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theostrophywife · 6 months

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kiss with a fist | chapter eleven.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: 18 - one direction.

author's note: please enjoy my pookies in domestic bliss.

The streetlights casted shadows on the sidewalk as you climbed the steps to your childhood home. As you made your ascent, fresh flurries rained down from the winter sky, covering the quiet neighborhood in a blanket of snow. Beside you, Theo fidgeted with the hem of his cashmere jumper and roughly combed a hand through his curls for what seemed like the millionth time that evening.

You slipped your fingers through his and squeezed. “Don’t be nervous, Teddy. They’re going to love you.”

Theo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the only tell signifying his nerves. Over the past few months, you became more and more attuned to your boyfriend’s body language. For someone who always had a sarcastic comment at his disposal, there were a lot of things that Theo conveyed without words.

For example, you now knew that incessant tapping of his fingers meant that he was in dire need of a cigarette break, the slight clench of his jaw was a warning that someone was about to get their head bashed in for flirting with you, and that a tongue against the cheek meant to meet him in the broom closet immediately. Needless to say, you’d become an expert on reading Theodore Nott and right now, he was a never ending novel of nervousness.

It didn’t surprise you. When you first invited him to Christmas dinner, Theo had grown so quiet that you actually checked his pulse to see if he was still alive. You were cuddled up in bed at your dorm when you sprung the question on him. It had only been two months since you officially started dating, but you knew without a doubt that you would be taking Theo home to meet your parents at some point. The only question was when.

Then your mum had outright demanded that you bring him by for the holidays in her latest letter, which pretty much sealed the deal for you. Theo’s family wasn’t really big on celebrating Christmas given its origins, but his nonna had invited you to come to Triora for New Year’s, which you gladly accepted. She was as eager to meet you as your parents were to meet Theo.

The two of you had taken each other’s news very differently. At first, you were nervous, but the excitement of learning more about your boyfriend's family offset the jitters. Theo, however, went into full psycho mode in the weeks leading up to his visit. He made you quiz him on traditional muggle festive activities, asked a million questions regarding your parents and their expectations, and even got special permission for an emergency shopping trip to muggle London so you could help pick clothes that were ‘boyfriend material.’

The boys had made fun of him incessantly, but Theo didn’t care one bit. He was on a mission to win your parents over and nothing was going to stand in his way. Pansy said it was the most work she’d ever seen him put into anything. Luna thought it was incredibly sweet, albeit a bit amusing to listen to you explain the concept of Santa Claus to your very confused boyfriend.

Said boyfriend now looked panicked as he peered inside of the black bag he’d brought along. “Are you sure I shouldn’t have sent a flower arrangement ahead of time? Or a bottle of vintage wine from the vineyard? I was going to, but I didn’t know what we were having for dinner and there’s truly nothing more embarrassing than paring the wrong wine with—”

You pulled him down by his scarf so that you were face to face. “Theo, this isn’t a soiree at Malfoy Manor. My family is as far from high society as you can possibly be. We’re just normal people. There’s no need to worry, babe.”

“I really want them to like me,” he said softly.

You grinned. “Well then use that famous charm of yours and win them over like you did with me.”

“Yeah, but you were after my smoking hot body,” Theo responded sarcastically. “It’s harder when I don’t have that as an advantage.”

He yelped when you slipped your cold hands underneath his jumper. Theo pried your fingers from his stomach before warming them up between his own. “See what I mean? You’re only using me for my perfectly sculpted abs.”

“I’d like to lick those perfectly sculpted abs in my childhood bedroom at the end of the night, so make sure you make a good first impression in there.”

“As if I don’t already have enough pressure on my shoulder,” he declared dramatically. “Now I have to swat your horny little hands away from me all night.”

“Oh, please. Like I haven’t caught you adjusting yourself countless times since we left the train.”

“It’s not my fault that my girlfriend’s absolutely fit, alright. The extremely short skirt doesn’t help either, love.”

“I’m wearing tights, you pervert.”

“Yeah, but when has that ever stopped me?”

“Behave, Theodore. I promise to reward you after.”

Theo sighed and flicked your nose. “I am but your humble servant, cara mia.”

You giggled and kissed his cheek. “Now come on, Teddy. Time to be a big boy and meet your girlfriend’s parents.”

The minute you opened the door, the nostalgic smell of freshly baked cookies and pine filled your senses. Christmas had always been a special occasion in your household, so it wasn’t surprising at all to find the entire flat festively decorated. The foyer was covered in floor to ceiling with fairy lights and wreaths lined the narrow hallway while garland twined around the staircase into the second floor. Theo peered around in wonder, seemingly amused by the statues of glittery snowmen, red nosed reindeers, and the white bearded man carrying a sack of gifts.

