#there’s already tickets for the nutcracker

[levbolton]

I want to watch a ballet… (also preferably live but there aren’t many ballet things in belgium despite being between france and the nederlands and stuttgart being just a few hours away……… anyway)

Maybe i’ll watch sheherazade on youtube or somewhere

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.

“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”

He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.

Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!

He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.

Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.

He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)

Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.

Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.

He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.

Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.

Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)

This seems…too good to be true.

It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.

Something is amiss.

Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.

Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.

Time to get a second opinion.

Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.

“Asshole.”

“Turd for brains.”

“Skidmark.”

“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”

“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”

She snickers. “I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”

“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”

“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”

“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”

“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”

Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”

Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”

Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.

“What did you say you were looking for, again?”

Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.

“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”

Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.

“The link is exactly what it says it is.”

Keith sits up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.”

Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”

Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”

Keith smiles. “I will.”

———

It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.

“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”

But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.

But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”

Lance groans. “No we do not.”

Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.

“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”

“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”

“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.

He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.

“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.

Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”

Keith does not.

“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.

“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”

“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”

“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”

“Nah. I like it when you talk.”

He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.

Keith smiles. “Lance.”

“Shut up.”

“Babydoll.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”

“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”

Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.

“You are so easily flattered.”

“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”

He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.

“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”

“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”

At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.

He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.

“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.

Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.

“You’re a pain in my neck.”

Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”

Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.

“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”

Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.

“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”

Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”

“I did, Lance. I swear.”

Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.

“Okay, good. I trust you.”

They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.

Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.

He leans forward, squinting.

What?

Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.

Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.

Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.

But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.

Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.

Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.

His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.

Lord above.

“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”

Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”

Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.

“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”

His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.

They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.

“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”

Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.

“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.

He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.

But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.

“I know, bluebell.”

Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.

They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.

They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.

He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.

“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”

At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!

He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”

Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”

Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.

“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”

Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.

“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”

“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”

———

based on this post (third slide)

[woso-dreamzzz]

not expecting it but just a question, would u ever write maybe in the future context of injured about how jaume feels? he’s not very close to his sister and wants to be but never knew why he didn’t get to see her that often. if someone else adopts bambi (jenni or alba) maybe when jaume’s a little bit older he wants a sibling or asks for one but alexia and olga don’t want another child and also they kinda fucked up the chance of letting him grow up with his big sister, (who is fairness would’ve looked after him really well and would be so nice to him). just me craving for more angst and for more babies to be upset 😭😭

So, Injured (Alexia's Version) Jaume would grow up to become a different person to the alternative ending's version of Jaume, which would be who this would apply to.

He wouldn't grow up close to Bambi at all. He knows the bare minimum about her. She doesn't live with him and his mums. She does ballet and he sees her only a few weeks a year and never with just him and his mums.

There's always someone with her (or at least in the room somewhere) if Jaume's mums are there.

He's got these big ideas of who Bambi is and what she's like because he genuinely does not know her at all, especially as they both get older and Bambi gets very serious about her ballet.

There's not much in common between them. She does ballet. He does football. He lives with his mums. She doesn't.

When he's younger, he has no idea why Bambi doesn't live with them and when he gets older, no one explicitly tells him but he knows that something happened and that's why Bambi was sent away.

Jaume is genuinely so pumped on the weeks that Bambi gets to visit even when he becomes a teenager. She's this big mystical figure in his life that is rarely around. His football friends really tease him for it but he couldn't care less because Bambi is coming to visit. His big sister Bambi.

He always wakes up really early and is just a mess of energy before Bambi arrives. His mums are always really nervous (Alexia especially) and the house is cleaned so many times that he almost loses count.

Days where Bambi visits are special and he's always so excited to see her.

She's so nice and sweet and shy and sometimes when Jaume can't sleep the night before a youth game, he imagines a world where Bambi had grown up with him and how close they would have been and how much fun his life would have been to have grown up with Bambi.

One of the highlights of his teenage years is when he's thirteen and Bambi comes to visit. She's seventeen and has already spent a year dancing professionally as an apprentice of Ballet de Barcelona and just been promoted to the Corps.

She really nervously comes in and hands him three tickets to the performance of the Nutcracker that she's dancing in.

It's all he talks about for weeks leading up to it and months after watching her perform

[citrine-elephant]

chris being too late...

by the time he makes it to leon, the thing's trying to pull him apart like a mozzarella stick. or, that's how it looks.

with as much as leon's squirming and fighting back...

luckily, leon isn't being gored to death. instead, chris gets front row tickets to see the other man go from being strangled, to suffocating on... that was probably once a tongue. now some kind of ovipositor for a bioweapon.

chris takes his shot.

leon is released. and gravity takes over as him and the BOW fall. that tongue leaves leon's throat with a kind of squelch and a wet pop. after, of course, to chris' horror, that appendage had it's clown car moment where it seemingly didnt end.

this is it, surely. leon's been infected. and he's going to turn.

as the bioweapon is dead, he carefully approaches leon, who's out cold. a small amount of blood mixes with the spit and... chris doesnt wannaa even know... down his face and to the floor.

chris watches leon's chest flutter soft and shallow. his fears grip his skull like a nutcracker.

and then leon groans, "no mouth-to-mouth?"

chris cant stop himself from pulling leon into a deathgrip of a bear hug.

after some prying and attempt at medical, leon brushes him off and demands to keep moving.

chris tries to push it, "how do we know you're okay? what if you turn?"

and as leon clutches his stomach, turns to spare chris of his purge, he wipes his mouth and cracks a cocky smile, "not in the mood to turn."

chris is... flaberghasted. astonished. clearly leon's already losing it.

but he manages to keep up, with chris keeping a careful eye on him. leon's too stubborn. if he can walk, he's finishing this. and, well, he can't walk properly without doubling over and puking here and there. but he's fine. he is fine...

turns out, leon is "fine." he's clearly sick. but after the initial wave, he's quickly recovering. albeit as he tries to get under chris' arm like a baby bird for warmth. as he struggles to stay steady on his feet. as he keeps getting hit with the urge to throw up.

chris doesnt buy it. but guess what redfield baby? leon's already been vaccinated for this. gonna be sick as a fuckin dog for a bit, but no zombie flesh thing is replacin him.

chris would kiss him, but uh... the one time leon aint got gum on him. smfh.

[steve-hen-grant]

Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

[underoossss]

the way you move - s.h - part 5

pairing: jock!steve harrington x ballerina!reader

warnings: none

3.2k words

an: at long last another part! I hope y’all like this as much as I do, it took me a while to write bc I needed it to be perfect and words were failing me. I’m happy with how this turned out 💕💖 let me know your thoughts!

masterlist

<- part 4

✦✧✦✧✦

“Steve, it’s totally fine I completely understand.” You smile as you hold the receiver against you face and shoulder. The cord is extended all the way it can go as you pace you room getting everything into your duffel bag. “Minnie said she can pick me up and take me to the theater, it’s no problem. I’ll call her and tell her I do need a ride.”

Minnie is one of the girls that will be dancing with you tonight, she lives close by and when you called her earlier, she offered you a ride. Thinking Steve would drive you, you’d declined but Steve just said he can’t. He won’t be able to get out of work as early as he thought and would be running late. “Still… I’m sorry babe. I’m going to be there no matter what though.”

The smile on your face widens and you sigh happily through your nose as you sit down on the edge of your bed. “I know Stevie, I’m happy all of you could come tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss seeing you for the world, honey.” Steve’s own smile is clear in his voice before he clears his throat. “I gotta go though, I’ll­­– uh see you later yeah?”

“See you, Stevie.” You say into the receiver, standing up so you can finish packing your bag. I love you, you want to say but bite your tongue; it’s getting harder to stop yourself from saying the three little words these days. “Don’t be late.”

With Steve’s reassurance that he won’t be, you untangle the phone’s cord and get back to getting ready. All the dancers are supposed to go earlier to the theater for a final practice, so you pack all your essentials knowing you won’t be returning home until after the play is over. There’s posters promoting The Nutcracker all through town and all the tickets have sold out, which makes you nervous. Not only that but, everyone you love and care about are going to be there. The last thing you want is to disappoint them.

You dress for practice with a leotard and tights and pack a change of clothes in your bag; maybe you can grab some pizza on your way home and make a hangout out of it with your friends. Looking around the room you try to see if you’re missing something, running a mental checklist. You know your tutu is already at the theater, on a rack between the sea of pink and green costumes for tonight, and your pointe shoes are ready inside your duffel. All that’s left to do then, is pack your makeup and bundle up for the cold so you can wait for Minnie. It takes all but thirty minutes for her to park on your driveway and for you to rush downstairs with your bag. You zip your coat all the way to your chin and the memory it brings forth of Steve doing that for you makes you smile all the way to the theater. Which means you’re in trouble.

Big. Trouble.

What are you going to do with all the love that just keeps on growing in your heart?

✦✧✦✧✦

Steve is late. Everyone is filling their seats, and he hasn’t arrived –at least that’s what Madame Laverne says every time you ask her. Tired of answering the same question, she avoids you now, so you can’t ask her to peek through the curtains one last time.

You sat in front of your vanity after warming up and practicing with your classmates for a while and got ready for the evening. Your makeup and bun were done quickly –you clipped flower petals around it and helped others do the same– followed by your costume. The various shades of pink tulle reach just above your knees and the light pink corset fits perfectly; it sparkles when the light hits it just right and you can’t help but run your hands over it as you look in the mirror.

There’s no denying it, Steve was right, you feel like the prettiest petal of a flower. It’s not the Sugar Plum Fairy but it’s beautiful, nonetheless.

