#there’s like no reason for him to moonwalk for a live but i think he should lol the bat fans will go stoopid for it lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sichengtual · 4 years ago

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— summary: wanting to make his big break as a song-writer, jun gets assigned to work with a band that has every intent on making it big. but it’s the 70’s, and just as he’s about to discover, love and rock&roll go hand in hand.

— pairing: wen junhui x reader.

— au: 70’s, song-writer!jun, rockstar!reader.

— genre: fluff.

— word count: 15, 273 (15.2k)

— playlist: somebody to love — queen ; your song — elton john ; where you lead — carole king ; tiny dancer — elton john.

— warnings: alcohol consumption, some cursing, josh saying groovy every time he speaks.

— a/n: a part of me really wishes i was living in the 70′s and i think it shows here lol also, the moonwalker is inspired on the troubadour and the song jun writes is tiny dancer because it carried me the entire way, what an mvp.

this one’s for @chocosvt ! i really hope you like it <3

Jun is nervous.

The tapping of his feet against the cold, faux tiled floor produces no audible sound over the music coming from the speakers, but it’s still noticeable to him. He tries to keep a steady pace, even counting along to the beat as he plays the same words over and over inside his head. It’s his own voice speaking back at him, words a mere reminder, and, if he were to be completely honest, part of the reason behind his nerves.

He had promised you, on the very first day he met you, that he’d help you shine. That he’d make you succeed. Part a rush of the moment, part wanting to impress his boss and part a reassurance for himself, his promise had been easy to make. Then. And it’s not that he doubts himself, or you, but, at the end of the day, he’s a 24 year old making his debut in the music industry. And it’s hard, of course, because even when he’s not the one performing, it’s still his words that are being sung.

Doing what he does is harder than people usually think. Jun’s lyrics are heart-felt, authentic, with his entire soul poured on the paper and ready to be dissected by whoever got to listen to the songs he wrote. He surrenders it to the artist, basically giving up any kind and sort of hold he has over the feelings he’s just reflected, giving them away for someone else to interpret them the way they want. The way they can. And as difficult as it is sometimes, it’s part of the job, and all that he can hope for is for them to be interpreted in the most authentic way possible. It’s hard, definitely, but after years and years of trying, he knows that having them expressed are way better than keeping them in.

Following the loud bang of a drum, he looks around as he keeps the pace with his foot. The entire room smells like entrapped smoke, and warm coffee, and it looks somewhat like it too. There’s a thick, almost translucent layer of fog-like smoke hanging on the air, slowly rising to the ceiling as minutes keep passing. There’s also a big arrangement of paper cups, both full and empty, resting on all possible surfaces around him, almost reflecting the passing of time in their placement; 8 in the morning on the desks, 2 in the evening on the equipment luggage, and a few hours past midnight on some parts of the floor.

The practice room is a dimly-lit space, with a few round, orange and yellow glass lamps hanging on the ceiling and set a few meters apart, barely even enough to illuminate the entire room. In the evening, the last few rays of sunshine manage to break through the high set windows, reflecting on the tinged glass and breaking upon the dark purple walls in bright, warm shades of orange.

He hasn’t been there a lot, only a few days since he had arrived for the first stop of the tour, but as he sets his eyes on it, he can’t help but think it almost resembles a sunset. He can see the colors, the exact same ones that paint over the sky just as the night is about to fall down, and it serves to help him ease a little bit. Sunsets, even the ones reflected upon the walls of a world tour practice room, are the same all around.

“Why are you still getting it wrong? It’s all about the groove, man,” Josh whines. He’s sitting on a small wooden stool, his guitar propped up on his knee.

“I don’t know, Josh, I’m the one that wrote this riff and for some reason I just can’t play it correctly again!”

“Beginner’s luck,” Chan comments, not really involved in the argument, but never one to pass the opportunity to strike a joke. He looks down to tune down his guitar once Mingyu turns to give him a stare.

“That doesn’t make sense, I’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, it certainly doesn't seem like it! Just try to make it groovy!”

He’s still getting used to the band.

They’re a nice group of people; kind, loud and boisterous, but that’s just every band he knows. Having worked in the label for years, he’s used to seeing bands come and go, submitting his songs with no much more room for interaction left other than a Jun, they liked it! coming from his boss on the good days (the bad days are different, a little less remarkable, but they’re the ones he tries not to think about). This, his first time on the road with one of them, is a completely new experience, and if it wasn’t for finally seeing his dream beginning to get on track, it’d be one that would probably have him shaking in fear.

But they’re warm, laid-back and easy to talk to, which he appreciates, knowing he’s not the best at initiating conversations... or maintaining them. He had felt intimidated at first, looking into a group of rising rock stars from the outlook of someone who’s just as into their world as he’s out of it, standing somewhere between the line that divides the outside and the inside. But he’s entering, just walking in and slowly stepping his toes on the water; and he’s doing it by the side of people he’s glad he can finally get to call his friends.

“Jun, could you possibly tell Mingyu he’s been playing the wrong note the entire time?”

“Yeah Josh, I already know I’ve been playing it wrong.”

“Please stop fighting so we can practice!” Soonyoung says from his spot on the drums, backed up with a nod from Vernon, the bassist looking surprisingly bored at the altercation.

“Can you tell him to play the right note this time? And remember, make it groovy!”

He hadn’t heard the door opening, but you’re walking in the room just he finally tears his gaze from Josh’s bright red guitar. You turn to give him a smile, one he quickly returns, before turning back to the two bickering guitarists. He turns to look at the set playlist, with his name carefully penned down below all fifteen songs, and he tells himself that, despite his nerves, he might just be perfectly ready for the tour to start.

“Are you okay? You looked a little distracted today.”

The diner is quiet.

There’s really not much movement, with only another customer besides him inside the small establishment. He can focus on the clinging of his spoon as he moves it around in his cup, light, creamy bellows of steam rising as the aftermath of the ripples he creates on the dark liquid. The coffee really isn’t great, tasting a bit tangy against his tongue, even after he had added a small packet of sugar to try and ease the bitterness of the beverage. If he focuses enough, he can even make out a light buzz coming from the neon lights advertising the diner in the street, sound low but crisp against the pouring rain.

It’s cold, and a part of him really regrets coming to the diner straight out of practice without going to his room first. He had just needed to write, and to do that, he needed silence. He runs a hand up and down his left arm, the coolness from his rings perceivable even through the thick wool of his shirt.

He looks up, the ripples inside his cup long forgotten.

You’re standing in front of him, looking just as tired as he feels, with a completely different stance than the one you usually show inside the practice room. Or on the stage. It’s relaxed, at ease, a little shy, even, and he can’t help but wonder if, behind the whole rockstar facade, maybe the two of you aren’t really that different.

You take a seat in the chair in front of him, the laminated red seat squeaking as response to the movement.

“Huh?” He lets out.

“At practice,” you move, trying to get comfortable in the cold, plastic chair. “You looked a little distracted. Everything okay?”

Jun shrugs, smiling softly. “It’s just nerves, I think.”

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Jun smile, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. And, in complete honesty, it was the first time it had been completely directed at you. He had always been a little quiet, ever since he was first introduced as the “new song-writer” by the label director, and, because of the chaos that naturally ensued whenever surrounded by the entire band, your interactions with Jun had been few and far-between.

Here’s what you’ve managed to learn about him in the months you’ve known him: he likes to be alone when he writes, but he can also do it when sitting as far away from the speakers as possible. He likes drinking his coffee with both sugar and cream, and even if he doesn’t drink too much of it, he always finds a way to spill even a little bit, be it on his shirt or somewhere near his notebook (which has been the cause of many scares inside the practice room). He keeps a pen in his shirt pocket at all times, whether it be for writing down an incoming idea wherever he found or for clicking the seconds away whenever he got nervous.

And he’s surprisingly shy about his lyrics, even when he sounds completely confident in them. You can tell, whenever you’re given them to sing them, that they are words he’s proud of; words that came from his heart as bits and pieces of the most beautiful poetry you’ve ever read. And they’re always accompanied by a small, shy smile and the slight reddening of his cheeks.

“I know what you mean,” you say. You call the waiter just as Jun takes a sip from his coffee, not missing the slight purse of his lips as he swallows down the warm beverage. “I’m nervous too.”

“You don’t seem to be,” he comments. He looks back down at his coffee, hand still making circles with the spoon. “Whenever you sing, it’s like you’re completely used to it. It feels as if it were something you’ve always done, something you know like the back of your hand. And still… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you’re thrilled by it, even more so every day.”

Jun looks up at you, hiding his words behind a smile. You don’t notice, too busy ordering a cup of chamomile tea to make anything of the way he’s staring at you from the other side of the table.

“It’s amazing what putting on a brave face can do, then,” you answer. “I love being on stage. It’s just nerve wracking to think about it when I’m not there. It’s like Mingyu not being able to get his own riff right unless he’s playing in front of a live crowd.”

“Oh, please don’t remind me of the riff incident. Joshua’s voice hasn’t left my head the entire day.”

Rain continues falling. You can hear some melody coming from the speakers, which, even when it feels completely unfamiliar, makes Jun’s sway to the side as he rests his head on his hand. Maybe he knows it.

“I hope it’s not a bad sign,” Jun mentions, pointing to the window with his thumb. “Starting the tour with a little bit of rain.”

“Seungkwan was talking about that earlier, too,” you say, thinking back of the keyboardist’s words from before you left the practice room. “But you know, if anything, I think it might be a good sign.”

Jun purses his lips, head moving to the side. His fingers move across the table, fiddling with the empty sugar packet he had used. The bright pink paper shines bright against his hands, fluorescent yellow light reflecting from outside. It captures his eyes, and yours, and for a brief second, the both of you are stuck on watching how the packet’s shadow grows whenever Jun moves it around his fingers. It reminds you of him with the pen, a mere distraction. Or maybe just a way for him to set his ideas in order.

You can tell he’s still a bit hesitant about the interaction, not knowing if they’re nerves at talking about the tour or just nerves at talking to you. As soon as he looks up from his hands, you give him a smile.

“It’s a bit of a fresh start, isn’t it? And I think, right now, that’s what we all need.”

As much as Jun wants to say he’s not surprised at the turn-out, his eyes are wide open at the influx of people coming through the doors.

His heart beats loud against his chest as he looks down at the stage, empty of people but perfectly set with an array of instruments that are only waiting to be lit alive. The entire place is full of chatter; the ever-growing excitement of a crowd begging to be enchanted by an unknown performance. Up from his spot at the balcony, he can’t make out what they’re saying but he doesn’t miss how they’re saying it: and the pure excitement in their voices draws a chill from his spine.

It’s a scene like the ones he’s been hearing about for years. Like the ones he’s been dreaming of witnessing, of being a part of it. And now he’s in one, not only as an spectator, but as the man behind the words.

“It’s amazing, don’t you think? Or as Josh would say, incredibly groovy.”

Seungcheol, the band’s manager, asks as he walks into the balcony. Him and Jun went way back, much more than anyone else in their group besides the band themselves. They were the new generation, the young dreamers at the office that were only waiting to be given a shot to prove themselves. They had been hired at the same time, both meant to work with a completely different artist that had ended up not taking them because of how young they were.

They had built up their experience together, and it had been those late-night talks at the label’s office that made Jun able to call Seungcheol his friend, powered through by cheap coffee and tired conversations full of laughter. And they’re only part of the reason why Jun always refers to Seungcheol as a long-lost brother more than a newly found friend.

“It’s almost sold out!” Seungcheol continues. He’s wearing a dark pin-stripe suit, as he always is whenever he’s on official business. His hair is slicked back, and his usual pair of gold wire-frame glasses rest on top of his nose, specs perfectly clean. “People keep walking in and walking in and walking in! It’s almost as if they’re the freaking Rolling Stones and not a band barely making their debut. Is that Hoshi or is it Charlie Watts on the drums?”

“It’s the Monday night show, it’s a guaranteed success,” Jun mutters. He knows Seungcheol would be able to see past his facade, to make out the true meaning of his words. Three years after meeting him, there isn’t much he can hide from him. “I’m happy for them, though. The first night’s important.”

“Yeah, me too,” Seungcheol smiles. “Vernon’s been freaking out in the backstage since he started hearing the crowd coming in. He’s just staring at his bass and Hoshi’s about to smack his head with his drumsticks.”

“They’re gonna do amazing. If Mingyu gets his riff right, that is.”

“And everybody’s gonna love the songs,” Seungcheol says, pressing a gentle palm on Jun’s shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed he was shaking. “If only they knew the stud that wrote them. I bet they’d even like looking at those nice bell bottoms you’re wearing. Since when do you like purple pants?”

“I bet they’re gonna prefer looking at Mingyu,” Jun laughs before Seungcheol does, and it almost distracts him from his surroundings. “Or even Josh. And Minghao gave me the pants, by the way.”

“Or even Josh,” Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head as he looks away from his friend.

“Groovy,” Jun says.

“Groovy,” his friend responds.

Jun’s nerves have calmed down by the time the lights fall down.

A half-empty beer bottle looks over the crowd, sitting immediately next to the balcony’s railing. He notices an entirely new atmosphere now that the room is only barely lit, as if the lights falling had only served to heighten the people’s emotions. It’s almost as if they’re in a different place altogether, with expectating hanging high in the air and out of everyone’s reach.

The Moonwalker they had walked in, just a few hours before, barely resembles the Moonwalker they’re in right now.

It had been lit by the natural light coming from the windows, bouncing over the wood-covered walls and reflecting over the little trinkets that served to adorn them. They had been the highlight of the place, attracting the eyes of everyone that entered to the rows and rows of pictures and memorabilia. What was that hanging over the bar, Bob Dylan’s hat? Jun had only been more impressed by the bright neon sign that spelled the bar’s name right on the center of the stage, after seeing it on newspaper cuttings for most of his life.

A few days back, when Seungcheol had told him of the gig they had landed the band through a friend of his girlfriend (bless you Lily!), Jun almost couldn’t believe his words. The bright blue cursive sign had been the first thing that had come to mind, consuming his thoughts as a sort of finish line at the end of a marathon. It wasn’t only the bar’s trademark, it was also the backdrop of some of the most amazing debuts in modern rock n’ roll history. And now, looking at it shining brightly against the low-lit room, a part of him still can’t believe he might be about to see one of them with his own two eyes.

He had heard of concert nights on the Moonwalker the same way he had heard the stories of the great mythic heroes. He had seen pictures the same way he had learned of iconic places and happenings. He remembers spending entire nights finding motivation in the dream of listening to his songs being played in the exact same place some of his favorite songs had been presented, of them finally finding their home within the same crowd that had once listened to The Byrds and Carole King.

And as you walk onto the stage, commanding attention with each step, Jun is sure tonight is going to become one of those. And that it’s his songs that will be sung back by the crowd, resounding against the walls and enveloping the entire place in their meaning.

The band had already been introduced by the club owner, but no one had actually turned to pay attention until you had walked on stage. You’re met by countless excited bellowings, a smile on your face forming at the sudden attention.

“We hope you enjoy the show!”

The rest of the band follows, and Jun is struck by a thought. Words materialize in his head as if prompted by the first few notes, threading together into a complete, coherent phrase. It’s a phrase Jun knows. He might have heard it from someone, or read it from somewhere, and it’s stuck in his brain the same way the bridge of the song you’re singing once was. Or maybe it was just something someone had once told him.

He knows that there are moments in an artist’s life that will define their career. Moments that let you know how it's gonna go. A preview of sorts. And he knows, looking at you shining under the spotlight, that he’s just witnessed something big.

The entire crowd has gone wild at the music, and Jun knows it’s only the beginning.

For now, he just smiles, and like the people dancing down below, he lets himself go.

The party is in full-swing by the time Jun walks in.

The house itself is small, one story and a few rooms that hold a big part of the party-goers. He can tell it’s usually used as a holiday residence, not exactly a place of staying but merely a place of passing, because every single thing that’s visible doesn’t really have a function different from simply looking good. The entire place is covered in small, colorful trinkets that look like they’re part of some random collection that everyone always sees but no one actually ever looks at.

It’s truly a rock-star’s house, because, really, nothing about it makes sense.

Countless bookshelves rest against the colorfully draped walls, an array of uneven, colorful wallpapers shining under the light of the multiple glass chandeliers, but not a single book is visible to the eye. The floor itself is a great quality wood, but everything’s hidden below a series of fuzzy rugs that somehow match the randomness of the wallpapers.

The music changes slightly as he keeps walking, an entire ensemble of genres, styles and decades all the product of a number of record players playing simultaneously all over the house. All of them are playing a completely different thing, but somehow it all blends into one cohesive beat. Jun could go into the technicalities behind it and say it’s probably in the beats per minute, or could maybe go somewhere into the meaning behind the lyrics, but for now, he just lets himself get immersed into the scene.

The party doesn’t resemble anything he had lived before, or even heard of. And it’s full of people.

The entire team (band and staff alike) had been invited to an after-party held by some music executive that’s friends with the owner of the club. It happened every monday after the show, they had said, entertaining executives, artists, and club-goers alike. And no one really cared who was which as long as there was music playing all around them.

“Jesus, is that Billy Joel?” Seungcheol asks as he walks closely behind Jun. The two of them and Minghao, the band’s stylist, had been the last to leave for the party, having to stay behind to finish the last of the arrangements that followed a successful concert at the Moonwalker, with the rest of you leaving with some of the club’s crew. “Guys, I think that’s Billy Jo- jesus, he’s talking to Chan and Seungkwan.”

“Of course he’d be talking to Chan and Seungkwan, they probably went right to him when they saw him,” Minghao says. “Hey, can you see Vernon around?”

“He’s probably sitting somewhere next to the drinks or something. Or maybe he’s outside, I think there’s a live band playing somewhere out there,” Jun comments.

“Damn, should’ve booked us too for that, right?” Seungcheol says, laughing with the words.

“Don’t you rather just enjoy the party and forget about performing for a bit?” Minghao questions. Out of the corner of his eye, Jun can see Seungkwan and Chan walking away from the group of people they had been talking to, probably on their way outside for some fresh air. “The guys seem to be having a great time. Let go for a bit, Cheol! Let’s enjoy this whole rockstar life even if it’s just for tonight!”

He can hear Mingyu’s laugh coming from somewhere nearby, even if his eyes can’t locate the tall guitar player. He’s surprised he can hear him, with how low his laugh usually is and how high the music is playing, but once Seungcheol points him out in the crowd, he’s only a few steps away. He’s entertaining a large group of people, with Joshua smiling by his side, the both of them holding two glasses of what looks like beer.

It’s no surprise the two of them would like to be around the growing crowd, with how easily they seem to be able to strike a conversation with whoever walks by. He had known them to be sociable, in comparison with some like Vernon, Minghao or himself. It’s still a bit surprising, though, how in control they seem to be of a conversation held with people they probably didn’t know five minutes ago.

“I’m gonna go find us something to drink,” Seungcheol says, patting Jun on the back before walking away with Minghao closely following his steps.

And Jun is left alone. Still, in a house full of people, he sticks his hands in the front bottom of his purple jeans. They had really been Minghao’s suggestion, along with the slick yellow button up and a pair of red boots. It was comfy, and Seungcheol had assured him he really did look good, so he hadn’t dwelled much on it when leaving the hotel room.

