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rowansparrow · 3 years ago

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Juke Box Hero: A Rose Story

This is SO STUPID LMAO But I hope you guys like it anyway. I’m back on my bullshit and I am here to provide you with a little story based off THIS POST. Anon, thank you for your service, because this was very, very fun.

This snippet takes place during Chapter Seven of BAON, during the flashback when Reader is meeting Rex for the first time and Rose and Co. are stuck cleaning up the barracks. You don’t necessarily have to have read it for this to make sense, but the right context might be neat.

Also, for timeline purposes/in BAON, Tup and Dogma technically never met Rose, as they weren’t part of the 501st before he died, but I’m including them in this because I make the rules and I wanted to.

Also Denal’s here because I think he’s a funky dude and deserves more content.

The clones deserve to dance and have fun and who’s gonna write them doing that if it ain’t me?

Rating: Mature-ish? There are some dirty jokes and swearing but mostly it’s Just fun shenanigans with Rose and Bros.

(Also I spent a TON of time picking everyone’s songs so pls tell me what you think of my selections lmao).

I’m tagging everyone from the BAON tag list in case you’re interested. Enjoy!

In retrospect, perhaps Rose should have put a stop to the loth cat situation – or as Hardcase called it, Operation: P.U.S.S.Y. He claimed it was an abbreviation for “Petting Unusually Sweet Strays, Yeah!”

“You have to call it something else.” Rose had said at the time, staring at the loth cat cradled protectively in Hardcase’s arms.

“But you’re not saying no?” Hardcase prompted eagerly, already bouncing lightly on his heels.

“Just…” Rose pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… clean up after it? And if it breaks anything, it’s on you, and for the love of Force, don’t get caught.”

Now, as the Lieutenant surveyed the disarray that had befallen the barracks, and the company of very disgruntled subordinates, he was reconsidering his earlier leniency.

“I feel as the acting SIC, you’re the one who should be taking the flak for this, not the entire company.” Jesse grumbled, glaring at Lieutenant Rose over his shoulder as he scrubbed at the floor of the barracks.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not the one who brought a pregnant loth-cat into the barracks in the first place.” Rose replied, straightening up for a moment where he’d been hunched over, his back cracking as he moved.

“Well, you didn’t fight me very hard on it!” Hardcase protested. “And I didn’t know Beans was pregnant at the time! I didn’t even know she was a girl!”

His explanation only earned him several slugs to the arm from nearby vode.

“And just because I’m second-in-command does not make me exempt from the Captain’s wrath.” Rose added. “You didn’t get the dressing-down, you just have to carry out the punishment with me.”

“Hang on, I thought we agreed the cat’s name was going to be Road Rash?” Coric asked.

“That’s unladylike.” Said Denal. “And rude. She can’t help her scars.”

“And Beans is ladylike?” Jesse raised an eyebrow.

“She likes it! And her kits looked like beans when they came out too!”

Rose shook his head fondly at his men as they bickered. At least they weren’t complaining anymore.

In truth, he was surprised the situation had been managed as long as it had been. They’d lasted almost a full three weeks without anyone figuring out they were hiding a cat in the barracks. Of course, the kittens made it much harder, and they could only hide them in overturned helmets during inspections for so many days before the helmets started to mewl.

And once Beans threw a tantrum over not having her kits with her, it was game over. She’d knocked over an entire can of armor paint in her wrath, and blue pawprints and large paint puddles coated the durasteel of the barracks, and a few of the bunks had claw and bite marks in the fabric.

“It’ll take us an hour, maybe more, to clean this whole mess up.” Fives complained, looking around the barracks forlornly. He had a nasty scratch just under his eye from finally snatching Beans up in her rampage. “Kriff. I was excited to go out tonight.”

“Not to mention after we finish here the Captain said we had to go take over latrine and canteen detail from other battalions.”

“Then I guess you better get scrubbing.” Kix said absently, thumbing through medical requisition forms on his datapad and sitting cross-legged on one of the few bunks that didn’t have blue paw prints streaked across it.

“Why aren’t you helping? You’re part of the company too.” Echo said. “Fives and I are ARC troopers, if anyone here should be exempt from company-wide punishments, it’s us.”

“I’m not helping because I didn’t participate.” Kix replied, not looking up from his ‘pad.

“The kark you didn’t, you delivered the kits!” Fives snapped.

“Well, Captain Rex didn’t catch me, so.”

“That’s because you went and hid in the medbay and didn’t warn the rest of us he was coming.” Tup muttered under his breath.

“Not true. I sent Jesse a comm.” Kix said, finally looking up only to shrug and return to his work. “Which he didn’t check, and that’s not my fault.”

“It doesn’t matter who was involved and who wasn’t involved.” Dogma piped up. “Clearly, because if it did, I wouldn’t be here either.”

“We know.” Said Jesse and Fives in unison.

Rose sighed, his eyes drifting forlornly to his bunk. He spotted his footlocker sticking halfway out from underneath the durasteel, and he lit up. He opened it quickly, pulling out a beat-up radio he’d gotten at a market stall during one of his first deployments. He’d had to trade a droid popper and half his rations for it – Rex had not been pleased about it when he found out – but it was worth the two-day latrine rotation he’d gotten as punishment.

He’d already downloaded several songs off the HoloNet, along with a few channel recordings of past BoloBall games. Even if he knew who won them, it was still something to listen to on long stints on cruisers.

“What’cha doing, Lieutenant?” Tup asked, peeking around the corner as Rose straightened back up, fumbling with the little radio for a moment and propping it up on one of the bunks so the music could fill the whole room.

“No. NO! No.” Jesse jabbed a finger at the Lieutenant as he saw him set up the radio. “No. Absolutely not. I have had enough of your osik-brained, Force-forsaken, whack-ass music to last me a lifetime.”

Kix chuckled, rolling his eyes at the other trooper. “You listen exclusively to electronic dance music. Even when we aren’t at 79s. You have no room to talk.”

“This is better than that.” Rose promised, dialing up the volume. “This is the kind of stuff you’d find on the jukebox at Dex’s Diner.” He grinned. Dex was personal friends with General Kenobi, and was one of the few Coruscant establishments that was friendly to clones, as long as they behaved themselves. Rose had gone there with his brothers a handful of times, and even Anakin had dragged his Padawan Ahsoka, Rose, and Rex along once.

“You have a radio?” Dogma frowned. “Isn’t that contraband, sir?”

“Relax, it’s an old prewar-era radio, it’s not hurting anything.” Fives drawled, knocking Dogma lightly on the shoulder. “What’re you gonna play, sir?”

“Let’s see…” Rose filtered through his downloads, and grinned wider, pressing play.

Immediately, soft music rang through the barracks, and Jesse smacked his head against the bunk, groaning loudly.

“I’m begging you, Lieutenant.” Jesse said. “I’m begging.”

Rose was already swaying his hips, bending over to grab Jesse by the chin.

“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air.” Rose serenaded him.

Jesse swatted Rose’s hand away, and Rose turned, swinging around on the side of the bunk and pointing to Fives this time. “Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night.”

Fives grinned, joining in even as he stumbled slightly over the words.

“There she stood in the doorway. I heard the mission bell and I was thinking to myself, this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”

Kix was drumming his fingers on his datapad, nodding along and singing under his breath.

“Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them say…”

“This is too slow.” Echo griped, rising to his feet and stepping over Dogma, who was still stubbornly scrubbing away at the barrack floors and refusing to engage even as the rest of the clones began quietly singing along with the chorus.

The ARC Trooper fiddled with the dial for a moment, scrolling through Rose’s music and selecting another song, already grinning as the chanting started through the speakers and eventually rippled through the ranks of the 501st.

“STOP.” Jesse barked, trying to kick Fives as the other ARC trooper hopped to his feet, stomping his feet and chanting along. “STOP, I HATE THIS ONE!”

Rose and Hardcase were chanting too, and Coric had started clapping his hands on an overturned bucket, a few shinies clapping their hands together as Echo shook his ass, kama swaying as he climbed up onto a nearby table. He scooped up a mop, pulling the handle to his mouth.

“I can’t stop this feeling, deep inside of me.” He pointed to Kix, grinding against the handle. “Girl, you just don’t realize what you do to me.”

Kix gave him the finger, and Echo pointed to Fives, who was still chanting with the others but was now holding up his helmet, recording the whole thing. Echo amped up his performance.

“When you hold me in your arms so tight, you let me know everything’s alright. I’m hooked on a feeling!”

Tup whooped from where he’d moved to sit on one of the bunks. Dogma shot him a nasty look, which he ignored in favor of watching Echo strut on the table.

“I’m high on believing that you’re in love with me. Lips as sweet as candy, its taste is on my mind. Girl you got me thirsty for another cup of wine.”

“Wait, wait, wait, I have a good one.” Fives shoved his helmet at Hardcase, letting him take over recording as he scrambled to the radio, quickly turning the dial once again and elbowing Echo off the table as fast, loud, angry guitars shredded through the barracks.

Jesse seemed to perk up just slightly, and any of the 501st troopers who were still trying to actually clean – save for Dogma – had abandoned their supplies and had elected to dance instead, crowding the table and forming a makeshift mosh pit.

Fives was nothing if not a showman, and when he snatched the mop from Echo, he performed.

“When I get high, I get high on speed. Top fuel funny car’s a drug for me, my heart! My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

He stomped his foot hard on the table, flipping his head back and running one hand messily through his hair.

“Always got the cops coming after me, custom-built bike doing 103, my heart! My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

Rose laughed, watching as Fives looked at the helmet Hardcase was hoisting up over the crowd, singing into the camera and rolling his shoulders back.

“Ooh, are ya ready, girls? Ooh, are you ready now? Woah, yeah! Kickstart my heart, baby give it a start. Woah, yeah! Baby! Kickstart my heart, hope it never stops. Woah, yeah, baby yeah!”

The clones joined him for the chorus, and then Fives dropped to his knees like he’d seen rockers do on the HoloNet, high fiving the nearest vode. Dogma was still stubbornly trying to clean up the barracks, but had moved on to one of the far corners, only giving the rest of his battalion the occasional side-eye.

“Skydive naked from an aeroplane, or a lady with a body from outer space, my heart. My heart! Kickstart my heart.” He wiggled his hips as he straightened back up, biting his lip through a grin and dropping his hand to his hips and shaking his fist obscenely, as though he was jerking himself off.

“Say I got trouble, trouble in my eyes, I’m just looking for another good time, my heart. My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

Before Fives could do something else profane – or possibly attempt to crowd-surf and give Rose a handful of incident reports to fill out, the music suddenly shifted, and all heads turned to the radio.

Kix was smirking. He’d divested himself of the top half of his armor, instead electing to shimmy his way up onto the table in just the upper half of his blacks and lower armor plates. Fives exited, rejoining the crowd as Kix leveled a sultry look at the camera for just a moment before turning his back on the crowd.

“Clean shirt, new shoes, and I don’t know where I am goin’ to. Silk suit, black tie, I don’t need a reason why.”

He spun quickly, switching his grip on the mop handle as though he was holding a woman in his arms, dipping it low towards the crowd as he sang.

“They come a runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

Fives and Echo were howling with laughter, and Hardcase wolf-whistled loud enough that Rose’s ears rang. Even Jesse had finally joined in, nodding his head along to the music and trying to bite back a grin. Tup had left the crowd to instead attempt to pull Dogma in, and Denal had rounded up a few newer members and was trying to push them closer to the front.

Kix unzipped the top half of his blacks, doing a slow strip-tease in time with the music.

“Gold watch, diamond ring, I ain’t missin’, not a single thing. And cufflinks, stickpin, when I step out I’mma do you in.” Kix shrugged out of his blacks and rolled his hips along the mop handle, dropping his ass low and slowly dragging himself back up, grinding against the handle.

“They come a runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

Fives actually pretended to faint, falling backwards into Echo, who was laughing so hard that he fell over with him.

“ALRIGHT!” Dogma shouted over the music, elbowing his way through the crowd with Tup following anxiously behind him. Dogma firmly stopped the music, hands on his hips as he turned to face the rest of his brothers, who’d begun to boo.

“We have orders,” Dogma reminded them. “This is a punishment, not a party. When we finish here, we’re supposed to clean the shower block, and then we’re supposed to report to the mess hall and take over the canteen cleanup shifts.”

“We know the orders, Dogma.” Rose said, putting a hand on the younger trooper’s shoulder. “There’s no harm in having fun while you work.”

“I’m the only one still working.” Dogma grumbled.

“Alright, alright, we’ll turn it low for now, and we’ll finish up in here, then we can bring the radio with us when we move to the refreshers and canteen. Fair?” He asked, turning to the rest of the men. There were a few muttered responses, and Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite make that out.” He said. “We are cleaning this mess up, correct gentlemen?”

“Sir yes sir!” They all answered quickly, hurrying back to work.

Rose chuckled, shifting the music to something a little calmer, the gentle piano wafting through the barracks as they continued to clean up.

Denal’s head perked up as soon as he heard the piano start, and while he didn’t climb up onto the table like his brothers had, he smiled to himself, turning back towards the spot he was scrubbing and singing to the durasteel floor.

“I'm sailing away. Set an open course for the Virgin Sea.”

Echo hummed, closing his eyes and rocking back on his heels for a moment, listening to his older vod croon.

“'Cause I've got to be free. Free to face the life that's ahead of me.” Denal continued, his voice soft but steady. “On board I'm the captain, so climb aboard. We'll search for tomorrow on every shore and I'll try, oh Lord I'll try… to carry on.”

Somebody whistled, a few scattered claps ringing through the barracks. Coric picked up where Denal left off.

“I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory. Some happy some sad.” He sang. “I think of childhood friends, and the dreams we had.”

Tup glanced to Dogma, who was practically seething as he scrubbed at the same spot on the floor that he’d been working on for the past several minutes. “You like this song, don’t you, Dogma?”

“No I don’t. Shut up.”

“Join in. They won’t mind.” Tup encouraged.

“No.”

“We live happily forever, so the story goes. But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold.” Sang Coric. “But we'll try best that we can to carry on!”

The music picked up, and Jesse shot Rose a look.

“This is a deceptively fast song.” He said.

“It sneaks up on ya.” Rose chuckled.

The barracks devolved into chaos once again, the clones all screaming along to the lyrics, even the ones who didn’t know the words picked it up quickly, encouraged by their brothers.

Despite the distractions, they finally finished cleaning the barracks, and Rose plucked the radio from where he’d stashed it, leading the way down the hallway towards the refreshers. The 501st were especially rowdy in the quiet halls – most of the barracks were empty, the clones who weren’t being punished for loth-cat related shenanigans were taking advantage of the shore leave.

When they opened the door to the shower block, they encountered a few members of the 212th already in there, cleaning up.

“Pack it in, lads.” Rose announced. “We’re taking over for you.”

“What? Why?” Boil asked, leaning on a mop and raising an eyebrow. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Yes.” Hardcase replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“All of you?” Waxer poked his head out from inside one of the refresher stalls, Crys and Wooley pausing from where they were wiping down countertops.

“Yeah, it’s Hardcase’s fault. As usual.” Jesse said, strolling over to Boil and plucking the mop from his hands. “We’re supposed to take over your shifts.”

“Good, I was hoping to get to 79’s tonight before last call. I hear they’ve got purple spotchka.” Boil said excitedly, glancing at Waxer over his shoulder.

“We can help you finish.” Waxer said, immediately raining on his brother’s parade. “There isn’t much left to do anyway.”

“You sure?” Rose asked. “It’s technically a punishment -.”

“Nah, it’s fine, there really isn’t much left, aside from the toilets.” He grinned. “But you boys can handle those.”

“Fair enough.” Rose chuckled, nodding over his shoulder to his men. Fives, Echo, Jesse, and Hardcase were in a heated four-way battle of rock, flimsi, cutters in order to determine who had to clean the toilets first.

“What’s that?” One trooper Rose didn’t recognize asked, pointing to his hand.

“It’s a radio!” Rose said cheerfully. “I’m err… technically not supposed to have it. But we’ve been listening to music while we worked.” He set it up on the countertop. “Do you have a favorite song…?”

“Spitter.” The 212th trooper supplied helpfully.

“Spitter.” Rose repeated, chuckling to himself and wondering how the hell he’d earned that name. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“I don’t know the name of it.” The trooper admitted shyly. “But – but it’s the one they play on the hits channel all the time. I hear it playing in the admiral’s quarters on the Negotiator all the time.”

“I know that one!” Waxer said excitedly, nodding to Rose. “It’s the one Commander Cody likes. You were playing it in the hangar a few weeks ago when our flight detail overlapped.”

“I remember.” Rose smiled, and turned the song on.

Immediately, every head, including Dogma’s, perked up at the familiar tune. Fives clapped his hands together, getting them started.

“When I wake up, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you.”

The younger trooper, Spitter, lit up and followed it up.

“When I go out, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you.”

Waxer elbowed Boil, trying to get him to join in, but the other trooper shook his head and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes even as Waxer sang.

“If I get drunk, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you.”

Their voices carried through the refresher’s tiled walls, and Jesse picked up where Waxer left off.

“And if I haver, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s havering to you.”

When the chorus rolled around, everyone joined in, their voices bouncing off the walls around them.

“But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.”

“When I’m working,” Kix began, offering a hand to Wooley and giving him a playful spin. “Yes I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s working hard for you.”

“And when the money comes in for the work I do, I’ll pass almost every penny on to you.” Wooley laughed, shoving Kix away with a grin.

“When I come home,” Tup piped up quickly, before someone else could. “Oh, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home to you.”

“And if I grow old,” Crys smirked, shaking his shoulders at Fives, who punched him playfully in the arms and joined in, singing the line in unison. “Well, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s growing old with you.”

The chorus returned, and they sang with even more feeling than before, dancing and tossing their heads back, shouting along to the words and nearly drowning out the music itself as they sang.