Just as you think about the role you didn’t get; you catch Agatha Francis looking at you through the vanity’s mirror. She looks beautiful in her intricate tutu and crown –fancier and shinier than you own. And you’re surprised to see it doesn’t affect you anymore. Where there was once anger and resentment at the thought of her getting to wear it, you feel happy for her. So much you even give her a small smile hoping to encourage her for the long night ahead.

“Good luck out there tonight.” You say, even as you know what she’s going to do next. Just as expected she doesn’t care for any encouragement. The side eye she gives you doesn’t have the effect she was expecting though. Instead, her reaction makes you laugh and some of the ballerinas around you chuckle too. How ironic is it that they gave the part to the bitterest sugar plum fairy there could ever be.

Unaffected by Agatha, and happy with your appearance you focus on putting on your pointe shoes. It is while you’re in the middle of it that you hear the first call over the speakers. 5 minutes before the show, is Steve here? Your mind immediately goes back to your friends who would be attending tonight, and as stealthily as you can, you go to the main curtains to peek through them. Sure enough, your university friends and your parents have all found their seats. Nancy and Robin are in their seats too, with an empty one next to them.

“Steve, where are you?” You wonder out loud in a whisper. It’s unlikely for him to be late.

You don’t have to worry a moment longer though, because right then someone touches your shoulder, and you immediately know whose touch it is. There’s no one else who’d make your heart race just with the palm of their hand. “Steve!”

You turn around and come face to face with him in all his handsome glory. You don’t even know how he made it backstage but you’re glad he did. He looks unfairly good in linen pants and a white shirt, the top buttons open and showing just a hint of chest hair that makes you look away lest you get flustered. His hair is pushed back and perfect like always. But it’s his eyes, wide and adoring as he takes you in that take your breath away.

You waste no time stepping towards him for a hug. It’s short and you’re minding your costume as you hold him but it’s just what you needed today. Steve places a kiss on your temple and steps back.

“You look so beautiful, come on give us a twirl.” He smiles widely, holding out one hand and twirling you in place three times; it makes you laugh.

“Thank you Stevie, I’m so happy you made it,” You say suddenly feeling shy under his gaze as he keeps looking and looking and looking.

“Babe, this is what you love, I would never miss it.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I mean look at you, I think you just blew my mind.”

 You look away bashfully, Steve’s brown eyes feel like a caress everywhere he looks, but inevitably you look at him again. You notice he’s hiding something behind his back.

“What you got there?”

“These are for you, some roses for my beautiful petal.” He brandishes a small bouquet of pink roses, and you feel your eyes sting with tears as you take them from him. They’re beautiful and seem to match the colour of your tutu perfectly.

“Steve.” You look up at him, smiling so much your cheeks hurt. The sound of your heart beating out of your chest fills you ears and your fingers tingle with emotion. His eyes soften then, and it’s like everything clicks for you. His affection and the way he looks at you, the sweet way he talks to you, and how much he cares and gives.

Your body has a mind of its own as it steps closer to Steve once more and your right hand holds his cheek. Steve’s eyes close briefly before they look into yours again, searching and searching until they find what they’re looking for. Your love bared for him to see. That’s when the two of you lean in at the same time.

There’s no time for you to worry if you did the wrong thing, because Steve kisses you back less than a second later. His arm goes around your waist in a firm hold and his free hand tilts your head back just slightly to kiss you better. You don’t even care about your lipgloss, or it sticking to Steve, not when he’s kissing you like you’ve always dreamed he would. No, better than you could have ever dreamed. Why would you worry when you can feel every emotion with every brush of his lips over yours. The way just a hint of his tongue has him holding you closer when your knees seem to go weak. Why worry when you feel more happiness than you’ve ever felt.

Until, that is, Madam Laverne clears her throat behind you. “Mr. Harrington, shouldn’t you find your seat?”

The two of you spring apart in an instant and you turn around with a guilty look. She meets your gaze, and you can see both amusement and a reprimand in her eyes. “We’re starting shortly.” She tells you pointedly.

“Yes madame.” You nod quickly, holding back a smile. Let her reprimand you, it was worth it.

Her gaze then moves to Steve, and the way his eyes widen when she gives him a stern look makes you hold back a laugh as she leaves. Alone again, you take your time to look at Steve. There’s lipgloss all over his lips and his hair is mussed by your hands.

“I’m sorry.” You chuckle trying to wipe the lipgloss off, feeling shy all of a sudden as his eyes seem to drink you in.

Steve smiles and shakes his head, moving his hands to hold your face. “Don’t be.”  He murmurs and kisses you again for good measure.

The kiss is slower this time, and a sigh escapes him like he’s savoring the moment and who are you to complain. You sigh against his mouth and stand on the tip of your toes, easy right now that you have your pointe shoes. You’re so in love with him you could cry.

“Good luck out there, I’m so proud of you.” Steve whispers against your lips, putting some distance between you. His lips look pink and freshly kissed, and your body feels like it’s on fire.

This has to be a dream. “Thank you Stevie, I–”

“Mr. Harrington, you need to find your seat.” Madame Laverne sighs, tired of the sight of both of you.

Steve takes your hand, places a kiss on top of it and leaves before he has to face your teachers anger. You can’t say anything else, only look after him as Madame Laverne all but pushes you backstage.

✦✧✦✧✦

Steve is restless in his seat. It’s been an hour, and it still isn’t your turn to dance.

After that kiss, it’s like his desire to be close to you has tripled. No, quadrupled, and right now, he wants to see you again. One look at him earlier and both Robin and Nancy had smirked.

“Finally.” Robin rolled her eyes at him when she motioned to the seat she saved him. “Took you long enough.” Steve knew she wasn’t talking about the play.  

Steve smiles and runs a hand through his hair as he waits for your variation to start. You kissed him, and it’d been better than he imagined. Steve doesn’t even care if he still has your lipgloss on his face. He’ll wear it proudly, because after months and months of wanting to kiss your lips, he finally did. He really really wants to do it again.

The curtains close and open after a moment and the movement brings Steve’s attention back to the present. You’re on stage now with other girls, smiling and looking beautiful, delicate and strong as the music starts to play. The sugar plum fairy dances in the middle of all the petals but Steve pays her no mind. His eyes are fixated on you, on the way every move you make shows love and care and dedication. He sees the countless tears you shed when you got this role and how you’ve turn it around in its head to make it your own.

Your pink tutu shines with the overhead lights and it flows nicely when you jump and spin. The dance has you and another girl lead the movements of the rest of the group. What you do the girl behind you repeats and it truly makes all the tutus look like flower petals. You’re in the front most of the time, which Steve loves. He even points at you and tells then man next to him ‘that’s my girlfriend’ just because he can now. Because he’s so proud of you. Warmth and love settle on his chest as he looks at you, and the memory of the past two months come crashing down on him. You’ve both come so far, time’s gone by so fast, and he wishes he’d told you he loves you earlier. Because he does, more than he can express in words alone.

You dance for six minutes, but to Steve the variation is over far too soon. He could watch you dance for an entire hour, but he knows how much your feet would hurt after that. So he stands along with the rest of your friends, Robin and Nancy and clap as you make your way off the stage. Steve decides he’ll yell louder when the play’s over. He can’t risk Madame Laverne’s wrath right now; he has to see you take the final bow first.

✦✧✦✧✦

You’ve never felt so much emotion in your chest as you do now. Your eyes have watered countless times, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Looking at your friends, at Steve, cheer for you as you bowed with your classmates what nothing short from magical. It felt out of a movie, the way time stopped, and you could only focus on the people dear to you –on the boy you love. You’d made sure to wave at them before leaving towards the dressing room.

There’s no time to waste once you’re there:you want to see all of them right away, hug them tightly and thank them for all their support. And Steve… you want to tell him how much you love him. You need to let him know.

Changing out of your costume takes longer than you expect. There’s the corset that needs to be loosed and then the tutu needs to be place back on a rack backstage. You take off your tights and change into more comfortable clothes. A pair of jeans, a chunky sweater and boots are next before you take off your makeup. Feeling fresh and accomplished a moment later, you take your flowers with you and leave towards the backstage door.

You expected to walk towards the front and meet your friends there but to your surprise Steve parked his car on the driveway right by the door. And he’s there, braving the cold with his coat, leaning against the passenger door as he waits for you. He looks up as if sensing your presence and all but runs towards you, making your heart beat loudly on your chest. Your fingers ache to hold him close so you do as soon as he hugs you tightly. His forearms wrap around you back and his face hides on your neck as you hold each other for a moment. You breathe him in, with all the time in the world to do it now, and soak in all the warmth coming off his body.

“I didn’t know I had to wait almost the whole play to see you baby.” Steve says against your skin, holding you tighter. “You were amazing.”

Baby. Steve called you baby, as if you weren’t already just about overflowing with emotion. Your eyes tear up when you step back from the hug and hold his face in your hands. “I love you Steve, god I’m so in love with you I can’t breathe sometimes.”

Steve smiles and leans in to kiss you. He kisses you slow and gentle, savouring the aftertaste your words. His tongue tastes your bottom lip as he holds you closer and kisses you like you’re the air he wants to breathe. It’s only when you need to part that you do, and though you know how he feels, he still smiles before speaking. “I think I love you from the minute I met you, beautiful. I mean can you blame?”

Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, speechless at the thought of Steve loving you for so long and you being oblivious. Just as you’re about to say something though, a car honks on the street much like that one time a month ago. “Come on lovebirds, let’s celebrate!”

It’s Robin and Nancy who’ve befriended your university friends and drive past you. Robin’s head is out the passenger’s window, and she holds two thumbs up for you to see when she passes by. Your whole body burns despite the biting cold air outside. You do have some news to tell her now.

