls his eyes with a half-hearted smile. “Jeez, You’re a big ol’ sap. Y’know that?”

“You’re not any better.” Darrel teases, shoving him lightly before heading back into the kitchen. Johnny and Pony are splitting one of the cookies in half, idly watching the TV from the kitchen counter. “Any good?” Darrel askes, taking one.

“Mph—“ Ponyboy grunts, nodding his head with his mouth full. “Very good.” He adds once he finishes chewing. Darry can’t help but laugh, ruffling his hair. “Make sure not to eat them all.”

“I can’t believe you’d think so low of us.” Ponyboy replies defensively, grabbing another from the tin. “Just don’t want you two having too much sugar,” Darrel chuckles, moving the tin away from both boys. “With the advent calendar and all the candy, more cookies is the last thing you need. You’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t finish the whole calendar on day one.” Ponyboy laughs around a mouthful of cookie, reaching for his cup of water when he chokes. Darry just sighs, taking his own and sauntering back to the living room.

He sits down on the couch beside Two-Bit, breaking the cookie in half and giving one to him. Two-Bit shoves the whole thing in his mouth without blinking, watch the lovey-dovey Christmas movie on the TV.

“Which one is this?”

“Christmas Angel.” Two-Bit mutters—though he pretends to sound uninterested, he refuses to take his eyes off the screen. Darrel raises a brow, watching the screen for a moment before deciding that this is a very horrible movie. “Didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”

“ ‘M not.” Two-Bit says defensively. “Every channel is playing a somethin’ Christmas, this was just the least-worst one.”

Darrel was sitting there for about half an hour before he realizes that he’s actually watching this piece-of-shit movie. “Darry.” Two-Bit says as the credits roll, glancing over at him. “Hmm?” Darrel hums, still not taking his eyes off the screen.

“You’re my Christmas Angel.” Two-Bit whispers, making a kissy face. Darrel finally looks at him, grimacing. “Wow, that was…” he holds back a gag. “ Horrible . That was really horrible.”

“Just take the compliment.” Two-Bit groans, leaning away from him as if Darrel has betrayed him. Darry just rolls his eyes, a smile playing on his lips—he pulls himself to his feet a moment later, going through the box of Christmas ornaments.

He pulled the delicate star from the very bottom, covered in layers of bubble wrap and packing paper. Ponyboy is standing right behind him when he pulls it out, ready to take it in his hand. “C’mon Johnny!” He calls into the kitchen. “We gotta put the star on the tree!”

Johnny comes out of the kitchen a moment later, Dallas in tow. “Do I need to lift you up or something?” Johnny askes, glancing at the very delicate items in the boy’s hands. “I don’t think you can.” Ponyboy chuckles.

“Hey! I’ve been doing very well since the fire, y’know! Soda’s been taking me to the gym an—“

“That's not what I meant.” Ponyboy interrupts, placing a hand over the boy's mouth—he tears it away when he licks it, wiping it on Darry’s shirt because… well, why wouldn’t he? “You’re like—5’8” man, I’d crush you.”

“And a half!” Johnny adds, crossing his arms. “And I’ll have you know I picked Dally up once.”

“Barely.” Dallas chuckles from behind him. “My back still hurts from when you dropped me.”

“I don’t want to hear anything from anyone else about a hurt back.” Johnny grumbles, glaring at him. Two-Bit throws his head back laughing on the couch, pulling Steve and Soda out of Soda’s room.

Ponyboy just rolls his eyes, scooping Johnny up and helping him onto his shoulder. Johnny fights it at first, cutting it out the second he’s in the air in fear of plummeting to the floor. Johnny grasps onto Ponyboy’s head. “Don’t drop me!”

“I won’t.” Pony laughs, handing the star up to him.

It takes Ponyboy a minute to get to the tree, trying hard not to run into things with Johnny's hands very much over his eyes. It takes the boy a minute to lift his arm up, careful not to lean forward too much. He’s finally able to stick it on there, already begging to be let down.

Darry picks him up by the armpits and plops him on the ground as gracefully as he can. Johnny lets out a sigh of relief, thanking him.

They all stand back to look at the tree, fully lit with glittering tinsel and shiny ornaments. It’s already beginning to get dark outside—though it’s only five. Darry wants to stand and stare at it all night—but he knows these boys need to eat.

“I’ll go start dinner.” He says, wiping his hands on his shirt just to bush them. “You boys are free for the day.”

Ponyboy tugs on his shirt sleeve just before he walks off. “Can we go outside and play in the snow?” He whisper-asks—looking at him pleadingly. Darry—Already knowing this won’t end well, but also knowing how desperately they all wanted to go in the snow…

“Alright.” he sighs. “Just make sure you’re all bundled up, and don’t track snow through the house.” Ponyboy agrees excitedly, already running off.

Sure enough—Dallas, Pony, and Johnny all pass by him a moment later decked out in snow gear. Dallas gives him a thumbs up, as if to say ‘don’t worry, I’ll watch them’.

He’s halfway through mixing up the Mac & Cheese he promised when the three reminding members of that gang saunter into the kitchen. “Can we help?” Soda askes.

Darry smiles, ruffling his hair. “Of course you can.”

It went by a lot quicker with all hands on deck—Darry even managed to catch a photo of them all cooking, and one of the other three in the snow. He kept a close eye on his helpers—Two barely got the ham out in time, Soda put way too much sugar in the cake, Steve spent more time drinking the pasta sauce out of the ladle than he did making the noodles.

But they got it done.

They did it together, too.

“Boys!” Darry calls out, opening the window to stick his head out. Dallas was in the middle of pelting Ponyboy in the face with a snowball—it hit the second Darry finished talking. “Dinners ready.” Darry chuckles.

The three of them come barreling in a second later, smart enough to take off their shoes. Darry takes their jackets, sending them all into a room to change into warm clothes.

He tosses the jackets on the porch, shutting the door extra tight behind him to keep the snow out.

He puts down the—Christmas themed, of course—tablecloth, setting up plates and silverware. He puts the different pans full of food along the counter-top, very impressed with their work.

“Alright guys, one at a time.” He says just as the other three walk out of the rooms—wearing too-big sweaters and sweatpants. They all go one at a time and dump food onto their plate, sitting down at the dining table in their usual spots.

“Jesus, John—“ Dallas chuckles, picking leaves out of his hair. “Your hair is like a breeding ground for all the plants on the ground, man.” He says, ruffling it to see if any more leaves or twigs would fall out. “Never call my hair a ‘breeding ground’ again.” Johnny mutters, annoyed, smacking Dallas’s hand away—a piece of ham hanging from his mouth.

They eat mostly in silence, forks clinking against porcelain as they all dig in. Darry knows he isn’t the best cook on the planet—but watching them all tear it apart like they’re starved definitely makes him feel a bit better about it.

Darry collects all the plates when they’re done, dumping them in the sink—he tells himself he’ll wash them before bed, but he’s almost 100% sure he won’t. “Everyone in the living room,” he says, helping Johnny out of his seat. “I have a present for you all.”

“Is it a puppy?” Ponyboy asks excitedly, rushing to sit down on the couch. “Not necessarily…” Darry smiles—he has to hide his smirk. Realistically he knows they will all hate this gift. But hey, if he had to spend his entire early-adult life raising them, he gets to embarrass them once or twice.

He hands them all a wrapper box with their names on it. “You guys don’t have to look so scared.” He chuckles, watching Soda be the first to slowly peel back the paper.

“You’re joking.” He says, deadpanned. “You did not actually do this.”

“What is it?” Ponyboy asks, leaning over his brothers shoulders. Soda pulls out the contents of the box and holds it up for all of them to see. A chorus of loud groans fill the room, heads falling back against the cushions.

“You got us matching pajamas?” Two-Bit asks, raising a brow. He’s easily the most on board—beside Darry, of course. Mostly because there aren’t many ways to embarrass him past what he’s already done.

“You cannot make me wear this.” Dallas says simply, crossing his arms. For the options he had—Darry could have chosen much more embarrassing ones.

It was a simple white top with their names embroidered on the right of their chest, and a pair of pajama pants to go with. Soda got red plaid, Two-Bit and Darry got green—he made a point to get Dallas and Steve the ones with little reindeers and red bows to really embarrass them—Johnny got gingerbread and snowmen, Pony got little presents and elves.

“Oh, yes you will.” Darry chuckles darkly. “If you’re staying in my house, you’re wearing those.”

“So suddenly we’re not family anymore, huh?” Dallas grunts. “You’re gonna kick me out over pajamas ?”

“Yep.” Darry smirks—realistically, he won’t. But he knows Dallas will do it—he doesn’t care how much the boy complains. Their mother wanted to do this when they were all little—but each and every child shut the idea down and fought tooth and nail to keep her away. Darry very much remembers almost biting his father over them.

