Draco still can’t believe his luck. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. In fact, considering everything he’s done in the past, he doesn’t deserve any of this. Yet, here he is, three years after the war, happy and content. At least theoretically.
Like most nights, Draco clutches his blanket and stares at the ceiling. Sleeping has been difficult. Not because of the nightmares. They’re not completely gone, but it’s much better now. No, it’s because his chest won’t stop hurting.
He slowly turns his head to gaze at the sleeping man beside him. Draco flinches as his heart gives another painful squeeze. He stretches out his hand and carefully buries it in the mop of black curls, relishing the softness. Harry makes a pleased sound in his sleep and his lips curl up ever so slightly. Draco presses his own lips into a tight line.
Sometimes he feels like his heart is going to burst from all the happiness he feels. It’s like his body can’t cope with it, because it doesn’t know how. He’s never felt like this before. But most importantly, he doesn’t deserve this beautiful and kind man, sleeping next to him.
He still doesn’t understand what made Harry want to go out with him. He even initiated it. And now they’re living together. Draco still has a hard time showing his feelings. How can he be open about it, when he’s so conflicted and doesn’t even know what to feel most of the time? It’s hard to just accept the happiness and the way Harry seems to love him so freely.
Draco thought about ending it numerous times. Harry could do so much better than him. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, but it’s true, Draco thinks sadly. But he is far too selfish to give up on Harry.
When Draco brushes his fingers against Harry’s cheek, the other man stirs and knits his brows together.
“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles without opening his eyes.
Draco smiles at him.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Sorry for waking you.”
Harry takes Draco’s hand and interlaces their fingers. He scoots over to him and buries his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. He inhales deeply and lets out a contented sigh.
Draco feels that familiar squeeze in his chest again. He wraps his arm around Harry and plants a kiss on his hair. In this moment, he vows something to himself. Not a day will go by without him trying to make this beautiful man in his arms as happy as possible. He will do everything in his power to show Harry how grateful he is that Harry chose him, for loving him, for making him want to be a better man. But how?
On the outside, he’s still as haughty and snarky as ever, but his friends keep telling him he’s changed. For the better.
He apologised to Granger and Weasley, but he knows he can do better and he’s determined to do so. Not only for Harry’s sake, but also his own.
And that’s when Draco realises, the only way he can make his boyfriend truly happy, is by being happy himself.
It won’t be easy. He can’t just stop feeling guilty and undeserving. But he hopes he will get there someday. He can’t erase what happened in the past, but what happens in the future, that is up to him. He’s grateful he even got the chance at having a future, let alone with Harry.
So yes, Draco thinks again, he will do everything he can to make Harry happy. And that, apparently, starts with him admitting he is truly happy himself.
Over the past few years, Rebecca Sugar has learned to steer a very large spaceship. Five seasons in, Steven Universe, her Cartoon Network show – the channel’s first created by a woman – is enormously popular with both kids and their parents, attracting a vast, fierce fandom. (It’s frequently at or near the top of the various rankings on Tumblr’s Fandometrics page, and has a large following all across social media platforms.)
The series is consistently lauded for its emotional intelligence, its musical numbers (including songs sung by Estelle and Patti LuPone, who Sugar wooed with roses), its nuanced character development, and especially its insistent queerness – one major character is the literal and metaphorical embodiment of a lesbian relationship, and almost no one in its central family is related by blood.
With her mop of black hair, indefatigable smile and seemingly boundless energy (she’ll turn 30 in July), it’s not hard to see Sugar in her creation. But series protagonist Steven – a relentlessly kind, goofy boy at the center of a millennia-old galactic war between the Earthbound Crystal Gems (Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl) and the parasitic Gem Homeworld – has a lot less going on in his life than his creator.
Steven Universe isn’t just a TV show: It’s a sprawling, many-tentacled property that includes comics, an upcoming console video game, a just-released soundtrack album, a New York Times best-selling children’s book and merchandise recreating most of Steven’s clothes. Most of theserun through Sugar personally in some capacity – she wrote The Answer (the children’s book), made editing passes on the companion volume Steven Universe’s Guide to the Crystal Gems, oversaw the tracklisting and remixing for the album, and contributed dialogue and artistic guidance to the game, Save the Light.