“Celebration?” You ask Steve once their car turns a corner in the distance, raising an eyebrow in question. 

“We kind of decorated your living room with balloons.” Steve’s right hand comes up to scratch his chin. “That’s why I was late.”

You open and close your mouth in amazement, of course Steve was late because he was planning something for you. It makes sense now, and you’re so grateful to have him in your life you’re rendered speechless –absolutely no one has ever had that level of care with you. “Stevie,” you smile.

“You love me I know,” he winks, pecking your lips briefly but lingering like he doesn’t want to stray too far. “Let’s go, we don’t want to keep them waiting. Besides I need to show off my girl.”

“Ah, I see how this is.” You tease him, waiting for him to get into the car next to you before speaking again. “I’ll accept that if I get to show you off when you win the state championship next month.”

“If–”

“When Stevie.” You shake your head.

“You got it beautiful.” He gives you his brightest smile as he turns on the engine. “Make sure you kiss me in front of Connors, that’ll teach him.”

Steve steers you onto the main road just as your laughter fills the space between you and you start making your way home.

✦✧✦✧✦

reblogs are supper appreciated! thank you for reading!

part 6 soon >>>>

[drewsbuzzcut]

You’re My Wishlist

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes fic

warnings: none that I can think of (this is lightly edited)

“This tree is so pretty! Oh, but that one is full and that one is tall- probably too tall for the apartment. Sienna said she prefers a flocked tree, so maybe I should be looking at those,” Dallas talks excitedly, her arms move in a blur as she points out each tree.

Nick, who is hugging her body to his, has a permanent smile on his face. He loves when she gets so excited that she goes on a tangent about whatever she’s talking about.

“Oh my god, I also want to go look at all the ornaments they have! I know I can speak for Sienna as well when I say we only want the finest ornaments,” Dallas bolts to another topic, referring to the ornament shop they have connected to the tree farm.

“I think a flocked tree will look nice with the bows you girls plan to put on it,” Nick chimes in, squeezing her tighter to combat the cold

Dallas gasps in excitement, an awestruck gaze painting her face as she turns to face him. Her hands travel their way from his chest to connect at the back of his neck. She presses their bodies together and kisses his lips.

“Do you really think so?” She asks in a way that shows how elated she is with his input. It means that he pays attention to things most guys wouldn’t pay any mind to.

“Yeah, June bug. I saw this really pretty one a few rows back,” he says, guiding her to all the flocked trees.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she speaks out loud, her hands clutching onto his arm.

“Says you,” he whispers, leaning in for a kiss.

Dallas feels everything melt away when Nick’s lips lock with hers. His lips are so warm and his touch sends a flurry of snowflakes through her stomach, much like the snow that falls before them. One hand cups her cheek as the other is holding down the material of her scarf. Her hands move underneath his hoodie to rest on the bare skin of his abdomen. His body shivers at the feeling of her cold hands, but he welcomes it.

Before Dallas can deepen the kiss by pushing her tongue into his mouth, his lips leave whispers of kisses on her cheek. He travels to her ear, his mouth brushing against the shell of it. Dallas smiles at his soft, intimate affections, but lets out a low moan when he sucks her earlobe into his mouth. Her body leans into his. She rests her temple against his, enjoying the way his hands rub at her back to keep her close to him and warm. After a moment, she turns her face to kiss along his jaw, taking her time to love on his scar.

“I want this tree,” she mutters, pointing to the white tree, behind Nick but in front of her.

He turns to look at it, smiling when she hugs him from behind with her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Imagine a tree like this in our own home. Of course it’d be bigger and I’d buy you all the ornaments you could dream of. I can’t wait until that moment comes. We’ll be in matching pajamas because I know you’ll already have them picked out before Thanksgiving even rolls around,” Nick turns his head to whisper against the skin of her cheek. It’s music to her ears.

The girl feels her eyes start to tear up, images flashing through her mind of them all grown up and in their own home, decorating for the holiday. She feels even more emotional to know that they’re sharing these experiences together, being that this is Nick’s favorite holiday.

“You’re such a romantic- even more so during Christmas time,” she gushes.

“I love Christmas and I love that I have you to spend it with this year,” he admits.

The girl kisses him, but her smile is too wide and interrupts the action. She giggles against his mouth. Nothing can top this moment for her.

“Add in some hot chocolate and I’m sold,” she muses.

“Deal!” He agrees, pecking her lips once again.

He wants to tell her about the tickets he bought to see the nutcracker ballet and how it’ll be their Christmas tradition, but he decides to wait.

“We need to take a picture with the tree! Excuse me, ma’am, can you please take a picture of my boyfriend and me?” She blurts and then grabs the attention of the person nearest to them.

As the stranger points the camera at the couple, Nick wraps an arm around Dallas’ waist. Their smiles are wide to the point that their cheeks start to ache.

The first picture is perfect, them holding onto each other with the white Christmas tree in the background as the snow falls.

The second picture is one that captures the romance they both feel. Nick’s hands cup his girlfriend’s cheeks as their lips connect in a kiss of passion. You can see their red tinted cheeks and how their bodies meld into one. The snowfall makes it seem like a scene inside of a snow globe.

“Thank you,” Nick says to the woman.

After tying the chosen Christmas tree to the roof of Dallas’ car, they join the group of hockey players who are still trying to pick out a tree. Although they’re with the other guys, they still remain at a distance. They’re content in their private moment of bliss. They joke around and tickle each other as they continue to move throughout the tree farm. Eventually parting ways with the group again and getting hot chocolate, Nick starts to sway with Dallas. The Christmas music pours out of the speakers surrounding them.

Nick spins Dallas around, laughing at the way she starts to perform various ballet poses, putting on a show. The hockey player stares in amazement at the way she radiates happiness. There’s nothing like watching someone you’re so fond of be so happy.

The boy pulls her back into a simple waltz- really it’s just them prancing around, hand in hand. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the most perfect and elegant ballerina ornament he bought her. It sits in between his fingers right in front of her face and Dallas can’t help the way she gasps.

“Nick…” she’s at a loss for words.

She takes the ornament in her hand, inspecting it and fawning over it.

“It’s an early Christmas present,” he states, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“When did you even have the chance to get this?” She asks, still in shock.

“I have an elf,” he jokes. His elf being Luca. After seeing it when they first arrived, he had Luca buy it for him while he was with Dallas, searching for her tree.

Dallas just rolls her eyes at his words, not wanting to question it further.

“It’s so beautiful. Thank you, baby,” she says, kissing his lips.

He has no idea how much this means to Dallas. Ballet will always be something special to her and for Nick to appreciate that means everything.

“Oh my god. I feel dramatic right now,” she mutters, wiping away the few tears that fall from her eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls her into another hug and kisses her forehead. He softly strokes the apple of her cheek until there are no more tears.

“Like I’ve said before, I’d do anything, buy you anything just to see you smile. Your happiness is my happiness,” he whispers.

“You’re such a sap today,” she teases, poking at his sides.

“I guess it’s from touching all the trees.”

Dallas lets out a snort, her forehead going to rest on his shoulder. The vibrations rattling through his chest from his laughter makes her smile. Yeah, she’s so lucky to have him. He’s all she could ever wish for.

a/n: I loved this! I hope y’all do as well🫶

[eevees-hobbies]

Forever Never Seems Long Enough - NSFW (SamXSatoruGojo)

BEFORE YOU READ: Made specifically for @hayatoseyepatch as part of the Roppongi Strip Club Secret Santa Exchange. This is unapologetically SamxSatoruGojo. - CW: Friends Selfship, Christmas-Centered, Kissing, Sideways 69 so cunnilngus and blowjob simultaneously, dirty talk, words of praise, outdoor sex. Pet names used, baby, baby boy, baby girl, Daddy, bambina, bambino, my girl, wifey, my love, pretty girl. Minors Do Not Interact. || WC: 3.3K || Banner by me. Dividers by Saradika.

You and Gojo have a problem.  What do you gift a man who could have anything he wants simply by desiring it? An even more perplexing question is: what do you get a woman who never asks for anything?

Every year, you and your husband, Satoru Gojo, go into a spiral, trying to figure out what to gift each other for the holiday.

And it isn't just about what to give each other on the special day; no, it's about how to show each other you care through actions during the entire month. Sure, Satoru can buy you anything, but he knows you. 

His girl doesn’t care about material goods. You care about acts of service and bonding time, which sounds simple enough. Still, Satoru sometimes overthinks things, especially when it comes to you, his literal favorite girl in the entire world, which is why Satoru in particular, finds himself in the following position: 

Gojo is sitting across from one of your closest friends—-and his self-proclaimed rival for your attention and affection, if he’s being honest—Eve.

Gojo is practically vibrating in his seat, and his desire to get up and leave the crowded coffee shop is apparent, but Eve pays it no mind, enjoying his irritability a bit. She cocks her head to the side as she sips at her cup of coffee, a knowing smirk on her lips. 

Gojo’s nails drum into the table, “Well?! Has she hinted at something that she wants to experience this year?”

Eve purses her lips, playing coy. “Oh, I dunno. I might have a few ideas…” she trails off, taking a long, exaggerated sip of her coffee. 

It’s not that she and Gojo don’t get along exactly, it’s just that their personalities have more similarities than not, and so they clash sometimes with Sam having to mediate.

Standing abruptly, Gojo pulls out his wallet and tosses a few bills on the table—his patience is wearing thin, but he’d never force the love of his life’s best friend to pay for her own coffee. “Forget it. You do this every year.”