He debates joining Mingyu and Joshua’s crowd for a second, but the growing scent of tobacco and beer has him making his way to the door after he raises his hand in a greeting. Josh manages to signal him to the backyard before Jun leaves, and he wonders whether he’s simply pointing in the direction of the live band, or Vernon, or you.

As he walks outside, bumping bodies with a never-ceasing crowd, he discovers it’s the later. The outside of the house is just as impressive as the inside, or, as he finds once he begins to look around, even more.

The entire yard (or at least the part that’s closest to the house) has been decked in continuous rows of fairy lights, hanging from the trees like a mere reproduction of the constellations shining up above. There are at least five campfires, all surrounded by people holding guitars or dancing along to the songs being played by a live band nearby. Their silhouettes are reflected on the ground, a product of the blazing fire, and it’s almost like they’re dancing with the people themselves, more than being a plain reflection of them.

It’s almost like a scene taken right out of a move, only livelier than any he could ever think of.

Jun finds you with your back against a tree, sitting cross-legged on a furry carpet, completely enthralled in the music. There’s a series of carpets draped all over the grass, the exact same kind he saw inside, completing the part of the scene that connects both places. As he walks over to you, he wonders where the rest of the band is, with you being alone in the backyard, until he sees Seungkwan and Chan, still hanging close together, sitting a few feet away with what he assumes is another group. A part of him is thankful at the seeming privacy, finding a bit odd how comfortable he is in the middle of a growing crowd when just a few minutes ago he had felt overwhelmed by the loneliness behind it. But then he turns to look at you, smiling carelessly even with your eyes closed, and he knows it’s not a product of the environment.

It's because of you.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” Jun says, making sure to fall as carefully as possible as he sits down next to you. “Tonight was amazing. Truly, got me tearing up at all.”

“You’ve got your own lyrics to thank for that, mister,” you say, followed by a laugh. You’re still in your concert outfit, although wearing a pair of sneakers as opposed to the platform shoes that had been paired up with the colorful overalls. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t the only one tearing up tonight. I think Hoshi even cried a bit himself.”

“He probably cried at the crowd making tiger claws back at him more than he did at the lyrics.”

“Yeah, Vernon told him not to do it but he did it anyway!”

“Where are those two, by the way?”

“Somewhere next to where the band is playing,” you answer. You close your eyes as you speak, resting your back against the tree. “I just wanted to get away from everything. Sometimes it’s fun to just observe from a distance.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve been looking at life from a distance for so long, sometimes I forget what it is to actually be living it. I guess it makes for some interesting lyrics though, so it’s been kind of worth it, at least in that way,” Jun says, smiling at you even when you don’t see him. He moves closer to you as he hugs his knees to his chest, feeling the top of your shoulder brush against his. “I think coming with you guys on tour might change that.”

“It’s the rock-star life, huh?” You smile, and Jun can’t help but notice it’s a mirroring of his own smile. In some way, it looks just as vulnerable. He looks away when he feels his cheeks heat up. “You know, you’re much different from what I thought you were when I used to see you at the office.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. I just know I really like talking to you. Every day, I really look forward to being around you,” you laugh, and when he turns to look back at you, you’re finally looking at him again. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Wen Junhui.”

“Says the rock-star,” he laughs. He’s smiling, holding his knees as close to his chest as he can manage as he tries to hide his fluester in his body language. Not that it’s working, anyways. “I’m just some guy.”

“You’re the most interesting guy I’ve ever met.”

You shake your head, and by the way your eyes set on the sky, Jun isn’t completely sure if you’re talking to him or if you’re simply talking to the stars, trying to set your story in the skies for the entire world to see. It makes him smile even wider, anyways.

“I wonder which one shines brighter. From down here, they look almost the same. But maybe it’s just the distance that taints our perspective,” you mutter, pointing to the lights on the trees.

“I’d like to think it’s the stars,” Jun comments. “When I was a kid, I always enjoyed watching them. I’d find patterns and have them in my head for weeks as a sort of picture out of a coloring book. Somehow, the stars always seemed to have the answers to every single question that would run through my head, even when miles away.”

“You speak like that and call yourself ‘some guy’,” you laugh. “It’s always poetry coming out of your lips, and I’d listen to every single bit of it.”

The conversation stops, but silence never envelops the both of you, because there is music all around. And there are people dancing, so when you lose focus on each other and gian it in your surroundings, their movement is everything you see. It’s almost as if they’re dancing for the two of you to watch, and neither of you notice the moment your head comes to rest in Jun’s shoulder, way too immersed in a ballet of silhouettes to make anything out of the sudden movement.

“I hope tonight was good,” you say. “It felt different from other nights, and I don’t know what it was. I’ve never felt that way when performing at home. It felt almost magical, standing there, under the limelight, in front of all those people. Maybe it’s just me, though.”

Jun shakes his head, muttering a soft no as an answer. You turn to look at each other when he starts speaking, still as close as before. But now he gets to look at you as he speaks.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you must have felt. I’m not familiar with that side of the gig,” he says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. Somehow, the beer he had drank back at the club was still making his blood run wild through his veins, cheeks reddening at the eye contact. “I wish you could’ve seen it from my eyes. Listened to it through my ears, felt what I felt the moment you started singing. I’ve never seen you shine any brighter.”

"You’ve been attending our concerts long enough. Well,if the fifteen person presentations back home even count as concerts.”

“I’ve been to all of your concerts,” he laughs. “And believe me, tonight was really special.”

“It’s the Moonwalker’s magic,” you say, and Jun turns to look at you. “You saw the place, it was special. It made it special.”

And he doesn’t know if it’s the effect of the lights shining above your head, or the remaining adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he’s sure he can hear his heart beating against his chest. He can hear it over the loud music, thumping so hard his mind goes blank, falling closer to you as he begins to lean in.

Because even when far away from the Moonwalker, he’s still smiling the same. He feels just as happy, somewhere in the backyard of a stranger’s house. The place is special, for sure, but only as much as you made it.

“It wasn’t the Moonwalker that was magical. It was you.”

And you can hear him, because even when the world around you is spinning completely out of order, his smile is still front and center in your eyes. He’s smiling at you and everything else only but circles around it.

As a new song starts playing from a record player far away, Jun kisses you under a thousand fairy lights. You’re still not sure of which one shines brighter -the artificial lights or the stars high above- but as Jun’s hand finds yours over your lap, you decide you don’t really care.

A part of you would really like to think nothing had changed after the kiss.

In reality, the two of you had been so flustered he had ran back to Seungcheol and Minghao while you went to find Vernon and Hoshi, refusing to say anything about the moment to any of them. It was part of some unofficial and unspoken deal, sealed with only a look, sparing the both of you of any kind of conversation immediately afterwards. It had been a product of the moment, of adrenaline and slight tipsiness combined with a romantic scenery, and nothing else.

That’s what you told yourself the entire night, even when questioned by Seungkwan about the sudden giddiness in your smile and the change in your gaze, slightly unfocused on the world in front of you, as if something more important was playing inside your head. As if that something was the memory of the feeling of Jun’s lips against yours, leaving your skin tingling as an aftermath of his touch. As if that something had been the way he had smiled at you right after, looking as if the affection you’d just shared was as unbelievable to him as it was to you.

In all honesty, Jun’s kiss was more than one of the many that were shared that night by the people around you. It wasn’t just a product of the moment, of adrenaline and slight tipsiness combined with a romantic scenery, because the way you had looked at each other just before your lips connected had been a long time coming. That was the product of months of unknown pining; of you looking for him as soon as you entered the office, and of him not being able to take his eyes off you as soon as he saw you walking by. It was a product in the exchange that came with you singing for the world the words he had shared with you in messy scribbles over coffee-stained paper, something about the entire thing feeling growingly intimate the thought ran through your head.

Because even when he wasn’t writing songs for you, or about you, he still trusted you with them. In your eyes, that was worth more than him signing one of them with your name on top of the page for everyone to see. And while you were sure it wasn’t an act of love (or at least not yet), you couldn’t deny it always opened the door for that possibility to walk in. Or for you to walk towards it, at least. Just like his songs, and for months on end, Jun had always been there.

Well, at least up until the night he kissed you.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional or fate making a cruel joke out of your feelings, but Jun had been avoiding you. As much as he could be avoiding you in the span of a few hours, at least.

“Wanna sit with me on the bus?”

You can’t really tell what Vernon’s wearing. He’s sitting next to you on the curb in front of the bus, a pair of sparkly sunglasses resting atop of his nose. He’s wearing a yellow hat that matches the color of his shoes, but that doesn’t really go with any of the other pieces of his outfit.

“Aren’t you gonna sit with Hao?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Vernon drinks from a styrofoam cup he has on his hand. It’s the same as yours, so it’s probably to-go coffee from the hotel’s restaurant. “He’s been trying to talk about some outfit ideas he had during the concert last night. He called it a revelation or something. I’m pretty sure Seungkwan could be of more use to that conversation than me.”

You don’t really want to sit with Vernon. And it’s not that you don’t enjoy his company, because out of everyone in the band, he’s always been the one you’re closest to. But somehow, you know sitting next to Vernon will prevent you from any chances of even talking to Jun in the next six hours until you reach the next spot. You’re not sure if he’s even actually avoiding you, but you don’t really want to be correct.

“Are you kidding? You wear this kind of outfits and you think you don’t have a sense of fashion? Vern, if anything, you’ve always been the Mick Jagger amongst all of us.”

“Okay, those stage outfits were chosen by Minghao, it wasn’t really me putting together those suits and - whatever he has me wearing all the time.”

You roll your eyes, playfully.

“Although, I guess I could use this chance to keep him from putting me in another sparkly overall like the one from last night.”

“But you were such a star! It looked pretty nifty if you ask me.”

“Keep going and I’ll tell him to find the most ridiculous hats for our next concert, just you wait!”

The rest of the band starts walking out of the hotel, Chan’s laughter pulling your attention from Vernon. As they walk next to you, you decide to ignore Hoshi’s tiger print overalls and Mingyu’s conversation of how he had met and talked to George Harrison at the party once Joshua had walked away from him.

“I don’t believe George Harrison would ever like to be entertained by your presence, Gyu. There were definitely groovier people to be around last night.”

“It’s not my fault you decided talking to Seungcheol was more important than stickin’ around, we literally see the guy every day.”

“Hey, I’m your manager!” Seungcheol wines from the hotel door, walking behind a groggy Seungkwan.

“Yeah, we literally see you every day,” Mingyu retorts. He has one foot on the bus steps, only turning to argue with the eldest. “Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you so often, with all your random hair-do’s.”

“Can it and get in, we’re late anyways. Everyone keep steppin’!”

“The only reason we’re late is because you couldn’t stop talking to your girlfriend on the phone,” Mingyu lets out before climbing in, somehow managing to avoid getting yelled at yet again.

You get up after Vernon, following him into the bus as soon as Mingyu, Josh and Seungcheol had gotten in. You’d seen Seungkwan, Hoshi and Chan passing by, and quickly found them sitting together near a small kitchen area.

The bus itself isn’t much different from others you’ve seen, with rows of faux leather seats set one after the other along the central aisle. All the way to the back there’s an area with what looks like a small bed, a door leading to a tight bathroom and a small kitchen space consisting of two cabinets and a microwave. And every single thing is either muted yellow or a dark orange, making the entire espace look probably smaller than it actually is. It’s comfortable enough, though.

“Hey, Vern, come here,” Minghao calls from one of the seats. He’s resting his back against the window, with his feet on the couch and his knees pulled close to his chest. A small notepad rests on top of them, having only looked up from his sketches to greet the bassist. “Let me show you what I’ve been thinking of. I swear, the setting of the Moonwalker gave me so much clarity on what I want to put all of you guys in for the rest of the tour.”

“Hao, give Josh a groovy Bob Dylan inspired hat!”

“You wear the damn Bob Dylan inspired hat if you want, see how groovy it looks on your head.”

Vernon looks at you to give you a small smile before sitting down next to Minghao as you walk past, stealing one of Hoshi’s snacks before plopping down on the seat behind him. You shift in your seat, hearing the slick material of the seat squeaking against the courness of your jeans. You quickly look at the small smiling daisies Minghao had painted with black markers all over the light surface, making for an interesting pattern when looked at from far away. Your fingers trace over the figures as you rest your head on the window, closing your eyes until you feel someone coming to sit right next to you. You had quickly placed your book on the seat when sitting down, but you find it on top of Jun’s lap as you see it’s him who’s by your side.

“What an interesting thing to be reading!” He exclaims, looking at the beat up copy of On The Road. “You’re a Kerouac fan?”

“You’ve read Kerouac?” You ask.

Jun smiles. “Of course not,” he says, before breaking into a laugh. He doesn’t give you the book back, but turns it to read the back cover. “Read to me? It will keep us both entertained.”

Without focusing too carefully on it, you can hear the distinct crisp sound of Joshua’s guitar coming from the front of the bus, and can make out the first notes of the Stairway to Heaven solo. It sounds better than you’ve heard him play, most likely the product of constant practice. But it all disappears when you turn to look at Jun.

Smiling at you, Jun lets you straighten up on your seat before placing his head on your shoulder as he hands you the copy. You’re surprised by how familiar it feels, and feel your lips curling up at the memory of doing the exact same thing the night before.

And you know that things have changed from the kiss, because now you’re not able to ignore the feeling in your chest that arises when Jun takes your hand in his. And you can only wonder if he feels the same, because he lets out a soft sigh the minute you tighten the grip, nuzzling his cheek against the fuzzy fabric of your corduroy jacket.

Smiling at his touch, your eyes start glazing over the print as you begin to read.

“I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up…”

The dinner lounge of the second hotel is much fancier than the first one.

The entire place looks like it’s been draped in velvet, every single ridge looking as smooth as a crease in the fabric. There’s a combination of wooden panels and wall-height mirrors adorning the walls, only interrupted by the golden frames of the windows. A dome rises on the center of the center, a thousand red roses painted in a mosaic of tinted glass, while the rest of the ceiling is covered in the exact same wood as the walls. The tables are all draped in expensive looking tablecloths, placed carefully under meticulously set tableware, and they’re accompanied by tufted chairs, all of them in matching red. The dark colors in the scheme makes the entire place look dim, despite all the chandeliers shining bright against up above the clients’ heads. There are candles decorating the tables, along with fresh roses matching the ones in the dome, but they serve more as a simple ambiance decoration than an actual light source.

And, even though the city they had been in had been just as big as the one they’re in now, and the budget had not changed in the slightest, the shiny grand piano that sits at the center of the small wooden stage at the back of the restaurant had caught Jun’s eyes as soon as you had walked in for dinner.

It was supposed to be a group dinner, but Mingyu, Chan and Minghao had gone sight-seeing, Vernon had fallen asleep and Seungcheol had stayed back in his room to rest (and, probably, talk to his girlfriend on the phone while eating something from the room service). At the end, it’s dinner of five instead of a dinner of ten, and while it would have been nice to share it with everyone, the company you had was more than enough.

“This place is groovy! Oh, Seungcheol went all out with this hotel,” Josh exclaims as you sit down at a table neighboring the windows, all five of you immediately drawn to the exterior scene. “I’d say he did an excellent job booking if it weren’t for the fact I’m rooming with Hoshi.”

“Hey!” The younger exclaims. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent roommate. Best you’ll ever have, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, I’ll start thinking that once you pick up your dirty socks from the floor after taking them off, that’s not groovy at all.”

“Jesus, can we not talk about Hoshi’s dirty socks while at the table, that’s fucking gross.”

“You’re just overreacting, and please just stop saying groovy,” Soonyoung says, rolling his eyes and picking up the pastel pink menu from the table, locking his eyes on the cardboard. “Anyways, this one burger looks way too nifty to pass it up.”

“I was thinking of ordering the same thing,” Seungkwan says, closing the menu.

“Have you seen the kind of restaurant we’re in? Order a pasta, or a salad, not a plain burger, go with the groove.”

“Do you think we’re Seungcheol, Joshua? If you had asked for his card like we told you, maybe we’d be buying pasta and wine for the five of us without you having to tell us about it!”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re scary when you’re angry?” Joshua asks, probably deciding on a burger as well as he imitates Seungkwan and places the menu back on the table.

“Only sometimes,” Soonyoung responds, smiling.

You’re not listening to their argument, though, with your chin resting over your hand and your gaze lost somewhere in the movement of a stranger.

It’s funny how being in a completely different country, in a city a million miles away, there’s some sense of familiarity behind simply watching people walking by. You’re not sure if it’s just the mere action, or maybe a combination of the movement in a similarly urban setting, with the lights reflecting upon the crowd as a sort of kaleidoscopic filter, but it never feels entirely too different.

“Do you want to play a game?” Jun asks, whispering right into your ear. He’s leaning close to your body, sitting between you and Joshua. You can make out the scent of his cologne as he scoots even closer to you to point to a stranger outside the window. “Like when we counted the number of headlights on the highway on our way here.”

You nod, words suddenly stuck on your throat as soon as you see Seungkwan looking at the both of you. Because truly, it was oh so very easy to get lost in the moment whenever Jun was around, and the thought has you smiling as soon as you notice. It’s oh so very easy to get lost in him.

“Okay, we’ll make it interesting. Whoever wins buys the other a cherry cola!” he says, his voice still sounding just as soft. If he’s aware of Seungkwan’s stare, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. “Let's spot all the people that look like they’re dressed by Minghao after looking at the Moonwalker, starting… now!”

But his words have you laughing, so deeply you can feel it in your chest as you throw your head back. He looks at you, a care-free smile etched all over your face, and he can’t resist the laugh that forms at the center of the stomach, completely imitating your actions as the rest of the guys simply observe. And it’s amazing, because somehow, you have found just enough comfort in the presence of each other to be able to forget about everyone else. It’s not shy smiles and nervous laughs when in public, but full on grins and bursts of laughter.

The thing no one notices though, completely distracted by the boisterous laugh, is Jun placing his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb moving in delicate circles against the fabric of your jeans. He doesn’t spare a second thought on it, finding way too much comfort in your closeness to make it a conscious action. And you aren’t even surprised on how natural his touch feels by now, because, somehow, it feels like coming home.

Or maybe they do, but they just smile at the sight. There’s something enthralling about watching two people falling in love, bit by bit, gesture by gesture. It’s a tell behind the warmth of a smile and the fondness of a look, and while it’s not entirely common, it’s too beautiful to disrupt.

“Josh, have you really been looking at your reflection this entire time?”

It’s late, and everyone but you and Jun have left the restaurant by the time the piano player arrives.

You’ve long since finished your meal, having shared a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs after Jun had said he wasn’t even that hungry anyways. You had ordered two cups of coffee and a shared berry panna cotta, way too lost in making conversation about everything and anything to actually notice the passing of time. In reality, it’s only when the coffee has run cold and the musician has started playing that you notice an hour has passed since the guys had left for their rooms.

The song is not one you recognize, but apparently does, judging from the movement of his fingers against the table. He’s looking at the musician while he runs his fingers on the tablecloth like it’s some sort of invisible piano, making sure to get every single movement right in a tempo that perfectly matches the one that’s being played. You’re not sure if he notices, but his body has begun to sway ever so slightly, somehow matching the movement of his fingers.

The place is the same, yet it feels like a completely different one, even when the only thing that has changed is the music. It’s almost atemporal, like it could be night and day at the exact same time, as if it was simply something out of a dream.

“Do you know this song?”