The scope of her job both excites Sugar and, occasionally, pains her. “When I don’t have time to be really involved, it’s definitely strange to see something come into existence and know that I…” She cuts herself off. “But it’s hard to stay away.” Letting anything go is difficult for Sugar, whose life and relationships, in a sense, are the show.
Steven is something of a tribute to Rebecca’s brother Steven Sugar, a background designer on the show. The show’s exploration of romantic relationships (particularly in the character of Garnet, the living embodiment of a romantic relationship) is informed by her own with long-term partner Ian Jones-Quartey, a former executive producer on Steven Universe and the creator and showrunner for upcoming Cartoon Network series OK K.O!. “My time with them is trapped inside the show,” Sugar says. “That’s what makes it special.”
Summary: AU, After a night of heavy drinking, Betty Cooper realizes she’s left a series of revealing messages on her crush and roommate, Jughead Jones’s phone.
Warnings: Mentions of drinking, swearing, sexual dialogue but mostly embarrassing fluff.
A/N: I’ve edited this myself so I apologize for errors.
Betty Cooper’s head was pounding. She had made the mistake of going out with her roommates Cheryl Blossom and Veronica Lodge to celebrate the end of finals. Now she was sitting at their kitchen island cradling a cup of coffee, trying to figure out if IHOP delivered.
“Good Morning!” Cheryl sang as she skipped into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her luscious red was piled up on top of her head and her skin was glowing. She looked like an angel not someone who had partied hard the night before. “How are you?” She asked Betty.
“I’m so hungover” Betty groaned resting her head on her arms. “I’ve never been this hungover.”
“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have done all those shots of Liquid Cocaine.” Cheryl chuckled and began taking out a few frying pans. “You want some bacon and eggs?” She asked.
“I do!” Veronica answered, her silk black robe trailing behind her matching her beautiful black hair. She walked up to Cheryl and gave her a soft kiss. Cheryl and Veronica had been dating since before they had left Riverdale and their relationship was goals.
“How are you guys not hungover?” Betty asked.
“We didn’t do three shots of tequila and then perform a Coyote Ugly style dance on the bar. You drank so much you should be dead.” Veronica informed.
“I wish I was dead.” Betty said sliding off her stool and laid on the floor. “The tile is so cold. I love the tile.”
“You’ve seen better days, Cooper.” Jughead Jones exited his bedroom from the other side of the loft and sat in the stool Betty just occupied. Jughead was Betty’s fourth and final roommate and she had developed a deep crush on him since the four of them had moved from Massachusetts to California for school.
Jughead had blossomed in the sunshine state. He had taken up surfing and gotten a tan, transforming himself into a ripped golden god. Whatever girls didn’t like about his moodiness in Riverdale, they loved here. Betty hated that she didn’t make a move sooner and now that he was bedding Californian goddesses, she knew she didn’t stand a chance.
“Oh god.” She muttered rolling onto her back. She was so dehydrated she could hear herself blinking. She focused on Jughead messy mop of black hair when he appeared above her.
“Up we go.” He said lifting her into the sitting position. “Take these,” he dropped two extra strength Advil in her palm. “And drink the entire glass.” He instructed.
She did as she was told and steadied herself against him when she stood up. “I need to go back to sleep.”
“Yes, you do.” Jughead agreed walking her back to her room. “Do you need to use the washroom?” He asked.
“I’m not a child, Jug.” Betty snapped.
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you not just rolling around on the floor moaning?” He cocked an eyebrow and helped her into bed. She got underneath the covers and he tucked her in. “Get more rest, you’re gonna need it.” He winked and left her room, closing her door.
Her brow furrowed at her choice of words but she was too tired to give it much more thought than that.
She woke up at 3 in the afternoon feeling much better. Still hungover but manageable. She stumbled out into the living room and found Jughead reading a book. “There she is!” He exclaimed. “I got more Advil out and grabbed some water. There is some left over Thai from lunch in he fridge if you are hungry.”