Eve rolls her eyes. “Always one for the dramatics. And that's not true. Who clued you into Sam’s love for the Nutcracker, huh?” 

Gojo’s eye twitches under his signature eye mask. “Sure, I bought her tickets to see that show—flew her out to Broadway to watch it—but I was gonna do that anyway.”

Eve rolls her eyes, setting her coffee down with a resounding clack. “Listen, every year we do this song and dance where you try to pick my brain to decipher what she wants. I can assure you that you already know what she wants.” 

Eve’s cocky smile melts into something that hints at kindness and even admiration. “You two absolutely love and adore each other. I’ve never met two people who were meant to be with each other as much as Mr. and Mrs.Gojo. You’ll figure it out.”

A long stretch of silence sits between them before Gojo speaks first. “Huh. That was strangely...endearing?” He almost cracks a smile—almost.

“Anyway,” Eve says as her smirk returns. She leans back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. “She has to deal with your ass 365 days out of a year. Maybe your gift to her could be a moment of fucking silence.”

“And you ruined it!” Gojo stands again. “How does your boyfriend deal with that mouth?”

“Todo adores it!” Eve calls out. “And he isn’t my boyfriend! We’re engaged,” she shouts over the bustle of the cafe, flashing her ring in the process. But Gojo is already leaving, sending Sam his quarterly “We should block Eve” text.

You simply respond: 

Bambina LOML:  👎

But even as he leaves the cafe, he knows he has some shopping to do because maybe that conversation wasn’t a total waste of his time. He does know you, after all.

As Gojo enters your shared home, he's already scanning the space for you. But he doesn't have to assume where you are because he can smell where you are. 

The sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies wafts toward him, beckoning him to the kitchen. His long legs move him forward automatically as if the scent is his personal GPS to you.

As he enters the kitchen, his eyes lock onto you, and he has to bite his bottom lip to stifle a groan at the mere sight. You're puttering around the kitchen, queen of your domain as you crack eggs, sift flour, and alternate cooked cookies out of the oven with uncooked cookies. 

Fuck, she's making enough to feed a small army. God, I love her.

The sight of you in your element makes him embarrassingly hard. It has nothing to do with ridiculous gender roles; you could give him a run for his money in a fight any day. 

Seeing you all domestic for him reminds him that you chose him and that every day, you consciously decide to love and care for him without asking for anything in return. 

You don’t even need to turn around to sense him even as he wraps his toned arms around your midsection. “Welcome home, baby,” you call out, voice practically dripping with honey. 

His warm breath nuzzles the hair at the nape of your neck. “Bambina” he purrs. “Do you need a special taste tester?”

You shake your head, cleaning up the last remnants of the cookies from the counter. But you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips because you adore this man.

“I wasn’t talking about the cookies, by the way.” His hand fiddles with your apron. The sight of domestic Sam makes him throb, the hard length of him rubbing against the cleft of your ass in your jeans. 

You can feel him loosening the string of your apron, and your eyes narrow, not because you wouldn’t give him the world—it’s just that you’ve had burnt cookies in the past because Gojo has promised a quickie that turned into a marathon. 

“Toru,” you warn, but you feel yourself melting against him even as you say it.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles in your ear, spinning you around, allowing your curves to fit perfectly against his body. 

“Sam,” he whispers. “Missed you so much today, baby girl.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he plants little nips against your pulse point, reveling in how it jumps for him even after all this time of marriage. 

“Mmm, you missed me so much that you texted me about Eve?” You tease as your hands move up to comb through his white hair.

“Don’t ask, but you just reminded me of something.” He pulls away, his mind already running a thousand miles a minute as he walks to a bag on the table—a bag you hadn’t even noticed he entered with. He pulls out a compact projector and popcorn, swinging the items around, obviously proud of himself.

“Date night,” he announces as he looks at you, a grin plastered on his face.

You glance out the window, brows furrowing as you look at how frost lays like a sheet of paper on the glass. “Baby boy, it’s cold out there.”

He waves his hand dismissively as he puts the contents back into the bag, already heading out the back door. “I’ll keep you warm, don’t worry. You only have to worry about those delicious cookies and maybe some hot chocolate. Oh, and no peaking!”

You shake your head, a hint of an amused smirk forming on your face as you draw the kitchen curtains closed. And despite being curious about what he’s doing in the back, you can’t help but want to keep your promise and not peak, plus you have cookies to attend to. 

You put a giant pot on the stove, making a big batch of Nestle Abuelita’s hot cocoa. You’d live and die by this brand, keeping a shelf stockpiled for cold winter nights like this.

It isn’t long before Gojo enters the kitchen again, cupping his chilled hands around his mouth and blowing hot air into them. You can see how the corner of his eyes crinkle as he looks at you. “Go put a sweater on, baby. Your surprise is ready.”

Already dashing off to your bedroom to grab a sweater, you call over your shoulder. “Can I wear yours?”

“I would be offended if you didn’t!” 

As you emerge in one of his oversized sweatshirts, a light blush colors his cheeks, but his gaze is heated as he takes your hand. “Let’s get you outside before I keep you inside.” And with the gentleness that a husband only shares with his wife, Gojo leads you to your backyard.

It may have only been less than an hour of work, but the effort Gojo put into the scene before you is apparent. You’ve had a movie night in your backyard before, but nothing as appropriate for the season as this. 

Yellow tea lights are strung up, and the patio furniture is pulled off the deck and into the grass to face the giant inflatable screen that’s showing your absolute favorite Christmas movie: How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

You can’t help but smile because it’s the superior live-action version you can quote word-for-word.

Gojo also brought out your patio table, which is adorned with snacks: popcorn, peppermint candy, hot chocolate, and some of the cookies you made earlier. 

And slightly behind the chairs–but in between so as not to obstruct the view from the screen–is a large camping tent, perfect for two. Inside the tent are pillows and blankets for cuddles and maybe a little more if you’re inclined.

To stave off the cold, he’s brought out your two outdoor propane heaters, which ensure he keeps his woman warm and cozy even in this winter weather.

“Toru! I love the idea of an outdoor movie night,” you exclaim, turning in his arms and wrapping your own around his shoulders. Gojo grins, pleased that you’re happy with this because all he wants to do in this world is make you happy. 

It’s only the beginning of December, but he plans to do something special, and Christmas-themed, every day of the month.

He takes your elbow gently in his large hand and guides you to the comfy chairs. “Sit down. I’ll get your snacks, my love.”

And you can’t remember the last time you and Gojo just sat without a conversation about his or your work coming up. Students? Jujutsu Sorceres? What are those? The only thing that exists at that moment is you, him, and the absolute mayhem that Jim Carey is causing in Whoville. 

It isn’t long before the movie ends and you both find yourself in the tent, limbs tangled in the blankets and in each other, as your lips move against the others lazily. It may be cold outside, but you two can’t tell with the heated way your mouths and tongues mingle with each other.

When you two finally pull away, your lips are kiss-swollen, and your breathing is heavy and labored.

Gojo breaks the silence first. “You know, I never asked what you wanted for Christmas this year.”

Your brow furrows. Part of you was expecting this question, but it’s still odd when you truly don’t want for anything because of him. You bite your lower lip in contemplation and Satoru chides you softly, placing his thumb on your bottom lip to soothe it.

Finally, you devise an unserious answer, your lips curling into a smirk, “Give me everything, Toru.”

“Everything?” He repeats softly, that same thumb used previously to soothe now skirting over your bottom lip in reverence, as his eyes flick down to your mouth and back up to your eyes.

You know he’s not scrutinizing you, but you still shiver. 

The corner of his lip twitches upward as he sees his effect on you. “You know I could...give you everything, I mean. And you know,” his face moves closer to yours again before continuing, “I would never say no.”

Your breath hitches as you tilt your head, grazing your lips against his in a way that’s agonizing for you both. Neither of you has ever been patient when taking and giving to one another—not in this way, at least. 

“Then give me everything.”

Gojo lets out a groan as he surges forward, stealing your breath with a kiss fueled with adoration and lust. You return the kiss with equal fervor, only taking a break when you need to breathe from the onslaught of lips and tongue. 

But when you pull back, he follows you, his lips chasing yours, desperate for all of you. 

“I’m going to fuck you in this tent with the stars as my witness, pretty girl,” he purrs into your ear. 

“Wanna taste you first, Toru,” you whisper back, hands fumbling with his pants. Satoru grabs your hand, dragging your palm against the throbbing bulge in his crotch area. You both let out a moan at the contact. 

“You want me to fuck your pretty little mouth, Sam? That’s funny because I’m hungry for something only you can give, too.”

The hand that isn’t holding your wrist down slips into the front of your jeans, long fingers already seeking out the damp heat radiating from the apex of your thighs. 

As soon as he finds it, pushing your panties to the side with long fingers and gentle rubs of your aching nub, he groans “So wet for Daddy, Sam. Whatever will I do with you?”

He presses his forehead against yours, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. “Don’t answer that because I already know.”

Satoru switches you into a position you’re all too familiar with–an absolute favorite of his that allows him to feast on your sweet cunt while he feeds you his cock. He loves getting you in a sideways 69 position (reference). It’s a win-win for you both.

Satoru hooks his arms around your thighs and practically pulls your cunt to his lips, already spreading you apart on his tongue. You gasp at the sudden contact, your gaping mouth serves as the perfect opportunity for Gojo. He grips his hard cock at the base–which is practically crying to be nestled in one of your warm, wet holes, and guides it to your mouth. He smears the precum against your lips, moaning into your cunt at how soft and plump they are.

