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anomalyaly · 29 days ago

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The Nut Cracked

Summary: Sebastian Sallow doesn't understand muggle holiday traditions. But this one, he could get on top of.

OR, a spoof of 'The Nutcracker', but make it feral.

NSFW. ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+. MINORS DNI.

AO3/Wattpad

3k words. Written for a NSFW discord server event: The Naughty List.

This is NOT canon to the 'Secrets' universe hahaha or is it

Tags: Explicit sexual content, objectophilia if you squint, seventh year, orgasm denial, Sebastian has blue balls and doesn't know how to handle it

Sebastian didn't understand muggle holiday traditions.

The brightly decorated Ravenclaw girl presented him with a small parcel that he had initially been excited to unwrap. But, as much as he loved seeing the look on Elsie's face as she handed it to him, he couldn't understand why, out of all the gifts she could have chosen, she had picked out an odd-looking wooden doll.

"It's a nutcracker!" She beamed. "My parents can never be bothered to figure out what to get me or my siblings, so they usually send us a whole slew of stuff."

"And...you saw an old man doll and it reminded you of me?" Sebastian turned it around in his hands questioningly. He tried his hardest to seem grateful, but truthfully, he was utterly confused.

She scoffed. "It's not an old man doll. It's a traditional gift that originated in Germany to ward off evil spirits and –"

"Evil spirits?" He laughed. "The only evil spirit we have to worry about during this time of year is Peeves."

"Well, if you don't want it –"

He abruptly yanked his arm away from her and held the wooden figure closer to himself. "I never said I didn't want it. I just think it could be more...appealing."

She tilted her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. "How so?"

Sebastian grinned slyly and picked up his wand, waving it in front of the nutcracker and transfiguring it to look like a girl with wavy, dark hair and freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks. He held it up proudly. "There. Much prettier to look at."

He was met with an eye roll as she stood from the couch and stretched. "If you say so."

Sebastian hadn't been particularly secretive about his feelings for Elsie in recent months. In fact, he thought he was being blatantly obvious, doing everything short of outright telling her due to her relationship status being a bit complicated. Even so, he did his best to hide his irritation every time she brushed off another one of his comments as a sarcastic quip.

It certainly hadn't helped that the other day, she had trudged back from another one of her adventures in the Highlands sopping wet from the snow, the already thin material of her blouse nearly transparent as it clung tightly to her form, her nipples peaked from the cold. He had spent half of the night restless, the other half with his hand wrapped around his cock every time the tantalizing image replayed itself in his mind.

The castle was nearly empty as the two of them spent Christmas at Hogwarts together, and all he could focus on was how frustrated he had felt.

"I should turn in for the night," Elsie sighed, glancing at the time. "I promised Lydia that we would still leave milk and cookies out for Father Christmas. She's very adamant about keeping to tradition."

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek as he forced himself not to beg her to stay with him for the night. It wasn't like the prefects or professors cared to parade the halls during the holiday with so many students gone. But she likely didn't see him that way. His streak of terrible luck would have him falling for someone he couldn't have.

"Alright," he murmured, hiding the disappointment in his tone. He held up the wooden doll. "Thanks for the, uh...gift?"

She grinned. "Have no fear. We'll exchange our actual gifts tomorrow. But," she tapped the nutcracker's brunette head, "I suppose now, you'll have the nutcracker version of me to help keep you safe."

Sebastian's eyes followed the sway of her hips as she headed toward the gate of the Undercroft. He quickly averted them when she turned back to look at him. "Happy Christmas, Sebastian. See you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Yeah, see you. Happy Christmas."

She gave him one last soft smile, and the gate clanged shut behind her. Sebastian sighed. Guess I ought to head back to my common room for the evening. He grabbed the tiny doll and sauntered back to his dorm, feeling even more tense than he had been hours before.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

Sebastian awoke the next morning, exhaustion creeping in. He needed to get control of his thoughts before he –

"Good morning!"

A light, feminine voice chirped at him from his bedside. The rest of the dorm room was noticeably empty — Sebastian assumed Ominis had left for breakfast early, not wanting to wait while he slept in.

It still didn't explain why Elsie was standing by his bed on Christmas morning. She would never sneak into the Slytherin common room without good reason, let alone his bedroom, even with how often he had teased and prodded her to spend time with him there.

He rubbed his face, his eyes still bleary. "Elsie? What are you –"

The words died in his throat once he finally took a proper look at her. She was smiling coyly at him, her raven hair free and cascading down her back. But what surprised him the most wasn't the expression on her face or the loose, dark strands that curled along her freckled, pink cheeks. It was what she was wearing.

Instead of a Christmas jumper, like she had promised she would have on, Elsie donned the bright red uniform reminiscent of the nutcracker she had gifted him the night prior. It was loose on her small form, barely hanging on to her shoulders, and short enough that it hardly covered the creamy skin of her thighs. He knew he should look away, or at least tell her that she was far too exposed for her liking.

"You're uh..." He cleared his throat. "What...what are you wearing?"

"Oh, this?" She playfully slid the top further down her shoulders. His hungry gaze followed the line down her collarbone and towards the curve of her breasts.

This wasn't like Elsie at all. The girl he knew wouldn't have been dressed like this in his presence, especially because they hadn't so much as kissed yet. She would be flustered, finding anything she could to cover herself up, and likely avoiding him afterward for days out of sheer humiliation.

"Why so shy?" She asked. It was definitely her voice but with a sultry tone. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Sebastian swallowed. How could she have known that? "W-what do you mean?"

Elsie shrugged. "You made me. I heard your wish, and I'm here to grant it."

He blinked. Made?! "If this is some sort of muggle holiday prank, Elsie, it's really not funny."

She chuckled and sat next to him on the bed, draping an arm over his bare chest, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "It's not. I'm your nutcracker, silly."

Oh. Oh.

The nutcracker he had mindlessly transfigured last night to look like Elsie had somehow become sentient. And now, Elsie, or at least a perfect copy of her, was practically on top of him, half-naked and promiscuously alluring. It was something he had only dreamed about in the darkest hours of the night, alone in his bed with a silencing charm cast over him.

His thoughts were racing wildly as he drank in the sight of her. She was close enough now and leaning in at just the right angle that he could see entirely down her top, and his breath caught in his throat as he realized that, underneath, she was completely bare. He shifted on the bed as he felt his erection press tightly against his pajama bottoms, quickly losing any scrap of restraint he had left, which hadn't been much to begin with. This was wrong, wasn't it? He couldn't deny how badly he had wanted this – wanted it for months now.

Moments later, her lips and tongue were tracing a hot trail of kisses along his neck, and as she lightly grazed his pulse point with her teeth, the last thread of his control snapped.

In one swift move, he took her face in his hands and fiercely captured her lips with his own, the sensation nearly enough to send him over the edge. Months of pining - of gentle, innocent touches and cuddles that the real Elsie had naively passed off as what two good friends would share - had made him ache with need.

For an imitation, the nutcracker-Elsie felt wonderfully authentic.

His fingers snaked in her hair and tugged lightly, eliciting a soft moan from her that had him shivering. Realistically, had it been their true first experience together, he would have wanted to savor every moment, taking his time as he mapped out every sensitive plane and curve of her body that would make her writhe with pleasure underneath his touch.

But, since this was his Christmas wish, he was going to be self-indulgent and take exactly what he wanted, just as he had imagined doing for so long.

A soft brush of her hand against his very hard and throbbing erection nearly sent him into a frenzy, and he let out a mewl so pathetic he would have been embarrassed had he not felt so ridiculously desperate. His hands scrambled to tear the baggy nutcracker uniform off of her, and as he ran his hand along her inner thigh and traced his fingers along her core, he realized without a doubt that she was soaking. For him.

Happy fucking Christmas to me.

Sebastian groaned as he practically dragged her into his bed and flipped her onto her back. His body vibrated with anticipation when her fingers tugged at his pajama bottoms and yanked them down abruptly. His cock sprang free, already aching with desire, and he melted into a moaning mess when she wrapped her silken hand around him and stroked.

"F-fuck...so good, Elsie —" The way she held him, so expertly gentle and firm at the same time, was better than even his wildest imaginations could conjure. His hips bucked into her touch while he stared down at her through hooded lids, understanding that he needed to take every second to memorize her body in case he never had an opportunity like this again.

Her face was flushed, the smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks standing out, just the way he liked to see them — one of the reasons he would purposely try to make her blush. His hands followed his gaze as it traveled further down, past her parted pink lips and onto her voluptuous breasts, and he couldn't help but lean forward and take one of her pert nipples into his mouth.

Elsie's sighs and moans as he swirled his tongue around it were music to his ears. He reached out with one hand to cup her other breast while his other slid between her legs once more and lightly circled her clit with his thumb while he pumped two fingers inside of her. The sounds she emitted were delightfully sinful, and he decided that he didn't want to wait any longer. He had waited long enough, trying his damndest to be a gentleman all this time and letting the real Elsie take whatever their relationship was at her own pace.

He had earned this. It was bloody Christmas, and she was his present, and he fucking deserved it.

Sebastian slotted himself between her thighs and pulled back to look at her again. The unbridled need on her face mirrored his own, and he momentarily wondered if he should have spent more time making sure she was ready for him before taking her. After all, if it were the real Elsie, he would have made sure she felt good and reached her release many, many times before he had even attempted to fuck her.

All reason and logic flew out of his brain as he fitted the sensitive head of his cock at her entrance, her slick coating him completely. The needy cry that she let out at the feel of him was all the encouragement he needed to know that she was as desperate for him as he was for her.

"S-Sebastian," she moaned, the sound so erotic he hadn't thought it possible for it to have come from her. "Please — please fuck me. I — need...inside me — please."

Elsie begging. As if he couldn't come undone anymore.

"Anything for you, Princess."

With one abrupt motion, he pushed his hips flush against hers, sliding inside her easily and simultaneously letting out a disgustingly pitiful whimper. He was internally grateful that Ominis had decided to go to breakfast early — he would never have let him live down the sheer humiliation of the chorus of wanting coming from his lips.

Though the doll had been made of wood only moments before, the tight heat of her cunt felt very, very real. It was her body, her silken skin under his fingers, her normally elegant hair mussed and tangled against his bedsheets, and, best of all, her voice crying out his name as he fucked her relentlessly.

"S-Sebastian! Don't — don't stop!"

The high-pitched squeals she refused to hold back egged him on further as he roughly snapped his hips against hers, releasing a low growl as her legs wrapped tightly around him and pulled him deeper into her. The heady scent of her filled his nostrils — the distinct smell of vanilla and jasmine that had so often intoxicated him now enveloped him, and he tucked his head into the crook of her neck to allow himself to be consumed by it.