Betty grabbed the Advil, headed over to the kitchen and began heating up her food. Once the Thai was nice and hot she made way back over to the couch.
“Are you feeling better?” He asked not looking up from his book.
“Mmmm” She answered with a mouth full of food.
“Do you remember anything from last night?” He questioned.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“So you don’t remember dancing on the bar?” He inquired.
She shook her head.
“You don’t remember leading the whole bar in a rendition of ‘Come On Eileen’?”
“How do you know this? You weren’t even there”
“Cheryl was sending me videos.” He paused. “Do you remember making a phone call?”
“It’s 2018, Juggie, no one makes phone calls anymore.” She rolled her eyes and took a gulp of her water.
“You sure about that?” He asked again.
“I haven’t spoken on a phone in like two years.”
Jughead took out his cell, began scrolling and finally pushed a button. He held it up so they could both hear it.
“Jughead, mother fucking, Jones.” Betty’s gravelly drunken voice rasped out of the phone.
Her eyes widened and she started choking on her food.
“You fucking idiot with your stupid hat and your stupid attitude and your stupid face like you don’t know how amazing you are. Well, I guess you kinda do now with that revolving bevy of girls in our apartment all the time. And what is wrong with me huh? I’m hot, I’ve had six guys hit on me tonight. Six!”
She heard herself yell through the phone and she buried her head in her arms. “No, no, no.” She repeated over and over again.
“I’m smart too and my personality is okay, so what’s your problem Jughead, huh? I’ve been told that my vagina is like, the actual best. Like, what do I need to do? I guess there is a possibility that you aren’t interested in me but I’m the tits so why wouldn’t you be.” She paused. “Another thing, you actual piece of shit-” She was cut off and he lowered the phone.
“Please tell me I didn’t call you back.” She asked, looking at him through her fingers.
He was smirking and she wanted to smack him. “That was the first of fifteen messages. My favorite was how you told me that you obsess over how big my penis is but it’s probably just normal size and that you should stop worrying about it because this isn’t a romance novel.” He chuckled.
She made a whiny, crying sound, her face burning hot.
He didn’t say anything like she expected. She expected him to tease her, she expected him to tell her that they were friends but their relationship wouldn’t be anything more than that but he didn’t. She felt his weight on the couch beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.
“Would it made a difference if I did?”
“Uh, yeah, kind of a big difference, do you know how you appear to others? Do you know how intimidating you are?” His voice was soft and sincere.
“What are you talking about?” She snapped, rubbing her temples.
“You’re beautiful, smart and funny. You make everything seem so effortless, you should date an architect or something.”
“Why is everyone so obsessed with architects?” She moaned, falling back into the cushions of the sofa.
Jughead sighed. “Betty, did you ever think about just asking me out?”
She threw him some serious side eye. “Oh yeah Jug, I’ll just walk up to you and be like, ‘Hey, I know we’ve known each other forever and I’ve ignored you for most of it but now that you’re all hot and dating models and shit, you wanna go out on a date?’” She scoffed.
“Okay.” He replied.
“What?” She sat up quickly, wincing when he head throbbed.
“I’ll go out with you.”
“Why? You date hipster girls who wear glasses they don’t need and are way too big for their face. You date girls who always look good in a romper, always have perfect Coachella hair and eat avocado toast everyday. I go days without showering, I’ve slept in the library more than once, I’ve dropped a McDonalds hamburger on the ground and still ate it because I had spent my last dollar on it and it was all I could eat for 17 hours until I got paid. Last night I threw up in my hamper-”
Jughead cut her off with a kiss. Betty was taken aback by the sudden gesture and it took her body a moment to relax and really accept what was happening. Betty had fantasized about this moment every night for months. What he would smell like, what he was taste like, how he would feel. He tasted like the cinnamon tic tacs he was always eating, spicy and sweet. He smelled like clean laundry, the sea and coconuts from using the girls shampoo all the time. Betty ran her hands through his hair bringing him closer to her. His body was hard and muscular and he pushed it against her, his skin warm and tan and so different from what she expected.