Dallas groans loudly, dropping them in the box. “You’re lucky Buck’s is closed for the night.” He says, tucking it under his arm. “How come me and Dallas got the worst ones?“ Steve complains—he doesn’t even seem completely turned off by the idea, but very much so about the fact that he got the girliest ones—the background of the pattern is a barely noticeable pink.

“Because they bring out your eyes.” Two-Bit jokes, narrowly ducking under the box hurled at his head. Darrel just chuckles, standing. “Don’t worry, I have to wear them too.” He says, holding up his own.

“We don’t have to put them on now , do we?” Ponyboy asks, pointedly not looking at his own.

“Depends,” Darry begins, tucking his box under his arm. “Who wants to run an errand with me?”

The room is silent for a long while, all glancing at each other. Johnny sighs and stands. “I’ll go.” He mutters, like he’s taking on for the team. Pony stands right after. “Me too.” He says quickly.

Darry smiles. “Great.” He says, ruffling their hair as they walk past him to the door. “The rest of you better have those on when we get back.” Darry says evilly, walking off and ignoring all the sudden volunteers.

He makes sure Johnny grabs his gift before they go—Darry wraps both boys up in jackets, scarves, and gloves. It’ll on get colder.

He loads the leftovers in the truck, letting Pony and Johnny hold them still in the backseat. “Where we goin’?” Johnny askes, looking up at him confusedly. “We’ve got a few deliveries to make.” Darry says simply, putting the truck in gear and driving off.

First is the Shepards.

He separates a decent amount onto a seperate plates for them, wrapping it up before handing the few plates of food too the two boys. He walks up the rickety porch and rings the bell.

“Whaddaya want.” Curly answers, throwing the door open. His eyes go wide when he sees who it is. “Oh. Shit, my bad.” He says, not looking at him. “No problem, Curly.” Darry smiles, handing him the plate in his hands. “In case y’all are hungry.”

Curly stares down at the plates with wide eyes before finally taking them, setting them on the couch beside him. “Thanks, I guess.” He says, showing his hands in his jean pockets. Ponyboy rolls his eyes, already walking off to the car. Darrel has to grip the back of his jacket to keep him from running off.

“Tell Tim I said thank you.” Darry says, not seeing the older boy anywhere.

“Yeah man, no problem.” Curly nods.

“Me too.” Johnny mutters, peeking his head out from behind the older Curtis. “To you too. Thanks for the gift, it was very nice.” He says in a teasing tone, a devilish smile on his face. Curly’s whole face goes bright red—so red, in fact, that they can see it even in the fleeting lamp light.

“How did you—“ he begins, cutting himself off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnny just laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess you don’t want this, then.” He says, waving his own gift in the boy's face. Curly snatches it from his hand, looking down to see his name sharpied on the wrapping paper. “You got me something? You really are a wimp.” Curly sneers, tucking it behind his back anyway—like Johnny would steal it back from him.

Johnny just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. Merry Christmas.” He says, following Pony and Darry to the truck. Curly doesn’t reply, watching them from the doorway. He only leaves once they’ve pulled away, heading back inside. They can hear him call to Angela from outside.

They head to Buck Merrill’s next. Darry really does hate going to that bar—especially with Johnny and Pony in tow—but he knows Buck is a good guy. He gave Dallas a place to live for most of his teenage years—and often would help Johnny out after a beating if the gang wasn’t around.

Buck and Darry also have an agreement—made after the fire, of course—that if Johnny, Pony, or Soda ever come knocking at his door… Darry will be

called immediately .

He knows Buck isn’t having a party tonight. He usually keeps it closed around family holidays—he claims it’s because of the lack of business, but Darry knows deep down he doesn’t like seeing people ignore their families to come drink at his bar.

He gathers the rest of the food and helps Johnny and Pony carry it up to the door. He knocks loud enough to be heard from anywhere in the house. He can hear Buck’s rushed footsteps, the door being thrown open a moment later.

“What—“ he begins angrily, pausing when he recognizes them. “Oh. Shit, what’s happening now?” He asks, his shoulders dropping. He spares a quizzical glance at Johnny—as if to ask ‘did you kill someone? again?’.

“Nothing to be worried about.” Darry smiles, holding a plate out to him. “There was a lot left over from dinner—I had a feeling you weren’t cooking anything.”

Buck inspects the plate, giving him an odd look. “Uh huh. No other reason?”

“Just wanted to be nice,” Darry begins, giving him a warm smile. “You’re not all alone in there are you?”

“Nawh—My brother’s home.” Buck shrugs. He has a younger brother—only a few years younger than him, Darry’s age. Most of the time he’s out of state—Dallas is the only one who’s ever met him in person, Johnny and Two-Bit have been in the bar while he was… but that’s just about it. “Sure he won’t mind some grub.”

“Good. Merry Christmas, Merril.”

Buck makes an odd face—like how dare Darry say that to him, before groaning. “Give me a second, wait here.” He grumbles, heading back into the bar and shutting the door behind him. By the time he’s back, Johnny and Pony have retreated back to the truck for warmth.

Buck comes back out with a pretty expensive looking bottle of Heineken, handing it off before the two younger boys see. “Nobody here’s gonna be able to afford it anyway.” He says simply, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you. I’m sure the guys will finish this by the end of the night.”

“I’m counting on it.” Buck chuckles. “Oh, and tell Dallas that he left his lighter here. Some broads found it on the floor.” He says, taking it out of his pocket and handing it to him. Darry promises he will and says his goodbyes, Buck just grunts in agreement and shuts the door.

“Darry.” Ponyboy comments when he starts up the truck again. “Are we going to have to put those pajamas on when we get home?“

Darry chuckles. “Of course. It would be unfair if you didn’t.” He says, already picturing the scene of all his boys dolled up like a mall-ad family. “I don’t even mind anymore, at least it’ll be warm.” Johnny mutters, wrapping his arms around himself and wincing just enough to be heard.

The doctor had warned them about this time of year for his scars. Apparently, extreme cold can trigger some kind of nerve pain—it also causes the skin to dry up and crack. Luckily it’s not as bad as it was two years ago, but it will no-doubt hurt for at least a few more years. Not to mention that Johnny already got cold easy before the fire—now it’s bad enough to classify him as hypothermic.

“There should be a few extra blankets in the living room if you need them.” Darry comments idly, trying to focus on the icy road. “Not like Dallas will let you be cold for long anyway.”

Johnny and Ponyboy both giggling in the backseat. As years go on Dallas seems to get less and less scary—the fire turned him so soft that he was almost a different person. It took months for him to stop using kid-gloves around Johnny and Pony.

“We’re home.” Darry says, turning the key and cutting off the car. Both boys run inside immediately, teeth chattering loud enough to sound like tap shoes.

Darry comes inside to already see Dallas worrying over Johnny. “Christ Darry, did you even turn the heat on?” He asks grumpily, checking Johnny's arms to make sure the skin wasn’t cracked bad enough to bleed. Of course it wasn’t, but this was the only thing Dally would ever double check.

“I’m alright Dal.” Johnny says in place of Darry’s retort. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

Darry suddenly remembers the pajamas. Glancing around the room, all of the boys had listened to him. Even Steve and Dallas—Soda was still keeled over laughing.

Johnny and Ponyboy emerge a few moments later dressed as well—Ponyboy’s got his arms crossed and he is very clearly not happy with this outcome.

“You guys are making my Christmas this year, I swear.” Darry smiles—he’d pinch their cheeks if they’d let him. Eh, he’ll probably do it anyway. Darry gets changed quickly—he’s sure that if he waits any longer they won’t let him get photo evidence.

He runs out with his camera in tow, the boys ass grown when they see it. “We didn’t agree to this!” Steve frowns, watching him set it up on the mantle. “I know, I specifically didn’t tell you so you couldn’t say no.” Darry shrugs, fixing the angle one or twice.

He turns the countdown on and quickly gets behind the group. “Smile!” He says, knowing they won’t. The camera flashes and he’s so excited that he’s already rushing back to it.

To their credit, everyone but Steve, Dallas, and Pony are smiling— Soda’s is more of a smolder, because even in family photos he has to be the best looking. “Look at us! Not a single one of us had our eyes closed!” Two-But chuckles, joining the group around Darry to look at it.

They truly were an adorable family. Darry was already planning on printing this photo and the one Two-Bit had taken a hundred times and placing it on every fridge, work locker, and wallet he could find. “If that ever gets to the public, I’m taking care of all witnesses.” Dallas grumbles. “I’ll be your alibi.” Steve adds, unable to look at it any longer.

“Everybody quit your whining! It's a nice photo!” Darry says defensively, setting the camera aside before anyone could try and delete it. “Yeah, Just pretend its not you in the picture. Thats what I’m gonna do.”

“How's that gonna work?” Steve raises a brow annoyedly—unable to hide his genuine annoyance with the boy for a full holiday. “I could have another brother somewhere—I could be a twin.”

“I’d feel bad for that kid.” Steve chuckles, ignoring the empty box that Ponyboy chucks—and misses—at his head.

