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harrytheehottie · 3 years

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‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON PART TWO

summary: a story about spending the holidays in your hometown, reuniting with your childhood crush and timing not always being on your side.

a/n: im so excited to finally share this second part with you guys, this story is really special to me and hopefully shows that people can change if/when they want to. i also want to say thank you for voting me “most improved writer” for the 1dff awards that was truly a surprise and the nicest compliment you could give a writer. i hope you enjoy and as always i'd love to know your thoughts xx

part one ⭐️ masterlist ⭐️ tell me your thoughts

December 2019

It’s a routine.

You wake up just before sunrise, attempt to get out of bed without waking Harry next to you. You gather your belongings - your clothes left on the foot of the bed, your purse on the desk in the corner of the room. You put on the clothes you went out the night before, nudge Harry to tell him you’re leaving and then head downstairs and out the door without running into anyone.

Today was different.

“Harry, I’m going home now,” you whisper watching him shift in his sleep, his right hand moving to rub his eyes before they slowly open.

“Already? Felt like we just fell asleep?” He says through his low raspy morning voice.

“Don’t want to take any chances, remember?”

Harry furrows his brows at your statement, a mixture of sleep and the steady hangover that is going to meet him later doesn’t allow your statement to register, “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Something like that, I’ll text you later.” You give him one last kiss before slowly opening the door and tiptoeing downstairs.

What happened next is not what you were expecting, Harry’s older sister scrounging in the kitchen looking for a middle of the night snack.

Gemma is someone you were friendly with, she was a few years older than you but you crossed paths often. Between coming from the same small town and moving to London to pursue your respective careers put you in the same social circles often. She was blissfully unaware of the relationship you had with her brother and you needed her to stay blissfully unaware. You had one of two options: turn around and head back upstairs and wait another few minutes before leaving or pretend like there was nothing weird about you leaving her house at 4 in the morning. You chose the first option, slowly backing up the stairs and heading back into Harry’s room.

“Is everything alright?” You hear Harry say as you close the door behind you.

“Just thought I’d give you one last kiss to hold you over,” You smile walking over to Harry on the bed and leaning in to meet your lips with his. You move your hands into his hair, pushing the curls out of his face as you deepen the kiss between you too. Your mouths are moving in the same rhyme that they always found themselves in, no matter how many days, weeks or months that go by it’s like your bodies will never forget each other. You give him one final kiss before trying to move away, using your time to try and get away without being caught.

“No, no, s’nice… want more,” Harry says, moving from laying on his side to slowly sitting up.

“Think I’ll leave you with something to think about until later,” You tease, giving him one last kiss. You ignore the little pleas from Harry to stay, shaking your head before opening his bedroom door, hoping for the coast to be free of any sightings of Gemma.

It isn’t.

“What the fuck?”

You stood still, unable to think of something to do, closing the door wouldn’t help, trying to come up with an excuse wasn’t going to cut it with a very naked Harry sitting on the bed behind you. It wasn’t weird, you had no “allegiance” to Gemma, she was a friend, an acquaintance, someone you saw on a night out or at an event a mutual friend was hosting. The issue isn't Gemma, the issue is that your little secret with Harry was no longer a secret which probably meant the end was near.

“I, uh…” You tried racking your brain for something to say, waiting for Harry to speak up and save you. “It’s not what it looks like, we… it’s…”

Gemma stood dumbfounded, looking between you and Harry waiting for an explanation that couldn’t be provided. It wasn’t going to make sense to her, it barely even made sense to you.

“It was just a one time thing, she was just heading out,” Harry says and you can feel your heart fall into the pit of your stomach. You take a deep breath in and out

“I’m going back to my room and hopefully forget about this happening by the morning. And Harry, please try harder to cover up next time,” She says before taking one last look at us and continuing down the hall.

You turn around to face Harry who looks just as wide eyed and embarrassed as you’d suspect, his little secret is no longer only for us. If it wasn’t complicated before, it’s worse now. You wait for something from him, reassurance, a response to the moment that just happened and you’re met with silence. He is looking everywhere around the room until he finds his way back to your eyes and says, “You better head out before anything else happens.”

That was the last time you saw Harry but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about him. It killed you, how easy it felt for him. It was easy for him to throw himself into his work, traveling the world and having millions of people throwing themselves at him. He was a performer, it was natural, it’s what drew you to him and it was why it was so easy for him to cycle through you.

You spent everyday thinking about him. Why is he never the one to call? Why is he never the one making the effort? Are you just something for him to use and have when it’s convenient, like the toy you forget about until you’ve played with all your options.

It comes in waves.

Anger, how could you let yourself be so naive? You’re smart and confident, you could’ve put more effort in other areas, you wouldn’t be caught in this predicament.

Sadness, what don’t you have that Harry is looking for? Is it something you’ve done? Is it something you’ve said? You try not to buy into the differences between you and the people he’s been with, a normal girl with a normal job going against high fashion models and their entertainment industry counterparts.

It eats at you. It’s something you can’t control and you’ve tried to. It’s funny going through the motions of a break up without ever being official. You don’t know if you’re allowed to feel these feelings of anger and sadness when you know the arrangement.

You’re the only thing I don’t have to share with other people.

January 2020

You threw yourself into the dating scene, telling yourself that it was the only way through this. You met at the pub, which has kind of been your thing since all those years back. It was the usual after work situation and your co-worker introduced you to him, James. He works in TV production for the BBC, a nice boy from North London. After a few days running into one another in the pub, he finally asked you out on a date, a walk through Regents Park.

It felt easy with James, there were no questions of whether or not he was committed to you. He didn’t kiss you on the first date, leaving you with a lingering kiss on the cheek with a sweet promise of a next time. The next time was dinner at his place, an apartment in Islington, the two of you cooking a meal together, it felt good - peaceful. You chatted about work, goals for the new year and a little bit about your past.

“When was your last relationship?” James asks as he puts his glass of wine down.

You feel your stomach drop, you wonder if it’s too embarrassing to admit, you’ve never had a boyfriend before. It was always just Harry, “is this what we ask on third dates?” You try to play it off, buying yourself time to think through what you’re going to say.

“Is there someone I should be scared of? Going to run through here and ask what I’m doing with their lady?”

You shake your head at the comment, “no nothing like that it’s just I’ve never formally had a boyfriend I suppose, I guess I’m just good for a few months before getting bored.” Your eyes focused on twirling the spaghetti on your plate, you looked up to meet James brown eyes, a look of concern washing over him because of your last comment, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why are you apologizing? They’re the people missing out, plus, if it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t be here tonight and that is something to celebrate,” he says, grabbing his wine glass and meeting in the middle for a cheer.

We continued our discussion, James quickly telling me about the girlfriend he had all throughout University which ultimately ended because she moved to Australia after they graduated, feeling stuck and needing a new scenery around her. It took him a while to get past that, the feelings of not being enough, thinking he’s the reason she was feeling stuck. James has been single ever since, very much focused on himself and his career,

“I’m ready for the next step, suppose I’ve been ready for a while now,” he says just above a whisper but I catch it and I think he knows I’ve caught it.

You don’t say anything of it, just keep it in your mind as you continue dinner and James begins telling you about some of the new shows they have in production. The date ends with lots of kissing and touching but you don’t take that next step yet, still leaving just as the wine wore off as the clock struck midnight.

You thought about him on your way home even though you tried your hardest not to.

March 2020

James invites you to a secret taping, it’s for a charity music special on BBC. You were excited to be invited, your relationship was going well, he asked you to be his girlfriend on your sixth date, you were on another walk through Regents Park just having a cup of coffee.

“I love spending time with you and I would be stupid if I waited any longer to do this. I would love to be your boyfriend,” he says, looking straight at me. You could feel the nerves through his movement.

“I would love that too,” you reply as you meet your lips together for a kiss.

You’re thinking about this as you make your way into the BBC building, you check into the front desk, posing for a temporary ID badge making sure to pull a silly face, when your boyfriend is in charge you’re allowed to do what you please.

The building is busy with people, you’re weaving your way through random people trying to find someone you recognize. James being the one in charge meant that he was going to be all over the place, you hoped that you would be able to find someone on his team but this wasn’t your first time at the BBC studios so you could easily find your way into the audience. You decide to opt to take the stairs rather than fighting for the elevator with the hundreds of people that are working behind the scenes. The very long line of audience members waiting to be told where to go had you wondering who it could be that James had booked.

You knew that you wouldn’t see James until after the taping but you had the go ahead to have access to his green room. You swing open the door that leads you to the stairway, you grab your phone out of your jacket pocket to send a text to James letting him know you’ve arrived. He probably wouldn’t have much time to reply to personal texts because of how hectic it must be but you just wanted him to know you were all good.

You hear a door open and shut and footsteps that follow. Logically, you know it’s probably just a producer or assistant or even the talent and you just continue walking up the stairs after slipping your phone back in your jacket pocket.

First you see the pair of white vans, the same ones you gave him for Christmas. You didn’t know if it was the norm to get a gift for the guy you were sleeping with but you noticed how much he wore his other ones when you bought it for him. You had to delivered to his house with a note,

Hope you think of me and our little secret whenever you wear them. Xx

And he did. He put them on and sent you a picture.

Thank you for the new shoes. I’m excited to see you tonight. Same time?

You stop at your step and the body wearing the vans does the same and like clockwork, everyone following them does as well. Your eyes move up from the vans to the brown wide legged trousers, a white tank, your eyes catch the embroidered slogan on the far right corner and a checkered jacket over top.

Your eyes meet his, you take in how they almost look blue in this light. A pair of tortoise shell glasses push his brown hair back, the time apart evident through the streaks of blonde that must have grown out through the summer, summers that were never spent with you.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, brows furrowed.

You take a second and look over at the entourage of people behind him. Your dream scenario of running into Harry again wasn’t like this. In fact, you never wanted to see him again.

“My boyfriend is producing the show, just came to support him.” You respond with eyes looking everywhere but his.

“Boyfriend?” Harry repeats, a look of confusion washes over his face like he never thought the day would come where the girl he fucks on his time off finds a man that finds her worthwhile.

“Yes. I’d love to catch up but I have to find my boyfriend before he has to head back to setting things up.” You wait a moment and watch as he tries to find a filler, another question to keep you there longer.

He looks back at his team behind him. You recognize a few faces from social media but he doesn’t give you the courtesy of introducing them. And when his eyes find yours again and he continues walking down the steps you faintly hear him say, hope you enjoy, before Harry and his team are out of sight.

You stand there for a minute, collecting your thoughts and trying not to react to the situation that unfolded. It has only been three months since you’ve last seen him but all the same feelings of confusion rush back to you. You remember the first night at the pub four years ago, the months of back and forth following, the year of no communication because he was in a relationship and touring the world. And the last time you saw him, in his childhood bedroom,letting you know that the “thing” between the two of you was nothing more than a place where he was too embarrassed to even let his sister know you had feelings.

It’s pathetic really, how you could feel so much for someone without ever expressing it vocally. You asked him if he ever thought about taking it to the next level and when he didn’t have a response and promised to sleep on it, he chalked up your four years to a one time thing, a mistake, something that wouldn’t happen again. As if it wasn’t happening every week for the past 156.

You attempt to shake it off, plaster a smile on your face as you continue up the stairs and to your boyfriend's green room. You find it at the end of the hallway, James sat on the couch in the corner, eyes glued to his phone. That’s one thing you admire about him, his dedication to his job.

You knock twice before his eyes meet yours, fingers still tapping across his phone screen this time with a bigger smile on his face.

“You’re here,” he says, moving from his position on the couch to make room for you.

“I’m here,” you smile, placing a kiss on his lips before taking the seat next to him. “Does filming start soon?” You ask, eyes flickering up at the door frame every time you catch a body walking past.

“In about thirty minutes, we just got done running through final rehearsals and they’re about to start shuffling the crowd in. Happy I got to catch you before the show started though,” he says, placing another kiss on your lips.

“Encountered any nightmare celebs yet?” You ask, trying to act oblivious to the knowledge of Harry’s presence.

“Surprisingly, no. We’ve had a relatively calm day, started off with donuts and coffee for the crew from Harry Styles,”

“Really?” You ask, kicking yourself for even interrupting.

“Yeah, he didn’t even tell anyone he was doing it. Just arrived with all this food for everyone. He seems like a top notch guy,” James continues, fingers tapping back on his phone as you sit there, trying not to think about the conversations that might have happened between the two of them.

You waited in the green room for the entire taping.

You couldn’t handle running into Harry in the stairway and watching him perform on stage would have done a number on you. The last time you saw him in concert, he invited you backstage, meeting his band and crew and immediately going back to his. Your mind goes back to the car ride home, the fuck in the entryway, the way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. A chill went up your spine, trying to bury the feelings you didn’t want to resurface.

James met you back in the green room, unsuspecting of your lack of attendance to the actual taping. You made sure to display one of the biggest smiles on your face despite how uncomfortable you felt. You smothered him in kisses, holding his body close to yours, convincing yourself this was good.

“I’m just going to say goodnight to everyone and we can head out?” He says he grabs his belongings from the vanity in the corner.

You follow him into the rooms of the people that he’s been working with. You watch him send his well wishes, greeting everyone in the room with congratulations and sending them off with a hug. James is nice and it breaks your heart knowing where your mind is pushing you to go, even though you’re trying your hardest to ignore it.

James finishes his last goodbyes and you’re now waiting at the elevator, he’s interlocked your hands in his and pulls you in closer to his body.

You made it out of the building and didn’t run into Harry again.

You spent the next week living through every what if.

April 2020

Friday night was date night, so when you get a text from James at lunch time asking if you’d like to spend the night at a friend’s get-together, you don’t think twice before saying yes. A new change in scenery could be fun allowing you to get out of the self induced funk you’ve been for the last week. The only details you were given is that it was going to be a laid back game night and a few of James' friends from work would be there.

James picked you up from your apartment, you opted for a pair of jeans and a simple blouse, you wanted to look nice without trying too hard. You slid into the passenger seat of his car, lips meeting in the middle for a simple kiss and then you were off.

“So, whose house are we going to?” You ask as the car sits at a red light.

“Harry Styles is funny enough,” James says as the light turns green.

You were excited until you weren’t.

“What?”

“Yeah, I guess he really enjoyed our company at the taping and just invited us all round to his, he really is one of the nicest people.”

“I’m sure,” you respond as you turn to look out the window, letting the sounds of the busy streets fill the silence in the car for you.

The car is heading to Harry’s.

You knew this car ride was like the back of your hand, the roundabouts, the stop light that always felt like it took ten minutes to turn from red to green. Did Harry know James was your boyfriend? Was this his plan all along? You felt a sense of guilt, not letting James know the history between you and Harry but you couldn’t even explain it to yourself.

You park the car a block away, walking up to the first set of doors and watching James punch in the code for the lock, the same six digits that had followed you for years. Your plan was to avoid Harry as much as possible, which given the circumstances of being at his house was kind of impossible. You were grateful that the front door was unlocked, so you could just walk in. James led you through the entryway and towards where everyone was gathered. You tried not to look around and take in the house that you spent a lot of your time in, you didn’t want to know what stayed the same or what changed. You didn’t want to be hit with the waves of nostalgia of the good and bad, the nights that were spent cuddled on the couch watching a movie or the mornings in the kitchen watching him try to make the perfect cup of coffee. It was too much but you were here, with James and it wasn’t fair to him having these thoughts.

“Are you alright?” James asks, pulling you in and scanning your face for all the signs of discomfort that you’re trying to hide.

“Yeah, why?” You ask as you move your lips into a smile.

“I just asked you if you wanted something to drink three times and you weren’t responding,”

“Oh, I’ll just have water!” You say quickly.

“No alcohol? I’m sure there’s some wine you’d like.”

“I’ll just stick with water, I don’t think I have it in me to drink tonight,” you respond hoping that he doesn’t press for more and just like you thought, he doesn’t. You watch him as he moves so casually around Harry’s kitchen, grabbing two cups, filling one with water from the filter for you and mixing up a cocktail of his own.

You scan the room around you and are immediately hit with familiar faces. Harry’s band members are sitting in the living room playing a card game of sorts, drinks littered around the room with various appetizers accompanying them. You wondered if any of them would remember you or if you were just one of many girls that ended up backstage at a Harry Styles show. You knew that in order to make it through this night you would have to act unbothered like you were over him and none of this phased you.

You clung to James' side the entire night. You didn’t want to give Harry the chance of approaching you. It was easy with this many people in the room to act like a fly on the wall. People are sharing stories and fighting over the rules of UNO while you watch, not contributing much but making sure to add in a slight laugh whenever you hear James next to you.

You stayed like that for a while until people started filtering to the back garden. An unusually warm night in London had everyone wanting to spend as much time outside as they could, after the 10th round of UNO. James had excused himself to the bathroom and you were waiting for him on the sofa you let your body melt into. You had these moments of peace, not having to put on a facade and act like you were alright. You hadn’t seen much of Harry all night but you didn’t want your mind to wonder where he was because you were with your boyfriend and that was not fair but your life had a funny way of showcasing what’s fair because when you feel a presence behind you, the words that follow are confirmation of who it was.

“If I remember correctly this is where you were the last time you were in my house under very different circumstances,” Harry whispered in your ears from behind the couch.

You turned your head to be met with his hands on the top of the couch, long ringless fingers with chipped nail polish, a bad habit you always tried to help him break. He’s in a pair of cream linen pants with one of his hoodies on top, you don’t have to see his face to know it’s him.

“Was this your great big plan?” You question keeping your body facing forward, not allowing him the luxury of looking you in the eyes. “Invite my boyfriend’s company to game night hoping that I’d show up?”

“You’re here now aren’t you?” Harry whispers in your ear behind you.

You sigh heavily and try to ignore the chills that are moving up your spine from the proximity of his body. You were annoyed and his need to keep pestering you wasn’t helping the situation. You turn your full body around, torso twisting as you move your right leg onto the cushions of the couch. Harry’s face is dangerously close to yours, you can see the freckles that always appeared after days in the sun. You lock eyes and part your lips to give a rebuttal but because timing was never on your side these days someone else spoke first,

“Harry,” you hear the sound of James' voice and the uneasy feelings come back, “the man of the hour, can’t even be found in his own house,” he continues as he makes his way closer to the two of you on the couch.

“James, I was just telling Harry how we were heading out,” you made some facial expressions to signal to him since Harry was still standing behind you.

“This is James?” Harry says, brows quirked as he pulls his hand out to offer a shake.

“Yes, I am him,” he laughs.

You watch the mostly friendly exchange between the two of them but from the look on Harry’s face and the very oblivious one on James you knew you were in the clear.

“Why don’t you guys stay a bit longer we’re going to have a bonfire in the garden. The night is still so young,” Harry says.

You’re already made up of your mind and if James doesn’t get and take the hint that you want to leave this night will not end well. If Harry wants to have a conversation with you he needs to do it on his own time not weasel his way into the good graces of your new boyfriend. This was childish and you both knew it.

“Friday nights are date nights, spent enough time with other people who think we deserve some time with ourselves,” you say to James, still ignoring the fact that Harry can definitely hear you. You get up off the couch to stand next to James, interlocking your fingers with him and planting a soft kiss on his lips. You watch Harry as he takes everything in, the satisfied grin giving him a taste of his own medicine plastered on your face.

“Well, have a great night and I hope to see you soon,” Harry says, keeping his eyes on you before turning around and walking back into his garden.

May 2020

You think about ending things with James.

It starts off small.

You can’t stop comparing him to Harry which at the start of your relationship was a great thing. He cared about you instantly and without any question, but it wasn’t what you wanted. And as each day passes you could feel yourself inching back to the person you used to be. Using people to fill the void that was beginning to become all too familiar.

And one thing that you were sure of is that you couldn’t do to James what Harry did to you and no matter how painful it was going to be and how much you knew it was going to crush you, you knew that you had to say something soon. So, you spent a week working up the courage and not replying back to messages as quickly as you could until you sent the dreaded, can we talk? text.

It was painful.

You met up for a coffee after work and let him down as softly as you could.

“James, I don’t know how to say this but I just want you to know that you’re a great guy and I really had so much fun with you the last few months,” you tried to keep it together, feeling your throat swell up from the tears that were already formulating from the moment you sent him a text. “I just have a lot to deal with at the moment and it would be unfair to string you along,”

“Is it Harry?” James interjects eyes locked in with yours.

“What?” You respond, taken off guard by his comment. You thought you kept it together well.

“The guy before me, you said it was complicated and never elaborated beyond that.”

“Would you think differently of me based on my answer?” You ask, trying to buy yourself more time.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he says.

And you let him down easy, explaining the situation and the years of back and forth. James was understanding, as always, making sure that you knew that your happiness is what he wanted and if your happiness wasn’t with him he was glad that you said something. It was still painful because there wasn’t that guarantee that if or when you went to Harry, he would be ready to take you back seriously.

You did what you always did through heartbreak, threw yourself into work. You spent hours on different projects constantly keeping yourself busy. It was easier to not let your mind gravitate towards thinking of James but there was always a constant reminder of Harry everywhere you went it seemed. You heard his songs playing in shops as you did your weekly grocery run, adjusting the sound of your own music in your headphones to drown him out. You saw him on the clothes people wore, and when you finally convinced yourself to go out with friends and stop wallowing in self-pity, he still was a topic of discussion amongst your friends.