As the final verse approached, Waxer sidled up next to Boil, giving him a hopeful look. His brother sighed, scrubbing a hand bitterly over his face and reluctantly joined in.

“When I’m lonely, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s lonely without you.” He sang.

“And when I’m dreaming,” Echo called. “Well I know I’m gonna dream, I’m gonna dream about the time when I’m with you.”

“And when I go out, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you.” Fives followed.

“And when I come home, yes I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home with you.” Denal said.

Tup took a deep breath, preparing to finish off the verse, but he was cut off.

“I’m gonna be the man who’s coming home,” Dogma’s voice was shaky as all eyes turned to him, and he finished in a squeak. “With you.”

The room erupted in cheers, Fives catching Dogma under his arm and giving him a noogie as the chorus rang out once again, everyone shouting along to the lyrics together.

When the song ended, and the cleanup was done, the 212th parted ways with the 501st, the brothers patting one another on the back and jeering affectionately at one another now that the song and dance was done.

“If you finish with everything before final call, catch up with us at 79’s.” Boil called over his shoulder. “We can give the vode there a run for their money with our rendition of that song.”

“Count on it.” Rose chuckled, giving the other company a little salute before leading his men on towards the canteen.

The canteen, blessedly, was empty, and most of it was already clean. All they really had to do was wipe everything down, mop, and then make sure the kitchen was well-prepped for the next day.

“I didn’t know you had it in ya, Dogma.” Echo said affectionately, knocking his younger vod playfully in the shoulder as they walked.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Dogma muttered, his ears burning as he pushed into the canteen, grabbing the cleaning supplies from the nearby supply closet.

“Who’s turn was it for a solo?” Fives asked, watching as Rose started to set up the radio above one of the food windows so it could project into the entire cafeteria.

“I think Dogma should go.” Kix grinned. “Now that we know he’s got some pipes.”

“Absolutely not.” Dogma said immediately, not looking up from where he was wiping down tables.

“I can go first?” Tup offered, raising his hand sheepishly. Dogma shot him another stern look, but Tup was already wandering over to the radio, moving the dial and tentatively pressing play.

Upbeat music filled the canteen, and the other troopers cheered as Fives ushered Tup over to the nearest table, boosting him up on top of it and then thrusting a mop into his hands. Hardcase was already fumbling with the helmet again, trying to get a recording as Tup tapped his foot along with the beat, nodding his head as he found his rhythm.

“I get up in the evening, and I ain’t got nothing to say. I come home in the morning, I go to bed feeling the same way.”

Fives was leading other troopers in pounding the surrounding tables in time with the drumbeats while Echo was leading another group to clap in time.

“I ain’t nothing but tired! Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself.” Tup flashed the camera a grin, reaching up and pulling his hair tie out, shaking his wild curls loose around his head. “Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.”

Jesse whistled, and Dogma had stopped cleaning and was watching his brother, the slightest smile pulling at his lips.

“You can’t start a fire, can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

Tup shook his hair out of his eyes, tossing his head back and jerking his hips.

“Messages keep getting clearer, radio’s on and I’m moving ‘round my place. I check my look in the mirror, wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face!”

He swayed his hips again, and Hardcase shoved the camera at Kix instead so he could join in the clapping.

“Man, I ain’t getting nowhere, I’m just living in a dump like this. There’s something happening somewhere, baby I just know that there is.”

He hopped off the table, instead taking Dogma’s hand and dragging him towards the makeshift stage.

“You can’t start a fire, you can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

He pushed the mop into Dogma’s hands instead, beaming at him as he scurried off the table, sprinting over to the radio and quickly changing the song.

Immediately, slow guitar started but quickly escalated into heavy drums and fast riffs. Dogma’s cheeks turned a darker shade, and he looked frantically to Tup, trying to climb back down off the stage.

“No, no, come on!” Fives shouted, trying to body block Dogma from getting down. “Come on, you got this!”

The lyrics began, and Dogma sang along, his mouth barely moving, voice almost imperceptible.

“Another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken… and the violence caused such silence, who are we mistaken?”

“Come on!” Tup called to him. “You LOVE this song! Let ‘em hear it!”

Dogma grit his teeth, his voice gaining strength. “But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family, in your head, in your head they are fighting.”

He stomped his foot on the table, practically snarling out the words. “With their tanks, and their bombs, and their bombs, and their guns, in your head, in your head they are crying.”

He threw his head back, and for not the first time that night, the radio was drowned out by cheers.

“In your head! In your head! Zombie, Zombie, Zombie. What’s in your head? In your head? Zombie, Zombie, Zombie!”

Dogma climbed off the table quickly, his ears and cheeks burning but a small smile was on his face, even as he was smothered by Hardcase, Fives, Tup, and Echo swarming him with hugs and rubbing his head affectionately.

Jesse climbed up onto the table next, picking up the discarded mop and clearing his throat.

“I would just like to dedicate this song to the gorgeous woman I picked up at 79s last week.” He drawled, nodding once to Kix, who was hovering knowingly by the radio. He nodded once to the helmet, which was now stationed on a nearby table, still recording. “Darling, you had the best pair of tits I have ever seen in my entire life, and you had the mouth of an angel and the coochie of a devil.”

Fives whistled, and Coric snickered. Rose rolled his eyes.

“So, babygirl, this one is for you.”

Kix turned on the radio, and Jesse grinned.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. Darling, you give love a bad name.”

Guitar rang out through the mess hall, and Jesse bit his lip, rolling his hips as he leaned slightly off the edge of the table.

“An angel’s smile is what you sell, you promised me heaven then put me through hell. Chains of love got a hold on me, when passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.”

He dropped into a crouch, singing directly into the camera.

“Whoa, you’re a loaded gun, whoa, there’s nowhere to run, no one can save me, the damage is done!”

He jumped to his feet, the table shaking under him as he landed.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. You give love a bad name. I play my part and you play your game, you give love a bad name!” He turned his back on the crowd, dropping low again and slowly rising, shaking his ass. “Yeah you give love…”

He looked over his shoulder, tossing the camera a wink. “…a bad name.”

The music changed abruptly, and for a moment Jesse looked pissed. “What the hell, ‘Case?”

But his expression shifted as Hardcase rushed to the table, pushing his brother out of the way and taking the mop from him. The crowd cheered all over again as Jesse climbed down, brothers slapping him on the shoulders as Hardcase’s song started up.

“We finish strong, right vode?” He asked cheekily.

“We still have to finish cleaning!” Dogma called back.

Hardcase only smirked in response, and sang quickly to keep up with the lightning fast lyrics.

“Backstroking lover always hiding ‘neath the cover, can I talk to you, my daddy say. He said, you ain’t seen nothing ‘til you’re down on a muff and then you’re sure to be a-changin’ your ways.”

He cupped his codpiece, bucking his hips forward into his own hand.

“I met a cheerleader, was a real young bleeder, all the times I can reminisce. ‘Cos the best things of lovin’ with her sister and her cousin only started with a little kiss, like this!”

He swung his arms wide, shaking his ass in time with the music and stuck his tongue out, having the time of his life.

“See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school and your feet flyin’ up in the air. Singin’ hey diddle diddle with your kitty in the middle of the swing like you didn’t care.”

He walked backwards along the table, rolling his shoulders back as he moved.

“So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play. Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘cos she knew what she was doin’, and I know love is here to stay when she told me to walk this way!”

The rest of the 501st joined in with him, repeating the chorus of “Walk this way! Walk this way! Walk this way!” over and over again, Hardcase taking over again as the next verse began.

“School girl sweetie was the sassy kinda classy, little skirt’s climbing way up her knees. There was three young ladies in the school gym locker when I noticed they was lookin’ at me.”

He ran his hands along his thigh, mimicking raising a skirt.

“I was a high school loser, never made it with a lady ‘til the boys told me something I missed. Then my next-door neighbor with a daughter had a favor so I gave her just a little kiss, like this!”

“Do you think he has any idea what he’s singing about?” Kix asked Rose, leaning back against the counter and chuckling.

He watched as Hardcase went back to grabbing his own crotch, dry-humping the air and hummed.

“I’d say most likely.”

“See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school and your feet flyin’ up in the air. Singin’ hey diddle diddle with your kitty in the middle of the swing like you didn’t care.”

Hardcase grinned, and to both Kix and Rose’s utter chagrin, Hardcase actually did dive off the makeshift stage and attempt to crowd surf.

“I’m not patching you up!” Kix shouted over the roar of the music. Rose chuckled, turning the volume nod down as the rest of the 501st shouted in protest.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” The Lieutenant said, taking control once more. “We can listen to it quietly in the background, but we really do need to wrap up cleaning.”

“Why? Got a date tonight?” Jesse asked with a raised eyebrow. Rose punched him lightly in the arm, and they got back to work once again.

They worked in relative silence, the occasional voice humming or singing along to the music, but they remained productive right up until one of the final songs Rose had downloaded cut through the speaker. The piano wasn’t as rich-sounding as it was through a regular speaker, but even through the tinny cadence of the beat-up radio, every single trooper in the canteen bolted upright, eyebrows raised. Rose smiled knowingly, and turned up the volume once again.

Fives beamed, sitting down on top of one of the tables and laying back, one leg bent and the other stretched flat, a hand behind his head as he sang up at the ceiling.

“Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere.”

Jesse leaned back against the wall on the other side of the canteen, closing his eyes as he joined in.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere.”

Echo kept mopping, but was grinning as he picked up the next line. “A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume.”

Kix grinned. “For a smile, they can share the night, it goes on, and on, and on, and on.”

The rest of the 501st joined in together, their voices carrying in perfect harmony.

“Strangers, waiting. Up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the -.”

“Night!” Hardcase shouted, straining every muscle in his chest and neck as he struggled to reach the high note.

Tup picked up the next verse, climbing onto one of the tables and dragging Dogma up with him once again.

“Working hard to get my fill, everybody wants the thrill. Paying anything to roll the dice just one more time.”

Dogma smiled, nodding his head along to the music. “Some will win, some will lose.”

Tup threw his arm around his brother, and the two of them sang together. “Some were born to sing the blues!”

Rose’s voice carried from over by the radio. “Oh the movie never ends, it goes on and on, and on and on!”

“Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the -.”

“NIGHT!” This time, it was Dogma, of all people, who rang out with the high note, and the explosion of shouts and cheers was deafening. They were screaming along to the lyrics, dancing and jumping and shouting and swaying in time with the song.

“Don’t stop believin’! Hold on to that feeling. Streetlight people! Don’t stop believin’, hold on-”

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”

The booming voice was so powerful, it could be heard even over the shouts of all the clones. Echo was closest to the radio, and quickly shut it off as the song and dance stopped immediately, every clone scrambling to stand at attention.

The Jedi that filled the doorway was massive, an imposing shadow in the entrance to the canteen. He zeroed in on Tup and Dogma, who had been standing closest to the entrance, and stormed towards them.

“Who is your commanding officer?!”

“Me, sir.”

The Besalisk Jedi turned, spinning on Rose immediately. He stalked over to the Lieutenant, jabbing a meaty finger into his chest, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards.

“What is the meaning of this?” He snarled.

“Sir, we were assigned cleaning detail.” He explained. “We were just finishing up.”

The Jedi bared his teeth. “Doesn’t look like much cleaning was taking place to me.”

He surveyed the rest of the troopers, but turned his head back to Rose.

“What is your designation?”

“CT-7673.” Rose recited immediately, keeping his back ramrod straight at attention, even though the Jedi was deep in his personal space. He knew this man. General Krell had quite the reputation through the GAR, and Rose had no clue what he was doing outside of the Jedi Temple this late at night.

“Who is your commanding officer?”

“Captain Rex, sir.”

“Not a clone! Is there a malfunction in your design?!” The Jedi bellowed. A few feet behind him, Hardcase flinched at the sudden loud sound, but Rose held still. “Your general, CT-7673! Who is your Commanding Officer!?”

“General Skywalker, sir.” Rose said instead. The canteen was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

He turned his head, noticing the little radio on the table and picked it up, the device small in his massive hands, raising an eyebrow at Rose. “Contraband, disturbance of the peace, behavior unbecoming of an officer, insubordination.” He hissed. “That’s plenty of grounds for a court martial, Lieutenant.”

“Sir.” Fives spoke up, taking a step towards them. “Proper chain of command designates General Skywalker as the one to hand down a court martial order, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with contempt. “With all due respect, sir, you do not command this battalion, and cannot order a court martial on the Lieutenant.”

“Fives.” Rose snapped, whipping his head around to face Fives. “Stand down. Now.”

The ARC Trooper shrank back, his hands curled into fists at his sides, and the General turned back to Rose.

“Be that as it may,” he began icily. “You can rest assured this breach of conduct will not go unreported.”

“Yes sir.” Rose replied stiffly.

General Krell pulled back at last, surveying the battalion. “I want this canteen spotless, and not a word out of you in the meantime!” He ordered. “And I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore.”

With one quick motion, he smashed the radio in his hands. Rose heard a soft, hurt sound somewhere behind him, but ignored it. He didn’t look away from the General.

“Dismissed.” Krell growled, turning and stalking towards the doors. “And as for you,” He turned, jabbing one large finger at Fives. “I’ll be mentioning you in my report as well. Pray our paths do not cross again, clone.”

And with those words, he left the canteen.

Rose relaxed, but only minimally so. The silence hung heavy over the 501st, and everyone quietly shuffled back to work.

Rose gripped the mop handle tightly as he worked, his knuckles turning white. His chest burned, a tight, constricting feeling wrapped around his insides. It was a feeling he’d never felt before – anger, sadness, humiliation, resignation – all rolled into one hateful ball, coiled in his gut.

“Finished with the kitchen, sir.” Came Tup’s small voice. He’d put his hair back up, the tight bun back to regulation standards. Dogma was standing stiff beside him, still not entirely relaxed yet. “And the um – the canteen area’s just about wrapped up as well.”

“Very good.” Rose said with a small nod. “I’ll report back to Captain Rex, let him know we’ve finished for the night.”

“Sorry about your radio, sir.” Hardcase murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, ‘Case.” Rose smiled, but his eyes were sad. “It was – it was old, anyway. Just a silly thing.”

Fives bristled, his jaw setting as he tossed the bucket he’d been holding back into the supply closet with far more force than necessary.

“We aren’t supposed to leave base for the rest of the night, right?” Denal asked, arms folded across his chest as they finished the last of the cleanup. “Guess we could play Sabacc or something back in the barracks?”

There were a few murmured agreements, and the 501st shuffled back towards the barracks. Rose was still thinking about the General, and had a bitter taste in his mouth. They hadn’t been doing anything wrong, really.

Was it such a crime to enjoy oneself? To simply exist?

Fives and Echo fell into step on either side of Rose, the ARC Troopers bracketing their Lieutenant. “I bet Echo and I could rebuild the radio.” Fives offered. “Might take a little bit, but even if we can’t, Kix is real good at bartering stuff down in the markets. Remember when he got us those HoloDisc movies for just a tube of bacta?”

“We could find another radio for you?” Echo suggested hopefully. “Or maybe,” he lowered his voice slightly. “Maybe Y/N could find you one?”

“Let it go.” Rose said, picking up the pace and pulling away from the ARC Troopers. They reentered the now far tidier barracks, and Rose gravitated back to his footlocker, starting to close it up and push it back under his bed. The metal clacked slightly against the edge of the bunk, and he paused, the tinny sound echoing in his ears.

He knocked the footlocker against the bunk again, listening to the little noise again.

Kark it. He was more than just a mindless flesh-droid. He was a person. A human being. And he liked music.

And he wasn’t about to let anybody take that away from him.

“I never got to do a song.” He announced, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.

“You can’t be serious, sir.” Dogma said, shaking his head at him. “Haven’t we gotten in enough trouble?”

“I’m sure the General’s slithered back to the Temple by now, where he belongs.” Jesse replied, turning back to the Lieutenant. “We don’t have a radio anymore, sir.”

“We don’t need one.” Rose said, pulling his footlocker back out and propping up one leg on it. He tapped his foot against the metal, the rhythm settling, nodding his head along. He took a deep breath.

“Standing in the rain, with his head hung low. Couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show.”

Fives recognized the song, and started tapping his foot along, drumming his hands on an overturned weapons crate.

“Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene. Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream.” Rose climbed up onto the table. “He heard one guitar!”

Jesse slammed a bucket from earlier down against the supports of a bunk, the loud clang mimicking the strum of a guitar.

“Just blew him away. He saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day, bought a beat up six string in a secondhand store. Didn’t know how to play it, but he knew for sure, that one guitar!”

Another clang, this time from Kix repeating Jesse’s motion, and Echo, Denal, Coric and Fives were all drumming on overturned buckets and crates.

“Felt good in his hands! Didn’t take long to understand, just one guitar, slung way down low, was a one way ticket, only one way to go.”

Tup and Hardcase had picked up a brush – typically used for scrubbing their blasters and armor down – and were knocking it against the durasteel wall. Dogma had rounded up the others, a look of sheer determination on his face as they clamored around the bunks and tables, smacking their fists in rhythm with anything they could get their hands on.

“So he started rockin', ain't never gonna stop. Gotta keep on rockin', someday gonna make it to the top!”

Rose stomped his feet, and the rest of the 501st joined him for the chorus.

“And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. He's a juke box hero!”

“He took one guitar,” Rose sang, while the rest of the battalion echoed “juke box hero, stars in his eyes” around him. “Juke box hero, he’ll come alive tonight.”

The singing quieted down, listening for a moment to see if anyone was coming, and Rose grinned, starting again and pitching his voice low.

“In a town without a name, in a heavy downpour, thought he passed his own shadow, by the backstage door.”

The clones took position, preparing to resume their makeshift instruments as Rose picked up in volume.

“Like a trip through the past, to that day in the rain. And that one guitar, made his whole life change! Now he needs to keep on rockin', he just can't stop! Gotta keep on rockin', that boy has got to stay on top!”