He parted from her, a smile on his face. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“Liar.” Betty whispered, her eyes still closed.
“Betty, I’ve had a thing for your since the ninth grade.” He admitted, kissing her again.
“Do you want to take this into the bedroom?” She cooed running her hands over his chest.
Her head jerked back. “What? Why? You take all these girls to bed and not me?”
“Betty, you aren’t all girls, you’re the girl.” He smiled and kissed her again.
She smiled back. “Can you please, for the love of god, delete all the messages I left you.”
“Um, absolutely not, this shit belongs in the MOMA.” He took out his phone. “Prepare yourself for message number two.”
mornings are filled with yawns, playful kisses, and the feeling of your loved one beside you
seungcheol: Seungcheol yawned, the fresh smell of bacon traversing to him. His cookie pajamas hung low around his hips, and the shirt he wore managed to show a small sliver of skin. “Good morning to you too,” you muttered, laughing as you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “You left the bed too quickly,” he mumbled sleepily, fuzzy black hair tickling the side of your face. “Mm, sorry about that. Guess you won’t be hungry then..”
He whined as you walked away with the plate of bacon, playfully munching on a piece. You giggled at your boyfriend’s childishness and set the plate down, reaching up to brush some of his hair out of his face. “Come on. Time for breakfast, leader.” He chuckled. “I am the leader, huh?”
wonwoo: Still safely sound asleep in bed, you only managed to wake up upon feeling the empty space in the bed push down next to you. You shifted, and notice that outside the curtains was still quite dark, and the numbers on the clock shined, reading 5:23 AM. Remembering someone had slipped into the bed next, to you, you quickly swerved, sighing in relief when a black mop of hair came into vision.
“Good morning. Did I scare you?” Wonwoo’s deep voice asked, and he laughed quietly. “I’m sorry, I was hoping not to wake you up.” You yawned, turning fully on your side. “It’s fine, I’m just glad you’re home.” Wonwoo chuckled. “Yeah, Jihoon had me staying there until like 4 am to record the last of the vocals, and then we just had some mixing and harmonies to finish.” You, however, had already fallen asleep once again, and were lightly snoring peacefully. He smiled. “Alright, I get the memo. Sweet dreams.”
mingyu: “How many cups of milk..?” you muttered, trying to read the side of the box of pancake mix. It was early, barely a few moments after sunrise, however wanting to surprise Mingyu, you devised the plan to wake up and hopefully make him a breakfast as nicely as he did for you. The only thing was, you were currently stuck trying to figure out the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon.
You were able to suffice with a pair of decent looking pancakes, and a side of waffles with a glass of orange juice. Deciding not to bring it to the room in case of spills, you tip-toed back into the room, Mingyu still snoring, a slight pool of drool streaming from his mouth. You winced, but still shook his shoulders calmly, watching his eyes flutter open, a dopey smile lining his face as he rose and began stretching. “Good morning.” You ruffled his hair. “Come on, sleepy. I made you breakfast this morning,” you commented proudly. Mingyu quickly froze. “You didn’t burn it, right?” You huffed. “Rude. I guess I’ll eat by myself then.”
Mingyu quickly wrapped his arms around your waist, his face stuffed in your chest as he was still sitting down on the bed. He looked up at you with his best puppy-dog eyes. “I’d never let you eat alone, even if it is burnt.”
hansol: Hansol sat up, being careful not to wake the person sleeping next to him. Carefully reaching for his phone, he glanced at the time, it being nearly 12 in the afternoon. The two of you enjoyed sleeping in when possible, and last night, you’d both went to sleep much later than usual. The dark curtains hid any sunlight from the windows, and Hansol sighed in content, remembering he had a free day today.
He jumped as he felt a hand grasp his own, and sighed when he felt the familiar size difference of your smaller hand. You’d worn his sweatshirt to bed, and you had to admit, it was very soft, it giving off the smell of Hansol. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled the covers over the both of you, leaving a small portion open so that a bit of light shone through and so you could breathe.