“Boys, stop fighting or Santa will give you coal for Christmas.” Two-Bit says teasingly, wagging his finger at them. Steve and Pony both groan.

“I don’t get what's wrong with getting coal for Christmas—I can’t even count how many times I was building a fire and prayed for that stuff.” Johnny mutters, shrugging. He glances up to see the whole gang staring at him with very heartbroken looks on their faces. “Dude, That's like… the saddest thing that's ever come out of your mouth.” Soda says—he almost looks like he's gonna cry–dramatically wrapping his arms around him and sighing.

“No—It's not the time to be sad!” Two-Bit exclaims, crossing his arms with a proud look on his face. “Besides, I am very sure I saw Darrel walk in with some booze in hand. Am I right?” He turns to Darrel. He can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yes, Keith. There is a bottle in the kitchen.”

Everyone but Johnny and Pony rush off to go find it. Darrel can hear the cork pop out from the living room—he's sure this won’t end well. “It’s about time you two get to bed anyway.” Darry sighs, looking at the two younger boys.

“What?” Ponyboy frowns. “I’m almost a grown man and you’re giving me a bedtime?!” He asks, exasperated. “Sixteen is almost grown for you?” Darry retorts, unimpressed, raising a brow. Ponyboy opens his mouth and shuts its again, looking at Johnny for support. “I dunno’ what you’re looking at me for.” Johnny laughs. “When I was sixteen I was actively freeloading off of you guys.”

“You only stopped being sixteen like seven months ago.” Ponyboy mutters, rolling his eyes. “And you weren’t ‘freeloading’ you were recovering from third degree burns.”

“Tomato tah-mah-toe.” Johnny shrugs, already making his way towards Pony’s room. “Now come on, If we don’t go to bed now Santa might not come.” He adds teasingly. “Whose side are you on?” Ponyboy mutters with a betrayed look on his face—he eventually does begin to follow him to his room, trying to hide his own yawn.

“We can get you a cup of warm milk if you want.” Dallas calls from the kitchen, drinking right out of the bottle.

“Oh, Fuck off Dallas!” Ponyboy yells back, turning to glare at him.

“Watch your mouth Pony.” Darry scolds immediately—profanity has never been a big issue for him, but ever since he took over he’d been unable to stop. “You aren’t quite old enough to get away with that.”

“Yeah Yeah.” Pony groans, sticking his head out of his room. “Goodnight friends and family…Steve too, I guess.” He says, shutting the door before Steve can defend himself. Darrel can hear the man yell something in response, muffled by the noise of the rest of the gang laughing.

By the time Darrel makes it into the kitchen, the bottle is already half-way gone. “Jesus, You guys have had enough.” Darry says, aiming to take the bottle and fumbling when Two-Bit snatches it away. “You haven’t had enough if you’re noticing!” He chuckles loudly. “Come on, join us.” He says, waving the bottle around like it's a prize.

Darry rolls his eyes, making another attempt to take it and only getting embarrassed again when he misses.

“Come on big guy, take a sip.” He says again like he's trying to entice him. “You know you want to.” The three others quietly cheer him on, pumping their fists up and down along with their chants. Darry’s never been peer pressured successfully—it works even less when he’s around a group that he mostly thinks of as his younger brothers. But either way he finds himself snatching the bottle and guzzling a decent amount.

It's almost midnight when they decide they’ve had enough. Steve and Soda are the first to go—they both head into Soda’s bedroom, saying their goodnights and such. Dallas goes not long after, aiming to crash on the couch. Darry gives him a goodnight hug and forehead kiss as he goes—to which he gets shoved off by a red-faced blonde.

Two-Bit and Darry retreat to his room only ten minutes later. Darry tells him to get comfortable—he doesn’t know if its because he’s feeling extra loving or because he’s a little tipsy, but he decides he can’t go to bed without giving Johnny and Pony a proper good night.

He’s able to get the bedroom door open without either of them stirring. Despite their earlier protest–Both Johnny and Pony are passed out under the covers. Johnny’s got his head on Pony’s chest and it's a miracle he's not suffocating with the cover’s mostly over his face—upon further inspection the two are completely cuddled up together and snoring just loud enough to hear.

Darry stalks to Ponyboy’s side of the bed and leans down— placing a soft kiss right on his hairline. “Goodnight Pone.” He whispers, though he’s a hundred percent sure the boy won’t hear him.

Sure enough, right as he’s leaning over to do the same to Johnny—Ponyboy stirs. “You smell like booze.” Ponyboy whispers, eyes barely able to stay open for more than a second. “Two spilled some on me.” Darry whispers back—quickly giving Johnny his goodnight and standing straight again.

Ponyboy laughs—his voice is slurred from his own tired state, Darry can’t help but think how adorable it is. “Make sure you gimme a copy of that photo.” Ponyboy whispers, wrapping his arms around his friend and snuggling closer, eyes already shut again. “Will do, Goodnight baby.” Darry whispers with a chuckle—he's able to make it to the door without either of the boy’s re-awakening.

“Did you have fun today?” Two-Bit asks as he climbs into bed a moment later. “Very much so.” Darry smiles, placing a kiss on his cheek and getting comfortable under the covers. “Good,” Two whispers, wrapping his arms around the older. “You deserve a good day every once in a while.”

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I have been reading you for a long time and would like to ask you something for the first time… The last message flow to the Lethal Company from the Nutcracker was WILDLY SWEET, however, it hurt me from the bracken that was shot through the lytic…. May I ask the bracken and the reader where the bracken constantly goes behind the reader's back…. JUST TO HUG! Someone from the team warns about the danger and the bracken gently takes the reader in his arms to his lair for even bigger hugs!

Bruh you have no idea how soft i am for brackens hfghhs (when I first started playing LC, they were ALWAYS killing me...but now they just like to pop out and scurry away when I look at them, so I consider us to be pretty chill)

Anyways woe Bracken fluff be upon ye <3

.....

Of all the creatures you've encountered during your time with the Company, Brackens were certainly the most complicated.

Even though there's been countless documents and reports of employees scanning, studying, and dying to these aliens...they were still seldom understood. The data on the terminal said so.

There was one in particular who had such a unique behavior pattern that remained a mystery to you.

And he lived on Experimentation, which was supposedly the "safest" moon to land on and gather scrap from.

Most of the time, however, that was a load of bullshit...as you and your crew had many encounters with aggressive lifeforms such as hoarding bugs, Thumpers, spiders, and turrets that were placed in the most inconvenient spots...

Hell, even an Earth Leviathan showed up and nearly consumed your entire ship.

As of right now, though, you were on-track to making the third profit quota's deadline. So a trip to Experimentation was an order, as you could grab minimal loot and still gain enough leftover money to buy some much-needed ship upgrades and tools.

Or maybe new suits or jack o'lanterns.

None of you were good at managing your budget.

But during this trip, you were less focused on getting loot and more eager to see....a certain someone.

Hopefully, he hasn't forgotten about you or mistook you for another random employee.

While two of your coworkers headed into the facility's main entrance and one stayed behind on the ship, you ascended the stairs leading up to the fire exit--armed with nothing but a flashlight and a walkie-talkie.

[Nearby activity detected!]

"Oh come on...can you be anymore vague?" You huffed, slightly annoyed that your scanner displayed the message before you could even touch the damn door.

"Activity" was awfully broad and could mean literally anything was waiting for you on the other side..

It could be a bunker spider or snare flea waiting to drop down on you and catch you by surprise.

It could be a Hygrodere spreading itself all over the floor, anticipating you setting one foot into it before drowning in its slimy body.

It could even be a simple turret ready to turn you into swiss cheese.

However, there's the possibility that it could also be the one entity here who didn't wanna give you a painful death, and you hoped to god you were right.

So you took a leap of faith and entered.

Surprisingly no danger was immediately present, although you did find a lot of good loot inside the room and smiled. "Oh sweet!" You grabbed the rubber ducky and Rubik's cube in the nearest corner, pocketing them. "This should set us way above-"

"Something's behind you!"

"Huh-?!"

All of the sudden, a pair of large arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back and causing your oxygen tanks to be pressed against the creature's chest-

Wait.

You only knew one Bracken that did that, and you couldn't help but laugh. "Oh my gosh, you scared me! You know you can't keep doing that!"

"Krrrrrr.." The entity purred softly, nuzzling his face against your neck as its leaves rustled with happiness.

With a chuckle, you patted his arm affectionately. "I've missed you, too, buddy. I told you I'd be back."

Knowing it was this Bracken, you felt safer than ever. He had a habit of greeting you this way: by sneaking up behind you like the rest of his species typically did, and attacking you.....not by snapping your neck like a twig, but by embracing and nuzzling you.

Of course, nobody in your crew believed that you've got a dangerous alien predator on Experimentation who always waited for you. Who loved you like a dog and would kill a Thumper for you.

