#and I miss nutcracker so much

[slytherinshua]

anyone else who did ballet as a child, quit, and now is endlessly nostalgic and yearning to go back but also doesn’t miss some sides of it

[quiteriana]

and here with some of my favorite ornaments 🩰🦢they belong together, finally united

[maraczeks]

+

[philosophicallie]

the pressed about my broken body

[an-empty-cuppy]

hello nutcracker i miss you so much nutcracker

[theitgirlnetwork]

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

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

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.

[lostgirlmuseum]

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!

[crappymixtape]

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.

[ponstermenis-writing]

✩ (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.”

[bettyfrommars]

Monster Eddie Jobs: haunted clown doll. Poltergeist. One of those paintings where the eyes follow you around. INCUBUS

haunted clown doll it is

hauntedClownDoll!Eddie x Reader

another blurb from The Nightmare Factory

Nightmare Factory Masterlist Clown!Eddie art

Another step in Eddie's journey to find the Nightmare Factory job that will entice you to want to get to know him. A lot of you darlings came through with a handful of fun, creative requests, and I'm excited to keep them going through spooky season! I will also be using others that were mentioned in this particular ask, and always happy to receive more! I stayed at the Clown Motel once and lived to tell. There really is a cemetery right next to it, no lie. wc: 1.5k

18+ONLY, mature themes, nightmares, clowns, longing

The Clown Motel in Tonopah, Nevada gave you the creeps, but all you needed was a quick bed for the night, and $65 was about all you could afford.  There was an old cemetery next to the property, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed it was all a staged setup to add to the spooky appeal of the motel.  But, no—the headstones were all very real, dating back to the late 1800’s.

You saw him when you first came in—he was impossible to miss.  The life-sized clown doll dressed in colorful stripes with a wide mouth and round, rubber nose.  He sat in the middle of a square nook filled with clown dolls of all shapes and sizes.  Some were ceramic, some were cloth.  Some were wood, carved to look like a nutcracker.  The big clown had one hand in his lap and one hanging down his side, and his eager eyes sought you in a way that made you avert your attention until you were done checking in.  

Your room was on the second tier and you took some time to get cleaned up before calling over to the restaurant across the way to order some food.  On you way back across the street, clutching the styrofoam container in your hand, you caught a glimpse of something bright in the cemetery.

It was dusk, and you wondered if maybe it was someone visiting one of the burial sites.

But, with a muffled scream you noticed—for a split second—that it was the same clown doll from the lobby standing like a statue by one of the headstones.

It was watching you, leering at you, and it lifted its arm in a stiff wave as the wind blew back the silk of his costume.

You blinked and choked, and when you focused on the spot in the distance again—the clown was no longer there.  

Eddie materialized in the cemetery to get a better look at where you were, and then he tripped over his floppy shoes and almost impaled himself on a handmade, wooden cross.  

He cursed under his breath, wondering why he chose Haunted Clown Doll over some type of apparition so that he could be near you without making you uncomfortable.  First of all, he thought having a physical body would solve the communication problem, but of course—the clown’s face couldn’t move, and his voice came out as not much more than a mocking cackle.

Second, it was only a three day training, and most of it was just watching safety videos about how to walk in the shoes.  They also taught him to sit for a while, and then stand in the corner, and then hover near the bed when the person having the nightmare least expected it.  

They repeated a lot of the same shit at the training, and when he crossed his arms over his chest to sink back in his chair, he started to fall asleep.

He snorted awake with a start when the teacher—-a professional Nightmare Clown with a gaping maw of sharp teeth and a bright green wig—-barked his name.

“Sorry,” Eddie said groggily.  “I’m listening.”

“Is that right?” The teacher clown also had cat’s eyes for pupils and a polka dot jumper with ruffles at the wrists and blood stains across the front.  “Indulge the rest of the class and tell me what the last rule was I just went over.”

The “class” consisted of 3 unfortunate souls, including Eddie.  

Eddie could not contain the yawn that stretched his mouth, so he spoke while it was happening.  “Going under the covers,” he answered.  “When the person puts their head under the covers, they are safe, and we can’t touch them or scare them.”