Hansol smiled when you opened your eyes, gentle, forgiving hazel eyes staring back into your own. “Morning, baby. Did you sleep okay?”
(Not Drarry. Mauraders era, Sirius Black, James Potter, Mentions of child abuse, corporal punishment.
I know it’s not my usual stuff and to be quite honest I’m not sure where the idea came from but I hope you like it.)
When Sirius Black was six, his parents were taking him somewhere and they had to pass through a muggle park. He saw children like him, playing and laughing, a little girl saw him, smiled bright as a sunflower blossoming and waved her whole arm in greeting. Sirius smiled back tentatively, raising his arm but almost as soon as it was up, his mother grabbed it and forced it back down. Her voice hissed angrily in his ear but all he could see was the little muggle girl looking a little sad and confused and turning away. He didn’t remember where they were going, he didn’t remember what his mother said, he remembered the other children, the waving girl and the throbbing in his wrist.
When he was eight, his father took him to a bookstore. Regulus was there and stuck close by his father side. Reg was quiet. His parents thought he was good and obedient. Sirius thought he was afraid.
Sirius wandered away, hardly paying attention to the thick leather-bound volumes filled with things he had no interest in. Just walked up and down the rows of bookshelves, dragging his fingers across the spines as he went. He turned a corner and nearly ran into another boy about his age. He had wild black hair and cheerful brown eyes behind a pair of glasses too big for his face and he appeared to have been doing the same thing Sirius had been.
Sirius gave him a careful nod.
The other boy grinned, “My name’s James, what’s yours?”
“Sirius,” he said with a burst of excitement and a hopeful smile.
They immediately joined ranks, walking shoulder to shoulder down the aisles. Touching the books became pushing them to the back of the shelf so the spines were uneven like a choppy ocean wave. It became a contest and soon they were each going as fast as they could, sharing excited challenging glances as they tried to push in more books than the other.
When his father found him, he grabbed Sirius’ shoulder and pulling him away so quickly it sent a surge of fear down Sirius’ spine. His father’s voice was low. He never raised it, never yelled when he was angry like his mother did, it only got quieter and somehow far more terrifying. He lectured Sirius about propriety, about pride and upholding their family’s name and Sirius nodded to each one, his movements stiff with a fury he could not name. Until Jame’s father came and got him and simply chuckled, setting the books to right with the flick of his wand and telling his son to take it easy next time. Then he knew exactly why he was angry.
Amidst his father’s reprimand, Sirius peeked behind him and briefly saw James and his father looking at him with a sad, worried expression. Sirius turned and waved to James as he left, not caring when his father turned him round again, his voice dropping to an even quieter hiss.
He came to the conclusion that waiting was the biggest waste one could do with their life.
And he had wasted a lot of his life already.
He had waited for his father to acknowledge him, to show him he was proud of his son.
He had waited for his mother to stand up to his father, whenever he had talked her down, whenever he had treated her like less than his wife.
He had waited for his friends to come to his rescue when he had needed them most, to save him from himself.
And he had waited for the stupid prat to notice him. Really notice him. To look beyond the petty insults and his sneering.
For years Draco had been waiting.
He had waited in vain. But not anymore.
Draco was sick of waiting.
What had he even waited for? For him to come to the right conclusion, when Draco hid his true intentions so well? For him to realise what was really going on?
He probably would have to wait forever.
No. He would have to take matters into his own hands. And whyever should he not?
Yes, it was time to act.
Draco focused on the mop of black hair across the Great Hall.
He was sick of waiting.
He got up, marched over to the Gryffindor table and grabbed Potter by his robes. Without waiting for his reaction, Draco started dragging him out of his seat.
There was a yelp and shouts of protest, but Draco didn’t care.
He was so sick of waiting.
“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Potter shouted, shoving at Draco’s hands.
Draco ignored him and dragged him out of the Great Hall.
He could hear Weasley and Granger shout something at him. He heard footsteps behind him, indicating that several people were following him. Potter was still trying to get out of his grip.