When you left his house that Christmas Eve, Harry was expecting it to go smoother. You would come around to him again or meet at the pub for another round of drinks with friends, he would apologize for how he acted in front of Gemma and you’d be back in his bed that night. But when you didn’t return his calls and texts and when he asked one of your friends why you weren’t at the pub and they told him you decided to head back to London early he knew he royally fucked up.

From the outside it looks bad and Harry knows it. He hooked up with you for years just to throw it all away because his older sister caught you in his room. That image plays in his head over and over again, the way he so quickly stated that it was a one time thing, the way your face fell before the sentence was even done leaving his mouth.

Gemma didn’t bring it up when Harry eventually had to face her at breakfast that next morning. However, she made sure to tell him that “dragging girls and their feelings along for his own amusement doesn't last very long especially when the girl is too good to play again.”

And Harry knew, he knew you were too good for him and you were well within your right to reach the point of no return but what he also knew, from the hundreds of romance films he’s watched, if it was meant to be, you would be waiting for him too.

Harry poured himself into work, jetting off to Los Angeles before the new year spending a few weeks running through rehearsals and filming music videos. When he spent every moment working, he didn’t have time to let his emotions catch up to him. He knew it was an unhealthy coping mechanism but when he let his mind think about you, which was often, he couldn’t help but be consumed with regret. Regret that he couldn’t confront his feelings, regret that the only thing he was ever worried about was getting off and never once thought about your feelings until he started to resurface.

The first night the two of you hooked up after seeing each other at the pub, it was supposed to be a one night thing. Harry had been having a lads holiday in Jamaica and was excited to finally be home for the holiday. The two weeks between Christmas Eve and New Years Day were meant to be spent eating a bit more food, forgetting the day of the week and spending his time at a place where he could truly be himself. Looking back, that was the moment he knew it was you, but he was going into a busy work schedule, an album release, a new movie and heading straight into a tour, there was no room for him to start anything new so, Harry did what Harry does best, bottle up all his emotions and try to make emotionless decisions.

He strung you along for the ride but never gave you permission to sit next to him. He would go to America for work and spend his nights calling you despite the time difference, telling you all the exciting things that he was about to do, cover of Rolling Stone profiled by Cameron Crowe, a bid on SNL, a tour announcement followed by another tour announcement. Harry was giddy and the only person that came to mind when given new information was you. Harry spent years with that mindset. You were always the first person he thought of whenever Jeff told him of a new business opportunity or when he wrote a great song where he wanted an unbiased opinion. You never strayed away from telling him when something he presented was shit.

He didn’t plan to get a new girlfriend but it just happened. He was casually seeing someone a few weeks after he invited you to the Halloween show and suddenly it was Christmas and it made sense to bring her home to meet his mother. The thing about Harry and his need to please everyone is that pleasing everyone always leaves someone disappointed and when he asked for you that night in the pub, you were nowhere to be found and he knew he fucked up.

Now, things are different. You have a boyfriend of your own and seem to be living the best life in London, without him. He knows he shouldn’t invite him over but when he saw you in the stairwell of the television studios, he knew he had to try to get in a room with you again. And if it had to be through your boyfriend, so be it.

You had a bad day.

Well, you’ve been having a lot of bad days recently but you think this one takes the cake. You woke up an hour after your initial alarm, you forgot your wallet at home, you’re nursing a killer hangover after going too hard at after work drinks and you didn’t charge your phone overnight. You make it to work with a few minutes to spare after a very expensive Uber and are immediately thrusted into meeting after meeting, not having time to catch your breath or make sure you didn’t have last night’s makeup still caked on your face.

That was just the start of your bad day because when you get out of work with a still uncharged phone and no wallet to get home, the next thing that happens might take the cake.

In your time with Harry you have become very good at spotting unwanted photographers that usually hang around high streets or five star restaurants trying their best whoever they could. You’ve never seen them around your workplace though, it’s just office buildings, tech startups and overpriced restaurants. You know it’s silly to think what you’re thinking because why would he be in Canary Wharf of all places on a Tuesday afternoon?

But when you see him walking towards you in his best attempt at being incognito, black hoodie and joggers to match a beanie placed atop his head and a puffer jacket over it, you thought you were dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him as he comes closer to you, you look behind you to find someone else he might be meeting. Has he moved on from befriending your boyfriend to befriending your collaguage.

“Trying to win you back,” Harry nonchalantly spoke.

“So you turn up to my place of work with a photographer hiding down the block? You think that’s a good idea?”

Harry’s eyebrows raise as he turns around and makes eye contact with the photographer shooting him a damning glare before looking back at you, “Would it be too much of an ask to be able to go inside?” He said with eyes too familiar and because you could never say no to him, you turn around and walk back into your office building, up the stairs and into a conference room making sure to close the door behind you.

“So…” You both spoke in unison, the air in the room filled with a different energy to the night in his house.

“I think,” Harry fumbles over his words, his pointer finger and thumb pulling at his bottom lip before he takes an inhale and exhale and starts again, “I want to apologize to you and I don’t know if it’s going to be what you want to hear or if it’s appropriate to spring up on you here unannounced but I need to say this.” Harry moves to take the beanie off his head giving himself easier access to run his fingers through his hair, “And this is probably really unfair to your boyfriend,”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you correct him.

“What?”

“I broke up with him because you fucked me up Harry, I had this beautiful relationship with a man that cared about me, took me out on dates, asked me to be his girlfriend within a few weeks and treated me like I hung the moon. And you’d think that would be enough. But no, because in this sick little life of mine Harry Styles always gets the last laugh.” You say with venom behind every word, the hurt and anger that was building up for years finally coming out. You didn’t plan for this unleashing of emotions but something came through you, whether it was the events prior to the run in with Harry that allowed fate to bring you to this moment but you would be damned if you didn’t get this off your chest. “You reject me for four years and then when I am just getting over you you crawl your way back into my life and knowingly invite my boyfriend to your house without my knowledge. I show up, and immediately am forced back into a time of my life where I thought you would finally pick me but all I was to you was someone to fuck.”

Harry stands in front of you wide eyed, taking in every last word that you just spit his way. You watch as he smooths his hands together, his lips pushed together as he tries to find a response. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, your shaking hands move to wipe the tears that are forming in your eyes as you wait for a response from Harry and with shaky breath he begins,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know that I can keep saying it and meaning it but if you don’t believe it that statement holds no value but I promise you, I am so incredibly sorry,” Harry moves to close the gap between you too, meeting you at the door of the entryway, having not even made it a few steps inside before you unleash your anger, he moves his hands in yours. You hesitate for a moment before allowing his fingers to interlock with yours, meeting his green eyes as that hasn't for a second shifted focus from yours.

“I know I fucked up and strung you along and I wish I could go back in time and confront those feelings. When I saw you at the pub that first time I wasn’t expecting it to turn into this but I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It’s an easy excuse but I mean it, when I would travel I would think about all the places I wish I could show you, when I would go back to my Mum’s I’d ask her about everyone in town but secretly hope that she got the hint that I was only really interested in you. It’s not fair that it took me this long to realize that it has always been you, the girl I’ve been searching for, she’s always been you.” Harry says, eyes filling with tears as he confesses his emotions to you and just as a single tear falls from your face he moves both of your hands to wipe it.

“How am I supposed to believe you when all I have ever seen you do is leave? When things get good you leave. You invite me to all of these events as ‘the girl you went to school with’ while parading your actual girlfriend around a few months later. Do you know how that feels? To always be deemed second at best?”

“I know, I wish I could go back and tell myself to stop being a dickhead and just tell you the truth. I’ve been falling in love with you.”

The room goes dead silent.

“Harry…”

“I mean it. When I think of my future, the person I want my family to meet, the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with, it all comes back to you. And I will do anything to prove that I am worthy.”

You close the gap between you, bringing your arms around the middle of his torso and holding him there. You stay like that for a few minutes, wrapped in the familiar smell of him.

You unwrap yourself from him and take a step back, “I’m going to need some time.”

You spent the next few days thinking about what happened with Harry. He drove you home from your office that evening, the car ride was silent, the sounds of BBC Radio 1 soothing you to sleep until you felt the halt of his Range Rover. You thanked him for the lift and went upstairs to your apartment trying not to think about how he just told you he was in love with you.

It’s funny how fate always works on its own timing. If you hadn’t broken up with James, you wouldn’t have given Harry the time of day and you may have missed the opportunity to cross paths again. You know it’s not going to be easy and Harry has a lot to prove to you before you can bring yourself to fully trust him again but that’s the thing with fate, it always knows before you do.

You and Harry were taking it slow, going on dates during the day, choosing not to sleepover at each other’s respective homes until you had everything figured out. You were learning about each other again from your favorite movies to how you liked to take your coffee and why your favorite cafe has better pastries than his.

You had the difficult conversations, as to why your arrangement had gone on for so long and what the root cause of the problem was. You were happy to see Harry take therapy more seriously, inviting you into a few sessions to work through what happened in the past together.

In the final step of making it official, he invited you back to Cheshire for the weekend to spend time with Anne and Gemma. You were nervous thinking about the last time you were in his family home and having to face Gemma again but after he insisted that it was going to be alright and he had a conversation with them before he showed up to your office a few months back you said yes.

And when Gemma pulled you aside one evening while everyone was getting ready to play another round of scrabble to let you know that since talking with Harry she had secretly hoped that he would “screw his head on right and just ask the fucking girl to be with you,” you knew you made the right decision in pursuing your relationship with him.

September 2020

Harry is sitting on the couch, a pair of white briefs that leave nothing to the imagination and a black Treat People With Kindness shirt that clings to his upper body. His legs are spread, torso leaning forward as he reads the television guide to pick something out for the two of you.

You’re in the kitchen making the two of you a late night snack of butter on toast and a cup of tea for you. You watched Harry from where you were standing in the kitchen, maneuvering through the drawers and fridge like this place was meant for you. A drastic difference to the feelings you felt inside his house just a few months back. You felt on edge, like every mistake you’ve ever made, letting Harry back into your life was amplified by his invitation to your now ex-boyfriend. Now, it feels good, peaceful even like in some weird way you were always meant to end up in this house with him.

You place the food and drinks on the coffee and take a seat on the couch next to him. Harry leans forward, taking the mug of tea in his hand along with a few biscuits. He picked out another movie for you to watch from the rotation of romance films that seemed to be never ending. You lay on the couch, putting your legs on top of Harry's, adjusting to find the comfortable position where you’re sitting up enough to be able to enjoy your tea.

As the movie plays forward, the tea in your cup gets colder, Harry begins idly massaging different areas of your body. These are the moments you had once spent hours thinking about and longing for, the intimate moments that you never allowed yourself to get wrapped up in before making these moments feel sweeter now. You move to sit on his lap, a smile spreads on his face as you lean down to kiss him, a whispered hello leaving your lips.

“Hello, is there anything I can help you with?” He asks cheekily as his hands continue to move up and down your legs that are draped over his legs. You respond with a deepened kiss before moving positions, your legs now on either side of Harry and your center is up against his. You thank yourself for forgoing the sweats and deciding to come downstairs in a baggy t-shirt and underwear. It has been a while of taking things slow between the two of you and finally a few nights ago you had sex for the first time again. It was sweet and reminded you of the first few months with Harry all those years back. Tiptoeing around each other until one of your caves but this time it meant the same thing to the both of you.

After a date at The Ivy and a quick round of drinks with friends before heading home there was a shift and that night you and Harry had sex. It felt good, fitting together like two puzzle pieces that got lost in the shuffle. He sang your praises and you did the same, taking his time with you, wanting to make you feel good and he did. That night leading the way for nights like this one, where it’s just the two of you at home on the couch, enjoying everything each other’s company has to offer.

Harry’s eyes are stuck on you as his hands move up your legs, moving closer to your center before guiding your shirt up and off your torso, thanking yourself one more time

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry says as he cusps your breasts, leaning in to kiss and suck at your nipple as you begin moving your hips forward to start creating the friction you desire. You feel Harry’s length hardening underneath you as your hands tug at his hair with each buck of your hips. “M’not gonna make it if you keep doing that,” Harry whispers in your ear.

“Where do you want me?”

“Everywhere,” Harry replies lips connecting with yours as he moves your body back, this time resting your center between his right leg making contact with the California tattoo that was starting to takeover the beloved thigh-ger. The state of your arousal is very obvious, “Want you to use my leg to get off first, you’re already so wet for me.”

Placing your hands back on the sides of his hair you begin to move your hips forward, the feeling of your already swollen clit moving against Harry’s thigh is enough to get you to your first orgasm fast and the added words of encouragement as Harry moves his mouth back to your breasts, working you up as you let your moan fill up the room and when Harry kissed you your chest and meets your mouth you feel the first release come through.

You take deep breaths as the movements of your hips stop, “you’re going to be the death of me,” you whisper in his ear before Harry quickly flips you around so your back is on the couch and he is hovering over you.

“Using my own words against me?” Harry teases you as he leans back to pull his own boxers down as you move to get your underwear off the smiles never leaving either of your faces. You watch as Harry pumps his length once, twice, three times before inching closer to you.

“Seems to be working with turning you on,” you tease as you move your hips forward trying to make contact with his obviously hard dick. Harry follows your motion and moves forward, gathering and spreading your wetness with his fingers before slowly guiding himself in. You hold your breath as you adjust to the feeling, Harry grabs your legs from either side of the couch and brings them up to sit on his shoulders.

“M’always turned on when I’m around you,” Harry says as he pushes deeper inside you. You feel every inch of him, the sensation of no barrier between you working in both of your favors. You had the conversation in the past, you were on the pill and had gone condomless before but the feeling of all of Harry inside you is something you could never get used to.

He moves his hands to either side of your stomach as he pumps in and out of you. “Harry, I’m close“ you breathlessly moan as he presses his thumb against your clit in a circular motion. You move your hands to the back of his neck pulling him closer, you want to feel him everywhere.

“Afraid I’m not going to last much longer,” he whispers in your ear, his dimples showing through his low chuckles. “Where do you want me?” He asks as he leans back to readjust.

“Inside me,” you say without hesitation. Something came over you, you want to feel him as he loses himself inside you. You have never done it before but it feels right.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you respond and just like that Harry pushes deeper inside you, his thrust gets faster and harder as he moves to have you both reach your climax at the same time. His grunts mixed with your moans has you teetering over the edge of your next orgasm and when you hear Harry’s thick accent reappear through his fuck me’s and you’re so beautiful you tip over. And like Harry was waiting for you until he truly left himself go, you felt his warm release a few moments later. His lips drawing kisses up your stomach before landing back on your mouth.

“I’m never going to get sick of this,” Harry says, keeping his dick inside you for a few moment longer

“Good, cause you’re stuck with me,” you smile, “now move so I can use the bathroom.”

“I want to stay like this forever I’m afraid.”

“As much as I would love to, I would be out of commission if that was the case which would be no fun for either of us so move,” you playfully reply and Harry obliges.

On your walk to the bathroom you’re hit with a wave of emotions that you blame on the endorphins. You walk back into the common area and Harry has moved into the kitchen, fixing up another snack of peanut butter and jelly on toast for the both of you. You watch him as he maneuvers through the kitchen, putting four slices of toast in the toaster instead of just two for him. You know it’s simple but he always had you on his mind, didn’t even need to ask in order to know you’d appreciate a post-sex snack.

If you could plan it out, you wouldn’t say it now. You’d wait until tomorrow or the next week or for some holiday or anniversary where Harry goes above and beyond. But if you learned one thing about your relationship with Harry is that waiting isn’t always the best option and taking the risk often ends with a better outcome.

So you round the corner of the kitchen island and embrace his back into a hug. Harry turns his head behind you with the biggest smile on his face and before he can say whatever it is he wanted to tell you, you beat him to it, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Harry turns around, the silence between you only growing for a few seconds before he speaks, “That was the best thing that could have happened to me tonight.”

“Better than what just happened better a few minutes ago?” you tease.

“By a mile,” Harry shakes his head his lips titling into a smile “but that doesn’t mean I want any of that to stop either,” he laughs before leaning in for another kiss.

#harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #ttds

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ramseyesscom · 2 years

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Issue One Hundred and Thirty Seven

Subscribe to Sincere, Positive Things if that’s what you really want to do!

There are some songs that are hard to imagine being written. Some songs have just always been in the air. Somebody didn't sit at a desk and try to figure out how to rhyme "stand beside her" with "guide her," did they? Turns out somebody did. And that same guy also put pen to paper on "White Christmas," "Puttin' on the Ritz", "There's No Business Like Show Business", “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)", "Happy Holiday", "Cheek to Cheek" and somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,500 more. Irving Berlin: New York Genius is a fantastic biography of the author of those songs that's actually been out for a few years now but just made it on to my nightstand. The book chronicles the 101 years that Berlin lived which saw him writing music through two World Wars, the birth of recorded music, radio, movies, and television. And through it all, he was constantly pushing, still trying to prove that he had it in him to top himself and create that next big hit. So driven to continually produce, Berlin refused to listen to anyone else's music, shutting car radios off immediately after hoping into them. Long after he had given up chasing that next hit song, he still maintained an office that he reported to at least three times a week. Berlin was devoted to music and the public were devoted to Berlin. If the story of this songwriter sounds at all interesting, I have even better news for you: the author who tells his story in New York Genius is James Kaplan, a biographer who has a truly unique way of delivering facts and data without making it sound like an infodump. His two-volume biography of Sinatra moves around at a clip, and does an incredible job of putting you right next to Frank at every turn. It can be a little tougher with Berlin, with records from the 19th century being a little spottier, but you’ll never notice as Kaplan fills in the gaps of those early years with superb analysis of his earliest published songs. Irving Berlin: New York Genius is an inspiring, lively journey through one of America's most important songwriters and a reminder that there's always somebody there behind those tunes we take for granted. New York Genius

I guess I'm not... sad that the iPod has been discontinued, but I am feeling something. There were many, many items that I asked for while growing up, some were cool (Boba Fett's Slave I), some were incredible (Tiger Deluxe Talkboy being a real standout) but of all the things that were put on Christmas lists and saved allowances for, I've got to say, my first iPod is probably the thing that most lived up to the hype. It truly changed everything about the way I listened to music, and broadened my knowledge of music, more than any other thing. I also played hours of that stupid Breakout game. I recently found my last iPod, a 5th generation one, in my sock drawer of all places. I dug up a cord and plugged it in, and lo and behold, it still worked. It now sits in my car as an external music hard drive, where it will live out the remainder of its days until it stops working some day. What a nice little gadget. Apple's official goodbye is linked below.

GOODBi

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

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Renegade

Relationship: Din Djarin x Reader Warnings: N/A Summary: [based off the song Renegade by Big Red Machine feat. Taylor Swift] You're a shopkeeper in a remote corner of the galaxy just trying to get by. For some reason, every now and then a certain Mandalorian pops into town. He comes and goes as he pleases until one day you finally get the courage to confront him on his drifter habits. Unexpected confessions spill out. A/N: I haven’t written something for The Mandalorian in a long time but i just had this idea for a while and i wanted to actually try to execute it. Idk if this came out good but i think it’s still sweet. I hope someone enjoys it :)

Masterlist

You never knew when he was coming into town.

It would happen pretty much in the blink of an eye. You’d shut down your store for the day, retire to your home, then he’d be there, in the middle of the village, bright and early. The Mandalorian kept no schedule it seemed but his surprise visits were always welcomed by you.

He’d make it a point to stop at your store first. He never really bought anything, just browsed the fabric and clothing you had to offer. The Mandalorian seemed to appreciate your craftsmanship, always taking time on his stay to ask about your newer items or what your plans were for your next collection. Your shop was modest but it helped bring in some kind of income which was very valuable as the fate of the galaxy hung in limbo.

You built up some kind of rapport with the masked man but feelings have been shifting within you for a while. You didn’t really understand how it was possible. You had begun falling for a man that never even gave you the courtesy of saying goodbye. But at the same time, the hours you would spend chatting meant everything to you. It felt so good to confide in someone as a life as a solo storekeeper could be quite a lonely one. He also seemed to be no stranger to loneliness as a man roaming the galaxy, taking odd bounty jobs. Nowhere to really call his own.

A deep, deep part of you wished he would call this village his home. He seemed to enjoy it here, evident by his numerous stops. When he’d come and go from your shop, he was always bringing back new treasures. The woman down the road would be testing a new stew recipe or the jewelry maker at the end of the block had talked him into buying something. Most of the time, he’d just give the items to you, claiming he couldn’t resist the shopkeeper but had no use for the trinkets. The pseudo-gift giving was a little ridiculous to you but it couldn’t help but fuel your burning crush. You always accepted and wore whatever the Mandalorian presented.

Yes, you two definitely had formed a relationship over time. You didn’t know really what to call it and you two never seemed to want to speak about it but it was no secret that it was there, and you were a bit thankful for it. No matter where he had gone or how long he had left for, you were always there to welcome him back to the village with open arms.

As many times before, the Mandalorian arrived unexpectedly one beautiful, clear morning. He was hovering around your shop, seemingly waiting. His armor shined so loudly in the daylight, it was nearly blinding, but you appreciated how powerful he was. He may show you his soft side in the village but you’d heard plenty about his hunts. If the truth was even half as alarming as the gossip, you were impressed he could have such a gentle side.