Once again, shouts rang out as his brothers joined him for the chorus, their voices louder and more determined than ever, refusing to be silenced.

“And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. He's a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. Yeah, juke box hero, stars in his eyes. With that one guitar, he'll come alive, come alive tonight.”

As they finished the song, Rose panted softly, glancing down at his commlink again. He decided he was going to go off base after all. He wanted to see you, and nobody, not his Captain’s orders, and definitely not some karking General like Krell, was going to stop him.

“Dismissed.” He said curtly, and took off out the door without another word.

SONGS USED (because they’re all bangers and you should listen to them):

The 501st (introduction): Hotel California Echo: Hooked on a Feeling Fives: Kickstart My Heart Kix: Sharp Dressed Man Jesse: You Give Love a Bad Name Coric and Denal: Come Sail Away Dogma: Zombie Tup: Dancing in the Dark Hardcase: Walk This Way The 212th and 501st: I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) The 501st (Canteen finale): Don’t Stop Believin’ Rose and the 501st: Juke Box Hero

TAG LIST (Aka everyone on the tag list for BAON): @fat-zygerrian @ladydiomede @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @threevie @cheesemachine44 @bubblyacey @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @loverofclones @starwarsgarbage @hockeyjedi13 @crazygirlwithasword @dar-manda-rjct @gotomarvelgal @baba-fett @whore4rex @bubblegumcat229 @generalcannoli @hellothere501stlover @in-the-crosshairs @vaderthepotater @for-the-love-of-clones @babyhowzer @imrealatedtothe501st @chewychewyque @bobafettuccini @baba-fett-writes @chromia7567 @coffeeandtodd @thedomesticatednerd @kirinpl @djarrex @a-c-lee @embarrassedauthornerd @kaorikoizumi @the-girl-of-rain-and-shadows @sammi9498 @theroguesully @salaminus

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joecial-distancing · 2 years ago

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Assorted 1k1 albums update

Too many since last time I was writing these to be worth listing every single one, plus I took a short hiatus during Spring, but I’m noticing my retention has been a lot worse since I stopped blurbing.

Broadly, I’m noticing it was very clearly a british person curating this list, the most forgettable entries on here tend to be 80s-era brit/synth pop.

Santana Abraxas (1970): Santana Extremely Good!

Sufjan Stevens Illinois (2005): I think I like the idea of his states project more than I really care for the music itself

Serge Gainsbourg Histoire De Melody Nelson (1971): Miserable headphones listen, his voice is so loud in the mix I can’t enjoy the music. Admittedly I might feel different if I understood French and could tell what he was saying lol

Queens of the Stone Age Queens of the Stone Age (1998): Most dad rock is cute/enjoyable every once in a while, this was boring as hell though

Megadeth Rust in Peace (1990): I have a soft spot for certain types/eras of metal, this is not one of my preferred ones though

Def Leppard Pyromania (1983): Now *this* is perfectly good dad rock!

David Bowie Station To Station (1976): Bowie’s one of the figures I’m most interested in getting my head around through this project. So far, this is my favorite thing from him I’ve heard, the title track is excellent!

REM Automatic for the People (1992): Another thing I’m trying to keep tabs on as I go through this is stringing together influence points toward things I knew before going in. For some reason as I listen to REM, I keep thinking of They Might Be Giants, which is weird because the music isn’t exactly similar. Something in the attitude? I dunno.

The Who Who’s Next (1971): There’s a couple albums like this on here where my brain lights up when it hears the recognizable stuff, and then doesn’t retain the rest of the music. Baba O’Riley is indeed really good, but I’m struggling to take an honest accounting of “ok is it genuinely so much better than the rest of the album or are you just really familiar with this”

like “do you think these songs are good or bad based on radio exposure, or did the ones you liked get radio exposure because they were the good shit?” I don’t trust the second one as an explanation even if it feels true.

Pink Floyd The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973): Really good bathtub listening. Definitely dragged/went slow more than I like. I’ve heard this one describes as like an album constructed for audiophiles/people who care a lot about precise mixing, which feels true.

Kanye West The College Dropout (2004): I liked this a lot! Kanye really has a gravity about him, where I feel like I interpret a lot of the generator’s other rap/hip-hop selections in context of what they mean in context of things before/after KW

Earth Wind & Fire That’s The Way Of The World (1975)

Burning Spear Marcus Garvey (1975): One thing I’m learning through this project is I should probably be putting more reggae into my rotation. It tends to be slower than I usually go for, but otherwise checks a lot of my boxes

2pac Me Against The World (1995): 2pac’s another Huge name who’s a blind spot for me. I really need to revisit this one; I mentioned in the public enemy blurb that I basically can’t retain lyrics unless I’m literally reading them along to the music, and I wasn’t able to do that when I was playing this.

Sonic Youth Dirty (1992)

Notorious BIG Ready To Die (1994): Didn’t like this as much as 2pac & public enemy, in terms of 90s rap

Tori Amos Little Earthquakes (1992): This one really grew on me! Very pleasant first listen, and then I found myself coming back to it a lot afterward.

Alanis Morissette Jagged Little Pill (1995): Haha god damn I like Alanis. So many choices she makes on here that should be obnoxious on paper, but just end up being extremely charming *“HOWWwOWWowwW apprOAHpriaTe”* absolutely delightful

Alice Cooper Billion Dollar Babies (1973): I have some experience with Alice Cooper here & there. This album was fine, but my favorite thing from him was his Muppet Show appearance

The Chemical Brothers Dig Your Own Hole (1997)

Belle & Sebastian If You’re Feeling Sinister (1996) I think people I know like B&S? I don’t think I did.

Randy Newman Good Old Boys (1974): I don’t think he’s country, but he’s something adjacent. I liked this, found it pleasant

The Rolling Stones Let it Bleed (1969): Hell yeah I love The Departed

Fleetwood Mac Rumours (1977): What the fuck every single song on this is super well-known. Major touchpoint filled in that I had no idea I was even missing

Os Mutantes Os Mutantes (1968): Wish I liked this more, the thing they’re up to seems interesting

Deep Purple Deep Purple In Rock (1970): Oh my god I loved this. I knew by reputation that Deep Purple’s one of the bands that built the bridge from hard rock to heavy metal, and something about that boundary creates stuff I like way more than straight metal.

Yes The Yes Album (1971): Yes’s good songs are some of my favorite stuff out there, but the individual albums have a lot of songs that just don’t work for me.

Steely Dan Countdown To Ecstasy (1973): I find Steely Dan to be technically boring, but perfectly serviceable cooking & doing the dishes music

REM Document (1987): Moreso than Automatic For The People, this really cemented for me that I love REM. Lotta earworms

Nirvana Nevermind (1991): The first songs on this are tremendous, some of the strongest things to open an album. Didn’t really retain the rest (see: the who, earlier)

Lana Del Rey Chemtrails Over the Country Club (2021)

Black Sabbath Vol 4 (1971): Similar to Deep Purple, lots of fun! The arrangements are fast, energetic, interesting. Noticing I’m tending to like a lot of 70s metal, then something happens 80s-00s that loses me really hard.

ABBA The Visitors (1981): Influence Alert: Marina and the Diamonds totally bites a whole bunch of influence from ABBA, it’s so obvious after sitting with an ABBA album all the way through (having previously basically only known them from the mama mia soundtrack *killed by brick through the window*). I liked a few songs off this one, looking forward to hearing more from the generator

The Flaming Lips The Soft Bulletin (1999): Lol I had people in the 00s recommend flaming lips to me. This was so boring!

Bob Marley & The Wailers Exodus (1977): See previous re: reggae. often a lot for me when it’s an entire album, but I like it in general!

David Bowie Heroes (1977): With a couple Bowies under my belt by this point, he’s kind of a mixed bag for me; there’s usually a couple songs per album I’ll like a lot, and the rest leaves me really cold. That said, I still haven’t heard anything from ziggy stardust era, so there might be missing context or something still.

Paul Simon Paul Simon (1972): Bleh

Björk Medúlla (2004): Felt really bad that I did not like this. might revisit, could just be it wasn’t good music for taking a bath.

Throbbing Gristle D.O.A. the Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle (1978): Same complaint as Björk, this seemed like something I should like a lot, and instead it annoyed me.

Hole Celebrity Skin (1998): Damn I went in kind of expecting not to like it, and it turned out to be really good! *Trampled to death by approx. 1,000,000 foaming Gen X men*

Eminem The Marshall Mathers LP (2000): Way more misses than hits, but still a fun time capsule of what the fuck everyone I knew in middle school was blithering about at the time

David Bowie Blackstar (2016): I feel like I need to read some production history to get the hang of this one

George Michael Faith (1987): haha oh my god he’s so fucking sleazy on this, I love it

Beatles White Album (1968): Overall pretty good! Hard to set aside the charles manson mystique around it

The White Stripes Elephant (2003): Big nostalgia album! Seven Nation Army owns bones, the rest of this is pretty good still

Scott Walker Scott 2 (1968): He has such a good voice! I don’t even like genre he’s doing and I was swept away!

Rush Moving Pictures (1981): I’ve given Rush an honest try before, they just never clicked for me. Decent, but...something’s missing

Steely Dan Aja (1977):

Bob Dylan Blonde On Blonde (1966): Bob Dylan might be another case of I Gotta Sit Down With The Lyrics, bc on first listen I just found him kind of grating.

Duran Duran Rio (1982): Lmao I love this album. Title song’s whatever, but Hungry Like the Wolf makes me smile so fucking much

Fred Neil Fred Neil (1966): Rare example of pure country music I found pretty engaging the whole album

The Killers Hot Fuss (2004): Unlike with The Who and Nirvana, I am very sure the popular songs off this one are the actual good ones lol. Mr Brightside and Somebody Told Me are A-OK, the rest may be safely left in the past

Can Tago Mago (1971): One of my all-time favorite albums. Halleluhwah alone could carry it really far

Dead Kennedys Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables (1980): This one really knocked me on my ass, clearly a big influence point for a whole bunch of bands I like a ton.

Metallica Master of Puppets (1986): This is the fucking thing with 80s metal, man! If each of these songs were like 50% shorter, this would’ve been really solid, but as is they’re not interesting enough to justify how long they make you spend with them.

Aretha Franklin Lady Soul (1968): I like Never Loved A Man more than this one, but Aretha Franklin all-time excellent

Gary Numan The Pleasure Principle (1979): Really stripped-down, deliberately no-personality. Pretty interesting experience!

Flamin’ Groovies Teenage Head (1971): Ohhhhh shit these are the Louie Louie guys! Fun mix of rock, blues, etc. Seems kind of Of The Time in terms of baseline late-60s/early-70s bands.

Shuggie Otis Inspiration Information (1974): Nice soul/jazzy, which usually starts to bore me after a whole album, but was kind of nice to have on while I was writing the rest of these entries.

#1001 Albums

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celestialrry · 4 years ago

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heart of gold

(this is like a pt.2 to gold rush, also very loosely based off Heart of Gold by Neil Young)

Based off this request!: Aww I loved gold rush!! I lowkey could see a part 2 somewhere down the line.. kinda like time stamps of their relationship... like when they started dating, when their families find out, etc. but that’s just me being greedy 😂😂 love your work!

Thank you so much for asking! Give me more requests! (I strictly write for the readers so I won’t put any names or anything)

2.8k

summary: Harry and you get closer than you both ever thought was possible.

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, fluff

Christmas Eve & Day

After the two of you officially dropped all hate towards each other it was a bit awkward. You both walked back into the living room to join everybody, who seemingly enough, was oblivious that the two of you were on good terms now. This was because you both didn’t say much to each other at all. It had been insults upon insults for the past 3 years or so, and you had no idea what to say. You had to stop yourself from pointing out when he made a mistake in monopoly, and he had to bite back words about the way you were drinking your wine, even though there wasn't anything wrong with it, he actually found it quite cute. Soon enough, you and your mom had decided to go back home as the snow was building up and it was already almost 10 p.m. You hugged Anne and Gemma goodbye, hesitating before giving Harry a quick hug to which he was pleasantly surprised by. You went home, and all you could think about wasn't how annoying Harry was, but how much you overlooked him. Because lets be honest, you always found him attractive to say the least, and now that you didn't hate him anymore he somehow got hotter.

After you woke up the next morning and exchanged a few gifts with your mom, both changing into the Christmas pajamas you got each other, you sat at the table, eating the pancakes the two of you had made. You savored the sweet taste of the syrup, and laughed as the two of you sang horribly to Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. A knock at your door made the two of you almost break your necks turning towards the noise. “I’ll check.” You mumbled, standing up and taking a sip of your water before scurrying to the door. You opened it to see Harry bundled up standing outside, his nose and cheeks tinted pink from the cold.

“Oh my god, Harry.” You said, pulling his arm and dragging him inside your house. “What are you doing? It’s below freezing outside.” You asked him, brushing some snow off of his sleeves.

“I have a present f’you.” He smiled, his dimples popping up, looking you up and down, “I like your pajamas.”

You smiled at him and bit your lip in an attempt to not roll your eyes. You were about to bite back but then your brain processed his words and your jaw dropped and your brows lowered in frustration. “I- I’m so sorry Harry, I didn’t know we were doing presents, I don't have one for you.” You looked into his eyes.

“Wasn't expecting’ one, love,” Your cheeks heated up at his words, he never called you that before. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a little red box, wrapped in a tiny golden bow. “Here.”

You gently grabbed it out of his hands and looked at it for a moment before looking back to Harry. He was smiling, but you could tell he was nervous from his shaking hands. Or maybe they were still cold, but you wanted to believe the former.

“Do you want me to open it now? Or-”

“Y’can open it later, plus I have t’get back to m’mum and Gems, but uh, yeah.” He rushed out.

“Okay, thank you Harry, it means a lot,” You said, hesitating before pecking him on the cheek again. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” He smiled like a fool, giving you a hug before waving a goodbye and stepping out of your house.

You didn't have but two seconds before you turned around to see your mom grinning at you. “What was that?” She asked, even though you knew for sure that she listened to the entire conversation.

“Um, I don't know.” You shrugged honestly.

New Years Eve

You looked at your phone buzzing and smiled, picking it up.

“Hey H.” You said, rotating the ring on your right middle ringer with your thumb. It was silver, with little bears in the detailing. “Hey love, was jus’ wondering if y’wanted to go to a little party with me tonight. It’s at m’friends house.”

Your eyes widened. “Um, yeah sure,” You said, cursing yourself for agreeing too quickly. “Can you send me the address?” You asked. It was only 9 a.m. but still.

“No need, m’gonna pick you up and take y’home and all that stuff.” He said through the phone and you bit back a massive grin.

“Oh, thank you.” You said, holding your hand out and looking at the ring he got you for Christmas. when you opened it with your mom the second after he left you were surprised to say the least. It was too expensive for you, after your mom recognized it as Gucci, and you had called him afterwards to thank him profusely, after getting his phone number off of the little slip of paper that came in the box as well, with the small note “To being friends :) text me!”

“The least I can do, pet. Send m’your address? I’ll pick y’up 8 sharp.”

You berated yourself for loving the pet name he gave you, and said you would, as well as thanking him again to which he scolded you for being so nice. After your goodbye’s you hung up, looking at the blank contact photo. I should take one for it tonight, you thought. After you texted him later on Christmas Day, the two of you had been texting back and forth, trying to squeeze 3 years of not knowing each other into a few days. It was difficult but you had learned a lot about him, and vice versa. It was safe to say you were loving it.

Later that evening you had put on your outfit and did your makeup and felt butterflies, of pure excitement of course, when Harry texted you a “Here x.” You answered with a “Be out in a sec!” before grabbing your bag and making sure you had your keys and wallet and everything else before stepping out fo your house into the snow, locking your door and turning around, walking carefully to his car.

You got in the passenger seat and could clearly see him look you up and down before giving you a big smile. “Y’look really good, love.” You shyly looked away from him before complimenting him yourself. “Thank you H, you look very handsome.” You said, looking him up and down and noting his trousers and button down with sweater vest.

“Thanks.” He blushed, and this time you weren't annoyed by his reaction to a compliment. He started driving and turned on Fleetwood Mac and this is when you had learned that he was actually good friends with Stevie Nicks, and when he said that you were sure that your brain had actually burst.

It was enjoyable small talk all the way there and when you pulled up to the massive house, your eyes widened. “Holy shit, who’s party is this?” You asked, stepping out of the car with Harry.

“M'friend Mike’s. C’mon, don't want you t’freeze to death.” He joked, grabbing your hand and leading you to the front door, making sure you didn't slip on ice. Harry just walked in, pulling you behind him, and you looked around at all the people laughing and dancing to the music. It was more of an adult party, no 20 year old’s grinding on each other and getting absolutely wasted, which you were happy about. Even though you were only 22, you felt more mature for your age.

Harry had let go of your hand at this point, but kept a hand on your back to make sure you stayed near him. He was set on not leaving your side all night, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Harry was a very open person he liked to believe, and it was very difficult for him to pretend he just wanted to be friends with you. He found you absolutely gorgeous, and even after seeing your worst, he found himself liking you more and more. He would give anything to hold you and kiss you in front of everyone, but it had to be too soon for you both, after all you had been friends for only 5 days now. He supposed his feelings had been building up since he met you, because it was impossible to fall for someone as much as he did you, that fast.

It also didn't help that you were younger than he was. Sure 3 years wasn't that much, but the next relationship he gets into he want’s it to be long term and last, he was almost 30 and felt like he was running out of time.

As people approached the two of you, Harry introduced you as “M’good friend,” and then said your name, after everyone had been asking him if the two of you were dating. His cheeks were flushed as you both denied it, and laughed it off.

You had been introduced to his friends Sarah and Mitch, whom he had talked about before, and you were truly excited to meet them and get to know them. Mitch was more closed off, but Harry had told you before that it didn’t have anything to do with you and it was just how he was. Sarah on the other hand gave you a hug and kiss on the cheek before complimenting you, which you quickly did back.