Draco had wanted to find a more secluded place to do what he wanted to do next, but when the shouts behind him only got louder, he turned around and glared at them.
“You want to watch? FINE! I don’t even care anymore!”
He tightened his grip on Potter’s robes as he pulled him towards him forcefully.
Because he was so tired of waiting.
His mouth crashed with Potter’s and suddenly everything went silent.
Draco had thought it would be rougher, that Potter would try to fight him more. Apparently he was just shocked. He stiffened as Draco moved his lips against the other boy’s. He buried his hands in his hair like he had dreamed of so many times.
He had waited for this so long. This was it.
Or was it?
Draco suddenly noticed Potter moving and braced himself to be pushed away at any second. Instead, tentative fingers curled around his hips to pull him closer.
Draco was sure there were gasps and murmuring, but he didn’t hear any of it.
His whole mind, his whole body was so consumed by Potter. Potter, who was kissing him back.
Yes. This was what he had been waiting for all this time.
In which Jughead finds a new place where he feels he belongs, and the Gang grows suspicious.
After their first night at Pop’s, Jughead’s days at the library with (Y/N) felt like something to look forward to rather than something to dread. While for the most part, silent, he would sometimes whisper snide comments or funny observations from his day to her in hopes she would break her studious façade.
His favorite moments were watching her read. While politely guarded in her everyday interactions, her expressions when reading left nothing to the imagination. When a moment in the narrative was particularly suspenseful, she would chew her lip and furrow her brow. When a moment was confusing or loaded, she would flip between pages to remind herself of the events leading up to the revelation. When a moment, he assumed, was amorous in nature, a light pink dusted her cheeks. He found himself ditching the film textbooks and discreetly checking out the same books that she would in hopes he could see into what she was feeling, why she reacted the way she did. He found himself growing nervous that she would catch him staring and retreat to her guarded state, away from their intimacy.
When (Y/N)’s seat across from him at the library table was empty one day, he grew suspicious.
Gender: Male x Female Genre: Highschool/college au, angst, fluff, smut. Warning: light smut, Word count: 1853 words
Summary: Having a crush on your best friend’s sister was already hard enough for Jimin especially when Jungkook made clear his sister was off limits. The idea of his older sister dating on of his friends made him feel sick. Lucky for him he didn’t have to worry about that since Y/N made clear that she didn’t have eyes for high schoolers no matter what. But things might change when he hears his named being moaned out in the shower.
It was safe to say that the night didn’t go by as smoothly as Y/N had hoped for. The guaranteed fact that Jimin, her little brother’s best friend, had heard her getting off on him was nothing to sleep away. Ever since high school Jimin had been on Y/N’s mind, not that the decision was a conscious one there was no way Y/N wanted it to happen, but it happened. She didn’t choose to dream about how good Jimin’s lips would feel ghosting over her skin or how his hands would hold her waist tightly as he pushed himself inside her, but it happened. It kept on happening even when Y/N graduated, even after her one night stands she couldn’t help but think about the boy who was only a year younger. Maybe that was the reason why Y/N couldn’t get her mind of Jimin. He was one year younger and soon to be a college student just like her.