“Looks a bit like Dumbledore,” Theo said.

You snorted before leading him into the living room. The fireplace was lined with stocking and lit with a flame that cast a soft, cozy glow upon the fresh pine tree, which was adorned with a combination of ornaments and other quirky trinkets that you had collected over the years. Underneath it sat a mountain of neatly wrapped gifts.

“Is that you, bug?” called your father’s voice.

Your parents emerged from the kitchen, walking hand in hand towards you and Theo. Your father offered your boyfriend a warm smile, while your mother sized him up like she did to her opponents in court.

“This is the infamous boyfriend, then?” she asked with a raised brow.

“What my wife means to say is that we’re very happy to meet you, Theodore. Y/N has told us so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. Please, call me Theo.” Theo shook your father’s hand before handing your mother a bouquet of sunflowers. “Y/N told me that sunflowers are your favorite. I hope these are to your liking, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

Your mum’s expression softened as she accepted the flowers. “These are quite lovely. Thank you, Theo.” She admired the sunflowers and smiled. “How did you manage to get your hands on these? They’re out of season for the winter.”

“My family grows them in an enchanted greenhouse back at our vineyard. My nonna actually helped me pick them out. She said that a real gentleman never shows up empty handed,” Theo flashed a charming smile before pulling a fresh tub of gelato from his bag. “Which is why I’ve come with dessert as well.”

“Flowers and ice cream?” Your father asked in an impressed tone. “Your nonna raised you well, young man.”

You chuckled. “It’s gelato, dad. Calling it ice cream is practically a criminal offense in Teddy’s eyes.”

Theo blushed at the nickname while your parents shared an amused look. “Well, Teddy,” your father playfully teased, “You can educate us poor English folk on the intricacies of gelato after dinner.”

Calling the spread your mum had prepared dinner seemed like an understatement. She certainly didn’t hold back on preparations this year. All of the classics were there—prime rib, yorkshire pudding, praline chestnuts and sprouts, and roasted potatoes. While you enjoyed the food at Hogwarts, there was truly nothing like a home cooked meal.

“Before we dig in,” your father started, “We have a little tradition in this house. Every Christmas, we go around the table and say a few things that we’re thankful for. You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to, but it’s been a bit of a ritual for us since Y/N forced us all to do it because she thought it would earn her more presents from Santa when she was five.”

You flushed in embarrassment. Theo grinned at you like he’d just learned a life changing secret. “I’d love to participate. Maybe I’ll get extra gifts from Sandy Claws, too.”

The cheeky bastard shot you a wink, which made your parents laugh. “It’s Santa Claus, Theodore.”

“Potato, potato, amorina.”

With a fond eye roll, you clapped your hands together. “I’ll start us off then. I’m thankful for mum and dad. Loons, Pans, and the boys. Teddy, of course. And my last year at Hogwarts.”

Your mother and father went next. In true mum fashion, the first thing she gave thanks for was her landslide win against another misogynistic barrister. She used a few colorful words to describe him, which made Theo’s eyes grow wide before he burst into laughter and whispered that he now understood where you got your attitude from. Dad’s declaration was considerably less vulgar, but very sweet and endearing nonetheless as he gushed about his two favorite girls.

When it was Theo’s turn, you were surprised to find him a bit shy and nervous. You grabbed hold of his hand underneath the table and squeezed in reassurance.

“I’m thankful for my wonderful girlfriend and her lovely parents for inviting me to Christmas dinner. I’m thankful for my friends and family, especially my crazy old nonna who regularly gets into screaming matches with the neighborhood pigeons. And…I’m thankful that I’ll be attending Cambridge in the fall.”

“You got in?” you asked excitedly, nearly leaping off your chair.

Theo nodded sheepishly, chuckling as you threw your arms around him and squealed. “Oh my god, Teddy. That’s amazing. I’m so excited for you!”

“Congratulations, Theo,” your mum said. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Well done, young man,” your dad added, clapping Theo on the back. “Well done indeed.”

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. By the time dessert rolled around, Theo had completely won your parents over. You swore that he could’ve charmed the feathers off of a hippogriff. No one in the muggle or wizarding world was safe from the cheeky little grin of Theodore Nott.

After gorging yourself on stracciatella, your parents were more than happy to pull out the embarrassing childhood pictures. A delighted Theo devoured every humiliating picture of you from your unfortunate bowl cut when you were three to the slight overalls obsession you had at age six. He beamed at a photo of you posing proudly with your Hogwarts letter.