You’re absolutely perfect and you’re all his.

His thick tip catches onto your lips, and you stretch your mouth wider allowing the muscle to push in with a loud, wet plop. 

You see his calve muscles clench as soon as you give him access to your mouth. Fuck, he craves you so much that every muscle in his body is coiled tight all for you.

He pushes his hips forward, air hissing past his teeth as his cock slides past your tongue and into throat like you were meant to take it. But even with his head growing hazy, he doesn’t stop his hungry suckling at your clit. Every breath he takes is of your sweet cunt and he groans into your heated flesh with absolute satisfaction, loving how you smell.

“My girl has such a pretty pussy,” he coos as he hooks your thigh over his shoulder. Using his other thumb, he spreads you open to get a better angle with his mouth. Even still, every part of the lower half of his face is nestled in your sweet self. Your nectar is already free-flowing down his cheeks and chin, and he can’t seem to bring himself to care as he feasts. 

If the man were to be offered a bib, he’d be offended because when he's making out with your pretty pussy, his main goal is to always leave messier than when he started. 

“Don’t be afraid to hump my tongue, baby girl. I want you to give as much from me as I take from you, Sam.” 

And he certainly takes what he wants, fucking your mouth with abandon and chasing his pleasure that lies nestled deep in your throat. His hand snakes down between you both and he strokes your cheek and neck, feeling the way his cock stretches your throat and mouth to absolute capacity. The feeling of your taught skin, just for him, makes him twitch.

“That’s it, my baby girl. Swallow me down just like that.” 

While he talks you through sucking him off, his hand still on your throat, he gives your needy clit equal attention. He pulls back, blowing cool air against your clit, and watches it twitch and throb for him. 

“Good girl,” he purrs as he seals his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves while pushing two fingers into your drooling cunt. He’s not met with resistance, but instead with a wet squelch that makes your legs tremble and his eyes almost roll back.

“Fuuuuuuck, always so welcoming aren’t you, baby?” He whispers to her.

The way you clench around his digits, like you’re grasping for a piece of his cock to suck dry has his dick throbbing more erratically in your mouth. 

He can tell you're close with the way you're moaning around him, whimpers loud and keening as he plunders your cunt with his tongue. 

Fuck, you stopped sucking a while ago–too caught up in the feeling of him, but that's okay because the vibrations of your moans are making a fierce desire to cum down your throat that he couldn’t fight even if he wanted to.

His blue eyes are fluttering closed as he moves his tongue across your seizing cunt, reveling in the arousal that pools and seeps down your soft thighs for him.

The man has never known pleasure—not truly—until he had his first taste of you. 

Your cunt is contracting around his tongue, pushing him out while simultaneously sucking him in, but he doesn't stop even while you clench around him. He's never stopped once after you've had one orgasm during the entirety of your marriage, so why would he stop now?

He pulls away from your cunt briefly, “so close. You ready for me, baby?” The hand on your throat stills its stroking as his hips stutter. “Of course you are. You're always ready for me.”

And with that, he hilts his cock deep in your throat, groaning your name like a prayer as endless spouts of his cum fill you up. He rubs your thigh through it, moving his hips back and forth as he fucks his seed down into your throat because he’d never want you to miss a single drop. “Sam, my perfect wifey. Fuck, I love you.”

As you two get settled comfortably, Satoru reaches over and plays with your hair. You lie on your backs, your heads peeking out the tent's entrance, staring at the stars above you.

You turn your head to look at him, who has an uncharacteristically pensive look on his face. “What are you thinking about, Toru?”

His eyebrows furrow, as if realizing that his thoughts were so pervasive that you could read them on his face. “I was just thinking about how I want forever with you.”

You take his hand, holding it up to the night sky, allowing the stars to illuminate your wedding ring and his wedding band. “We already committed to forever, Bambino.”

He reaches up with his other hand, twirling the wedding ring around your finger. “Forever just doesn't seem long enough.”

“Forever and a day, then,” you whisper as you bring your hands down and place a resolute kiss against his knuckles.

Merry Christmas, Sam!! I can truly say that meeting you has been one of the highlights of my year. You deserve every crumb of happiness that comes your way and then some. You are such a wonderful, sweet, and caring person, and I genuinely feel kindred with your entire being - @eevees-hobbies

[demigodsanswer]

🌧️

[wip game]

I should say! I have several wips, so feel free to specify:

Variations, ch. 2

TUAP baby fic

Titanic Discovery AU (1980s au)

Percabeth pwp

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

From Variations ch. 2

Annabeth: 

Who is coming to Sleeping Beauty this week? 

Daddy: 

I’ll be there 

Kathy

I won’t be able to make it 

Bobby: 

Us either 

Matty: 

Too much work 😩 

When her brother’s started at Harvard, Annabeth thought they might actually come see her perform once and a while. She could get them free tickets, and they could crash in her living room. They’d only need to pay for the AmTrack. And it’s not like they were ever strapped for cash. 

Annabeth: 

Okay 

Kathy: 

Will your fiance be there? 

Annabeth rolled her eyes. She was tempted to text back a detailed description of every awful thing Luke did to her just to make her step mother feel bad for asking. But she held back 

Annabeth: 

I don’t have a finance 

She cringed when she realized her typo. Her dyslexia had a fun way of undermining her at the worst moments. She regretted not just using voice to text, but she was just standing in a hallway. It wasn’t exactly private. 

Kathy: 

Well that’s too bad. 

Bobby: 

Do you have a big part? 

Anndbeth started typing, but her dad got there first. 

Daddy: 

She’s the princess 

Matty: 

Oh shit I thought you were like tree number 3 or something 

Annabeth 

I’m a principal. 

I only have big parts. 

Kathy: 

So there will be other shows. 

Annabeth: 

Sure 

Daddy: 

I’m looking forward to it sweetie 

And boys if you change your mind, it’s not too late to join 

Annabeth:

Magnus is coming down for the second show 

Bobby: 

We’ll think about it. 

Annabeth re-muted the family group chat and locked her phone. There were a few minutes until lunch was over and another rehearsal started. She was set to rehearse Agon with Percy for an hour before they went to dress rehearsal for Beauty. At least Percy would be there. Maybe she could steal a hug or something. 

Luke pulled her in close as she wiped tears from her eyes. 

“I’m sorry that they keep doing this to you,” he said. She’d invited her family out to New York for Christmas. They could see her in Nutcracker for the first time, see the tree, see her wedding venue, and go to a cake tasting. All of it. 

She’d been shot down immediately, of course. 

Kathy’s cold “We already have plans out in California,” followed soon after by “why don’t you come home one of these days?” had stung more than she expected it to. 

“I hate her,” Annabeth said about her stepmom. “I don’t want her at the wedding at all.” 

“So we uninvite her,” Luke said, as if it were obvious. He rubbed her shoulder and let her burrow in closer to his side. “It’s your day, Annie. If you don’t want her there, she doesn't need to be there.”  

“I can’t not invite my dad’s wife,” she said. “But I do like the idea.” 

“Whatever you want, I’ll support you,” he promised. They sat quietly for a few minutes before he offered to make them hot chocolate. 

Luke always warmed up the milk on the stove the real way, not her lazy microwave way. She insisted on using oat milk, and he complied, but the whip cream was still real. He put sparkly sprinkles on the top with a candy cane. It was incredibly festive.

“It reminds me of Nutcracker,” Annabeth said with a wide smile as she took the mug from him. 

“Just missing sugar plums,” he said. 

“Have you ever had one?” She asked. Annabeth wasn’t sure she even knew what a sugar plum was. 

“Just you,” he said with a sly smile. Annabeth giggled, and tried to sip her hot chocolate, but mostly got a mouth full of whip cream, with some lingering on her nose. “Hate when that happens,” Luke said, handing her a napkin. 

Annabeth put on a phony pout. “I thought you loved when I looked like this,” she said, wiping the cream off her face. 

“It’s certainly not a bad look on you,” he agreed. 

Annabeth set her hot chocolate down on the coffee table, and Luke followed her lead. She straddled his lap, and his hands held her there, gently holding onto the backs of her thighs. She kissed him and grabbed between his legs at the same moment. He groaned. 

“You move on fast from crying about your family,” he teases. Annabeth feigned a smile as she kissed him again. They both knew the two were linked. Luke wouldn’t call her “Annie” if he didn’t understand that the farther her family pushed her away, the more she wanted him. 

“You’re my family,” she told him. “You’re all the family I need.” 

Annabeth stared at her phone. She’d blocked and deleted Luke’s number months ago. But she still had it memorized in the back of her mind, and now it was at the front of her mind. She typed it, and then stared at the empty text box. What would she say? Come to Sleeping Beauty. I miss you? Or maybe Fuck you, I hate you? 

“Are you okay?” A familiar voice asked from behind her. Annabeth’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled, excited to know he was there, even before she turned around. 

“Beck!” She said. He rested his crutches against the wall, balancing on his one good leg to pull her into a tight hug. “Thank god you’re here. I was about to do something stupid,” she said. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Text him,” she confessed. 

“Percy?” 

“Worse.” 

Beck pulled her phone from her hands and slipped it into his back pocket. “Hey!” She said, reaching for it. He used the moment to lift her up off the floor, his weight on his good leg. 

“Annabeth Chase, if you text that man, I’m having you institutionalized!” He threatened. 

[tinkerbelldetective]

"I miss you," he finally sighs, looking directly at the camera.

Nina smiles softly, setting her pencil down to meet Fabian's cross continental gaze.

"I miss you too, Fabian."

The night has already fallen on his side. She can see the dark sky just outside the window behind him, while the sun still shines against her back.