“Exactly, now, how do we keep them from going under the covers?”

Eddie must’ve blanked out on that one.  “Um, we can’t?”

The teacher heaved a weary sigh, cocking their head.  “Distractions, Munson. Doors that fly open, a face in the window, whispers in their ear.”

This was all beginning to sound way above his pay grade, and he wasn’t interested in being the best student or the best employee—he just wanted to see you again.

He should’ve dematerialized before you caught a glimpse of him from across the street, but some insane part of him hoped you might recognize him—even though you’d never seen his actual form, and he was dressed like a literal clown this time.  

A car honked, jolting you from your reverie, and as you jogged the rest of the way into the parking lot, your eyes darted around, hoping to god that you would not see the clown again.

On your way to the stairs, you passed by the glass front to the lobby, and found yourself looking in to make eye contact with the clown doll again.  Its eyeballs were painted on, but somehow—you felt like they were watching you, as if someone were looking through from the other side.  Both of its hands were in its lap, now, and its shoulders were hunched; big, oversized red shoes planted on the floor; short, frizzy orange hair sticking out of a floppy sleeping cap.  

You went up and watched some lame sitcoms while you ate your dinner, and you tried to forget about the inanimate clown doll that was gnawing at your brain.

Eddie noticed how you took the time to check in on him on the way to your room, and his heart leapt.  And then, he thought he was the one dreaming when he watched you descend the stairs and return to the lobby a few hours later.

The night manager popped his head out to ask if you needed any help, but you confessed you were only there to look at the clowns.

One in particular.

You made your way over to stand at his side and covertly whispered in his ear.  “Was that you out in the cemetery today?”

Eddie’s clown hand fell from his lap to sway at his side, making you jump back, eyes widening at the coincidence.

When you found the nerve, you leaned closer, inspecting the wide, painted smile on his porcelain face, the brown of his irises.

You were so close, Eddie could smell you.  You radiated fresh lavender and coconut hand lotion and a tang of garlic from the dinner you just ate.  He watched your lips move as you whispered to yourself, something about, “where have I seen this clown before?”

Eddie couldn’t speak though, he could only chuckle, and he didn’t think it was the right time.

The body of the doll was so lifelike; you had to feel it for yourself.  With a shaky hand, you reached out to touch his shoulder—it wasn’t soft like stuffing, it was hard, like a store mannequin.  You bent down to squeeze the thigh, finding that it was made of the same solid material.

Eddie could feel everything, the way you were caressing him. On his plane of existence, he parted his lips and let his eyes roam over your face.  Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you.

You bought some souvenirs—-a shot glass and a mug for your mom—and then returned to your room for the night.

It took you a while to get to sleep, but when you finally dozed off to the point that your body jerked from an imaginary fall, clown Eddie was sitting in the chair in the corner.  The maniacal smile stretched across his face was locked in place—his eyes unblinking as they stared across the room at you.  

You rolled over with a groan, pulling the covers closer to your chin as you went.  

Eddie materialized at the side of the bed, at your back, tilting his head, wishing he could crawl in and put his arms around you.  He’d take his big, stupid shoes off first.

The next morning, you woke up refreshed, and busied yourself around the motel room getting ready for the last leg of your road trip, oblivious to the way Eddie had been standing at the foot of your bed all night.  

After your suitcase was in the car, you went to drop the key off at the front desk, and noticed the life-sized clown was no longer therr.  You went over to inspect the area: its chair between the shelves of smaller clowns was gone too.  There was not a trace of it, as if it had vanished.

“Hey, so, where did you put the huge clown that was down here?” You asked politely as you passed the man your key.

He squinted at you, a bit confused.  “Huge clown, you mean the nutcracker ones?”

“No, the really big one,” you turned to point to the area where it had been.  “It was taller than me with enormous red shoes, a really creepy smile.  It was sitting right over there when I checked in yesterday.”

The man bent forward over the desk to see where you were pointing, even though he had no idea what  you were babbling about.  