"Fuck, Elsie. I'm so fucking close."

It was happening too quickly, his release approaching dangerously faster than he would have preferred had this been the real Elsie. He teetered on the precipice of wanting to slow down and make it last longer, to enjoy every sound and feel of her as much as possible, or rewarding himself with what he had been dying to have for so long.

Fuck it — it was Christmas.

She dug her fingernails into his back and muttered a terrifyingly incoherent string of expletives in his ear, but somewhere within them, she was encouraging him to let go.

He was right there, so bloody close now — only a few more thrusts as he selfishly chased down the reality that she was finally, finally his.

"Sebastian!" Yes. Say my name again.

"Sebastian, please!" Just like that, almost there —

"Sebastian, wake up!"

Sebastian's eyes flew open as he sat up abruptly, blinking furiously in an attempt to gather where exactly he was.

Elsie, fully clothed in a Christmas jumper and trousers, her hair in its normal, elegant plait, stared at him from the side of the Undercroft couch, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you alright?" She asked worriedly, and her hand softly stroking his arm was almost enough to drag another pathetic groan from his throat. "You were making all these noises in your sleep. It sounded like you were having a nightmare."

Sebastian rubbed his face as reality came crashing down on him like a bucket of ice water. He had been too tired to head back to his common room last night and had fallen asleep in the Undercroft after Elsie had left.

As if to confirm his misfortune, the nutcracker she had gifted him was gingerly tucked under the crook of his arm, still transfigured to look like the girl who currently stood in front of him eyeing him curiously.

He would have laughed at the idea that she referred to his wet dream as a goddamn nightmare had he not still been so fucking hard, left to wrestle with the infuriating ache of incompletion.

Sebastian cleared his throat and muttered a thank Merlin to his last night's self that he had thought to cover himself with a blanket, lest she be subjected to his current state when she had only been trying to check on him and make sure he was okay.

"Uh, yeah. A nightmare," he grumbled, lowering his gaze to hide the heat that was beginning to creep up his neck and along his cheeks. "That's all. M'fine now."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, and he knew she had good reasons to wonder if he was telling the truth — especially considering he could barely look at her. Not without imagining all of the unholy acts that his dream self had been moments away from —

"I guess the nutcracker didn't help ward off the evil spirits after all," she teased.

The nutcracker. His face reddened further at the memory of Elsie's desperate cries that would forever be branded into his memory.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She reached out to brush her hand along his forehead. "You're looking a bit flushed –"

He smacked her hand away, one touch further from losing himself right in front of her. "I-I'm fine! Just...got a bit warm down here, is all."

It was a blatantly obvious lie, considering he had slept in the Undercroft, which was always perpetually cold. Thankfully, she didn't question him further.

"Well, if you're alright, then get up soon," Elsie said, interrupting his immensely impure thoughts as she turned on her heel to leave. "Ominis is meeting with us outside the Great Hall to exchange gifts." She wagged a finger at him in mock warning, the sly smile on her face reminding him all too much of his dream, and he suppressed another shudder. "And don't be late. A bad back from sleeping on the couch is not a good enough excuse to miss Christmas."

He only offered a curt nod in response.

When the sounds of her footsteps receded, Sebastian flopped back on the couch, once again left alone with his miserable frustrations. The 'Elsie' nutcracker still lay on the couch next to him as if to taunt him, reminding him of what he had been so close to enjoying and what he could never have. He angrily batted it to the floor before grabbing one of the cushions, bringing it to his face, and smothering a mortified, unending scream.

Happy fucking Christmas to me.

#*hides forever*#I had this posted on AO3 and Wattpad for a while #but I could never work up the nerve to post it here #so uhhhh #I'm so sorry #stay feral everyone #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow x fmc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow smut #elsie corvin #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy fanfic #smut oneshot

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theitgirlnetwork · 7 months ago

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Earn It

Ch. 7: Heaven's Happiness

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

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

Warnings: Some strong language

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

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

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

“Beatrice-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a ballerina?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can do it-”

“It’ll be quicker-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jealousy. Longing. Needing.

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

Art needs to test a theory.

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

“Arthur.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Girl.” Sara snorts.

“Just friends.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

“Ew, Arthur, it's sweaty!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Madame, we’re 19.”

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

“So…should we practice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. "Oh."

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

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

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

He loves her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How? It’s still tennis.”

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

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

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

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

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

The Paris Opera Ballet

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creators-club · 1 month ago

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Welcome to the first '24 Days of Christmas' event for the Creators’ Club. Every holiday, we plan to have a custom event planned. For Christmas, we are hosting a prompt event.

Prompts:

Day 1:

Holiday Words: snow, reindeer, fireplace Holiday Phrase: "All is calm, all is bright."

Day 2:

Holiday Words: mistletoe, stockings, cocoa Holiday Phrase: "Home for the holidays."

Day 3:

Holiday Words: garland, sleigh, twinkle Holiday Phrase: "A winter wonderland."

Day 4:

Holiday Words: chimney, bells, frosty Holiday Phrase: "Silent night, holy night."

Day 5:

Holiday Words: candy cane, ribbon, wreath Holiday Phrase: "Deck the halls with boughs of holly."

Day 6:

Holiday Words: eggnog, Santa, frost Holiday Phrase: "Naughty or nice?"

Day 7:

Holiday Words: nutcracker, sugarplum, scarf Holiday Phrase: "‘Tis the season to be jolly."

Day 8:

Holiday Words: sleigh bells, gift, evergreen Holiday Phrase: "Over the river and through the woods."

Day 9:

Holiday Words: carolers, snowflake, gingerbread Holiday Phrase: "Do you hear what I hear?"

Day 10:

Holiday Words: poinsettia, icicle, peppermint Holiday Phrase: "Walking in a winter wonderland."

Day 11:

Holiday Words: elf, chimney, mittens Holiday Phrase: "Underneath the mistletoe."

Day 12:

Holiday Words: ornament, pinecone, sleigh ride Holiday Phrase: "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Day 13:

Holiday Words: candy, cocoa, snowfall Holiday Phrase: "Rockin’ around the Christmas tree."

Day 14:

Holiday Words: holly, lights, cheer Holiday Phrase: "It’s the most wonderful time of the year."

Day 15:

Holiday Words: ribbon, present, sparkles Holiday Phrase: "Have yourself a merry little Christmas."

Day 16:

Holiday Words: star, tree, joy Holiday Phrase: "Peace on Earth, goodwill to all."

Day 17:

Holiday Words: tinsel, cookies, glitter Holiday Phrase: "Oh, what fun it is to ride."

Day 18:

Holiday Words: wrapping paper, icicle, marshmallows Holiday Phrase: "On a cold winter’s night."

Day 19:

Holiday Words: snowman, jingle, candy cane Holiday Phrase: "Making spirits bright."

Day 20:

Holiday Words: lantern, cider, log Holiday Phrase: "Bringing tidings of comfort and joy."

Day 21:

Holiday Words: snow globe, sled, chocolate Holiday Phrase: "Under the sparkling lights."

Day 22:

Holiday Words: angel, melody, starry Holiday Phrase: "A child is born."

Day 23:

Holiday Words: gingerbread, carol, magic Holiday Phrase: "Let your heart be light."

Day 24:

Holiday Words: holly, miracle, velvet Holiday Phrase: "As the world awaits Christmas morn."

Guidelines Under the Read More

The 24 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge will officially run from December 1st to December 24th, giving participants the chance to immerse themselves in a festive creative journey. To provide a head start, participants can begin brainstorming and drafting as early as November 18th, though official entries will be accepted only during the event dates.

All submissions must include the hashtag #cc24DaysofChristmas to ensure they are recognized as part of the event. During this time, there will be no regular Creators Club events, allowing members to fully focus on this unique challenge.

All submissions written by followers who are not on the tag list will be featured under user: guest.

Submissions must be entirely original, as AI-generated content is strictly prohibited.

All submissions must be, at least, 100 words.

Each day, a new prompt will be shared, offering participants inspiration to create something festive and engaging. While writers are encouraged to follow the prompts in order, they may use them as flexible starting points for their work.

You do not need to use all the prompts for the day. Just use as much as you need to get the juices flowing.

While there is no strict word limit, all entries should demonstrate thought and effort.

Collaborative entries are welcome, provided all collaborators adhere to the same guidelines.

If you have any questions, please feel free to send @creators-club a question.

@bardic-tales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer @littleshopofchaos

@kricketbee

@themaradwrites @pinkevilwriter

@serenofroses @asirensrage @aalinaaaaaa @goldenlilium-ocs @glbettwrites

@wyked-ao3 @badscientist @thebadphilosopher @andromedalestrange

@fantastictrashpolice @seastarblue @happypup-kitcat24 @chickensarentcheap @allaboutmagic

@ryns-ramblings @kathaliabloodyrose @riemmetric @andromedaexists @kckramer

@tales-from-nocturnaliss @pastelpinkhobbies @idonthaveapenname @the-bar-sinister @rosesonkittens

@bloodred2023 @kanobarlowe @aquixoticwrites @new-royston-cursebreakers

@rosemirmir @salmonandfox @fablesandfragments @paganmindidnothingwrong @elshells

@viscerawrites @ellowynthenotking @dawsonskyelar @greenapplespider

@edupunkn00b @the-duke-of-nuts @exclawshou @karkkidoeswriting @meerawrites

@theglitchywriterboi @mayarab @memento-morianon @mrsmungus

@pebblesfromtheshore

#cc24DaysofChristmas #creators club #writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #writing challenge #writing prompts #holiday writing prompts #Christmas writing prompts #December writing challenge #writing event 2024 #Christmas creativity #holiday vibes

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lostgirlmuseum · 1 year ago

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The Swan and the Soldier

^made w/ pinterest

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky x f!dancer!reader

Summary: Bucky is signed up to act in the Nutcracker against his will. But it isn’t all bad. At least not after he meets the cute costume designer.

Words: 5.6k (oops)

Warnings: Mention of an injury + brief description of pain, poor writing at times, lemme know if I missed anything

A/N: I really hope this isn't complete dog shit

(Dividers by me😎)

“You want me to what?”

Bucky dropped his sandwich back onto his plate.

“I was gonna do it but I’m too busy to make every rehearsal.”

Bucky had been staying in Louisiana for the past month, finally taking a break from going from fight to fight. Sam encouraged him to stay with him at Sarah’s place, which Bucky did for a while, but after a couple of weeks, he decided to rent his own place. He was still near to Sam, and was at his house nearly every day, seeing as he was only a fifteen-minute drive away. Bucky just felt like less of a burden this way.