If only they could meet him...but then again, he was shy.

"Don't tell me it's that damn Bracken again...did you tame it or something?"

The staticky voice of your coworker over the walkie-talkie startled the poor Bracken out of the hug, as it dropped you and flared its leaves out, wondering where they were.

"Relax, we're cool." You huffed, annoyed that they spooked your friend. "I gotta conserve my battery so...signal me when it gets close to midnight."

"....fine. Just don't die. Over and out."

After switching off the device, you turned back to him and smiled apologetically. "Don't worry. They're far away, so they won't bother us." You removed your helmet for the moment.

He nodded in understanding, crouching down to get a better look at your human features.

For some reason he never minded prolonged eye contact with you--and that was a good thing....otherwise, you would've been dead a long time ago.

You smiled and patted the top of his head, before he suddenly sprung up and scooped you up into his arms, lifting you completely off the ground. "Woah! Hey! Where are we going?" You asked as he carried you out of the room, taking you somewhere further within the facility.

Considering the Bracken knew his way around, you weren't too concerned with getting lost.

On your way to this unknown destination, you spotted a hoarding bug skittering down the hallway, eyeing the brass bell attached to your belt.....only to freeze as the leafy entity glared at it.

Luckily it understood the appropriate time to make eye contact with a Bracken, as it eventually looked away from him and decided to leave for another part of the facility.

It seems most of the creatures were knew who was the alpha.

'Man, whoever's tracking me must be so confused right now..' You thought to yourself as he continued walking.

Eventually you both arrived at a place many employees dubbed the "Bracken Room": a large open illuminated space with yellowish walls that looked out of place in the facility.

After setting you down on the floor, you looked at the Bracken with confusion, wondering why he decided to bring you here....until he brought you into another hug, wanting to sit down and have you in his lap.

You just smiled and wrapped your arms around him, giggling as he tucked his head underneath your chin, wanting to listen to the sound of a human's heartbeat.

Now you understood.

All he wanted was to take you to a quiet, safe place away from all the other monsters and employees. A place where he could have you to himself...at least for a couple more hours, anyways.

You knew the ship wasn't leaving anytime soon, so you didn't mind keeping him company.

While other Brackens are among the top three reasons employees hated their job...this one made you love it.

You feel so lucky, you'll consider buying a lottery ticket if you ever returned to Earth.

#clanask #anonymous #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #lethal company bracken #fluff #platonic

254 notes · View notes

lostgirlmuseum · 1 year ago

Text

The Swan and the Soldier

^made w/ pinterest

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky x f!dancer!reader

Summary: Bucky is signed up to act in the Nutcracker against his will. But it isn’t all bad. At least not after he meets the cute costume designer.

Words: 5.6k (oops)

Warnings: Mention of an injury + brief description of pain, poor writing at times, lemme know if I missed anything

A/N: I really hope this isn't complete dog shit

(Dividers by me😎)

“You want me to what?”

Bucky dropped his sandwich back onto his plate.

“I was gonna do it but I’m too busy to make every rehearsal.”

Bucky had been staying in Louisiana for the past month, finally taking a break from going from fight to fight. Sam encouraged him to stay with him at Sarah’s place, which Bucky did for a while, but after a couple of weeks, he decided to rent his own place. He was still near to Sam, and was at his house nearly every day, seeing as he was only a fifteen-minute drive away. Bucky just felt like less of a burden this way.

“And I’m not busy?” Bucky countered, staring at Sam from across the kitchen table, where they were taking a quick lunch break before getting back to the boat.

“Well—”

“Shut up.”

“It would mean so much to AJ. It’s his first dance recital and I think he would be a lot less nervous if someone he knew was on stage with him.”

“I’m not a ballerina, Sam.”

“You don’t have to be!” He quickly uttered, putting down his own sandwich. “They just need a couple of parent volunteers to step in and play the adults at the beginning of the show.”

“I haven’t liked dancing since the 40’s. And I don’t know how I feel about being on stage. Would I have to wear a costume?”

“It’s the Nutcracker.” Sam raised an eyebrow and gave Bucky a judgmental once over. “I don’t think it fits the show to have you dressed like an angsty motorcyclist.”

“Sam, I don’t think I can—”

“Uncle Bucky!” A cheerful voice entered the room as AJ came bounding up to the table.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky smiled, giving the boy a quick fist bump.

“Uncle Sam told me you would be a part of my recital!”

“He said what now?”

“What?” AJ asked, oblivious.

“Nothing, I—AJ, could you give Uncle Sam and me a second?”

AJ nodded and skipped back outside into the sun. Bucky glared over at Sam.

“So maybe I jumped the gun a bit…”

“Samuel.”

“You can say no,”

“You know I can’t say no now!” Bucky flung his hands out, exasperated.

“You can! You’ll just disappoint him. But if that’s what you want to do—” Sam trailed off, taking a bite out of his turkey and provolone.

“This is manipulation.”

“Is it working?” Sam mumbled and swallowed.

Bucky shook his head and stared at his plate. “You owe me.”

“Big time! Promise.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bucky mumbled, planting his face in his palms.

“Rehearsals are Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Sam got up from the table and grabbed his now empty plate, “you’re making the kid really happy.”

“Yeah, yeah. To be clear, I am doing this for him. Not you. I don’t give a shit about you.” He pointed.

“Love you too, Buddy.”

Bucky found himself that very Thursday at the ballet studio, in a small group of parents, as a petite young woman—well, she looked about 60, but compared to Bucky, she was young—introduced herself, a southern accent clear in her cheery tone.

“Welcome parents and volunteers! Most of you already know me, but I’m Ms. Cindy, the head of this program and this year’s Nutcracker! I’d like to start by thanking all of you for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here and support us and your children. It’s you who keep this dance studio up and running, and I’m so grateful for that. Throughout today, you’ll each get called to get your measurements taken so we can be sure that the costumes are ready before the performance. And as for roles, we’ll figure that out at the end of class. I have to go teach the little ones, but feel free to take a seat and watch the choreography your students have been learning all season!”

Bucky followed the others, who seemed to already be acquainted with each other, into a small observing room attached to the studio where AJ was practicing. Bucky stuck himself in the back corner and watched AJ through the one-sided mirror for only a couple of minutes when his name was suddenly called.

“James Barnes?”

Bucky looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway. He ignored the glances that turned his way as he followed the woman out the door.

Did they know who he was? Did they know what he had done? Or maybe they had no idea. Maybe they were judging him for not engaging with them in polite conversation, maybe they thought he was weird for hiding silently in the corner.

Bucky pushed the thoughts out of his head as the (attractive, he might add,) woman opened the door for him into a new room. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t a closet either, and Bucky immediately noted the lines of clothing racks stuffed with colorful dresses that lined the walls.

“I just need to get your measurements quickly for your costume. I can take them now, or if you’re more comfortable, I can send you a list of measurements I need and you can get those numbers to me on Thursday if you’d prefer.”

Bucky thought for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure how to take his own measurements, and he sure as hell did not want Sam of all people helping him. On the other hand, having a stranger so close to him sounds embarrassing and stressful. But he saw the kindness in her eyes, and oddly enough, he felt he could trust her.

“Now is fine."

“Sounds good.” She gave the sweetest smile he had ever seen and told him where to stand. He took off his jacket with ease, feeling somewhat comfortable knowing he had a long-sleeved shirt under to hide his metal arm. He kept his leather gloves on, and she said nothing.

She demonstrated to him how to hold his arm, and he obeyed, holding his right arm out and bent at the elbow. She chatted as she brought the tape measure along his arm. “Which kid is yours?”

“Oh, none of them.”

He noticed the subtle tilt of her head.

“I mean, I’m not a dad, but I’m AJ’s uncle. Well, a friend of his uncle but,”

Luckily, she stopped his ramble before he could truly embarrass himself.

“Oh, you’re Bucky?” She dropped the tape to her side and smiled. “I’ve met Sam a couple times, but I’ve heard all about you and him from Sarah.”

“Oh? All good things I hope?”

He asked in a lighthearted tone, but in reality, he was terrified of the things she’d heard about him.

“Only good things.” She grinned and grabbed the pencil behind her ear to scribble a number on a chart.

“That’s a relief.” His eyes scanned the room, trying to think up conversation to fill the silence. “So are you a parent volunteer?”

“Not a parent, no. I used to be a part of this program growing up. It’s done so much for me, and I wanted to stay connected, so I help out here and there when I can. I mostly fit the costumes.”

“That’s cool.”

Cool. Cool. Cool response Bucky. Ask her a question, dammit.

“Do you still dance?”

“Not anymore. Can you put both arms out to the side please?” She asked, and Bucky lifted his arms so she could measure his chest. She continued to make conversation as she wrapped the tape around him. “AJ is a great student. He has a lot of potential, he just needs to find his confidence. And he’s a great kid. You’re a lucky uncle.”