The night was fun, and soon enough it was a few minutes until midnight. Harry had kept his promise to himself, and stayed with you all night, enjoying himself more than he should. He didn't bring you with the intention to kiss you at midnight, although he would love that, and then get in your pants, he wouldn't be complaining about that either, but as it was nearing midnight he started thinking more about it. Your brain was racing as the clock started counting down, wondering if you and Harry would kiss. You wanted to, that much was true, but the question was if he did.

“10, 9, 8,” Everyone started shouting. The champagne in your system told you to turn to Harry and you looked at him as it started to get to 3. He turned to look at you as well, a smile on his face. “2, 1!” Everyone yelled, and you leaned in as did Harry. His lips slotted perfectly with yours and when you both pulled away you were both smiling too much. “Was that okay,” You started to ask him and he leaned in a bit closer to hear you. “I didn't ask, I’m so sorr-”

You were interrupted by his lips against yours once more, and he pulled away to peck your lips a few more times, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You were pretty sure it was okay, now.

February 12th

Harry had celebrated his birthday with a few of his closest friends and his family. It was fun, and he enjoyed the day, but all he wanted was to see you. You had work the entire day and you got off at 10 p.m. so you knew you wouldn’t be able to make it to the party, but after you got off, you drove to his house, not seeing any other cars in the driveway. You had locked on the door and he opened it a minute or so later, his eyes lighted up as you wished him a Happy Birthday and gave him his present. He brought you inside and thanked you with kisses and hugs before opening it to see a new writing journal and a Gucci ring you saved up for. It was the one of the cheapest one they sold, just a silver band with flowers engraved on the band. He absolutely loved it, and wanted to show you how thankful he was, and you ended up spending the night.

It had been a few weeks since then, and Harry and you had yet to put a label on anything, but he would take you out on dates and cook you dinner, and you did the same for him throughout January and February. Tonight, you had just planned to stay in, already in your pajamas when Harry showed up at your door with sunflowers.

You let him in and took the flowers, filling a vase with water before putting them in. “Thank you.” You said, giving him a quick kiss. “I didn't miss a special occasion did I?”

He hesitated before replying. “I hope it would be a special occasion in the future,” You raised a brow before he spoke again, saying your name. “Will y’be m’girlfriend?”

You smiled and said “Of course.” before kissing him once more. Only a few days later did you accidentally let it slip to your mom before making her vow to wait to talk to Anne about it before Harry told her himself.

February 21st

Harry was nervous, if that was an even strong enough word to describe the way he felt at the moment. You and Harry had decided to travel back to Holmes chapel to tell his mom the two of you were dating. That wasn't what scared him though. You had told Harry on Valentines Day when he cooked dinner for the two of you, that your mom already knew. You had agreed on no gifts, but of course you both ended up giving each other flowers and chocolate.

Harry was scared of seeing your mom for the first time since she learned the two of you had begun dating. It usually took a long time for Harry to ask someone out, the media always found out somehow and he was always scared that as soon as the hate started to arrive they would leave, because they didn't know him that well, so why stay? But it was different with you, he had known you for years, and sure while those few years weren't the best, it was because of a stupid reason on both of your accounts, and once he got to truly know you, he didn't want to wait.

He was serious about you, and if your mom started to dislike him as your boyfriend, he wouldn't know what to do. As you arrived in the driveway of your house, Anne and Gemma had already gotten there and your mom had told you they would all prepare dinner for your arrival. You could just tell she was itching to tell them, even over the phone.

As Harry put the car in park and turned it off, he shakily breathed out a little, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

“Hey, what's wrong?” You asked gently, your hand resting on his arm.

He thought wrong.

“M’just a bit nervous is all.” He shrugged, trying not to show all that he was feeling at the moment.

You squeezed his arm a bit too, and brought your other hand to his jaw to turn his head to you. “So am I, but everything is going to be fine. My mom is already in love with us, and I’m sure your mom will be too.” You laughed a bit.

He nodded and gave you a quick kiss before stepping out of the car and grabbing your hand as you walked up to him. You both walk to the door and you knock on the door, waiting out in the cold weather. Harry looked at you before deciding to wrap his arm around your was it instead, in an effort to warm you up. Your cheeks heated up at the gesture and you leaned into him when the door was opened by your mom. She looked between the two of you and a smile burst out on her face as she ushered the two of you in, bringing you in for a hug before hugging Harry and whispering a “I can already tell you make her really happy.” before letting go. he blushed and thanked her softly before she led the two of you into the dining room where Anne and Gemma were already sat.

Harry had decided to not announce it immediately, and so you were no longer holding hands as you walked into the dining room. They left two seats open next to each other for the two of you and as Harry walked around and greeted his mom and sister, you smiled and said hello to them as well when you sat down. Soon he took the seat next to you and grabbed your hand under the table.

A little while into dinner, silence fell and Harry cleared his throat, seizing the opportunity. “Um, I just wanted t’say something,” He said not so confidently, and you squeezed his hand. He spoke your name and nodded to you then said, “and I are dating, have been since February 12th t’be exact.”

You smiled and looked around the table, expected to see shocked faces, but only grins were found.

“We were wondering when the two of you would tell us!”

Ahhh this was really fun to write! Thank you so much for reading and thank you to whoever asked this (I forgot the @ :( and the message got deleted after I responded to you). I felt kinda eh about this ending but it’s whatever <3

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Text

Bedroom Blues | Luke Hemmings

A/N; I hope you like it, and that it’s angsty enough. I’m not too great at writing smut, but I took more time with this imagine, and I felt quite inspired with it. Feedback would be appreciated for any improvements, thankyou for the request and please enjoy (Sorry if the smut’s bad!) - M x

Warnings; includes smut, angst, mentions and complications of miscarriage, cheating, mentions of drug use, drinking, swearing, choking, toxic relationship, spit

Uttering a single word was unsettling, there was an edge driven between you and Luke, a bump in the road that you feared that the pair of you were unable to cross. He had distanced himself, pouring his emotions into his music rather than expressing them to you.

It hurt, that he pushed you away, telling you to focus on yourself when all that you could mull your mind over was his state of self and all that you had lost. You needed him, it would never be a cure for the pain in your chest, but even so much as a word would have dimmed the heartbreak.

But he was ‘busy’ as he put it. He remained at the studio as you sat on the bottom of the cold bed, the sheets made and pillows perfectly shaped. No one had slept in it in days, you’d opt for the sofa and he anywhere far enough away.

Sometimes, he’d even crash at Cal’s, leaving you in the company of Petunia, who always tried to make you feel better, bless her little heart. But there was another suspicion arising in your welded brain.

It was not a puzzle to put the pieces together, the clues were straightforward. He was slowly losing himself, and by doing so, also you.

Whenever you had the chance to see him, there was a cheap stench of perfume that waded around him, giving you hints about his altered aura. The scent was new to you, nothing you owned smelt like chemicalised fuchsias and indigos.

It could only belong to another woman, the one who left red marks upon the collars of his white shirts that he ignored, allowing you to wash them when you extracted them from the laundry basket.

He sat at his desk, phone in hand as he spoke frustratedly to his manager. Feldy was unimpressed by the things that the musician that he bought with his money, it wasn’t legal and if it were to escape to the public’s eye, he’d be cancelled.

Drugs was not the only consumption that he tolerated to ease his childless suffering, he endeavoured out to puns, with new friends that the boys hadn’t even met.

They seemed sleazy, and were accountably not a good influence upon him. As you leant against the doorframe, you tentatively listened to Luke cuss at the man of his label, him oblivious to your presence.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, I have a reasonable excuse. My child died, before he was even born, I have to cope somehow! So before you let your criticisms slip through your barking lips, consider how you would feel if you were in my position!”

Luke gave the man no time to reply, he hung up, sliding his phone across the table, it hitting the stapler that was sat on the hardwood surface.

He was hurting, he was trying to tolerate the pain, but he was not going about it the right way. As he attempted to get through this tough time, he was hurting everyone that he claimed to love, including you.

“You can’t keep using our son’s passing as an excuse.” It was his answer to everything, the penance that he guarded himself with.

At the sound of your voice, he sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, sick and tired of it all. There was never a moment to waste, he had realised that. Life was about living, something that his child never got to experience. He was making up for the future that he didn’t reach.

“Don’t hassle me woman, you don’t understand.” It was as though he was oblivious to how you felt, focusing on yourself wouldn’t have made his words burn any less.

However painful the strike of the match was, it also made you angry. The way he had the audacity to speak to you like it, as though he were blaming its body for the error that it had gone through.

“Fuck you!” It leapt from your mouth far more aggressively than you intended, but you didn’t regret the exclamation. It was a blessing, that your voice box had the courage to speak the pickings of your mind. “I understand more than you could ever know, you think you’re in pain. Perhaps you should take some time to think, sit and remember the life that we were going to have. Because whilst your out partying, fucking other women and being blind to the fact that you’re pushing everyone that cares away, it makes me think that it’s a good job that our baby wasn’t brought into the world. You’re not exactly father material.”

Luke threw himself from his spinning chair, clasping his hands around (Y/N)’s neck, holding your furious body against the wall. He sneered at the sight of her, for the first time in two months, looking into her eyes. She had insulted him, he wasn’t in the right headspace for that.

“Take it back.” He sternly ordered her, squeezing tighter around her throat. Her silence infuriated him further, and so the tall blond man pried again, leaning in closer to her face. “Take it fucking back you - you... Please take it back (Y/N).”

He broke, but (Y/N) wasn’t ready to cave for him so easily, even as he kept a hold around her. Instead she pursed her lips, forming a ball of saliva in her mouth and spitting it straight in his face.

It landed upon his left eyebrow, wallowing further down as he frowned at her crudeness. Finally, he realised his girlfriend, stepping back, shaking his curls at the sight of her. She disgusted him, she had no right to treat him that way when he was in so much pain. You weren’t helping him cope, you were only making it harder.

“I can’t lie to you like that Luke.” Your voice was softer, however your cheeks hollowed at the crumbled sight of him. He had sunk to the ground, he was on his knees, his head hung low.

“I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?” He didn’t need an answer, not when he was already too aware of his own mistakes. There was no redemption, no do overs. No way to revive his son.

Although he had hurt you in ways in which you’d never forgive him for, it drummed an ache in your chest to see Luke like this. The worst part was that through all of his fuck ups and downs, you still loved him.

He was all you had left, you had lost everything else. It made you think that it hadn’t been the right time, or right at all for you and Luke to have a child together. The creation and its demise had split the two of you apart, there was no coming back from that.

But you were both here, on the floor of his studio, and so you got on your knees before him, cupping his downturned face and turning it up to look at your own. He appreciated the warmth that your hands provided, he had missed them, as well as the rest of you that accompanied them.

“That’s one way to put it.” Licking your lips at the dryness that had masked them, Luke watched the action. It was ordinary, as did your relationship to the media. But that things that they did not know was that the string between the pair of you was torn, it was getting old and would soon fall through.

There was still a single spark left, he felt it surpass the contact he had with your skin. Instinctively he rotated his head in your palm, pressing his lips against the smooth skin, placing delicate, harmless kisses upon the skin.

It surprised you, however you allowed him to continue his path, that trailed up the expanse of your arm, across your shoulder, up the hollow of your neck, until he arrived at your lips. They were so familiar, yet he was so estranged from them.

The appearance of them upheld that of an old friend, they had changed, grown away from their friendship and moved on. This was a chance to reconnect, even if it be for only a moment, and so Luke greeted them with the pressing of his own lips, feeling the remainder of passion left.

He would always love you, you’d been the mother of his child, his rock. And thinking of that had you reciprocating the action, opening your mouth and inclining him a taste inside.

His hands ran down the silhouette of your body, feeling every curve and inch for what felt like the last time. And it probably would be, and so he intended to make the most of it, leave with a regretless finale.

Your hands attacked his hair, tugging at the roots, making the man before you groan at the contact. “Bedroom.” You mumbled against his bittersweet lips.

The pair of you stood, and the tall guitarist hoisted you into his arms, walking through the halls that the pair of you shared.

There were so many ghosts wandering the house, it was eerie, nostalgic. He’d remembered when the pair of you had first scoped out this place through an estate agent. It had felt like home, but now it had the aura of a blue sea; polluted and slowly emptying of all life.

He took careful steps up to stairs, as insurance that he wouldn’t drop your body from his amorous grasp, or that he wouldn’t slip somewhere he couldn’t see.

The two of you were already emotionally fragile, it didn’t need to transfer to its physical cousin. And so he proceeded his route, pushing the bedroom door open with his shoulder, not bothering to close it in his wake.

Lightly he tossed you onto the neat and unused bed, causing a crease to form in the material, but it didn’t matter. Not as he stripped himself of his white silk shirt that had an opening at his chest, tossing it onto the floor.

His stomach was heaving as he got caught in the moment, watching you expectedly as he tugged on the end of your own shirt. It had been a maternity shirt, one that you had bought in consideration for later in the course of your pregnancy. At last, it was getting some use, but Luke would have preferred if it received less of that.

Removing the article washed away any link that your body showed of a prior pregnancy, momentarily it discarded the memories of the change your body had been due; stretchmarks, swollen feet, a craving for the strangest of digestible combinations.

One reminder remained though. It was Luke, who crawled upon the king sized bed, sliding atop of you and trailing his fingertips down the lines of your bra straps, carefully sliding them down your arms, so that the covering merely stayed on by the back portion.

“Is this okay? I don’t want you to regret it.” He had his own, he know how it ate away at his soul, piece by piece. There was no worse feeling, he didn’t want you to experience the same.

A loose lipped smile came across your face, he was being considerate. It was more than he had been since the miscarriage, then he had resembled a shadow whenever he chose to return home. He was hardly visible, and if you saw him, nothing was uttered, it was just a bleak darkness underneath the sun’s scoping rays that explored through the open blinds.

“I’m okay with it.” With your consent in hand, Luke shuffled atop of you, grinding his half hardness against the cotton shorts that protected the disabled birthing centre that you had been the entrance to this entire ordeal.

Shivering at the feeling, you released a small moan, which further spurred on the man. “Fuck, I can’t wait any longer.” He sat upon his knees, digging them into the mattress as he made easy work of his belt, sliding it through the loops and throwing it aside.

Next were his trousers, and as he removed them and his undergarments, you quickly mirrored his actions, leaving both of you naked, aside from the comfortable bra that you were cooped in.

It didn’t matter if a part of you was shielded, Luke was ready to get down to business and make the most of this last night. But before he could position his tip at your slit, one of your hands softly pushed him back, although he remained hovering above your ample body.

“Condom.” You told him, you not wanting to risk another pregnancy. At the word, Luke’s eyes widened, as though it was flashing him back to the night that the pair of you had forwent using one. It had ended in a miracle, that over time, transformed into the worse curse imaginable to mankind.

Luke reached over to the bedside draw, extracting a single packet and delicately ripping it open, taking out the form of protection. He held it in his hand, rolling it upon himself from tip to base. And then all was ready for him to proceed.

Hooking one of your legs around his waist, he pushed into you, which emitted a gasp from both the involved. It felt almost foreign, like a one night stand. It had been a while since such a natural presentation of affection had dawned in this room, or anywhere in this house.

The angle gave him a deeper point to hit you at, and he took full advantage of that. His pace had began slow, but it increased as your hands traced undecipherable shapes upon his nude back, knowing that in this minute, everything went away.

All the pain was gone. The distance was nowhere to be found, it had been crushed by the closeness that your bodies now emitted. It was all replaced by pleasure, the exotic feeling flowed in flushed lines through your skins, and out of the sinful sounds that emitted from your mouths.

Biting lightly into his shoulder, it made the singer groan, it sounded almost musical. It brought you back to the days when he would sing lightly whilst making breakfast together in the mornings, that was in the old apartment, before you had risked such a great commitment into buying somewhere as a couple.

He didn’t fault in his languid strokes, they weren’t fast or slow; they were the perfect in between. However he was going deep, reaching far into your cunt, which was clenching over and over again around his impressive girth.

“Do that again baby.” The name made the pair of you freeze, staring solely into each other’s eyes as the train stopped on the tracks once more. “Shit, fuck, sorry.”

It pained him too, but there was no other thing that didn’t mean stopping other than pushing through the sensitive clause. And so you dragged his face to your own, allowing him to entangle your lips, clenching around him with your inner walls as he had asked.

“Oh god.” You moaned as he had rammed further inside of your core, he sped up at the sound of your approval. He was driving you closer to the edge, and so were the noises of your bodies battling against each other. The entire ordeal was euphoric, you couldn’t help but let go.

Luke noticed that you had came, and from realising that alone, followed shortly after your bust. And then it was the prompt, the realisation that this was the end, there’d be no more love, no more sex, only ghosts trailing through your brain.

The fact was depressing, but it was healthier for everyone involved, Perhaps one day, you’d return for each other, but first you and Luke would both have to heal from the scarring, separately.

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metinthehallway · 4 years ago

Text

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hello! Here is a simple little 3.5k fic! I thank @goldenbluesuit for hosting this spectacular fic challenge! I love what I've read so far and I can’t wait to keep reading. Also, thank you to @lilacobscure and @arrogantstyles for beta-ing and just being...awesome. I hope you all like it. :)

Warnings: mention of the word bloke from a non-Brit

Annie has had it. She’s holding two of her fluffiest pillows against both of her ears and has her white noise machine droning on at full volume. And she can still hear the sultry bass of Andy Williams singing his little heart out. She can hear him as clear as day, as if he were performing his very own live concert in the corner of her bedroom. Don’t even get her started on the Christmas lights. Annie had actually gone out and bought an eye mask in order to sleep, as her windows faced the neighbors front yard where Annie’s neighbor, apparently, was the sole reason their local supermarket was sold out of blow up decorations and string lights.