“You’re early,” you called out, pulling your shawl tighter around you as you walked towards the passing bounty hunter. He stopped dead in his tracks upon hearing your voice.

“It would appear I am,” he said, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the time.”

You came to stop right in front of him. You peered up at his helmeted face. You certainly couldn’t see anything through that insane gear but some part of you still felt him staring into your eyes, deeply. Instinctively, you fiddled with the necklace resting on your lower neck. The charm was a piece of some dark crystal. You didn’t know what it was and you were slightly too nervous to inquire the jewelry maker about it but the Mandalorian standing before you had given it to you the last time he was here. He simply said he thought it would look nicer on you. You didn’t ask anymore.

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “I’m just glad to see you back here in one piece.”

He seemed a bit taken back by that. You worried you had overstepped the boundary between flirting and kindness but then he tilted his head, curiously. “Yeah?”

Oh, you felt yourself blushing a bit. You ducked your head and stepped around him, beginning to work on the lock of your shop.

“Yeah,” you shrugged and opened the door. The Mandalorian followed closely behind. “I’ve heard your work can be demanding. Lots of opportunities for you to get hurt.”

“Does that worry you?”

You stopped in front of the pile of new fabrics you had just woven. You sighed. “I’ve come to think of us as a little bit more than acquaintances. It’s normal to worry about others.”

You swore you heard him let out a low chuckle at that but he didn’t acknowledge it. Or your statement. You chose to do the same. You walked around to the counter and began prepping the logbooks for the day. The Mandalorian continued to hang around, gaze and hands roaming the new pieces you had set up last night. You were hoping this new collection you were previewing was going to bring in some hefty credits. Maybe allow you to take a holiday.

The Mandalorian broke the tense silence with the most unexpected comment. “I worry about you too, you know.”

Your finger stopped abruptly as it scanned your list of sales for the week. When you had offered your care, you had never expected it back. You two technically weren’t on that level, at least not verbally. In other formats of gift-giving and worried looks, it was a different story.

“You worry about me?” You inquired, brows raised in surprise.

He gave a very Mandalorian-like shrug, his gaze still fixated on your for-sale items. Something in you was crushed when it looked like you weren’t getting any more from him. Maybe he’d disappear tonight, embarrassed by this exchange. But then by some miracle, he spoke again.

“Of course,” he said it like it was so obvious. “You’re a very kind shopowner living out in this village alone. This galaxy, no matter what corner you hide in, can be dangerous.”

You smiled to yourself. “I’ve done this for many years, Mandalorian. I think I will be alright.”

He hummed in acknwoeldgement. “I’m sure,” he mumbled. “But can you blame me for having concerns?”

This conversation sure was going to a funny place, you thought, but you were along for the ride. If he was going to talk about concerns, you could for sure rattle off yours. He was worried about your safety in this little village while you worried for his health. It cannot be good for a human, assuming he was human under all that gear, to be wandering the galaxy with no rhyme or reason besides the bounties strung about this galaxy. You never thought you’d express these things to him but the Mandalorian appeared to be a talkative one today. And you felt you two were beyond strangers.

“Well, I’m flattered you think of me,” you admitted. “But I fear it’s you who faces more dangers than me.”

The helmeted man gave a little scoff at that comment. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Sure, you didn’t doubt that, but that wasn’t what was on your mind. “I’m not talking about bounty hunting. I’m talking about your habit of being a drifter.”

The words didn’t feel very impactful in your brain but when they hit the open shop it was like you had dropped a bomb. The Mandalorian stilled, his gloved hand letting go of one of the scarves you had laying on a table. He began making his way suddenly towards where you still stood behind the counter. You frowned.

“A drifter?”

His eye gaze wasn’t seen but it was sure felt. You shrugged. “I’m not a fool. I know you bounce around from planet to planet throughout this galaxy. Maker knows why you keep coming back here but... I just worry you don’t have a home-,”

“I don’t,” he confirmed. Your heart all about stopped. Well, you didn’t exactly want to be right.

“Oh,” you said, averting your eyes to the wood counter. “And that doesn’t bother you? You must want someone waiting for you. Someone to just spend...moments with.”

“Don’t I have you?”

The question hung in the air between you two like a heavy pendulum. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He… He thought of you like that? Of this village? But why would he… Oh, but didn’t it make some kind of sense? The reappearing? The coming and going… He waltzed in and tried to get to know everyone. Got to know you.

Your head was a jumbled mess, so much so the only thing you could get out was a soft, “Me?”

The Mandalorian nodded. He wasn’t looking anywhere near you, finding such interest in the wall of your shop. But you noted his stiff stance. Maybe he hadn’t meant to say that… Except he had. And now it was out there. Something in the mysterious bounty hunter made him let out such a grand confession.

“Yes,” he eventually confirmed. “You. This village. I have that. I have this to come back to.”

With thoughts swimming violently, you had to ask, “But why don’t you stay?”

“I have jobs to do.” He almost sounded offended you had asked that. You shook your head.

“N-No, I mean… Get a place for yourself. You’re always sleeping on that ship. Maybe accept the invites to dinners the sweet lady down the path invites you to. Or you and I could…” Your words faded fast, slightly scared of what was going to slip out. But the Mandalorian wasn’t letting it go.

He turned his gaze back to you. “We could what?”

“S-Spend time together or something,” you mumbled. Real smooth, you thought. Just the perfect way to flirt. You expected him to now be so offended, maybe even storm out such a suggestion, but the armored man didn’t move. Instead, he cocked his head, curious.

“You’d want to do that?”

You sighed. “I want you to start a life somewhere. Really start it. Drifting around this galaxy cannot be very promising. You deserve this. You deserve a home, Mando.”

“Din.”

Your brows furrowed. Now it was your turn to be curious. “What?”

“My name is Din,” he explained. “You don’t have to call me Mando.”

If a heart could sing, yours would be a full chorus. He finally told you his name. After collecting jewelry and stories, he had finally opened somewhat to you. That was a good sign, a great sign.

“Din,” you said, testing the name. It rolled off your lips easily. “We’d love to have you around.” A beat. “I’d love it, especially.” It was a bold declaration but he had given you something, the least you could do was make your intentions more obvious.

“Thank you,” Din said.

“Of course,” you shrugged. “We all need to find the place where we belong.”

Din let out a bit of a chuckle. You frowned at that.

“You think I belong here?” He asked, amused.

You didn’t like that he wasn’t taking you seriously but it would be okay. Just gave you more of a reason to show him everything this place had to offer. From the nice shopkeepers to the lovely food. This would be some kind of home for him or at least a place where he’d always be welcomed. Your heart fluttered at the idea of him leaving less, maybe even never leaving. He could train people on fighting or - or…

You had to stop yourself as your brain was getting beyond reality. You shot the Mandalorian a smile.

“I think you’ve always belonged.”

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lostinwildflowers · 3 years

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Hello and welcome to Birch's 12 Days of Cheer! This is my collaboration for the end of 2021! I don't partake in any fall events, really, so this is my big to-do! If you would like to join in on this event, please read the rules below!

Please read these rules CAREFULLY!

1. You do NOT have to be a mutual of mine! I'm welcoming anyone and everyone to join this event!

2. All ages are welcomed to join this! This is an SFW blog, so all content being attributed to this event must be suitable for everyone!

3. MAXIMUM WORD LENGTH IS 1000 WORDS! Yes, you read that right! This is a drabble event! I want to keep things short, so that way things are easier to complete on time!

4. If LONGER THAN 500 WORDS, PLEASE INCLUDE A READMORE. ALSO, ALL SUBMISSIONS MUST BE CHARACTER X READER! NO OCS OR CHARACTER X CHARACTER!

5. To make things interesting, you MUST include a classic(or not so classic) Christmas song into your drabble! You can choose to incorporate this however you like! It can be the title, the song playing in the background, a lyric as a line said, whatever you want!

6. I am allowing repeat characters / songs, but not together. For example: I will not be taking 2 submissions of Levi + Santa Baby.

7. The fandoms I am currently allowing for this collaboration are Haikyuu!!, My Hero Academia, and Attack on Titan. If there is interest, I might allow JJK, but for now, just these three.

8. There is a TIME FRAME for you to post your submissions!!! I ask that you choose one of the 12 days listed below to post your drabbles(you don't have to specifically fit the trope)! I will be taking entries for this until DECEMBER 1ST!!!

ALL ENTRIES MUST BE POSTED ANY TIME BETWEEN DECEMBER 14-25!!! I WILL NOT BE ACCEPTING ANY LATE ENTRIES, NO EXCEPTIONS.

Masterlist

Day 1(Dec 14) - Mistletoe

-Reese(@devildreamers): Iwaizumi + Deck the Halls -> "Deck the Halls"

Day 2(Dec 15) - Snowball Fights

- Senn(@sennsational): Suna + White Winter Hymnal -> "White Winter Hymnal"

Day 3(Dec 16) - Ice Skating

- Robin(@do-arson): Momo + Merry Little Christmas -> "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas"

Day 4(Dec 17) - Hot Chocolate

-Jessica(@anxi-aashi): Atsumu + Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree -> "Smooth Lines and Chocolate Rhymes"

Day 5(Dec 18) - Snuggling Because It's Cold

-Amaterasu(@euphoric-author): Oikawa + All I Want For Christmas Is You -> "All I Want For Christmas Is You"

Day 6(Dec 19) - Stuck at Work on Christmas

-Ducky(@duckymcdoorknob): Daichi + Merry Christmas Darling -> "Merry Christmas, Darling"

Day 7(Dec 20) - Gift Giving

-Kris(@koushisun): Iwaizumi + I'll Be Home For Christmas -> "Where the Love Light Gleams"

Day 8(Dec 21) - Christmas Caroling

-Al(@alto-march-of-death): Iida + Like It's Christmas -> "Caroling Like It's Christmas"

Day 9(Dec 22) - Decorating the Tree

Day 10(Dec 23) - Baking / Crafts

-Ana(@justanawolf): Osamu + Baby It's Cold Outside -> "Cookie and Kisses"

Day 11(Dec 24) - Holiday Proposals

-Me! : Levi + Colder Weather -> "Colder Weather"

Day 12(Dec 25) - Basic Love

-Ducky(@duckymcdoorknob): Izuku + Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas -> "Merry and Bright"

This is what I need from those of you who want to join!

1. The character and fandom you would like to be writing for!

2. The Christmas song you will include in your drabble!

3. The day you will post your fic!

4. Anything else you want to say or me to know!

Thank you so much for reading this far and if you want to join in! I look forward to seeing your submissions!

#Birch's 12 Days of Cheer #haikyuu #attack on titan #my hero academia #haikyuu x reader #attack on titan x reader #my hero academia x reader #haikyuu x you #attack on titan x you #my hero academia x you #haikyuu x y/n #my hero academia x y/n #attack on titan x y/n #haikyuu!!#shingeki no kyojin #boku no hero academia

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sothischickshe · 3 years

Note

9: Are there any fics you’d love to see but don’t want to write yourself? What are they?

i love this question SO much! <3 ty for asking!!

so i yelled a lil abt it before, but!! additionally:

1. post-canon: ruby breaks up with both beth and stan, and comes up with a plan to get annie out all by herself (or maybe ben n sara help?! they seem smart!), and then ruby and annie move somewhere really nice together with their kids!!! optionally also: diane tuts some sense into stan, and they both join the commune a bit later? also! annie and ruby grab beth's kids and marcus + rhea and nancy + dakota too!!! beth and rio are allowed to visit but!!! only at the same time as dean bc everyone else prefers one lump of suffering rather than eking it out.

2. turner faked his own death and has been on holiday with his bf this whole time having fun.

3. immediately post canon: ruby realises that getting dean hopped up on sugar and convincing him to beat vance to (near?) death solves a lot of problems, actually.

4. au: rio & lucy are in the same birdwatching club, and lucy knows beth from work or crafting or w/e, and she cupids them together. also maybe she's (a?) literal cupid?

5. beth runs kevin out of town and/or throws him off a bridge. (maybe annie/nancy endgame?)

6. rhea keeps teaming up with beth and then rio and then beth and then rio and so on and so on and can't really keep up with what's going on, and eventually beth and rio realise and get mad at her, and then she gets way madder back at both of them bc it is in fact their own fault. maybe she yells so loud they're literally blown off the planet?

7. beth and rio have a disgruntled grumpy sex life bc they both desperately want to be bossed around & have their hair yanked and it's super not working out. don't/resolve however you want.

8. stan realises he and beth are literally romantic rivals.

9. high school au in which beth and rio are both staff. and also literally high.

10. adult marcus + jane ~parent trap elderly beth and rio into a relationship

11. beth goes to revenge shoot mick in the shoulder. he convinces her she's pregnant with his kid. either true and/or plausible cos they DID hook up, or completely implausible bc they didnt, but he still manages to convince her.

12. beth and rio get married for some convoluted crime reason and are forced to co-habit to sell it and it's AWFUL

13. brio plumber au

14. rio/ruby enemies to lovers

15. rosa IS actually the boss. in fact she's no one's grandmother, maybe she kidnaps children and manipulates them into a life of crime??? nick's flashback manipulation was actually rosa's uber-manipulation. maybe beth/rosa endgame?

16. rio is in no way the boss, he's mick's idiot protégé and poss so drunk he hasn't noticed that fact. aggressively canon compliant.

17. rhyming names comedy pair ups (series?)!!! mick and nick can't tell which of them rio is mumbling at/about?! gene and dean meet fighting over a coffee order at starbucks?! ben and ken discover they're related?! annie and danny get matching tattoos?!

18. beth and rio have weird chair sex after the 'we can get away with anything now' or w/e abrupt ep ending. bonus: it's not very good, which ~explains much of their subsequent behaviour.

19. hipster hatted barman/dylan

20. literally anything from nick's assistant's pov

21. reader insert fic where dean's monologuing abt his weird sex dreams abt rio at y/n while you're trapped & forced to listen to him. bonus: ao3 skin which removes any nav away from the page.

22. annie/ruby/stan/mick (any combo, or any individual) feed an oblivious beth and rio weeded food bc they're annoying. shenanigans ensue? bonus: beth and rio are locked in a cupboard for containment reasons & forgotten about & then they die.

23. beth/crazy cat lady enemies to lovers.

24. arranged marriage brio au where they're both instantly repulsed by the other and aggressively try to wriggle out of this situation. eventually discover they have basically the same unpleasant personality and are VERY into the sitch, and probs get rudely angry @ whomever has kindly done something to help them wriggle out of said sitch. also they're in their 50s.

25. beth/rhea/hot coach

26. after beth goes to rio's family dinner thing, she feels compelled to invite rio to family dinner back (i guess this is an au where ppl have manners lol) with dean + the kids. it's extremely awkward fgfgf.

27. canon compliant: actually it was beth who put out the hit on turner.

28. immediately pre-canon, rhea finally breaks up with rio & this explains ~a lot.

29. s2 canon divergence where beth explains at least some of what happened with boomer / rio has the sense to ask some fucking sensible follow up questions to ‘throwing the wrong jacket away’ rather than simply pouting. rio IMMEDIATELY asks for marry pat’s phone number. maybe beth/mp endgame though?

30. jt develops better musical taste.

31. annie + angela fall in love. kevin is never heard from again.

32. when beth fobs judith off in s3 by telling her she got a promotion + they can afford help now, judith doesnt immediately buy it and keeps sniffing round, and she runs into mick a few times who’s on babysitting beth duty. beth convinces judith that mick is the nanny, and mick somewhat grudgingly goes along with it. presumably mick/judith endgame.

33. dean/his brief young car salesman boss from s2 enemies to lovers.

34. that time dean claimed his shirt was covered in exploded hot sauce? no, that was dog blood. he’s a serial pet murderer. explains the cursed boland family pet sitch in detail.

35. literally anything from the pov of rio’s neighbour’s tiny gf. presumably mostly fascinated with architecture, but maybe she occasionally notices ppl too?

fanfiction asks, but this is clearly the best question of all time

#ok 35 feels like enough dfgfgffffgfgf #plllllllls feel free to use these prompts @ anyone #but dont fucking try to get me to write any of these #nbc good girls #tv #fanfiction #fanfic #📀📀📀📀#Something

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beardrabbles · 3 years

Text

composed together. [ ♡ ]

characters: venti, reader

warnings: alcohol mention

word count: 3,029

notes: been trying out venti as a muse on a roleplay blog i have, but I wanted to have a crack at writing a reader with him. i'm not a poet in any sense of the word, so i'm sorry if isn't up to venti's standards lmao. if you tolerated all the rhyming, you deserve a gold star and a high-five.

You had tried so hard to make it back in time, but were disappointed when you returned to find Mondstadt barren of the usual Windblume decorations. There were no wreaths or elaborately decorated banners, no potted plants sporting twirling pinwheels. The scent of fresh flowers and baking goods persisted, but it didn’t carry with it the festive spirit. People were, once again, content to ask for help rather than tend to their own needs.

‘ And that’s why I missed out. . . ’ You brooded. It was because you offered yourself as a member of the Adventurer's Guild that you had found yourself pulled away from your home. You had been promised that the job in question wouldn’t take you longer than three days, give or take a day depending on how well you did. But, as it turned out, you had been gone for an entire week. And in that week, the festival had come and gone.

Windblume had never been about the romance for you. Every year, you looked forward to the food and atmosphere, letting the spirit carry you away. This year, however, you had held onto the fleeting hope that someone might show interest. Or that you might gather the courage to approach the one you so adored. You knew it was a lame excuse to depend on one holiday to steel your nerves, but the time and your chance had dashed past in the blink of an eye.

“Shouldn’t have taken the damn commission.” You slumped at an outdoor table near The Angel’s Share, a half-empty tankard of cider resting in your hands. You drummed your fingers along the side of the tankard, willing yourself not to be bummed. The holiday would come around again next year, you reminded yourself as you downed another gulp. “But I’ll probably get sent out then too.”

You stooped forward even further, cheek nearly pressed flat to the table when the familiar sound of plucked lyre strings thrummed in your ear. You sat straight so abruptly that you made yourself dizzy, your need to look around rapidly for the source not helping the fuzzy feeling in your head.

“Venti?” You called his name with such unbridled hope that he couldn’t keep himself hidden for long. A giggle sounded above you, and you felt your diminishing mood soar when you spotted the colorful bard sitting along the eaves of the tavern, beloved lyre in hand.

“The one and only!” He cooed, soaking in your glee. “Looks like you started without me.”

You frowned and peered down at your table, noting the two other empty tankards. Cheeks flushed from embarrassment, you pushed them aside, as if that would make them ( and your shame ) disappear. “Look, I just got back and I find out I missed out on Windbl——!”

Eyes up, you realized too late that Venti had vanished from the roof. You blinked once, then twice, your cider-addled mind slow to catch up. Where did he go?

“I was wondering where you’d gone off too.” His voice bobbed along the air, light and playful, and it tugged your attention like a hook pulling along a caught fish. He sat across from you, his chin resting in his palm and bright eyes twinkling with eternal mischief. “Missed Windblume, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You grunted and polished off the rest of your drink, mood dropping again. “I was looking forward to it too. Did I miss anything important?”

Venti hummed and leaned back in his seat. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the strings of his lyre. “Let me think. Margaret thought of a new, non-alcoholic drink and it went over pretty well with the kids and those looking to keep themselves a little more dignified during the festivities. Our own Honorary Knight was named this years Windblume Star! Oh! That’s right, I taught a class on the art of expressing ones love though poetry.”

You snorted.

“You taught people to write poems?” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “At what cost?”

“Come noq, Y/N, do you really think I could put a price on the ability to write out what a person’s heart yearns for most?” He paused, saw your deadpan stare, then let out a nervous chuckle. “A few bottles of holiday-exclusive wine is all I asked for.”

“Begged is more like it.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “How many bottles exactly?”

“Enough to tide me over.” Answered the bard vaguely.

“Is there any left?”

His silence was all the answer you needed. You groaned, let your head hit the table, then left it there as your forehead throbbed. Venti, sporting the rare flicker of guilt across a normally jovial face, leaned forward to pat at the back of your head.

“Hey, don’t be down. I have an idea!”

You lifted your head, but your eyes were downcast and dulled. “Is it a bad idea? I don’t think I want to mess with anyone right now, Venti.”

“I thought of the idea, so of course it’s a good one! And we’re not going to mess with anyone.” Venti grinned from ear-to-ear and stood, offering you a single, delicate hand. You gave it a hard stare, wondering what sort of troublesome plans he had brewing in his head. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to come up with a believable excuse as to why you couldn’t indulge him.

Leaving your empty tankards behind, you stood and took Venti’s hand. You stumbled the slightest bit before finding your footing. “What’s your idea, O Great and Fantastical Bard?”

“Since you’re being so kind as to lavish me in well-deserved compliments, I’ll tell you.” He winked at your withering glare. “You’re going to help me compose a song!”

“How is that going to cheer me up? I’m not poetic.” You grumbled. Venti clicked his tongue as he guided you away from the tavern and towards the cathedral.

“That is wildly untrue, Y/N! Everyone is capable of expressing themselves through poetry.” He argued.