“I am,” Bucky responded, trying desperately to not freak out at how close she was to him, and how she was only going lower, as she moved to his waist.

She took a break to write down a couple more numbers and returned to him.

“Now I need a hip measurement, so I have to measure around your butt. Is that okay?”

Bucky gave a convincing nod. “Do what you gotta do.”

‘Do what you gotta do’? What the hell am I saying?

He avoided looking at her and held his breath as she brought the tape around his hips.

“Just a couple more measurements and you’ll be out of here,” she assured, dropping the tape from his hips. “You can put your arms down now.”

Bucky let his arms rest at his sides.

She quickly went about measuring his legs and finished a couple of minutes later.

“You’re all good to go, Mr. Barnes, thank you!”

“You can call me Bucky,” he tried to hide his bashful smile and started to exit out the door, but stopped and turned at the last moment. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, I’m Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

He liked the way it felt on his tongue. With that, he said goodbye and returned to the observing room.

Thirty minutes later class was nearly over. All that was left on the agenda for the day was to form the groups.

“So it seems we have an odd number…Lois, is this everyone?” Ms. Cindy asked, looking over to her assistant.

“Everyone that signed up, yes.” Lois, a shorter girl with an auburn bob, tapped on a clipboard.

“Let’s just see how this goes. Mr. and Mrs. Tudor will be group one, Mr. and Mrs. Malone will be group two, Mrs. and Mrs. Cardoza will be group three, and that leaves Mr. Barnes…”

“We could have him be a single parent to his group?” Lois offered, looking up from her list.

“We could, but then who would he dance with at the party scene?”

Bucky swore he saw a literal lightbulb light up above Ms. Cindy’s head as her gaze fixated somewhere in the back of the room where you were simply passing by.

“Oh, Y/N? Dear?” She called in a uniquely falsetto voice.

“Yes, Ms. Cindy?” Y/N answered, pausing.

“I realize you’re already doing our costumes, but would you be interested in volunteering as one of the parents? We are short a person.”

“Oh, um…”

“You can think about it Dear. It’s no trouble if you feel that it’ll take up too much time, we appreciate you for your dedication to the costumes.” Ms. Cindy was careful to add.

Despite her initial hesitance, Y/N spoke up.

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Ms. Cindy blinked, surprised by the answer.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yes. I’ve already got measurements, all I need to do is submit an order. And I can’t tailor anything anyways until the shipment comes in.”

“A round of applause for our beautiful and dedicated Y/N, everyone!” Ms. Cindy cheered and began clapping her hands in a circle. The parents all joined in, and Bucky gave a quiet few claps. “That means Mr. Barnes and Y/N will play the fourth couple. Splendid!”

Lois tapped Ms. Cindy on the shoulder and pointed to her watch. Time was almost up. Ms. Cindy was fast to get back to business.

“Now let’s quickly assign each group their children, and then we can end rehearsal.”

“Buck, I’ve got some good news.” Sam’s voice flowed through Bucky’s phone.

It was Tuesday morning, and Bucky had been up and dressed since seven in the morning, eager to pick AJ up, even though class wasn’t until 5 p.m. He was currently lying on the couch, watching the clock tick by.

“What, you finally learned to use the potty like a big boy?” Bucky mocked.

“It was one time. ONE. TIME. You know I don’t fuck with clowns!”

“I don’t like clowns either, but you don’t see me shitting myself at the Halloween Festival.” Bucky quietly chuckled.

“First of all, I didn’t ‘shit’ myself. I peed. A little. And second of all, I had a lot of hot chocolate beforehand, and my bladder was at max capacity, and—why the hell am I explaining this to you?”

“Because you know I’m never going to let you live it down.”

“Moving on,” Sam sighed, “I was calling to tell you that you don’t need to be in the performance with AJ anymore.”

Bucky shot up from his lying position. “What do you mean?”

“My schedule freed up a bunch so I can take AJ and be in the show now.”

“Oh.”

Bucky slumped back onto the cushions, dejection dripping from his voice. Sam clearly picked up on it.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I thought this was good news for you. I know I forced it onto you and all, and your thing isn’t really being on stage in front of a bunch of people.”

Bucky picked at the edges of his fingers, carefully considering his next words.

“I mean it’s not my thing, but—I don’t know, I feel like I’ve committed. And I get to spend some time with AJ, y’know? And, truth be told, it’s not all bad.”

There was a pause on the line before Sam’s voice rang through.

“That’s awfully sweet Buck. And very out of character for you.”

“Shut the fuck up, I can be nice.”

“Yes, of course. Bucky Barnes, the world’s famous sweetheart, how could I forget?”

“I’m hanging up now,” Bucky warned.

“Bye, metal man.”

“Fuck off bird brain.” Bucky was about to hang up, but quickly added in a serious tone, “I’ll be there this afternoon to pick AJ up.”

“You’re a good man.”

“Whatever.”

“Welcome back everybody!” Ms. Cindy’s high voice rang. “We are going to practice the beginning of the show where the families enter the party. We’ll take it group by group, so let’s start with group one, the Tudors. Your family is super excited for this party, so we’ll have you enter stage right and I need the children to be skipping and bubbly.”

Ms. Cindy instructed the groups one by one. Eventually, she got to Bucky’s group, which he shared with you and four kids, including AJ.

“And our final group, group four, is the family that does not want to attend. The parents should be trying to get the kids to smile, and at least act like they are happy to be there.”

Bucky let you take the lead and simply followed what you did. He walked beside you, stopped when you stopped, turned when you turned.

“Good, now make it look like you are trying to get the kids to smile.”

Bucky copied the way you pointed to your cheery smile and did his best to ignore the embarrassment bubbling in his chest.

The comically grumpy—and much better actors than him—kids sighed and plastered on cheery expressions.

“Good, and you can continue walking.” Ms. Cindy ordered.

Group four finished the short trek across the stage successfully. For such a simple task, Bucky had felt surprisingly nervous.

Ms. Cindy quickly gave her praise and ordered everyone to start over. As Bucky and his group were going back to the line, she offered some advice.

“Y/N and Mr. Barnes, could you try holding hands? You don’t look as ‘coupley’ as everyone else.”

Bucky gulped. Of course you don’t look as ‘coupley’ as everyone else, all the other couples are actually couples, and married for God’s sake!

You, on the other hand, simply said “Okay.”

“Group one, go,” Ms. Cindy called, and the Tudors began to cross the makeshift stage.

The line moved forward, and Bucky with it. He began to sweat a little.

Hold your hand? With my left hand? My metal hand?

She simply glanced at him and gave him a small smile.

“And group two,” Ms. Cindy called.

Everyone stepped forward.

The good news is that Bucky was wearing his gloves, but surely she’d notice his hand felt different and think he was weird. Although, did she already know about his arm situation? She did mention that she’d heard about him and Sam from Sarah. Maybe she already knew, and wouldn’t care?

“Group three!”

Bucky looked back at the kids trailing behind him and spotted AJ beaming right back at him. Suddenly, Bucky felt ridiculous.

Bucky, you’re being an idiot. Be a man and hold her hand. It’s not that deep. You’re doing this for AJ.

“And four,”

He grabbed her hand and started to walk with her. The first thing he noticed was how small her hand felt in his. It gave him an unfamiliar tingly feeling in his chest. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was better than anxiety.

He tried his best to puff out his chest and mimic her confidence as they walked. Bucky stopped halfway through, like they were supposed to, and turned to face the kids like last time. He pretended to point to his smile and finished the walk across the stage.

“Excellent! Let’s move on.”

Bucky managed to make it through the entire class without sweating his clothes off from nerves.

“You ready to go, AJ?”

AJ yelped, “Wait! I want you to meet one of my friends!” He dramatically waved over to a little girl with a sunflower barrette in her hair who came skipping over. “This is Ava.”

“Hi, Ava.” Bucky gave an awkward smile.

The little girl looked up at him unphased.

“Hi, Mr. Bucky. So are you really a superhero?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Oh—um,”

“He is!” AJ butted in, “He’s friends with my Uncle Sam, they save the world all the time!”

Ava crossed her arms across her chest and jutted a leg out.

“So can you fly?” She squinted.

“Nope, I can’t fly.” Bucky began to rub the back of his neck.

“Can’t your Uncle Sam fly?” She asked, looking at AJ with skepticism.

“Yep!”

“So if you can’t fly, what can you do?”

Before Bucky could even begin to stutter, Y/N appeared.

“Hey, Ava! I think your mom is looking for you.” She said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Okay, I gotta go. Bye AJ,” Ava quickly spouted and ran off towards the doors.

“Bye!” AJ shouted.

Bucky noticed Y/N holding his blue cap out to him.

“I think you forgot your hat.” She spoke softly.

“Didn’t even realize, thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Bucky.”

Bucky was about to give a lopsided grin when AJ interjected,

“Only friends and family call him that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! James, then.” She brought her hand to her cheek.