Jun nods. He keeps his eyes on the musician, and a part of you wonders if it’s because he wishes that were him.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he answers, smiling. “I used to play it when I was growing up, back when I was learning. I remember how excited my parents were when I finally got the movements right after years of practice. I guess a part of their excitement that day was a part of what made me fall so in love with music that I decided it was what I wanted to do with my life.”

“How did you learn to play the piano? Seungcheol says you’re really good, and yet, you’ve never played with me around.”

“My mom’s a piano teacher. She used to give classes at this one prestigious school in our neighborhood, and I would hide behind the kitchen door and listen whenever she had a student,” Jun says. “I always liked how it sounded, so one night I just sat down on the piano and started playing. My mom started giving me classes the very next day.”

“And what about composing? How did that start?”

You had ordered a refill for your coffee and drink from your cup as Jun starts talking.

“I don’t know, maybe with school, or maybe just with books in general. I was always dreaming, thinking about stories. Sometimes I couldn’t get the ones I was learning about out of my mind, and before I knew it, there were so many scenarios being born in my head that I simply had no idea what to do with them.”

“So you started writing them.”

Jun nods. “After some time, they started turning into songs. I would be looking at the lyrics and would suddenly start hearing a certain tune playing from the back of my mind. It was only a matter of time until I realized what I kept writing were songs rather than just tales, and they started meaning something more to me. Music makes the world go round, but it’s the lyrics that give it meaning.”

“Said like a true poet,” you say, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you raise your cup to then once more. “I can tell your lyrics mean a lot to you. I know it probably sounds a bit silly, but I can feel it, you know? The emotion behind them. The words come alive before they’re even in my mouth.”

“Sometimes I can’t really tell what I’m feeling until I turn it into a song. The words come from a place so deep inside I can’t reach them on my own, but have to turn onto a pen and a piece of paper to know what they are,” he finally looks away from the musician. He’s still smiling, softly, gently. “It's a little weird. They feel both so deeply personal yet completely different from myself, as if the Jun that exists in the songs is a completely different person from the Jun in the real world.”

You fall quiet. You try to make sense of Jun’s words in your head as he reaches to grab a hold of your hand, but they’re way too beautiful, too meaningful, for you to tamper with. So you feel your heart grow warm at the passion behind them, looking at the man in front of you like he had just painted the stars upon the night sky.

“Will you dance with me?”

“Jun, no one is dancing.”

“And when have you let that stop you?”

Setting the napkin over the table, Jun gets up from his seat. He stretches his arm out at you, offering his hand, his silver rings reflecting the light upon its touch. And he looks at you, eyes sparkling brighter than ever under the restaurant’s delicate lightning, completely absorbed in the way your body imitates his movements.

You let Jun lead you through the sea of tables, all the way to where the little stage is located. There’s a small space that has been left between the stage and the neighboring tables, and you wonder if maybe dancing is what it’s meant for, despite not being used for it. But Jun is quick to replace your thoughts until they’re only about him, pulling you close to his chest and letting his hand rest against your waist.

“Just focus on me and I’ll focus on you,” he whispers, moving to talk right against your ear. “Hold me a bit closer and forget about everything else.”

Pulled flush against his frame, you let your hands fall on his back, closing your eyes as you allow him to sway you to the rhythm of the music. He moves in a way that almost has you wondering if maybe you are flying, but you’re not sure if it’s because of his dancing or if it’s just because it’s him.

You recognize the song the minute Jun starts singing the words. It’s soft, so much you wouldn’t have heard him if you hadn’t been standing so close to him, basically hugging him flush against yourself. It’s Love Is (The Tender Trap) by Frank Sinatra, and you smile at the similarity between the lyrics and the feeling in your stomach.

He gives you a twirl and it’s like there are a thousand butterflies flying within you, knowing there really is no getting out, because there is no denying something that manages to make you feel so wonderful. He smiles at you and you’re sure you’re falling in love with Wen Junhui, thinking of the way his kiss had made you tingle once upon a starry night.

“Keep on steppin’, you’re falling behind!”

Jun laughs, turning back to face you. The breeze ruffles his hair as he moves, thin strands falling onto his forehead. The sky is a bright blue and the sun is shining with all its might, but Jun’s light blue button up and beige bell-bottoms still rustle in the wind.

“It’s not my fault you walk that fast,” you say, quickening your pace to catch up with him. He moves smoothly as you meet him, circling your waist with his arm and holding you next to him as you walk.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” he mumbles as he resumes his walk. His pace is not as fast, looking so much more at ease as he looks around at his surroundings.

It had been Jun’s idea to spend your free day walking around the city, after Mingyu and the rest of his expedition crew had talked about their experience over breakfast. Some of the other guys had left earlier, excited about going to whatever stores they had seen on the bus before reaching the hotel, leaving you and Jun to simply stroll around and see what you find.

“This is nice,” he mentions. “It’s been a while since I felt this relaxed.”

“It’s nice you can feel relaxed in the middle of a tour,” you say, giggling. “But I get what you mean, having a break in the schedule, even if we’re only starting.”

“I think you’re the only rockstar I’ve met that actually uses the word schedule in their daily vocabulary.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I’m the only ‘rockstar’ you’ve met. I mean, besides… Seungkwan. Honestly, he’s the most rockstar material out of all of us.”

“Okay, Barbra Streisand.”

“You have not met Barbra Streisand!”

“In my dreams.”

“Oh, I didn’t know those counted.”

The boulevard is lively. There’s people strolling up and down on both sides of the street, very much like you and Jun, with their pace and actions revealing there’s not much hurry behind their walks. Cars of all models and colors drive through the street, your walk having a varied background orchestra composed of revving engines, passing conversations and the occasional music that was audible from the entrance of some business. It made for the typical city noise, not much different from the one at home, but somehow perfectly fitting for the particularities of the sight.

The two of you walk while holding the other, occasionally bumping shoulders with some other pedestrian when not paying particular attention. There’s truly not much on either of your minds behind the wonder of getting to know yet another city and enjoying the warmth of a sunny Thursday evening in each other’s company.

“Is there anything you wanna do?” Jun asks, slowing down his pace but not completely stopping.

“Not right now,” you answer. “We could stop somewhere for a soda or something later, if you want. You know, since you won yesterday and all.”

“Let’s go in here, then,” Jun says, moving his hand from your waist to your hand, softly pulling on you to the side.

You quickly follow him as he walks inside one of the stores, never losing the grip on his hand. The front is small, walls painted red and a bright purple signboard hanging over the glass doors, reading Vintage Records and Books, along with a few music notes that look hand drawn over the surface in multiple colors. There are crates full of books and vinyls, the covers of all of them a bit faded by the sun or scraped over the passage of time. At a first glance you can identify some Johnny Cash copies alongside the assorted records, what must have been a bright green cover now looking surprisingly muted.

And once you walk inside, the interior is just as lively as the outside. The place is covered in shelves, littered with books on one side of the store and with records in the other, with small placards dividing the shelves and categorizing the products. You can tell it’s a wide variety, with hundreds upon hundreds of colorful covers composing a contrast with the burnt purple of the walls. There are horizontal lines painted all across the walls in a bright green and an almost creamy white, which is replicated in a triangle patterned rug of the exact same colors, resting in the middle of the store.

Among the shelves, there’s an assortment of indoor plants hanging from the ceiling in bright green ceramic pots, along with a few small trees located between some of the shelves themselves. On the rare vacant spaces in the walls there are band posters or book quotes, some of them autographed and some of them pasted one over the other with washed out tape.

It feels oddly warm inside the shop, and you wonder if it’s merely because of the way the light breaks in from the tall windows up front. There’s a faint scent of flowers that reaches your nose as soon as you walk in, mixing in with the smell of paper and wood. And it’s heavenly.

“Hey, welcome!” Says someone from behind the bright pink counter. He looks around Jun’s age, with a long mane of dark brown hair that goes below his shoulders. He’s wearing a black hat and a green jacket, grinning at the two of you over the pages of a magazine. “Let me know if you see something you’re down with!”

“It smells nice in here,” Jun tells you, but he must have spoken loud enough for the man to hear, because his grin grows in size.

“Thanks, it’s home-made potpourri! I make it myself when there aren’t as many customers coming in,” he says, gesturing to a few jars displayed on a small counter. A few minutes ago, you wouldn’t think it was actually possible for someone to smile so big. “It’s for sale too, and it works really well on large spaces! Looks pretty groovy when it’s on display, if I do say so myself.”

Jun smiles back, walking over to one of the tall stands where a bright orange sign announces a deal on the records.

“Oh, if you buy one of those, you can take a book from this bin right here for free,” the man says. You can’t make out the letters in his name tag from a distance, but you’re almost sure they start with an S. “You can try them out on that player over there, see if it’s nifty. They’re all second hand, but the quality’s off the hook.”

You look around as Jun’s fingers graze over the records, flicking them so quick you’re not sure if he’s actually reading the title before discarding them. You hadn’t noticed the man had a record playing in the turntable he had signaled to, quickly recognizing the guitar solo of Jimi Hendrix’s Love or Confusion.

“Hey, wanna get this Bob Dylan one for Josh? See if he likes the hat?” Jun asks, holding a record in his hand without turning back at you. “Maybe there’s a Kerouac book in that bin you can take with you. You know, for the next bus ride - oh, this one’s groovy!”

“Oh, of course you’d pick a Barbra Streisand record.”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend!” Jun giggles. “You know, besides from you. And Seungcheol, but he doesn’t really count.”

“I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry. He won’t know you like me better.”

“A lot better.”

You spend hours browsing the shop, laughing at the silly jokes made by the cashier (whose name is Seokmin) and talking about pasts spent together and pasts spent apart, conversations sewn together by a smile. You had even slow-danced to a couple Elvis songs, all while resting your head against Jun’s chest as Seokmin clapped at the two of you for, as he had said it, resembling a romantic scene from one of his favorite movies.

And you’re not surprised at how familiar it feels, because in the last few days, Jun had come to mean much more to you than anything you could have ever thought. If you were as much of a hopeless romantic as he was, you’d even think it’s because your conexion runs even deeper than the simple process of falling for a friend, but you merely smile as the thought begins to form inside your head. And you laugh at how much it sounds like one of his songs.

Because there’s as much beauty in the way he smiles as there is in the way it makes you feel.

The sun’s beginning to set by the time you and Jun leave the record shop. The wind has gotten colder and the breeze has grown stronger, but as Jun tugs you close to his side, you don’t think you’ve ever felt warmer.

He’s holding just as many records as you’re holding books, letting you make all the picks from the bin once he had purchased his vinyls, along with a jar of Seokmin’s home-made potpourri.

His hand searches for yours as soon as you step outside.

“Can’t believe we’re almost there.”

The walk back to the hotel is surprisingly quick.

Jun had been humming the melody to a song Seokmin had played back when you were at the shop, adding a slight bounce to his step as the pitch in his voice rose and fell with the beat of the song. He had smiled the entire way back, occasionally stopping his hum to point at the colors in the sky or their effects on your shadows on the ground, never failing to look at the smaller details that worked together in one beautiful, cohesive picture.

But it still feels so much quicker than it had been the other way around, almost seems shorter, as if it had been a different path altogether.

Maybe it’s because you’re not as distracted by the storefront and the other passerbys, or maybe it’s just the feeling of bathing in the setting sun when making your way back that somehow makes the entire thing seem shorter. Jun had stopped to get a pair of pastries and two cups of coffee at a small bakery you hadn’t noticed earlier but went unaverted once the signs lit up, which now await inside a small paper bag and in two paper cups, respectively. As you sip from one of the cups, you think it’s the best coffee you’ve had in a long while.

Jun suggests yet another game on the way back, making you smile as he tries to locate every single red platform shoe worn by a woman over 5’0”, which, surprisingly, aren’t really that many. And you should have guessed from the moment he had said it, but he was just trying to let you win (because, after all, he had won the last two games and just had to pay the coke back).

“Ah, you’re getting lucky with your pick!”

“You were the one that chose what we’d look for!”

“Just let it be our secret,” he says, turning to wink in your direction.

You can feel the coolness of the breeze nipping at your nose when you finally reach the hotel, walking through the glass doors with Jun following close behind. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.

“Do you want to get dinner?” You ask. You can smell the sugar and the cinnamon from the pastries, and your mouth begins to water. “There’s this other pasta dish on the menu that sounds just as good as the one we had yesterday.”

Jun purses his lips, giving a slight squeezing to your hand. “Let’s get room service, I want to show you something.”

He starts walking towards the elevator, moving slowly and letting you admire the pastel green lobby in all of its glory. There’s some faint jazz music playing as you walk through the lobby, which you hadn’t noticed until then. A big tree rises from the center of the room, matching some smaller ones that are perched next to the deep green tufted couches and complimenting the flower arrangements that have been used as decorations in both the small coffee tables and the bar at the reception. It’s a slightly different vibe than the one from the dining hall, but somehow, both of them look just as fancy.

“What is it?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

“Can I get a clue?”

“No, you’re going to help me finish it.”

“Please don’t tell me you also collect those freaky deaky puzzles Chan likes to put together in his free time.”

Jun giggles, shaking his head as you reach the elevator. “Ew, the anatomy ones? No, no way.”

The way up to Jun’s room is spent with him trying to guess the elevator music by singing random lyrics and seeing which one sounds best. Not that he got a single one right, but it was certainly entertaining to watch him try. When you finally reach the 10th floor, Jun is singing the lyrics to Cher’s Where Do You Go to a jazz melody very much similar to the one from the lobby, and you’re sure he’s only doing it to make you smile.

“Bienvenue to my humble abode,” Jun mutters as he opens the door to his room, making sure to bow down and open his arm to signal the room, completing the entire gesture with a short giggle. “I escaped having Hoshi as a roommate so I have the room all to myself.”

“And you have Seungkwan’s piano,” you mention as you walk inside, pointing to the small electronic piano that was carefully positioned next to the window. “Does he know?”

“No, I stole it from the van last night,” he answers, laughing and plopping onto the bed. “Oh, I’m so tired!”

The room is not too different from yours; a muted orange wallpaper matching the fuzzy carpet. Both twin beds in Jun’s room are covered in a dandelion yellow duvet, one of them holding all of his luggage while Jun rests on the other one (the one he must have slept in last night, closest to the window). There’s a small television on the vanity, the box a combination of bright beige plastic and faux wood, surprisingly going along with the white lamps that stand on both sides of it.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?” You ask, coming to sit in one of the chairs next to the vanity. They’re big, tufted, and the color matches with the one of the duvets. The chair is not the most comfortable, but as long as the bed is, you don’t really have to worry about it.

Jun’s purchases lay next to him on the bed, Barbra Streisand’s Stoney End sitting on top of the pile. He had bought five records, four for himself and one for you (though he had refused to tell you which one it was, insisting it would be a surprise). You had selected five books to match his purchase, including a copy of Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles, which Jun had suggested you take because of the colorful cover.

“I’ve been working on a song,” he mutters, still facing down on the bed. The words come out muffled, but they’re still audible. “I think you’ll like it.”

You let out a laugh. “I like all of your songs.”

“This one’s special,” he says, moving so he’s resting on his shoulders. His hair has gotten a bit disheveled, falling all over his face as his lips curl up in a hazy smile. “I’m working on the melody, too. I just need to hear your opinion about it.”

“You’ve been inspired,” you comment, reaching over to the vanity where Jun had placed the pastries bag. You take a roll into your hand and notice it’s still warm.

Jun winks before sitting up. “You’d know all about it.”

“All I do is sing your songs,” you say, breaking a piece of bread and tucking it into your mouth. It melts as soon as it meets your tongue. “You’re the artist behind the art. Should I start calling you Da Vinci?”

“I like Monet better. I’m a huge fan of the Impression Sunrise, even got a poster of it up in my room back at home,” Jun answers. He moves so he’s sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Seungkwan’s piano, grabbing a small notebook from the bedside table. You recognize it instantly, because it’s the one he always carries with him. He pats the space next to himself. “Here, I’ll show you.”

You leave your things on the bed next to all his luggage, books carefully propped against a faux leather duffle bag. Jun takes a piece of the cinnamon bread as soon as you sit down next to him, moving closer as he does, a whiff of his cologne reaching your nose. The duvet is of fine linen, surprisingly soft against your fingertips as you place your hands at your sides.

“I started writing it the other day,” he says, opening his notebook and placing it on his laps. You try to take a peek at it, but the (messily written) words aren’t readable from a distance. It looks beautiful though, fine lines of black ink rising like a carefully painted artwork on the thick, creamy white paper. “When you fell asleep on the bus.”

“It’s your fault for making me read to you!” You laugh, moving and bumping his shoulder with yours. “And, in my defense, the top of your head was extremely comfortable.”

“Yeah it’s like a portable pillow,” he jokes. “Maybe I should start advertising it.”

“Bet Seungkwan would take you up on it, he got asleep on the bus too!”

There is something about Jun that makes everything seem lighter, helping the seconds run fast against the clock.

“Here, I’ll show you the melody,” he says, straightening his back and placing his fingers on the keyboard. The assortment of rings he’s wearing had felt cool against your fingers. “I stayed up all night to come up with it. I haven’t finished the lyrics yet, but the music is already here.”

“Is that why you asked me for help? Are you gonna fall asleep on me?”

Jun smiles, but doesn’t turn to look at you. “No, not really,” he mutters.

He plays a key, but doesn’t give it much thought. It’s a quick, crisp sound, not really one that’s a part of a movement, even less of a song. Maybe it’s a reflex, like the clicking of the pen had once been, a mere outlet for his nervousness. He keeps his eyes set on his fingers as he speaks, not really directing his words at you but surely saying them because you’re there to hear them.

His voice is soft, almost shy. “It’s because you’re the inspiration behind it.”

And he doesn’t say anything else, but lets his fingers graze upon the keys as he starts playing. You’re not exactly sure what you’re thinking of, mind and heart running a thousand beats per second as you feel it thumping against your chest. There’s a feeling growing in your stomach, and whether it's due to adrenaline or some deeper, more complex feeling remains a mystery.

You close your eyes as Jun plays, each note igniting fireworks in your head. The music flows into your ears like honey, setting light upon the darkest places of your mind, overflowing your senses with Jun’s interpretation. Every single note sounds just like him, as if he’s becoming the music as he’s making it. His fingers run over the keys in the same way an artist’s brush glazes over a canvas, immersing itself in their creation to a point their creation is all they are. He has become a song, a beautifully crafted sonata, making your heart feel warmer with every moment. You know it’s because the song itself is beautiful - but so is he, and that translates into every single sound, every single feeling.

You let out a gasp as he begins to sing; it’s broken, a few lines here and there. You can tell it’s the bits he’s finished, the ones he’s comfortable with, leaving everything like a game of fill in the blanks. He had sung to you before, either in the song demos or in some practices where he had been finishing a song nearby - but his voice had never sounded sweeter. Your heart tugs against your chest as you listen to him, words coming alive in your head like the ones in the pages of a romance novel.

“Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man…”

Your hands ball up into fists, scrunching the soft duvet as you try to keep your eyes closed, no matter how much your eyelids are threatening to flutter open. You don’t want to see anything that isn’t him, or his voice; don’t want to feel anything that isn’t the sudden warmth that rises all over your body, making you feel like you’re flying -

And he stops, hands suddenly moving away from the keyboard after a faulty note.

“Stop distracting me!” He says, laughing as his cheeks grow red in embarrassment. He hands his hands on his lap, fingers absentmindedly fumbling with the rings he has on.