His eyes fall to his wrist with a sigh.

"Nina-"

"I know. Send me a copy of it, okay? I still want to read it."

Fabian smiles, waving at the camera before her screen goes black.

***

"Finals are in a week. I'm just glad this class is over. She has deadlines tighter than Victor's curfew."

"Well that never stopped us."

She can hear his smile in his voice, but she wishes she could see it in person, even if she has memorized every pull of his lips, every smile he's ever given her written into her soul with golden ink.

"True." She readjusts the phone against her ear as she digs through her bag, grasping onto the textbook that she managed to trade a $50 gift card for. It's weird how much she can slide by. "You have organic chemistry this Thursday?"

"I've done well so far, but I'm reading everything over."

"You're gonna do great, Fabian."

"I know."

"Are you going back home?"

"For a few days. What about you and your Gran?"

"She's planned a pretty elaborate dinner and we're seeing The Nutcracker."

"Oh, nice!"

There's silence before Fabian speaks again.

"I know you have class, Miss Martin. Don't stop learning on my account. We'll talk tonight, okay?"

She laughs at the voice he uses when he calls her 'Miss Martin' before answering with a happy confirmation.

***

The plane ticket burns in his pocket as he pulls up the webcam, catching Nina already in her pink pajamas.

"You're going to bed early."

"Early day tomorrow."

Ah, yes, French tutoring on Thursdays.

"Listen, I-" He stumbles over his words, just like he did at Anubis, before pulling himself together. "I've been saving all semester. Uncle Ade pitched in, not much, but still." He pulls the plane ticket from his pocket, holding it up to the camera with a shy smile.

"Fabian," she breathes.

"I'm spending Christmas at home, but I want to see you."

He waits for a response as Nina stares back at him, her lips widening into a smile.

"I can't wait."

[untitled5071]

yo idk if you're still taking requests but could you write a smth about Lisa taking the creature to see a ballet. i had this realization that the creature died before Tchaikovsky was even born and i think it's criminal that he never heard of the nutcracker, swan lake or even the 1812 Overture (where Tchaikovsky used actual cannons 💀). it could be any of his ballets btw ^_^

You had me at Tchaikovsky, I played violin for ten years and he's one of my favorite composers, though I've never seen one of his ballets, a mistake I'll have to rectify soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

It was a gift for both of them, really.

As a general rule, they were very big on date nights; every day they were together was bliss, but they loved finding new things to experience together, new ways to celebrate the strange second chance at life they were given.

Luckily for them, the smallish city they had settled in after Brookview offered a plethora of activities, from checking out different restaurants, going ice skating in the winter and having picnics in the park in the summer to walking around different craft fairs and farmer’s markets to examine the wares of local artisans.

They thoroughly enjoyed every endeavor as long as they did it together, but by far one of their favorite things to do was attending concerts and dances, their shared love of music and dressing up for special occasions making those dates extra meaningful.

So when Lisa surprised her husband with two tickets to a traveling ballet troupe’s production of Swan Lake, neither could contain their excitement at the thought of the upcoming event.

Creature had discovered Tchaicovsky’s work after he had found a book of sheet music in a thrift store while they were shopping for new clothes, and he had spent the next several days learning as many of the pieces he could on the keyboard Lisa had bought him for their anniversary. The sound wasn’t nearly as good as it would have been on a proper grand piano, but it sufficed, his talent overcompensating for the poor quality of the instrument. Lisa loved to dance to it, and when the event was announced, she knew it would make the perfect date night for the two of them.

But first, they had to get ready.

They stood together in front of the cracked mirror in their rented apartment (Lisa insisted it stay that way, since it ‘reminded her of old times’), Lisa applying a pale shade of foundation to cover her more stubborn burn scars and her husband adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket, humming one of Tchaikovsky’s more nationalistic works-a piece called “Marche Slav”-to himself as he went. Lisa joined in, and though the rhythm was mostly wrong, her husband beamed and sent a praising smile her way.

She caught his eyes, and neither of them could resist leaning in for a kiss, one of those several they already had and would continue to share that day, just like every day since Lisa's resurrection.

They parted from their kiss, and Lisa giggled when she realized some of her foundation had rubbed off on her husband's chin, and she reached out to wipe it away with a thumb, cupping his cheek as she did so.

“I don't think that's really your shade, honey.”

Her husband smiled, holding his hand on Lisa's to keep her there for a moment before releasing her and letting her continue her cover-up job.

Normally they wouldn’t bother; they were both proud of the physical quirks that came with being the living dead and city folk had a tendency to overlook things. But since they were going to be out with the refined public, they both chose outfits that would cover their more….inhuman traits, with Lisa donning a long black velvet dress and opera gloves, and Creature opting for sleeves that covered the stitches on his right wrist and a hairstyle that covered his left ear.

Once they deemed themselves ready, they posed in front of the mirror, Lisa taking a picture with a Polaroid camera she had purchased second hand at a flea market. She waited for it to develop before hanging it up on the designated photo wall in their miniscule living room, covered floor to ceiling in polaroids from different date nights over the years, their smiling faces looking down on them from all angles, all reminiscent of other nights spent enjoying each other's company.

Like the others, this night promised to be a wonderful one.

Neither of them felt particularly hungry at that moment (a consequence of being undead and also their pre-show excitement) so they walked to the theater with Lisa hanging off of Creature's arm, the two giggling and speculating about what they were about to see all the while.

The lobby of the theater was crowded, and the couple clutched each other close as they shuffled their way through the mass of bodies. They skipped the massive drink line and the somehow longer one for the women's restroom, and they presented their tickets to the usher, who showed them to their seats.

They were at the front of the balcony, and Creature helped his wife into her seat like a proper gentleman before he took his own, and he leaned into her space as they read the same program, their heads resting together as they looked over the extensive list of performer and crew names.

Lisa looked up at her husband, a twinkle in her eyes.

“It looks like we're in for quite the treat tonight.”

Creature smiled back, nuzzling his nose against hers briefly.

“Any night we spend together is a treat, my love. This one just comes with a show.”

Lisa giggled, but she didn't have time to respond before the lights dimmed and the first round of applause started, which both of them joined. The curtain rose on the stage to reveal a yard outside of a castle where a grand party was taking place, numerous dancers moving to Tchaikovsky’s jovial score in perfect sync. Lisa ‘ooh’ed quietly under her breath, and Creature’s heart swelled as his wife scooted up in her chair slightly, wanting to be closer to the performance.

The festivities continued, the prince was given his weapon and as he ran into the woods after the flock of swans, Lisa rested her head on her husband's shoulder, lacing their arms together as they settled in to enjoy the rest of the performance.

As expected, the music was impeccable and the dancing was breathtaking, and by the time the titular waltz began and the enchanted swan maidens began their graceful steps, both undead lovers were fully entranced in what they were seeing, their full attention turned towards the stage, though Creature did keep sneaking glances at the hidden orchestra pit and wondering what it would take to be a part of one.

Before they knew it, the show ended, the dancers receiving well-earned and rapturous applause during their final bows. Lisa and Creature were on their feet with the rest of the audience, and when the crowd began to disperse, they sank back into the plush red armchairs of the theater while they waited for the waves of people to leave and make their own exit easier.

And, as they usually did to pass the time, they talked.

Creature immediately launched into a passionate tirade about the orchestration and skill of the people tasked with delivering it, throwing around musical terms Lisa didn't fully understand but nodded along enthusiastically to anyway, delighted to hear that her husband had adopted her penchant for passionate ramblings.

“--and the violins in the Allegro giusto were absolutely phenomenal, the dynamics were–what’s wrong, Dove? You're thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”

Lisa chuckled distractedly, falling silent for a moment and staring at the stage. He ducked his head down to hers and placed a finger under her chin to turn her gaze his way, but all worry about what she was pondering over dissipated as she blurted out,

“Would you still love me if I was turned into a swan?”

He couldn't help it; the bluntness of her farcical statement made him chuckle, and the adorable pinch of her eyebrows wasn't helping matters. He pulled her close, holding her to him and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Of course I would, darling, I would love you in any form. If you were turned into a swan I would move to the lakeside so you could swim happily, and I would read you poetry as you did. I'd help you chase away anyone you wanted to terrorize–because let's be honest, my love, you would be an absolute menace–I would find you the best things to eat that you could still digest and, if that still wasn't enough, I would find a way to get myself turned into a swan too so we could be together that way, since I never wish to be apart from you, regardless of the measures I would have to take to do so.”

Lisa watched him deliver his impassioned answer with wide and lovestruck eyes, and the last words were barely out of his mouth before her lips were on his, and she was kissing him with an endless gratitude and adoration.

And of course, he reciprocated in kind.

By the time they parted the crowd has mostly cleared out, giving them an unobstructed path towards the exit. Creature got up first, stretching a bit before offering his arm to Lisa with a wink and a fond smile.

“Shall we go, my dearest? I do believe there is a warm bed waiting for us at home, as well as a keyboard that is dying to be played.”

Lisa blushed and took his offered limb, slipping her arm in the crook of his and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Lead the way, honey.”

They left together, still linked by their arms and chatting quietly amongst themselves as they continued to absorb the wonderful experience they had just had.

As they passed under the lights of the theater marquee and turned in the direction of home, Creature leaned down and kissed Lisa's cheek, savoring the blush that blossomed across his wife’s face.

“What was that for?”

He smiled, his eyes soft and tender.

“I just wanted to thank you for this night, my beloved Lisa. I'll never forget it, as with all of the time we spend together.”

She hummed affectionately and squeezed his arm tighter as they strode down the city street in tandem.