Harry Styles didn’t even have a lot of real estate to work with in terms of space. But he really made every centimeter count. One morning mid-November, whilst getting her mail, Annie counted about fourteen deflated pop-up corpses staked to the frozen ground, multiple candy canes lining his driveway that were about half the size of her, and masses of tangled lights strung up across every visible square inch of his home. If that wasn’t enough, he had a carefully crafted playlist he turned on every night at eight p.m. sharp that was approximately three hours and forty-nine minutes long before it looped back to the beginning song. She thought, fleetingly, that she should invest in ear plugs.

Annie prides herself on being a patient and understanding person. The only reason why she hasn’t held a covert operation at three in the morning to mercilessly stab a hole in each blow-up, or cut every single criss-crossed wire, or even ambush her neighbor while he walks out his front door in nothing but a fuzzy pink robe and no shoes, demonstrating that universal, oh shit the ground is cold, oh shit, oh shit, jerking walk, is because he only recently moved in next door. She was not about to be the one to ask him to maybe take it easy on the city’s power source, that she also needs electricity for her home, and also how do you fall asleep with this godforsaken music?

Annie is not prideful in this moment. All it takes for her to snap is hearing, “It’s the hap-happiest season of all,” for the forty-fifth time. With a loud groan, she tears off her beautiful, beautiful down comforter and stomps into her shoes, scaring Cindy, her sleeping Persian cat, off the bed. It’s two thirty-six in the morning, she realizes in a far off thought that doesn’t seem to make it to the forefront of her brain, and makes her way over to Harry’s front door. She has the immature urge to punch a smiling Santa sat atop a sleigh filled with presents as she passes it. All the lights are off in his house and Annie doesn’t feel a bit of remorse as she raises a half-asleep arm and slams it against the sturdy oak door of Harry’s house. For a full minute, it’s silent and there appears to be no movement from behind the door. A sliver of apprehension begins to worm its way into Annie’s bones.

There’s a better way to do this, Annie. Like, in daylight, during normal people hours.

She starts to turn on her heel, continuing her internal chastising and also external chastising, muttering to herself like a lunatic, when she hears the tell-tale creak behind her and a porch light flickering to life. Annie stands there, her right hand over her eyes, shielding them from the harsh yellow rays. She can make out Harry’s figure, dressed in flannel pajama pants that look like they were previously crumpled on his bedroom floor, a white T-shirt on backwards and inside out, and his signature pink fuzzy robe. His hair sticks up hazardously, sort of like a halo illuminated by the bulb behind him. His eyes are puffy, brows furrowed together and indenting a line in the center of his forehead. Lips as pink as a rose purse together as nostrils flare.

“Is there something I might be able to help you with?” Harry asks, a slight lilt to his gravelly voice. It’s a polite enough question, however it holds an air of carefully restrained annoyance. For a moment, Annie thinks she would be annoyed as well if someone pounded at her front door in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning. She quickly dismisses the thought, actually raising her hand in the air and waving it off as if it was a tangible thing. Harry raises one eyebrow.

“Good evening, well- morning, my name is Annie. I live next door, I’m twenty-two Ambrose Ave,” Annie starts. She doesn’t know why she announces her house number. She watches his eyes flick to his right where an engraved twenty-four lies, and back to hers. Annie shakes her head slightly before launching into a speech she never prepared.

“I’m here because I think the way you decorate is rude. Do you think, at all, of your neighbors? How do you fall asleep? Do you even have a job?! I never see you leave your house! Not that I’m keeping tabs, I’m just genuinely worried for your electric bill,” she continues, pausing to take a breath. “I have not had a single good nights rest since you started all of this, back in November. I have never hated the sound of Andy Williams’ voice more deeply than I do this holiday season.”

“Excuse me—,”

“Ah-ah! I’m not done, sir. Some of us are employed and have to work at eight a.m., some of us have cats that wake us up in the ass-crack of dawn anyway with their screeches and need all the sleep we can get. Do you know I had to buy a sleep mask because of you? Because of,” she pauses, a red rotating light from a candy cane passing over her face ominously as she turns around and gestures wildly to the commotion around her, “all this?”

“Can I just say—,”

“And the music. Are you eighty years old? The least you could do with this god-awful playlist is add some Mariah Carey, some Buble; even Ariana Grande has some sick Christmas tunes. The ones you chose haven’t been remastered since nineteen thirty-eight,” she finishes, eyes a little too wide, hair disheveled and falling in her face. Her hands are shaking and her heart is beating entirely too fast. Confrontation has never been Annie’s strong suit, evident of the lack of response from Harry as she cuts him off throughout the duration of her mini rant. He just peers back at her, face as still as stone as an uncomfortable silence falls between them. Frosty the Snowman rears its nasty head and Annie finds herself slowly closing her eyes and clenching her fists.

The second Annie starts to open her eyes, she hears the light closing of Harry’s front door and two locks click into place. She stands there, mouth slightly open as the early December chill works its way into her bones. She stares ahead of her and a murderous look takes over her face, cheeks red with the winter wind, lips chapped and tears starting to form on her lash line from the cold.

“What a fucking prick,” Annie mutters to herself. He can’t even respond to her? How childish. She turns around slowly, walking back through the winter wonderland, feeling defeated. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after finally expressing her thoughts, but she knew defeated was not it.

As she crosses the threshold into her home, she thinks, maybe I could’ve handled that better. Annie prides herself on her patience. She was not patient that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the month, Annie and Harry bump into each other way more than either of them would like. Once, when the mailman dropped off her mother’s monthly care package to Harry’s house, another when Annie had to begrudgingly ask to borrow his shovel when she found her car snowed in one early morning and a broken handle on her own.

They’ve even begun to see each other in the aisles of their local supermarket. Annie enters the store, unsuspecting and looking for ingredients to make her world renowned charcuterie boards for a work fundraiser. She stops in her tracks and almost drops her jar of green olives when she sees a familiar head of frizzy brown hair.

Harry is hyper-focused, reading the back of a spray cheese can. Annie tries to sneak by him and grab a box of herb filled crackers. Tries. She is unsuccessful, however, when her purse strap catches on a display and yanks her arm backwards, making her lose grip of the glass jar. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, as she watches the jar sail past Harry and hit the ground, glass exploding all over his shoes. The chattering happening around her ceases, as all of the blood in her body travels to her face.

“Clean up in aisle four,” deadpans a nearby worker dressed in a horrid shade of neon green. He sighs heavily, murmuring under his breath that he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be picking up all of these olives.

Annie is mortified. She is unable to tear her focus away from Harry’s soaked suede shoes. It’s only when he clears his throat and shifts his feet that she raises her head.

“I see… that you’ve really got a vendetta against me,” Harry scoffs, eyes trained on his feet, where the olive juice has to be seeping into his socks. No one likes wet socks.

“That was completely on accident! I swear! Why is that display sticking three feet into the aisle anyway? That has to be a a safety violation,” Annie pushes out in a rush. There doesn’t seem to be enough air for her lungs in this store. Especially not with Harry now looking intensely at her, almost like he could see right through her. She folds under his gaze.

“It’s okay. I didn’t like these shoes much, to be fair,” Harry shrugs.

“Really?”

“No,” Harry says.

“Oh. Well, I can buy you a new pair. How much did you pay for those?” Annie asks, pulling out her wallet.

Harry raises a single eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth turning up and a dimple appearing out of thin air.

“Too much. Really, it’s fine. The juice is translucent enough. I’ll just use them as house slippers,” he says. He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by the loud squeaking of a bucket skidding across the floor. The neon green worker returns, a dingy looking mop in hand and a frown on his face. His free hand makes the shoo motion to Harry, starting to swipe at the floor, completely ignoring the glass scratching the linoleum that’s mixed in with the olives.

“Do you want any help?” Annie offers, stepping forward to at least pick up the larger shards scattered across the floor. The worker, whose name tag reads Roger, holds up a single pointer finger in her direction and shakes his head. Annie takes the hint, while Harry just shifts his gaze between Roger and the mess on the tiles, mouth somewhat agape. She nudges his shoulder with her own and gestures with her head for them to leave the aisle.

Annie makes her way up to self-checkout, Harry following suit. They ring their items up in silence next to each other. They find themselves walking through the front door together, and it’s only when they’re outside in the sunshine that Harry lets out the deepest belly laugh Annie has ever heard.

“Oh my god, my toes are so wet,” Harry says in between breaths. “Did you see the way that bloke’s vein was popping out of his neck? I thought he was about to commit second degree murder right in the condiment aisle.”

Annie’s heartbeat starts to pick up and she begins to laugh along with him. Tears form in both of their eyes and they sparkle in the cold afternoon sunlight.

“I feel so bad! I don’t even like olives. They were just for my stupid charcuterie boards,” Annie says, laughter dying down. She sighs, wiping at her cheeks. She looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. He looks down at her, smile fading slowly but his face still holding traces of warmth.

“Well, I should be heading home. See you soon,” Harry bids his goodbye. Annie nods her head in his direction and turns, palming her keys and unlocking her car across the parking lot with a chirp. She unloads her groceries into the trunk and slides into the drivers seat, thinking for a brief moment about the shape of Harry’s smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow outside is falling. And it’s falling hard. So heavy and consistent that the power lines are drooping underneath the weight and the electricity in Annie’s house is flickering in and out. It’s Christmas Eve and all she wants to do is sleep the night away, then sleep the morning away, then sleep the weekend away. She draws back a curtain and peers at Harry’s lawn, the usual eyesore dark and covered in a blanket of sparkling white snow.

A sharp crack and the sound of something large tumbling to the ground close to Annie’s house makes both her and Cindy jump, eyes alert and tail all puffed out. She goes to open her front door to investigate and sees Cindy dart between her legs a second too late, a gray blur running into the stormy night.

“CINDY!” Annie yells, voice carrying eerily across the empty street. She takes off after the small cat, wearing only her pajamas and a pair of worn slippers. Annie loses her immediately in the snowfall. While outside, she sees the huge tree limb that fell onto Harry’s front yard, covering a third of his decorations, deeming a good chunk of them broken. She wonders for a short second why he hasn’t come out to check on the noise.

Annie’s heart starts to race as she tries to get a rein on her growing panic. Cindy is a strictly indoor cat, only having been outside for vet visits. She thinks of what would bring her cat back home, yelling her name sweetly and kissing her teeth loudly. She starts to walk towards the tree line, snapping her fingers and chattering her teeth.

“Annie?” She hears her name being called out from behind her. She throws her head over her shoulder and locks eyes with Harry, standing there in his infamous robe. He’s got his face turned away from the harsh wind and his face is scrunched up in confusion. “What on Earth are you doing out here?! Are you mental?”

“Cindy got out! I don’t know where she went. She ran in this direction. She never goes outside, I don’t know what to do,” Annie exclaims, feeling the urge to tear at her hair.

“Who’s Cindy?” Harry asks.

“My cat! She was scared by the branch falling and snuck right past me when I opened the door,” she explains, arms crossing over her chest as the chill of the night bites at her skin. She shivers, turning back towards the trees. They look like they’re beginning to come alive.

Harry looks her up and down and comes up behind her, wrapping that godforsaken robe around her shaking frame. She looks up at him, grateful for the extra layer. He has a serious look on his face, determined with a mix of compassion, and also curiosity. Annie is suddenly relieved that she has someone with her to handle the situation with more calm than she ever could.

“Why don’t you go inside and grab her favorite treats? And a blanket she loves? Something that smells like you would be best,” Harry says, listing off the necessary items as if he’s done this before. She looks at him, a bit puzzled, and he reads her expression easily.

“Our cats growing up were professional escape artists. I’ve done this once or twice,” he lets out a small chuckle. She nods and heads towards her house, grabbing everything they need and changing into a pair of winter boots and shrugging on a coat, shoving Harry’s robe towards him.

“I got everything. Here’s your robe,” Annie says, unable to meet his eyes. She already feels indebted to him, and they haven’t even found Cindy yet. “Thank you for helping me. I’m just… scared,” she confesses, tears starting to well up. She presses her fists into her eyes roughly as if she could stop them from falling.

Harry just nods, takes the garment, and starts shaking the treat bag. His deep voice carries into the night more than hers did as he walks around, zig-zagging across the snow. Annie holds Cindy’s favorite blanket that resides on her bed and wraps it around her. She follows Harry, both chorusing, Cindy! Cindy, baby! Come back! It’s too cold for you out here!

They walk the perimeter of Annie’s house, keeping to the tree line, when Harry shushes her. He stops in his tracks and listens to the silent night. Faintly, from the direction of Harry’s house, comes a small mewl. He walks briskly over, slowing his movements as he gets closer in order not to scare the small Persian.

“Cindy? Where are you girl? Come out for your mama,” Harry half-whispers, half-shouts. He’s still shaking the treats lightly, starting to open them. From their right they can hear a crumpling of plastic, a flash of gray shooting out from underneath the collapsed blow-up of Santa on his sleigh. Annie cries out in relief as Cindy comes running towards them at full speed, crashing right into Harry’s legs. He scoops her up swiftly with one hand and holds a treat out to her in his other.

“You had me so worried, Cindy! I cannot believe you. You want nothing to do with the outside world but decide to run out into the coldest night we’ve had so far! You’re crazy,” Annie half-sobs, holding the cats face in two hands. Cindy shakes the snow out of her fur and licks at Annie’s nose. Harry watches the interaction, feeling something unfolding in his own chest. He gestures for Annie to take her cat, picking long hairs out of his robe.

“I see everything’s all in order here, I’ll just—oh,” Harry lets out a grunt as this peculiar woman collides into his body, cat trapped between the two of them and licking at the pink fuzz surrounding Harry as if she were grooming a kitten. His eyes go a bit wide, arms frozen around Annie while she releases a string of, thank you so much, you have no idea how much she means to me, you didn’t have to do this but you did so I owe you, I’m sorry for what I said that night, I’m sorry about the olive juice, thank you, thank you, thank you, muffled into his chest. His hands find themselves resting on her back, stroking up and down in a means to calm her.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I know what it feels like. I’m glad she was okay,” Harry soothes. Annie pulls away, and a strange longing passes through his heart. He frowns slightly and clears his throat.

“I’m going to go to bed now, and get this little gremlin inside. Thank you so much, Harry. I really do appreciate it, more than you know,” Annie says, a bit breathless. Snowflakes lay themselves to rest upon her eyelashes, lips pink from the cold and Harry has the innate urge to tuck a piece of unruly hair behind her ear. He blinks, forcing himself out of his head.

“Really, it’s no problem. I’ll be heading in as well. See you soon, Annie,” Harry declares. Annie realizes with a jolt that Harry just said her name for the first time. She’s suddenly overheating, and gives a single nod, holding Cindy tight to her body as she walks up the few steps to her front door. Harry watches her leave, only taking his eyes off her when he can’t see her anymore. He then turns around, looking at the demolition of his lawn. He inhales deep.

“Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry does a double take when he sees Annie outside his home the next morning, attempting to break apart the large tree branch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the remainder of the season, Harry and Annie spend an inordinate amount of time together. From binge-watching their guilty pleasure TV shows to roaming the streets downtown at midnight, sharing the same love for empty places. It seemed as though, somewhere in the universe, a story began to unravel itself.

As the last snowflake melts on the first stem emerging from the soft ground, Harry kisses Annie. He wasn’t even planning on it. It was like second degree murder. He found himself looking at her looking at the bluest sky, the sky looking back at her like it wanted to kiss her as well; so he kissed her first.

#GBSxmaschallenge #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #christmas fic #thank you for reading!

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heroofpenamstan · 4 years ago

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interesting + jojake xx

Thank you for this cheap ploy, lovely! x This is simply just some writing practice, the setting is up in the air and undetermined, but I really wanted to actually post something for once. Since I’m re-doing my entire canon and their relationship with it, I needed to gauge their new dynamic, which, admittedly, is going to be far darker than what it innitially was ( though not as bad as how I presented it here—I think? ). Anyway, enjoy my failed attempt at something decent! ♥

word count: 1k

rating: M for mature themes.

warning: elements of dubcon, brain-washing, dark themes, slight smut ( but not really ), swearing, blood and gore. Also, we die like men in draft form.

Joanne cannot remember how she ended up here again, not fully.

She has an even harder time recalling why she is stood before him, looking up at him, gaze clouded and heavy like her rising chest that presses against his. Nothing seems to matter anymore, not the fresh wounds littering her body, not the blood that sticks to her hands, slimy and slick, still; nothing at all but this, but him, all of a sudden—

She cannot think, because he has his hand looped around your neck, nearly lovingly, most certainly painfully, and he tells you that only you, yes, you, Joanne, could have made it this far. He kisses you, then, presses his scarred mouth—a gift from you, long ago—hungry and demanding, teeth nipping, and you, yes, you, Joanne, let him, for there is nothing of you that doesn't belong to him anymore. The palm he drags over his shoulder, once free and unrestrained, carries his gun now, raises it to your eye level, and pulls.

Bang. Bangbangbang.

You hear it now, too, but the sound does not explode through your veins like it should, does not make you recoil and shudder with the thud of a body crumbling before your feet. Books splatter on the concrete ground carelessly, your body across the table more welcoming and preferable than any work of Joseph ever will be, and you, Joanne, are completely and utterly ensnared by his looming form, pressed tightly against him, welcoming and favoured, arms locked around his neck, and there is nothing you can do as he slowly devours you, his little soldier—

But then he chooses to purposely hum a slight tune, right against your neck, just below your bloodied earlobe, and even through the throbbing pain, you still realize, and recognize.

Joanne rotates her shoulder, lets the bone crash painfully, venomously, insistently against his chest to make him stop and let go because, no, it's not your voice that echoes throughout your skull, splitting and loud, but his.