“And I’m not busy?” Bucky countered, staring at Sam from across the kitchen table, where they were taking a quick lunch break before getting back to the boat.

“Well—”

“Shut up.”

“It would mean so much to AJ. It’s his first dance recital and I think he would be a lot less nervous if someone he knew was on stage with him.”

“I’m not a ballerina, Sam.”

“You don’t have to be!” He quickly uttered, putting down his own sandwich. “They just need a couple of parent volunteers to step in and play the adults at the beginning of the show.”

“I haven’t liked dancing since the 40’s. And I don’t know how I feel about being on stage. Would I have to wear a costume?”

“It’s the Nutcracker.” Sam raised an eyebrow and gave Bucky a judgmental once over. “I don’t think it fits the show to have you dressed like an angsty motorcyclist.”

“Sam, I don’t think I can—”

“Uncle Bucky!” A cheerful voice entered the room as AJ came bounding up to the table.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky smiled, giving the boy a quick fist bump.

“Uncle Sam told me you would be a part of my recital!”

“He said what now?”

“What?” AJ asked, oblivious.

“Nothing, I—AJ, could you give Uncle Sam and me a second?”

AJ nodded and skipped back outside into the sun. Bucky glared over at Sam.

“So maybe I jumped the gun a bit…”

“Samuel.”

“You can say no,”

“You know I can’t say no now!” Bucky flung his hands out, exasperated.

“You can! You’ll just disappoint him. But if that’s what you want to do—” Sam trailed off, taking a bite out of his turkey and provolone.

“This is manipulation.”

“Is it working?” Sam mumbled and swallowed.

Bucky shook his head and stared at his plate. “You owe me.”

“Big time! Promise.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bucky mumbled, planting his face in his palms.

“Rehearsals are Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Sam got up from the table and grabbed his now empty plate, “you’re making the kid really happy.”

“Yeah, yeah. To be clear, I am doing this for him. Not you. I don’t give a shit about you.” He pointed.

“Love you too, Buddy.”

Bucky found himself that very Thursday at the ballet studio, in a small group of parents, as a petite young woman—well, she looked about 60, but compared to Bucky, she was young—introduced herself, a southern accent clear in her cheery tone.

“Welcome parents and volunteers! Most of you already know me, but I’m Ms. Cindy, the head of this program and this year’s Nutcracker! I’d like to start by thanking all of you for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here and support us and your children. It’s you who keep this dance studio up and running, and I’m so grateful for that. Throughout today, you’ll each get called to get your measurements taken so we can be sure that the costumes are ready before the performance. And as for roles, we’ll figure that out at the end of class. I have to go teach the little ones, but feel free to take a seat and watch the choreography your students have been learning all season!”

Bucky followed the others, who seemed to already be acquainted with each other, into a small observing room attached to the studio where AJ was practicing. Bucky stuck himself in the back corner and watched AJ through the one-sided mirror for only a couple of minutes when his name was suddenly called.

“James Barnes?”

Bucky looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway. He ignored the glances that turned his way as he followed the woman out the door.

Did they know who he was? Did they know what he had done? Or maybe they had no idea. Maybe they were judging him for not engaging with them in polite conversation, maybe they thought he was weird for hiding silently in the corner.

Bucky pushed the thoughts out of his head as the (attractive, he might add,) woman opened the door for him into a new room. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t a closet either, and Bucky immediately noted the lines of clothing racks stuffed with colorful dresses that lined the walls.

“I just need to get your measurements quickly for your costume. I can take them now, or if you’re more comfortable, I can send you a list of measurements I need and you can get those numbers to me on Thursday if you’d prefer.”

Bucky thought for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure how to take his own measurements, and he sure as hell did not want Sam of all people helping him. On the other hand, having a stranger so close to him sounds embarrassing and stressful. But he saw the kindness in her eyes, and oddly enough, he felt he could trust her.

“Now is fine."

“Sounds good.” She gave the sweetest smile he had ever seen and told him where to stand. He took off his jacket with ease, feeling somewhat comfortable knowing he had a long-sleeved shirt under to hide his metal arm. He kept his leather gloves on, and she said nothing.

She demonstrated to him how to hold his arm, and he obeyed, holding his right arm out and bent at the elbow. She chatted as she brought the tape measure along his arm. “Which kid is yours?”

“Oh, none of them.”

He noticed the subtle tilt of her head.

“I mean, I’m not a dad, but I’m AJ’s uncle. Well, a friend of his uncle but,”

Luckily, she stopped his ramble before he could truly embarrass himself.

“Oh, you’re Bucky?” She dropped the tape to her side and smiled. “I’ve met Sam a couple times, but I’ve heard all about you and him from Sarah.”

“Oh? All good things I hope?”

He asked in a lighthearted tone, but in reality, he was terrified of the things she’d heard about him.

“Only good things.” She grinned and grabbed the pencil behind her ear to scribble a number on a chart.

“That’s a relief.” His eyes scanned the room, trying to think up conversation to fill the silence. “So are you a parent volunteer?”

“Not a parent, no. I used to be a part of this program growing up. It’s done so much for me, and I wanted to stay connected, so I help out here and there when I can. I mostly fit the costumes.”

“That’s cool.”

Cool. Cool. Cool response Bucky. Ask her a question, dammit.

“Do you still dance?”

“Not anymore. Can you put both arms out to the side please?” She asked, and Bucky lifted his arms so she could measure his chest. She continued to make conversation as she wrapped the tape around him. “AJ is a great student. He has a lot of potential, he just needs to find his confidence. And he’s a great kid. You’re a lucky uncle.”

“I am,” Bucky responded, trying desperately to not freak out at how close she was to him, and how she was only going lower, as she moved to his waist.

She took a break to write down a couple more numbers and returned to him.

“Now I need a hip measurement, so I have to measure around your butt. Is that okay?”

Bucky gave a convincing nod. “Do what you gotta do.”

‘Do what you gotta do’? What the hell am I saying?

He avoided looking at her and held his breath as she brought the tape around his hips.

“Just a couple more measurements and you’ll be out of here,” she assured, dropping the tape from his hips. “You can put your arms down now.”

Bucky let his arms rest at his sides.

She quickly went about measuring his legs and finished a couple of minutes later.

“You’re all good to go, Mr. Barnes, thank you!”

“You can call me Bucky,” he tried to hide his bashful smile and started to exit out the door, but stopped and turned at the last moment. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, I’m Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

He liked the way it felt on his tongue. With that, he said goodbye and returned to the observing room.

Thirty minutes later class was nearly over. All that was left on the agenda for the day was to form the groups.

“So it seems we have an odd number…Lois, is this everyone?” Ms. Cindy asked, looking over to her assistant.

“Everyone that signed up, yes.” Lois, a shorter girl with an auburn bob, tapped on a clipboard.

“Let’s just see how this goes. Mr. and Mrs. Tudor will be group one, Mr. and Mrs. Malone will be group two, Mrs. and Mrs. Cardoza will be group three, and that leaves Mr. Barnes…”

“We could have him be a single parent to his group?” Lois offered, looking up from her list.

“We could, but then who would he dance with at the party scene?”

Bucky swore he saw a literal lightbulb light up above Ms. Cindy’s head as her gaze fixated somewhere in the back of the room where you were simply passing by.

“Oh, Y/N? Dear?” She called in a uniquely falsetto voice.

“Yes, Ms. Cindy?” Y/N answered, pausing.

“I realize you’re already doing our costumes, but would you be interested in volunteering as one of the parents? We are short a person.”

“Oh, um…”

“You can think about it Dear. It’s no trouble if you feel that it’ll take up too much time, we appreciate you for your dedication to the costumes.” Ms. Cindy was careful to add.

Despite her initial hesitance, Y/N spoke up.

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Ms. Cindy blinked, surprised by the answer.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yes. I’ve already got measurements, all I need to do is submit an order. And I can’t tailor anything anyways until the shipment comes in.”

“A round of applause for our beautiful and dedicated Y/N, everyone!” Ms. Cindy cheered and began clapping her hands in a circle. The parents all joined in, and Bucky gave a quiet few claps. “That means Mr. Barnes and Y/N will play the fourth couple. Splendid!”

Lois tapped Ms. Cindy on the shoulder and pointed to her watch. Time was almost up. Ms. Cindy was fast to get back to business.

“Now let’s quickly assign each group their children, and then we can end rehearsal.”

“Buck, I’ve got some good news.” Sam’s voice flowed through Bucky’s phone.

It was Tuesday morning, and Bucky had been up and dressed since seven in the morning, eager to pick AJ up, even though class wasn’t until 5 p.m. He was currently lying on the couch, watching the clock tick by.

“What, you finally learned to use the potty like a big boy?” Bucky mocked.

“It was one time. ONE. TIME. You know I don’t fuck with clowns!”

“I don’t like clowns either, but you don’t see me shitting myself at the Halloween Festival.” Bucky quietly chuckled.

“First of all, I didn’t ‘shit’ myself. I peed. A little. And second of all, I had a lot of hot chocolate beforehand, and my bladder was at max capacity, and—why the hell am I explaining this to you?”

“Because you know I’m never going to let you live it down.”

“Moving on,” Sam sighed, “I was calling to tell you that you don’t need to be in the performance with AJ anymore.”

Bucky shot up from his lying position. “What do you mean?”

“My schedule freed up a bunch so I can take AJ and be in the show now.”

“Oh.”

Bucky slumped back onto the cushions, dejection dripping from his voice. Sam clearly picked up on it.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I thought this was good news for you. I know I forced it onto you and all, and your thing isn’t really being on stage in front of a bunch of people.”

Bucky picked at the edges of his fingers, carefully considering his next words.

“I mean it’s not my thing, but—I don’t know, I feel like I’ve committed. And I get to spend some time with AJ, y’know? And, truth be told, it’s not all bad.”

There was a pause on the line before Sam’s voice rang through.

“That’s awfully sweet Buck. And very out of character for you.”

“Shut the fuck up, I can be nice.”

“Yes, of course. Bucky Barnes, the world’s famous sweetheart, how could I forget?”

“I’m hanging up now,” Bucky warned.

“Bye, metal man.”

“Fuck off bird brain.” Bucky was about to hang up, but quickly added in a serious tone, “I’ll be there this afternoon to pick AJ up.”

“You’re a good man.”

“Whatever.”