You don’t open your eyes, joining him in his laughter and falling on your back onto the bed. You bring your hands to your face, hiding behind them as your laughter grows louder.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” You answer.

You feel the space next to you dip as Jun imitates your movement, resting onto his back. His notebook has fallen to the floor, open in half, but he doesn’t notice. He brings his hand to your face, taking your own and moving it away from your face. He props himself up on his elbow, connecting your fingers over the duvet in the space that separates the two of you.

“Did you like it?” He asks, words falling from his lips between jolts of laughter. His voice is soft, and it feels like velvet against your ears. “You know, before I messed up.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” you whisper, opening your eyes and rolling to your side to look back at him. “Did you really write it because of me?”

Jun nods. He’s smiling, looking at you fondly as he searches for the words inside his head. “You’re a song in and out of yourself.”

He doesn’t move as you stare into his eyes. Looking at him, you’re suddenly reminded of the night he had kissed you - the same constellations that had shined high above your heads now reflected in his eyes, drawing you deeper into his spell. You feel like you’re falling, the entire world falling as you lay on the bed, his hand on yours the only thing pulling you back into reality. It’s as if the world around you changes every single time you’re with Jun, spinning wildly out of orbit and transforming into an unknown fantasy, with the only sure thing being the way his eyes come to rest upon you. You’re not sure if anything else exists apart from Jun, because suddenly he’s all you can see. All you can feel.

“And I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” he continues. He keeps his eyes on you as he speaks, as if trying to assure you his words are only for you to hear. “Or maybe I already was, but only just noticed. I hear your voice in every word, see your face every time I turn around with your name etched deep in my heart. I don’t think I could get you out of my head no matter how hard I tried. And I don’t think I would ever want to.”

You hadn’t noticed there were tears forming in your eyes until one fell down on your hand, ice cold against the warm skin. You open your mouth, searching for words deep down in your heart, but Jun shakes his head.

“Just… let me say it, you can go after,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming of love my entire life. As far as I can remember, I’ve always dreamed of feeling it. It wasn’t just something out of a fairytale or a novel, not even a dream coming out to a song. It’s been the theme behind all my songs and the happy ending of all my stories. And never would I have thought it would feel like this. Never would I have thought those dreams would become you, but you’re there, in every single word. In every single thought.”

He moves, fingers caressing the back of your hand as he gives it a squeeze. He moves his hand, placing yours over his chest, directly over his heart. Although faintly, you’re sure you can feel it beat.

And you move forward, your other hand on his neck, connecting his lips with yours. It’s warm, and you can make out a vague saltness that is no doubt a product of your tears. But they are long forgotten, the feeling of Jun’s lips against yours setting your body on fire as his hands come to rest upon your skin. You can feel your every vein light up as you move as close to him as you can manage, the space between you always weighing upon the both of you no matter how much you try to reduce it, because the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other is one you simply can’t get enough of.

He opens his eyes, eyelids fluttering open at the need to see you; to set the final piece of the puzzle in his mind. It’s a puzzle that looks, sounds and moves like you, composed of a love that burns too bright to ignore.

And as he looks at you, resting comfortably on the soft linen sheets, he’s sure he has never seen such a beautiful sight.

The next few days go by in a flash.

The days start early, as early as the sun goes up and you have breakfast on some terrace with Jun by your side, with the sun reflected upon his skin like a golden veil. They’re spent in jolts of laughter with your friends, soaking in the sun when sight-seeing in all the cities you’ve visited. They’re spent carelessly singing in the bus, with Joshua and Chan backing up the vocals with loud strums of their guitars, not really caring about beat, or tune, or whoever may be listening. They’re spent getting to know the world with the people that make the entire thing worth it, smiling and laughing along. They’re spent in sleepless nights on stages or someone’s backyard, twisting and turning in Jun’s hand as he moves you to the rhythm of the music. They’re spent in him watching you from a balcony, dancing and singing along to the crowds adoring your every move, finding himself lost in your voice.

And they’re spent in composing, with Jun finding inspiration in the smallest of your movements, lyrics suddenly being born in the crack of a smile and the fondness behind a look.

By the time the song is finally ready to be sung, he’s still a bit nervous. It feels like a deja vu, with him tapping quickly upon a faux tiled floor.

He rests his back against a wall, standing next to a closed door. He tries to move out of the way as people pass in a hurry, carrying equipment or reading from lists, simply looking around as he tries to count on the passing of time. He tries to maintain a steady beat with his foot, counting along in his head as he reads from the piece of paper he’s holding. Trying not to think about the sounds of a growing crowd, he can feel the paper crumpling in his hand, thinking that his grip on it might be a little too tight. Nonetheless, he can’t loosen it up, no matter how much he wants to.

Night has fallen, and he can see the stars from the small window that rises at the top of the wall in front of him. There’s some moonlight breaking in, lighting up the ground and the glass detailings on the colorful tiles. For a second, he thinks of how familiar it feels, to be able to see a picture where there is none, and he smiles. Backstage or not, the night looks the same all around.

He lets out a big breath, moving his free hand around as he does until he hears the door next to him flutter open. A laughing Chan walks out from it, followed by Josh and Mingyu, all of them with their guitars strapped down and ready to be played. They pat Jun on the back before they follow the small arrows on the ground, walking in the direction of the stage.

He runs through the lyrics in his head as the rest of the band follows, you walking behind while trying to fix the back of your jacket. Minghao had suggested some fringes on the sleeves to add some “movement” but they had proven a bit impractical when getting stuck whenever you moved your arms.

“Hey,” Jun says, grabbing your attention. “Do you have a moment?”

You smile. “What are you doing back here? I thought you and Cheol were gonna watch from the balcony.”

“We are,” he confirms, nodding his head. “I just wanted to say hi.”

His voice is shaking as he speaks, as much as he tries to hide it. You take his free hand in yours, stopping his movements in midair, giving his fingers a slight squeeze as you attempt to bring him some comfort.

“Are you nervous?” You ask. He simply nods, smiling when he feels you tightening your grip on his hand. “Is it because of the song?”

“I know it’s a bit silly,” he comments. Despite holding the piece of paper, he runs his hand through his combed-back hair, causing a few strands to fall messily over his forehead. It looks so much better than when it’s gelled up. “But it feels different this time around. I don’t know, It feels a lot more personal somehow.”

Bringing his hand up to your face, you give it a kiss. He sighs at the feeling.

“They’re gonna love it, Jun,” you say.

He smiles at you. “As long as you love it, that’s more than enough for me.”

“Well, you already know that I do,” you giggle. “I’ll always love every single song you write.”

Laughing with you, he pulls you to his chest as he envelops you in a hug. Sighing against you, he tucks his face in your neck as he feels you hugging him back. You smile, feeling him press a light kiss on the exposed skin. He smells of sugar and cinnamon.

“Leave them breathless,” he whispers as he breaks apart from the embrace.

He kisses you one more time, quickly pecking the top of your head before he walks away. You give him one last smile, running your fingers down his arm as you begin to part.

You walk in opposing directions, and Jun quickens his pace as he climbs the stairs leading to the balcony. He can hear the crowd growing with every step he takes, feeling a knot forming in his stomach as he moves his fingers around in an attempt to control his nerves. The way up seems familiar, consisting in dimly lit hallways and semi-peeled off posters on the walls, and he doesn’t even notice a few minutes have passed by the time he finally reaches the balcony.

It’s not the Moonwalker, but the place shines just as bright. He greets Seungcheol, placing a palm on his friend’s back as he comes to stand next to him.

“Hey, I was about to go looking for you,” he says, as a form of greeting. He smiles at his friend and motions to the public below with his beer bottle. “Great turn out tonight! I think this is our biggest venue yet, it’s amazing! I was talking to some guy over there, and he says a story is being printed on the newspapers about how successful the tour has been so far.”

Jun smiles. “They deserve it. They’re an amazing group.”

“And they have amazing songs,” Seungcheol comments, nudging Jun’s shoulder with his own.

Jun sets his eyes on the empty stage just as the lights begin to fall. A limelight focuses on the center of it, right where the standing microphone rises high among the sea of instruments. You walk out from the side with the rest of the band following close behind, and just like his very own, everyone’s eyes are on you.

“We have a very special song for you tonight,” you say. You look up in the direction of the balcony, and Jun feels his heart beat loudly against his chest when you wink at him. “We hope you enjoy the show.”

A breath gets caught in his throat when Seungkwan starts playing, fingers delicately grazing over the keyboard of his piano. He can feel Seungcheol’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, but all he can focus on is you.

It’s always been that way, and the feeling on his chest lets him know it always will. It feels like a thousand butterflies finally setting flight.

He smiles when you begin to sing, forgetting about everything else. The world around him stops existing, and just as the words start leaving your lips, he lets himself go. Because he had spent his entire life dreaming of this moment, thinking about the feeling being born in his chest. And he’s happy he’s waited, because it feels better than he could have ever imagined.

Completely shaking off his nerves, he closes his eyes and lets out a breath.

Hold me closer tiny dancer…

#caratwritersclub #svtsource #kwritersworldnet #seventeen scenarios #jun scenario #jun scenarios #seventeen scenario #svt scenarios #svt scenario #svt fic #jun x reader #seventeen jun x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #jun fluff #mar.writing

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madsthewordclown · 4 years ago

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Dance with Me | Sokka x Reader

Prompt: “Please don’t do this to me.”

I got this prompt from a post by @urmomoness ! I love their prompt lists so much, and I just had to write something with this one because IDEAS. You can thank @nadiblue for convincing me to post this now

summary: a whole lot of fluff of Y/N and Sokka at the Kataang wedding reception, modern au

Warnings: mentions of alcohol. so much fluff. I am sorry

“Please don’t do this to me,” Y/N begged, trying in vain to dig her heels into the ground as Sokka tugged on her arm.

“Come on, Y/N, it’s a special day,” Sokka insisted, smiling. “Plus, I know you just cried at that first dance, and this’ll cheer you up.”

“They were happy tears!” Y/N protested, pulling her arm out of Sokka’s grasp. “Besides, you were crying too!”

“Hey!” Sokka put a hand to his chest. “It’s my little sister’s wedding. I’m allowed to cry manly tears.”

It really was a beautiful wedding. Y/N should have been more emotionally prepared, but there was something about seeing how happy her friends were, and how the world seemed to disappear for them when they took to the dancefloor. Katara had warned her not to cry, too.

“If you cry then I’ll cry,” Katara had said. “I will have to kick you out of the wedding party.”

Luckily, Katara hadn’t followed through on the threat, and Katara hadn’t cried. The smile never left Katara’s face, actually. But Y/N could’ve sworn that Aang was tearing up through the entire ceremony.

“Yeah, manly,” Y/N teased with a laugh. “I’m still not going to dance.”

Sokka groaned. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. How could you not like dancing?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Y/N insisted. “It’s that I’m bad at it and not interested in embarrassing myself.”

“You sound like Zuko,” Sokka said with a frown, “and even he’s dancing. It’s Katara’s wedding, Y/N, live a little. Besides, everyone is going to be embarrassing themselves later.”

The bartender did seem pretty busy, Y/N had to admit. There was a good chance that some of the guests wouldn’t remember the evening at all.

Suddenly, the music changed to an upbeat song that Y/N didn’t quite recognize. Sokka pouted at her. Y/N sighed.

“Fine,” she relented, letting Sokka gently pull her toward the dance floor. “But only because I like this song.”

Y/N decided to start of simple, swaying to the song and letting Sokka swings his hands in hers. But before they even got all the way through the first chorus of the song, Sokka was letting go of her hands and dancing wildly. They bumped into Zuko, who was reluctantly dragged into dancing by Ty Lee. Mai had not budged from her seat at a table across the room.

Sokka really did dance like no one was watching. Y/N took a moment to just observe him. The guy was an engineering genius, but somehow, this is where he seemed the most in his element. Just letting loose and having fun with his friends by his side. He was waving his arms around now, almost comically. Y/N giggled.

“Told you it would cheer you up!” Sokka called out over the noise of the other guests and the music. Sokka moved closer, grabbing Y/N’s hands again as he noticed her lack of movement. “You need to get more into it!” He insisted with a grin.

“I’m good, thanks,” Y/N replied, giving him a smile. She hoped that he couldn’t tell how warm she felt with her hands in his.

“Y/N!” Katara called. It appeared she had finally been able to get out of small talk with the other guests. Katara glowed in her wedding gown, pulling Aang along behind her. Aang couldn’t seem to look away from his now-wife’s face.

“Y/N,” Katara repeated, “you have to dance with me, I love this song.”

“Katara—”

“Please?” Katara interrupted. “It’s my favorite, and it’s my wedding day.”

“Fine,” Y/N relented with a grin. She caught Sokka shooting her an offended look, his mouth dropped open in mock-shock—oh, now you’ll dance? —it seemed to say.

Y/N followed Katara to a somewhat-open spot on the dancefloor. Ty Lee and Suki joined their little group with bounds of enthusiasm, and even Toph was willing to join in, on Katara’s insistence. Y/N’s bridesmaid dress was the same shade of blue as the other girls’ outfits, other than Katara’s white gown. Toph had somehow been allowed to wear a blazer and sleek pants instead of a dress.

Y/N felt her shyness melt away as she began to dance with the other girls. It was an incredible feeling to let loose and have fun, especially after such a spectacular day. Soon enough they were shouting along the lyrics of every song.

The crowd wasn’t that big to begin with, as Katara and Aang hadn’t had a huge guest list, preferring to include mainly close friends and family. But the people on the dance floor slowly began to clear out, although for Y/N and her friends, the night had not begun to calm down.

Sokka was back, Y/N realized, although he had never left. The music changed again, and Y/N immediately recognized the song.

“This is my favorite!” She cried, already beginning to move to the music. She set her eyes on Sokka, running over to pull him further into the dance floor.

“You seem excited for someone who refused to get up from the table earlier,” Sokka teased. The suit jacket that he had been wearing was gone, leaving him in his white button up along with his blue bow tie. His hair was beginning to fall out of its ponytail. Y/N could hardly feel her heart’s rapid rhythm over the beat of the music.

“It’s my favorite, Sokka.” Y/N held onto Sokka’s hands and danced, swinging her hips and bobbing her head along. Sokka was smiling at her and definitely mouthed the word dork, but then he was bobbing right along with her.

Y/N belted the final chorus to the best of her ability, which admittedly wasn’t that great, but Sokka seemed to appreciate it. He didn’t know the song, but attempted to sing along anyway, completely butchering the words. The song ended, and Y/N was huffing from the effort of singing and jumping around like a maniac.

Y/N gave a sigh of relief as the gentle sound of acoustic guitar filled her ears. After what seemed like an eternity, there was finally a slow song. She leaned in towards Sokka to make sure he could hear.

“I’m going to go take a breather,” she said, already walking away, but was stopped when she realized that Sokka had not let go of her arm.

“Come on, Y/N,” he smiled, warm and bright. “You can’t quit now.”

“I’m really out of breath, Sokka.”

“It’s a slow song, Y/N,” he reasoned. “You don’t even have to do anything.”

“And I don’t want you to sit down and quit for the night,” Sokka joked. “Suki and I have agreed that we’re going to outlast the rest of my family.”

Y/N didn’t say anything but let Sokka slowly pull her towards him. She put her arms around his next and felt his settle on her waist. And then Y/N suddenly realized how close they were, feeling her face warm. She leaned to rest her head on his shoulder to hopefully hide her expression.

It was another song that Y/N didn’t recognize, but Sokka seemed to know it. He was humming along with it lightly, and Y/N could feel it. He wasn’t perfectly on tune, but he had the melody down. They hardly moved, lightly swaying from side to side.

“They had a beautiful ceremony,” Y/N said, lifting her head from Sokka’s shoulder to look at him. “It was almost too perfect.”

“I know,” Sokka agreed. “I’m really happy for them.”

“Me too,” Y/N hummed, looking to where the happy couple was dancing. Katara was leaning heavily onto Aang’s shoulder. Aang’s eyes were closed as he smiled and held his bride closely. It was almost enough to make Y/N tear up all over again, but she turned to see that Sokka was beating her to it, his eyes turning watery.

“Aww,” Y/N giggled, removing her arms from Sokka’s shoulders to cup her hands on his face. “Look at those manly tears.”

“Shut up,” Sokka whined, grabbing Y/N’s wrists to pull her hands away. “You were getting emotional, too.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Y/N giggled, letting her arms fall to her sides. Sokka slid his hands into hers.

“You know,” Sokka changed the subject, looking into Y/N’s eyes with his very, very blue ones. “You’re a pretty good dancer, I don’t know why you didn’t want to.”

“You mean I’m a really dorky dancer,” Y/N corrected.

“I mean, yes, some of it is dorky,” Sokka admitted, “but you seem to have a lot of fun when you stop worrying about it.”

“I don’t like feeling like people are watching me,” Y/N explained. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well,” Sokka reassured, “I don’t think anyone noticed the poor attempt at moonwalking, so you’re all good.”

“You noticed,” Y/N pointed out. Sokka tugged on her hands in response, pulling her closer. They were very close again, Y/N noticed, and this time the music wasn’t drowning out her nerves. A woman’s voice crooned over the speakers.

“Yeah, but I always notice you.” Sokka laced his fingers with yours. “I just… you’re really special to me, Y/N. You know that, right?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his words.

“You’re special to me, too,” Y/N replied, unable to think of any other response. She had felt her feelings growing towards her friend over the past few months, but she wasn’t prepared for this. Whatever this was.

Sokka bit his lip, looking into Y/N’s eyes tentatively. It was the first time Y/N had seen Sokka—confident, hilarious, intelligent Sokka—look this nervous.

“Can I kiss you?” Sokka whispered. Y/N almost thought she heard his voice shaking, and she had barely begun to nod before his lips were on hers.

The kiss was tentative, gentle, and sweet, and she could taste cherry grenadine on his lips because he’d insisted on overloading a Shirley Temple with sugar. Sokka let go of her hands, resting one of his on her waist while the other came up to cradle her cheek, his touch light. Y/N brought her own hands up to wrap around his shoulders once again.

They pulled apart, Sokka’s eyes wide and his lips tilting into a small smile. “Wow,” Y/N breathed dumbly.

“Wow,” Sokka agreed, not taking his eyes away from Y/N’s face for a single moment. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

“Yeah.” Y/N felt her face break out into a wide smile. “I would.”

“Great,” Sokka breathed, his smile bright. The slow song had ended, the next one already beginning with an upbeat rhythm. Sokka tilted his head to where the rest of their friends were gathering together to dance along. “Want to go join them?”

Y/N nodded, smiling as Sokka held her hand and they went to join their friends.

#sokka x reader #atla fanfic #modern au #sokka fluff #sokka x y/n

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ss-wingman · 4 years ago

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And now I've gone and made myself sad with my own, stupid "Formaggio as the heart and backbone of La Squadra" thing so now you have to deal with my broken thoughts

Just imagine how devastating the blow is when they hear Formaggio’s dead. He just went off to check on a hunch - a generally low risk task, but one that he doesn't come back from. The team had just barely gotten over the deaths of Sorbet and Gelato only two years prior and one of their most substantial members dies with no warning. Now, there's no Formaggio to make dumb jokes to lighten the mood or randomly chat about football or something else to help break through the grief.

But there's even more to it than that.