The morning was rough, Y/N couldn’t bare to go downstairs and face Jimin in fact she wanted to stay in bed all day but she had her life to live. Letting out an annoyed groan Y/N rolled out of bed. She was mentally preparing and encouraging herself for the journey awaiting her. If she quickly made it to the bathroom and left the house with the same speed she might avoid Jimin. Taking a deep breath Y/N opened up her door her head peaking out to see if there was any live in the hallway when none was shone Y/N sprinted towards the bathroom which was next to the stairs. It was quite an end away, but if she took big leaps it was a matter of seconds. The feeling of victory crashed into Y/N when her fingers brushed the door handle, but luck mustn’t be on her side when she could feel it slip underneath her. The door slowly opened and out came a half naked Jimin, the only thing covering him was a towel wrapped around his waist. Jimin wasn’t even half surprised as Y/N was when he stepped out the bathroom almost colliding with the slightly smaller girl. “Oh.” He said, his eyes watching as Y/N took a good few steps back her cheeks starting to burn as well as her ears. Jimin let out a chuckle as he watched the reaction of Y/N, she couldn’t even look at him the ground being more interesting. Where did all that fire of a grown woman go? “The bathroom is all yours.” Jimin chimed as he took a step to the side allowing Y/N to walk in, but even if Y/N wanted she couldn’t move. “You’re not going in?” Jimin cocked an eyebrow. “Uh- yeah I was.” Forcing herself to move pass Jimin Y/N managed to catch a the familiar scent of Jimin, it was musky but not to strong. Did he have his bathroom supplies here? Instantly the thought and images of Jimin showering here flooded Y/N’s mind and her body started to heat up. Shaking away the thoughts Jimin couldn’t help but smile at the little scene being played out for him, she must be still thinking about his words from last night.
It was then when Jimin came up with an idea, something both he and Y/N would enjoy.
Imagine Naruto coming home really late from his hokage duties one day for whatever reason and not being able to find Sasuke. He looks all over their house and is just about to panic when he sees a mop of black hair sitting on their patio looking out towards the rain. When he approaches Sasuke looks completely surprised to see him.
“I thought you left…”
Naruto doesn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what Sasuke was getting at. He vows to never be late again.
Tim is sitting on the kitchen counter.
He knows full well he is not supposed to- Alfred has explicitly mentioned that butts are not made for sitting on counters, and counters were not made for butts to sit on.
But it’s midnight, and Jason hasn’t been home for three days. Longer since they’ve seen him, but three days since he’s been gone. It shouldn’t leave Tim as flustered as he is. Jason can be gone for up to weeks at a time. It’s not uncommon. It’s not something to be particularly worried about. Sure, it pisses Bruce off- for Christ’s sake, the kid is only 16, he should be at home- but by Jason standards, three days is practically no time at all.
But something feels different this time.
So Tim is sitting on the counter. He knows that the kitchen will be the first place Jason checks in after a mission. Tim knows that, any minute now, Jason will come gliding through the swinging door, graceful as ever, already half out of costume, and on the hunt for one or two or seven of Alfred’s amazing gingersnaps. The ones he makes specially for Jason.
If Tim could just stay awake long enough, he would be the first to see his big brother return. And when he does, Jason will ruffle his hair, throw his cape across Tim’s shoulders, and playfully scold him for being out of bed so late.
But it’s past one o'clock now, and little Timmy can’t keep his eyes open. He hops down from the counter, stumbles across to the kitchen table, clambers up, and dozes off. He’ll still be the first to greet Jason, he’s sure of it.
It’s one-thirty now, and Tim wakes to the sound of dragging feet and big yawns. He pretends to sleep, determined to give Jason a surprise when he walks through the door.
But it’s not Jason. It’s Dick, wrapped in a blanket and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“What are you doing in the kitchen?”
He knows Tim isn’t asleep. There’s no fooling Dick.
But Dick has that knowing look in his eyes, the inescapably knowing big brother look that he has mastered over the years. He doesn’t even know when he’s using it.
Dick climbs up onto the table and pulls Tim into his side.
“Do you think he’ll come soon?”
“I don’t know.” But his voice breaks. Dick knows, he just won’t say.
“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
But Tim won’t go. He’s promised himself he’ll see Jason, and there’s no way he’s going to bed now.
So Dick pulls his blanket across Tim and they curl up together on the table. Soon enough, they both doze off.
Dick won’t admit it, but he had come down to the kitchen to investigate the sounds of snoring and shuffling. He had hoped it was Jason.
It’s three-twelve when the sound of tiny footsteps wakes Dick. Tim is still fast asleep, curled into Dick’s side. And Dick knows that sound. It’s tiny little Damian, out of bed and wandering the mansion. He does so when he can sense the tension in the house. He does so when he knows something is wrong, although he can’t communicate that yet.