“Welcome back everybody!” Ms. Cindy’s high voice rang. “We are going to practice the beginning of the show where the families enter the party. We’ll take it group by group, so let’s start with group one, the Tudors. Your family is super excited for this party, so we’ll have you enter stage right and I need the children to be skipping and bubbly.”

Ms. Cindy instructed the groups one by one. Eventually, she got to Bucky’s group, which he shared with you and four kids, including AJ.

“And our final group, group four, is the family that does not want to attend. The parents should be trying to get the kids to smile, and at least act like they are happy to be there.”

Bucky let you take the lead and simply followed what you did. He walked beside you, stopped when you stopped, turned when you turned.

“Good, now make it look like you are trying to get the kids to smile.”

Bucky copied the way you pointed to your cheery smile and did his best to ignore the embarrassment bubbling in his chest.

The comically grumpy—and much better actors than him—kids sighed and plastered on cheery expressions.

“Good, and you can continue walking.” Ms. Cindy ordered.

Group four finished the short trek across the stage successfully. For such a simple task, Bucky had felt surprisingly nervous.

Ms. Cindy quickly gave her praise and ordered everyone to start over. As Bucky and his group were going back to the line, she offered some advice.

“Y/N and Mr. Barnes, could you try holding hands? You don’t look as ‘coupley’ as everyone else.”

Bucky gulped. Of course you don’t look as ‘coupley’ as everyone else, all the other couples are actually couples, and married for God’s sake!

You, on the other hand, simply said “Okay.”

“Group one, go,” Ms. Cindy called, and the Tudors began to cross the makeshift stage.

The line moved forward, and Bucky with it. He began to sweat a little.

Hold your hand? With my left hand? My metal hand?

She simply glanced at him and gave him a small smile.

“And group two,” Ms. Cindy called.

Everyone stepped forward.

The good news is that Bucky was wearing his gloves, but surely she’d notice his hand felt different and think he was weird. Although, did she already know about his arm situation? She did mention that she’d heard about him and Sam from Sarah. Maybe she already knew, and wouldn’t care?

“Group three!”

Bucky looked back at the kids trailing behind him and spotted AJ beaming right back at him. Suddenly, Bucky felt ridiculous.

Bucky, you’re being an idiot. Be a man and hold her hand. It’s not that deep. You’re doing this for AJ.

“And four,”

He grabbed her hand and started to walk with her. The first thing he noticed was how small her hand felt in his. It gave him an unfamiliar tingly feeling in his chest. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was better than anxiety.

He tried his best to puff out his chest and mimic her confidence as they walked. Bucky stopped halfway through, like they were supposed to, and turned to face the kids like last time. He pretended to point to his smile and finished the walk across the stage.

“Excellent! Let’s move on.”

Bucky managed to make it through the entire class without sweating his clothes off from nerves.

“You ready to go, AJ?”

AJ yelped, “Wait! I want you to meet one of my friends!” He dramatically waved over to a little girl with a sunflower barrette in her hair who came skipping over. “This is Ava.”

“Hi, Ava.” Bucky gave an awkward smile.

The little girl looked up at him unphased.

“Hi, Mr. Bucky. So are you really a superhero?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Oh—um,”

“He is!” AJ butted in, “He’s friends with my Uncle Sam, they save the world all the time!”

Ava crossed her arms across her chest and jutted a leg out.

“So can you fly?” She squinted.

“Nope, I can’t fly.” Bucky began to rub the back of his neck.

“Can’t your Uncle Sam fly?” She asked, looking at AJ with skepticism.

“Yep!”

“So if you can’t fly, what can you do?”

Before Bucky could even begin to stutter, Y/N appeared.

“Hey, Ava! I think your mom is looking for you.” She said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Okay, I gotta go. Bye AJ,” Ava quickly spouted and ran off towards the doors.

“Bye!” AJ shouted.

Bucky noticed Y/N holding his blue cap out to him.

“I think you forgot your hat.” She spoke softly.

“Didn’t even realize, thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Bucky.”

Bucky was about to give a lopsided grin when AJ interjected,

“Only friends and family call him that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! James, then.” She brought her hand to her cheek.

“No, no, Bucky is fine,” Bucky quickly corrected, “you can call me Bucky.”

“You’re sure? I don’t mean to overstep,”

“You aren’t, I like it when you call me Bucky.”

He instantly felt his cheeks get warm at his confession. Before she could respond, he quickly changed the subject.

“Oh, by the way, I wanted to let you know that I can’t be here at the next rehearsal. AJ will be here, but I completely forgot that I’ve got an appointment that day.” A monthly check-in with Dr. Raynor that he forgot to move. “I don’t know if you want me to meet somewhere instead, or I can just come early on Tuesday and you can catch me up to speed or…I mean whatever you think is best.”

“If you want, we can meet on Friday at my place. I can send you the address if you’d like?”

“Yeah, yes, sure, let me get my phone—” he fumbled while grabbing it out of his pocket, “what’s your number?”

“Hey, come on in!” Y/N appeared behind the crisp white door of a cute house, not unlike the Wilson’s, and gestured inside before grimacing. “Sorry, I should’ve asked before, are you cool with dogs?”

Bucky nodded.

She gave a sigh of relief and fully opened the door. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the graying corgi staring back at him.

“This is Frank,” Y/N said, bending down to bring the panting dog into her arms.

“Hi, Frank.” Bucky greeted, giving the dog gentle pets with his right hand. “Your house is lovely,” he added after catching a glance around.

“Oh, thanks!” She smiled, walking into the living room area to set the dog down on the couch. “This is actually my parent’s house, I’m just house and dog sitting for the week while they’re out of town. Usually, I live in my apartment.”

“Is this where you grew up?” Bucky asked, eyes searching the place. He noted the multitude of picture frames lining the wall and the slightly worn couch.

“The first eighteen years of my life. I told myself I’d be out of Louisiana by the time I went to college, but clearly that didn’t happen.”

“Where did you want to go?”

“New York, San Francisco, I don’t know, maybe even Australia or France.” she laughed at the absurdity and sighed. “C’est la vie,”

Bucky stuck his thumbs in his pockets and stared down at his feet, unsure of what to do next.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Iced Tea? I can make some coffee. Are you hungry?”

“Just water is fine,”

“Sure, one second.”

Bucky took the opportunity to explore the room. His curiosity was set on the shelf beside the fireplace, and the multitude of shiny awards it adorned.

Several faux gold figures of ballerinas and a plaque filled the space, as well as what looked to be a photo album. Bucky thought better than to touch it, however, he did notice the significant lack of dust on it compared to the trophies.

“I see the obnoxious shrine of my dancing days has caught your attention.”

Bucky spun around, cheeks a little pink at the notion of being caught wandering. He was looking for the right thing to say as you took a seat on the couch and placed the water on the coasters.

“Looks like you’re an amazing dancer.” He nodded, hoping that it was the appropriate thing to say.

She ducked her head at the compliment. “I was okay.” She pointed to just beyond his shoulder at the photo album. “You can look at it if you want,” she offered, clearly sensing his curiosity.

Bucky grabbed the binder from its spot on the shelf and took a seat next to her. He slowly opened the book to the first page.

There you were, 4 years old in a bright pink tutu, beaming at the camera. The page was covered in cute stickers and artistic swirls.

“My mom has a knack for crafty things,” she said, vaguely gesturing to the book.

Bucky hummed and began to gingerly flip through the pages. It was odd but endearing seeing you change through each photo and page, but one thing that stayed constant was your eyes. In every photo they had the same sparkle, the same light. It looked so right on you, but he didn’t recognize it in you now.

Bucky stopped on the page dedicated to age 17 and marveled at the costume you were wearing. He couldn’t look away from the intricate feathers and sequins.

“That was for our Spring production of Swan Lake.”

Bucky turned to see a subtle smile on her lips. She was looking at the book, but it seemed as if she was seeing right through it.

“You were the swan?”

“Odette, yeah.”

Bucky turned the page once more, except this time there was no photo—just the outline of where one would be on a mostly blank page, minus the glittering bold number “18”.

“Anyway, the choreography,” she quickly chimed, her attitude dramatically changing, “I’ve got the video right here, we can watch it first.”

She snatched the album up and placed it back on the shelf before handing him her phone. Bucky watched the thirty-second clip of two of the volunteers—possibly the Tudors if he remembered correctly—as they danced a shockingly simple routine.

“That’s it?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s it.” She assured. “Ready to try it?”

“I might be a little rusty, it’s been a while since I’ve danced.”

She turned on the music and started counting under her breath.

They started by facing each other, their right palms in front of them, and placed against each other. They both took a step in, a step out and circled around the other to which they were now in the opposite places. She curtsied, he bowed, and then they repeated the step in, step out, switch. Now they stood next to each other, and she held her arm out over his. They took three steps forward, and the music grew into a faster tempo.

“Easy enough?” Y/N asked, grabbing her phone to stop the music.

It was suspiciously simple, Bucky thought, but then again, the adults were just a small addition to the show. It’s really about the kids.

“We can make this more interesting.” He remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s try it again.” Bucky gestured to her phone.

She obliged and restarted the music.

They went through the routine again, all the way to the end at which the music began to speed up. As Y/N went to pause the music again, Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her in. She gave a surprised gasp, but Bucky wasn’t regretful once he saw the smile on her face. He pulled himself back and began to spin her around and basked in her soft laughs. After pulling her back in again, and dancing around each other, he dipped her. She wrapped her right leg around him in response and he hoped she didn’t notice his smirk transform into a blush.

“Alright Mr. ‘I might be a little rusty’, someone has moves!”

Bucky helped her up once she removed her leg.

“I used to be better,” he mumbled.

“None of that,” she softly chided, bringing his chin up, “where did that confidence just go?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll keep practicing, then you’ll see,” he simpered.

Time went on and not a day went by that Bucky didn’t think of you. After weeks of practice, it was finally dress rehearsal. Bucky was surprisingly calm even though they were no longer practicing in a studio, but in the local high school’s theater, in full costume. You held his hand through it—literally, for some parts—and Bucky was grateful for it.

It was Friday night, the final rehearsal before the show the next day, and Bucky was just about to drive off when he realized how cold his hand felt against the steering wheel. He cursed himself and ran back inside, luckily finding his leather gloves sitting on a chair in the wings of the stage. Right as he was about to scamper off, he noticed a figure at the very front of center stage. He recognized her immediately, and without a second thought, he approached from the darkness of the sides and into the light of the stage. She had already changed out of her ballgown and was back in black leggings.

“Hey.” He uttered, slowly taking a seat next to her at the end of the stage. He let his legs dangle over the edge.