“But I’m not good at rhyming or thinking of pretty words.” You countered. Venti sighed and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

“That’s not what it’s about. No one said that poetry was meant to impress people. If it does, that’s a bonus, but the point is to shape your feelings. You write how you feel, not how you want to sound. If you don’t rhyme, that’s fine. If you want to use big words, then by all means! Short words are still words, and they can still carry your thoughts with them. There are no rules with it comes to poetry, no matter what some stuffy scholar might say.” He tugged your hand and pulled your arm up high, leading you into an impromptu twirl. Unable to help yourself, you fell into a fit of laughter that instantly lifted your mood.

“I guess you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.” You followed along, a new spring in your step. Venti shrugged.

“Practice means progress!” He clearly wouldn’t allow you to wallow in your negativity, and you were quietly grateful for it. If there was anyone that could lift you out of a funk, no matter how deep and depressing it may be, it would be him.

Venti lead you past the statue of Barbados and around the side of the cathedral, where he perched on the side of a stone railing. Beyond you sat the lake, it’s surface a constantly shifting sheet of vivid oranges, cheerful yellows, warm reds and sleepy blues. The sun was setting, and soon night would fall, but Venti didn’t seem concerned. If it didn’t worry him, then it didn’t worry you, so you found a seat beside him and made yourself comfortable.

“The breeze is nice. . .” You let your eyes fall closed, skin kissed by a gentle twirl of the air against your heated cheeks. You couldn’t see then how Venti’s lips quirked up subtly, an adoration in his eyes that not many earned. He watched you for all of one, still moment before your eyes opened and he was forced to look elsewhere.

“Yeah, it is. So!” Quick to discard the hammering in his chest, Venti pulled forward his lyre and cleared his throat. “About that song——”

“What is it about?”

“Unspoken love, the kind that lives in your chest and makes every moment spent with the person you adore both exciting and painful.” His fingers strummed one string, then another. You frowned, the first few notes squeezing at your heart.

“Why is it unspoken?” You wondered, keeping your voice low.

“Because, sometimes, confessing is more selfish and cruel than never saying anything at all. Because opening up one’s heart may lead to more pain than you first expect.” The melancholy notes only proved to add more hurt to your chest, but still the bard smiled.

“Do you really want to write a song that sad?” You weren’t sure that your flimsy mood could handle thinking about such a morose subject.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand, dear friend~ The reason for love’s silence is upsetting, but the love itself is anything but!” Venti began to swing his legs, and you felt the breeze pick up. Green eyes turned up towards the sky, while a subtle tinge of pink touched his cheeks. “I’ll think of the first few lines, then you chime in with whatever your lovely little mind and heart think of first. Alright?”

“If you say so.”

“Great!” Skilled fingers began to play, the heart of the music beating in time with your own. “I want it to start like this: I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes. . .”

You waited for more, but were met with a calm quiet. A single glance from the bard, and you suddenly felt as is everyone in town could hear and see you. Face burning hot with embarrassment, you looked out towards water rather than at your companion.

“I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes. Hmm.” You breathed in deep and muttered the first thing that came into your head. “Every smile and glance like a hard-earned prize.”

“Good! And you said you weren’t skilled at this.” Venti beamed, the sheer glee behind his praise lifting your mood higher still. “Let’s keep going. Next line: Your voice it rings like the sweetest prayer. . .”

You thought hard again, arms crossed tight and lips pursed. This was as difficult as you thought it might be, but Venti’s enthusiasm was infectious. So, again you offered the only words that rose to the top of your mind. “. . . a blessing from lips so fair.”

Venti hummed, the sound soft and low in his chest. “Indeed they are.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Moving on!” He slipped from the stone railing and came to stand in front of you, posture loose and playful even as he came dangerously close. “I adore you, I do. My heart is yours, it’s true. Little skips and steady pounding, my dear, you are astounding.”

Feeling him so near, his eyes mirthful and intent on you, you couldn’t help but to shrink into yourself a little. You grasped the railing you sat on and hunched your shoulders, eyes glued to your feet. If only those words were meant for you. Oh, but then what would you do?

“Is this meant to inspire other people to think of their love, or are you thinking of someone in particular?” You couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to hope, but you had to ask.

The strumming stopped, but you didn’t turn your gaze up.

“Perhaps I am,” Venti purred coyly, “why? Is there someone you’re thinking about?”

“Don’t be such an imp.” You kicked a foot out, but he was quick to step aside. Your aggression, though harmless, pulled a laugh from the bard. “I might be thinking of someone.”

“Who is it?” Venti pestered. “Do I know them?”

“Maybe.” You sported a cheeky smile of your own. Venti moved in an inch or two more to your side, leaving only a breadth of space between the two of you.

“Do they inspire you?” He asked. You sighed, completely unable to contain the need.

“He does.”

“Oh, so they’re a he, are they? That narrows it down.” He tittered and let himself play a soft, ambient tune. “Does he know how you feel?”

“No way!” You let out a bark of laughter. “Been trying to keep it a secret.”

“Why?” Venti blinked, appearing thoroughly baffled. “He should know!”

“What was it you said? Confessing is selfish sometimes. . .”

“Using my words against me. Cruel.” Venti sighed. “You really won’t tell him?”

“Not until it’s right, and not until I’m strong enough to accept the possibility that he might not feel the same.” Your smile was feeble and didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Chances come and go, away with the wind they blow, so I hold these lovelorn words inside my chest, never to be confessed.”

Venti frowned, watching as your fingers pressed and rubbed at the sudden ache right where your heart sat. His own reacted in kind, the horribly familiar grasp of doubt squeezing at his chest. He knew those thoughts and feelings all to well.

“In your heart the feelings run deep, but darling, don’t put them to sleep.” He reached out again when you dismissed his lyrics with a scoff, only this time you didn’t hesitate to place your hand in his. He didn’t drag you away from where you sat, but let his fingers slip between yours. Your heart stuttered a moment, the gentleness of the gesture filling you with gratitude and trace amounts of confusion.

The breeze picked up again, and you thought you could still hear the gentle song of the lyre despite him being preoccupied.

“Look at me.” He voice dropped to a whisper, so soft and airy that you almost didn’t catch it. But when you did, you bashfully locked your gaze with his. The sweetest smile pulled at his lips, the glimmer in his eyes so sincere that it made your own eyes prickle at the very corners.

Why did you have to fall for someone like him? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone forgettable, or someone that wasn’t almost always within reach?

“Listen to my words, find them true, only a moron would reject you. You are wanted, loved and adored, you are more precious than any treasure hoard.” Venti arched himself forward, his forehead meeting with yours. Music continued to play in your ears, making the air around his words sweet. Could you believe them when they came from someone as flighty as him? You wanted desperately to, but you had to argue, to contest his open fondness for you.

“By the time the day is done, you’ll have said that to everyone.” You countered. Venti couldn’t hold back a laugh, his head moving away from yours. Already, you regretted sassing him. Come back, stay close.

“You’re getting better at that. While it’s true that I love to sing peoples praises, what I give you aren’t throwaway phrases. You’ve caught me, dear heart, and I want to surrender, allow me to bask in your unending splendor.”

You snorted and gave him a harmless shove. Venti grinned and gave in to your push, but he was near again in an instant.

“It can’t be that hard to believe that someone would love you. Don’t you believe me?” His question hung heavy in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth opened and closed, and each time your words failed you. Only after a long moment of listening to you stammer did Venti cautiously lean in. “Should I be selfish?”

“What does it mean for a bard to be selfish?” After a moment of mental screaming, you felt a smirk tease at your lips, but it was short lived. “Aside from drink all his wine before sharing it with someone?”

“Selfish bards do many, many things.” He spoke slowly, making sure each word dragged and lured you in. “I’ll admit it was silly to drink all the wine without you, but I can make up for it.”

You hummed contemplatively, each passing second tugging you closer and closer.

“How?”

“More wine?” He offered. You pulled a face.

“Mmmn, maybe. And?” Your mind was numb at this point, the idea that you two were so close making every inch of your body squirm. You had only daydreamed of sappy little scenarios like this, so living one out felt too good to be true. You were waiting to wake up, in fact, because this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be tempting the idea of confessing to you when the entire world of Teyvat could offer him better.

“Songs written just for you?” Venti’s grin broadened, but there was a hitch in his breath when you nudged the tip of your nose against his.

“Anything else?” You egged him on, catching a flare of darker green in his eyes. He said nothing, but the way he moved his hand to touch your cheek spoke volumes. “How about a share of the apples you pick every day, or some mora, or——?”

“You’re talking too much.” He muttered, lips only a fraction away from yours.

“That’s rich coming from you. . .”

His breath was warm and welcome and mingled with yours for all of one second before you felt the notion of a kiss. It was then that the bell above the cathedral chimed, it’s proximity and the intensity of the clap jarring you and the bard from your shared trance. You jerked away, flushed and wide-eyed, while Venti clicked his tongue. Vexed, he glared up towards the cathedral.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I need to go.” You scrambled from your spot, heart hammering so hard in your ears that it almost drowned out the sounds of the bell. “I forgot to see Katheryne about the commission!”

Venti arched a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” You vaulted over the railing and contemplated running off without another word, but it didn’t feel right. Rather than succumb to cowardice and embarrassment, you turned to face the bard. “Tomorrow. We’ll do this again, I promise, and. . .”

“And?”

“We’ll finish where we left off.”

“I was hoping you’d say that!”

#venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #( almost got a smooch! )#( it was another long one dang )#( i get too wordy sometimes :/ not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing HMM )#( tried to keep this one gender neutral but if I slipped up at all please let me know )

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dokidokey · 3 years

Text

who would have thought that passing a 20-page paper 5 days late would lead you to dabi?

word count: 3,765

tags & warnings: bad boy x straight a student au, college au, fluff, a pinch of endeavor slander, brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of abuse (nothing explicit, the word just gets mentioned once!)

notes: hi zeze (@reddriot), i’m your secret santa! sorry this is so late, we’re on our way home at this ungodly hour and i finally have some stable connection now lmao. i’m so so sorry but also, happy holidays! i hope you enjoy what my pretty much dry and blank mind managed to cook up lol i’m so thankful and i met you and got to know you. <3 thank u for everything. and the title lol omg i’m so bad at titles but i kind realized it rhymes with ornaments, so i left it at that.

The day you met Todoroki Touya was not a good day. You would even consider it a bad week, actually. Apparently, you were a week late on a 20-page paper for History and you didn’t even know. It irked you because you have no other excuse except that you didn’t know. There was a totally different due date in your head, one that wasn’t five days ago. So when your teacher shook her head disapprovingly while tucking your 20-page paper against the smooth surface of her desk, you had no other choice but to leave the room.

You wouldn’t want a teacher to see you cry over a late submission. You certainly wouldn’t want other students roaming the hallway to see you cry either, so you had to fight off the warmth pooling at the corners of your eyes. The last corner leading to the campus library was where Todoroki Touya presented himself.

The impact of your bodies bumping against each other came first, then the stinging pinch of something hot against your skin next. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you pulled your arm away, eyes widening at the sight of a small, circular burn mark on your forearm.

“You burned － Why are you smoking here?” The accusing tone in your voice immediately disappeared and replaced by panic as you watched a quite familiar face bring a cigarette to his lips, perfectly poised between his long fingers. “You’re not allowed to smoke on campus grounds!”

A puff of smoke swirled through the air as he huffed, the corner of his lips twitching as he eyed you up and down. The intense, blue eyes taking over your body sent shivers down your spine, arms protectively crossing over your front to try and shield yourself from his gaze.

“Not if I don’t get caught,” he smirked, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. The man was familiar; face and most of his skin that’s exposed under the leather jacket were covered in scars, a dark contrast against his fair complexion. You’re sure you will never forget him if you knew him, but the familiarity of his face doesn’t ring any names in your head.

He puffed out the smoke in a harsh breath, the delicate sound seeming so loud in the quiet and isolated hallway. For a moment you forgot about your late History paper and the chances of you getting anything lower than an A.

Both of your palms met the fabric of your denim-clad thigh in a light slap, arms sagging and voice raising. “If you and I get caught－!”

“Then leave.”

The deadpan and harsh delivery of his words left you open-mouthed, the disapproving look of your teacher once again flashing in your mind. The corners of your eyes warmed again, stinging more than the way it did earlier.

You’re croaking out an unwanted explanation before you realized it. “I － I might get detention and－,” you sniffled, trying to prevent the tears from flowing because you know how embarrassing that would be, so much so to this mysterious person who you found familiar but not really. “And my parents－.”

A scoff cuts you off. You watched as he killed the ember of the cigarette using his bare fingers, pinching the lit end between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it in one of his front pockets. If it weren’t for the strong stench of the cigarette, no one would suspect that he was smoking here, in front of you, inside campus grounds.

“Of course. Precious little [Name] can’t have bad grades and a bad record.”

He said it as if it was so bad. You wouldn’t normally find offense on jabs like those, but today wasn’t just your day. Your retort died down quickly in your throat though when you realized he said your name. He knew you.

With furrowed brows and quivering lips, you asked, “how do you know me?”

The dark-haired man leaned on the concrete wall, shoving a hand down the pocket of his pants. “Who wouldn’t know the teachers’ favorite student? Straight A, little miss [Name].”

It was your turn to scoff. “Favorite,” you mocked, eyes rolling, “I didn’t know being the favorite meant not considering the fact that I didn’t know the deadline was 5 days ago without anyone else informing me.”

A smirk blossomed on his stupidly handsome face. “For once you didn’t get away with something, huh?”

“Didn’t get away? I didn’t know! I had no idea! It’s not my fault.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s true.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and taking two steps back, eyes still on you. He winked, then turned around. The silence in the hallway felt deafening as you stood there, but the quick footsteps of his figure walking back towards you eats up the quiet. “Or on second thought,” he says, tapping a foot on the floor, “I can excuse you to the teacher about your late paper.”

It seemed like the tears of frustration pooling at the sides of your eyes retreated back to your tear glands, ears more than ready to hear out whatever his proposition was.

“If you act as my fake girlfriend for a Christmas dinner with my family, I’ll tell the teacher that I tricked you about the deadline.”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And that’s going to work?”

“Have you seen me, doll? I’m that boy your teacher refers to as a bad influence.”

“You should not be hanging out with people like him, [Name.]”

Mrs. Nakamura’s disappointed tone does nothing to stop the smile spreading on your face, though you tried to suppress it to not come off as suspicious. You’re nodding your head like you’re agreeing with her, knowing that that will not happen any time soon because you have a Christmas dinner with your boyfriend’s family in less than three weeks.

“Go on then,” your teacher waved her hand, “you aren’t marked as late but remember what I told you. If you keep that boy around you, trouble’s sure to follow.”

The hallway didn’t feel as dark and lonesome as it did earlier. It’s surely not because of the other person walking along with you. You’d like to think that, but a part of you knew you might just be lying. And it was stupid, really. Were you really harboring a crush over him? You. . . don’t even know his name.

“What’s your name?”

A choked laugh was the reply you got. “What? You don’t know me?”

“You’re familiar. I just can’t put a name on you,” you shrugged.

“Touya. Todoroki Touya,” he answered, grimacing. “But call me Dabi. That’s what my friends call me.”

“Are you saying we’re friends?” You grinned, looking up at him. He was tall, okay. So much more taller than you. You barely reached his shoulders.

“Technically, you’re my girlfriend, so no. We are not friends.”

You decided technicalities weren’t so bad when Dabi almost never left your side. The sudden (and quite cliché yet comic) pair you two made didn’t go unnoticed by the teachers. Mrs. Nakamura reminded you every single day about Dabi and his troubles. You aren’t aware what kind of troubles Dabi is associated in yet, but you’d like to think you’ll get there.

When you agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend, you didn’t think it would be this kind of long-term thing. You thought that maybe he’ll leave you alone after that day and just hit you up again on the day of the dinner, but you were so wrong.

You’ve never liked being wrong as much as you did about him.

“Stop fussing, my mom’s going to love you.”

He’s said that for the fourth time now. You’re making him more antsy than you are with your bouncing leg and deep sighs every ten seconds.

“And your dad?” You glare at him, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans and bouncing your leg again. He rolls his eyes as an answer.

In the short, three weeks you’ve gotten to know Dabi, you learned a lot about him. One, he hates his father passionately. Two, the teachers don’t really like him (but that sounds so mean when worded like that so you like to think he just isn’t the favorite student.) Three, he’s allergic to fish. Four, he pays attention to every single thing you say. Five, he’s actually the eldest out of the four Todoroki children and lastly, (this is more about you than him) maybe you let your little crush fester more than you planned.

You’ve had to berate yourself multiple times that he is not your boyfriend. You and Dabi are not in a real relationship. This is all a product of your grades being saved and an arrangement to fill up an empty seat at his family’s dinner for Christmas.

“What if your sister doesn’t like me,” you say meekly, “or your brother. And your other brother.”

Dabi shifts on the bench you both are sitting on to face you properly, placing a warm hand over your sweaty ones. “Stop it. They’re going to love you.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes but really, you’re just having a hard time making your brain function properly to process a reply when his hands are there, on top of yours, warm and soothing. It makes your heart do a little happy dance inside your chest that you know it should not be doing, but you can’t help it.

You’re way too deep into this hell, and you don’t know how you’ll take it when he cuts you off after you both benefit from this arrangement you have.

When Dabi pulls you up to stand up before he walks you home, you try to remember how his hands felt against yours.

“You look nice.”

Nice. You had to rummage through your closet for this halter dress, the most decent thing you can find that can fit for a Christmas dinner. It’s 6 PM on the 24th of December and even though this isn’t how you expected to spend the night before Christmas, here you are anyway.

“You look nice too,” you compliment, taking in how Dabi is wearing an actual pair of decent slacks and a button up. A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “You said it was a simple dinner date so I was kind of expecting you to just show up in one of your old, ragged jeans, you know?!”

He quirks his head to the left, the sides of his lips turned up. Dabi offers you his hand as you descend the few steps from your apartment door. “It was,” he says, “but my mom made me wear this when I said I’ll bring a girl over.”

“Haven’t you brought a girl over before?”

A mischievous smile spreads over Dabi’s face, a thumb pressing a gentle pressure on the back of your hand. “No. You’re special because you’re the first one.”

Great. It’s not like you’re not nervous enough about meeting the Todorokis. He just has to tell you you’re the first girl his family will meet. What makes it worse is that you aren’t really Dabi’s girlfriend. It seems a little selfish on both of your parts to let the rest of his family get to know you and then you’ll never see them again because, well, this arrangement can’t last forever, can it?

“And you have a car?” You gasp, eye zeroing in on the sleek, black vehicle parked across the street where you both are heading. “You have a car?”

He chuckles, shaking his head side to side. “This is my dad’s, actually.” He says it again with an eye roll, opening up the passenger door for you. “He only made me use it to impress you.”

“Like I’m not impressed enough?” You huff out a laugh, palms gliding over the dashboard.

“Impressed by what?”

You, you’d like to answer, but for the sake of your sad excuse of a relationship, you keep your mouth shut.

“Things.”

The ride to their place was filled with back and forth banter from you and Dabi. He’s tried to calm you down when a new wave of nervousness surged within you but as you stand in front of their door with hands sweating an entire Pacific ocean, it’s obvious his attempt didn’t work.

“Calm down,” Dabi says, forehead scrunched as he watches you fiddle with the skirt of your dress. You’ve been standing there for about two minutes now and if your goal is to make your nervousness rub off on him, then you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Is my hair okay?” You fuss over some more, smoothing out the unruly strands that weren’t even there. “Is my face－?”

Dabi grabs your hands in his, calloused fingers wrapping around yours. The words die in your throat as you look up at him with wide eyes, mind blanking out at the warmth on your palm.

“You look beautiful, okay? If you touch your hair or smooth your skirt one more ti－.”

“I knew I heard you guys!”

An enthusiastic voice of a girl almost the same height as you rings through your ears and you look over to see his sister, Fuyumi, white and red hair parted in the middle and over her shoulders. You’ve seen her in some pictures in Dabi’s phone because you’re in that stage where you can just casually unlock and go through Dabi’s phone. (You haven’t seen anything unusual yet, just some candid pictures of you that you have no idea how he took. Bless your poor heart after you discovered that album dedicated just for you.)

Fuyumi places her hands on her hips, smiling brightly at you. “I thought Touya was just lying about you to escape the marriage arranged for him but turns out he isn’t.” She opens the door wider for you and Dabi. “Come in. Mom’s been waiting for you.”

The Todoroki household is neat. Minimalist. You aren’t sure if it’s spacious or it’s an illusion due to the lack of decorations inside. Fuyumi immediately hugs you after you and Dabi are completely inside, and she leads you away to meet Natsuo and Shouto. The sight of Natsuo startles you at first. He looks exactly like how you envisioned Dabi to be if he didn’t have scars. And seriously, what’s up with this family having scars? You noticed a dark crimson circling Shouto’s right eye.

Mrs. Todoroki is the most welcoming of them all, if not as much as Fuyumi. Her hand immediately went to your hair, patting softly and smiling delicately at you.

“I never imagined the day would come when Touya finally brings home a girl,” she whispers. The sight of her eyes getting glassy is enough to make your own gloss over, though it’s for an entirely different reason. How cruel can you and Dabi be to pretend and lie like this in front of his mom?

“Oh, please don’t cry! Did I make you cry?” She laughs tearfully, squeezing your shoulder. You choke out a laugh at her reaction, shaking your head no.