“No, thank you, darling. I can't wait to see what we do for the next one.”

[wheels-of-despair]

We Wheels You A Merry Christmas

Behold! A compilation of Christmas Fics by Wheels!

(Under the cut made of emojis, 'cause it's kind of a lot.)

🎄🎅🎄🤶🎄💍🎄🐧🎄🩰🎄🍪🎄☕🎄📕🎄

🎅Eddie Munson🤶

Wrapping Paper Eddie thinks he's here to hang out while you wrap presents, but you have something else in mind.

The Family Holiday It's December of 1985, and Evil Woman is ready to spend her first real Christmas with Eddie… why is he being weird about it?

I Promise Eddie gives Evil Woman something special during a quiet moment together on Christmas Morning '85.

It's a Wonderful Life (Even in Hawkins) What would the lives of Eddie Munson's loved ones look like if he didn't exist? (Inspired by It's a Wonderful Life. It gets a little dark.)

🐧Billy Knight🐧

Damn Those Penguins You impulsively buy matching pajamas and overreact at the thought of becoming One of Those People.

All I Want for Christmas Is You 'Twas only the night before Christmas, but you already have everything you want.

Christmas Treats Billy's doing a little Christmas baking, but not the kind you'd expect.

🎄Ralph Penbury🎄

The Other Dance A flashback to Ralph and the future Mrs. Penbury's first kiss at the Christmas Ball.

Christmas in July Mr. and Mrs. Penbury get another chance at a perfect kiss under the mistletoe at an unexpected time of the year.

Keeping Us Awake You and Ralph receive a pair of tickets to the Nutcracker Ballet as a Christmas gift, an event neither of you really wants to attend… how ever will you stay awake?

Home Alone Together Ralph made his family disappear! (A long one-shot set in Penbury Manor at Christmastime, inspired by Home Alone.)

🍪Michael🍪

Get the Fuck Out of My Kitchen Michael's being a pain in the ass while you attempt to make Christmas cookies. You decide to return the favor.

I Care Enough You give Michael the best Christmas present ever.

☕Tom Grant☕

Eat, Drink, and Be Merry It's been a year since the events of Enough, and you and Tom have an office Christmas party to attend.

📕Leonard Bast📗

What You Deserve Once upon a time, a boy walked into a bookshop... and the girl who worked there fell in love with him. A Christmas fix-it in four parts.

[bropunzeling]

I just watched my city ballet's Nutcracker and naturally, my mind turned to ballet!Quinn as one does. And was torn between snowflake for Quinn (most beautiful music, makes me verklempt and also possibly Brady, plus TIGHTS), coffee (hot, shirtless Quinn), and Russian (which, in my city, is a very athletic and powerful dance and would therefore also be hot.) But really thoughts of ballet!Quinn made an already nice experience that much more enjoyable.

disclaimer: it is taking ten trillion years to write ballet!quinn and i am not making much progress BUT here is what i ultimately landed on:

Unlike Petey, Quinn isn’t dancing in Jewels to start the season, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have rehearsal. Fall means it’ll soon be winter; winter means it’ll soon be time for The Nutcracker. This year, Quinn’s a principal. No Coffee or Chocolate for him. He’s going to be the Cavalier opposite Jana for half the run; Brock’s taking the other half with Melissa. Which makes sense. Brock looks like a fucking Disney prince. He was born to wear tights and a velvet jacket.

did brady regularly have heart attacks when quinn did do coffee as a soloist and he was watching the livestream (because he's a season ticket holder for livestreaming privileges)? the world may never know (yes)

[awakeningthevioletswithin]

I just woke up from the worst dream. I was really frustrated and angry with my mom. I had gotten us $280 each tickets to see "The Nutcracker," but she had a meltdown about going, so we were outside in the snow and I was trying to explain the situation to a police officer that was concerned my mom was so distressed. Then we were at home and she had taken off the bandage on her leg and it looked worse and better than it had in real life. Again I was annoyed with her, I can't remember what she said but it was infuriating. So I went to the bathroom and I was looking in the mirror and I realized all of this was impossible because she had already died. I went back into the room she was laying on the couch and wrapped my arms around her and plead with her not to be dead.

And then I woke up.

[stolenslumber]

pas de deux (psh) (preview)

Fresh off of an ankle injury and all too cognizant of the time you have left in your professional ballet career, the last thing you want to do this Nutcracker season is dance opposite some boy band idol sensation who can't even do a split. You're sure Park Sunghoon can serve no purpose in your life other than being a nuisance and standing around looking pretty to bring in more ticket sales, but there are 10 weeks of rehearsals ahead of you, and he's determined to change your mind.

PAIRING: park sunghoon x female reader GENRE: one-sided professional annoyance to lovers, pining (sunghoon falls fast and hard lol my guy is chomping at the bit), some angst but mostly of the career malaise flavor, romance as always but trust me there's an Actual Plot this time i swear WARNINGS: swearing, kms/kys jokes, kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes WORD COUNT: ~2.8k preview (final wc... who knows? that's between me and god)

When you get the news, you’re just leaving a physical therapy session that went worse than you had expected, so you’re already in a bad mood. 

Kazuha calls you as she’s making dinner; you can hear pots and pans clattering in the background as she attempts some new pasta sauce she saw on Instagram. You let her chatter on for a while as you stew in your thundercloud of frustration about your PT session and your anxiety about the upcoming Nutcracker rehearsals, so you’re barely paying attention when she starts saying something about idols and boy bands.

“... can you believe it? Oh my god, I hope it’s like… Jimin, or Taemin! I would probably pass out if I saw them at rehearsal, though.”

“Huh? What’s this about passing out at rehearsal?” 

Kazuha tsks. “Were you not listening to me? I just told you the company has invited a male idol to feature in a couple of Nutcracker performances this year! It’s part of an effort to spread more appreciation for ballet among the general public, or something.”

You scoff. “The general public coming out to see the same show for a month straight doesn’t show enough appreciation for ballet?”

“Oh, come on, you know our Nutcracker sales have been down lately. I’m sure this idol thing is going to shoot them through the roof, though.” Kazuha sighs dreamily. “I hope I get his signature, whoever it is.”

“Whatever. As long as he doesn’t drag our rehearsals down,” you mutter.

“It’s supposed to be someone with at least a little bit of a ballet background, and all idols dance, so he can’t be that bad.”

“What is he even going to do? Dance with the studio company kids? He’s going to look so out of place.” You laugh to yourself, picturing some fully grown man amongst a throng of young ballet students. “Not my problem, I guess. Hey, I’m going to get on the train, but I’ll see you on Monday for rehearsals, yeah?”

“Happy Nutcracker season!” Kazuha sings gleefully.

“Happy Nutcracker season,” you echo, though you’re much more subdued. It’s not like you can really complain— you’re lucky enough to be one of two ballerinas in the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy this Nutcracker season. Lucky, because you tore an ankle ligament six months ago, and the company still entrusted you with the role. It’s your third time dancing it, but the pressure feels more intense than ever; Nutcracker sales have been down lately, and more than that, you know everyone is watching to see how you’ll perform after your injury.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, pulling you out of your mental checklist of things you need to bring to rehearsal on Monday. An email from your ballet company’s assistant manager sits at the top of your screen; probably a reminder to shut the doors properly when entering and exiting the building as the weather gets colder. You tap at the notification just to get rid of it, but you’re surprised to see your name pop up near the top of the email.

Looking forward to Nutcracker rehearsals… blah blah blah… something about an exciting collaboration…. ah, there it is. “This year, we are pleased to welcome Park Sunghoon from ENHYPEN as a special guest in The Nutcracker,” you read under your breath. “He will dance the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier, alongside— motherfucker. You’ve gotta be kidding me.” That’s your name. 

Visions of a perfect Nutcracker season leading to your dream role as Odette/Odile in next year’s production of Swan Lake come crashing down on you in an instant. The only thing you can think of is: Who the fuck is Park Sunghoon?

find my friends: don’t leave xx break version (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, and niki)

sunghoon: RISE AND SHINE MY BEAUTIFUL BEST FRIENDS

heeseung: kys

sunoo: jeez what crawled into your bed and died

heeseung: i did. i am.

jake: don’t mind him he was gaming until like 5am lmao

jungwon: what’s up sunghoon? usually u only call urself beautiful…

niki: LMFAO GET WRECKED

sunghoon: how is that getting wrecked? i AM beautiful

jay: okay anyways! is this about that press release about you doing ballet

sunghoon: jay MY ONE AND ONLY UNIT yes that is exactly what this is about

jungwon: we’re thrilled for you

sunghoon: you don’t sound very thrilled…

jungwon: YAY SUNGHOON HYUNG YOU’RE GONNA BE SOOOO COOL WE LOVE YOU TWINKLE TOES

sunghoon: okay that’s not exactly what i was hoping for but i’ll take it

sunghoon: rehearsals start on monday i’m so EXCITED

sunoo: ur kind of cheating on us if u think about it… rehearsing with other people </3

sunghoon: first of all i see you guys like all the time 

jake: right like we’re supposed to be on a break sunghoon get out of my apartment

sunghoon: i’m literally cleaning your living room rn you ungrateful whore i can’t watch you live like this anymore

jake: that’s jay’s mess not mine

sunghoon: whatever. second of all these are BALLET dancers!!! refined elegant sophisticated ballet dancers. they are not remotely in the same league as you smelly stinky gross losers 

niki: dude they’re just regular people they probably sweat and stink just as much as we do

jay: yo i’ve seen pictures of sunghoon’s ballet teacher from when he took lessons for ice skating… she’s a milf if i’ve ever seen one. maybe he’s still hung up on her and he’s projecting that onto all ballet dancers everywhere

sunghoon: wtf don’t put miss tatiana’s name in your dirty mouth

sunghoon: also i’m ngl the dancer who’s going to be my partner is a hottie lol

sunoo: never say the word hottie ever again

heeseung: please god LET ME SLEEEEEEEEP

Against your will, Monday arrives exactly on time. So, too, does Park Sunghoon, whom you don’t even notice in the middle of your stretches.