“Hey,” she gasped, bringing a hand to her heart. “Sorry, I thought everyone had left.”

“I forgot my gloves.”

“Seems like you have a habit of forgetting things,” she teased.

“Only when it comes to clothing, apparently.”

“Is AJ not waiting for you?”

“No, he left with a friend. He’s got a sleepover with Marshall tonight.”

“Gotcha.”

A thoughtful quiet settled over them, but Bucky couldn’t ignore the somberness in her eyes, gazing over the expanse of empty velvet seats.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you stop dancing?”

She was quiet for a minute. Bucky started to think she wasn’t going to answer, but eventually, she whispered,

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

She began mindlessly rubbing her knee.

“I tore my ACL my senior year. It was our annual production of The Nutcracker and I was cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy. There was a rumor that some influential talent scouts were going to be attending. So when my knee started hurting I ignored it. I didn’t tell anyone. I worked my ass off and pushed myself harder when I really should have been resting, but I was stupid.” She gave Bucky a short glance. “Opening night came, and so did my solo. Everything was going fine until I heard a pop. Next thing I know my leg is on fucking fire and I’m hitting the ground.

“I embarrassed myself and our entire company. My knee took longer to heal than it should have because of more poor choices I made. What should have been nine months of healing turned into years. By the time it was safe enough to start dancing again, it was too late. I was too far behind my peers. Even still I sometimes have issues with it.”

Bucky simply nodded, taking in her words.

“I tell myself I’m over it because it was so long ago. But deep down I know I’m not. I’ve asked my parents to take down all of my stupid awards, at least store them away somewhere, because it’s just some sick reminder of what I lost. Actually, the whole reason I started volunteering in the first place is because my mom told me I should. Said it could be good for me. She never said so, but I really think she was hoping that by being surrounded by ballet again, I would feel motivated to begin training again. But it’s a pipe dream.”

She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

“All I ever was was a dancer. And a good one. It was the only thing I was good at, besides sewing, but I only learned that after I injured myself. The whole town knew me as the dancer. I guess the problem with having my entire identity wrapped around one thing is that when that thing goes away…well, who are you? Who am I, if not the girl who’s going to be on the stage one day? My entire identity was ripped from me.

“I’ve just been wading through life. Time keeps moving and crashing around me, but I haven’t changed. I still don’t know who I am, besides the girl who could’ve been great. And now I’m just—stuck.”

Her eyes went wide for a second before squeezing them shut as if she had forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“God, I’m so sorry, you didn’t need to know all of that—”

“No, I—” Bucky stopped her and hesitated to rest his hand on hers. “I can empathize. I hate that you had to go through that. That you’re still going through it. I can understand not knowing who you are anymore.

“A long time ago, I used to be someone else. I used to be charming, independent… happy. But after I was drafted my identity was no longer my own. I was a fighter. I belonged to the army. And then I belonged to Hydra. And even after, I belonged to the Avengers, the world, whoever needed me to fight, I was their soldier. But I’m tired.” At those words, Bucky slumped. “I don’t want to fight anymore. But I have no fucking clue who I am if not a soldier. I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

“I can’t tell you who you are,” she whispered after a moment, “but I can tell you that whoever you are, I like you.”

Bucky blushed.

“I like you too. It’s kind of embarrassing actually,”

“What is?”

“I didn’t really want to volunteer for this. Sam forced me. And while I love being here for AJ, I’d much rather hang out with him outside the theater where I’m not expected to be looked at on stage. But then I met this pretty costume designer…and suddenly it wasn’t so bad.”

“Pretty?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” He specified.

“What a coincidence. I also met the most handsome and charming man recently.”

“Charming?”

“He doesn’t realize how charming he is. I guess that’s part of his charm.”

“He sounds great.” He turned to face her more directly. “Just to be clear, you are talking about me, yes?”

“Yes, you oaf.” She laughed.

Bucky pursed his lips.

“Would you be willing to let this oaf take you out on a date sometime?”

“More than willing.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighed, falling back onto the stage. “I figured it was 50/50.”

She gave him a silly grin and shook her head in amusement.

“You underestimate yourself, Bucky Barnes.”

The final performance was perfect. Well, as perfect as it could be with a production of the Nutcracker with dancers ages ranging from 6 to 106. Most importantly, AJ had fun and did a fantastic job. After the show and final bows, Sarah, Sam, and Cass came rushing onto the stage to congratulate AJ (and Bucky of course. Sam made sure to tell him that he was very proud of how brave he was, and Bucky rolled his eyes. He secretly appreciated it, though.) Cass handed one bouquet to his little brother and the other to his uncle, who funny enough lit up in a similar way as his nephew at the gift. But Y/N lit up the most when Sarah handed a third bouquet to her.

“For keeping Bucky in line, and giving a beautiful performance,” Sarah clarified.

“You’re so sweet,” she beamed, pulling Sarah in for a quick hug. “I have the perfect vase for this.”

“Can we go get ice cream now?” AJ jumped.

“Let’s get you out of your costume first,” Sam said and gave a quick wink to Bucky before herding his sister and Nephews backstage. “We’ll see you by the car Buck.”

Bucky nodded and turned his full attention to Y/N. He felt weirdly high after the performance. “Wanna join us for ice cream?” He asked, placing his hands on her waist.

“Gladly.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

I like dancing with you.

A/N: If you've made it this far, tysm for reading!!! I really hope this doesn't suck complete ass, idk what happened 😰 Im going to go hide in a hole now and question everything

If you'd like to read more, here's my Masterlist

Happy holidays!

#bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #tfatws!Bucky #dancer!reader #costumer!reader #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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crappymixtape · 1 year ago

Text

gold & glitter

REQUEST → @superblysubpar, A VERY MERRY MIXTAPE ❝ i’m thinking a little rich!steve harrington, a little spicy somethin, somethin and a holiday play – spicy is right, steve takes you to see the nutcracker, but you don’t even make it to the first act • 18+ | ( 3.1k – smut with a dash of fluff, rich!steve x reader )

G O L D & G L I T T E R 🎶 the nutcracker suite, tchaikovsky

“Good evening, Mister Harrington. Miss. May I take your jackets?”

“Thank you, Charles. Did you order the MacCallan Anniversary malt?”

“Of course, sir. It is available neat here from your decanter or we can dress up however you like. Miss, your jacket?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you opened them again expecting the finery before you to disappear into thin air like a dream, but it didn’t.

“Oh ye-yeah. I mean-yes. Yes, thank you,” you stumbled over your words as the waitstaff took your coat and disappeared behind the curtain. God, you were working overtime to maintain the same level of calm and collected sophistication that seemed to come so easily to your date.

Steve Harrington. Son of John Harrington and heir to the Harrington fortune. One with a foundation built by generations of brokers and wealth managers. Carried on throughout the years to be passed down to the eldest or, in Steve’s case, the only son.

You’d been together for over a year now, but you still weren’t used to it. This lifestyle.

Going anywhere with him meant multiple planned routes in and out of your destinations. Private cars with dark tinted, bullet-proof windows. Black American Express cards, Gucci loafers, and champagne flown direct from the Garonne Valley in Bordeaux, France.

And of course, at Christmastime, a viewing of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker from a private balcony, performed by only the finest troupe at the New York City Ballet.

You’d been to the theatre, the opera, but never like this. A suite all to yourselves, up and away from prying eyes, and upon each seat rested a pair of exquisitely golden opera binoculars for your viewing pleasure. It felt otherworldly. Lush and dark, gilded and polished. Long, red, crushed velvet curtains draped heavy to the floor and on a small table thick, crystalline tumblers sat next to a matching decanter full of only the finest single malt whiskey.

Lifting a hand, you ghosted an immaculately manicured finger around the rim of one of the glasses.

“Is it up to your standards, honey?”

The low, warmth of Steve’s voice broke your trance and pulled your gaze quick to look up at him.

“What?” you wondered aloud, still surprised at how he could ask such questions, “My standards? God. It’s beautiful.”

“Good. M’glad you like it.”

A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth as he watched you walk to lean out over the balcony and look down at the sea of seats below. You were wearing the emerald green dress he’d bought you especially for the occasion. Made of the finest silk and fitted tight against every curve and dip of your body. Your hair swept long over one shoulder, soft skin exposed through the keyhole cut into the back. You were exquisite.

And you were all his.

Tucking a hand into the pocket of his slacks he reluctantly looked away from you and took up the decanter to pour a measure of whiskey for himself. MacCallan, single malt, from 1928 and around three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle. Lifting the tumbler he inhaled deeply and let his eyes drift shut. Worth every single penny.

“Charles,” his voice notched up in volume and the man from earlier appeared through the thick, velvet curtains.

“Sir?”

“A bottle of Dom and a chilled glass,” Steve took a drink from his whiskey and let it sit on a his tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. “Oh, and my cigar case.”

“Sir, you know smoking isn’t permitted–”

Steve hummed, a low thrum in his throat, and stepped forward toward the other man.

“How much do I pay for these seats, Charles? How much does my family pay for these seats? Since the theatre opened in 1964…I’ll let you do the math,” he took another sip of whiskey and lifted a hand to smooth down the other man’s cravat, “My cigar case.”

“Yes. Of course, Mister Harrington,” the man replied quietly, eyes glued to the cheap, shiny black plastic of his dress shoes.

Steve put on a smile, the one he gave to clients when he knew he’d closed an account, and gripped the man’s shoulder, “Good man.”

And without another word Charles was off again through the curtain.

There was no denying it, Steve’s presence always held weight. Held power. No one could tell him no. Stood in boardrooms dressed to the nines. Gold heirloom cufflinks, custom tailored jackets and Tucci de Lusso oxfords included, but this version of him was different. Somehow more and you didn’t know how it was possible.

Brunette locks perfectly coiffed. Custom black Armani suit fitted tight across his chest and shoulders. Gold signet ring with his initials engraved upon it shining up from his index finger, and damn if his ass didn’t look incredible in those slacks.

You clicked your tongue at him and fixed him with a look, closing the gap between the two of you.

“Babe, he’s just trying to enforce the house rules,” smoothing a hand up his chest, you pretended to adjust his tie as an excuse to touch him.

“Honey, you and I both know who makes the rules around here,” he drawled, his tone making you weak in the knees, and he set his glass down in favor of taking hold of your waist. His hand wide and warm on the small of your back as he ran it down the curve of your ass and squeezed, pulling a gasp from your lips.

“Steve,” you chided, no heat behind it, and he dipped down to press a kiss to your neck.