“We’ve never had a clown that size,” he assured you. “But I wish we did. It sounds like something from a nightmare.”

[devildomwriter]

Good Tidings to You | Barbatos x Reader

.6K Words | GN! Reader | CW: none

Holiday music played through your house as you opened the last of your decoration boxes. You sorted through them, humming along to the song. You swayed back and forth as you hung holly on the curtains and wrapped tinsel around the tree.

After the tinsel was up, you opened up the box with all your ornaments. You grinned, excited to decorate the tree but your moment was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

“Coming!” You called and checked the peephole. You gasped in surprise and swung the door open, happily.

“Good tiding to you, ___.” Barbatos smiled and bowed politely.

You ushered him in and he nodded and stepped through the doorway. You closed the door behind him and offered to take his coat. Barbatos’s excellent hosting skills were beginning to wear off on you. He smiled to himself when he realized this, happy to affect your life.

You hung his coat and scarf on the coat rack and pulled out a chair in the kitchen.

Barbatos looked around as he took a seat. “Decorating still?”

You nodded and sighed, “Yeah. I haven’t had a lot of time with work.”

He accepted this, as you had been quite busy.

“So, what brings you here today?” You inquired, curious about the surprise visit.

“I came to say hello, and…” he reached for the bag he’d brought with him and handed it to you, “to give you these.”

You opened it up and beamed, “Your special Christmas cookies! You’re the best!” You cheered and he chuckled, glad you were so happy about it.

You immediately grabbed one to eat and offered him another but he refused as they were specially made for you. Your heart fluttered at his considerate gesture and he relayed current events with Diavolo to you as you ate.

When you’d had three cookies you brought the rest of the cookies to the snowman cookie jar and emptied them.

He stood up from the table and observed the ornament box. He pulled one out and asked you, “Mind if I help?”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you.”

He shook his head, “it’s no trouble at all. I’d love it if I could help decorate your home.”

You smiled and agreed and together you began to unpack the ornament and place them on the table to sort through.

Barbatos looked at the ornaments and nodded, forming a design in his mind and he began placing them on specific branches.

“Which are you most fond of? We’ll center them in the front,” he suggested and you held up the ones from your childhood, the cat one you’d made with Satan, and your favorite—the ones containing portraits of you, your family, friends, and pets.

“It’s endearing how much you love to include your loved ones in your décor,” you commented and you blushed and nodded.

You handed him the one with himself and he chuckled, “Let’s center this one where everyone will see it,” he suggested and did just that. It was impossible to miss his smiling face upon the tree.

Barbatos turned back to the table and his smile melted to concern and he pointed to an ornament.

“___?”

You were immediately concerned, “What’s wrong?” You fretted, approaching the table.

“What sort of ornament is that supposed to be?”

You followed his faze and began to laugh as you held it up, “It’s the mouse king from The Nutcracker.”

You groaned, “Why would they create such a character?”

You chuckled and hung the ornament next to his, his eyes widened and he shook his head and removed it. He placed it on the back of the tree where it wouldn’t be seen and you began laughing harder than before.

He looked at you exasperated and sighed, “What am I meant to do with you? What sort of person decorates their home with that creature?”

“I thought it was just rats you hated.”

He glared at you, “Don’t utter their name.”

He sighed as you continued to laugh. The next few hours were spent peacefully decorating your home, now whenever you saw the decorations you’d remember the fun you had with Barbatos.

[letsgetrowdy43]

She even made this man a ballet fan and everything, fuck hockey he would prefer recitals any day of the week.

please i just imagine that one day one of the boys comes home to surprise ellen’s nd jim, and they come home to just ellen

“where’s dad?”

“he’s watching a recital at the theatre”

like he loves going when sunny’s in them, but then she leaves and he goes because he misses her

Au Masterlist!!

Jim especially loved the open practices where parents and friends could watch them perfecting their craft.

He was a coach, and seeing the transition from unpolished to flawless was one of his favourite parts of being a coach, so he loved watching how she received criticism and how she applied critiques to her techniques.