His, Jacob's, praising and soft and insistent, loud against the muffled sound of the music box she notices just now stringing along it's tune—stringing her along to it's tune. To Jacob's—

She feels sick; her blood-stained mouth sneering, snarling, trying her best to hold in the bile and the curses and the shout, and yet—when, suddenly, there's only silence between them, the music and the residue trance broken with the snap of a box, Joanne spits at him, needing him to feel her rage, hot and grimy and slick with blood against him. Jacob simply wipes at his chin, tries to get rid of the saliva there, and laughs.

She hates hearing the ring of him in her head, hates the way she loses herself at the drop of a hat, a snap of a finger—just like that, body and mind ensnared by him, making her his in every single way that counted or mattered.

"Interesting," is the only word he breathes out slowly, ( softly, always so fucking softly, like his fucking brother ) as he untangles his limbs from where they had been curled around her slight form. He steps back, not bothering to lift her up from where she lays there, across his table, staring at the ceiling in silent contempt, nor the white, thick book at his feet he should be revelling at.

You know what he wanted to say to you, the unspoken sentence hanging in the air, and you start to fret, for you, yes, you, Joanne, are starting to become immune, apparently: to the conditioning, to the effects of it, to the guilt. And, oh, do you feel fucking guilty and dirty for feeling cold and empty without the ( familiar; you hate just how familiar ) drag of his body against yours, or his hand against your neck, or his voice inside your head.

But you fret longer, still, that he will drag you back into that seat and tie you down and blast that god damn song until the only thing you can see is red. So much red. Red all over. Redredred.

Your hands, the walls, the screams.

Joanne fears that the slight turn of his torso and the curl of his mouth ( so red and bloodied against scarred skin ) means that he will take her by the forearm and drag her through the building, kicking and screaming, until the music deafens any fight left in her, making her fully his, like he first intended it; his little soldier—

But this was just another spontanious test of his. A hunch, he had said, after she was brought into the room, too awake and too wild to truly and fully be under his tune. He had pulled open the lid, pulled the trigger with it, and Joanne cannot pin-point how long ago that was as she became lost in the music, lost in him.

( For a fleeting moment, anyway. )

However, even with his hunch proven to be correct, Jacob does no such thing.

He does not drag you to a secluded room nor paints your vision in red ( he never again would, you soon learn, not when it didn’t truly count ). He does not pay you much mind at all, actually; still splattered on his table, still on full display, clothed and bloody and sore, as he pockets the music box with another slight hum that makes you involuntarily jolt and him smirk further, deeper; relishing in his hold on you, even with the deathly quiet between you.

“Next time, do better; be quicker,” he says to you as a parting, Joanne, and you’d be a fool not to heed his suggestion.

#deputy joanne burton #jacob seed #otp: dark rabbit & red wolf #far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 fanfic #my writing #english is lost on me once more #a wOMp #wrote 1k so i can leave writing till 2022 #my kids

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

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Hello!! I love your writing and how detailed it is! And if requests are open could I request hcs of Juza with a s/o who loves to bake? Thank you!! 💖💖💖

now,, this... is a Move. juza being pampered by an elite s–tier baker who shows their love through food 🥺 perhaps it is what the cutest tough boy deserves !!! i love this prompt, thank you so much! love you ♡

summary: a love that feels like home blossoms between a baker and a boy who loves sweets

author’s note: this starts off with strangers > friends > lovers! i hope you like it even if it’s long!

just juza on the brain, that’s it. i think juza is beginning to be one of my favorite boys to write, this was so fun to re–read and laugh about! it’s a take on forming a friendship over sweets and how sweet new love can be ♡

word count: 5,091

music: sunflower, vol. 6 – harry styles

baker’s boy!

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

it was your first day continuing your family legacy by moving your bakery to veludo way!

you had worked day and night working minimum wage serving in restaraunts after running your family business ever since you could walk. you finally saved up enough to move the bakery to a better, more popular location to gain more business!

your family had practically given up on the decades–old business, barely putting in any effort to help you design the interior, contribute with the baking, or even advertising on the streets. so to you, this business was yours and your achievement alone

just like every morning since you were six, you rose bright and early at 4:30 a.m. to start preparing the fresh batch for today to guarentee the best, cutest desserts anyone could ever feast their eyes upon

you practically left your studio apartment and ran downstairs to the first level, where you set up the bakery for everyone to come and buy your products

you couldn’t help your excitement! you threw on the first apron your grandmother had gotten in celebration of the first day ever. it was stained with tons of sugar and flour, but it was your reminder everyday you were carrying on the dream your grandparents fantasized about

you flipped on the lights and basked in the new scenery. the bakery was decorated with beautiful flowers lining the windows, floral accents like vines and hanging plants at the top of the walls, and vintage designs your grandmother especially adored on the white chairs around lacy tables. your glass display counter was begging you to stock it with sweets, its empty surface almost making you feel sad

but, how could you be sad? this was your bakery and today was a brand new day! the kitchen was pristine with all the supplies you needed, and it didn’t take much for you to start baking until the early hours of the morning

decorating was your favorite part of baking! you were happily putting icing on cupcakes, designing them based on your recent addiction to animal crossing. you even made one for different characters, gazing upon the isabelle and nooks with pride

you couldn’t believe it... this was your business. you looked up, knowing your grandparents were overjoyed to see you baking with all your heart!

you kept going, preparing fresh batches of fun japanese sweets like mochi ice cream, hakuto jelly, and even fun ones like coffee jelly! by the time you were somewhat done, you glanced up at the clock and grinned. it was 8 a.m., time for opening!

you perfectly set up the displays and beamed with pride, running out to the store front to flip the sign to “open” for the first time. the fresh air outside was satisfying, and the leaves on the trees rustled as students were heading to school on route with their bicycles and in groups of friends

you had dropped out of school to be able to continue the business, much to the disagreement and shame from your parents. so, watching classmates pass by without a second look was hurtful, but you refused to let that get you down. you simply patted your apron down, headed inside, and sat at the counter waiting for customers to come rolling in!

apparently, it was much harder than that

despite the coupons given out at markets to get people interested in the low prices, the constant flyers handed out even if it cost you your social energy, and word by mouth, it wasn’t enough to make your first day a smashing hit

but, that was okay. sometimes, businesses needed time, that was all! all day, you snacked on one of your own creations as the electric fan whirred, rotating side to side lazily as the heat began to kick in (maybe, you should have put funds aside for some a.c.)

it was about school–closing time, you were beginning to grow restless from not seeing anyone. it was hard not to talk to at least someone, or see anybody just looking at the designs you worked so hard

you were about to start cleaning up and closing early for the day to get some rest for tomorrow morning (and maybe a quick nap), before you noticed a stranger loitering out front

you nearly fainted. he was so... intimidating. the boy was in his school uniform, his bright purple hair was slicked back with straight, matching eyebrows above his narrowed, sharp yellow eyes. what was he looking so intently at?

you followed his line of sight, and noticed he was staring at one of your cupcakes! it was the isabelle one, with a cute bell–bag bow and the happy expression stared back at him. you became ecstatic, almost tumbling off your bar stool as you brushed off any powder on your apron. was he about to be your first customer?

you left the store quickly, sounding off the bell above your head as the student almost stumbled backwards, eyes widening as you came over to him with a big grin

“hi! are you interested in any of my desserts today?” you asked, your voice peaking at a way too high tone as he blankly stared at you, eyes shifting back and forth to the cupcake and you

it was like a major internal argument was happening before he simply turned around and started walking away

in that moment, you were about to give up before you clenched your fists at your sides with determination. you couldn’t lose your first customer!

you immediately followed him as he looked over his shoulder, eyes widening again as he sped up his pace

“hey! if you like my isabelle cupcake so much, i’ll even give it to you!” you desperately offered, seeing you guys were about to reach the end of the street and you left the bakery unlocked. a cold sweat ran down your back when you realized you could’ve gotten robbed, but (somewhat) luckily, you had no business

the purple–haired boy stopped, but he didn’t turn to face you. he was thinking again, his hands in his jacket pockets as he turned to look at you, up and down like to see if you were a threat. he slowly nodded, as if he was still reconsidering his options

you smiled, giving him no time to think as you cheered. your first customer (even if it was technically free)! you turned on your heel, heading back to the store as the high schooler trailed after you hesitantly

when you went back inside with a jingle of the bell, the boy awkwardly waited by the counter at a safe distance as you packaged the cupcake inside a white box with the design of your cute logo that was above the door

(you noticed how he shifted from one foot to another, pretending like he wasn’t admiring your creations. it was sweet, in a way, as he glanced at your other works and seemed to be in a better mood. you smiled)

you went around the counter and held out the box, knowing the cupcake was safely protected to go as he carefully took it, debating on what to say before he nodded

you were about to go about your day, happy someone was going to eat your dessert, before you felt something get slipped into your hand

it was a bill that covered about three cupcakes. your jaw dropped and you looked at the high school student who’s face suddenly went red as he roughly shoved his wallet back into his pant pocket, still holding the box in the other

“you... thank you.” he finally said and your heart felt like it was on a sugar rush. his voice was deep, but timeless, like he’s lived a thousand lives and knew the ancient wisdom of a million men. it was pleasant to the ear; your shock must have made him insecure as he began shifting back and forth again

“i–it’s no problem!” you got out after a beat of uncomfortable silence, seeing an exhale of relief leave his lips. he nodded again, about to turn before you stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder as his muscles tensed

you knew you had crossed a line, but you just had to know as you nervously laughed, trying to ease the tension

“what’s your name?” you asked innocently, not realizing his thoughts were racing a mile a minute as he blinked, trying to find a way out. he just sighed, figuring there was no harm to respond to the cute baker who just provided him a present he would’ve regretting coming home without

“juza.” he simply stated, leaving as the bell rang out again. you released a breath you weren’t aware you were holding, collapsing on a nearby chair as you stared at the palm of your hand that touched his shoulder

he was strong to the touch, and it was obvious in the way he presented himself. but, his intentions were kind despite his stand–offish attitude. his immediate instincts were fight or flight, and it made you feel accomplished to see he found the interior of your bakery calming

juza... you thought, wanting to see him again. it fit him well, wondering where he went to school and why you never noticed those yellow eyes before. they were almost the same shade of the yellow icing on the vanilla cupcake he just paid for

juza was the first and last customer you had that day, but you didn’t mind as much

you approached the blackboard stationed next to the stairs listing your goals and objectives. you picked up the stick of chalk, adding a new reminder: “make two more cupcakes tomorrow for juza”

you went to bed that night oddly content and satisfied with how everything went, despite the low turnout

juza arrived at the mankai dorms by evening, ignoring banri’s attempt to start an argument by asking where he was the entire time after school

(juza just shrugged silently, refusing to admit he stopped by a park just to sit down at a bench to admire your isabelle cupcake. he almost couldn’t bring himself to eat such a cute little thing, and unwrapped it before indulging)

(juza knew this was the best cupcake he’s ever had in his entire life. it was made with love, and juza finished it before he could even blink. juza felt comforted, like he was home)

(juza carefully kept your business card at the bottom and made sure to include your bakery’s address in his daily commutes from here on out)

it was the next day! it was the same routine: waking up happily and dedicating hours of your early morning to the art of sweets! this time, you put time aside to repay back that sweet but scary boy with two more cupcakes

this time, you made them based on luigi & daisy! they had button noses with adorable details you were proud of! you made the wrappers have little bows and managed to even attach a little green one–up mushroom

you didn’t know why you were so excited to open up shop as you skipped out, turning the sign to “open” for a second time. maybe, you’d see juza again today and give him your work!

you had waited patiently at the register, watching the crowds of people pass by. sometimes, your hopes would rise when someone pointed out to their friends the chalk menu you had at the front before they moved on. you didn’t let that get you down as you swung your legs, waiting for that juza to come by so you could thank him

it was school closing time, and you noticed the purple hair and college jacket this time as you leaped to the door in a moment of joy. he was walking this way again!

juza was looking at the window display again, appreciating the creativity and dedication you put into your desserts before he felt you tugging at his sleeve. he looked down and you were looking at him expectantly

what did you want? was he giving you bad business? juza glanced inside the store and nearly winced. empty again, even though your desserts were the best he’s had

“juza!!! i have a special gift for you!” you exclaimed, dragging him inside as your heart pounded against your chest. you didn’t know why you were being so open with a boy you just met, but there was something soft about a rebel kid who really liked your sweets even if he didn’t say it out loud

juza was overwhelmed. you made something for him? why? juza was almost panicking, but his exterior was stoic as always. you couldn’t tell he was nervous, because you were too focused on locating the box

(he looked behind him, seeing nobody that would find out he actually really loved desserts at this time of day. phew, his reputation was already bad enough)

when you came back from the kitchen with a perfect box, juza held it tightly, looking at it then to you as if to silently ask for permission to open it. you nodded, thrilled when his eyes sparkled at the sight of the nintendo cupcakes

(he looked so happy, it looked like he was about to eat the whole thing right then and there!)

this routine repeated for a month or so as you began to slowly build your business up from the ground up: juza would wait outside by 3 p.m., you’d invite him in to give him whatever pastry he was staring intently at, he’d pay you way too much, and you’d give him extras as a treat the next day

juza always avoided crowds if they formed in your store, and those were the saddest days when you saw him quickly run away if there was another person. he was skittish in a way, like a cat

(you didn’t tell him you decided to make your break time from 3—4 p.m.)

it took a month of baiting him with a new selection of desserts everyday, inviting him inside to be surrounded by the floral interior, and trying to open him up with excited small–talk and innocent questions before juza sat down at one of the seats to eat the dessert in–person

you had discovered he really liked moondrop cake, so you made one especially for juza! when you gave it to him, it was refreshing that his genuine enjoyment for your creations never went away and he was just as happy as the first isabelle cupcake to now

you were about to wave him goodbye before he unexpectedly sat down at one of the tables, carefully peeling off the wrapper as he ate your raindrop cake in silence

you were stunned, he was like a cat you had to give food to so he’d build a meaningful connection with you. it was almost funny enough to make you burst out laughing in the middle of the store as you went back to the kitchen to give him peace & quiet

from there on, you learned more and more about juza everyday. you, at first, were a bit scared but your fear went away once you realized how gentle he was with handling your creations

(you picked up on the fact he always picked up the chair and placed it down to avoid hearing it scrape against the tile. he flinched whenever you accidentally hit your whisk against the bowl or if a car honked outside. you learned to be quiet around him because his presence was genuinely comforting)

one thing you learned about juza was he was actually a high school thug in a school nearby, apparently

(you almost didn’t believe it until one day, he came running into your store hiding from obsessed boys wanting to be just like him. you had to put on the best lie of your life as you sadly told the boys juza would never be in a desserts bakery as he hid under the counter, snickering into his hand)

(you two burst out laughing when the door closed, holding your stomachs from how hilarious the situation was)

now, he was an aspiring actor apart of mankai’s autumn troupe. his eyes shined the same way he saw your desserts when he opened up to you about acting, before he was acutely aware of you hanging onto every word and awkwardly cleared his throat, going back to eating

you enjoyed juza’s company, he was soft and tough all at once and you always looked forward to having him over

(he never admitted it, but the highlight of his day was seeing you. he stopped engaging into after school fights because he wanted to see you as soon as possible. even in his last class, his leg was bouncing up and down because he always bolted out of the building like his life depended on it)

(no one questioned where juza hung out for hours after school, even though banri made some joke about a date. juza just blushed, clutching the bag of sweets you gifted to him as a treat)

(maybe, just maybe, he even liked seeing you and watching you out of the corner of his eye more than your desserts)

(he’d never tell you that, though)

when juza came in, the bell jingled at the same time every day ever since you chased him down and gave him an animal crossing themed cupcake

it was the weekend this time, and he was wearing a casual white tee shirt and his usual purple letterman jacket

you were serving a trio of local kids who had their bikes parked outside of the store, they were all jumping over the cute and realistic pokémon design you had today based on the starters in sword & shield

“you’re so talented! i want to eat them all!” one of the kids exclaimed and you were practically sparkling with happiness, having no problem giving them extras and patting their cheeks with a smile. juza stood by the door, letting the spring air in as he admired the way you handled the situation

(personally, juza didn’t know how to handle children. they were always too emotional, crying about something he didn’t know how to fix. he’d just unintentionaly glare and hope it went away)

as you guided the kids to the door, they all stopped dead and stared wide–eye at the looming thug at the entrance. juza just blinked, not knowing what to do as one of them looked like they were about to cry

was he glaring at them right now? he didn’t mean to, his face just naturally was like that. juza uncomfortably shifted on his feet, about to take off before you placed a hand on his shoulder again

(juza blushed and looked as red as the scorbunny ice cream)

“don’t worry, guys! this is juza, he’s my resident taste–tester! he makes sure no bad guy came and poisoned your food!”

you teased, patting his arm the way you did with the kids

(inside, you were sweating. was his muscles always this strong? you wanted to loop your arm under his)

the kids let out a sound of awe, their point of view suddenly changing as they got closer, poking juza’s arm as well with sudden interest

“really?! you’re a hero, then!”