“No, no, Bucky is fine,” Bucky quickly corrected, “you can call me Bucky.”

“You’re sure? I don’t mean to overstep,”

“You aren’t, I like it when you call me Bucky.”

He instantly felt his cheeks get warm at his confession. Before she could respond, he quickly changed the subject.

“Oh, by the way, I wanted to let you know that I can’t be here at the next rehearsal. AJ will be here, but I completely forgot that I’ve got an appointment that day.” A monthly check-in with Dr. Raynor that he forgot to move. “I don’t know if you want me to meet somewhere instead, or I can just come early on Tuesday and you can catch me up to speed or…I mean whatever you think is best.”

“If you want, we can meet on Friday at my place. I can send you the address if you’d like?”

“Yeah, yes, sure, let me get my phone—” he fumbled while grabbing it out of his pocket, “what’s your number?”

“Hey, come on in!” Y/N appeared behind the crisp white door of a cute house, not unlike the Wilson’s, and gestured inside before grimacing. “Sorry, I should’ve asked before, are you cool with dogs?”

Bucky nodded.

She gave a sigh of relief and fully opened the door. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the graying corgi staring back at him.

“This is Frank,” Y/N said, bending down to bring the panting dog into her arms.

“Hi, Frank.” Bucky greeted, giving the dog gentle pets with his right hand. “Your house is lovely,” he added after catching a glance around.

“Oh, thanks!” She smiled, walking into the living room area to set the dog down on the couch. “This is actually my parent’s house, I’m just house and dog sitting for the week while they’re out of town. Usually, I live in my apartment.”

“Is this where you grew up?” Bucky asked, eyes searching the place. He noted the multitude of picture frames lining the wall and the slightly worn couch.

“The first eighteen years of my life. I told myself I’d be out of Louisiana by the time I went to college, but clearly that didn’t happen.”

“Where did you want to go?”

“New York, San Francisco, I don’t know, maybe even Australia or France.” she laughed at the absurdity and sighed. “C’est la vie,”

Bucky stuck his thumbs in his pockets and stared down at his feet, unsure of what to do next.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Iced Tea? I can make some coffee. Are you hungry?”

“Just water is fine,”

“Sure, one second.”

Bucky took the opportunity to explore the room. His curiosity was set on the shelf beside the fireplace, and the multitude of shiny awards it adorned.

Several faux gold figures of ballerinas and a plaque filled the space, as well as what looked to be a photo album. Bucky thought better than to touch it, however, he did notice the significant lack of dust on it compared to the trophies.

“I see the obnoxious shrine of my dancing days has caught your attention.”

Bucky spun around, cheeks a little pink at the notion of being caught wandering. He was looking for the right thing to say as you took a seat on the couch and placed the water on the coasters.

“Looks like you’re an amazing dancer.” He nodded, hoping that it was the appropriate thing to say.

She ducked her head at the compliment. “I was okay.” She pointed to just beyond his shoulder at the photo album. “You can look at it if you want,” she offered, clearly sensing his curiosity.

Bucky grabbed the binder from its spot on the shelf and took a seat next to her. He slowly opened the book to the first page.

There you were, 4 years old in a bright pink tutu, beaming at the camera. The page was covered in cute stickers and artistic swirls.

“My mom has a knack for crafty things,” she said, vaguely gesturing to the book.

Bucky hummed and began to gingerly flip through the pages. It was odd but endearing seeing you change through each photo and page, but one thing that stayed constant was your eyes. In every photo they had the same sparkle, the same light. It looked so right on you, but he didn’t recognize it in you now.

Bucky stopped on the page dedicated to age 17 and marveled at the costume you were wearing. He couldn’t look away from the intricate feathers and sequins.

“That was for our Spring production of Swan Lake.”

Bucky turned to see a subtle smile on her lips. She was looking at the book, but it seemed as if she was seeing right through it.

“You were the swan?”

“Odette, yeah.”

Bucky turned the page once more, except this time there was no photo—just the outline of where one would be on a mostly blank page, minus the glittering bold number “18”.

“Anyway, the choreography,” she quickly chimed, her attitude dramatically changing, “I’ve got the video right here, we can watch it first.”

She snatched the album up and placed it back on the shelf before handing him her phone. Bucky watched the thirty-second clip of two of the volunteers—possibly the Tudors if he remembered correctly—as they danced a shockingly simple routine.

“That’s it?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s it.” She assured. “Ready to try it?”

“I might be a little rusty, it’s been a while since I’ve danced.”

She turned on the music and started counting under her breath.

They started by facing each other, their right palms in front of them, and placed against each other. They both took a step in, a step out and circled around the other to which they were now in the opposite places. She curtsied, he bowed, and then they repeated the step in, step out, switch. Now they stood next to each other, and she held her arm out over his. They took three steps forward, and the music grew into a faster tempo.

“Easy enough?” Y/N asked, grabbing her phone to stop the music.

It was suspiciously simple, Bucky thought, but then again, the adults were just a small addition to the show. It’s really about the kids.

“We can make this more interesting.” He remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s try it again.” Bucky gestured to her phone.

She obliged and restarted the music.

They went through the routine again, all the way to the end at which the music began to speed up. As Y/N went to pause the music again, Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her in. She gave a surprised gasp, but Bucky wasn’t regretful once he saw the smile on her face. He pulled himself back and began to spin her around and basked in her soft laughs. After pulling her back in again, and dancing around each other, he dipped her. She wrapped her right leg around him in response and he hoped she didn’t notice his smirk transform into a blush.

“Alright Mr. ‘I might be a little rusty’, someone has moves!”

Bucky helped her up once she removed her leg.

“I used to be better,” he mumbled.

“None of that,” she softly chided, bringing his chin up, “where did that confidence just go?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll keep practicing, then you’ll see,” he simpered.

Time went on and not a day went by that Bucky didn’t think of you. After weeks of practice, it was finally dress rehearsal. Bucky was surprisingly calm even though they were no longer practicing in a studio, but in the local high school’s theater, in full costume. You held his hand through it—literally, for some parts—and Bucky was grateful for it.

It was Friday night, the final rehearsal before the show the next day, and Bucky was just about to drive off when he realized how cold his hand felt against the steering wheel. He cursed himself and ran back inside, luckily finding his leather gloves sitting on a chair in the wings of the stage. Right as he was about to scamper off, he noticed a figure at the very front of center stage. He recognized her immediately, and without a second thought, he approached from the darkness of the sides and into the light of the stage. She had already changed out of her ballgown and was back in black leggings.

“Hey.” He uttered, slowly taking a seat next to her at the end of the stage. He let his legs dangle over the edge.

“Hey,” she gasped, bringing a hand to her heart. “Sorry, I thought everyone had left.”

“I forgot my gloves.”

“Seems like you have a habit of forgetting things,” she teased.

“Only when it comes to clothing, apparently.”

“Is AJ not waiting for you?”

“No, he left with a friend. He’s got a sleepover with Marshall tonight.”

“Gotcha.”

A thoughtful quiet settled over them, but Bucky couldn’t ignore the somberness in her eyes, gazing over the expanse of empty velvet seats.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you stop dancing?”

She was quiet for a minute. Bucky started to think she wasn’t going to answer, but eventually, she whispered,

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

She began mindlessly rubbing her knee.

“I tore my ACL my senior year. It was our annual production of The Nutcracker and I was cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy. There was a rumor that some influential talent scouts were going to be attending. So when my knee started hurting I ignored it. I didn’t tell anyone. I worked my ass off and pushed myself harder when I really should have been resting, but I was stupid.” She gave Bucky a short glance. “Opening night came, and so did my solo. Everything was going fine until I heard a pop. Next thing I know my leg is on fucking fire and I’m hitting the ground.

“I embarrassed myself and our entire company. My knee took longer to heal than it should have because of more poor choices I made. What should have been nine months of healing turned into years. By the time it was safe enough to start dancing again, it was too late. I was too far behind my peers. Even still I sometimes have issues with it.”

Bucky simply nodded, taking in her words.

“I tell myself I’m over it because it was so long ago. But deep down I know I’m not. I’ve asked my parents to take down all of my stupid awards, at least store them away somewhere, because it’s just some sick reminder of what I lost. Actually, the whole reason I started volunteering in the first place is because my mom told me I should. Said it could be good for me. She never said so, but I really think she was hoping that by being surrounded by ballet again, I would feel motivated to begin training again. But it’s a pipe dream.”

She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

“All I ever was was a dancer. And a good one. It was the only thing I was good at, besides sewing, but I only learned that after I injured myself. The whole town knew me as the dancer. I guess the problem with having my entire identity wrapped around one thing is that when that thing goes away…well, who are you? Who am I, if not the girl who’s going to be on the stage one day? My entire identity was ripped from me.

“I’ve just been wading through life. Time keeps moving and crashing around me, but I haven’t changed. I still don’t know who I am, besides the girl who could’ve been great. And now I’m just—stuck.”