“This really is your color,” he whispered in your ear and your eyes fluttered at the sound. Pressed your thighs together as he traced a finger across your exposed collarbone. Warmth blooming in your core as he followed the hem that chased along the edge of your shoulder.

“You’ve got good taste,” you whispered back, swallowing the moan that had crept up your throat and he grinned.

“I do, don’t I.”

“Sir, your cigar cas–oh!”

Charles came back through the curtain to find the two of you pressed into each other, Steve’s nose buried in the crook of your neck. Your cheeks burned at being caught.

“My sincerest apologies, sir! I should’ve–”

“S’alright,” Steve chuckled, pulling away from you to casually take the case from the other man without missing a beat. He reached into his money clip and slipped a hundred dollar bill into Charles’ hand, “Now. That will be all. If I need anything, I’ll ring you.” The finality of his words hung in the air.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Excuse me,” and with that Charles disappeared again for what you were certain, after all that, would be the last time.

“Shit,” you breathed, cheeks still bright red as you bit back a laugh.

Steve was laughing too, but no where near embarrassed, and he grabbed your hand to pull you close to his chest again as the theatre lights flickered and slowly dimmed.

“Mmm, damn. Showtime,” he murmured softly into your hair.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of having to sit so still, and so far from Steve for three hours, but then another thought came to you. One that made your cheeks flush again and you pressed your face into his lapel, breathing in the citrusy, cedar scent of his cologne.

Pulling away just enough to meet his gaze the expression you maintained was innocent, but the look in your eye wasn’t. It was dark and needy. Warm and flickering at the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“We could freshen up first,” you suggested quietly and as Steve put your words together his pupils blew wide. Pools of black edged in gold and he squeezed at the plush of your hip.

“Uh-huh,” came out strangled and it was all he could manage. Unable to focus on anything other than rucking that silk dress up around your thighs, and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the thick, velvet curtains.

The corridor was empty, Charles hiding wherever he’d rushed off to, and everyone else was in their seats to catch the opening act as Steve led you the short distance down the hall.

Luckily for you, the neighboring balcony’s ticket holders had filed for bankruptcy earlier in the year and now the restrooms on this wing were exclusively Steve’s. Doors crafted from thick oak and etched with breathtaking carvings of Swan Lake and Slyphide, they were heavy enough to drown out anything happening on the other side.

Thank god.

Ignoring the men’s and women’s signs, Steve chose the closest door and shouldered into it, bicep straining against the tight fabric of his shirt as he held muscled it open. It was a hurried mess, both of you tripping into the room on the train of your dress in a fit of giggles as Steve huffed a laugh and cursed under his breath.

“Baby.”

Heels clicking on the white granite tile floor, you regained your footing and finally took in all the exquisite details of the ornate room. Wide marble slabs. Bottles of lotion and perfume that cost more than your mortage. Gold fixtures shining in the low light falling from crystal chandeliers that refracted bright shards of color against the walls.

You would have appreciated the incredible beauty of it all, but Steve. You couldn’t have cared less and neither could he.

He spun you around to face him and hooked his arms behind the backs of your legs. Scooped you up off the ground and pulled a squeal from you as you held on tight around his neck to steady yourself.

Squeezing his hold on you, he freed an arm and swept it across the counter. Knocked the soap dish clattering into the sink basin and paid absolutely no attention to the lush basket of designer hand towels that fell to the floor as he lifted you with ease onto the marble surface.

“Steve,” you protested weakly and when he notched himself between your legs you felt yourself melt under him.

His hands were everywhere. Your waist, the small of your back, fingers pressing into your cheek and pushing your hair over your shoulder to drag messy, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. It pulled a moan from your lips and at the sound he groaned into you.

“Christ, babe. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since you climbed into the limo. Pretty as a fuckin’ picture in this thing. So damn hot. All for me, huh?”

“S’always for you,” you half-laughed, but it caught in your throat as he slipped a hand between your thighs, “God, Steve.”

“This for me too, honey?”

He gathered a handful of emerald green silk in one hand and pooled it at your waist as the cool air of the room sent a shiver up your spine. Then he caught sight of the black lace panties hugging tight against you and sucked in a breath. Bit down on his bottom lip and looked like he might cry.

“You’re gonna kill me with these. Are you kiddin’ me? Baby. Look at this,” he babbled, just standing there not touching you and you grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him back into you.

“Talk too much,” you murmured against his ear, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging your nails against his skin, “It’s all yours…Mister Harrington.”

And fuck if the dress and panties weren’t enough, the sound of your voice wrapped around his name did him in.

“Damn right it is.”

He growled as you tugged on his hair, slipped his hand back between your legs and tugged the thin fabric of your panties aside. The way he had been kissing and talking at you out on the balcony had been plenty to send you pressing your thighs together, but the way he was handling you in here had you soaked.

His fingers slipped in your slick as he felt just how wet you were and he smirked against your skin as he dragged his lips up to your jawline. Tutting softly he slowly circled your clit, his other hand moving to wrap gently around the column of your throat.

“Bet you want me to talk now, huh honey? You want that? Talk dirty to you?” his voice was barely above a whisper as his fingers slid down to press against your entrance.

You swallowed against the hand he had on your throat, your lips dropping open into a perfect little ‘o’ as you squirmed against the counter, impatient for him.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed and he smirked at how he had you wrapped around his finger, literally as he slid one into you.

“That’s my girl. I know what you like, don’t I? Give you everything you need. Take care of you, hm?” he babbled, kissing and sucking at the hollow behind your ear as he began to slide his finger in and out, in and out. A slow drag at first before adding a second finger and pulling a moan from your lips.

“Good care of me,” fell out mindlessly as he gently tightened the hand on your throat making your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“This isn’t enough though, is it? Not enough. Want me to fill you up, don’t you honey?” he whispered and you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and god you wanted him to make you see stars.

He pulled his hand from between your legs to undo the button on his pants and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the loss of his touch.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” he coaxed, pulling down his zipper and reaching in to free his rock hard cock.

It sprang out of his pants without any encouragement and he wrapped a hand around it. Rubbed it against your slit as it practically cried in anticipation and as he slowly pushed himself into you it made you sucked in a rasp of a breath.

“Steve,” you begged and he moved his hand to grip your thigh.

“I know, baby.”

An inch more and he was into you up to the hilt. Filling you so much that you could feel the tip pressing against the spot only he could reach. Easing out he groaned as you clenched down on him before pushing back in and he set the pace there. A slow drag. In, out. In, out.

The wet sounds coming from you as he fucked you slowly were obscene. Made louder by the empty room, but you didn’t care. You wanted more.

“Harder,” you pleaded. He wanted it too and as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding into your cunt he nearly lost it.

Letting go of your throat he grabbed onto your other thigh for purchase and pulled you to the very edge of the counter. Picked up the pace and started fucking you faster, the slap, slap, slap of his thighs against yours filling the air.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Feel so good. You like that? Huh? Want more?”

“More–shit. Yes, god. More, Steve.”

Your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the counter, moans falling freely from your lips now as Steve pushed you both closer and closer to climax. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he squeezed into the plush of your thighs and your hand flew up to grab at the back of his neck.

“Gonna–ugh–come, baby. Come with me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, jaw ticking when he clenched down, and as he rocked his hips back into you, you both came.

Your orgasm wrapped around you tight. White hot. Electric. Every inch of you buzzing and sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July and you cried out as his thrusts fell out of sync, jerky and messy as he came down.

A soft thud echoed against the tile as your head fell back against the mirror behind you, beads of sweat holding your hair messy across your forehead. Steve leaned into you, rested his head on your chest, and slowly your breaths evened out.

Your lips twitched with a smile, your hand lifting to cover your mouth as you held back a laugh, and Steve seemed to have the same thought as he chuckled against your dress.

“Someone heard us. For sure,” you finally said, voice crackly from breathing so hard.

“And? Who gives a shit. Maybe we just gave them a good idea,” Steve grinned, looking up at you from where he rested his chin on your belly.

You swatted at him, gasping as he pulled out of you to avoid getting hit.

Bending down, Steve grabbed a couple of the hand towels from where they’d landed on the tile and ran warm water on them. Quickly cleaned himself up and then took his time with you. Paid close attention to where he’d held onto your throat. Where his fingertips pressed into your thighs. Dabbed softly across your forehead and spent extra time on the mess between your legs.

You touched up your makeup and perfume, adjusted Steve's tie and hair, and when you both finally emerged from the bathroom the piece the orchestra was playing reached a crescendo and the theatre filled with applause.

It couldn’t be the end of the first act?

Steve walked you easy back to the balcony and held the heavy velvet curtain open for you. Your gilded opera binoculars were still sitting perfectly upon your seat where you’d left them and the bottle of chilled Dom Perignon was on ice along with a champagne flute – you hated whiskey.

You both sank into your seats as the orchestra began to play again and you recognized the piece and shot Steve a look.

“The party scene just started,” you whispered, “We’re not even out of the first part of act one.”

“Christ,” he groaned, grinning into his hands as he rubbed them across his face. Then, glancing over at you he grabbed his cigar box, “We can always make up for it next year. Right?”

Your eyes grew wide.

“Skip the Nutcracker?” you asked incredulously and he quirked a brow at you.

“Yeah. Skip it and we’ll go catch part two of the bathroom scene at mine,” he said giving you a wicked grin and you feigned shock, your own grin threatening to shatter your facade.

“Mister Harrington, what would your mother say?”

And the look he gave you then was the absolute definition of smug.

“My Stevie boy always gets what he wants.”

And damn if she wasn’t right about that.

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osirisarrow · 25 days ago

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╰┈➤ ❝ WINTER BOTS UPLOADED P1 ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ includes the summer i turned pretty / scream 6 / stranger things / gossip girl

╰┈➤ ❝ CONRAD FISHER ❆ snow on the beach || Conrad stood by the window, watching snowflakes drift gently down, layering over Cousins Beach in a soft, white blanket. It was rare to have snow here, and the sight stirred something quiet and warm in him—a stillness he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was Christmas Eve, and he was at the beach house, their beach house, but for the first time, he wasn’t alone. She was with him. The fireplace crackled behind him, casting a warm glow that lit up the room and brushed his features in amber. He could feel her presence close, the soft padding of her feet against the old wooden floor as she moved around the room. There was something about her that brought him peace and, at the same time, made him feel as if he were on the edge of something. Conrad had never been one to show his heart easily; it always felt like too much, like he was revealing parts of himself he wasn’t sure anyone should see. But with her, it was different.