“I leave her alone for five minutes and you already made her cry?” Comes Dabi’s voice at the entryway of the kitchen, his tall frame blocking the path. He walks over to where you and Rei are standing, placing a warm hand on the small of your back. “What did mom say to make you cry?”

Rei sniffles and you dab a finger under your eyes, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Nothing,” you reply, unconsciously leaning back on his chest as you keep your emotions in check. In front of you, Rei has a fond look in her eyes as she watches Dabi tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and your wobbly smile directed at her son.

Your little moment is ruined when the front door shuts close with a loud rattle. Dabi tenses behind and you crane your neck enough to see across the living room a tall and broad man with bright red hair.

“That’s your father,” Mrs. Todoroki sighs.

The food is good but the dinner is awkward. Todoroki Enji made sure that either you nor Dabi will be able to sit through tonight peacefully.

“I’m surprised you managed to stick around my son this long,” Enji rumbles, looking at you briefly before going back to his meal. Four months. That’s what you and Dabi came up with for your pretend relationship. You’ve been dating for four months and you both knew each other after getting paired up for a History project. It’s not much of a lie since you did meet because of History.

“I’m surprised Dabi managed to stick around me this long,” you reply nervously, trying to make light of the situation. It seems you only made it worse when Enji’s sharp eyes bote onto yours.

“Dabi?” He inquires, head tilting to the side. The rest of the Todorokis are quiet except him. “You call him that?”

You nod, stomach churning. Any time now and you might just throw up. “You call him by that name, huh?” He chuckles hollowly, shaking his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you here, much less as Touya’s infamous girlfriend. If I didn’t know better, he just hired you as a fake girlfriend to run away from tradition.”

Tradition. Right. Dabi has mentioned to you once that his parents were arranged. He’s told you how he knows his father doesn’t really love his mom. You know about the abuse and the way he treats his family.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong because what Dabi－,” you pause, turning briefly to look at him, “Touya. What Touya and I have is pretty much real.”

Enji scoffs, a large, heavy palm slapping on the smooth surface of their mahogany table. “Tell me that again when you’re still here a year from now.”

“Sure,” you smile, cheeks aching with how forced it is. It baffles you how Dabi’s father has all the authority in this household －how no one dares to object or talk back.

Todoroki Enji decides to surprise when deep chuckles start escaping his lips. “You,” he points a finger at you, “I like you. You’re brave. Not a single person in this household can face me like that. You’re too good for that boy,” he nods over Dabi’s direction. From your peripheral, you can see just how tight Dabi’s hands are clenched, and you reach over to place one over his.

“Actually, he’s too good for me,” you quip back. You have no idea where this sudden surge of confidence is coming from, but that doesn’t matter. You need to say what you have to say. You wouldn’t be seeing this family ever again after this anyways. “Touya is actually a good man. He’s more than what meets the eye. Maybe you’ll know that if you paid enough attention to him － and all your children, honestly.”

There’s no taking back what you just spewed out. Too stunned, you aren’t aware of the smug smirk and raised eyebrows Dabi is sporting. You don’t see the way Natsuo is trying to fight off his smile. Mrs. Todoroki and Fuyumi have a hand in their faces and Shouto, for the first time since you arrived, looks at you wholly and quite in awe. With your blood rushing in your ears and heart beating erratically, you open your mouth to excuse yourself, but Dabi beats you to it.

“Now if you would just excuse us.” And he’s tugging on your hand. You whisper out a quiet “I’m sorry,” when you pass by Rei, and you’re out of the front door.

“So,” you grin, hugging the mug of hot chocolate to your chest with your feet tucked beneath you. “On a scale of one to ten, how good was I at ruining your family’s dinner?”

After that whole dinner fiasco, you both just decided to go home to your apartment. Dabi is currently sprawled over the other end of your couch, his feet perched on the coffee table (you told him three times already to put it down) and three of his shirt buttons are undone. He’s got his own cup of hot chocolate on his hand, the other playing with the frills of your throw pillow.

“An eleven,” he grins back at you. He leans over and places his mug on the table. “That took guts.”

You nod. “It did. It just didn’t sit right with me how he talked about you like that, like － I remember you telling me how he used to be all over you as a child, but after Shouto was born, he neglected all of you. He isn’t － That’s not － What kind of father does that?” You sigh, groaning when you remember Rei and the rest of his siblings had to witness that.

“That is so embarrassing. I’m pretty sure your mom hates me now.”

“Trust me,” Dabi chuckles, sitting upright and moving closer to you, “she does not. You should have seen Natsu. He was about to lose it.”

“Still,” you press, throwing him a dirty look. “Who talks like that to their boyfriend’s dad on the first meeting?”

Dabi stares at you, turquoise eyes brighter than ever. “So I’m your boyfriend now?”

You’re pretty sure your heart just skipped a beat at that. “I mean, t-technically. Right? That was － That was what we － That was what we were pretending to be.”

Reality dawns on you again. This is all pretend. No matter how warm Rei and his sibling welcomed you, no matter how much Rei adored you, you’ll never see them again. This is a one time thing － something beneficial for the two of you. And as much as it breaks your heart that you got attached to Dabi that fast, you try to hide your sadness by saying, “at least I won’t see them again, so technically, talking back to your dad is fine.”

“Do you want to though?”

“I － What?”

Dabi leans closer. “Do you want to stop pretending?”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. “Is this a trick question?”

He goes closer. The tips of his hair are grazing your forehead. Even this close, Dabi seems to be looming over you. “I wouldn’t mind making it real.”

“I really don’t want to see your father again,” you whisper. Dabi barely closes the gap between the two of you, nose touching yours.

“We can arrange that.”

more notes: tbh this kind of strayed, uh, kinda far from the bad boy x straight a student au but that’s just because most of what i plan ends up straying kind of far from the original idea. but never mind that, i’m happy with how this turned out. EXCUSE ME THAT LAST LINE? WITH THE ARRANGE THING? HELLO? AM I GIVING MYSELF TOO MUCH CREDITS? I MIGHT BE, BUT I DON’T CARE. also ze (´ ▽｀) if you ever get tagged by me on another dabi fic, it’s just me making up for this late post i am sorry.

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi scenarios #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha angst #bnha fluff #omfg my first dabi fic bye

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anxiouslyfred · 3 years

Text

Created Holidays

for @dukexietyweek‘s final prompt of holidays

Summary: Remus used to create random holidays and get all the Dark sides celebrating them, but even though he tried to do the same when known, the holidays have stopped except for the ones on a normal calendar.

Today Virgil is going to change that, with Shelob’s birthday

Warnings: spiders, telling offs

/\/\

One thing Virgil had missed since being accepted and welcomed with open arms as soon as Remus was known to Thomas was the holidays, the celebrations, whichever you wanted to call them. It wasn't that the Known sides didn't celebrate things, but that everything was on a calender, predictable and in order. There were no mornings when you could come down to a bizarre breakfast and banners declaring 'Shelob's Birthday' or 'Cheese Rolling Day', or any manner of things Remus decided needed to be celebrated from films, stories, or random news articles Thomas might read.

He'd loved it when there was a 'Frozen day' weeks after the family movie night they'd shared, because it felt like the holiday were coming back. Except after 2 months Remus had stopped them all over again. He'd reduced them at first until they had just gone, and Virgil had no clue what could be influencing or controlling his friend to this extent.

Perhaps they weren't holidays with the traditions and history that Christmas or Halloween came with, but they were fun, and just a way Remus got his family to spend time together. That had been for a few years something Thomas wanted, that Patton had always been trying to encourage. Themed games and meals would only help with that, even if it came randomly rather than planned for weeks if not months in advance.

Still, Virgil knew something must have been said or done to stop Remus bringing his holidays out for everyone to share in. Whether or not he still held them in the imagination or his room was something Virgil kind of wanted to find out.

More than finding out though, he wanted them back, and if Remus wasn't going to do it, then Virgil damn well would. They deserved to bring their family time out from the hidden spaces of Thomas's mind and into the common areas, not matter what the light sides wanted.

With that in mind he began to plan, and felt some dark joy in deciding which holiday he'd like to bring back for them all. Patton would forgive him for it, surely?

/VR\

The first thing to make any of the other Sides suspect there was something different about the day was Patton's scream followed shortly after by his door being slammed.

It woke most of them up, and got the ones already awake quickly leaving their room to figure out what was happening, only to freeze in their doorways.

Virgil had only added a few spiderwebs and strands of silly string along the hallway, but in increasing density going down the stairs. It was only in the main common area that his decorations really took over, but before anyone other than Patton had seen them a delighted scream was ringing out.

“Shelob's Birthday!” Remus couldn't have moved faster if he was shot from the gun, but at least he stopped without throwing Virgil to the floor when tackling him into a hug. “Can't believe we haven't celebrated Shelob's birthday in so long. Better make this the best one ever. Hobbitsy Tacos and Limbus Bread for all.”

Virgil grinned, going to reply before a cough got his attention from the stairs.

“Remus, as I've stated before, there is not time enough in our lives to indulge in your-” Logan cuts himself off when Virgil starts hissing, eyeshadow darkening and growing down his cheeks.

“You don't have time for a family day, Logan? Yet when Patton suggests or simply decides to make a big dinner and insist on a family meal you drop everything for it unless there's a specific deadline to meet.” Virgil ground out, arms tightening around Remus, and moving them both onto the sofa.

Logan adjusts his tie, shifting uncomfortably in his spot. “That is not what this is. This is a nonsensical situation that has no reason to be celebrated beyond a whim of-”

“-Me! I did this because frankly following a strict calendar of celebrations is too many traditions and not enough family. Remus has always known how to bring our little family of Dark Sides into something fun to do with holidays and I was wondering why that had stopped when he was more than willing to include you all as well.” Virgil wished in that moment he could silence the others as effectively as Janus could, but talking over them to lecture their horrid behaviour would work.

Roman popped up then, seemingly having delayed reacting to the screams from 10 minutes before. “What the heckity heck, guys! A Prince needs his beauty sleep, and Remus I've told you a million, nigh a zillion times before that these-”

“That what? That you and Logan are the assholes responsible for Remus stopping trying to bring his family together? That you're the reason our random holidays stopped being created? Are you taking the blame for that, or should the next one play on your fears rather than one of the characters I loved reading about?” Virgil turned his glare to the other Creativity even as Remus pulled away to grab Janus and start cooking in the kitchen.

Neither Logan or Roman seemed willing to argue their points with Virgil combatting them so easily, clearly in defence of Remus. They share a glance though, silently frowning at the decorations around the room and remembering what had roused them that morning.

“Before you try to say I'm excluding Patton because of the nature of the event, I've already sent an apology to his room, as well as an explanation of what's happening; Specifically that I'm trying to bring something Remus loved to share with all of us back.” Virgil huffed out, catching the look. “Bad enough that you already try to treat him like a disease that shouldn't be listened to, you had to try and take away his version of family holidays as well.”

There are arms back around his waist before he could decide on whether they needed to apologise or just stay for the rest of the day. Remus nuzzled into his neck before twisting around Virgil to look at his face. “Games now?” He asked.

“Yep, games time now. What should we play to properly celebrate Shelob's Birthday?” Virgil smiles, posture completely relaxing as he turned away from Logan and Roman, leaning towards the coffee table expecting some type of game to be summoned to it.

Remus leaps over the back of the sofa, but remains wrapped around Virgil as an Operation game forms on the table, with the character looking distinctly dwarven. Janus is soon to join them, staring at Roman and Logan expectantly, although just what he's expecting they can't decide.

“Sit. Play. Some of these should be right up your alley, Roman. Everything is Lord of the Rings and fantasy or pure spider themed.” Virgil orders after a second.

/VR\

Through the day's games and snacks, Virgil had pulled Remus onto his lap, suggesting things they could do from previous times they'd celebrated Shelob's Birthday. They remained like that through attempts at cats cradle, passing the patterns made between their hands, and barely shifted apart when Janus declared the meal was done and brought out a pie that looked like it had spaghetti for the lid.

After the lecture from the morning neither Logan or Roman wanted to bring up the intimacy enough to ask about it though. As it stood they focused on doing a few things to include Patton in the day even while he was remaining in his room, too unsettled by the decorations to actually join in. It seemed to be the right choice to make since Virgil's warning and protective glares reduced as they carried on joining in with the holiday.

It was when they were all just relaxing after Janus over-ruled Remus's latest game suggestion that Logan finally had to ask, “So why did you decorate to such an extreme? I know you wanted to have Remus creating nonsensical family holidays again, but he has never decorated since becoming known more than a banner, and a few strings of decorations.”

“If there's one thing you need to know about Remus, it's that when he's accepted others have rejected a suggestion it takes nothing less extreme than a battering ram and a cheerleading squad to convince him otherwise.” Virgil snorted, shaking his head. “And there was no freaking way I was doing something that noisy, but decorations that are impossible to ignore? Well I saw how you all reacted to my room and I'm pretty good at it.”

“You used Patton's scream not only to get everyone's attention and figure out which of us convinced Remus to stop but also to make the point you enjoyed them.” Logan observed after a moment thinking through his words.

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Der.”

“And he's gonna help me make wonderfully unnerving decorations for my next holiday, aren't you, Aragog?” Remus piped up, wriggling back so his hair was tickling Virgil's chin.

“We better decide what it is early then, make sure I decorate for the right holiday.” Virgil replied, nuzzling his head down for a split second before getting dragged off upstairs. “Thanks for a great holiday. I guess we're heading to sleep now.” He called back at them, laughing as his arm was both yanked and bounced ahead of him.

There wasn't much planning done when they made it to Remus's room though, since the easy affection Virgil had finally allowed himself to show was now being reciprocated with wild lips meeting his, and bodies pushing each other against the door.

“Holiday planning can wait, We've got a better date.” Remus rhymed, beaming when Virgil just nodded.

At the end of the day, Virgil liked the fact they had the random family holidays back, but even more than that he loved his new boyfriend.

#dukexiety #dukexietyweek2021 #remus sanders #virgil sanders #protective virgil #logan sanders #roman sanders #janus mention #patton mention #made up holidays #cw spiders?

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thatweeboverthereisthirsty · 4 years

Note

Hey hmm... what about Yandere!Dorm leaders with a S/O who just doenst really care that they are yandere? They don't really mind and find cute sometimes :) Please write if you wish to, please don't overwork yourself <33

My first yandere request! I’m not very good at yandere so I hope I did a good job. I finished Malleus’ after writing poetry so I had a hard time coming up with sentences that didn’t rhyme so his is a bit shorter than the rest. Anyways please enjoy!

Warnings: Yandere behavior, mentioned murder and violence, kidnapping, stalking, poisoning, stockholm syndrome, delusional/oc characters

Riddle:

The moment he saw you Riddle knew he was in love

He approached you with flowers everyday and was delighted when you always accepted them graciously

Would probably try to court you like a gentleman first

It’s unlikely that he will submit to the urge to lock you away until something serious happens

When someone else does touch his little rose he will snatch you up and bring you back to his room in Heartslabyul

Makes sure that you know not to leave unless he tells you that you can

He is not a violent yandere

He knows that you love him and that you don’t mean to make him upset

When he lets you out he makes sure that Trey, Cater, Deuce, and Ace are there to keep an eye on you

You will never be out of their sight and when you are it is when you are lounging in Riddle’s room

Eventually he comes to trust that you won’t try to run away and leaves the door unlocked

He even turns the lock around so you can lock yourself in just in case a threat comes

Over the holidays he takes you with him and the two of you have a lovely time walking around his home town

The fact that anyone that doesn’t have his permission to approach you gets sudden injuries and bruises a day after you’ve spoken to them doesn’t go unnoticed

You simply tell yourself that he is such a sweet boyfriend to protect you from any threats

You tell him that you would like to talk to a specific person and he allows it only if you approached them first

When you accidentally do something to make him mad he starts to scream and puts your chain and collar on so you can’t leave

It’s alright though because he always has a good reason to be mad at you

You call him over to cool down and hug him tightly repeating apologies and telling him how much you love him

No matter what you’ve done he can never stay mad at you for long

“My little rose, you are just perfect for me.”

Leona:

Leona doesn’t fall for you right away and even if he did it isn’t in a lions nature to charge out into the hunt without a strategy for success

He will watch you from a distance and study his feelings of interest towards you as if your relationship was a chess game and it was his move

When the time comes that Leona has decided that as the prey your guard is down enough for him to strike he will do so in a subtle and natural way to avoid drawing attention

Ruggie’s unique magic helps with this by leading you straight to his room

There he dresses you in the savannahs loveliest silks and gowns, beads and necklaces of gold are strung around your neck and limbs

You have a pair of gold cuffs encasing your wrists which lead to the wall behind you

Once he has organized you in a way that suits his taste he will have Ruggie deactivate his unique magic and leave

He expects you to freak out and is surprised when you stay relatively calm

He tells you that he is infatuated with you and that you are to love him back

Of course he is caught off guard when you lean forwards as far as you can with the chains and kiss him gently

Soon he decides to test your loyalty to him and takes you out of the chains to sleep next to him at night

Leona purrs happily when he sees that you are not only still in bed with him but curled up against his side

He won’t let you out unless you are with him or Ruggie though and you have to be within 6 feet of them at all times unless you have permission to wander further

Nearly any other male is not allowed to go near you

They can chat with you over text where Leona can check what is happening or if they do approach you he will snap his teeth at them and tell them to back off

Covers you in his scent every morning and every night just to make sure

When you return to the palace with him he has the servants treat you as if you were royalty yourself

If he gets jealous or angry he will be quick to remind you that you are his and belong to no one else

You literally will never leave his sight unless you have an uncovered and obvious bite mark and hickey

Falls asleep on your lap as you calmly braid his hair

“Hmm… A lion always catches his prey, and now your mine.”

Azul:

When Azul wants something he gets it

He has Jade and Floyd bring you to him where he is waiting with a beautiful room for you

He used his make a deal to have a student add another room directly next to his with a wall that is made of nearly entirely glass

Azul finds it incredibly amusing that you are behind glass when usually it’s the humans that put fish behind glass in aquariums

He is very insecure so it is unlikely that he will ever let you out unless you are accompanied by himself and the Leech twins

Brings you your school work and helps you study and pass

Will get you anything and everything you desire no matter what lengths he has to go to

If you get fussy he will slip a sedative into your drink and cuddle with you until you wake

It is unlikely that you get fussy about much since all he wants to do is make you happy

You enjoy your life in Azuls arms and let him snuggle with you whenever he wants

Gentle kisses in between reassuring words that you still love him even though he won’t take you to the carnival since you could get lost

When he does take you places it’s usually just around the school or to malls that aren’t very popular

If someone else approaches you besides the sales people and even them if Azul feels your safety is threatened he will send the twins to silently take care of the matter

You pretend not to notice how the news is featuring a new murder a few hours after you’ve arrived home after a day out

He is very anxious that you won’t like his octopus form so it will take a while for you to coax him into showing you

Almost immediately after he transforms you throw yourself into his arms and ask him to wrap his tentacles around you

You call it the ultimate cuddle and he always blushes a deep red

“Oh no sweetheart, the festival has far too many people. I’ll bring stuff back for you that way no one ever has the chance to take you from me.”

Kalim:

A delusional lover the whole way

It never occurred to this sweetpea that you might not want to spend the rest of your life in a large gold cage filled with anything and everything you could possibly desire

The cage is huge and takes up most of the space in one of Scarabia’s unused rooms

Otherwise the room is decorated lavishly and around the edges piles of gold lay mixed with jewels and gorgeous silks

He calls you his most valuable treasure and says that not even a genie could make him happier

Jamil likely used snake whisperer on you to lure you into the cage for Kalim to keep you

You are a bit surprised at first and Jamil has to explain that you are here cause you are Kalim’s new lover

He is quite surprised when you simply accept it and return his hugs and kisses with enthusiasm

Every day he has you dressed in the most expensive silks and covered head to toe in jewels and gold

Will also simply sleep with you instead of using his own room

All of the food you eat or drink will be tested by a taste tester to avoid you falling ill with poison

This sweet baby boy will give you gifts everyday and bring you to see carnivals and festivals and parades of all sorts

You are also allowed to attend parties and such but only if your main accessory is a neck collar with a chain that leads to his wrist

Art will be painted of you all the time and he fixes you in a range of poses so that he can look at them whenever he wants and be reminded of you

Brings you to meet each of his siblings and helps you remember all their names and faces

Kalim will get jealous when they hug you 100% and pulls you back into his arms

Leads you away back to your cage where no one can reach you

“Main tumhen bahut pyaar karata hoon mera chhota sitaara” (“I love you so much my little star” in Hindi)

Vil:

Vil is the kinda person where if he wants something he will get it no matter what

He immediately sends Rook to hunt down and retrieve you

When he finally has you in his grasp he doesn’t even think about letting you go

You will be his forever

Keeps you in chains disguised as jewelry and gives you enough length to wander around his room but not enough to reach the door

He does your makeup and hair beautifully every morning and coordinates your outfits as well

Will spend hours taking care of your skin and body

Baths with him every night where he massages creams and serums into your skin for hours

He loves how by the end of it you are so relaxed and sleepy that when he unchains you and pulls you into bed there is no resistance

His insecurities lead him to believe that no that he has you and you have seen him without the thousands of layers of makeup that you will be repulsed by him

It very much isn’t the case and when you sense he is feeling insecure you will pull him close to you and tell him how beautiful he is

It takes forever to convince him to let you out of his room

Hours of snuggles and reassuring words that you won’t leave is the only thing that helps him let you go

Even then it is unlikely that he will let you leave Pomefiore

When he feels comfortable enough he may let you walk the grounds with him or if he’s in a good mood you can go by yourself

Rook is still positioned to watch you just in case though

Vil will use you as a muse for photo shoots all the time

He dresses you up and brings you to a beautiful area of the dorm and take hundreds of pictures of you

He only shares a few with the world though

He likes to think he is taunting people with the beauty that he has but they can not grasp

The rest are something that he looks at frequently to calm down and feel happy

His favorite pictures are the ones where you are wearing his crown

“Your beauty surpasses even mine, my queen. Even more reason to never let another person have you.”