“He has high insight and is aware of the oversights of his friends. He's a supportive type of teammate” - semi canon stuff from a twitter thread

Risotto and Illuso are highly analytical and tactical to a fault while Melone and Ghiaccio march to the beat of their own drums, but Formaggio is one of the few who thinks of the practical things that are easy to miss. He can spot the small details of plans only someone who's as down to earth as he is would ever consider looking for.

Then he's gone and the team has lost a very vital piece of their group.

Now, Illuso is without his usual partner. He thinks he can take a few of the members of Bruno's gang on his own, but he lets his arrogance get in the way. He always does. He's so used to Formaggio being there to pick up his slack and take care of things in the background that Illuso momentarily forgets that he's alone with no one to fall back on, so he all but moonwalks right into his own downfall.

With both scouts now indisposed, the rest of the team has to function with little insight and only a bare minimum understanding of the threat that they’re up against.

Pesci, like Formaggio and Illuso, is good at noticing weird little details others may not, but he lacks confidence - something the latter two have in droves. He doubts himself, second-guessing his own intuition and giving Bruno's gang just enough time to figure out just what's going on and get the upper hand on him and Prosciutto. Prosciutto is overly confident that he can handle anything Pesci can’t and that his ‘teachings’ will come through, but he’s far outclassed fighting on his own for a while and too into his own ego that his defeat is inevitable. It’s too little too late by the time Pesci finally does step up for a fight he really wasn’t ready for and then they're gone, too.

Melone finds their bodies and is mortified (in the manga at least. I have some words for you, English dub). The remaining three are outmatched and Melone knows this. Crushing Bruno's gang has made itself a priority, but he smartly opts for stealth instead of an all out assault. It's too bad he didn't know what Illuso probably could have figured out; that the reason Giorno is dangerous is because his stand allows him to track people and that he has a knack for weird, out-of-the-box, bullshit thinking.

Melone should have waited for Ghiaccio, but he decided to go it alone, instead. Maybe it was pure pride or maybe a part of him didn't want to lose his own partner, too. Maybe Ghiaccio could have spotted the snake before it attacked or helped him in time, but he wasn't there.

Ghiaccio doesn't know what happened; just that Melone is gone, now, too. He’s furious beyond any reason. He's not usually rational to begin with and, with no one near him to hold him back or to back him up, it’s no real surprise that he goes down, too.

And then there was one.

Risotto. Left behind with only thoughts of how things should have been handled. For all the maybes and what-ifs that he'd ran in his head, he hadn't anticipated losing every last on of his teammates. He always goes off alone, doing his own thing. He feels most comfortable taking on what he assumes to be the the more dangerous tasks so that no one can get hurt near him and so that no one distracts him. But the very thing he wanted to prevent happens right as his back is turned to his team. He wasn't there for any of them. He could have beaten any one of Bruno's gang easily were he around. He could have told Formaggio to quietly follow Narancia instead of facing him had he known that was Formaggio's plan. And from the safety of the mirror world, Narancia wouldn't have been able to track them. Or he could have taken out a weakened Bruno's gang on the train had he gone instead of sending the rookie out on such a vital mission. Or he could have protected Melone or made sure that Melone and Ghiaccio stayed together like they were supposed to. This would have been so much easier if he were a better leader. They should have lived. His team should have been by his side when he finally faced The Boss. But with no friends left, all he has in his dying moments are regrets.

What I'm saying is La Squadra OVA of the fights from their perspective.

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mforpaul · 3 years ago

Note

For the Barisi mpreg thing: have you done one already where Rafael tells Sonny that they're expecting? I've read your latest one where he says that he didn't plan to start a family so soon, and I'd love to read about the moment when Raf realises that, yeah, he can see himself as a dad, as long as Sonny is there with him :)

Just as Rafael expected Sonny is over the moon.

Rafael somehow feels - numb maybe?

Rafael watches Sonny being happy and crying and breaking into a short Moondance session.

And all that Rafael thinks is that it's too soon - besides the fact that he never wanted a family. Dating for only three months didn't really give him the time or space to think about if that idea might have changed.

"That means we're moving together, right?"

As if he's on autopilot Rafael nods.

"It has to be!"

Sonny stretches himself as if he's getting ready for a race. Sonny already basically lives in Rafael’s apartment like 80% of the time. Actually moving their lives together is probably the easiest part about this. And it will save them a shit load of money.

Rafael likes that part. Not the part where they save money on rent. The part that means that Sonny would be here all the time.

"Ma will be so happy!"

Now Sonny cries again and Rafael realizes that the question if he will keep it won't be a part of their conversation. It's Rafael's decision anyway. But seeing Sonny this happy - Rafael isn't able to tell him that he considered it.

"The good news is I have so many cousins who have baby stuff left, I doubt we'd need to buy anything."

Ultimately there are reasons why Rafael wants to keep the baby. It's not like he never wanted a family because he didn't want it. It was rather a point of that Rafael thought it would be better to concentrate on his career instead of trying to not to repeat all the mistakes his father did.

"How many weeks?"

And Rafael doesn't understand why Sonny never told him that he can do the moonwalk. That information makes him so much more attractive.

"11."

And if Rafael might add, Sonny slayed that move.

"Seriously? Already? Omg! So..."

It's a conscious decision to not listen to Sonny from this point on. But Rafael feels - okay. He knows he's okay as long as Sonny is there with him.

#barisi #Barisi mpreg

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remmushound · 4 years ago

Text

Beyond the Bay chapter 11: Mystery thief!

Summary - Things go missing out of Donatello lab and everyone wonders who’s to blame

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

Content warning: Swearing

“We have a problem.” Donatello said bluntly as he came into the living room, right up to Donnie and Leo, “You’re not going home any time soon.”

“What?” Leo’s beak crinkled, more out of confusion than any concern.

With a condescending smile on his face, Donatello pulled the M-shaped artifact from his pocket and slammed it down on the table in front of the two box turtles. The mystic artifact was gray and cold with no hint of the colorful, almost living veins that had once crossed it.

“It’s dead.” Donatello deadpanned, his voice a viper’s, “Cold, used up, and empty, just like your world will be. Now, pray-tell, why would that be when this liiiiittle artifact should have had enough juice for two trips, here and back?”

Leo and Donnie stared down at the artifact with furred eyeridges, frowns deepening as both naturally reached a hand out to touch the stone-cold metal.

“I don’t understand…” Leo said softly, shaking his head.

“I bet you don’t.” Donatello flashed his teeth, “See, I know my calculations aren’t off, and just to be sure, I double checked it. So that means one of you lovely fellows have made a major oopsie daisy and wasted both trips. We know you had to use one to get here, and I also know the second didn't just up and walk away. So what happened to it?”

There was silence between the Splinterson brothers. Then, “MIKEY!”

Mikey’s head appeared in the doorway. Then, slightly below, popped Leonardo’s, and slightly above popped Raph.

“I didn't do it.” Mikey said immediately, quickly followed by, “What is it that I didn't do?”

Mikey, Raph, and Leonardo all flooded into the room; Leonardo was stretching out his muscles, still dressed in sleep wear, looking as if he hasn’t slept a wink. Raph was coated in a heavy layer of fresh sweat from his waking workout and Mikey seemed just happy to be alive. Leonardo’s smile turned into a curious frown as he poked at the artifact on the table.

“You look well rested…” Donnie commented, looking over Mikey with an unreadable expression; his younger brother seemed completely relaxed, and at first glance could almost be normal. His right arm was still slumped a little lower than the left, tucked to his body as if incredibly tender, but his muscles weren’t so pronounced anymore. Donnie made a mental note to palpate the muscles when he got a chance.

“Yeah, I guess.” Mikey shrugged, “What’s up?”

“You tell us.” Leo stood up, taking the medallion in his hands and showing it to Mikey, “What did you do?”

Mikey stared, his eyes unfocused and lips pressed tightly together. “I’m not following.”

“Donatello here says that you messed with the artifact.”

“Those are not the words I said, no.” Donatello interrupted from the background.

“You said that someone had opened another rift.”

“Yeah, I didn't say it was Mikey though.” Donatello muttered bitterly.

“Well someone did it.” Leo’s confusion had turned to agitation.

“It wasn’t me bro!” Mikey threw his hands up in surrender, trying to hide a wince as he pulled the sore muscles.

When Leo looked next at Raph, the bigger mutant had much the same reaction. “Now don’t you be lookin’ at me, you know I ain’t did it!”

“Well it wasn’t me or Donnie!” Leo declared, motioning to the tallest brother. “So one of you is clearly lying.”

“Dude, what’s the big deal?” Leonardo asked as he leaned ever so casually against the wall, arms crossed and hat lopsided on his head.

“Without that artifact, we can’t go home.” Leo explained slowly as if talking to a young child.

“You’re talking to the turtle who had a mystic odachi! I could just make you a new rift, no big deal, same way we made the old one! With my magic! No reason to get at each other's throats.”

Donatello bullied his way to the front of the group so he was practically nose to nose with the amused Leonardo, who was still smiling. “Where is your odachi, by the way?”

“It’s in Mikey’s room where I left it; you know I can’t sleep without it.”

Donatello moved a little closer so his nose actually touched against Leonardo’s. “Really?”

“Yes.” Leonardo said with all the confidence in the world.

“Then come along everyone!” Donatello started to wave his arms around, forcing all of the turtles out of the room in a single file line, “We’re going on a little field trip! Come on, come on!”

Donatello ushered everyone out, ignoring any resistance they offered. Off they went to Michelangelo’s room, where the blankets that had warmed the Hamato brothers were folded and neatly tucked away in a corner. Mikey whistled at the sight of Mikey’s racecar.

“DUUUDES!” Mikey gasped, “I so need to get me one of those!”

“Nardo, if you would be as so kind to point to us the whereabouts of your odachi, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.” Donatello bowed to Leonardo and motioned him forward.

“I will.” Leonardo said sharply, walking across the room with a powerful strut and reaching to grab at thin air without looking. When his hand met nothing, it was like a light went out in his eyes. His attention snapped to the space, then scanned across the entire room, and then he dropped on his hands and knees in a desperate scramble. “It— it’s not here!”

“Oh really?” Donatello feigned dramatic shock, “Well, where could it be?”

“Cut it with the sarcasm, Donald. Mikey probably just moved it when he cleaned.” Leonardo tried to reason, but the beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed him.

“Let’s go ask him then, shall we?” Donatello flashed his teeth.

“You know what? We shall!”

They located Michelangelo quickly and asked him about it.

“I didn't touch your odachi.” Michelangelo said, “And I definitely wouldn’t do it without telling you! What do you take me for?”

Leonardo was speechless, unable to do anything but gawk with eyes that were growing wider and more terrified by the moment.

“I’m sure you just misplaced it Leo.” Michelangelo assured with a gentle pat to his brother's shoulder before skipping away, humming happily all the while.

 “My odachi…” Leonardo whimpered, slumped and unblinking as he stared out at nothing.

“Ready to admit something’s wrong now?” Donatello asked, the snark leaving his voice to be replaced with nothing but a tired energy.

“How did you know his odachi was missing?” Donnie asked, leaning close to his counterpart.

“Because I checked, genius.” Donatello pinched the bridge of his nose, “The minute I realized something was wrong with the artifact, I checked for Leonardo’s odachi, and when I couldn’t find that, I checked my lab, and someone’s been poking around in it.”

“Oh no.” Donnie sucked in a gasp; Raph hissed through his teeth and shook his head while Leo and Mikey shared an uneasy glance. “Nothing’s broken, is it?”

“No; I’d be busting some shells if it were.” Donatello said, “But our mysterious goldilocks moved my stuff around and decided that any and all mystic rifters were ‘just right’. Anything I could have used to create a controlled black hole to your world? Gone.”

Leo felt cold, breathing becoming more of a pained chore with each passing moment. Donatello’s words seemed to fade away, his ears tuning them out in favor of a powerful, relentless humming.

“So either one of you four have been going through my drawers with your grubby little sewer hands, touching my stuff, or someone snuck in here with their grubby little sewer hands, snuck right past nine expertly trained ninjas, and stole from me. I don’t like either of those options.”

“They took my odachi…” Leonardo said, still not paying attention.

“Does that mean we’re stuck here?” Mikey frowned as he looked to Donnie.

 Donnie shook his head and sighed. “Fraid so, Mike…”

Mikey tried not to make his happiness too obvious, but his smile was one thing he couldn’t hide. Donatello was focused on Mikey in particular and, when the turtle seemed excited at the thought of being trapped, the softshell narrowed his eyes.

“Wait, don’t you have cameras or some shit?” Raph asked, his expression concerned and almost soft.

“Yes I do, dear Raphael, and I have already reviewed them. And since all four of you are here, and I know who the thief is, I wanted to give them the chance to fess up and save themself some honor. So?”

Donatello looked out expectantly over all four of the Splinterson brothers. The four of them were shoulder to shoulder with each other, none of them with the confidence to look the snappy softshell in the eye; instead, they sought other things to focus on, be it the ground or the ceiling or something in between. Each of them had their own anxious little tics, some of them shifting their weight while others cleared their throat or rubbed their arm or bit their lips. When they started to realize that the others weren’t saying anything, they looked around at each other, trying to read the expressions of each of their brothers.

Donatello sighed and shook his head. “Great. Just great.” He started to walk away.

“Wait!” Leo raised a hand to call after Donatello, “Aren’t you gonna tell us who it is?” His mind was still focused on Mikey as the main suspect.

“No.” Donatello sighed, “I don’t know who it is. My cameras are all broken. Just thought I’d try to scare the perpetrator into admitting it.”

“Where are you going?” Leo asked when Donatello kept leaving.

“To make a few calls.” Donatello said, turning to face the group while continuing to moonwalk backward, “Gotta find you a way home somehow. If you can’t home-make a portal, store bought is fine!”

“My odachi…” Leonardo was on his knees, “My odachi my odachi my odachi…”

“Dudes, I think he’s broken.” Mikey leaned over to whisper to his brothers.

“Mikey, enough is enough.” Leo said, grabbing Mikey harshly by the shoulders to make the box turtle look at him, “The joke’s over, and it was never funny. What did you do with Donnie’s stuff?”

“Dude, I didn't touch any of it!” Mikey insisted, “I swear!”

“I’m finding it hard to believe you.” Leo said in a low tone. “If I find out you’re lying to me…”

“I’m not!”

“Fine.” Leo crossed his arms as he sat down. “Then we can just sit here and wait until one of your fesses up or until Donatello returns.”

Three groaning complaints came from three younger brothers, but Leo didn't falter in his stance. An hour passed in silence and growing resentment between the family before Donatello returned.

“What news, Donatello?” Leo rised to greet the softshell.

“Fuck off, will you? I’m getting there.”

Leo physically recoiled at the sharp tone, sitting back down to give the other mutant space. Satisfied that he had properly put the box turtle in his shell, Donatello let himself smile.

“Good news. I asked around, made a few calls, and I think I know where we can get a brand new rifter! It might take a bit of tinkering to get it juiced enough to take you home, but should be doable.”

“Great— that’s great news, right Leo?” Donnie said optimistically, appealing to Leo.

“Yeah.” Leo sighed and nodded. “Right. This little setback just gives us a chance to prepare, right guys? Those dinosaurs won’t be able to catch us off guard again.”

“Wonderful. Get up, Leon.” Donatello smacked his brother on the back of the head to call Leonardo’s attention back to the task at hand. “Raphael and Michael are already waiting for us.”

Leonardo shook his head, his brain rattling back into focus. “Wait— If they're coming, whose watching dad?”

“Other-splinter.” Donatello shrugged, “Now grab your spare odachi and the rest of the peanut gallery, we’re going.”

“I don’t think you’re using that slang right.” Leonardo muttered bitterly.

“Wait, now?” Raph asked, leaning forward with owl-like eyes.

“Well I’m not doing it tomorrow.” Donatello scoffed, “Tomorrow's karaoke night! I’m gonna get razzle dazzled!”

Donatello stuck a dramatic pose, dragging his arm across his head as if pulling back hair despite his baldness. Looks were exchanged between the Splinterson’s, frowns and furrowed eyeridges.

“But… the sun's out.” Donnie said slowly, pointing upward, “It’s only four.”

Donatello scoffed and shook his head. “Donald, Donald, Donald. Where we’re going, we don’t need shadows! Now come along, don’t dilly dally!”

At Donatello’s swirling hand motion and beaconing wave, Leonardo followed after his brother. Leo shrugged and followed after the softshell, the rest of his brothers following suit.

“If I didn't know any better, I’d say bossy softy over there was the leader.” Raph muttered to Donnie, who gave an amused snort and nodded.

Leo looked back to order silence among his brothers and witnessed Mikey following at the back of the group. The leader pushed his way through and put a hand to Mikey’s plastron to press him back.

“Michelangelo, you’re staying here.”

“What?” Mikey scoffed, pulling back as if Leo has physically struck him.

“You’re not coming with us.” Leo said, “You’re staying here.”

“But—” Mikey ran forward, trying to push past Leo to join the rest of their brothers; he didn't get far before Leo shoved him back. “Come on man!”

“You’re staying here and that’s an order.” Leo said, this time with more force. His voice softened just for a moment before saying, “Sorry Mikey.”

Mikey made no further attempts to follow as his brothers left him alone.

#oh?#who could have done it?#the mystery deepens #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles

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mostly-marvel-musings · 5 years ago

Text

Guilty Pleasure

A/N: No real plot here, just a platonic imagine with the Asgardian Gods! Feedback’s appreciated as always! :))

Pairing: Platonic Loki x Platonic Thor x Reader

Warning: Strong language.

Word count: 1718

"Alright (Y/N), time to get out of there." Steve’s stern voice came in through your comms.

You looked around briefly before returning your gaze to the computer screen in front of you which was currently transferring all of it’s hidden files to your connected external drive.

"Nearly done Captain. I need two minutes." you replied, pleading that the security camera’s would stay deactivated for just a few more minutes.

"Your cover’s about to be blown up (Y/L/N). Get out. Now." Steve sounded worried, authoritative and gentle all at once.

"Look I’m almost done, it’ll be done in the next two min-"

"It’s an order (Y/N). If you’re not out in thirty seconds, we leave without you."

Steve concluded before cutting the line. There was no bargaining after that.

You grumbled a few curse words as the Captain was no longer on line, before pulling the drive out abruptly halting its file transfer midway, and made your way outside where the quinjet stood waiting.

As you made it inside, Clint took off immediately and Nat approached you, knowing you’d be pissed off.

"You were good (Y/N), don't beat yourself up. We’ll get the info by some other means." She reassured.

"Yeah well that wasn't the mission Nat. Couldn’t have just two fucking minutes could I? I swear I would’ve got it. Just-"

Your rant was interrupted by Steve walking in.

"You did what you could (Y/N). Not worth getting caught in the process. There’s always a next time." Steve said offering you a pat on the back and a smile. The eternal optimist.

"I’m sorry Cap." was all you managed to say as you walked past them, disappointed in yourself, and sat on the chair next to Clint, pulling the seat belt on while keeping your eyes out the window.

The rest of the journey back home was pretty silent. You tried your best not to punch something out of frustration and Nat tried her best to distract you.

It would’ve been so much easier if Cap would’ve allowed Loki to accompany you. His illusions would have made the job so much easier. But Captain being Captain, thought he was better off handling other worldly things with his brother.

Contrary to popular belief, you and Loki had always worked well together. He was starting to gel well with the team. You had a special connection with both the brothers.