“and lucky! i want to eat sweets all day, too!”

you giggled, fondly pinching one of their cheeks as you shook your head, mustering up your most exaggerated tragic expression ever

“no... it is a scary, scary task. manju here must eat every batch and risk his life everyday so you can eat good food!” you laughed, holding a small conversation with the kids about the lore of your bakery as juza gripped the door frame, stunned

(manju? he thought, feeling hot under the collar all of a sudden. he liked it when you called him that)

when the group of children biked away with their newfound treasure and animatedly yelled over to one another, juza watched you hum an unfamiliar song as you began sweeping

juza coughed, trying not to be weird about it as he forced himself to talk

“manju?” juza asked, pretending to be casual by moving the furniture out of the way for you to sweep the room easily. he didn’t catch the way you nearly dropped the broom as you realized what you called him

“manju... like the bun with red bean paste. kids have a hard time saying ‘z’ for some reason.” you tried to play it off like it was nothing, but juza quietly took it in as he looked at you, staring as he seemed to think it over

you nervously stopped cleaning, looking back at him and trying to communicate that you didn’t mean to scare him off. maybe nicknames were a bit too extreme for him, he didn’t seem open to the affection you wanted to put aside for him

juza put the chair back down softly, turning his whole body towards you as he nodded. he stepped closer, taking the broom gently from your hands as he began sweeping for you

“i like manju.” he mumbled, suddenly moving to the other side of the room as he left you standing in the center of the bakery. you couldn’t believe it! juza liked your endearment? did this mean you guys were officially friends?

you glanced back to see him almost reaching for one of the dango rice dumplings you hadn’t stuck on a stick yet. you gasped loudly, scaring him to pull his hand back

“manju!” you dramatically yelled, watching as he tried to hide his slight smile. he quickly took a dumpling, disappearing off into the kitchen he knew far too well as you chased after him with no cares in the world

it was unknown to both of you, but that spring afternoon with the door open was the start of a budding romance between a baker and a boy who loved sweets

you had gotten juza’s number and put his contact under: “manju 🍡🍥🍦”

(he put yours as: “dango 🍡🧑‍🍳” after the whole dango–heist operation in your bakery)

(whenever you asked what it was, he just shrugged and said your name just like everyone else. in reality, your contact was the only one with emojis. it had a silly picture of you two after he accidentally tripped and whacked a bag of flour on your head)

(the picture was you staring blankly at the camera with an all–white look, sitting on the floor surrounded by even more white powder. it still made juza exhale sharply through his nose when he looked too closely)

juza started staying longer, even past your break time as customers came in. he stayed even though he got anxious around crowds, reserving his special seat behind the front counter and often was known as an employee

(he basically was, he left his comfort zone when he helped people choose desserts based on their mood and proved to be the best unpaid worker ever. he cleaned up without being asked, worked the register, and even sometimes took your shifts if you looked tired)

(you should really start paying him)

(poor boy was using his funds only on you)

as a local business, you did everything by yourself and it made him uneasy to know you did all this work (so helping out was helping him calm down knowing you were at least resting at some points)

juza helped you expand your taste in japanese desserts; like akumaki, imagawayaki, and higashi packages! you learned from him just as much as he did with you in the kitchen

as payment to his services, you began teaching him how to bake at home, too! you gave him the basics and always had fun showing him what to do. juza was extremely careful and always paid attention, showing he really did care about desserts (and your lessons as he always looked you in the eye intensely)

(it always made you stutter, but it seemed like he never noticed as he nodded attentively)

juza even brought his new skills back to the mankai dorms, offering to make desserts for anyone at home and always had something ready

(omi was impressed, patting juza on the head every time and complimenting his skill in the kitchen these days)

(taichi would whine, asking why did juza eat half of the serving if it was for everyone else. juza just stuffed his face, knowing you were a much better baker and he missed your food)

(and he missed you, juza thought. sakyo raised one eyebrow at juza’s sudden red face, but didn’t question it)

one day, you decided to take your relationship to another level by walking to his dorm around 5 p.m. you cancelled on juza today, pretending like you were gonna be baking all day for tomorrow. he simply sent you a thumbs up (he wasn’t much of a texter anyways, though he did try to avoid phone calls)

you were in front of the mankai dorms, already hearing chaos as you pressed the doorbell cautiously. suddenly, everything in the house went silent as if they were all aware they had neighbors

you waited, until an extremely tall (6’3”) beast of a man stared down at you with a heartfelt smile. he had flour on his face, was he baking?

“hi! can i help you?” he asked, tilting his head down at the bakery box held tightly in your hands as you blushed, looking at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world

“um... is manju—juza, juza home? i have a present for him.” you held up the box, and suddenly omi’s eyes lit up in recognition. so those were the boxes omi always found recycled with that one logo

“he is, do you want to see him?” omi was about to let you in before a very excited, hyperactive boy with flaming red hair poked his head out from under omi’s arm, grinning like he came across a very important secret

“are you juza’s partner?!” taichi exclaimed, not giving you any time to answer as he squealed, making the connection to the logo on the box you had to juza’s new kitchen skills

without time to even think, another teen around juza’s age peered over taichi with a lazy glance up and down, suddenly grinning the same shit–earing grin he always had when he knew something was about to go down

“juza! your partner is here! i knew you were having a date with someone!” banri yelled over his shoulder, resisting omi’s attempts to push him inside and keep taichi at bay. you blinked rapidly, trying to process what the hell was happening

(you recognized them now, they were juza’s homescreen. it must have been juza’s autumn troupe! they fit the descriptions juza had, you just didn’t expect this much polarity between their personalities, but it worked somehow)

you heard juza yell at banri for being invasive and knowing no boundaries, before he went to the door and almost dropped his whisk. your heart skipped a beat, he was baking, like you taught him. he actually liked baking

juza was flustered, trying to get any word out as omi dragged taichi away with a strict fatherly attitude (“leave juza alone! i might have to put you in your room, do you want a time–out?” “omi~ i’m not 5!” “then stop acting like you are!”)

“manju?” you asked as he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. you heard a man yell at the rest of the autumn troupe to stop eavesdropping, you identified it as yakuza sakyo. you shivered, he even sounded scary

“hi.” juza said, beginning to shift on his feet again. he didn’t look angry, almost pleasantly surprised to see you outside of their scheduled meetings. you smiled, pushing the box in his hands and laughed

“you know, i see where you get it from.” you joked as juza quietly laughed as well, rolling his eyes at the autumn troupe. you knew he loved them, though, and against your will, you wondered if he’d ever think of you like that

“ha ha.” juza deadpanned, gratefully taking the box as he watched you, not bothering to hide his smile. it was refreshing to see you

before you could leave, juza suddenly realized something as he demanded for you to wait and hurried back inside. you saw movement against the curtains, the boys leaving their hiding spots to go tease him some more

juza yelled at them to stop, though not angrily, as he shut the door again. he stood on the steps with a different box, this one all black with his name written in purple calligraphy

“here.” he gave the box to you and immediately went inside, almost embarrassed to be giving you something in return besides money

(really, he’d save the other half of whatever he made for you)

you almost teared up at the sight of the imperfect desserts, all gently wrapped and it was so obvious juza tried his hardest to replicate your own style. he really did care

as you left, you felt a ping from your phone. you opened it to a text from juza’s number:

“juza’s favorite dessert is anmitsu with cream. maybe some strawberry milk, too — sakyo”

you headed back to your bakery to get to work with the best dessert plan yet: you were gonna ask out juza “manju” hyodo to be your boyfriend

it was the next day, juza went in thirty minutes earlier today as he claimed his usual spot behind the desk. he was about to ask where your display was before you came out of the kitchen, holding a platter that made his jaw drop

you had anmitsu! it was a dessert with anko and cubes of agar, with a small pot of black mitsu syrup on the side with mochi, fruit, and ice cream. to top it all off, was a carton of strawberry milk

juza was speechless, unable to say anything as you placed it down in front of him. how’d you know?

you were about to say something, but shook your head as you pushed the dish closer to him. juza noticed three characters carved on the ice cream with the syrup:

B F ?

it was the best anmitsu juza ever had

a love that felt like home blossomed between a baker and a boy who loved sweets

#hyodo juza #juza hyodo #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #juza x reader #a3! juza #a3 juza

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aro-of-artemis · 4 years ago

Text

no grave can hold my body down (i'll crawl home to her)

A jukebox soulmate au where your missing stuff finds its way to your soulmate.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147940

They say that there's someone who makes up the rest of your soul. That they're your perfect match and once you meet them, once you touch them, your wandering souls will be fused back together, whole and unbroken.

Luke's not sure who they are. But honestly, he just wishes his shit would stop going permanently missing. You lose something and it's sucked through some kind of hole in space-time to be found by your soulmate. Luke would really like to have a conversation with whoever came up with this system cause it sucks.

Cause he's a forgetful guy. His brain is always going a million miles an hour, with at least three different trains of thought chugging away and sometimes the tracks cross and there's a collision and all the passengers have to bail out and it's just a mess, okay? Keeping track of his stuff tends to fall by the wayside a little bit.

It's how he lost his favourite beanie. And don't get him started on the number of individual socks that have just poofed themselves out of existence. He always has to have a box of new guitar picks handy because as soon as it's not in his hand or clamped between his teeth, it's as if it never existed. He just hopes his soulmate appreciates them.

But it's a give and take. He'll reach into his pocket to find scrunchies, hair clips, endless bobby pins. Just generic stuff that tells him very little about who his soulmate is except that they probably have long hair. (Once, he found one long, dark hair curling around the folds of a scrunchie. He keeps it tucked between the pages of a notebook, stashed away on his bookshelf.)

(And yeah: they. He's spent a lot of time thinking about this. He's had crushes on all sorts of people and their gender never really made a difference, but his introspection also leads to a solid black ring resting on the middle finger of his right hand.)

One day, he opens his school bag to find a homework page that does not belong to him. He looks at it, front and back, scouring for a name, a hint, a clue, feeling a thing with feathers rise behind his ribs, reducing his lung capacity and making him draw in shallower breaths. But nothing. Just the slightly messy handwriting of someone who thinks faster than they can write. He sighs and stuffs it back in his bag, reluctantly retrieving his maths book. His frustrated sigh must have been audible because Reggie leans over from his own desk.

"Hey, you all right, man?' His eyebrows are drawn up together, lines of concern creasing his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Just soulmate stuff junking up my bag."

It's not always junk, though. A bracelet turns up on his bedside table. He starts wearing it every day. He refuses to take it off, even to sleep. Sheet music to an unfamiliar song is found wedged between his records. This particular item makes his heart beat faster, his chest tingling and warm. Because they're a musician too. It makes sense, of course. No way his soulmate could not like music. It's basically Luke's entire soul (or half soul, he guesses). But the confirmation makes him feel both calmer and more anxious. He wants to meet this person.

His favourite item to ever turn up is a photo. A woman and a little kid sit in a field, turned towards each other, faces pointed away from the camera. But he can see their smiles. He sleeps with it next to his face on the pillow the night he finds it because he doesn't want to look away. In the morning, he tucks it into the back of his song-writing journal where he keeps the rest of his heart.

At 17, he and his best friends are on the precipice of being legends. As he pulls his guitar from the case, a long, striped scarf flutters to the ground, the kind someone might tie in their hair or loop around their wrist. He ties it around his bicep for good luck. It makes him feel like his soulmate is there, by his side, cheering him on.

They meet a girl - Rose - who looks so familiar. Something about her smile. But he just can't quite put a finger on it. All he knows is that her presence is reassuring. Safe. He doesn't know her but he feels a tug in his chest that says family. The same tug he feels when he looks at Alex and Reggie and Bobby. (He's changed his mind, his half of his shared soul is made up of these three dorks and the music they make together.)

And then he dies. As darkness closes in around him, he thinks I'm sorry, boys and I'll never get to meet them.

---

"Flynn!" Julie whines. "I can't find my homework anywhere!"

Flynn rolls her eyes. "Did you check your school bag?"

"Yes," Julie bites out, not actually mad at Flynn, just at the situation.

"Your desk?" A nod. "Your dad's car? Under your bed? Your locker?"

Julie has to stop her. She knows from experience that Flynn'll just keep going. "Yes, it's not anywhere."

Flynn shrugs nonchalantly, a smirk pulling the corner of her mouth. "Well, guess it's gone to your soulmate then."

Julie groans loudly in frustration. She pulls her beanie (their beanie) down over her eyes and slumps back against her locker, trying desperately to not look like she's pouting but definitely pouting. Flynn just gives her an unimpressed look.

Julie breathes out harshly through her nose and resigns herself to retrieving the schoolwork she does have from her locker.

"Ugh, gross!" she exclaims, fishing a pair of boxers out from where they had appeared in the dark recesses of her locker.

Flynn's snort turns into a full belly laugh as Julie holds them away from her body, arm extended as if she were holding hazardous waste.

She chucks them back in and slams the door shut. "Come on, let's get to class."

Flynn follows, tripping over herself as she continues to laugh her way down the hall.

---

Julie isn't sure who her soulmate is or whether she knows them already. Of course, it's pretty rare to meet them in high school, but a girl can dream. Unfortunately, it seems that her soulmate is terrible at doing laundry because she'll often find individual socks lying on her bedroom floor and undies crumpled in the corner of her bathroom. The beanie that turns up is quickly added into regular rotation and if it isn't on her head, it's tucked into her bedside table. The muscle tank threw an interesting spanner in the works as it set her mind to imagining the kind of person who might wear something like that. (She might, maybe become a person who wears something like that. Occasionally. When the desire strikes her.)

She's fairly certain that they're a musician. She's constantly finding half-written lyrics strewn around her room in the most atrocious handwriting seen outside of a doctor's office. The lyrics - those that are legible - are beautiful. Occasionally they'll be lyrics to a Trevor Wilson song, though, which is a bit weird but she assumes they must just be a big fan. She appreciates their good taste.

Another hint is the guitar picks. She finds them everywhere: in her sock draw, between the pages of her school books, next to her toothbrush. One memorable time, she found a pick snarled in her hair. And all of them, every last one, are covered in tooth marks. As if her soulmate has a habit of chewing on their guitar picks. It's kinda gross. Even so, she collects them in a jar on her desk with the date she'd found them written on the back.

---

The boys turn up and her life is turned right-side up. She tells them to stay out of her room. Constantly. Boundaries, she reminds them. Alex and Reggie get it, they can respect her personal space. But, Luke. She knows he goes in there because he keeps leaving his stuff everywhere.

On this day she finds his flannel just draped across her bed, as if he's trying to irritate her. She snatches it up and storms down to the studio.

"Luke!" she shouts as she enters the studio, ready to tear him a new one. "What have I told you about going in my roo-"

She stops short because all three boys are ripping the place apart, looking for something. When he turns around to face her, she sees tears wetting his face that he quickly tries to swipe away. Her heart leaps into her throat.

"Luke, what's wrong?" she tries to ask but is interrupted.

"You found it!" His voice is a little watery but exuberant.

"I -- what?" she shoots him a quizzical look.

"My flannel. Well - my dad's flannel, but -" he cuts himself off, scrubbing his fist over his eyes.

Julie scoffs a little, gently. "Yeah, dude. You left it in my room."

His eyebrows furrow in that way of his.

"No, I didn't."

"Uh, yeah. You did."

"I haven't been in your room."

"Well, clearly you have," she says, shaking the flannel a little and holding it out to him.

"Thanks," he says softly as he grabs it, still looking at it with a bewildered expression. But he shrugs it on and uses the sleeve to wipe away what remains of his tears.

When Julie looks over at Reggie and Alex, they're exchanging a meaningful look that Julie can't quite read. When they notice her gaze, they both glance away, once again fascinated with the chairs on the ceiling.

Huh.

---

"Julie! Stop leaving your homework in my song-writing journal!"

"I didn't put it there!"

"Well who did, then?"

The patented Reggie and Alex LookTM makes an appearance.

---

"Hey! I used to have a beanie like that!"

"Uhuh."

"I did! It was my favourite until I lost it."

Julie nods but doesn't look up from her homework.

---

"Ew, gross, Luke! Why do guitarists chew on their picks?"

He shrugs a little sheepishly. "It just helps me think. Besides, if I put it down it just kind of … disappears into the void." He gestures vaguely at the aforementioned void.

"That's true," Reggie pipes up. "He's always got a back-up supply!"

Alex scoffs a little. "Yeah, but he's the only guitarist I know who chews on his picks."

"Well my soulmate chews on theirs," Julie puts in, "So Luke's not the only one."

She hears the implement in question clatter to the piano. When she looks at Luke his eyes are wide and a little sad. None of them had really talked about soulmates. She's not sure about the implications that being dead has on finding a soulmate. None of them had found theirs before they died.

Alex, however. He'd managed to literally run into his soulmate in ghost form, so who knows. She's not sure if there are any rules. Whether both parties have to be dead or if one can be alive.

(If she's honest with herself, she's spent a fair amount of time thinking about this. Thinking about Luke. She pushes the thought away when it pops up cause it's not possible but it always creeps back in. But they can't even touch so it’s a moot point. That longed-for skin-to-skin contact that bridges the gap between souls remains elusive. The silly daydream of a love-struck girl.)

---

"Julie," Flynn says worriedly as they sidle up to their lockers, "Where's your ring?"

"My rin-" she lifts her right hand to her face and studies her empty middle finger with distraught consternation. The space where delicate twists of black metal usually sit is bare. "My ring! I - I'm sure I put it on this morning."

"Yeah, I saw you wearing it," Flynn confirms, her eyebrows furrowing.

Julie can feel a tide rising in her throat, swelling up behind her eyes, each crash of the sea battering against her ribcage in a heartbeat tattoo.

A poof to her right interrupts her rising panic. She looks at Luke, eyes wide and watering.

"Julie! I came to bri- What's wrong?" he cuts himself off when he notices her distress.

"My ring is gone!" Her voice is tight, as if trapped in her throat.

Flynn had cottoned on Luke's presence and had begun to move around to where he stands to prevent their peers from thinking Julie's well and truly gone off the deep end. (Julie thinks distantly how grateful she is for such a wonderful friend.)

Bafflingly, a bright smile splits Luke's face. "This ring?" And pinched between his pointer finger and thumb is Julie's ring.

Julie's entire body visibly relaxes and it's as if her spine contracts a couple inches, muscles no longer held taut by emotion, the tide pulls out.

"Where did you find that?" Her voice is practically a whisper now, adrenaline having sapped all energy.

Luke shrugs nonchalantly. "It was in my pick container for some reason."

Creases form on Julie's face but she gratefully receives the piece of jewellery. She slips it into its rightful place and when she looks up she realises Luke's eyes have gone wide. Her eyebrows pull up into a question.