Idia:

His entire life Idia has suffered from major social anxiety and insecurities

So when he meets you and he doesn’t feel anxious at all he knows that he will never come across another person like you again

He invites you over to play video games and locks the door behind him

When you aren’t paying attention he puts a small collar around your neck

You can’t get it off but it doesn’t really bother you that much

It is small and light so there was no reason

It’s probably just his way of giving you jewelry

However when you go to leave, the second your hand touches the door knob a strange feeling enters your body and you go unconscious

When you wake he explains that he is very sorry but he just had to have you

Lets you know in a very scary voice that his room is completely soundproof and the collar will knock you out anytime you touch the door

Essentially it’s impossible to leave and no one is coming to save you

After he locks himself in his bathroom and cries for almost an hour because he is so horrified by his own actions

Not horrified enough to let you go though

In the beginning you have a bit of a hard time adjusting to life in Idia’s room but eventually you begin to develop the same anxiety as him

You couldn’t even think about leaving for the fear that something might happen to you

The only way you can stay safe is with him and in his room

You liked him in the first place so it didn’t particularly bother you that he had kidnapped you in order to make you like him

However, the case of Stockholm syndrome became quite extreme

Idia relished the way that you shook when he decided to take you for a walk and he never got tired of you begging him to stay and keep you safe in his room

He taught you all about his video games and how to play each one

You became almost as proficient as him although when you played against each other he often let you win

Ortho loves you to pieces

Not only does he get a new big sister but his big brother has someone to socialize with

If only he could convince you to go outside as well

“What if you get sick. Oh no there is no way I would let that happen to you. Just stay in here with me. You will be safe in my room forever.”

Malleus:

Humans are just so fragile he has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that you are able to survive on your own

This just won’t do

He has Lilia pick you up and bring you to him as soon as he hears that you got a scratch from a bush you walked past earlier that day

Sleeping spells to keep you from waking as he tends to your wounds and puts a magical barrier around his room

You will never be allowed to leave without him there to protect you

The world is a dangerous place and as a weak human there is a low chance of survival

It will be alright though because with him you will always be safe and happy

He uses his royal status to have you treated like a queen

Anything you want is yours and honey the sky's the limit

Even things that money can’t buy it will be yours

Everything except for your freedom

Not that you mind

Being fawned over and spoiled by the man you like is a dream come true and more than you could have ever asked for

Every day you appreciate all the time and attention he gives you as he makes sure you are healthy and have everything you want

He also teaches you everything he knows about being elegant and graceful

Claims that it will be necessary in order for you to become the future queen of the valley of thorns

Long dances followed by sweet kisses and etiquette lessons rewarded by cuddles fill your days

He allows you the opportunity to walk with him at night underneath the stars and tells you how beautiful you are in the dark

“Even if I have to kill to keep you. You will be mine forever.”

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Mexican Immigrant S/O : T.A. & T.S.

A/N: I tried to incorporate a bit of both since representation is important (and i feel like this is something that i can do p well with)!! I hope you like it!! Also since you said himbo, i’m assuming it’s male?)

Amajiki Tamaki:

Due to his quirk and how the food from Mexico can often contain different parts of animals, you and Tamaki make an ideal catch up. Given how his quirk relies on food, he’s interested to try food that you make or want to attempt. He can tell how cooking means a lot to you and will sit patiently and hear you talk about memories with your family that involve cooking- whether it be cooking on the grill, what some foods contain, cow stomach being one that makes him raise a brow, but he really enjoys just hearing about you and how food is such an important part of the family- especially those seasonal dishes.

As a pro-hero, there are high chances that he comes home hurt. You hold him large hands, a soothing rub on his back as he wraps his arms around you, head buried into the crook of your neck as he just relaxes into you. You worry and fret but you keep your mouth closed as you clean him, tears stinging your eyes and throat much too tight for your liking. In the morning you’ll make him a big breakfast, the smell of food thick in the air, and when he comes to breakfast, you force him to eat, rubbing his back and telling him to get his strength back up.

Despite his career choice, he is introverted at heart. He will always prefer a small group of people, would prefer a night in rather than going out but you do have an affinity to go out whether it be with people within a gathering or just window shopping. He doesn’t understand it and he isn’t particularly fond of it but he tries for you. He’ll hold your hand tightly, never really leaving your side and he gets rather overwhelmed easily. While he isn’t forward with his affection, you don’t complain since you can see how he tries to make himself smaller during outings.

You don’t really understand his rather conservative nature, the way he doesn’t really take the step forward in most things so you’re usually the one to. You encourage him to attend events that he’s been invited to, stand by his side and if you happen to be meeting somewhere or see him out in public, you will eagerly call his name and go to him, and peck his forehead. Because of this and the private knowledge that is available to the public, most people are aware of your relationship with the hero. There are a few moments where you’ll be threatened, but you don’t realize it, simply tilting your head and smiling in confusion. It comes from a sense of always feeling in your home that when an attack comes, you don’t really believe it. You don’t believe for villains to be those who steal money but rather those who are actively shown to be villains. When you do tell your partner, you have a sidekick watching over you for the next week.

Relationships are important to you. You stick close to Tamaki, always having a hand on him or just sticking close so when he remains stuck to you during an event, you don’t mind. You’re always happy to know that he does that, the small, family oriented part of you craving that comfort that comes with someone that you love. You always tend to forget the bigger personality that he has, that despite him being awkward and introverted, he’s a hero and he’s much bigger than life or you than he realizes, and sometimes it can get a bit too much especially when he comes home battered and bruised. But it’s a happy relationship with him, sharing food, seeing his expressions makes you feel happy, a warmth inside of you that you’ve felt when you've spent time with loved ones.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Family is an important part of your culture. Whether it’s playing lotería on Sunday, spending the holidays with family- not just the immediate but your aunts and uncles- family comes first. The care that was given to you from your family, you now pass it on to Tomura and the rest. You click your tongue and curse under your breath as you wrap a bandage around a thin arm, tell him how he has to be more careful. A small part of you wants to sing the frog rhyme but you feel as if that wouldn’t be appreciated.

Because family is involved heavily, you tend to act parental to the rest of the League and a bit towards Tomura. You chastise them for being so reckless, waving a finger and making an “ah, ah” sound when they start to get up. You make plenty of food- while you wince at the amount that you spend- the enjoyment of feeding him and his friends outweighs any negative feeling or hesitation that you might have. You enjoy the domestic vibe of it. You like to wrap your arms around his neck loosely and kiss the top of his head.

You rarely visit their base on account of who he is and the level of danger that it could provide to both parties, but when you do, Toga is usually the one to pick you up in a disguise that she has… borrowed for lack of a better word. When you do visit, you mainly just relax with your partner, wrapping your arm around him and letting him ramble about an upcoming video game or watching game lore videos. Though when you do become restless about sitting still for so long, you tend to walk around his room, discreetly picking up various articles and clothing and other things trying to tidy up the place. He usually calls you back to his side, a frown on his lips and telling you to just sit with him- you came over to spend time with him, not to clean. He even offers to do something else if you’re feeling restless. While he would rather spend time alone with you, he’ll swallow his feelings and go to the common room of the base to talk to the others.

He is attached. He clings to you and craves your affection. He’s wrapping his arms around yours, practically napping on top of you when he’s grown bored of a conversation that he has no interest in. There are times where he pitches in and the conversation will shift into the future ideals that he and the rest have. You never know what to say during these times and you tend to sit there listening intently but never understanding the words they say. You can understand what they have against society but you’re also technically part of that society as long as you still live there. You have worries and when he notices them, he talks to you in private, telling you not to worry, that you’ll always be protected.

Surprisingly, a relationship with Tomura is easy. While you may not be able to go on dates nor introduce him to your family, it’s still a loving relationship. He promises you whatever you want, and the League has become a family to you. You enjoy what your family has grown into, allowing you to have a family overseas and while the traditions cannot exactly continue with certain holidays or certain foods, you appreciate the love that has grown between all of you.

#tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #amajiki tamaki headcanons #amajiki tamaki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura headcanons #bnha shigaraki tomura #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #i hope you like it!!#this one was cute to do

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Photo

Schwarzenegger Holiday

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 11,874

Includes the following prompts:

snowed in

making latkes together

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

Summary: When MJ’s granted a sudden visit to the safehouse where Peter’s been hidden for six months, she’s... nervous. What if he doesn’t want her to come? What if he doesn’t like her that way anymore? She has 24 hours to figure out what they are to each other and make peace with it. That’s the plan. Until they get snowed in.

MJ’s leg is jumping in the backseat of the SUV, the bop of her foot barely audible over the thickly-packed snow grinding under the tires. Anywhere else, this large, white vehicle would be conspicuous, but she supposes it’s fading in pretty well against this wintery backdrop. Probably less visible from above too; she quits bouncing her foot long enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and slide over to glance up at the sky, until the driver brusquely reminds her to keep her face away from the windows.

She’s dying to snark back and ask what the darkly tinted windows are for if they aren’t good enough to conceal the face of the vehicle’s occupants, but this guy kinda scares her. He’s something more secret than the Secret Service. If Nick Fury (the real Nick Fury this time, apparently—she has a whole backlog of questions and complaints that there wasn’t time to bring up during the handoff) hadn’t done an extra security check on the driver before sending MJ off with him, she’d be really worried right about now. Her suitcase is in the trunk and she’s clutching the box May gave her to her hip, wondering how she’ll be able to use its contents for self-defence if the need arises. Tear open the bag of flour and throw it in the guy’s eyes maybe?

Her strategy with the flour is sturdy, but there’s something else in this box for which she has no plan. There wasn’t time for her and May to discuss it, like there wasn’t time for MJ to interrogate Fury on where exactly he was while Peter was grappling with Quentin Beck all over Europe. Time, time, time. It’s been months, actually, since any of them seemed to have enough of it. She’s curious to know how the summer, fall, and now early winter have passed for Peter. He doesn’t even know she’s on her way. Nervous, MJ bites at the skin around her thumb nail. She hopes he’s happy to see her.

When Jameson totally fucked up her first date (and her new boyfriend’s whole life), Peter fled. He had to. Luckily, he’s being protected—so MJ’s been told—though the trade-off for safety is isolation. If it were her, she’s not sure she’d mind being handed an extended stretch of time to catch up on her reading, but she knows Peter’s different. Peter needs people. (She needs Peter.)

MJ knows that May Parker misses her nephew desperately. That’s why she tried to get the woman to go in her place, but everything with these Super-Secret Service assholes has a reason and a rhyme, even when the Scrabble tiles for Peter’s situation clearly spell ORANGE. May visited him for his birthday. Ned spent the weekend over Thanksgiving. Taking time away from work and school qualifies as a ‘noticeable absence’ and those need to be minimized. In the plainer terms May used when she explained the circumstances (at the same time that she proposed MJ take a trip to see Spidey the Desperado), none of the people formerly known to be close to Peter Parker can draw attention to themselves. They’ve been watched on the street, questioned by reporters, photographed by tabloids, and otherwise surveyed by who knows what methods operated by who knows whom. The last is MJ’s assumption; she isn’t stupid.

Apparently, becoming Peter’s girlfriend right before his identity was leaked to the world bumped her up to the third most important person in his life. She’s yet to learn whether Peter views her that way. The people protecting him do not have a schedule coordinated with him, so this trip wasn’t his call. Windows of opportunity open and close, schemes are adjusted, and girlfriends get left on doorsteps hugging boxes with the ingredients for latkes, crossing their fingers for a warm reception. MJ hasn’t figured out what she’s going to say to him after six months of nothing.

Then again, that’s basically how their friendship in high school went until her crush on him stopped crushing her enough to allow her to get the occasional insult out.

If he’s gotten over his feelings for her or just isn’t in the right headspace to entertain her, this is going to be awkward. At least it’s only until tomorrow. The same driver (for security reasons, blah blah) is picking her up before noon. One night of struggling to transition from dating back to just friends would, ultimately, be bearable for her, if that’s what Peter needs. She’d be able to talk it out with him without pining for their quick first kisses on Tower Bridge. Or their sloppy make-out session in the airplane bathroom when they woke up from their nap with half the ocean still to cross and the sudden feeling of relief that they were both alive. Yeah. MJ could definitely put that stuff behind her. In fact, maybe it’s better not to think of it at all and go into this visit assuming Peter’s feelings have cooled in light of other priorities. That way, this can be a night away from home hanging out with a friend, and not being left undisturbed with Peter ‘Where’d Those Abs Come From?’ Parker in the middle of nowhere.

She upends the mixing bowl in the box over that other item May included.

After so much doubling back and zigzagging down what have to be the most deserted roads in Upstate New York, the driver rolls to a stop in the shadow of a cabin-like house. It’s too house-like to attract the attention of wandering hipsters thirsty for cottagecore, but too cabin-y to suggest anything beyond temporary residence. MJ judges it to be a convincing safehouse. She climbs out, hefting May’s box, and accepting her suitcase from the driver. He moves much more swiftly, evidently uninterested in assessing the dwelling’s façade. Probably not his job. Even with her arms full, MJ steps precisely in the man’s footprints in the snow, just to see if her overexaggerated precaution will get under his skin. He ignores her. By the time she reaches the porch, he’s already completed whatever secret handshake or password exchange or retinal scan he had to do with Peter and is brushing past her, back to the milk-white SUV. She turns and stares after him, her last tie to civilization (until tomorrow), squinting against the light glinting off the snow.

Eventually, when the vehicle is gone and everything’s quiet, MJ accepts that she’s stalling. Eyes lowered, she faces the open door.

She starts at his feet. Red socks, the wool bobbled, the toe of the left twisted slightly like he put it on wrong and didn’t fix it. Her throat’s thick as she scans up his legs, in sweatpants, and remembers them encased in the Spider-Man suit as he crouched on the streetlight and watched Jameson blow his life apart onscreen. Hovering by his thighs are his hands. Oh, his hands. Though MJ’s gripping the box and suitcase with all her might, she’s recalling the gentle way he fit his fingers between hers. With a shaky breath, she can’t wait any longer and her gaze darts up to his face. Peter’s wearing this look she’s seen in videos of soldiers being reunited with their dogs—specifically, she’s seen it in the eyes of those dogs. The look is mushy and wet-eyed and begging for an eyeroll, possibly some verbal ridiculing, and instead, her heart reacts by flopping around unfamiliarly inside her chest. Him, is the sound of its thumping as it stumbles into her ribs. Him, him, him.

“Hi,” she says, voice coming out high. “Don’t hug me. The porch is wet and I’m holding a box.”

“I see that.”

He speaks. MJ’s mouth twitches into a relieved, silly smile. She’s missed the sound of his dork speaking so much that three words have her tripping over the threshold, almost slipping as her snow-slicked boots hit wood floor.

“The box is from May,” she explains, putting her back to Peter in order to set it down and to collect herself all over again. She’s here. He’s here, right where he’s supposed to be and where she was expecting him, but looking at her like that and with a jawline erupting in a faint scruff. It feels like a million years since she saw him last. It feels like a day.

“Can I hug you now?”

The suitcase she just drops.

MJ whirls to throw herself into Peter’s arms, hiccupping a relieved breath when he squeezes her close. Before she shuts her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of him solidly in her grasp after so long apart, she gets a glimpse of the living area beyond, the unlit fireplace. It’s homey and she isn’t sure if that makes her sadder, knowing he’s been living here alone. His hands slide over her back and she realizes she’s been hugging him a long time.

With a tight, uncertain smile, she draws back, cupping his shoulders, then dropping her hands to swing at her sides.

“Are you surprised to see me?” MJ asks. She already knows he should be, but she has to do something besides just stare at him.

“Yeah.” Peter laughs. “Take off your boots and stuff, come sit down.”

He’s smiling at her even as she’s fumbling to untie her laces.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “I’m not trying to stare. I’m just not used to—”

“People?”

“Well, I see some people. I get supplies. But not super often and not people I… know.”

She saw how his face went pink before settling on that final word.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?” MJ teases, now shrugging out of her coat. She didn’t notice that she forgot to zip it up when she got out of the SUV. She stuffs her gloves down the sleeve and passes it to Peter to hang on a hook by the door.

“I didn’t really think that was anybody’s call,” he admits.

His tone is joyfully unconcerned, but she frowns a little, experiencing second-hand frustration at the way Peter’s life isn’t so much being lived right now as run.

“I didn’t either.” She shrugs. “But your Avengers handlers, or whatever their job titles are, contacted me through May, so I figured I might as well come out. Not that I didn’t want to see you. I did. I really wanted to see you.”

God, now she’s probably come on too strong, overcorrecting after worrying she sounded like she could take or leave being reunited with her boyfriend.

“I really wanted to see you too,” Peter assures her. His expression softens. “We didn’t get a lot of time, before.”

“I’m only here until tomorrow,” MJ warns.

“Oh, no, that’s perfect. That’s great. I wasn’t expecting you at all, so this is incredible.”

He goes to grab the box, but she shouts, “No!” Peter stares at her. “Uh,” she says, “can you take my suitcase instead? I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sure.”

She follows him into the living room in her sock feet, wishing she packed slippers.

“The floor can be cold,” he says before she can voice her regret. “I have slippers around here somewhere that you can wear, and it’s warmer when there’s a fire. We can light one tonight, if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” MJ agrees.

“You can put that down in the kitchen.” He points her through a door. “I’ll just take your bag to the bedroom. The, uh, second bedroom. There are two bedrooms. I wasn’t gonna put it in my room. I don’t want you to think—”

“Peter, it’s fine.”

He nods jerkily and walks, glancing back once. She spies the promised slippers and shoves her feet into them before racing into the kitchen. Instead of systematically emptying the box and laying out each item, MJ rifles desperately through to the bottom and grabs the thing she avoided the whole way here. What was May thinking, including condoms in the care package? Well, logically, she can guess. Peter, mostly alone, opening the door to discover his girlfriend, arrived for an overnight stay. Yes, she can see exactly why May wanted to take precautions on their behalf because MJ definitely didn’t think of that and she doubts whoever brings Peter his updates and frozen pizzas has thought to equip him with prophylactics. They’re mostly concerned with keeping him alive and out of the hands of the authorities, not getting him laid.

Knowing Peter will return any moment, MJ looks frantically around the kitchen. She thinks she hears his footsteps. Shit. She yanks a pullout drawer open and chucks the box of condoms in next to the Cheerios, hitting the drawer shut with her hip as Peter walks in and grins at her. She plasters an anxious smile on in response.

He joins her at the counter and they begin to unload the box.

“Wait,” he says, partway through, “is this the stuff for latkes?”

“Mhmm. May told me she didn’t want you to miss out on any of your regular holiday traditions, even if she couldn’t be… Peter?”

MJ observes him, sympathy wringing her heart like a wet washcloth. He turns away from her and raises a hand to his face. She hears a sniff and assumes he’s wiping at his eyes and cheeks. She reaches out, hesitates, overcomes, lays her hand on his shoulder.

“I told her it should’ve been her coming instead of me,” she mumbles.

“No, no,” Peter assures her, still facing away, “I’m so happy to see you, MJ, seriously. I just miss her.”

“She misses you too.”

When he turns to face her, eyes still shining, MJ rewards his vulnerability by taking his hand.

“It’s not fair,” she tells him.

“It’s what’s gotta be done,” Peter says with a resigned shrug. “What I want isn’t as important as fixing this mess so I can go back to being Spider-Man. People need me.”

“You’re people too. There are people you need. That’s part of your humanity.” She’s ramping up now, arguing on his behalf with no one there to argue against. “Without that humanity, you wouldn’t be a good Spider-Man. You wouldn’t be a good guy. Protecting you shouldn’t just be about sticking you somewhere and watching you by satellite or whatever! Exposing your identity is a psychological attack and Nick Fury and the rest of them should be doing everything to ensure you can weather this storm psychologically, including keeping you connected to your family and your friends and—"

“My girlfriend.”

MJ exhales.

“Maybe not her,” she jokes. “She might just come in here and rant at you about reducing your stress, which is kinda counterproductive.”

“If I could listen to you rant every day, I’d be happy.”

She flushes and busies herself with putting May’s gifts away, probably all in the wrong spots, but Peter never corrects her, just works quietly alongside her until there’s nothing left in the box. Because she wasn’t permitted to bring her phone, MJ checks the time on her watch. It’s early afternoon.

“What do you do all day?”

Peter’s face lights up.

“You wanna see the room?”

“I recognize that look. This has something to do with Ned, doesn’t it?”

Her hypothesis is proven right when he leads her down the hall and opens a door to reveal a room housing a dozen Lego models. Everything’s probably Star Wars related, but she’s lost beyond the Death Star.