Her eyes went wide for a second before squeezing them shut as if she had forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“God, I’m so sorry, you didn’t need to know all of that—”

“No, I—” Bucky stopped her and hesitated to rest his hand on hers. “I can empathize. I hate that you had to go through that. That you’re still going through it. I can understand not knowing who you are anymore.

“A long time ago, I used to be someone else. I used to be charming, independent… happy. But after I was drafted my identity was no longer my own. I was a fighter. I belonged to the army. And then I belonged to Hydra. And even after, I belonged to the Avengers, the world, whoever needed me to fight, I was their soldier. But I’m tired.” At those words, Bucky slumped. “I don’t want to fight anymore. But I have no fucking clue who I am if not a soldier. I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

“I can’t tell you who you are,” she whispered after a moment, “but I can tell you that whoever you are, I like you.”

Bucky blushed.

“I like you too. It’s kind of embarrassing actually,”

“What is?”

“I didn’t really want to volunteer for this. Sam forced me. And while I love being here for AJ, I’d much rather hang out with him outside the theater where I’m not expected to be looked at on stage. But then I met this pretty costume designer…and suddenly it wasn’t so bad.”

“Pretty?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” He specified.

“What a coincidence. I also met the most handsome and charming man recently.”

“Charming?”

“He doesn’t realize how charming he is. I guess that’s part of his charm.”

“He sounds great.” He turned to face her more directly. “Just to be clear, you are talking about me, yes?”

“Yes, you oaf.” She laughed.

Bucky pursed his lips.

“Would you be willing to let this oaf take you out on a date sometime?”

“More than willing.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighed, falling back onto the stage. “I figured it was 50/50.”

She gave him a silly grin and shook her head in amusement.

“You underestimate yourself, Bucky Barnes.”

The final performance was perfect. Well, as perfect as it could be with a production of the Nutcracker with dancers ages ranging from 6 to 106. Most importantly, AJ had fun and did a fantastic job. After the show and final bows, Sarah, Sam, and Cass came rushing onto the stage to congratulate AJ (and Bucky of course. Sam made sure to tell him that he was very proud of how brave he was, and Bucky rolled his eyes. He secretly appreciated it, though.) Cass handed one bouquet to his little brother and the other to his uncle, who funny enough lit up in a similar way as his nephew at the gift. But Y/N lit up the most when Sarah handed a third bouquet to her.

“For keeping Bucky in line, and giving a beautiful performance,” Sarah clarified.

“You’re so sweet,” she beamed, pulling Sarah in for a quick hug. “I have the perfect vase for this.”

“Can we go get ice cream now?” AJ jumped.

“Let’s get you out of your costume first,” Sam said and gave a quick wink to Bucky before herding his sister and Nephews backstage. “We’ll see you by the car Buck.”

Bucky nodded and turned his full attention to Y/N. He felt weirdly high after the performance. “Wanna join us for ice cream?” He asked, placing his hands on her waist.

“Gladly.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

I like dancing with you.

A/N: If you've made it this far, tysm for reading!!! I really hope this doesn't suck complete ass, idk what happened 😰 Im going to go hide in a hole now and question everything

If you'd like to read more, here's my Masterlist

Happy holidays!

#bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #tfatws!Bucky #dancer!reader #costumer!reader #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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crappymixtape · 1 year ago

Text

gold & glitter

REQUEST → @superblysubpar, A VERY MERRY MIXTAPE ❝ i’m thinking a little rich!steve harrington, a little spicy somethin, somethin and a holiday play – spicy is right, steve takes you to see the nutcracker, but you don’t even make it to the first act • 18+ | ( 3.1k – smut with a dash of fluff, rich!steve x reader )

G O L D & G L I T T E R 🎶 the nutcracker suite, tchaikovsky

“Good evening, Mister Harrington. Miss. May I take your jackets?”

“Thank you, Charles. Did you order the MacCallan Anniversary malt?”

“Of course, sir. It is available neat here from your decanter or we can dress up however you like. Miss, your jacket?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you opened them again expecting the finery before you to disappear into thin air like a dream, but it didn’t.

“Oh ye-yeah. I mean-yes. Yes, thank you,” you stumbled over your words as the waitstaff took your coat and disappeared behind the curtain. God, you were working overtime to maintain the same level of calm and collected sophistication that seemed to come so easily to your date.

Steve Harrington. Son of John Harrington and heir to the Harrington fortune. One with a foundation built by generations of brokers and wealth managers. Carried on throughout the years to be passed down to the eldest or, in Steve’s case, the only son.

You’d been together for over a year now, but you still weren’t used to it. This lifestyle.

Going anywhere with him meant multiple planned routes in and out of your destinations. Private cars with dark tinted, bullet-proof windows. Black American Express cards, Gucci loafers, and champagne flown direct from the Garonne Valley in Bordeaux, France.

And of course, at Christmastime, a viewing of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker from a private balcony, performed by only the finest troupe at the New York City Ballet.

You’d been to the theatre, the opera, but never like this. A suite all to yourselves, up and away from prying eyes, and upon each seat rested a pair of exquisitely golden opera binoculars for your viewing pleasure. It felt otherworldly. Lush and dark, gilded and polished. Long, red, crushed velvet curtains draped heavy to the floor and on a small table thick, crystalline tumblers sat next to a matching decanter full of only the finest single malt whiskey.

Lifting a hand, you ghosted an immaculately manicured finger around the rim of one of the glasses.

“Is it up to your standards, honey?”

The low, warmth of Steve’s voice broke your trance and pulled your gaze quick to look up at him.

“What?” you wondered aloud, still surprised at how he could ask such questions, “My standards? God. It’s beautiful.”

“Good. M’glad you like it.”

A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth as he watched you walk to lean out over the balcony and look down at the sea of seats below. You were wearing the emerald green dress he’d bought you especially for the occasion. Made of the finest silk and fitted tight against every curve and dip of your body. Your hair swept long over one shoulder, soft skin exposed through the keyhole cut into the back. You were exquisite.

And you were all his.

Tucking a hand into the pocket of his slacks he reluctantly looked away from you and took up the decanter to pour a measure of whiskey for himself. MacCallan, single malt, from 1928 and around three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle. Lifting the tumbler he inhaled deeply and let his eyes drift shut. Worth every single penny.

“Charles,” his voice notched up in volume and the man from earlier appeared through the thick, velvet curtains.

“Sir?”

“A bottle of Dom and a chilled glass,” Steve took a drink from his whiskey and let it sit on a his tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. “Oh, and my cigar case.”

“Sir, you know smoking isn’t permitted–”

Steve hummed, a low thrum in his throat, and stepped forward toward the other man.

“How much do I pay for these seats, Charles? How much does my family pay for these seats? Since the theatre opened in 1964…I’ll let you do the math,” he took another sip of whiskey and lifted a hand to smooth down the other man’s cravat, “My cigar case.”

“Yes. Of course, Mister Harrington,” the man replied quietly, eyes glued to the cheap, shiny black plastic of his dress shoes.

Steve put on a smile, the one he gave to clients when he knew he’d closed an account, and gripped the man’s shoulder, “Good man.”

And without another word Charles was off again through the curtain.

There was no denying it, Steve’s presence always held weight. Held power. No one could tell him no. Stood in boardrooms dressed to the nines. Gold heirloom cufflinks, custom tailored jackets and Tucci de Lusso oxfords included, but this version of him was different. Somehow more and you didn’t know how it was possible.

Brunette locks perfectly coiffed. Custom black Armani suit fitted tight across his chest and shoulders. Gold signet ring with his initials engraved upon it shining up from his index finger, and damn if his ass didn’t look incredible in those slacks.

You clicked your tongue at him and fixed him with a look, closing the gap between the two of you.

“Babe, he’s just trying to enforce the house rules,” smoothing a hand up his chest, you pretended to adjust his tie as an excuse to touch him.

“Honey, you and I both know who makes the rules around here,” he drawled, his tone making you weak in the knees, and he set his glass down in favor of taking hold of your waist. His hand wide and warm on the small of your back as he ran it down the curve of your ass and squeezed, pulling a gasp from your lips.

“Steve,” you chided, no heat behind it, and he dipped down to press a kiss to your neck.

“This really is your color,” he whispered in your ear and your eyes fluttered at the sound. Pressed your thighs together as he traced a finger across your exposed collarbone. Warmth blooming in your core as he followed the hem that chased along the edge of your shoulder.

“You’ve got good taste,” you whispered back, swallowing the moan that had crept up your throat and he grinned.

“I do, don’t I.”

“Sir, your cigar cas–oh!”

Charles came back through the curtain to find the two of you pressed into each other, Steve’s nose buried in the crook of your neck. Your cheeks burned at being caught.