He notices you, of course. He had looked you up as soon as he heard the news, but all he could find was a perfunctory biography of you on the ballet company’s website and a private Instagram account. In your headshot on the website, you had appeared dignified and serious in black-and-white. In person, you seem… frustrated. A grunt escapes you when you go on pointe for the first time in a few days, and your eyebrows seem permanently furrowed as you go through the motions of various stretches. 

Still, your mastery of your profession is undeniable. Sunghoon watches from a corner of the cavernous studio as you and at least fifty other dancers are led through a series of warm-ups by someone who he thinks is the ballet mistress, accompanied by a live pianist hidden from sight by the tall back of the piano. Sunghoon’s eyes meticulously follow the lines of your arms and legs through tendus and jeté rond de jambes; the repetitive movements draw him into something of a trance, and he’s reminded of adjusting the tilt of his head over and over again to match his members, and even further back in his memory, he thinks of endless circles around the ice skating rink. Truthfully, he’s not sure if he has ever made the motion of his body look as beautiful as you do.

He feels like he hardly blinks before thirty minutes have gone by, and then everyone is dispersing for a short break. He spots a petite ballerina approach you and whisper something in your ear; that’s Sieun, he thinks, based on his deep dive into the company’s website. He doesn’t have much time to continue matching faces to pictures and names, though, because your eyes meet his for the first time just then, and he can feel himself shrinking underneath your steely gaze.

By the time you’ve approached him and greeted him and his manager, you’ve gotten your expression under control. You are no longer looking at him like the dirt beneath your shoe, so that’s progress. He hopes.

After the customary round of introductions, Sunghoon bows to you again. “Thank you in advance for your guidance and support,” he says robotically. 

“Of course,” you respond, equally as robotic. 

The ballet mistress comes over at that point, so it’s another round of introductions. Sunghoon takes the time to peek at you out of the corner of his eye, flitting his gaze over the neutral set of your mouth, which belies the impatient tapping of your right index finger against your left wrist behind your back. 

Sunghoon tunes back in when the ballet mistress begins talking about his schedule for the day. “You will watch us complete the morning class, so that you may get a feeling for the movements you will need to learn. Afterwards, I will assess you in a personal session, and I will pair you with one of our studio company students to start you on the basics. At the end of the day, you will meet us back here, where you can watch one of our Cavaliers demonstrate the pas de deux with the other Sugar Plum Fairy, as that is what you will be doing in ten weeks’ time.” The ballet mistress claps her hands. “Any questions?”

Sunghoon resists the urge to raise his hand; that would be so dorky. “Um, yeah— where’s the bathroom?”

The look you give him could wilt flowers.

Sunghoon barely sees you for the rest of the week, although he’s not sure if that’s due to your schedule or his. Some teenage kids from the ballet school who remind him of Riki when they first met are putting him through his paces; Sunghoon re-learns basic ballet steps five hours a day, every day. An additional hour every day is spent stretching and strengthening his muscles to a level of flexibility he has never approached before, and the final hour of every day is spent in a personal teaching session with the ballet mistress. It’s the most exhausting thing he has done in a long, long time.

In the hour that he gets off for lunch, he tries to look for you in the various hallways and studios in the building. Sometimes, he spots the back of your head as you’re entering or exiting the building, but so far, he hasn’t found a good opportunity to actually talk to you.

He gets lucky on Friday afternoon, just as he’s about to leave for the day. It’s technically after hours, but you’re still in the big studio where he met you on the first day. Sunghoon has watched enough videos and actual rehearsals of The Nutcracker to know that you are not dancing any of your Sugar Plum Fairy parts in it. In fact, he’s certain that you are dancing something entirely otherworldly.

The song is hauntingly beautiful, as are your movements. He watches as you fold forward on the floor, one leg extended in front of you and the other tucked underneath you. Your arms flutter down to your extended leg, which then sweeps behind you as you rise to straighten your torso, and then your back arches so that you fold backwards. Notwithstanding the physical prowess of it all, he’s more shocked by the look of exquisite joy on your face, and the way it transforms into wrenching sorrow as you bend forward again and sweep your arms across the floor. He continues watching until the very end, transfixed by the intense emotion in your expression and in each of your movements; he doesn’t realize he’s crying until it’s over, and you’re folding forward on the ground again, arms quivering to a stop at your toes.

It feels like watching a dying thing; some creature far too magnificent for this world leaving it, at last.

The applause that bursts from his hands is instinctual. Your head jerks toward his direction immediately, so he waves awkwardly. Somewhere in between him wiping at his eyes and trying to figure out what he’s going to say to you, you make your way to stand in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing here? Wait— are you crying?” You come in much closer to see for yourself, which certainly does not help him feel less nervous.

“I, uh, yeah… It’s been a long week,” he offers weakly.

You uncross your arms as you pat his shoulder, also a little awkwardly. “It’s always hardest when you start again after not having danced in a long time,” you say. The words are generic, but you’re not sure what else to say to him. The last thing you expected to see today was Park Sunghoon tearing up in front of you. 

“Yeah, for sure.” He clears his throat. “But, um, to be honest… I was just watching you dance, and I guess I was, like, moved to tears?” He laughs at himself. “You’re really good. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

You flush from the unexpected praise. “Oh, well, thanks. The dance is called The Dying Swan; you can look it up on Youtube if you’re interested. It’s supposed to portray a swan in its last moments, so it can be quite… emotional.” You have to look away from his admiring gaze. “I’m… glad you liked it.”

“Liked it?” He scoffs. “I literally cried because of it. Seriously, I didn’t even know anything about it, and I could tell that it was incredible.”

You make a face at him. “Thank you, but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.” When he tilts his head at you in confusion, you’re surprised to find the sight a little bit cute. “I’m not really good at accepting compliments,” you explain. “Comes with the territory, I think.”

“Always expecting critiques instead, right?” He chuckles at your surprised look. “I was a professional ice skater before I became an idol trainee, so I know a little bit about the endless pursuit of perfection.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Is that where your ballet background comes from? Ice skating?”

“Yeah, but this week has made me question whether I really deserve to call it a ballet background.” He frowns in the form of a pout; cute, again. “These kids who are, like, maybe 15 years old are absolutely kicking my ass.” 

Unexpectedly, that makes you laugh, and he smiles automatically in return. “The studio company kids will do that to you,” you say as you start to untie your pointe shoes. “The advantages of being young, I guess.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore in my entire life.” He winces when he hears your hip pop in a stretch. “Yep, I’ve heard that too many times this week.”

It’s silent as you finish your stretches. He takes the time to work out his next move in his head— what’s the best way to express to someone that you want to have a good working relationship with them, but you also think they’re really cool and pretty, and you’re also a little terrified by them, and you also want to learn from them? 

He ends up going with, “So, do you have any dinner plans?” 

You pause in the middle of zipping your bag. “I’m going to PT for my ankle right now.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were hurt!”

“Relax, Sunghoon. Injuries are fairly common in ballet, as they were in skating, I’m sure.” You sigh. He looks so forlorn and apologetic that you find yourself adding, “But I could have dinner afterwards, if you don’t mind a later start. And as long as you’re paying with that idol money, pretty boy.” You wink at him to let him know you’re just teasing, in the hopes that it’ll get him to loosen up, but he seems to only get more flustered as a result. 

“No problem,” he ekes out. He’s just glad he didn’t stutter. “I’ll text you a place, then?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have my number.”

“Riiiight.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly. “Uh, do you want me to, like, email you instead…?”

“Oh my god, who knew you were such a dork.” You roll your eyes and hand him your phone. “Just put in your contact info. What would your fans think if they could see you now?”

Sunghoon huffs. “I don’t give my number out to just anyone, you know.” He squints at you. “Wait, you’re not secretly a sasaeng or something, right?”

“Do I look—”

He surprises you by laughing. “Relax,” he repeats. “Just teasing.” He winks, too, for good measure. It’s more charming than you had expected; that, combined with having your actions thrown back at you, is how you justify the sudden heat creeping up your neck.

“Whatever. Bring your wallet!”

[superwhateverthoughts]

Dressing En Pointe: A Night at the Ballet

In a world where fashion meets fantasy, every day is a pas de deux waiting to be danced.

By Yuri

While summer to-do's are endless, there was only one thing on my winter bucket list this year: attend the opening night of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker. I'd decided long ago it was my girlish rite of passage to get done up and go to the ballet one day– and this was the ballet.

Not to mention, I already owned the dress– a vintage, blush pink Diane Freis, ruffled, cut on the bias, and embellished with subtle sequins and floral appliques… At the time, it was a frivolous purchase (one I couldn’t afford), but I didn’t care. It was the kind of dress that paid you back tenfold, because it inspired you to be a woman with reason to wear it. You’re allowed one of those purchases when you first move to New York.

And so, I reserved my ticket at the box office, bunched fistfuls of silk at my hips, and practically pirouetted my way down the subway steps en route to the Lincoln Center.

The show itself was mesmerizing– and the night was a reminder that sometimes the most beautiful dreams are the ones we wear on our sleeves.