The initial intimidation had worn off quickly when you found out how thoughtful and considerate they really were. They were super protective of you, but also knew you could hold your own.

Maybe the reason y’all were such great friends was the sheer dissimilarities of your lives that made for endless conversations.

You were supposed to hang out together tonight for your weekly “Midgard movie nights” as Thor called it, but they had Asgardian business to take care of.

Which meant you were free to do whatever the hell you wanted, however the hell you wanted. You didn't get days like these often, and when you did you’d either spend time with Loki, or Nat - your best mate in the team, or sparring with Steve in the gym, working on your combat skills. You figured you’d make the most of your alone time.

...

The brothers had made it back earlier than they thought, which gave Loki some time to prep for your designated movie night. He had dragged his brother along to help, who agreed immediately when Loki mentioned “movie treats”. They really wanted to do something special considering you were always the one hosting these nights, complete with delicious food and drinks.

“How about pop tarts?” Thor asked pointing to the box of strawberry pop tarts lying in your top shelf, you weren't much of a sweet tooth but you kept those for Thor as he loved them too much.

“We cannot eat those ridiculous sweets as a meal brother. We need something more substantial.” Loki was mildly irritated at this point as his brother wasn't being of any help.

“What if we cook something?”

“And light (Y/N)’s kitchen on fire in the process? Never. I would very much still like to be her friend Thor.”

Loki thought for a minute before he remembered you mentioning something about Italian cuisine being your favorite.

“What are those round breads with cheese and what not that your precious team keeps ordering? (Y/N) seems to love them right?” he asked; he wasn't always around to eat dinners with the team and do the whole bonding thing, but Thor was. And he had comparatively spent more time here.

“Pizzas!! Good thinking brother! We can get Friday to order them.”Thor bellowed patting Loki on his back enthusiastically.

...

The quinjet landed in the compound and you made your way out.

“Don't be too hard on yourself kid. Relax.” Clint said as he walked beside you before sprinting inside.

You were looking forward to unwinding and spending the night treating yourself.

As you stepped into the elevator, Loki heard Friday’s voice announcing your arrival.

“She’s here early. We need more time!”

Thor had opened the box of pop tarts and had already begun munching on it.

The pizza was on its way but it wouldn't be here for another twenty five minutes. Loki figured it was a good idea if he kept all of this as a surprise, so he worked his magic to hide both him and Thor from your view as you arrived on your floor and walked in.

You closed the bedroom door with a loud bang and began stripping as you made your way into the bathroom.

A long bubble bath was what you needed so you began filling the tub with hot water and picked out your favorite bath bomb that you kept away for special occasions.

Self pampering was a valid occasion right!

When the bath was ready, you instructed Friday to put on your ‘Guilty Pleasure’ playlist and to make sure no one would barge into your apartment.

...

Out in the kitchen, Loki and Thor hadn’t the faintest idea what to do next. You clearly looked like you needed to be with yourself tonight.

“Maybe we should just leave.” Thor suggested.

“And who’s to explain the four large pizzas that will get here any minute?” Loki said jeeringly, rolling his eyes.

“So we just stay hidden?”

“For now.”

…

The songs along with the bath water were working its magic and you were in a much better mood.

Your skin started to prune so you hopped out of the bath, wrapped a fluffy towel around you and walked out into your bedroom to find some comfortable clothes to slip into. You opened the packet of your foot exfoliating socks to put them on - you had been saving those for some other time as well.

By the time you made it outside, you were jamming out to Backstreet Boys. Now a few beers, junk food, trashy TV and you’d be set for the night.

Deciding on a big bowl of popcorn you put the bag in the microwave still sashaying to the music, you realized it had been forever since you let your hair down.

By the time the popcorn was done you were attempting to moonwalk towards the microwave while singing This is how we do it a bit off key but who the hell cares?

The Asgardian Gods were finding this too amusing and were enjoying seeing this carefree side of you way too much.

By the time Eminem’s Real Slim Shady came on, Loki was horrified at your choice of songs.

“This is barbaric! What sane person finds this music worthy of listening?” He hissed loudly knowing you couldn’t hear them even though they were just a few feet away.

You took the big bowl of butter popcorn and a couple of beers to the living area and plopped down on your sofa putting your socks covered feet up on the coffee table. With the bowl in your lap, you asked Friday to turn the music off as you surfed Netflix for a while but decided on Friends because that never disappointed and settled in.

You were singing the title track loudly when Friday’s voice came through.

“Your pizzas have arrived Mr Point Break.”

Thor looked visibly pissed off at the name which Tony had made the AI regard him with.

“It’s Thor. I’m gonna punch you Stark.” Thor's voice boomed loudly as he suddenly came into view, making you jump from your seat.

“What the fuck are you doing here Thor?” You shouted straightening up and sending the popcorn flying across the floor.

“In our defense- Loki started as he stepped out too, making your eyes widen further.

You were sure you were red with embarrassment at the point. How long have they been here?

“How..what the he..what are you guys doing here?” You were fumbling with words as you looked at them.

“Okay before you get mad, we wanted to do something nice for our movie night, so we thought we’d surprise you. But clearly we are the ones getting the surprise.” Loki tried to hide his smirk but failed as he spoke.

You covered your face with both your hands and uttered a muffled, “I am mortified.”

You figured there were two ways that this would go down, you could ask them to leave you alone and get mad at the two, or you could face the situation like a grown up. They did want to do a nice thing, and their intentions were innocent after all.

Deciding on the latter, you sat up and said, “Someone wanna get the door.”

“Are you not going to kick us out?” Loki asked, his eyebrows raised.

You stood up and walked into the kitchen nonchalantly, careful not to step over the fallen popcorn.

“You got pizza right? I’m famished, let's eat.”

Thor brought the boxes and you settled on the sofa once again. The events of the night hopefully forgotten at this point. You took a slice of the pepperoni pizza and sat back on the couch to resume the show when Thor spoke up.

“Lady (Y/N) you have exceptional dance moves. Maybe not the best voice though.” Thor said and soon was met with a flying pillow hitting his face.

...

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razorblade180 · 4 years ago

Text

Twin Snowflakes 26: Preparation

[part 2 of 2]

Another day, another classroom bell. As far as Monday’s go, today was pretty harmless for Summer. Classes went by fast, Veronica only nagged her about what to eat for lunch, and P.E. was used for tournament announcements so she didn’t have to change. In a few minutes she’ll be able to walk out of the student council meeting and go home to escape-

“We’re all staying after school today, all of us.” Eliza said, filing papers.

Summer planted her head on the table. “Why do you hate me!? I’m nothing but kind to you.” She whined.

“Stop crying! Did you expect to go into the tournament performance cold turkey? This isn’t one of your concerts. Multiple things need to work at once. Which is why Harriet was kind enough to keep a platform up to act as a stage in the gym. You and your brother will have the band’s support.

Nick’s face turned to terror. He could see Summer’s face begin to get excited. “Summer, I know that look. Please remember that neither the band nor I are as skilled as you. Don’t go full dictator on us.”

She could only laugh and smile energetically. “That won’t be a problem if you hit the notes.”

“Not what I wanted to hear, Summer!”

Veronica got up from the table and packed her things. “You all have fun. I’m gonna get started on that outfit. The materials should be at your house by now.”

“Not so fast.” Eliza interjected, “Did you forget that you’re filling in on the cheer team? Their practice starts in fifteen minutes.”

“B-But my fabrics!” She gasped.

Eliza folded her arms confidently. “Sorry, tough luck. Harriet saw your moves and she gets what she wants. If only Amber didn’t twist her leg.”

Nick let out a snicker before hiding his smile from Veronica. Karma is a cruel mistress.

“I myself will oversee everything as best as I can while leading my own rehearsal. Don’t think twice to come find me, or the President, who should really be the one leading this meeting.”

“Nah you’re on a roll.”He smiled.

She gave him a glare before continuing. “Anyways, I also need somebody to let Valerie know the water heater is screwed up again and also that she should at least help with hauling supplies to Amity Arena; since she so rudely skipped this meeting.”

All of the council and other student body members turned to Nick instinctively. It was warranted but man did it blow. Summer glady stood up to take the bullet.

“I will tell her everything she needs to know, after rehearsals.”

“Works for me. Let’s move people! Time is ticking.” Eliza gathered her belongings and went out the door with the rest of the staff. Summer and Veronica gave him a nudge as they walked by. “You two still have enough time to do the outfit?”

“I fixed your sister’s uniforms in no time at all. I already have all her measurements I need so the annoying part is over.”

“What she said.” Summer added. “At this point I guess I’m being moved to wherever I’m supposed to be. Eugh, after school, even the name hurts my throat.”

“Think of it like this. We get to spend all day with Eliza!” Nick yelled out the door cheekily.

“I will answer none of your questions!” She yelled back, knowing she basically has to spend the entire day around Nick. She hadn’t told him yet but she was going to accept his offer. Her curiosity about his plan was too strong. The tournament was quickly approaching. Every step forward counts. Time to kick things into high gear.

Nick found the strength to leave the table and face judgment. “Alright, let’s get this pain over with.”

“Quit exaggerating! I will be a humble singing instructor.”

xxxxx

“COME ON NICK! YOU CALLED THAT A HARMONY!?” Summer was not humble, or quiet for that matter. “I know you can do better!”

Nick endured the criticism as he sipped his water. He was prepared for this but obviously the band wasn’t. Summer had everyone in their group scared stiff and onlookers watching in awe. This might be the first time they’ve heard her speak in school, let alone emote.

Her fiery nature was on full display and it’s intensity was higher than her ponytail. Free from uniform constraints, she wore compression tights and a thin long sleeved shirt that hugged her frame. Summer looked more sporty right now than she has in her entire school life.

The many eyes on the twins' practice didn’t seem to bother her. “Let’s take it from the top.” She grabbed her guitar and began to play immediately. A quick glare to the drummer snapped him out of his trance and got him to play, making the rest fall in line. Live practice was never a thing she did often. People ceased the opportunity all around the gym to watch magic be created before their ears.

Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold.

But you will remember me~

Remember me for centuries~

She nodded to Nick and he gripped his mic.

And just one mistake... is all it will take.

We’ll go down in history~

Their breathing synced up.

REMEMBER ME FOR CENTURIES~

Summer raised her fist, silencing the band. The performer turned towards her brother and band. A fraction of a smile crept onto her face. “Better. Not perfect, but much better.” She took a sip of water. “Not to be tyrant-”

“Yet here we are.” Nick said, earning a few laughs from the band and a glare from his sis. “What!? I’m boosting morale!”

“I know. It’s the only reason I’m not chewing your head off. Here I was about to compliment you too.”

“The biggest compliment you can give me is letting us finish the song completely. We’ve only gone about a fourth through it. Everyone knows this song.”

“Anybody can know a song but few feel it. I know you know this. The crowd at the tournament is gonna want hype and they’ll most likely sing along. Our job is to cultivate it to its peak. We are the opening of the event. I picked this song for a reason. If we come out firing on all cylinders then I know we can ride the wave through the whole song! Let me feel your hype, your energy!”

Nick pursed his lips. “If you want energy, then you let these guys have fun! Ice breaker time!” Nick spun around and pointed to the band. “Give me a funky beat!”

The members looked at one another, shrugging before kicking in a fun, funky classic; Billie Jean!

Nick let out the biggest “Yeah~” then started moonwalking around Summer. “Come on Summer, you can’t resist the beat!”

“Really? Of all the songs you think I’m just gonna-” She kicked her leg out and then twirled to the microphone.

She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene…!

Nick hopped with joy before chiming in as the band jammed out. Eliza watched the two from off stage with her color guard troop in disbelief, joined by Veronica seconds later in her cheerleader uniform. Eliza waved her hand to her group. “Guys, take ten. I guess it’s break time.”

“Those two seem to be having a ball. They always like this with council stuff?”

“Hardly. It’s the only reason why I’m not yelling at them right now. Can’t remember the last time they looked happy to participate. They can laugh their lungs out as long as the work gets done. Might motivate the others. Anyways, how are you holding up?”

“Oh you know, as much as a newbie could be in this situation.” Veronica shook her pom-poms for dramatic effect. “Feels nice to do something like this again though. It’s like wearing an old glove.”

“History with cheerleading?”

“Gymnastics, my ribbon work doesn’t stop with a needle. That was some time ago but I digress.”

“I see. Well...you move like a pro.” Eliza said, a little stuttery. She played with her hands a bit while focusing on the twins.

Her elevated heart rate rang like a bell while her movements reminded Veronica of herself whenever she first met Coco Axel. “So...a little birdy told me I got a fan of my work here? Got any clue who?” She teased, enjoying Eliza's jump a little. Poor girl's cheeks went red.

Eliza felt a crushing betrayal. “Which twin opened their big mouth?”

“Is the ‘who’ that important?”

“Ah so it’s both?”

Veronica tucked her lips in. “Uhhh I won’t confirm or deny that. To think I’d have a fan all the way up in Atlas?”

“Please, we don’t have to discuss .”

“Why not? No reason to hide it. I’m honestly flattered by it. Civil rights movements don’t attract the right kind of like-minded individuals typically. Then there’s the obvious regional differences.”

“Huh? Regional differences?” Eliza tilted her head. “Have faunus here been giving you a hard time?”

“No, but that’s because I’m making zero effort to approach them. Faunus here as a whole are treated crueler than other places. An outsider like me coming in and trying to ‘relate’ never goes over smoothly.”

Eliza was surprised. She had never heard of that before. “Oh, I guess I was being a bit presumptuous. Apologies.”

“No it’s fine. It’s just one of those annoying little things. A lot of the preach about wanting a voice and equality but sing a different tune when those voices start speaking because they aren’t the ones those people had in their heads. Sigh, we faunus are fickle creatures.”

“Boy, sounds like you hate your job?”

Veronica laughed, “Haha! I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe it’s my unique circumstance but as far as my personal beliefs go, Faunus and Humans are basically the same. They both hate and judge others far too viciously due to bias. I may advocate for our rights, but I’m not above calling ourselves out. It’s probably why the elders especially don’t care for my efforts.”

Veronica turned to Eliza and smiled. “Sorry, rambled for a bit there. Hope I’m ruining your hero perception of me. That is if I am a hero to you?”

“No. Wait! I mean it’s not ruined! You’re definitely inspiring to me. So much in fact that I got a cool magazine cover of you!” It took a minute, but Eliza’s brain registered what she had just said. “I…why did I tell you that?” Eliza facepalmed.

Vee was in shock. Her jaw slowly fell open. “Wow, you are a total fangirl right now. I didn’t think you could look embarrassed. Ha, you’re adorable blushing!”

“Please don’t talk about it…”

“Can I see the magazine cover? I’ll be honest. I rarely pay attention to those puff pieces. My mom handles all that.”

“Really?” Eliza patted her pockets before pulling out her scroll. “It’s from your rally in Vale.”

Veronica had a peek. “Oh I remember this!” The picture was from a year ago. Vale’s rally was pretty huge and loud. The photo was taken right when she had stood proudly on top of a car with a megaphone, protesters following her to city hall. “Not to toot my own horn but look so cool in this.”

“It’s surprising you’ve never seen it.”

“My eyes are usually glued to my sketchbook or a threaded needle. If I’m looking at myself then it’s in the mirror to see how fabric falls onto me or someone else. Speaking of clothes, maybe I can make you an outfit? First one is free. Just wear it to an event; tell your friends about it.”

Eliza lit up, but then immediately started to cringe. “An event is no problem. However...uhhh, yeah, rain check in the whole friend part. A social butterfly, I am not. Don’t have friends.”

“Uh Nick and Summer?”

“Gross.”

Veronica could barely stop herself from laughing out loud. The speed in which Eliza answered was swift to say the least. “Wow, and I thought the twin’s aunt was blunt? Are you sure that message is clear to them, because I’m positive they think you’re a friend.”

“I’m friendly, but not a friend.”

“Do you have their number?”

“Yes.”

“Sad to say you’re their friend. Don’t fight it.”

“What!? That’s not how- what!? From what I understand you and Summer aren’t friends, but I’m positive you have her number.”

Veronica nodded. “Yeah, but that’s necessary for multiple reasons. Besides, we actively shit talk one another. I reckon you don’t. I’m not saying you three are tightly knit. Just that you’re close enough.”

Eliza folded her arms and huffed. “I suppose so. That’s...annoying.”

“Look on the bright side.” Veronica grabbed Eliza’s scroll to put her number in. “Now you aren’t alone. We can complain about their antics together.”

The grin Veronica gave Eliza made her Eliza sheepish. The abrasive girl took her scroll back. “That...sounds nice.” She laughed under her breath.

Veronica couldn’t stop examining Eliza. This girl was all over the place! It was a little funny, awkward, and yet flattering. “Is this how the twins feel meeting fans?” The young lady could get used to this.

“Your last name is Marigold right? I’m so used to such a fierce expression that seeing you like this feels a bit unusual.”

“Used to? I take it you’ve spoken to my aunt then?” Eliza lit up.

“Not really. She’s been at events my mom dragged me to before. Didn’t speak with her directly but she looked pretty interesting. Her and my mom worked together before. You both and your father have some strong genes. I bet the mom must be jealous.”

“I...doubt it.” Eliza said, her tone drifting. The smile on her face faded back to neutrality. A silent breath escaped her lips while her eyes gazed into distance. Her change in attitude didn’t go unnoticed. Veronica’s ears fell watching her.

“Shit, did I...bring up something touchy?”

“It’s okay, honestly. I just wouldn’t know how my mom feels since...I’ve never had one.”

“Oh. I had no idea. Do you wanna talk about it or…?”

“Not really. It’s really not that big of a deal. You just caught me off guard since I’m used to people knowing that part of my life.” Eliza raised both her hands and gave her face a light slap to get out of her funk. Moping about nothing is pointless. Right now she was talking to Veronica, a person she admires! This was supposed to be exciting! “Phew! That’s better. Let’s change the subject. I don’t know much when it comes to fashion, but I have read about some of your involvement in contests.”

For a moment it felt like Veronica’s body had been hit by a truck. The muscles in her body constricted at once and her stomach felt queasy. “Have you now?”

“Just a little bit. It came up from time to time when I learned about your work with your mother. I gotta say your outfits definitely have your personality. More so than some of your contestants.”

“Heh, that’s not what judges think.” Vee uttered. “Not a first place prize to my name.”

“That may be true but that doesn’t make your designs less interesting in my opinion, but I know how you feel. It stings entering contests and sometimes not even making it to the end. Still, I really thought one dress in particular had it in the bag but…” Eliza silenced herself suddenly. She had forgotten the topic of this particular contest may not be light at all. “You...got disqualified?” She finished, cringing at her own stupidity.

“Yep. I got disqualified. No medal at all for that one.”

The air felt dead. Eliza clicked her tongue. “I had forgotten that part. The article never said why though, so it stuck out to me. If..if you don’t mind-”

“I actually do, a lot.” Veronica’s sharp response made Eliza jump a little. A few people passing by took notice of the aggressive tone, making Veronica mentally kick herself. “Shit, that wasn’t supposed to be so...I’m touchy about that day.”

Eliza waved off the comment like she was the one in the wrong. “It’s fine! I should’ve known better.”

“I guess we’re both even now huh?”

“Even!? I wasn’t trying to get back at-”

“Haha, relax before your heart explodes. It was just a tease.”

Eliza’s for got red. “Oh...of course.”