When tiny Damian pushes open the big swinging door, staring open-mouthed at his brothers on the kitchen table, eyes glassy with exhaustion, Dick wordlessly scoops him up and tucks him into his other side, a brother under each arm. It warm, it’s comfortable, but it’s not enough. There is supposed to be a third brother, one to hold onto Tim’s empty side. He isn’t here. Tim scoots closer to Dick, and Dick’s heart breaks.
It’s seven-thirty when Alfred enters the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of tangled limbs and mops of black hair sprawled across the breakfast table. As much as he would like to believe it is due to the shock at finding three of his grandsons sleeping in the kitchen, it is truly due to disappointment. He had hoped it was the fourth grandson he had heard fumbling around in the night.
It is eight-thirty when Bruce finally steps into the kitchen. And he stops. And he stares. Dick, his eldest, is sitting on the edge of the counter, an arm around each of his youngest brothers. The three of them have their heads bowed, and they do not stir upon hearing Bruce enter. Their tangles of black hair and rumpled pjs flow from one into the next, and Bruce swears his boys could be a single living entity in this moment, living, breathing, worrying together as one.
Alfred is sitting in a wooden chair in the corner, shoulders slumped, staring blankly into space. He hasn’t made breakfast, he hasn’t even put clothes on. He’s sitting in his robe, an empty look painted on his face, wiping all emotion from his features.
Bruce can’t blame them. He didn’t sleep a wink last night. He could swear he heard Jason shuffling around in the kitchen.
Without wasting his breath on “good morning"s that will go unheard through the breaks in his voice, Bruce simply pulls open the fridge and begins to pull out edible arrangements leftover from the funeral.
“Dear Wayne family,” reads one, “Our condolences. He will be missed.
Signed, the GCPD.”
“Dear Bruce,” reads another, “I’m so sorry for the loss of your son.
C. Kent .”
We will all miss Jason. He was something special.
Well wishes, S. Kyle.”
- kit is a barista at livvy’s favorite coffee shop
- ty doesn’t really like coffee shops. they’re too loud for him and although he can use headphones he prefers the quiet library and livvy is always willing to grab an extra hot drink for her twin
- a new worker at the coffee shop harasses livvy. although he is immediately fired, when she complains about it to ty he almost immediately heads to the coffee shop in his sister’s defense
- kit happens to be working that day so ty confronts kit and ty is saying things and accusing him of something but kit can’t focus because all he’s thinking is, wow, this boy is beautiful
- when livvy doesn’t see ty at the library she figures out what happens and stops ty before there is too much misunderstanding and introduces kit and ty who are surprisingly immediately fascinated with each other
- it’s even more shocking for livvy when ty starts working at the coffee shop a few times a week choosing the loudness and headphones over his favorite quiet library
- even kit starts realizing he is looking forward to seeing the black mop of hair entering the coffee shop, part of him thinks maybe he is interested in livvy but that part of him still doesn’t understand
- kit starts joining ty after his shifts and they talk about all the things ty is reading and researching and they talk about school and their families and favorite books and cookie flavors and colors and animals and everything
- livvy stops joining them after a while and when kit asks if he’s done anything to offend her she only smiles and shakes her head
- kit is first to realize that his interest in ty isn’t just friendship but something more because he starts noticing the way the sunset forces ty’s long dark lashes to streak his cheeks with shadows and the way the rays catch in his gray eyes and the way his mouth moves around the facts he tells and tells and tells and kit starts sweating because.. if they are ‘friends’ should he notice these things?
- kit starts dwelling on it. intensely. and livvy notices and she tells him not to worry because ty really likes him and kit blushes and just hands over her cappuccino.
- that afternoon, however, while ty tells him of the newest sherlock and holmes story he read and kit can’t fully focus because his heart is pounding hard in his chest and loud in his ears and kit reaches over carefully, slowly, and lays a hand over ty’s
- ty blushes, looking down, but continues with their hands warm on each other’s and kit smiles
- when kit finally reaches forward and kisses him ty kisses him back in the corner of their coffee shop where they met and became friends and fell in love