“Ned,” she says.

“Ned. He brought them when he came. I’ve done them all… well, a few times each.”

“I know I should be delicate with you because you’re a genius hermit, but, Parker, that’s so lame.”

Peter laughs out loud.

“That’s not all I do. Come on.”

He takes her hand (it doesn’t seem like he’s thought for a second about scrapping their relationship) and they walk back to the living room. On one of the couches, he has his Spidey suit laid out. But it’s freaky, like a skinned animal, with the innards of its tech exposed and skinny screwdrivers scattered on the floor nearby. He’s been tinkering. Because they have nothing else on the agenda, he explains the maintenance he’s done, more features he’s discovered. The list of protocols and capabilities seems almost endless. Watching him speak so enthusiastically, she wonders if maybe this is Peter’s version of holing up with a tall stack of books.

“No tracker in the suit?” she asks when they sit down at opposite ends of the remaining couch, legs stretched out and resting against each other.

“Nah. All that stuff’s turned off.” He lays his arm along the back of the couch and tips his cheek against it. “Where do your parents think you are right now?”

“At Betty’s.”

Her family knows she pines for Peter, but they don’t know she’s been granted this opportunity to see him. She doesn’t know what they’d say. Like the majority of New Yorkers, they like Spider-Man and don’t believe that he murdered Quentin Beck. That doesn’t mean they’d want her as involved as she is—though involved feels like a strong word when she hasn’t seen him since the day he was exposed and had to ride the first leg of this journey with a blindfold on. Seemed pretty antiquated. Her parents just want her to be safe, like how May wants Peter to be safe. MJ recalls the condoms. Ok, not quite the same.

“They think we’re in some kind of study lockdown, prepping for a decathlon thing in January, phones off,” she continues. “Betty doesn’t know I’m here, but Ned told her enough that she’ll lie for me if my parents call her. I’m thinking of promoting her.”

“How’s the team doing this year?”

MJ studies him. I spend every practice thinking about you even more than Flash talks about you, she thinks. I went home and cried the day Mr. Harrington told me I’d have to fill your spot. Nobody’s as smart as you. I’m bored without you. Sometimes I worry that I’m not a good captain and I just want to talk to you because I know it’d make me feel better, but you’re not there.

She pokes her toes into his thigh.

“Decent,” she says. “Flash wanted our name changed to the Midtown Spider-Men, but Mr. Harrington said no.”

When Peter groans and tucks his face into his arm in embarrassment, MJ does what she’s been too shy to do yet: she moves down to his end of the couch and kisses him as he turns his head to look at her. He holds her securely around the waist as she darts back in for a second kiss, a slower one. There’s no one around to spy, no one to interrupt. Everything in her zings upward like a hurled snowball and the kiss gains momentum. It’s not as hasty as the one on the flight home—it’s deeper, more grownup somehow. The prick of his facial hair enhances that adultness. For her, this is a kiss that says she’s been surviving without him, but now that they’re together, she prefers catching up this way rather than with words. They kiss like they can’t be stopped. MJ cups the back of Peter’s head, then his face, as their mouths nudge and coax, their tongues tracing each other’s lips before retreating. They separate to breathe and she presses her face to his neck, letting him hold her as she sits, still twisted with her feet on the floor, wearing his slippers.

“That’s one of the toughest things to do without,” he tells her. “I forgot it felt that good.”

“Too good,” she says wryly, lifting her head.

“Hey, based on what you were saying about my psychological needs, I’m due something ‘too good.’”

Really, it just isn’t possible not to think about the condoms as she smiles at him and chews the inside of her lip. Having sex with Peter is something she’s contemplated. She contemplated it when she watched him play trombone with the marching band during football games, and when he smiled as he walked down the hall at school with Ned. She contemplated it when she silently observed his late entrances to decathlon practices, and when she muffled her moans in bed at night, fantasizing about him. They kissed in London and sleeping together went from a daydream to an inevitability; they separated in New York and it went back to a dream. But now…

She’s only here for one night though. It’s too soon. When MJ kisses Peter, she knows she wants to keep going, but she doesn’t want to do anything impulsive and hurt them both more when she has to leave tomorrow. They need to think about this together. She should probably tell him about the condoms, so they have all their metaphorical cards on the table. And yet, she’s not able to jump from a single reunion kiss to asking if he wants to have sex on one of her future visits (if there are future visits). It’s not organic. It feels like working out their romantic plans on somebody else’s schedule. That makes her feel gross, cheated even.

MJ sags back from Peter and asks him to give her a tour of the rest of the house.

—

She’s rubbing the skin off an onion when, pausing in the grating of a potato, he turns to her and suggests something that proves he has gone a little screwy living alone: he wants to cook the latkes in the fireplace.

“You have a stove,” she points out.

“Yeah,” he agrees, now grating vigorously.

“We cook these in oil, right? You want to put a pan full of oil on an open flame?”

“We don’t fill the pan to the top or anything.”

“Ok, right, but still,” MJ persists. “Oil. Fire. A house you kinda need to stay standing because, one, it’s your secret hideout, and two, the sun’s gone down and it’s freezing outside and we’ll be cold without shelter.”

“How could we be cold if we had a burning house to stand next to? Kidding.” Peter grins at her. “It’ll work, MJ. I’ll be careful.”

“You will? No way am I letting you do this alone.”

“Aww.” He leans towards her and kisses her cheek.

“I didn’t say that to be romantic. I’m genuinely worried that you’ll set the place on fire.”

“I know.”

They continue preparing the batter and, after pouring oil into the heavy pan May packed for this, MJ warily hands it off to Peter. He carries it into the living room, where he lit a fire half an hour earlier. Setting the pan down away from the fire, he retrieves his nanotech suit and tugs his sweatshirt off to put it on, extoling its temperature-control virtues. He’s sure it can withstand a little heat. After all, it handled the cold of space no problem. MJ watches him nervously.

At least the fire’s died down some, so when he grasps the handle of the pan to hold the base over the heat, there aren’t any flames licking up his arm. Once the oil’s sizzling, Peter withdraws the pan so that MJ won’t have to reach into the firebox to distribute the batter. She spreads each glob out quickly to avoid melting the spatula. And, after standing way back because the oil pops from the pan to splatter Peter’s metal sleeve, it doesn’t go terribly. Though some of the latkes seem overcooked to her, he assures her he likes them better crispy. The way he says it has her touching the lump her black dahlia necklace makes beneath her sweater.

They return their latke paraphernalia to the kitchen, then settle on the couch again to eat.

“Good?” MJ asks. She likes them, but she’s never eaten a potato pancake before, so she has no frame of reference.

“Best ever.”

She smiles at Peter, watching him chew for a minute.

“You’ll miss this house’s fireplace when you’re back home.”

“This is my favourite meal in a long time and it has nothing to do with the fireplace,” he says. Her heart genuinely skips a beat. With quiet pleasure, she goes back to eating.

At home, she has her phone and her books and the TV—so many reasons to postpone loading the dishwasher. Here, there is no dishwasher and MJ realizes it’s really nice to dry while Peter washes the dishes by hand. Until he somehow cuts himself on the grater, bleeds in the water, and they have to leave the remaining dishes in the sink for a rewash while she forces Peter to the paltry selection of first aid equipment in the bathroom. Thankfully, the nick in his finger is small enough to cover with a single band-aid. She glares at him the whole time.

“I don’t even need this!” he says. “It’ll be healed up by the time I go to bed.”

“Keeping it clean until then won’t hurt you. Just take care of yourself, please?”

MJ isn’t aware that she’s pleading until she glances from his bandaged finger to his face and takes in his expression. He’s looking at her like he’s starting to get that she cares. Really cares. Cares more than it would take to come all the way out here just because someone else arranged it for her and provided the ride.

“Ok,” Peter gently agrees.

Without the usual evening distractions of a night at home (and after MJ refuses to construct a Lego Star Destroyer, whatever the hell that is), Peter pulls out the checkers he found on day two of his stay. Apparently, he was stir-crazy enough by then to raid ever nook and cranny of the house in search of entertainment for his overactive mind. They sprawl out in front of the fire. Neither of them know the rules, so he stacks his checkers into towers while she lays down patterns and skips them across the board. That devolves into deciding to create a single high stack, which devolves further into attempting to flip the checkers of the collapsed tower into the air with their thumbs, like tossing a coin. Peter flicks one as MJ’s leaning forward and it drops straight down the front of her sweater. He makes an offhanded joke about retrieving it and they laugh until their eyes meet and they remember that they’re alone, that it doesn’t have to be a joke. They scatter the last of the checkers scrambling to get close to one another.

She kisses him fiercely. The fire makes one side of her body hot, one of her eyelids glow orange before her closed eyes. Every time they do this is one time closer to having to let him go, but MJ isn’t interested in that right now. His neck is warm under her palm and her foot slips on the empty checkerboard when his fingers hook behind her knee to draw her leg towards him. They aren’t in each other’s laps yet, but it’s close. She’s getting used to the scratch of his scruff against her cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Can Peter feel her sweating when he slips a hand up the back of her sweater? Is his shiver as she moves her leg over his more than a sign that he wants to scoot closer to the fire? Pulling back from the kiss, she lets him strip her sweater off. The checker plonks out. He smiles as he spots the pendant hanging against her t-shirt. He groans more than he did cutting his finger as she takes his hand and places it on her ribcage, urging him with her eyes to reposition his palm where they both want it to be. MJ watches him swallow. Looking down, she sees firelight rippling in the flower’s black glass and Peter’s hand rising to cup her breast. She leans into it and grabs the back of his neck for another kiss.

As she’s psyching herself up to straddle her boyfriend’s lap, there’s a trill from nearby.

“What was that? I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

MJ releases Peter and—it’s not her fault—her gaze skims down his body as he stands. There’s a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants.

“It’s an alert,” he says, tone so serious that she feels bad for staring at his erection. She only sneaks one more glance as he unearths a tablet from amongst the tools he’s been using to fiddle with his Spider-Man suit. Two glances.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you in danger?”

“I’d protect you if there was any danger,” Peter promises, not looking away from the screen. He says it like it’s obvious, but the statement floors MJ, preventing her from quipping back about being able to protect herself. “But it’s not that. Just the weather.”

He tilts the screen in offer and she rises to stand next to him, looking at a swirling graphic.

“Snow?”

“Mhmm.”

“But it’s already snowed,” she says. “This is worth sending you an alert about? How do we set this thing to ‘do not disturb unless someone has a missile locked onto this house’?”

“Jesus, MJ.”

She shrugs.

“Or just a shifty-looking mail carrier driving by. Whatever. I don’t want to be narrowminded in my assumption of the appearance of a modern assassin.”

“Sometimes the people looking out for me go overboard about the wrong things,” he allows. “Looks like the snow isn’t coming until around three in the morning. We’ll be asleep. It won’t bother us.”

“It’ll bother me if I have to hear that sound again for no good reason.”

Peter tosses the tablet back onto the couch.

“I’m supposed to keep it on, but we can ignore it.”

“Yes,” she agrees, the heat of the fire around the level of her knees inspiring new heat to rise higher. “Let’s ignore it.”

“We can just get ready for bed. You’re probably tired from the drive today, right?”

And he’s looking at her so honestly, so innocently, that MJ finds herself nodding at his solicitousness. He’s too busy being kind to appreciate that she wants to stay right here by the fire and rub up against him until she sees stars. But maybe he doesn’t think they’re there yet. The timeline of their relationship is slightly fucked up, what with Peter having to flee the city as a fugitive. Have they been together the past six months or is this their second date? Maybe shyly holding hands is still their speed and MJ is majorly jumping the gun in wanting to pull his pants down and get a better look at what she started by putting Peter’s hand on her boob.

So, he puts the fire out and she brushes her teeth, then changes into her pajamas in the second bedroom. The house has central heating, meaning it’s still warm, but the walls and bedspread are bland, there’s no atmosphere without the hearth. MJ realizes she’s kept Peter’s slippers all day when she sits down on the edge of her mattress with a sigh and kicks her feet free. He’s right, she should be tired. The travel and the overwhelming joy of getting to see, hear, and touch him should make it easy to crawl into bed and let the sound of the wind—it’s picking up, carrying snowflakes—lull her to sleep.

MJ doesn’t even get the blanket folded down before she’s up, opening her door and crossing the hall to Peter’s room. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, then raises, ready to rap on the door instead. No, fuck it, she twists the doorknob and steps into his bedroom. Peter’s lying on his back in the dark with his eyes wide open. She leaves the door open behind her so the light he left on in the bathroom (in case she needed to get up during the night) can continue to show her the look on his face. The look of relief.

“I was gonna come to you, but I wasn’t sure…” He trails off.

“That would’ve been ok with me,” she assures him, holding her arms as the chill of standing around in a t-shirt starts to get to her, “but I don’t mind coming to you.”

“Come to me then,” Peter says, pushing back his bedsheets and shifting over.

“I missed you so much,” she gasps.

“I missed you.”

She strides to the bed and feels his arms tug her close even as she’s still drawing the blanket over herself. Peter hugs her hard and it’s ok that it’s horizontal because he’s also held onto her a hundred feet in the air, the two of them swinging between buildings. Any way he wants to hold her is ok.

What MJ thought, when she barged in here, was that they’d have some dramatic, fiery scene with passionate kissing and creaking bedsprings. She regrets undervaluing Peter’s warmth. As a person, but also physically. Cuddling into him beats slipping between cold sheets in the other bedroom. It’s nice to be wrapped around him in a moment that isn’t immediately following an attempt on his life, knowing that he isn’t going to leave her this time. Though she’s the one who’ll have to leave the next day, trusting Peter to stay put while she sleeps is what gets her to start drifting. This is better than having him as a captive napping buddy on the airplane. No motion sickness. They’ve already landed. He kisses her temple and she ducks her head into his chest, imagining she can count his heartbeats instead of sheep, knowing the steady glug of her own heart means more to him than he could tell her in words alone.

—

This morning is not last night.

The first thing MJ does is raise her head to squint at the time on the digital clock next to Peter’s bed. The second thing is pressing her mouth to his as he mumbles a sleepy, “Good morning.” It’s 6am, a disgusting hour at home, but here, a perfect time to start the day, and seize that day, as she is seizing a fistful of the t-shirt he slept in. She can feel him smiling. She can feel him reacting in lots of ways.

When she doesn’t slow the kisses, loosen her grip on the front of his shirt, or draw back entirely in embarrassment, Peter pulls her beneath him. It’s a lazy motion, like a cat swiping at something with a paw. His weight rests comfortably on top of her. Shifting around rucks her t-shirt up, so she drops a hand to his waist and slides his up too, until their skin meets from their ribs to the bands of their pajama bottoms. Her boyfriend groans and gropes for her thigh, hiking it against his hip. The noise and the blatant display of want (in addition to the erection now pressing directly between her legs) have MJ rubbing against him excitedly. She attempts to simultaneously kiss him harder and get his shirt off over his head. They struggle together, laughing, and once it’s gone, Peter drops back onto her with fervour.

His hands grip her hips, skim her waist, get tangled up in her hair. MJ catches one and guides it beneath her t-shirt. Their gazes lock and he seems to buck against her involuntarily, lightly squeezing her breast. With an airy moan from her, their kisses turn rabid. Their hips rock agonizingly out of sync for a minute—maybe less, maybe more, her mind isn’t on the clock anymore—then his erection strokes firmly up the center of her and they figure it out. They have to. She’s suddenly hellbent on feeling that again and, honestly, Peter doesn’t look any less devoted when their kisses are forced to stop thanks to the violence of their clothed grinding.

She comes first, clutching his back and his shoulder. He comes with a sharp flick of his hips that brings to mind the way he looses a web from his wrist. Kinda the same principle, she concludes, feeling the dampness of his pajamas against her abdomen before he flops to the side with a blissful, disbelieving sigh. MJ stretches out her legs and curls her toes. A grin creeps up her face.

“Good morning,” she replies.

Peter lets out a solo laugh.

Then he just says, “Wow.”

Still smiling, she buries her face in his pillow and lets him move around her as he gets up for the day.

“It’s early,” she says, lifting her head at the creak of him pushing the bedroom door wider.

“I know.” He stares at her adoringly. There’s no other word for it. “Being in bed with you is… too good. If I stay, I’ll go back to sleep, and I don’t want that. I want to see you as much as I can before you go.”

MJ’s smile fades. Right. That.

“And you’re walking out of the room,” she points out.

“Because I have to take a shower,” Peter laughs. “A short shower. Then you can shower, or not shower, and we’ll have breakfast and make the morning last as long as we can, ok?”

Can she just make him tuck himself into the box of kitchen stuff she brought and take him back home with her? Being apart from him again—willingly turning her back on this house and making new tracks in the snow—feels impossible. They aren’t supposed to be apart. But MJ nods, knowing it’s easier on them both that way. She watches him head towards the bathroom and reminds herself that this stay with him has already meant more to her than she anticipated.

She’s in her room gathering toiletries and clothes when she hears Peter shut the shower off. That’s on purpose. She doesn’t need to wonder any more about her lack of restraint today; seeing him walk back into his bedroom soaking wet and likely dressed in nothing but a towel would definitely test her. His presence in her thoughts as she shampoos her hair under the low pressure of the showerhead is sufficiently distracting. She braids her hair when she’s done, simply to focus herself with the task (and because she didn’t bring a hairdryer and accepts that her boyfriend’s probably not hiding one here someplace). Pausing at the door, she takes a deep breath, determined to look him in the eye and not just stare at the floor and blush because he’s touched her skin and brought her to orgasm. She smiles to herself in a moment of private congratulation.

Peter would probably hear her approaching footfalls no matter what, but with his too-big slippers flapping on her feet, MJ’s prepared for him to be looking at her when she makes her entrance into the kitchen. She’s not prepared for the box of Cheerios sitting on his table. Shit. Only now does she remember the condoms and where she stowed them. As she looks on, trying to think of what to say, Peter cheerfully pours himself a bowl and adds milk.

“Two things,” he says while she shuffles cautiously into the room. “First thing: you won’t believe what I found in with the cereal. Talk about a prize in every box.”

“Loser,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as her cheeks flush.

“Super weird that that’s not the biggest thing I have to tell you, but I definitely want to get back to it, but, second thing, it snowed.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I remember.”

“Ok, well, it really snowed. Serious snow. Big, high, white and drifted snow.”

“You’ve slipped into song lyrics.”

“I got an alert,” Peter says, lifting the tablet he showed her the night before from the table.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“It came through when you were in the shower, though it is harder to hear the noise from down the hall.”

MJ gives him a questioning look.

“I might’ve been on my way to the bathroom to, uh, see if you needed anything,” he explains, blushing guiltily, “when I heard it and had to come back out here.”

“Is this your handlers overreacting again?” But even as she asks, she turns towards the window. Of course, for security reasons, the blinds are down and the curtains are shut. “Can I look?”

He nods and she crosses the kitchen to take a quick peek, not wanting to jeopardize his safety. The level of the snow dips down near the side of the house, but the drift rises steeply. Within a few feet, it appears high enough to come up to her hips if she waded outside. And it’s still falling.

“There’s a lot of snow out there,” MJ informs him in a mildly panicked tone, snapping the curtains back into place.

“Mhmm. Cheerios?”

“You should be eating the eggs I brought you while they’re fresh,” she counters.

Her comment is half-hearted and distracted though and she too goes for the cereal. Between spoonfuls, Peter, across from her when she sits down at the table, unspools the consequences of the heavy snowfall.

“So, obviously, this isn’t an emergency, but it’s not ideal. You’re probably gonna have to stay another night.”

“Ok,” MJ says slowly. “Another night. But my parents are expecting me home tonight.”

“I’m sure Fury or somebody’ll get in touch with May and have her make something up. Trust me, nobody wants any questions to come up that’ll lead back to me.”

“What’s the ‘probably’ depend on?”

“Hmm?” He slurps the milk off his spoon.

“You say I’d probably have to stay tonight. Does that depend on how much more snow we get?”

“Um, yeah, that and a couple other things,” Peter says vaguely. MJ frowns at him.

“I came all the way out here to be with you, Parker. I could not be more in the middle of things than I am right now. Tell me what you know.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He lets his spoon clink into his bowl. “So, the snow for sure. I mean, I’m guessing they have something heavy-duty that could plough the road if they had to, but getting a plough here would be conspicuous thing number one and having this rural road cleared when the rest of the area won’t be would be conspicuous thing number two. If you left that way, I’d have to leave too, get put in a new safehouse—”

“I don’t want to cause that big of a problem,” MJ assures him, finally pouring out her own bowl and trying to find some comfort in breakfast.

“You’re the furthest thing in the world from a problem,” Peter says with a quick smile. “But alright, so, with the alert, they suggested another option.”

“Which is?”

“To airlift you out.”

She bites down on her spoon as her jaw tenses.

“I don’t, um, really enjoy heights.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I remember.”

“You dropped me and it wasn’t funny.”

“Aw, that was months ago. Can’t we laugh about it now?” Her expression is his answer. “I actually did figure you’d feel that way. This would’ve been a helicopter, no landing, just somebody coming down a ladder to grab you and help you up into the chopper.”

“Don’t say ‘chopper’ like you’re Arnold Schwarzenegger. You’re way too much of a dork to be using that word. And yes, before you ask, I am criticizing you to mask my fear over how horrifying that sounds.”