“You weren’t kidding about not having friends. I thought I was bad at small talk.”

Eliza held her head down. “I’m like a dumpster fire…”

“Ha, I can see that. I guess I’m fortunate to do speeches often. Easily the savior of my social skills. My parents are great but I wouldn’t say they aren’t the most elegant people in conversations. At least not ones that aren’t in front of a camera where they have to be. In a regular conversation they are as uncoordinated as they come.”

“I can see that. Yang’s sister does live here after all. She definitely has her own way of holding a conversation.”

“Pfft, that’s one way to put it. Just shake it off. We’re all kinda tone dead I guess.” Veronica laughed. This was fun. This was actually fun. Talking casually, who would’ve thought? She grabbed her water bottle to drink.

Eliza was also having a pleasant time. She was running low on conversation starters though. There had to be something that shouldn’t go horribly wrong. That’s when it came to her…

“So your head over heels for Nick right?”

Water sprayed out of Veronica’s mouth. How did each question keep getting her!? It shouldn’t even have been that bad yet here she was, choking over the most basic thing that everyone knew! Normally she hated being touched but feeling Eliza pat her back was gladly welcomed.

If Eliza didn’t feel bad before, then she definitely did now. “I am so sorry!” her voice was so spastic it would make Summer look calm. “I told you I’m terrible at this!”

“No, agh, no… this one is me!” Veronica coughed. “Damn, that really hurt my chest. It’s like the entire gulp went down the wrong pipe!” A few more coughs and another sip of water cured the promise. Veronica rubbed her chest and tearfully looked at Eliza. “Yeah I’m into him. Why do you ask?” Her desire to act like she didn’t nearly die was strong. “Wait, don’t tell me you like him too!?”

Water wasn't the only thing that was gonna be on the floor with questions like that. Eliza made a face that looked like she may have gagged out of spite. “Ugh, not a chance.” She folded both her arms aggressively.

“Cool, that would’ve been weird.” Veronica thought. Then Eliza began rubbing her chin. That was never a good sign.

“Weeeeeell…” Eliza said.

Veronica deflated like a balloon. “Here we go…”

“Huh? No! It’s not what you think. I don’t like him like that, or much at all really. However, I can’t deny he is...charming to put mildly. I can recognize that. As a whole, I don’t like Nick that much. There’s too much that grinds my gears. That said, there is a side to him I deeply appreciate. Don’t tell him that or I’ll deny it.”

Her tidbit made Vee’s cat ears wiggle. “You gonna leave me hanging like that? Elaborate a little.”

“Really? I didn’t want to diss him in front of you or anything.”

“Tah! Nick doesn’t need anyone coming to his defense and I’m not gonna bite your head off over an opinion, most likely.” She had to add that last part. Veronica doubted Eliza was going to say something that would be unapologetically mean but you can never know what a person could say. “Speak your mind.”

Eliza looked towards the stage to watch the council president in question adjust some light equipment to put on his sister. “That boy is...selfish in the wrong way.”

That sure was an answer. Veronica tilted her head. “I...don’t follow.”

“Nicholas Schnee is a people pleaser, yet he goes out of his way to do things on his own and inefficiently. He has the qualities of a great leader but doesn’t truly lead anyone. Instead he bends over backwards. This entire concert was his idea yet he chose not to fill anybody in on this for weeks; leaving us in the dark when we could’ve been further along. All that money, trust, and influence, yet I fail to see him use it with the care I know he knows how to do. It’s so annoying! Agh, I wish I had a fraction of what his name has.”

“Sounds like to me you’re a little envious?”

“A bit, but that doesn’t change my view of him. You know him. Am I wrong?”

“I’m the last person to judge right or wrong here, but I see what you mean. Nick definitely has his faults, no argument there. I told him the other day he was a bit pushy at times and overbearing. Still, I wouldn’t say those qualities are bad. Nick is… a man on a mission.”

The administration in Veronica’s eyes was clearer than air to Eliza. “Opinions aside, his heart is good. The love he has for family and friends is undeniably. I respect that.”

“Is that the part you deeply appreciate?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, that quality is a given. The side I like is one few people see. I witnessed it for the first time at a red carpet event several years ago. It was our first time actually speaking. I stubbornly declared I’d beat him in a tournament and show everyone how beneath me he was.”

“Wow, your social skills really are rough.”

“Cut me some slack. I was fourteen and cocky. Anyways, I expected him to laugh it off and give that fake smile he gives to the public. Instead, he gave this smug smirk at me and said ‘I can’t wait.’ It was actually chilling. I could tell from his eyes that he was threatening, no, intimidating me. He had no problem letting me know he wanted to take me down, and that’s exactly what he did on tournament day. However, right before our match, Nick took me to the side to chat. It was my first tournament. The anxiety I had was a plan on my face. Instead of using that weakness, he gave me tips to calm down. Having him focus solely on me in that ring was thrilling, different from his usual self. There’s an honesty about it I like. No way somebody can be nice all the time.”

It was for that very reason Eliza knew she had to hear Nick’s offer out. Whenever that look comes out, it spells trouble for who caused it. To think the plan involved beating Valerie? What could he possibly be up to?

Veronica rubbed her chin, intrigued. “So that’s your reasoning. Hmm.” She snapped her fingers and smirked. “Masochistic.”

Eliza bugged out. Her jaw dropped and she was seconds away from protest, until the snickering from Veronica let her know she was teasing again. A smile slowly formed and Eliza playfully elbowed Vee. “Shut up.” She laughed. “Talk about a mood killer.”

Veronica stuck her tongue out before breaking out into laughter when Eliza. Hard to believe the key to being social was being kinda bad at it? It was nice making a friend. Veronica didn’t say it but they were glad to be here.

Across the room, the gym door opened. “Well look who’s having fun!?” A voice bellowe, the condescending echo gaining everyone’s attention. To many’s displeasure, it was Darren sauntering in with his silent partner Max behind him. “Sounds like a real party here. Care if I join? Maybe shake things up a little?”

The upperclassman paced like he owned the place, watching. “Hard at work for my big day?” His eyes go to the stage. “Well if it isn’t the Jester of the School!”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Very original. I’d love to hear more of this comedy act but unfortunately the gym is closed for regular students. Please take your friend and your clown makeup somewhere else.”

“Pfft, you diss like a child.”

“Said the man who called me a jester.” Be it a deity or the universe itself, people should count themselves lucky Nick had high tolerance for stupidity. Darren’s presence was grinding it down however. Punches and nearly getting a friend hit by an asshole’s car did that to an individual.

Summer could see the sparks fly between the two. Grabbing the microphone from Nick with no hesitation, Summer took the lead. Unfortunately for Darren she didn’t have her brother’s tolerance, and she was on her favorite spot in the whole world. “You’re interrupting our practice and wasting my time. Beat it.”

The gym went silent. Did everyone hear that right? Summer Schnee...was rude!? Darren blinked twice, stunned. “Excuse me but, nobody was talking to you.”

“And nobody invited you. Scram.” She shooed him away as if he was a bug.

“Now is that anyone to talk to a superior? I don’t care how famous you are or what your last name is, you little princess. You just keep singing like a little songbird; it’ll be the only good press you get that day before losing to yours truly!”

Summer out of this expression of confusion. “And your name is…? Sorry, I just have a really hard time with faces when they don’t even rank in the top five.” Multiple ‘oooos’ and chatter started going. “Is Dean? Dunce? …..Dumb and Dumber?”

Max let out a simple “Hmph” while Darren got pissed. “So you got jokes huh?” He said through his teeth. It only took one step closer before Nick immediately stepped in front of his sister. Before either could give the audience a glimpse of tournament match l, Eliza flicked the lights off and on to gain everyone’s attention.

“HEY! Knock it off, all of you.” She demanded. Darren’s gaze came her way and towards Veronica by extension. Eliza took a step between the two, stopping a problem before it could start. “Na uh, eyes on me. One word to her and I might let Principal Coal know. May I remind you that after recent behavior it would behoove you to act like a respectable upperclassman, or else-”

“Hey hey hey there, little one, I just came in here to mingle a little; shoot the breeze and all. I’m not the one who got all bent out of shape and started insulting people. Ain’t that right Max?”

Unbothered, Max put his hands behind his head. “That is what happened; dumb jokes or not.”

“Yeah that’s- hey! You aren’t talking about my jokes are you!?”

Eliza took a deep breath. “Consider the breeze shot to hell. Now if you would kindly be on your way so-”

“Uuuugh, you’re so boring, acting like a lifeless doll and shit. Even her frail and tone deaf highness behind me showed some backbone for once.”

“Tone deaf!?” Summer yelled. She would’ve thrown her microphone if Nick didn’t take it from her. “Oh I really hope your bite is at least half as good as your bite. This ‘Princess’ thinks you deserve a public beat down for the world to see, personally delivered!”

“See you at the tournament!” Nick added.

Darren pointed behind himself. “See? At least they’re interesting.”

“If getting egged on by your limp insults is what you want then why should I even bother?” Eliza stepped to the side. “Best be on your way. You can earn my wrath whenever you feel man enough to enter a solo tournament instead of hiding behind your partner.”

“Oh yeah?” Darren glared. “Tough talk from a-” The back of his shirt was pulled by Max.

“Time to go. You’ve had your fun, and I’m getting a headache. No use talking. Let the tournament do all the bragging.” Max began dragging Darren to the exit until Darren brushed him off to walk himself. He gave Eliza one last pissed off look before giving a smug face as he walked away. “Tsk, drug baby.” He mumbles.

Loud footsteps and the sound of metal clanged behind him. Darren quickly turned around, ready for a fight. “Well I guess you can get ma-”He didn’t move. What he thought was Eliza losing her cool was actually her defending him with her baton from a very pissed heir with an Arma Gigas.

“He’s quicker than he looks.” Max grabbed Darren again and all but tossed him out the gym before any actions became an incident.

“Care to tell me why you wanna fight my battles?” Eliza complained.

“I’m not fighting your battles. My patience just got a little restless.” Nick unsummoned his blade and walked away. Thoughts of last night suddenly came to mind, making him sigh. “Sorry. Overstepped a bit. I’m gonna cool off.” He groaned.

Eliza rubbed the back of her head. That was...off. Nick must’ve been more ticked off by Darren than she was aware of. “Just don’t get so jumpy. The last thing I need is you not being able to kick his ass because you got suspended.”

“Haha yes ma’am.”

Eliza clapped her hands loudly. “Okay everyone! Get back to business!” She shouted, returning everything to normal. Thank the gods for at least giving Eliza cooperative staff members. Her body slumped over. Why can’t any event be peaceful! Damn that Darren! Now she wished he was in the solo bracket. Her head lifted to look at Veronica. “I take it if Nick heard that then so did you?”

“Little bit. I can pretend I didn’t. Makes no difference to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. Who likes beading around the bush anyways? You asked about my mom earlier. Now you basically know. To make a long story short, my dad in his younger years spent his money in...less than responsible ways. Who needs love when there’s plenty of clubs and corners with people looking to make a quick buck? My mother just so happened to get a little more than just lien.”

Veronica’s face scrunched up. “Yikes. That’s a lot to unpack.”

“Not really. Never had a mom so it’s not like I’m yearning for a connection when there never was one to start with. One day my dad noticed her pregnant and like you said before, I have strong features. A woman parading around with no home, every drug under the sun, and a potential baby that looked like the CEO of a company one kingdom above is a recipe for ruin. Many board members thought it best for my father to deny anything and everything. Apparently a few of them along with some kind individuals thought it best to move my mother in with him. This way the baby, me, would at the very least be healthy.”

“What about your mother?”

“Ultimatum. Fall in line with this new society and learn to act like a high class citizen, or take a generous amount of money to keep quiet. I don’t look like her so spinning a story wouldn’t do her well, and high class society didn’t mean she could get high any hour of the day. Took the money and never looked back. Tabs were kept on her for a while but she eventually became white noise among the gutter trash of Mantle. A druggie with tons of cash is never good. Most likely ended up in a gutter from overdose or somebody who caught wind of her spending habits.”

“Eliza that’s...I’m sorry that happened.”

“Eh, I’m not losing sleep over it. Not like I got a bad deal either. Contrary to what people might say about my name, my father is a decent man and cares for me as well. He’s by no means perfect but who is? Aunt May told me once that if nothing else, my dad doesn’t make problems bigger than what they have to be. I didn’t ask to be born, so resenting me would be shallow. We get along and that’s all that matters family wise. Though...it’s not like he got a raw deal out of it.” Eliza conjured a small flame in her hand. “He took the high road and learned he got Remnant’s first magical daughter in ages. Talk about good karma.”

“Way to look at the positives.” Veronica said.

Eliza put out the flame. “It’s just the facts. Unfortunately rumors floated and not all people were happy with the decision, so little tidbits here and there got learned. As you can see with Darren’s mouth almost getting him into trouble. The only thing bigger than his mouth is his ego.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with his type.” Veronica said with annoyance. She was too familiar with it.

“Anywho, I should get back to practice. Thanks for chit chatting. And people say it’s bad to meet your heroes and stuff. I guess they’re meeting the wrong ones.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I mean I’m pretty rad but you know...modesty and all that. I’m no Blake Belladonna or Yang Xiao Long. Just little ol’ me.” Veronica chuckled. “See ya around?”

“Sooner than you might think.” Eliza twirled her baton and went on her way.

Veronica watched the girl leave. No wonder Nick chose Eliza to be the one to keep an eye on her. She was tough as nails; with or without the uniform! A shame Darren outed her like that. Veronica felt a little dirty learning something Eliza didn’t want to tell her. Veronica was surprised that Eliza didn’t ask for her to return the favor. Then again, it would’ve been pointless. Veronica knew herself. She wouldn’t say a word regardless of fairness. She might have even lied. The girl let out a sigh, taking a moment to look down at herself before heading back to practice. Some things are just better left unsaid.

#rwby #rwby twin snowflakes #nicholas schnee #summer schnee #eliza marigold #veronica belladonna #darren diabhalta #max winchester

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sorry-apsalar · 4 years ago

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Frender Drabbles: We Should Change It

Proposition Infinity should've been gay but it wasn't and I'm salty about it so I wrote this.

Did robots even do the whole marriage thing? It somehow hadn’t occurred to Fry that maybe they didn’t until just now when it was practically already too late. Well actually, it wasn’t too late, he could still change his mind and sell the ring but… he didn’t want to. Besides, he’d already convinced Bender to go on a moonwalk date with him.

Being on the moon was still pretty cool as far as Fry was concerned even if visiting whole other planets in entirely different solar systems was literally part of his job. It was cool because ever since he was a small child he’d always wanted to walk on the moon, just like he’d always wanted a robot for a friend. He had both now and so much more; he couldn’t be happier.

He turned his head to smile at Bender walking disinterestedly beside him, kicking up moondust with every step. Bender lifted his gaze to meet his, his expression shifting from bored to slightly confused. “Did I forget something? Like is it Valentine’s Day 2.0 or something and I didn’t get the memo?”

“Uh, no, why?”

“Because you insisted we go out here to walk around on the moon of all places and now you’re looking at me with those lovey-dovey eyes and it’s cute but that means this whole thing is some kind of special something to you, right? But I have no idea what it could be so out with it already, what’s this about?”

Fry should’ve predicted he’d be called out. Oh well though, it gave him the perfect opportunity to pop the question. “It is special to me but uh, not because of what day it is or anything like that but because… I have something important I want to ask you.” Swallowing back his nerves, Fry stopped walking, forcing Bender to do so too. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring box. “Will you marry me?” He flipped it open and held it out towards Bender.

Bender froze for a few seconds before reaching over to accept it. Not to put it on though, but instead to inspect it as if Fry would ever dare to get him a diamond ring that was anything less than the real deal. It wasn’t a super expensive one like Bender would’ve probably preferred but it was the best Fry could do and it still looked nice.

“Hmm,” Bender finally looked up from it and back at Fry. “It’s on the cheap side but not cheap enough to be low quality, so good job on picking it out. I’d say ‘yes’ but uh… we can’t get married. I’d thought you already knew that.”

Fry’s heart sank but… that was fine. They didn’t need to get married, they already lived together and stuff so really it would’ve just been a formality and reason to throw a party to declare their love. But still… “Why not? It’s fine that you don’t want to but…”

“Nah, I didn’t say I don’t want to. Gosh, I forget how dense you are sometimes. We can’t get married because it’s not legal, no one would do the ceremony for us or recognize us as legally married.”

“Oh uh… why is it illegal?”

Bender shrugged. “Just is. People are more accepting of robosexuals these days but there are still a lot of people who aren’t, enough that it’s still not legal. We could hold a sham wedding though if it really means that much to you. I wouldn’t mind that at all. Especially since it would spite all the assholes who hate that kind of thing.”

“But… gay marriage and stuff is legal now.” That was one of the great things about the modern age compared to the time Fry grew up in. “So is marrying aliens, I think since Kif and Amy are basically married, right? So why isn’t it legal for robots and humans to get married? That’s not fair at all.” People were supposed to be more tolerant these days but this was a thing, how?

Bender shrugged. “That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Well… we should change it then.” Fry wasn’t normally one to suggest such a thing but this made him too mad not to. He was allowed to be gay but he wasn’t allowed to marry the love of his life because he was a robot, that was just plain bullshit.

“Uh… cool idea but I doubt we can.”

“No, we can. Back when I came from gay people weren’t allowed to get married and they changed that somehow so why can’t we change this?” Fry didn’t know how that had changed and as a gay man he should probably look it up one day to know the history of it and stuff but that could wait.

“Huh? I guess you do have a point. So sure, let’s make robosexual marriage legal. Or try to at least. If we succeed, I’ll marry you in celebration.”

#My writing #futurama #frender #Fry/Bender #marriage proposal

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kaalamarii · 5 years ago

Text

MC’s 80′s Party-Hold Me Now

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993053/chapters/57914824

Summary: You and Lucifer aren’t on speaking terms and it turns Luci into a soft emo boi.

Parirings: Lucifer/Reader MC

Word Count: 1758

Warnings: Luci’s in his feelings. My dumbass forgetting that Cerberus doesn’t live at the House of Lamentation.

You look to Lucifer, wanting to go to him. Things had been weird between the two of you lately, between a lot of fucking and a lot of fighting, you’re not sure where you stand with the eldest brother. He didn’t say so, but you knew it stung him a bit when he found out you’ve been feeling homesick. He’s understanding, of course. You were suddenly ripped from your life to come to Devildom, and it’s not like you had a say in it. Still, he can’t help but feel a bit hurt.

He would never say this to you, of course. But since the planning of the party started, he had been different toward you. He barely speaks, and when he does, it’s about your tasks or some other sort of lecture. You had had enough of it and called him out the other day, and being the Avatar of Pride, he denied feeling anything for you.

“You’re just a human,” he told you. “After you go back home, where you want to be, you won’t even matter to me.”

You felt tears in your eyes and ran out of the room. Lucifer didn’t bother going after you. He wasn’t the type to come running, begging for your forgiveness.

You hadn’t said a word to him for the past few days and you weren’t going to now.

Lucifer was standing near the entrance of the dining room, looking super handsome and not at all like himself in jeans and red plaid. You recognize him as John Bender from the Breakfast Club. You feel a jolt run through your body as you begrudgingly check out the demon. You sigh. He looks hot.