He learned that it's less of dance and more of an art, it's elegant and poised and that's why he loved it so much, it's so unlike anything he's ever witnessed. And it's his little girl up there dancing her heart out, his little Ray of sunshine, shining on stage.

It makes him almost emotional to think about it all.

And then she finished her final recital with the company she grew up in, and Jim was heartbroken cause his little girl wasn't so little any more.

He thought that chapter of her life closed when she transitioned from high school to University until one day he got a call asking if he wanted to take a day trip up to Ann Arbour just to see the open practice for the Nutcracker.

Jim sat in the crowd, off to the side, just far enough to be away from other viewers but close enough to see Sunny in the spotlight, silent tears welling in his eyes as Sunny spun across the stage, his little girl shining once again

-

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[number1jeonginstan]

who knew you had multiple dancers following you?!

I read that fic about Lee Know and then that OT8 one, and knew I had to send in SOMETHING!

Can we have some fluff for Bangchan x ballerina reader, she is dancing in "The Nutcracker" (You can choose a role, or you can do Snow Queen, Sugarplum Fairy or Kissy Doll since are popular) and it's the night of her show but she didn't think he'd be there because of Bangchan's idol work, but he shows up anyway and meets her at the end of the show to see her in her costume? Total fluffy fic please!!

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this!!! It's quite short, but I hope I did your request justice!!

Warnings: None! Just fluff!!

The lights were beaming on your face as you finished your performance. You could feel the heat from the bulbs on your face. Your cheeks were red from exerting yourself. You could feel beads of sweat trickle down your face. Your stage makeup slowly sinks as you capture your last breath. 

It was the last night of your show, The Nutcracker. You had been preparing for it for months. Hours of practice, days where your muscles were so sore, you kept pushing through it. You wanted to prove to everyone, especially yourself, that you could play the Sugar Plum Fairy. 

The applause at the end of your solo was worth it, the difficulty you withstood with being on beat with the orchestra, as they messed up at one point. You didn’t let it get to you, you were proud of yourself. 

The ending was bittersweet for you, on one hand, you were proud of yourself for persevering, and not backing down when things got tough. On the other hand, you wished your boyfriend was there. You knew how difficult it was for him to come since he was an idol. You knew he was busy with promotions and working on the final songs for his next comeback, but deep down you wished he had the time. 

Everyone cheered as the ballet came to a complete.  As you lept off the stage, the other dancers congratulated you, giving you a hug, and you did the same. 

After a couple minutes had passed, talking to the rest of the dancers, your friend had dragged you away. “I was walking by your dressing room and I saw something pretty important inside.” She grinned at you, and you were puzzled, you didn’t think anyone sent you anything.

As you entered your dressing room, you saw a black beanie that you grew accustomed to. “Channie!?” you yelled, running up to him. And he just laughed, “Hi baby, or should I say my Sugar Plum?” he said, picking you up. Your tutu getting crushed by the embrace. 

“I thought you couldn’t make it? You said you were busy with work!” you said, punching his arm as he put you down. “How could I miss my perfect girl’s solo? Especially after you worked so hard to perfect it.”

You began to blush, you were grinning from ear to ear. “How was I, please be honest.” 

“You were amazing, my sugar plum.” He bent down slightly to kiss your lips, your lipstick staining his lips. “I’m so happy you came,” you said giggling, your lips still on his.

“I am too, you looked so beautiful on stage baby, I was mesmerized by the way you danced, can’t believe you are all mine.” 

[mari-writes]

Akaashi Keiji has a secret. One that he’s sure people might be surprised by if they found out.

He has a deep, prevailing love for classical ballet. He’s not sure when it started. Perhaps when his parents took him to a Nutcracker performance when he was barely eight years old. To this day, he spends hours of his free time watching videos online, and reads about the history of the art form. He even convinces his mother to take him to see live performances on occasion.

There's something so romantic and expressive about dancing. The way the dancers can convey emotion through their body, with no words at all—it’s absolutely fascinating. Keiji admires them so much. He wishes he could be like that.

He doesn’t tell anyone. He’s not ashamed, just cautious. Dance should not be a gendered interest, but alas, society is strange. His friends and most of his teammates already know he’s gay. No need to push the stereotype further, right?