╰┈➤ ❝ ETHAN LANDRY ❆ hot chocolate || It was Christmas Eve, and snow gently dusted the streets outside as Ethan and User settled into the cozy warmth of the apartment. Ethan had been buzzing with excitement all day, waiting to share his holiday spirit. Twinkling lights filled the room, reflecting off garlands and ornaments they’d spent the afternoon putting up together. A playlist of classic Christmas songs played softly in the background, adding to the festive glow of the evening. Ethan held up a mug, practically overflowing with marshmallows and a swirl of whipped cream, presenting it with a proud grin. “I made it just how you like it—extra marshmallows. And, I may have gone a little overboard with the whipped cream,” he laughed, handing over the steaming mug. He watched with delight as they took a sip, his expression lighting up like a kid who just witnessed his first snowfall.

╰┈➤ ❝ EDDIE MUNSON ❆ christmas eve || Eddie hadn’t expected to be spending Christmas Eve this way—surrounded by the cozy clutter of holiday decorations in someone else’s living room. Twinkling lights draped over the walls, casting a warm glow over the place, with every available surface cluttered by Christmas tchotchkes: little snowmen, a nutcracker with a broken mustache, and a bowl overflowing with peppermint candy canes. It was the opposite of anything Eddie would call “metal,” but somehow he was perfectly fine with it. He leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms along the top as he eyed the tree. It was tall and slightly crooked, covered in mismatched ornaments and blinking lights that looked like they’d seen a few too many holidays. There were a couple of presents beneath it—nothing fancy, just colorful paper slapped around odd shapes.

╰┈➤ ❝ JONATHAN BYERS ❆ christmas tree || Jonathan fidgeted with the string of Christmas lights tangled in his hands, brows furrowed as he worked them apart. He was kneeling in front of the old family tree in the Byers’ living room, which he’d found tucked in a dusty corner of the attic. It had seen better days—the artificial branches were bent and sparse in spots, the plastic needles clinging on for dear life. But it was their tree, and he wanted to make it look good this year. Better than last year, anyway. The house was quieter now than he was used to, the sort of stillness he wasn’t sure he’d ever get comfortable with. He glanced around at the boxes scattered across the floor, filled with ornaments his mom had collected over the years. She’d just gotten the new place settled in, and Jonathan could tell she was holding back, letting him take the reins on decorating.

╰┈➤ ❝ MIKE WHEELER ❆ gifts || It was Christmas Eve in Hawkins, and snowflakes were drifting down in thick, lazy flurries, covering everything in a fresh layer of white. The Wheeler’s house was filled with the warm glow of twinkling Christmas lights, the faint sound of Christmas carols from the stereo, and the smell of pine from the tree his mom had decorated with way too many ornaments. Mike sat on the couch, nervously tapping his fingers on his knees, glancing every so often at the clock on the wall. He kept looking toward the door, even though you’d told him you’d be here soon. When he finally heard the knock, he nearly jumped off the couch. He tried to play it cool as he opened the door, but he couldn’t hide the grin that spread across his face. “Hey! Finally, you’re here,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “I was starting to think you’d, like… frozen on the way over or something.”

╰┈➤ ❝ NANCY WHEELER ❆ decorations || Nancy stood by the window, watching as the first flakes of snow dusted the ground outside. She loved how the little Indiana town looked around Christmas time—like something out of one of those holiday cards her mom would send out every December. Christmas lights blinked from houses down the block, casting soft, colourful glows across the snow, and she could smell the faint scent of gingerbread wafting in from the kitchen. Mrs. Wheeler was baking again, which meant it was officially the start of holiday season in the Wheeler household. Nancy tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turned, a smile creeping onto her face. She’d spent most of the afternoon picking out decorations, and now they sat in boxes all over the living room floor—glittering baubles, strings of lights, even a wreath with fake holly berries that she thought was way too over-the-top but had picked up anyway.

╰┈➤ ❝ NATE ARCHIBALD ❆ rockefeller center || Nate wasn’t the kind of guy who usually spent his time at tourist spots. Born and raised in the Upper East Side, he’d done the Rockefeller Center thing as a kid, but by now, the novelty of it was long gone. Still, when he brought user there, it wasn’t about the spectacle—it was about them. Nate figured, why not switch things up? He could already hear Chuck mocking him for this move, but whatever. It felt like something fun, something easy, and maybe even a little romantic. He’d insisted on getting there early, wanting to avoid the insane holiday crowds. That was the first challenge—Nate doing anything “early” was borderline unheard of, but somehow he’d managed. He showed up at their place with two coffees, a knit scarf lazily draped over his coat, and his hair somehow perfectly messy despite the chill outside. “Alright,” he’d said with a smirk, handing over the coffee. “You’re not allowed to make fun of me for this idea. Just…trust me.”

— SAOIRSE.

feel free to request something here ? especially for a potential p2.

#saoirse bots 🦂#cai #cai bots #character ai #character ai bots #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #Conrad fisher #scream #scream 6 #ethan landry #stranger things #eddie munson #jonathan byers #Mike wheeler #gossip girl #Nate Archibald #Nathaniel Archibald

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storyscribeforthesentiment · 13 days ago

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christmas eve at wayne manor

Summary: If you were wondering what Bruce and Marie got up to on Christmas Eve ;)

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f! original character

Word count: 4k

Chapter List

The grand living room of Wayne Manor was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the fire crackling in the stone hearth casting dancing shadows against the towering walls.

A rich scent of pine filled the room, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked cookies Alfred had insisted on making earlier.

The towering evergreen tree stood proudly at the center of the room, its height so impressive that it nearly brushed the ceiling. Marie, perched on a tall ladder, was carefully hanging delicate glass ornaments on the highest branches, her brows furrowed in concentration.

A faint sheen of frost clung to the edges of the massive bay windows, and the soft strains of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” wafted from the old record player in the corner.

Her hands were still cold from spending most of the afternoon outside, stringing lights along the sprawling exterior of Wayne Manor. Despite the stinging chill that lingered in her fingertips, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction as the last strand of lights lit up the estate like a colorful winter wonderland.

Inside, garlands wrapped elegantly around the grand staircase, wreaths adorned every door, and clusters of candles flickered softly from marble mantels. Alfred had even managed to find an impressive collection of nutcrackers to stand sentinel by the fireplace.

“Is it too much?” Marie asked, her voice carrying a note of playful doubt as she reached for another ornament.

“Certainly not,” Alfred replied from below, steadying the ladder with one hand while holding a box of ornaments in the other. “One can never have too much holiday cheer, my dear.”

Marie chuckled, carefully adjusting a snowflake ornament “I don’t know about cheer. My fingers feel like ice from hanging those lights all day.”

“It’s all in the spirit of the season,” Alfred said with a faint smile, holding the ladder steady for her. “Though I admit, this house hasn’t looked quite so festive in many years.”

She glanced down at Alfred, who was standing by the base of the towering tree, his hands now clasped behind his back as he inspected their progress.

“I have to admit, Alfred,” she said with a faint smile, hooking the bauble onto a high branch. “I don’t know how you managed to decorate a tree this size all by yourself all these years.”

“Painstakingly, Miss Manning,” Alfred replied with a wry smile, stepping back to better appraise the glittering lights and ornaments. “Though, I dare say, it was much easier when Master Wayne was a boy. He used to insist on helping—until he grew older and decided Christmas wasn’t worth celebrating anymore.”

Marie frowned, her hand stilling mid-air as she reached for another ornament. “Why would he stop?”

Alfred’s gaze softened, his eyes drifting toward the fire as if seeing a distant memory in the flickering flames. “The first few years after his parent’s passing, I did my utmost to recreate the holidays as they’d been before, hoping to preserve some sense of normalcy for him. We’d have a tree, stockings, even his favorite mince pies. But it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be.” His voice grew quieter. “Eventually, Bruce told me he didn’t want a tree, didn’t want the decorations, and certainly didn’t want the reminders.”

Marie’s chest tightened, the gentle hum of holiday music doing little to soften the ache she felt on his behalf. Slowly, she climbed down from the ladder, placing the box of ornaments on the floor. “That must’ve been hard—for both of you.”

“It was,” Alfred admitted, a faint shadow crossing his expression. “But I couldn’t blame him. How does one celebrate when the heart of it all is missing?”

Marie leaned against the ladder, her arms folding loosely over her chest. “You still tried, though. Even when he didn’t want it. That says a lot about you, Alfred.”

He looked at her with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I suppose it was my way of holding on to hope. Not for the decorations or the festivities themselves, but for what they represented—a chance to find light, even in the darkest of times. I always hoped one day Bruce might feel the same.”

Marie’s gaze shifted to the tree, its lights casting a soft glow across the room. She imagined a younger Bruce, wide-eyed and hopeful, standing beside this very tree with his parents. Then, years later, a grieving boy retreating from the joy it once brought.

Her voice was quieter when she spoke. “I think that light’s finally starting to come back. Even if it’s just a flicker, it’s there.”

Alfred tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “And I dare say, Miss Manning, much of that is because of you.”

Marie felt her cheeks flush slightly and glanced down, her fingers brushing over the edge of the ornament box. “I don’t know about that. But I want him to feel it—this, the warmth, the joy. He deserves it, Alfred. Even if he doesn’t think so.”

Alfred nodded, his eyes kind. “Then it’s a good thing you’re here, isn’t it?”

They stood there for a moment in the golden glow of the room, the crackling fire and soft carols filling the silence. Outside, snow drifted lazily against the tall windows, blanketing the world beyond in stillness. The house felt less empty, less cold, as if their efforts had breathed life into its grand halls.

Marie’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile as she reached for another ornament. “He deserves to have something good.”

Alfred’s gaze softened as he glanced toward the tree, the twinkling lights reflecting faintly in his thoughtful expression. “As do you, Miss Manning. Which is why I suspect his nocturnal habits must be difficult, particularly during the holidays.”

She let out a soft, humorless laugh, adjusting the ribbon on the ornament she was holding. “You’re not wrong.” Her gaze flicked toward the twinkling lights on the tree. “I knew what I was signing up for—being with him. I respect what he does, Alfred.”

She paused, her voice softening as her fingers brushed against a branch as she hung the ornament. “He’s out there saving lives, making Gotham a better place. How could I not respect that?”

Her voice dropped slightly, a note of vulnerability creeping in. “But sometimes... I can’t help but miss him. Especially on nights like this. It feels selfish, doesn’t it? Wishing he could just—stay. Be here. With me.”

Alfred tilted his head, his expression filled with quiet empathy. “It’s not selfish to want time with the person you love, Miss Manning. It’s human. And I believe Master Wayne would agree, even if he struggles to show it.”