Next to him is Diavolo in full blown Freddie Mercury, the cutest fake mustache and his white tank top showing off muscles you didn’t realize Diavolo had. The perverted side of you drums up naughty visuals of being sandwiched between Diavolo Mercury and 80s bad boy Lucifer, but you shake them off, swearing that asshole Lucifer is never getting in your pants ever again.

Instead, you make your way to the dance floor, where Asmo and Simeon are talking and dancing with each other. Asmo is looking absolutely gorgeous as Boy George, make up and outfit on point. Simeon stood next to him, as Michael Jackson from the Thriller video. On the sidelines stood Luke as a very adorable and grumpy looking Bob Ross.

You look at Luke and his face softens. He waves to you and you wave back before getting distracted by Asmo bringing you into a hug. “You look beautiful, Material Girl!” Asmo says with a squeal.

“Please, look at you!”

He waves his hand at you and scoffs. “Just adding to the beauty that I already have. And would you look at Simeon here... Simeon, show MC what I taught you.”

Simeon does a small snippet of the Thriller dance and the moonwalks. “Heee heee!” he says and you giggle.

“Very cute.”

Simeon smiles. “Luke hates it. He says the 80’s was a disgusting time. He said Bob Ross is the only nice thing to come out of that decade.”

“Doesn’t match his personality,” you reply, “but he sure does look adorable.”

Asmo puts his hands on his hips. “Enough talking about the chihuahua. Let’s dance, MC.”

You smile and Asmo grabs your hand, twirling you and swaying his hips with you. You laugh as he dips you and twirls you again, passing you to Simeon.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go to Lucifer,” Simeon says. “You two have been pretty close lately, huh?”

“I guess so. He’s been a dick recently.”

Luke covered his ears, complaining to himself about your language and the fact that you actually spend time with demons. Simeon isn’t bothered in the slightest by your swear. “That’s just Lucifer...you know he gets like that.”

“True,” you say, agreeing with the angel, “He isn’t always the most affectionate. I know deep down he cares and that it isn’t personal.”

Simeon nods, listening to you. “But he still needs to learn to be gentler, right?”

“Exactly. He’s all upset because I miss home. But it’s not that I hate being here. It’s not bad for being...well, Hell.”

Simeon chuckles.

“And I love the brothers. But I mean, I didn’t have a choice to come here...I was totally thrown in here, unprepared.”

“I get it,” Simeon states as he twirls you, before bringing you into him, pressing his hips against yours and moving to the music. “It’s hard for you, even if you are enjoying yourself. I imagine it’s difficult for Lucifer as well. He probably never thought you’d be forming a bond with his brothers, and certainly not with him.”

You look over at Lucifer, who is watching you dancing with Simeon, a serious look on his face that you can’t read. As if hearing your thoughts, Simeon speaks up. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

“Yeah, right. You and I both know that Lucifer doesn’t talk about feelings.”

“Give him some credit, MC.”

You sigh, looking back at Lucifer, watching as he gets up and goes to the kitchen, coming back out with a bowl of food for Cerberus. He looks over at you and gives you a small apologetic smile before heading out of the dining room.

Lucifer walks to his room where Cerberus is staying and sets the bowls down for each of the heads. He sits on his bed, lounging back, as he waits for the three headed dog to finish eating. He pulls out his phone, opening up Devilgram. He doesn’t see the appeal of it, honestly, but is always curious to see what his brothers and you post. He stops at a selfie of you, Asmo, and Simeon from tonight. He looks at you, and taps on your name, going to your page. He scrolls through, stopping to admire all your photos. There’s selfies of you, funny pictures of you and his brothers. There’s a group of pictures of the two of you. One where your heads are touching and you’re both smiling, another one with him serious and you kissing his cheek. The caption is a simple red heart emoji.

He sighs, closing to Devilgram to look at his personal photos of the two of you. There’s photos there he wouldn’t dare to show anyone else; you looking sexy in lingerie, post sex selfies, you and him kissing and cuddling, even a few with him doing goofy faces with you. He adores you. And he adores these pictures, cherished memories of your short time together.

He misses you. He hates when you two fight. Unfortunately with you being stubborn and never following rules and him being the Avatar of Pride, fighting happens often with the two of you.

He has to apologize, he knows that. It’s always so hard for him, but he’s already had a lot of loss in life and he isn’t about to lose you.

He’d never tell you this, but his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you knock on his door. He knows it’s you because you knock so softly compared to his brothers and Diavolo, and Cerberus reacts with a wagging tail instead of a growl. He gets up, a little more quickly than he’d ever admit, and opens the door.

“MC.”

“Hey…” you say, awkwardly. “Can I come in? I think we need to talk.”

He hesitates, then nods, moving to the side so you can walk into his room. He sits on his bed again as he watches you go over to the dog, petting each of his heads. He’s patient, waiting for you to start.

You know he’s not going to break the ice. You sit on his bed next to him. “So…”

“Yes?”

“You left the party.”

He nods. “I had to feed Cerberus.”

“That’s right, I forgot he was here for the week. Is that the only reason you left?”

He thinks for a moment, and tells you (somewhat) honestly. “No. I’ve been around my brothers all day setting up the party. Alone time is nice.”

“Oh,” you say, a little hurt.

“I mean, a break from them. You’re more than welcome here. Anytime. You know that.”

You nod, accepting his answer.

“Are you enjoying your party?”

“I am.”

“Hopefully you feel a bit more at home,” he says, a bit sour.

You sigh. “Luc…”

He cringes, still getting used to your nicknames for him.

“I do miss home, but I still like it here, you know? I love spending time with all of you. You, especially.”

“Fine,” he replies.

You roll your eyes. “What do you mean by fine, Lucifer? I don’t understand you. I think we’re getting along and then you pull shit like that.”

“What are you going on about?” Lucifer asks, furrowing his brows at you. “I don’t know what you want from me, MC.”

You groan in frustration, throwing yourself down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. “I want you to stop being such an asshole and just tell me how you feel...I mean, I don’t understand what’s going on with us.”

“How I feel?”

“Yes, like...do you love me?”

“How am I supposed to answer that?”

“Truthfully.”

He sighs. “MC, I barely know you.”

“Barely know me? Luc, you’ve been inside me, for fuck’s sake. You’re saying that there’s nothing between us?”

“I’m saying there can’t be anything between us. My feelings for you cannot get in the way of the exchange program.”

You feel tears well up behind your eyes.

He hates this part… when your lip quivers and your eyes start to water. The look of pain on your face and the way your voice trembles as you try to keep yourself composed. He hates it so much.

“Then what has the past month been? Just fucking?”

“I don’t know…” Another hard sentence for him to say.

You scoff. “You are utterly ridiculous.”

“I just know that I like you around,” he says. He laces his fingers with yours. “I like our alone time, even if we’re just cuddled up or doing our own thing. I know that I wish you never had to leave.”

You look up at him, surprised he’s opening up.

“I hate fighting with you, MC.”

“I hate fighting, too.”

He leans over, kissing you. “Then, let’s not.”

You smile. “What would you think of a quickie before we go back?”

He smirks, his devilish side coming back out. “Sounds delightful.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me shall we date #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer fanfiction #soft lucifer #mc do you love me #are you riding #say you'll never ever leave from beside me #lucifer x mc

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tosikoarts · 5 years ago

Text

SFW Alphabet | Mihael Keehl

You can check tosikowrites tag for more! Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The most straightforward among main three of Wammy’s boys. His interpretation of own feelings is excellent and he makes sure everybody around knows about them. If he hates you, you’ll feel a burning hole in your back whether it is because of intense staring or literal bullet. If he loves you, you’ll be surrounded by abundance of affection.

When it comes to person he loves, Mello is very vocal. Words do matter, they oblige you and put responsibility on your shoulders. That’s why he loves to brag about his dearest to the closest friends, and even acquaintances know about this one special person. Another important thing is nickname, which Mello chooses based on the brightest features of character/appearance. Baby, honey, dearest are common too but he feels that they deserve exceptional treatment and exceptional nickname.

He absolutely loves physical affection. Skin to skin contact gives him weird sensation right in the head as if he can physically feel neurons releasing dopamine. It also helps with keeping his anxiety under control.

By the way, sometimes inferiority complex gets the best of him, and in these moments he is extremely capricious. For the same reason Mello may act like his loved one deserves everything, while he can go with bare minimum.

He is great at reassurances. The second he realizes his loved one is insecure, upset, lost, the gears in his head start zealously turning. The words he uttered are always spoken in the right tone and able to touch the necessary strings of the soul. At the same time Mello always has doubts in the efforts made.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Friendship with Mello carries spirit of 80s-90s. It’s a wild ride he once invited you to and then you couldn’t get off. Stuff gets messy, stuff gets hot, but it doesn’t matter until you both have fun.

He will roast you so much and will never get offended if you roast him in response. Mello aims for a good laugh only. His favorite entertainment is to go shopping together just to critic each other’s outfits.

You better move that body when he drags you on the dance-floor. Blasting music and colorful lights make him feel like a fish in the water so Mello will try to teach you dance. Yes, from the easiest ones to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddles are essential for relationship with Mello. He enjoys snuggle up to his loved one on calm evenings, when there’s nothing to disturb the peace. Warmness of loved one’s head on his chest and smell of their skin calm him down better than chamomile-mint tea. He loves to listen to the sound of another person’s heartbeat as well.

Mello has one pet peeve tho: frequent head pats and hair stroking lead to greasy hair and this is exactly what he hates. If they put hand on his beautiful blond locks, he will take them by the finger and place their palm on his lips. This is a small but very loud gesture.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The thought of settling down never popped up in his head. Mello is way too young, he wants to live his life to the maximum without thinking about another dirty plate in the sink or how long it takes to make boiled eggs. Based on this you can say he doesn’t like to do any housework. His cooking skills are decent but he prefers creative mess to boring order. Mello likes to help someone in kitchen when he is in the good mood.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Nervous type he is, Mello doesn’t want to end this relationship. But he has to. But he can’t. He is indecisive and hesitates on the way to them. Hell, if they are in good mood or overly excited, Mello won't say a word about break up. In his mind it has to be like pulling a tooth – painful but necessary, - but real life doesn’t work that way. When the moment finally comes he cannot keep his voice steady. Mello tries to end it as fast as possible and hold back a scream because yelling at his loved one is something he promised he’ll never do. Actually, I can see him doing something impulsive to blow off steam. Breaking random stuff, for example, or shooting bottles.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

No. Getting married is too much. He can’t see wedding bells ring no matter how hard he tries. Every day he becomes more confident in thought that strong sincere relationship do not need bureaucracy in the form of marriage. The only time you need a marriage certificate is during the divorce process. Mello isn’t 100% sure but pretty close to this percentage. If his loved one insists on marriage he will immerse in conflicting feelings. Then his next actions will depend on many factors but Mello definitely will try to explain his position and convince them in its validity.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Mello is on the rougher side when it comes to both physical and emotional affection. Childhood in the orphanage, involvement with the mafia, psychological issues, and responsibility placed on his shoulders taught it is necessity to be tough to survive in this world. When he lets his guard down nasty inner voice keeps reminding Mello about situations in which it could be a critical mistake. This leads us to the next point.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Here he comes, another touched-starved male with trust issues. Mello needs time to get used to soft touch of other’s person hands. Sometimes he puts too much strength in his hugs and it may come across a little rough. Likes them anyway, takes initiative 90% of the time.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It completely and entirely depends on his gut feeling. Something elusive tells him whether to trust a person or not, it’s not a rational decision. As soon as this strange sensation appears, he will immediately calmly utter three treasured words, and it’s not even so important for him to hear them in return. Mello just wants another person to know that they have become an integral part of his life.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

In addition to being easily jealous, Mello is scary as hell when someone is hitting on his loved one. If he witness such insolence, he will be extremely vocal and, well, unexpectedly rude. He is not afraid to get physical too.

If it’s his loved one who is acting flirtatious, Mello will be pissed off as well. His feelings are explosive mix of disappointment, anger, malcontent. It’s better to get off his way and let him cool a little before trying to explain anything or make excuses. In a fit of jealous rage he may say some terrible things which he’ll regret later.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

The most passionate kisser imaginable. He loves to kiss and he knows how to do it properly so why would you complain. He tends to forget about personal boundaries in process so make out sessions can get really… touchy. Anyway, loves to shower his loved one with kisses all over them, but lip smooches are his favorite. At the same time Mello doesn’t care where they kiss him because of solid fact he is being kissed.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He is so awkward. Calm/gentle/kind children are ok, but if he has to deal with angry little shit who throws tantrum whenever possible, he will flip out. Being around his own children is more or less bearable but don’t expect much when it’s someone else's kids annoying poor man. Mello definitely will teach his favorite one all of the swear words as a joke.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On a free day no matter who wakes up first you will spend another hour in the bed cuddling. Then life will pour cold water on you when Mello gets frustrated with making breakfast. This may grow into small quarrel but most of the time he pulls himself together and you two find a satisfying compromise. During breakfast on work week you rarely hear any plans for the day from him but he stays curious about your schedule just to see if he can catch you for a lunch or a short call. Nothing special, really.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Night is his favorite time of the day. Neon signs, coolness, slight buzz of a big city work as a charm on Mello, he feels free from people’s staring, empty chatter, and daily duties. If he could show the world as he sees it to his loved one, at least approximate image, dim reflections of pale moon in the high-rises’ glass, he would. So to do it he takes them on late night walks and rides, new places every time.

Cafes and restaurants are another of his weaknesses, not only pastry shops, but also small diners with food that would seem boring to many. Take-outs are frequent too because chilling under the lilac sky and stargazing with Mello are 10 out of 10.

Don't let yourself be fooled, he likes to stay inside as much. Thanks to Matt, you’ll spend most of the time playing video-games and drinking pop until one of you starts yawning.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Mello is straightforward within adequate limits. You wouldn’t expect person to blur out “I hunt a Kira with my genius rival that works with FBI and Japanese Police” at any point of your movie night anyway, right? He does not pretend and does not resort to excessive secrecy but prefers to reveal facts about himself one by one.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Quickly gets angry, quickly cools down. Sadly, he his emotions are too strong and he does not know how to handle them and it often ends in heated argument. Even during a quarrel he feels his actions are hurting you but it’s not something he can stop at the click of a finger. After everything has settled down he is extremely remorseful and tried to make amends but Mello never ever promises to change. Why you make ask? In that case actions speak louder than words.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Remembers the stupidest things. He can’t remember any important dates like the day you started dating but will remind you about the most embarrassing thing you did in high school. Hell, he forgets your number sometimes but can describe the exact clothes you wore on that rainy day when car splashed you.

Unknown forces help Mello in choosing a birthday present. He has no clue what you wanted and if you wanted anything at all. Surprisingly, it always hits the mark.

Tried to write down “important” stuff about you once. Failed miserably. Decided to never do it again.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time when they confessed their love to him since Mello rewound this moment in his head like a hundred times. He remembers what color sky was and what song was playing on the background and those little details made this moment more beautiful than the masterpieces of the Louvre. Joy overwhelmed him and he couldn’t get this picture off his head for a few days too.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Not that paranoid protective and obviously doesn’t need to be protected However, he will be fluttered if person showed that they care. He will freak put if they don’t answer his calls or messages for hours and in the case of real danger he will take that gun and shoot someone as a warning.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts more effort in the beginning of relationship and its amount slowly declines with time. The closer he gets, the less he needs to try to cover up his sharp edges and imperfections or try to distract person with some kind of mask, mannerism, maneuver. Playing nice in early stages of dating gives him chance to throw the bait, to show he is able to be that datable material. A completely different question is whether a person wants to stay with him in spite of his inner demons.

Mello likes to surprise them with something special on anniversaries. Expect romantic late night motorcycle ride, car dates with take-out, and, of course, gifts. He likes to make/buy a presents person will like, something they wanted for a long time but couldn’t afford.

Acts extra-extra after anger tantrums. He knows he fucked up, okay, he just can’t control himself. Yes, it’s a lot easier to cover up consequences with huge bouquet and box of chocolates than to correct behavior learned over the years.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

If you ever had to deal with person stubborn as a donkey, you’ve seen demo-version of Mello’s behavior. Making compromises is not his strategy, so get ready for “this is the only right option”, “I said what I said”, “Yeah, go ahead, I’ll do it my way”. He immediately begins to sulk and spill his sassiness all over the place if things don’t go his way.

Doubtful impulsive decisions are most likely the cause of constant arguing and problem mentioned above. At first he does something (to say the least) stupid with impressive confidence. Then, after hours or days, his brains finally comes up with reasonable arguments but now it’s too late to back out.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

It’s obvious Mello likes to take care of himself. His sense of style is indisputable, he sticks to it and never fails to embellish the picture with shiny jewelry or other accessories. There may be dirt on his leather boots and soot on fur hood but they only complete his conceived image.

Probably has one company from which he buys all the hair care products. Feeling of easy combing through smooth silky hair before bed is another of his a little happiness.

How does he have such perfect face despite eating chocolate everyday? Mello is fond of beauty creams, masks, serums, and he doesn’t allow a single pimple ruin his day. Also, he uses different healing creams to soften the scars.

He would love to mess around with loved one trying new beauty products. There’s nothing better than taking care of each other.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, yes, yes. It doesn’t matter why they are not in his life anymore, he feels devastated. All attempts to distract himself fail as he goes back to thinking about them every five-ten minutes, and not only thinking but overthinking. Sometimes his thoughts throw him back to the past, first meeting, first kiss, and it gnaws Mello even more.

If they left for some reason, he will try to get them back. A chance meeting in the evening is completely planned, he also rehearsed his lines in the head more than a thousand times just to stay calm and avoid going off on tangent.

If they died, he will attend their grave for a few months. It doesn’t help much. He becomes incredulous and gloomy, scaring everyone around with frequent mood swings and defiant behavior. I can see him growing more actively aggressive and acting like he doesn’t have anything to lose too.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Because of his chocolate addiction, Mello has to visit dentist’s office quite frequently. The problem is he hates dentists and everything about them. The sound of a dental drill makes his skin crawl.

Mello can pull off any style, rock any outfit. He can dress up in trash bag and be fabulous as always. You can splash that man with the dirtiest water and he will still shine bright like a diamond. Unholy beauty.

He was that kid that got the highest score on Facebook picky sheet. He hates broccoli, never eats mushrooms, avoids pickles. Name any controversial food – he doesn’t eat it.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Mello can deal with pushy people but manipulators drive him nuts. As soon as he notice the smallest attempt to manipulate him, he will lash out. So you have to be the master manipulator to twist him around your finger or the batshit crazy person to pull an obvious manipulation on him.

Absence of communication. He won’t play mind games and try to guess your thoughts, so you better speak out your mind.

Oh, Mello doesn’t want a person who nods to everything he says. Sharing personal opinions plays a big role in relationships and he won’t agree to lose such way to connect.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Mello sticks to adequate sleeping schedule. His lifestyle forces him to break it from time to time but he quickly makes up for sleepless nights. He doesn’t even get moody or irritated. On the contrary, his reactions slow down, and the only thing he is interested in is comfortable bed.

Speaking of comfort, Mello likes to wrap himself in fluffy blankets. The more pillows there are around him, the better his mood will be in the morning.

Dark chocolate rich in magnesium can help you sleep better so Mello prefers switch from milk chocolate to dark in the evening. It is not uncommon to find a wrapper foil on the nightstand in his bedroom.

#death note #mello #mihael keehl #death note headcanon #death note imagines #mello headcanon #tosikowrites

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