“I told them no.”

“Wait… I thought… you didn’t have communication, right? Like, that’s why you can’t talk to your aunt.” Or me, MJ tacks on internally.

“Oh, it’s not a conversation. They just send through the planned course of action and usually I don’t have a choice, but this time I could basically give them a yes or no, proceed or no-go, you know?”

She sighs shakily.

“Thank you for not making me do that.”

“Well, based on the weather, they could ask again, so you always have a chance to change your mind, if you want.”

Peter’s not meeting her eye.

“Why the hell would I change my mind about dangling from a helicopter in a blizzard?”

“If you wanted to go,” he says quietly. “You’re the other thing this plan depends on. Like you said, your parents are expecting you and—”

“Peter,” MJ says, “the fact that I’m not being subjected to an extreme chopper rescue is only the thing that I’m second most grateful for. Getting to spend more time with you is number one. If they don’t have to draw attention to this house, and if your aunt covers for me, that’s great.”

Looking up, he gives her a mostly-convinced smile. Seeing it, she knows she has to press further. She taps her slipper against the top of his foot under the table.

“I hope it snows for a week,” she says firmly.

Peter beams. He lifts his cereal bowl and holds it out to her.

“Cheers,” he offers. After a derisive snort, she taps her bowl against his.

They eat in a comfortable silence for several minutes. Blocking out the death-defying premise of the recent plan, MJ considers the ramifications of staying put. She trusts May. May will know what to say to her parents, she’s very compassionate—and hopefully a believable liar. Well, MJ figures she’d have to be, with Spider-Man under her roof. School’s on winter break, so she doesn’t need to worry about an alibi for her teachers, though the flu would’ve worked as an excuse. It seems like she’s good from every angle. Resting her cheek against her hand as she scoops the remaining Cheerios onto her spoon, she observes Peter and feels herself smiling just to see him in front of her. His face in real life is still sorta miraculous.

“So,” he begins when she grabs his bowl (the guy’s been doing his solitary dishes for months—she doesn’t mind helping out), “I have a really important question.”

“Still a no to the helicopter.”

MJ has her back to her boyfriend, placing the bowls in the sink, when he responds.

“Should I shave?”

She turns, frowning in confusion.

“That’s up to you.”

“Well, see, maybe I would’ve this morning, except I promised I would be quick in the bathroom, and then anyway, I figured you’d be leaving soon and there wouldn’t be that many more opportunities for us to—”

“Oh my god,” she says as she catches on. “Please stop.”

“But if it bothers you,” Peter presses, rubbing the back of his fingers up his stubbled cheek, “when we’re kissing…”

“It doesn’t. It’s different, but… I’m good. You don’t have to shave for me.”

“Hypothetically though, if we were kissing for a longer period of time, I wouldn’t want to hurt your skin.”

“God, Peter, how long are you imagining we’d be kissing for that my face would be damagingly abraded?”

“Then,” he says, spreading his hands to their apparent future possibilities, “what if it wasn’t rubbing against your face?”

Spinning away from him, MJ stares with wide eyes at the wall above the sink.

“Does the idea of me kissing your neck freak you out?” Peter asks her back. “I don’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders slump as she laughs.

“My neck,” she murmurs to herself. “He meant my neck.”

“What do you— oh.” Goddamn enhanced hearing. “Uh, well, I-I didn’t know you had stuff in mind.”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” she says, turning to look at him.

Peter grabs the Cheerios and gets up to put them away. Holding her gaze, he pulls the box of condoms out of the drawer as he slots the cereal in.

“These showed up when you did. Unless some assassin broke in and left me a really sickening present.”

“I didn’t pack them, your aunt-slash-wingwoman did.”

His expression changes several times as he digests that.

“That seems like something May would do,” is what he lands on.

“It’s… thoughtful of her. Responsible parenting,” MJ agrees stiffly, trying to deal with the visual of Peter casually holding a box of condoms. Cool. Fine.

“So, the thought of… It’s just May making sure, in case anything… Yeah. I got it.”

But that’s not quite right.

“I’ve thought about it,” MJ blurts. “Not for this weekend, because I only expected to be here a night and this is something we should, you know, discuss.”

“Totally,” Peter says eagerly.

“I just don’t want you to think I haven’t…” She waves a hand.

“Thought about it,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I’ve thought about it. Like, a lot,” he divulges with a relieved laugh that he quickly concludes with a clearing of his throat. “A normal amount.”

“That’s good,” she assures him. Her gestures feel gawky, her features feel misplaced on her face.

“I’d definitely be up for discussing it, especially after, uh…” Peter ruffles his damp hair as his face flushes. “…this morning.”

MJ’s suddenly made up of thoughts, so many thoughts that there’s no room for words, no possibility of speaking. This morning. Uh huh. Valid recollection on her boyfriend’s part. This morning was fantastic and kind of but not wildly unexpected and certainly closer to the sort of thing they’d need those condoms for than the few times they’ve made out have been.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice weak when it finally comes out, along with plenty of nodding. Too much nodding, really.

He sets the box on the counter.

“We could talk about it now.”

“We could do that,” MJ agrees, pulse accelerating with every additional second he spends looking at her. “The thing is, it’s early, it’s really early, and if we talk about that now, we’re gonna lose the whole day.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise.

“God, yeah, you’re right. You know, I think I’m, like, oversimplifying this discussion in my head because, yep, definitely, if you have a lot you want to say about it before—or if, even!—we, uh, proceed, then you should absolutely take the whole day to just get all your thoughts out there. For sure. I… yes. I support you and you should take all the time you need. More than a day! You could definitely take more than a day, obviously. You know that. I hope you do. Whatever you want, MJ.”

“I actually just meant that if we started talking about it, we’d lose the whole day to doing it.”

“Oh.” He sits with that thought for a minute, eyes roving the kitchen ceiling. “Why would that be a problem?”

He asks with such genuine confusion that MJ has to laugh, and that relaxes her.

“If we can’t think hard enough to determine why it’d be a problem, it’s a problem,” she reasons. “I want to think this through. I want us to both be ready. That alone—” She points at the condoms. “—doesn’t make us ready.”

“Ok. We’ll completely forget about them. No problem.”

Fueled by the intense focusing power of sexual tension, they pass the morning learning something that may actually be checkers as it was intended to be played. Anything around them making sense is an accident, as far as MJ is concerned, and mastering the probably-rules of the game isn’t really a win because it means they have to scramble to find something else to distract them. Peter takes up a post on the ceiling, cross-legged, and lets the body of his Spider-Man suit dangle down while he retools something in the hands. When he puts on the mask and starts talking to Karen, MJ quits watching him and goes into the kitchen to make them an early lunch of an extra-large omelette. It seems like a nice idea to curl up and eat together until Peter touches her hip a certain way and she looks at him too long. They force themselves to sit on separate couches.

After lunch, he digs out some non-Stark-tech supplies, like paper and pens. He lights a small fire and she draws. Once he starts paying more attention to her drawings than to his stuff, she draws for him, pulling her legs back so he can share her couch. She crafts caricatures of their friends, plays them across the page in short cartoons that are semi-faithful to the boring goings-on of their lives at Midtown this fall without Peter. He falls asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch and she executes swift sketches to capture the softness of his features. She doesn’t know how long his supine pose will last. She never knows how long anything will last, with him. He stays asleep, so MJ leaves her drawings and steals into the Lego room, disassembling at will. Peter’s a little panicked when he walks in half an hour later, but sorting the pieces she’s jumbled will give him something to do while she takes her own nap, she reasons.

But where to? The spare room doesn’t call to her in the slightest and returning to his bed will bring thoughts that’ll only keep her awake. She needs to revive after their too-early morning; she troops back to the couch and passes out with the warmth of the fire near her feet and the jangling of plastic Lego bricks in the other room.

The rustle of paper is the first thing MJ hears when she wakes up. She can’t remember dreaming last night, but during her nap, her subconscious played a short film of the two of them giggling as Peter cooked his Spidey suit in the fireplace. Weird. She blinks, tracing the sound to her boyfriend, cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch as he flips through her rough portraits of him.

“Maybe you can do one of you,” he suggests without looking back at her. “And I can keep it when you leave. I don’t have any pictures of anybody.”

She hesitates a moment, then leans to wrap her arms loosely around his shoulders from behind.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“I heard your breathing change.” A pause. “It sounds pretty creepy when I say it out loud, but I’m just doing what you do.” Peter twists to look at her, putting his hand over the back of hers on his chest. “Observing.”

“Right.” MJ glances down abruptly. “Like with the cereal drawer this morning and what you observed in there.”

“I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like you’re gonna talk about the thing you said we shouldn’t talk about.”

“I found clarity in unconsciousness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our problems don’t just disappear. Obviously.” She waves one hand in front of him, indicating the room where Peter’s presumably spent most of his waking hours since arriving here. “We have to solve them.”

“Is it… us having sex… a problem?”

“I don’t want it to be. I just want us to be, you know, in agreement. Not rushing into anything.”

“I think…” Peter sighs and shifts so he can look at her without contorting. She withdraws her arms from him and sits up, crossing her legs in her lap, planting her elbows on her knees. “I think we’re not gonna get everything we want. How can we, with these conditions? I don’t even know when I’m gonna get to see you again. We can wait, which is alright with me, but I can’t tell you how long we’ll be waiting for.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Because you know I have zero control here,” he says in a tone full of more irritation than she’s seen him display yet. “I don’t even choose what I eat for breakfast! It’s not like they’ve asked me to write up a grocery list. I am so sick of Cheerios. Out there, I was helping people, but stuck here… I don’t know, MJ. I’m basically powerle—”

She folds forward and kisses him, grabbing his face to hold him in place for a few extra seconds until his lips copy hers and quit trying to form the rest of that word.

“No,” MJ insists, face still close to his, “you’re not. And just so you know where I stand…” She takes a deep, terrified breath, pushing out the only truth she’s ever had trouble articulating: “…you are everything I want.”

Peter’s eyes are awed and hopeful as his gaze darts across her face.

“What about what you said about not rushing?”

“That was for your benefit. Personally, I can’t rush what I’ve already decided.”

“Especially not when May sends you here prepared, I guess,” he checks with a coy smile.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” MJ emphasizes, sidestepping the dork’s comment. “It’s amazing just being with you—and I will deny I said that so bluntly if you ever tell anyone.”

She smiles so he knows she’s teasing. He still jerks his head back in mock offense. Suddenly, his expression clarifies to… horror.

“You don’t wanna do this because you’re worried, do you?” Peter demands. “Not because you think I’m gonna forget about you or stop caring about you like this?”

“No.” But she averts her eyes because she did have that concern on the drive here yesterday, right up until they hugged. “I’m not trying to use sex for anything. If… if you did stop… and you wanted to be just friends again, that’s not something I could prevent. I realize now that I can’t focus on that possibility because—”

“Because it’s not a possibility at all.” He ducks his head until her gaze is trapped by his. Shaking his head, Peter says, “I’m sure about you, MJ. I’m not sure when I’ll be home or if the world—or even just the neighbourhood—will still want a Spider-Man by the time I can be that guy again, but I know the first thing I’m gonna wanna do when I get back is give you a kiss. Not as friends.”

“What about now? Do you want to kiss me now?”

“I always wanna kiss you.”

Right as he stretches towards her—seemingly poised to prove what he said—MJ jerks back. Peter looks up at her quizzically.

“Anything while I was asleep? Any alerts? I don’t want a whole team to come storming in here while I’m taking your pants off.”

It takes her boyfriend a few seconds to get his words out.

“I-I don’t want that either,” he says, voicing cracking as his cheeks redden. He shakes his head. “No alerts. Nothing. That means no change to the plan for you to stay here tonight.”

“Good. I was sorta getting used to the idea. They would’ve had a fight getting me out of here.”

She raises her chin confrontationally and Peter grins.

“And some people think Spider-Man’s trouble. They should meet his girlfriend, who marches in with a box of condoms and won’t leave until he sleeps with her.”

MJ gapes at him.

“That’s not what I did.”

Peter pushes up to his knees, smiling as he cradles her face in his palm.

“It’s basically what you did.”

“You massively oversimplified the events of the past—” She squints and makes a guess. “—thirty hours.”

“I was hitting the highlights,” he argues, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to draw her down to him.

Her laugh is as brief as one of her quick heartbeats as Peter’s fingers stroke her neck and he angles his head.

“Is that how you’re going to tell this story to our grandkids?”

The mirth falls from both of their faces; they absorb her facetious quip in the same instant. Then, their mouths slam together—MJ diving down, Peter surging up. Though she has the high ground (and doesn’t say as much to the guy with a roomful of Star Wars Lego), he builds momentum out of nowhere, driving her up until he’s hovering, then lowering, on top of her. She’s holding him as tightly as she can as they continue to kiss hard.

On instinct, she assumes, their bodies copy the morning’s posture with her thigh against Peter’s hip. He grasps it and presses his hips to hers. MJ swipes her tongue along his when she feels him hardening between her legs. This was always only a maybe, she thinks, eyes moving fast behind her lids as they follow the red glow of the fire that the movement of his head is causing to shift across her face. But this definitely feels like they know where they’re going. Somebody’ll need to go get the condoms from the kitchen at some point. Peter swings his head to kiss down her neck and MJ sighs. Yeah, at some point.

These clothes might not come off as easily as the red suit on the opposite couch, but his eagerness compensates for the fact that he can’t just tap his chest to drop everything to the floor. When both their top halves are bare (as with anything, Peter does not mind lending a hand in undressing her), he pulls MJ up so he’s sitting with her straddling his lap. He groans into her mouth as she traces the muscles of his abdomen and she hops forward to nudge her hips into his again.

“If I don’t go now,” he pants, “I don’t know when I’m gonna get up to grab a condom.”

So, he’s been thinking the same thing she has. MJ smirks.

“You should probably get one,” she encourages.

But he has her jeans undone and her hand down the front of his sweats—still over his underwear, for the moment—before he manages to repeat his words with any resolve. She throws herself aside and stares into the fire, licking her lips to chase the memory of his mouth’s pressure, while he scurries to the kitchen. His naked torso is beautiful in the glow when he jogs (dork) back in.

“You think it’s safe to leave that?” MJ asks, nodding towards the fireplace. “My preference would be not doing this on a couch the first time.”

“Second time?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” she says seriously, just to see the dumbfounded look it puts on his face.

“Yeah… we can, yeah… It’ll be fine. So, you wanna… my bed?”

“The traditional yet practical choice.”

He happily sighs out his, “Yeah,” and she wonders if he heard anything following her agreement to a theoretical second round. Probably not—he spoke staring at her boobs.

“What if I carried you?” Peter blurts as she’s about to stand.

“…I can walk.”

“Yeah, but… can I carry you?”

She watches him for a moment as he awaits her answer. She’s watched him so many times, but never while he was waiting for her, trying to find something to grasp in the silence, this guy who’s more than human and always flitting from one web to the next. MJ ends his freefall.

“Ok, Peter.”

As giddy with nerves as she was on their first date when he held her tight and wrenched her off her feet, she stands. He steps in close, taking her face softly between his hands, kissing her. She hops into his arms the second he lets go and laughs at Peter and herself when the action tips him back. He holds on though, pulling her thighs in snugly around his waist before catching her back to press her to his chest. MJ’s scared to kiss him as he walks them to his bedroom; arms wrapped behind his neck, she stares at him instead. They’re about to do this. He’s going to be inside her.

“You got it?” she checks once he’s sat her on the edge of the bed.

Peter plucks the condom from his pocket to show her. MJ nods in acknowledgement and he sets it on the nightstand. With a condom nearby—this assurance that they are responsible people and can therefore do whatever the fuck they like—she reaches for his hand and draws him in. Kissing, she scoots back and he crawls over her. She gasps when he moves his mouth enthusiastically to her neck and he jerks his head up with a self-satisfied expression.

“The sheets are cold,” she lies defensively. Peter just smiles and burrows his face back into the warm crook between her neck and shoulder.

“They’ll get warmer.”

MJ can’t believe it when she’s the one being stripped out of her pants first (her boyfriend is such a willing undresser). She feels vulnerable, between the sheets in only her underwear, but she’s determined enough to relocate Peter’s hand from her waist to her breast. He thanks her in a passionate mumble that raises hairs on the back of her neck as he darts in to kiss her firmly. Parting her thighs, she thanks him in return, for the kiss or the way he’s kneading her nipple between finger and thumb or something, relieved when he lowers his hips and she can feel his erection under his sweats. Fuck, a week ago, she was trying to convince herself that she’d be lucky and get Peter back next year. This is the greatest surprise.

Though she doubts she could knock the wind out of him, he huffs when she squeezes her thighs to his hips and unbalances him, rolling him over and landing on top.

“Wow, you wanna do it like this? I mean, yeah, awesome.”

Sitting astride him, MJ rolls her eyes.

“I just thought it’d be easier to get you out of your pants this way, since you seem like you’ve forgotten that you need to actually take them off.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly.

“I just didn’t want to rush you, like you said. Or freak you out or scare you,” he rambles.

This idiot.

“Why would I be scared? Are you concealing a weapon or something?”

“No,” he jokes with a goofy smile, pressing his hips upward, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You so did not deserve those condoms.”

“Didn’t I?” Peter asks, the two of them working his sweatpants and boxers down. (She’s touching his thighs. His bare thighs. Jesus.)

“No. Huge mistake. You’re not mature enough for this. I’m going to tell your aunt.”

As long as MJ keeps talking, dropping onto her side and slipping her own underwear off is just a background thing that’s happening while she speaks. Her heart is hammering.

“Oh, are you?” he questions, running a warm, tentative hand down the curve of her naked hip.

“Mhmm. She’ll be really disappointed in you for, uh, wasting supplies.”

“Maybe I could make it up to you and you could forgive me.”

Peter’s fingers trace low over her belly, making her stomach flinch with the anticipation. He touches between her legs, the contact the subtlest flirtation. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but that he wants to do it together. Holding his stare, she rolls onto her back.

He proceeds when she widens the space between her thighs. His touch feels… fine, but not exciting, and MJ wonders if it’s because she’s watching him, possibly making him nervous. She closes her eyes and instinctually angles her head to press her forehead against Peter’s shoulder. Gradually, he strokes her with more assurance and she quietly mutters “yes” each time he does something that feels good. By the time he’s gotten her seriously wet and turned on, she’s gripping the sheet with one hand and his wrist with the other, urging him to go faster. Her body’s not satisfied but humming as Peter jolts recklessly across her to snatch the condom. He kisses her right as she’s opening her eyes at the disturbance.

“Yeah?” he asks, dick in hand.

She nods, breathing quickly and needing him to act before the sensations he’s stirred up dim.

“Yeah.”

It’s out of character, how slowly he moves next. He’s capable of care in abundance, of course, but patience? Caution? Restraint? None of these are words that would come to mind if someone asked her to describe her boyfriend. They cling to each other as he works his way deeper in incremental thrusts. Because he’s trembling, she holds him tight. She probably would regardless. Things almost stall, but then he gropes between them, locating her clit, and her clutch on him squeezes and releases, allowing him to suddenly slide all the way home.

“Fuck,” he says softly, head hunched down beside hers.

MJ rubs her hands over the quivering muscles of his back, certain the two of them are generating enough heat to melt the snow around the house and all the way up the road.

“I’m gonna come if I do anything,” Peter says in a desperate tone. “I can’t move.”

“You can move.”

“No. I… I wanna take care of you. MJ, please.”

Between them, she finds his hand and guides it in rubbing her clit. His body’s held taut above her and she turns her head to meet his searching eyes. Her neck arches involuntarily at her first unexpected moan and Peter clamps his eyes shut like it’s all too much. So she watches his tense, determined face while manipulating his fingers over her. When she’s close, coating his cock in her arousal many times over, MJ tells Peter to open his eyes. Then, she begins to rock her hips, letting him glide in and out. Their hands continue to stimulate her until she orgasms with a wet cry and pulls his fingers away. They hold hands hard and he thrusts with crazed strokes, coming with an understated choked noise.

He hasn’t quit shaking when he climbs off of her to deal with the condom.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, sliding back into bed and allowing her to weave her limbs around his. She smiles at how baffled he sounds.

“You’re ok.”

“This feels like shock, like I get after a bad beating.”

She sighs exasperatedly at this news. She might’ve suspected his secret identity for a while before he confirmed it, but she doesn’t know everything, isn’t in on all the missions and outcomes yet. When he gets home—after all this bullshit—she’ll demand to be kept in the loop.

“I guess you’re just overwhelmed.”

“That felt really fucking good,” Peter confesses in a low, stunned voice.

MJ starts to giggle and can’t stop. Tears stream down her face, into her hair, onto her boyfriend’s skin. He laughs too, but holds her greedily all the while. It reminds her how temporary this is.

Except, no. It’s not. No one can stop them from remembering this after she goes and he stays. No one can stop them from making plans, having hopes. Days are temporary, like snow, but feelings can last. How she feels about Peter definitely can. She’s made it this far and, on his end, so has he. On impulse, MJ kisses his forehead.

“I know what’ll help. Something to eat. We can see what else you have that can be cooked in the fireplace.”

“Frozen lasagna?” he proposes.

“Why not? Let’s try it.”

#my writing #promptmas #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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