What he doesn’t predict is that his best friend (and secret crush), Bokuto Koutarou, is apparently also a fan.

“Akaashi!” The older boy exclaims, right over his shoulder. “Is that the Australian Ballet?”

Keiji flinches, scrambling to switch off his phone. “Bokuto-san,” he scowls, “it’s very rude to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, sorry!” Koutarou plops down next to him. Their futons are close, much too close, and Keiji can smell his mint shampoo. It’s distracting. “But seriously, is it?”

Keiji shoots a nervous look around. Most of the training camp attendees are either taking turns in the bath or wandering around campus, enjoying the warm evening. Only Komi is here, casually lounging with a magazine on the other side of the room. “Ah, um, yes,” he nods. “You’re familiar with ballet, Bokuto-san?”

The other boy nods enthusiastically. “My sister does it! My other sister and I tried it when we were younger, too!”

Surprised, Keiji stares. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah! I still do exercises I learned back then. It’s good for flexibility and to strengthen muscles. People don’t know how much of a workout ballet is! It’s really hard.”

Again Keiji nods, awkwardly shuffling on his futon so that he and Koutarou are sitting thigh-to-thigh. “Would you… like to watch the rest of this with me, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou answers with a beaming smile.

They make it a habit of watching dance videos together. Koutarou is surprisingly knowledgable about the different companies, even mentioning specific dancers and performances. It’s odd, only because he never watches or talk about it otherwise. Perhaps he’s shy about his interest, too?

It isn’t until one evening, when Koutarou is staying the night at his house, that he discovers the truth. 

Keiji is eager to show his crush the souvenir program her purchased after seeing a performance of La Sylphide two years ago. He carefully passes it to Koutarou, wondering if the other boy will be surprised, or maybe even jealous that Keiji was able to attend such a special, sold-out show.

But instead—

“Oh! My sister was in this!” 

Keiji freezes. He turns slowly to look at his friend, unsure if he heard correctly. “What?”

“Yeah, she was made principal ballerina that year!”

Keiji frowns. “Your sister… performed with the National Ballet of Japan?”

“Yeah!” Koutarou grins. “She was there for two years, until she went overseas. I miss her so much.”

“Wait a minute.” Keiji is having trouble trusting his own ears. Because it sounds like Koutarou is insinuating… but no, that can’t be it. Can it? Suddenly frantic, he flips through the program, until he find the cast profiles. He leans in to look at the lead female dancer. A familiar face in the modern ballet scene. He blinks, turning to look at Koutarou, and then back at the woman on the page. 

Intense golden eyes. A wide, toothy smile. Silvery hair, with just a hint of black at the roots. “Bokuto-san,” he croaks, “is your sister… Bokuto Kai?”

Koutarou chuckles. “Well, yeah! That’s my Kai! Isn’t she so cool?”

Keiji chokes on nothing. He sputters, enough for his friend to reach over and pat his back consolingly.

“You okay, ‘kaashi?”

Is he okay? Keiji doesn’t know. The fact that his best friend’s sister is one of the most well-known ballet dancers in Japan, the world even, is actively shifting his reality.

“So… I guess you’re a fan?” Koutarou smiles in obvious amusement.

“Y-yes,” Keiji admits, thoroughly shaken. “I am. She’s incredible.”

One year later, Keiji is standing frozen in the threshold of his now-boyfriend, Koutarou’s family home. He’s been here many times, and spent time with most of the family. But the person at the door is not anyone he’s met before.

But oh, he knows her well.

“Ah, you must be Akaashi!” Kai Bokuto is short, the crown of her head barely reaching Keiji’s shoulders, but her immaculate posture seems to expand her presence. She’s wearing a cotton hoodie and leggings, her silver hair tossed over one shoulder in a long braid. 

She’s a vision.

Keiji’s mouth drops open. He blinks. “B-Bokuto-san, um, hi! Hello there. You… um, I… well...” His words stumble out of him like dominos. He’s never felt so inarticulate in his entire life.