"You -- no, sorry, nevermind." He shakes his head and takes a step back. Julie moves forward a step. Flynn glances around to make sure no one is watching.

"No, Luke, it's okay. What's wrong?"

He shakes his head again, eyebrows drawing together and the hint of a smile on his lips. Instead of answering, he reaches his right palm out to touch hers, letting their rings knock together.

"Oh," Julie breathes. She's not sure how she'd missed it before. Maybe just that it had blended in with all his other rings.

"Yeah," he says, bashful, "Oh."

Julie smiles at him and he smiles right back.

---

The Orpheum happens. And the boys are clinging to the last shreds of themselves and she's crying out Go, save yourselves.

But No music is worth making, Julie, if we're not making it with you.

And she hugs him. And she can feel him. The places their skin meet spark with some cosmic electricity but there's no time to dwell on it because she has to save Alex and Reggie too.

It isn't until later, when Reggie exclaims, "Hey, what's that on your back?"

She twists around, glimpsing the shape of a hand darkening the skin of her lower back. Her head whips around to look at Luke and she notices. "Luke, your shoulder!"

One hand flies up to his left shoulder, tracing over the darkened patch where Julie's palm had first rested against his skin. Their eyes lock.

"You're-"

"We're-"

She's not sure who's making which language-adjacent sound.

Alex is looking back and forth between them, a grin pulling across his face while Reggie's mouth hangs open in realisation. But they stay quiet. The see, told you so's will be saved for later.

Julie starts moving, crossing the room towards Luke. Luke seems to shake out of a stupor, surging towards her as well. They meet in the middle, her arms once again wrapping around his neck in a replay of their earlier embrace. His hands find their spot on her back.

"It's you, it's really you - " she's babbling. She continues to babble. Luke moves a hand up to smooth back her hair and gently places his lips against her forehead, finally causing her tongue to cease. The touch is so painfully tender it feels like a branding iron against her skin. They stay there for a century or so, just rocking to an inaudible beat, clinging to one another.

Finally, Luke tucks his chin so that he can rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air.

"You're amazing, Julie Molina. I would die a thousand times to find you."

She nods, unable to form words cause, yeah, so would she.

They pull back and her eyes slide over left arm, landing on the scarf tied there. "My scarf!" She tugs on it a little.

Luke chuckles, sliding his palm along her jaw. Realisation crosses his face. "Oh, that is my beanie."

His head whips up and around when loud guffaws break past stifling hands. Alex and Reggie have dissolved into borderline hysterics. He looks back at Julie whose eyes fill with shared mirth. A laugh bubbles up in his own chest, spilling over and out of his mouth.

And finally, surrounded by Alex and Reggie and Julie, his soul is complete.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #jukebox #fic #my fic #jatp fic

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kumiwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Beneath the Christmas Tree

Bakugou Katsuki’s lived with Kirishima since they graduated high school. Their life together has always been peaceful, and Bakugou’s never imagined living without that damn redhead. So when Kirishima has to move for work, and you end up moving in, Bakugou doesn’t know how to feel.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x GN!Reader Prompt: Naughty or Nice Genre: Fluff, some angst, roommates-to-lovers (and they were roommates) Warnings: None Word Count: 3182 A/N: This is my fic for the BNHA Hangout Server’s Christmas collab! Check out the other fics here! I chose to do a nice Bakugou, I love this stupid angry boy and his character development just makes my heart go brrrrt. My brain’s been a bit scattered as of late but I hope I get to write more this year and post the Todoroki fic I’ve been working on for the last year.

Bakugou Katsuki is not normally a sentimental guy.

Even with Kirishima moving out, he feels fine. He knows it’s for work, and he doesn’t mind shouldering the cost of the apartment for a month or two while he looks for a new place for when their lease is up at the end of the year.

Katsuki’s known, for a while now, that he wouldn’t be able to keep living with Kirishima their whole adult lives, but it’s still bittersweet saying goodbye to his best friend.

One morning, a week before Kirishima’s scheduled move-out date, the redhead sits Katsuki down at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee and a fully cooked breakfast. There’s clearly something that Kirishima wants to talk about, and Katsuki has no idea what’s coming.

“So, Bakugou,” he begins, sipping slowly at his coffee. “I have a good friend, [Name]-chan.”

“Yeah, we’ve met at your birthday once,” Katsuki says warily, taking a bite of egg from the plate as he watches Kirishima. “Why?”

Kirishima grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We caught up the other day, and they’re kind of in a pinch. Their roommate kicked them out so his girlfriend could move in, and they need to find a place before they have to get out.”

Katsuki almost immediately groans, already seeing where Kirishima’s going with his train of thought. Even the inviting aroma of his mug of coffee isn’t enough to put Katsuki into a better mood for a conversation like this. He debates whether or not he wants to shut the idea down immediately or entertain Kirishima’s suggestion; Katsuki decides on the latter because mornings where he wakes up to a fully cooked breakfast are few and far between. “And you want me to let her move into your room.”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be permanent! But [Name]-chan is desperate, and I think they’d be a good friend for you, otherwise I wouldn’t ask,” he explains, hiding behind his mug.

“They’d be a good friend for me?” Katsuki asks, an eyebrow shooting up.

Kirishima laughs, nodding. “[Name]-chan really laid back, but they also like to keep things neat, so I think you’d get along well. They wouldn’t get in your way much, and they’d keep to themself! Plus, you’ve already met and you guys got along pretty well, no?”

Katsuki lets out a loud sigh, his fork clattering on the table as he rubs his temples. Kirishima’s always been one to dream big without thinking through the fine details, but this time, it feels like he’s taken the time to really talk this out with you before bringing it to Katsuki. The pitch is too well-thought out for it to have been a spur of the moment thing. “And they’re desperate to find a place to stay?”

Kirishima nods enthusiastically, taking a seat next to him. “They can come over later to hang out and plead their case, but I wanted to ask you first in case you’re really against it,” he explains, grinning. Sometimes, Katsuki wants to smother Kirishima alive. “And since I’m on my way out, I figured they could take over my half of the lease and when it’s time to renew at the end of the year, you could part ways!”

“And they’re desperate?” Katsuki asks again with a loud sigh.

“Absolutely desperate. Do you know how hard it is to find a trustworthy roommate these days?” Kirishima exclaims, arms thrown in the air. “As someone who’s had to search far and wide for a new one, let me tell you, it’s difficult!”

For some reason, Katsuki finds himself seriously considering the offer. It would be nice to not have to pay the full rent on his own for the next few months while he looks for a new place, and quite honestly, Katsuki got along with you quite well the one time he had met you.

“Will you at least let them come and talk to you themselves?” Kirishima asks, seeing the doubt flash through his friend’s eyes. When Katsuki nods, Kirishima practically howls, pumping his fists in the air before flipping through his contacts and dialing your number. “We’re good to go! Come over this afternoon for lunch!”

Katsuki knows he’ll regret saying yes.

“I swear, I’ll be out of your hair at the end of the year if you absolutely hate me, Bakugou-kun,” you reassure, hands clasped tightly as you sit on their sofa next to Kirishima. “I really wasn’t expecting to be kicked out so suddenly, but I was never really on the lease and was subletting one of the rooms…”

Katsuki grumbles, scratching the back of his head. You really do seem desperate, and at the very least, the two of you got along for now; there were worse roommates that Katsuki could’ve been stuck with. “We’ll need some ground rules.”

You nearly shoot out of your seat. “Absolutely. Anything.”

“The most important one: don’t make a fucking mess.”

Kirishima grins, slinging an arm around you and nudging his roommate with a foot. “See? Everything’s going to go great!”

Hopefully, Kirishima didn’t just jinx everything.

“I’ll put up my schedule on the fridge every week so we can rotate chores,” Bakugou explains, pointing to the magnetic whiteboard divided by days. “We usually take turns grocery shopping for common stuff, but if there’s anything specific we need we can write it down.” He motions to the notepad on the kitchen counter, and you nod. He’s come to realize, over the last week of bustle as he helped Kirishima move into his new place across town and moved you into the empty room, that you don’t like asking for help unless absolutely necessary. And, that you enjoyed order. From the way your boxes were meticulously labelled to how you were able to unpack and organize everything into your room within that day, Katsuki knew that at the very least, your organization skills would go well with how tidy he likes to keep the apartment.

“And cooking?” you ask, peering at the sleek, stainless steel stove and marble countertops. One of the first things you openly admired after Katsuki had agreed to letting you move in was the stove; it had something to do with being tired of shitty broken-down stoves that only had two working burners.

“You’re on your own there. If I’m feeling nice, I might make some for you,” he says gruffly, running a hand through his hair.

You laugh, nodding. “Sounds reasonable. Same goes for you, then.”

He glances at you, before looking towards your room, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t be a slob,” he says finally—he’d probably been unsure of how to put it in nicer terms, but he knew that he didn’t have to say much on this front.

“I won’t,” you reassure, waving a hand at him as you return to your new room.

Katsuki begins warming up to you around the third week of living together.

He’s always been slow to start when it comes to things like coexisting with others, but mornings with you have grown to become one of the parts of the living arrangement that he enjoys most. He’s come to appreciate the sounds of you brewing coffee while he showers and your soft humming while you tidy up around the apartment before getting ready for the day.

It’s a peaceful coexistence.

There are some mornings where Katsuki is just getting home from the night shift, worn out and barely functioning, that he’ll pass by a bakery or a coffee shop just as it’s opening and will pick something up for you for breakfast. It only happens when he’s in the mood to play nice, and when he’s sure he’ll be back before you begin going about your morning. The few times that it has happened, you were surprised, but appreciative of the gesture.

Katsuki’s learned a lot about you in the past few weeks—how you take your coffees, which pastries are your favourites, the way you play music and sing along while you shower, how you curl up on the sofa watching shows at night before bed and always fall asleep—and he finds that he’s grown quite fond of your routines. It’s a steady, predictable rhythm that runs in the background while his unpredictable, hectic schedule throws him in and out of sync with you.

The first time he remembers ever thinking that he was glad you moved in was when he had been so overwhelmed at work on Halloween weekend, he had forgotten about groceries entirely. Without ever saying anything, you made him meals for that entire weekend until he was able to find the time to get everything back on track; waking up to breakfast on the counter with a small note letting him know that lunch was in the fridge, coming home to dinner being cooked for him, with all the chores done and apartment spotless—Katsuki’s never really been cared for like this since high school, and it makes something inside his chest rumble.

He could get used to this.

You get sick mid-November, almost two months after moving in, and Katsuki coincidentally also takes a few days off of work. The dates coincide by chance, of course.

Chance or not, though, he cooks every meal for you, making sure it’s light enough that it doesn’t upset your stomach, and keeps everything tidy while you wither away in bed or wrap yourself in your comforter and walk around like the dead. Every now and then, you’ll sit on the balcony for a bit, tucked into your comforter with your legs curled against your chest, and somehow Katsuki always ends up within earshot, as if watching to make sure all was well.

“Do you want to sit with me?” you ask him through the glass one day, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. How had you known he was standing by the door?

With a huff, he slides open the glass door, closing it gently behind him and leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. “You’re gonna get sicker if you stay out here any longer.”

“S’okay,” you reply softly, burying your face into the blanket. “I like the fresh air.”

“Whatever you say,” Katsuki replies gruffly. He’s realized over the years that he has to put a lot of effort into sounding neutral. His natural disposition has always been—and continues to be—an explosive one, even when he’s not angry, and it takes a lot of conscious effort on his part to tone that down and come off as anything other than a Pro Hero with Anger Issues™. His previous manager suggested getting a girlfriend or finding a therapist (or both), and that led to a vulgar fight, ending with the position of Ground Zero’s manager opening up again, along with a sweeping declaration that he’d never let someone tame him like that.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help around the apartment,” you say suddenly between sneezes.

“Don’t apologize for getting sick,” he scolded, knocking you gently in the head with the back of his hand.

You let out a soft laugh. “Can we make some tea?”

Katsuki nods without hesitation, already running through the medley of choices in his head as he opens the door for you.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a Christmas tree in here?” you gaped, pointing at the perfect empty space in the living room, next to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. It’s three weeks before Christmas, and you’ve been thinking of whether or not to decorate the place like you usually would. “You literally have the ideal space to set one up!”

Katsuki groans, setting his chopsticks down as he takes a sip of water. He had gotten home early and decided to cook dinner for the both of you while you were on your way back from work. If he had known he’d be harangued for his lack of holiday cheer, he wouldn’t have bothered. “Kiri and I’ve never had the freaking time, between holiday shifts and nearly passing out when we get back,” he bites back.

Pouting, you look around the apartment, taking in just how spacious everything is and how lovely it’d look once fully decorated for the holidays. “That’s a shame,” you murmur, cheek pressed into your palm as you rest your arm on the table. “Did you celebrate when you were growing up?”

A small hum of agreement left Katsuki’s throat as he swallowed his last bite of food. “Stupid old hag loves the holidays. Made my dad and I fetch a huge ass tree each year and set it up, and then we’d have to haul that damn thing to the dump afterwards. Being able to just relax during the holidays was a good change.”

You nod in understanding. “Yeah, I like the holidays, but I don’t like being stressed out about it. My favourite part was always this spicy hot chocolate my mom would take me to buy, with little marshmallows roasted on top.”

“Spicy hot chocolate? Sounds fucked.”

Laughing, you dip your finger into your water and flick it towards him. He yells, wiping the water off and throwing the tissue box at you, which you smack out of the way, a big grin plastered on your face. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, you asshole.”

Katsuki finds himself waiting up, in spite of all his senses telling him to sleep. Lounging on the couch, he drapes an arm over his forehead and scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, skimming through the news articles that litter his feed. He has an early-morning shift, but the knowledge that you’re out on a date with a shitty guy keeps him wide awake.

He’d never admit that to anyone, though.

When he hears the familiar jingle of keys outside the front door and your hushed swearing as you fumble through them to find the right one, he debates whether he should just make a break for his room. Would you think it’s weird that he’s still awake, clearly waiting for you?

“You’re not going to let me in?” a deep voice whispers, and Katsuki’s shoulders tense. “I won’t get to see you during the holidays, so shouldn’t we… spend more time together?”

“I—thanks for walking me to my door,” Katsuki hears you say. “I’ll text you.”

“Babe, c’mon—”

“I have work in the morning,” you say more firmly, and your date clicks his tongue. “I’ll text you.”

The door opens, and Katsuki stills as he waits for you to notice him. He sees you in the reflection of the balcony window, and watches as you press your back against the locked door and sink to your knees, clearly exhausted.

“You’re still awake,” you mumble, face buried into your forearms as you let out a deep breath. “What’re you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

You hum in acknowledgement.

“Shitty date?”

“Some people are just overly eager about skipping to the sex,” you grumble, shaking your head. “Shindou’s nice and all, but I can’t stand the way he looks at me.”

Katsuki’s eyebrows shoot up. “Shindou Yo?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, cheek squished against your forearm as you watch your roommate cross the room and hold out a hand to you. “You know him, I guess?”

He waits patiently for you to take his hand as he nods. “We faced off during a licensing exam. Wasn’t the best experience.” When you clasp your hand in his, he tugs gently and grabs onto your shoulders when you stand, steadying you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, sighing softly as you pat down your clothes. “Do you want a drink or something?” you ask hopefully, glancing up at Katsuki. You don’t want to go to bed in such a sour mood.

Katsuki lets out a laugh, his hand patting the top of your head as he makes his way to the kitchen with you in tow.

Katsuki is not normally a sentimental person.

But, coming home from one of the worst Christmas Eve shifts he’s ever had and seeing the glimmering lights on the Christmas tree, with a gift perched perfectly centered beneath it, has Bakugou speechless for the first time in his life. He turns, and in hand you have a cup of the spicy hot chocolate held out for him.

“You did all of this for me?” he asks incredulously.

You give him a sheepish smile and nod. “You said you’ve never had a Christmas tree in the apartment, so I wanted to make this year a bit more special.”

Katsuki plucks the mug from you and places it on the coffee table before taking your hands in his, pulling you to him. An arm wraps around your waist, the other pressing against the back of your head as he buries his face into your neck. He’s never been good with words, and gestures like this rendered him speechless more often than not. And not many people ever really go to lengths like this for him.

It takes you a moment to return his hug, but only because you really weren’t expecting such an affectionate reaction from him. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “I’m glad you like it, Bakugou.”

He hums, and it reverberates through his chest and through your whole body. “You’re an absolute idiot, you know. You didn’t have to do all this.”

You laugh wholeheartedly, burying your face into his neck. “C’mon, try the hot chocolate.”

Katsuki makes a face when he pulls away, almost scowling as he reaches for the mug and gives it a long sniff. “It actually smells pretty good.”

“I’m telling you, it’s delicious.”

He watches as you take a long sip, and a devilish look flashes across his face as he sets his mug back down. Katsuki plucks your mug from you, setting it down next to his as he ignores your complaints while he tucks his fingers below your chin. He tilts your head back, eyes searching yours before he kisses you.

You’re a little shocked, but his lips are so soft against yours and his hands are so warm that you melt into him, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue finds yours.

He pulls away slowly, that mischievous glint in his eye making you laugh as you press your hands flat across his chest. “That was unexpected,” you say breathlessly, shaking your head.

Katsuki’s tongue darts across his lips before he smirks at you. “You’re right, it does taste good.”

It takes you a moment, but when your brain catches up to what he’s saying, you laugh so loudly that Katsuki starts laughing along with you. He presses his forehead to yours, his vermillion eyes glinting in the Christmas lights.

“Bakugou, kiss me again.”

“That’s Katsuki to you,” he murmurs, voice sultry as his nose brushes yours.

You lace your fingers through his, squeezing as he inches closer. “Kiss me again, Katsuki.”

The laugh rumbles in his chest as he kisses you again under the glimmer of the Christmas tree.

#bnha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #gender neutral reader #mha #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #bnha hangout collab #kumi writes

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