Marie paused, adjusting a nearby ornament. “It’s just... holidays are supposed to be about family, about togetherness. I see what he sacrifices for Gotham every single day, but part of me wishes he could have one night—one Christmas Eve—without that weight on his shoulders.”

Alfred let out a soft sigh, stepping back to admire the tree. “When Master Wayne first began his vigilante work, the holidays became difficult all over again. The house felt particularly empty on Christmas Eve, as he’d disappear into the night. I tried to keep the traditions alive, but the silence of this house can be quite deafening.”

Marie nodded, “I don’t want him to think I don’t understand. I do. It’s part of why I love him—he cares so deeply for this city. It’s just...”

“You want him to remember that he’s allowed to care for himself, too,” Alfred finished gently.

She nodded, her eyes drifting toward the window where snowflakes danced against the darkened glass. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Alfred offered her a small smile. “You’ve brought much light into this house, Miss Manning. More than I believe you realize. And if I may be so bold, I suspect Master Wayne is beginning to understand that light isn’t something he has to sacrifice for the sake of Gotham. It’s something he can carry with him.”

Marie turned to him, her expression softening. “Thanks, Alfred. That means a lot.”

Before Alfred could respond, a faint beep echoed from his pocket. He pulled out a small device, his brows lifting slightly as he read the alert. “Well, it seems Master Wayne has just pulled into the Batcave.”

Marie’s lips pressed into a faint line, her tone wry as she reached for another ornament. “Probably just stopping by to say hi before he heads out again for patrol again.”

“Perhaps,” Alfred replied with a knowing glint in his eye, carefully straightening the ribbon on a wreath nearby. The faint hum of the Batcave elevator echoed in the distance, signaling Bruce’s return.

Marie sighed softly, her shoulders dropping as she climbed back onto the ladder. She fully expected Bruce to emerge in his armored suit, ready to offer a quick kiss and an apology for missing the evening’s events before vanishing back into the night.

Her hands moved mechanically, looping a shimmering silver garland along the branches, trying to focus on the task rather than the pang of disappointment she felt.

Several minutes passed, the tree beginning to sparkle with the fruits of her and Alfred’s effort. The sound of quiet footsteps drew her attention, and she turned, expecting the familiar black cape and cowl.

When she looked down, she found Bruce standing in the doorway. Freshly showered, his hair still damp and tousled, he was dressed casually. The dark green Christmas sweater he wore, with a subtle snowflake pattern, softened his usually stoic appearance. He held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, the faint aroma of cinnamon filling the air.

Her brows lifted, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re... not in the batsuit?”

Bruce’s lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. “Not tonight.”

“Really?” She crossed her arms, not entirely convinced. “You’re not going back out?”

Bruce’s gaze met hers from across the room, his eyes holding that quiet intensity she’d come to love. “No. I figured it was time I listened to someone who keeps telling me I deserve to take a night off.”

Her heart fluttered slightly at his words, and she took a step closer to the edge of the ladder, her voice light but teasing. “You do know crime doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas Eve, right?”

“I know,” he admitted, a softness in his tone she didn’t hear often. “Gotham can deal without me for one night.”

Her breath caught, a rush of warmth spreading through her at the sincerity in his voice. The tension she hadn’t realized she was holding in her chest melted away, leaving only the peaceful certainty that this moment was enough.

“You sure you’re ready to handle a full night of holiday cheer?” She asked.

Bruce’s smile widened, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If it’s with you? Yeah, I think I can manage.”

Alfred’s soft cough came from across the room, and they both turned to find the man watching them with a knowing expression, a small glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two to finish the decorating. It seems I have a tray of mince pies to attend to.”

As Alfred quietly retreated to the kitchen, Bruce’s gaze lingered on Marie for a moment before he glanced up at the partially decorated tree. He smiled softly, his eyes scanning the colorful lights and carefully placed ornaments. “Looks like you’ve both been busy,” he said, a quiet admiration in his voice.

Her teasing smile softened as she looked down at him from the top of the ladder. “You’re really staying? No quick exit into the night?”

“I’m staying.” His voice was steady, firm, and there was no doubt in his eyes.

Bruce placed his coffee down on the nearby table and walked to the base of the ladder, his hand lightly resting on it to steady it as she climbed down.

“Well,” she said with a grin, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Alfred and I have a whole evening planned. And tomorrow morning, we’ll open presents.”

As her feet hit the floor, Bruce stepped forward, his hands gently settling on her waist as he pulled her toward him in one smooth motion. Her breath hitched slightly at the unexpected closeness, but she didn’t resist, letting herself melt into the warmth of his embrace. His hand slid to her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin as their eyes met.

“You,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, “make all of this worth it.”

Her heart fluttered, and the witty retort she’d been about to say disappeared in the warmth of his gaze. Before she could respond, Bruce leaned down, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was everything—soft, gentle, and filled with all the unspoken things they shared.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, her fingers brushing the soft fabric of his sweater. They stayed like that for a moment, caught in the quiet serenity of the evening, the soft glow of the tree and the warmth of each other surrounding them.

“Well,” Marie said finally, her voice lighter, “if you’re staying, there’s no escaping the rest of this tree.”

Bruce stepped back just enough to grab an ornament from the table, holding it out to her with a teasing smirk. “Lead the way.”

The next hour passed in a haze of twinkling lights, shared laughter, and warm glances. As they decorated the tree together, Bruce found every excuse to stay close to Marie. He would stand close behind her, resting a hand on her waist while reaching up to hang an ornament.

Marie couldn’t help the smirk that formed on her lips as she reached up to hang another ornament. “Gotham’s criminals are going to be so disappointed if they find out Batman took the night off to hang ornaments.”

Bruce chuckled, his voice low and rich with affection. “I’ll risk it.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the back of her neck with a feather-light kiss that sent a delightful shiver racing down her spine. His warmth pressed against her, his presence steady and unyielding, each kiss lingering just a moment too long, as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. His hands rested lightly at her waist, grounding her even as her heart fluttered in ways she hadn’t expected but had always hoped for.

“You know,” Marie murmured, tilting her head back, her cheek brushing his as he stretched to place an ornament high on the tree. His chest pressed gently against her back, and the scent of pine and his cologne mingled in the air. “We could’ve finished this a while ago if you didn’t keep distracting me.”

He nipped playfully at her ear, his lips grazing the sensitive skin. “You’re distracting me.” He responded in a low voice as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as he leaned down, his breath warm against her neck. “And you’re making this holiday season much more enjoyable than I ever expected.”

Marie smiled, her heart fluttering as his lips brushed against her skin once more. She leaned back into him, her eyes closing for a moment as she savored the closeness. “I’m glad I could make it worth it.”

They moved together around the tree, their movements fluid, as if they were both trying to prolong the moment. Bruce would hand her an ornament, his fingers lingering just a second too long on hers, his touch never failing to send a shiver down her spine.

Whenever she’d climb up the ladder to reach higher branches, Bruce would wait at the bottom, ready to steady it with one hand and, when the moment was right, kiss her on the lips before she could descend.

///

Throughout the evening, the snow outside Wayne Manor fell in a thick, hushed blanket. It was the kind of snowfall that muffled the world and made everything feel softer, more intimate.

The tree was finally finished, its glow casting a warm light throughout the grand living room. Ornaments shimmered like tiny jewels, and the star at the top sparkled like it was holding onto a piece of the night sky.

Bruce and Marie now found themselves on the couch, cozied up under a thick wool blanket.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, adding to the warmth of the room, while "Miracle on 34th Street" played on the screen. Marie’s legs were tucked up beneath her, her head resting on Bruce’s chest. His arm was draped around her, holding her close, his fingers absently running through her hair.

The quiet of the house settled over them as Alfred had long since retired for the evening, leaving them alone. The only sounds were the faint murmur of the movie, the occasional pop of the fire, and the soft hum of their breathing.

Marie tilted her head up, her eyes catching the glow of the firelight on Bruce’s face. He looked peaceful—content in a way she didn’t often see, the hard edges he carried as both Bruce Wayne and Batman softened by the moment.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “if I didn’t know you, I’d assume billionaire Bruce Wayne would be Christmas party hopping with the other Gotham elites tonight.”

Bruce glanced down at her, his lips curving into a small smile. “And miss this?” He gestured toward her and the tree behind them. “Not a chance.”

Marie smirked. “So, the mysterious playboy billionaire has a sentimental side after all?”

“Careful,” he teased, his tone light. “You might ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised, her hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. He let out a low laugh, his hand trailing gently down her arm.

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through her, and before she could second-guess it, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, their lips moving slowly as if savoring the moment. But it deepened quickly, the intensity growing as Bruce’s hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer.

Marie shifted, straddling his lap, her hands threading through his hair. Bruce’s hands roamed her back, his grip firm but gentle, anchoring her to him as their kisses grew more fervent. The blanket slipped down around them, pooling at his sides as the heat between them rivaled the fire’s glow.

“Bruce,” she murmured against his lips, her voice breathy and filled with longing.

He kissed her again, slow and deliberate, his lips lingering as though memorizing the shape of hers. His hands settled on her hips, steadying her as he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.

“Marie,” he said, his voice low and filled with affection, “I want you. You know I do.”

Her eyes searched his, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater. “Then what’s stopping you?”

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks as he looked at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Because tonight’s different,” he said softly. “I love being with you in every way, but tonight… I just want to enjoy this. You, me, the fire, the snow outside. I want to remember this night like this.”

Marie blinked, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. Her lips parted to respond, but all she could manage was a soft, “Bruce…”

He kissed her forehead, lingering there as his hands slid down to her shoulders, grounding her. “I want to hold you, talk to you, laugh with you. This—” his voice softened further, “—this is what I want tonight.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over her in the best way. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his, her fingers trailing along his jaw. “You’re kind of the best, you know that?”

He chuckled, a quiet, rumbling sound. “Not even close.”

The warmth between them lingered as Marie slid off Bruce’s lap, settling herself beside him on the couch once more. She curled into his side as he adjusted the blanket to cover them both. His arm wrapped securely around her, pulling her closer.

Bruce leaned down, his lips pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was soft but brimming with affection, a quiet reminder of just how deeply he cared for her.

Bruce glanced down at her, his gaze lingering as though committing every detail to memory. “You know,” he began, his tone light but genuine, “this might be my favorite Christmas Eve.”

Marie’s smile widened, her eyes half-closed as she relaxed further against him. “It’s definitely up there for me, too.”

The movie continued playing, but neither of them paid much attention. Instead, they talked in soft voices, sharing stories, memories, and inside jokes, the conversation flowing as easily as the affection between them.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the glow of Christmas Eve.

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