Kai laughs. “Please, call me Kai! I’ve heard so much about you. Come in, Keiji-kun!”

When Keiji finds his boyfriend inside, he greets him with a light punch to the shoulder. “You could have warned me she was here,” he hisses, “I just made a fool of myself.”

Koutarou snorts. “You’re such a fanboy!”

“Shut it.”

It turns out, Kai and Keiji have a lot more in common than a love for ballet. Both of them love literature, poetry and art history. Kai regales him with stories of her time in Europe—including her recent stint in Paris, thes city Keiji wants to visit more than anything.

They also happen to be quite protective of Koutarou.

“He’s very important to me,” she says, as they watch Keiji’s boyfriend hurry to help his mother in the kitchen. “He means the world to all of us, really. It doesn’t matter how tall or strong he gets—he’ll still be our baby Kou.”

Keiji grins softly. “Yeah.”

They exchange numbers that first night, and stay in touch when Kai flies back to France for her next set of performances. She regularly sends him photos, poems, news articles, and of course, updates on the Parisian ballet scene. They ask each other advice on outfits and home design.

“Ya know, I’m starting to think you like her more than me,” Koutarou pouts, one morning when they are curled up in Keiji’s tiny dorm bed. 

“Are you jealous?” Keiji raises one eyebrow.

“Hmm,” Koutarou hums, “maybe a little…”

Giggling, Keiji turns in his hold, leaning up to touch noses. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll always be my number one star.” The comment seems to light a fire in Koutarou, whose face splits into a brilliant smile as he pulls Keiji in tighter. “Promise?”

Keiji smiles back. “Always.”

//

I love the idea that Keiji gets along great with Koutarou’s sisters, and admires them (almost) as much as his boyfriend. The idea for Kai being a ballerina was inspired by the beautiful artwork of Temari! I just can’t get the idea out of my mind.

Please, if you enjoyed this, reblog and comment! It really helps me out. 🥰❤️

[fizzigigsimmer]

Y’all it’s Nutcracker Season!!! This time last year I was playing around with my sims and Harringrove Ballet au was just beginning to take root in my mind. 🥹

Right now, ballet companies around the world are casting their dancers and beginning weeks of non-stop rehearsals in preparation for winter shows. At Mrs. Harrington’s school it’s no different. This is their biggest show of the year, performed right in downtown Indianapolis for crowds of holiday theater goes. Last year Billy was a brand new face. He arrived in Hawkins in mid October, halfway through the semester and almost missed auditions entirely; but he still scored a principle role as the Rat King. A well known critic wrote a review about their production for the first time and called the battles between the Nutcracker Prince and the army of rats “electrifying”. The theater has asked the school to do an extended run this year, and is allowing the principal dancers to attend classes with Indy Ballet as they prepare of their winter show of Cinderella.

Max likes to spend as little time at home as possible so she was one of the students who stayed for the summer workshop. Billy did too, and he might be an ass and well, kinda scary, but he’s also really good, so she’d stalked him at the studio until he called her on it. But then he started giving her tips, and practicing at the same times just sort of became a thing. He’s a shitty coach from an attitude perspective but, well she’s got two solos this year as both a snowflake and a flower! Which means she gets to take the bus with Billy and the older kids to class in Indianapolis on the weekends and stay at a hotel. Lucas and Mike both got solos too so she’s not alone with the high schoolers and their drama. Nancy is pretending not to be upset that Chrissy beat her out for Clara this year, and won’t stop telling everyone who will listen how much technically more difficult the Sugar Plum fairy is. After Nancy made some comment about Chrissy eating a lot at lunch Heather like lost it and accused Nancy of being jealous, so Steve called Heather out and told her to stop being such a bitch to his girlfriend and that really pissed Billy off, since everyone’s like 90% sure that Billy and Heather are dating. Max isn’t so sure. She almost thinks Billy picks on Steve for the attention. He’s like obsessed with Steve.

Max wonders just how embarrassed Billy would be if she ever told Steve how much Billy talked about him all summer. Seriously. It was ALL summer.