“My sincerest apologies, sir! I should’ve–”

“S’alright,” Steve chuckled, pulling away from you to casually take the case from the other man without missing a beat. He reached into his money clip and slipped a hundred dollar bill into Charles’ hand, “Now. That will be all. If I need anything, I’ll ring you.” The finality of his words hung in the air.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Excuse me,” and with that Charles disappeared again for what you were certain, after all that, would be the last time.

“Shit,” you breathed, cheeks still bright red as you bit back a laugh.

Steve was laughing too, but no where near embarrassed, and he grabbed your hand to pull you close to his chest again as the theatre lights flickered and slowly dimmed.

“Mmm, damn. Showtime,” he murmured softly into your hair.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of having to sit so still, and so far from Steve for three hours, but then another thought came to you. One that made your cheeks flush again and you pressed your face into his lapel, breathing in the citrusy, cedar scent of his cologne.

Pulling away just enough to meet his gaze the expression you maintained was innocent, but the look in your eye wasn’t. It was dark and needy. Warm and flickering at the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“We could freshen up first,” you suggested quietly and as Steve put your words together his pupils blew wide. Pools of black edged in gold and he squeezed at the plush of your hip.

“Uh-huh,” came out strangled and it was all he could manage. Unable to focus on anything other than rucking that silk dress up around your thighs, and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the thick, velvet curtains.

The corridor was empty, Charles hiding wherever he’d rushed off to, and everyone else was in their seats to catch the opening act as Steve led you the short distance down the hall.

Luckily for you, the neighboring balcony’s ticket holders had filed for bankruptcy earlier in the year and now the restrooms on this wing were exclusively Steve’s. Doors crafted from thick oak and etched with breathtaking carvings of Swan Lake and Slyphide, they were heavy enough to drown out anything happening on the other side.

Thank god.

Ignoring the men’s and women’s signs, Steve chose the closest door and shouldered into it, bicep straining against the tight fabric of his shirt as he held muscled it open. It was a hurried mess, both of you tripping into the room on the train of your dress in a fit of giggles as Steve huffed a laugh and cursed under his breath.

“Baby.”

Heels clicking on the white granite tile floor, you regained your footing and finally took in all the exquisite details of the ornate room. Wide marble slabs. Bottles of lotion and perfume that cost more than your mortage. Gold fixtures shining in the low light falling from crystal chandeliers that refracted bright shards of color against the walls.

You would have appreciated the incredible beauty of it all, but Steve. You couldn’t have cared less and neither could he.

He spun you around to face him and hooked his arms behind the backs of your legs. Scooped you up off the ground and pulled a squeal from you as you held on tight around his neck to steady yourself.

Squeezing his hold on you, he freed an arm and swept it across the counter. Knocked the soap dish clattering into the sink basin and paid absolutely no attention to the lush basket of designer hand towels that fell to the floor as he lifted you with ease onto the marble surface.

“Steve,” you protested weakly and when he notched himself between your legs you felt yourself melt under him.

His hands were everywhere. Your waist, the small of your back, fingers pressing into your cheek and pushing your hair over your shoulder to drag messy, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. It pulled a moan from your lips and at the sound he groaned into you.

“Christ, babe. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since you climbed into the limo. Pretty as a fuckin’ picture in this thing. So damn hot. All for me, huh?”

“S’always for you,” you half-laughed, but it caught in your throat as he slipped a hand between your thighs, “God, Steve.”

“This for me too, honey?”

He gathered a handful of emerald green silk in one hand and pooled it at your waist as the cool air of the room sent a shiver up your spine. Then he caught sight of the black lace panties hugging tight against you and sucked in a breath. Bit down on his bottom lip and looked like he might cry.

“You’re gonna kill me with these. Are you kiddin’ me? Baby. Look at this,” he babbled, just standing there not touching you and you grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him back into you.

“Talk too much,” you murmured against his ear, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging your nails against his skin, “It’s all yours…Mister Harrington.”

And fuck if the dress and panties weren’t enough, the sound of your voice wrapped around his name did him in.

“Damn right it is.”

He growled as you tugged on his hair, slipped his hand back between your legs and tugged the thin fabric of your panties aside. The way he had been kissing and talking at you out on the balcony had been plenty to send you pressing your thighs together, but the way he was handling you in here had you soaked.

His fingers slipped in your slick as he felt just how wet you were and he smirked against your skin as he dragged his lips up to your jawline. Tutting softly he slowly circled your clit, his other hand moving to wrap gently around the column of your throat.

“Bet you want me to talk now, huh honey? You want that? Talk dirty to you?” his voice was barely above a whisper as his fingers slid down to press against your entrance.

You swallowed against the hand he had on your throat, your lips dropping open into a perfect little ‘o’ as you squirmed against the counter, impatient for him.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed and he smirked at how he had you wrapped around his finger, literally as he slid one into you.

“That’s my girl. I know what you like, don’t I? Give you everything you need. Take care of you, hm?” he babbled, kissing and sucking at the hollow behind your ear as he began to slide his finger in and out, in and out. A slow drag at first before adding a second finger and pulling a moan from your lips.

“Good care of me,” fell out mindlessly as he gently tightened the hand on your throat making your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“This isn’t enough though, is it? Not enough. Want me to fill you up, don’t you honey?” he whispered and you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and god you wanted him to make you see stars.

He pulled his hand from between your legs to undo the button on his pants and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the loss of his touch.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” he coaxed, pulling down his zipper and reaching in to free his rock hard cock.

It sprang out of his pants without any encouragement and he wrapped a hand around it. Rubbed it against your slit as it practically cried in anticipation and as he slowly pushed himself into you it made you sucked in a rasp of a breath.

“Steve,” you begged and he moved his hand to grip your thigh.

“I know, baby.”

An inch more and he was into you up to the hilt. Filling you so much that you could feel the tip pressing against the spot only he could reach. Easing out he groaned as you clenched down on him before pushing back in and he set the pace there. A slow drag. In, out. In, out.

The wet sounds coming from you as he fucked you slowly were obscene. Made louder by the empty room, but you didn’t care. You wanted more.

“Harder,” you pleaded. He wanted it too and as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding into your cunt he nearly lost it.

Letting go of your throat he grabbed onto your other thigh for purchase and pulled you to the very edge of the counter. Picked up the pace and started fucking you faster, the slap, slap, slap of his thighs against yours filling the air.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Feel so good. You like that? Huh? Want more?”

“More–shit. Yes, god. More, Steve.”

Your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the counter, moans falling freely from your lips now as Steve pushed you both closer and closer to climax. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he squeezed into the plush of your thighs and your hand flew up to grab at the back of his neck.

“Gonna–ugh–come, baby. Come with me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, jaw ticking when he clenched down, and as he rocked his hips back into you, you both came.

Your orgasm wrapped around you tight. White hot. Electric. Every inch of you buzzing and sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July and you cried out as his thrusts fell out of sync, jerky and messy as he came down.

A soft thud echoed against the tile as your head fell back against the mirror behind you, beads of sweat holding your hair messy across your forehead. Steve leaned into you, rested his head on your chest, and slowly your breaths evened out.

Your lips twitched with a smile, your hand lifting to cover your mouth as you held back a laugh, and Steve seemed to have the same thought as he chuckled against your dress.

“Someone heard us. For sure,” you finally said, voice crackly from breathing so hard.

“And? Who gives a shit. Maybe we just gave them a good idea,” Steve grinned, looking up at you from where he rested his chin on your belly.

You swatted at him, gasping as he pulled out of you to avoid getting hit.

Bending down, Steve grabbed a couple of the hand towels from where they’d landed on the tile and ran warm water on them. Quickly cleaned himself up and then took his time with you. Paid close attention to where he’d held onto your throat. Where his fingertips pressed into your thighs. Dabbed softly across your forehead and spent extra time on the mess between your legs.

You touched up your makeup and perfume, adjusted Steve's tie and hair, and when you both finally emerged from the bathroom the piece the orchestra was playing reached a crescendo and the theatre filled with applause.

It couldn’t be the end of the first act?

Steve walked you easy back to the balcony and held the heavy velvet curtain open for you. Your gilded opera binoculars were still sitting perfectly upon your seat where you’d left them and the bottle of chilled Dom Perignon was on ice along with a champagne flute – you hated whiskey.

You both sank into your seats as the orchestra began to play again and you recognized the piece and shot Steve a look.

“The party scene just started,” you whispered, “We’re not even out of the first part of act one.”

“Christ,” he groaned, grinning into his hands as he rubbed them across his face. Then, glancing over at you he grabbed his cigar box, “We can always make up for it next year. Right?”

Your eyes grew wide.

“Skip the Nutcracker?” you asked incredulously and he quirked a brow at you.

“Yeah. Skip it and we’ll go catch part two of the bathroom scene at mine,” he said giving you a wicked grin and you feigned shock, your own grin threatening to shatter your facade.

“Mister Harrington, what would your mother say?”

And the look he gave you then was the absolute definition of smug.

“My Stevie boy always gets what he wants.”

And damn if she wasn’t right about that.

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