“That was a very special day for our little bug,” your father recounted fondly. “Professor McGonagall delivered the letter in person and explained that our baby girl was a witch.”

Your mum smiled, recalling the memory. “Obviously, it was a lot to take in, but Minerva was incredibly patient. Neither one of us knew that magic was actually real, but I suppose that after the initial shock wore off, we weren’t really all that surprised. We always knew that Y/N was special.”

Theo twined your fingers through his. “Yeah, she really is. Y/N has kept me on my toes since first year. I don’t think I would’ve tried this hard at school if it weren’t for her.”

“Oh, we know,” Mum said with a chuckle. “She used to write letters about the infuriating Nott boy who kept taking the top spot in class. Imagine our surprise when she told us that the two of you had started dating.”

“This one was adamant about meeting you properly,” your father chided as he wrapped an arm around your mother. “Said she wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t break our little girl’s heart.”

“I assure you, I wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing. Y/N has my heart in her hands and she has the power to do whatever she pleases with it.”

You blushed furiously, but Theo didn’t even appear fazed. For him, this wasn’t an attempt to flatter or impress your parents. He was merely stating facts.

“Smart answer, Theo.” Your mum said, nodding in approval. “We expected nothing less. It’s clear that you adore our daughter and vice versa. My husband and I are genuinely pleased to meet you and we’re looking forward to seeing more of you in the future.”

Theo beamed and placed an arm around your shoulder. “I’ll be here for as long as she’ll have me.”

You chuckled softly as your father sniffled a little, blinking away his teary eyed expression. “Well, we’ll leave you kids to it before dear old dad gets any more sentimental than he already is. Be sure to introduce Theo to Bandit, bug.”

After you parted for the night, Theo turned over to you with a smile. “So, bug. Do I finally get to snoop around in your room?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine, but not a word about my stuffies or else I’ll stupefy you and send you on the next train home.”

“My lips are sealed, amore mio.”

The door to your bedroom creaked slightly as you made your way inside. Theo followed closely behind and took in every detail. You looked around the room, trying to see it from your boyfriend’s perspective.

The walls were painted a vivid sky blue color and all of your furniture came from a French vintage market, designed to fit perfectly with the overarching Marie Antoinette theme. There were gold stars painted on the ceiling, which you and your father had painted over the summer after your first year. It had taken the entire holiday since the Ravenclaw within you insisted on properly depicting an accurate star chart.

Books littered every corner of the room, some neatly categorized in shelves and others strewn in every available nook and cranny to accommodate the overflow. This year you opted to arrange a small stack of your favorite novels, twining fairy lights through them and forming the perfect book lover’s festive tree.

By far your favorite place in the whole world besides Hogwarts was the little bay window that faced west of your neighborhood. You had many fond memories from your childhood of curling up with a good book under the warmth of the setting sun.

Theo made himself comfortable on the cushioned bench and stretched his long legs. He grabbed the stuffed raccoon perched on the windowsill and grinned.

“And who might this be?”

You plucked your favorite stuffed animal from your boyfriend’s hands and settled into his lap. “Teddy, meet Bandit.”

The edges of his lips quivered. “You named your stuffed raccoon Bandit?”

“I realize it may not be up to your sophisticated standards, but keep in mind that I was two when I got him. Bandit was the best I could come up with.”

“I’m not making fun,” Theo said, wrapping his arms around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “I happen to think it’s adorable. I bet you used to cuddle with him every night.” He poked Bandit’s fuzzy nose. “Sorry mate, but I’m afraid I’ve taken your spot and I’m quite loath to give it up.”

“You do a lot more than cuddle with me, Theo.”

Your boyfriend covered the stuffed raccoon’s ears. “Not in front of the stuffie, dear.” You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. “I’d apologize for her vulgar behavior, but I’m sure you’ve witnessed it far longer than I have.”

“On second thought, I think I much prefer to cuddle with Bandit. He gives me a lot less sass.”

Theo tilted your chin, grinning as he nuzzled his nose against yours. “You love my sass,” he whispered against your lips.

“Not as much as I love your ass.”

He chuckled as he pressed his lips against yours. You sighed as he kissed you deeply, your fingers automatically fisting the front of his cashmere sweater. Theo tasted like stracciatella and spearmint toothpaste and you smiled as his arms snaked around your waist while his tongue flicked against your bottom lip.

Theo caressed the curve of your jaw and pulled away reluctantly. “As much as I love where this is heading, I’d like to give you your present before you maul me entirely.”

You swatted his arm. “I don’t maul, Theodore.”

“Maul, devour. Same difference. Now come on, love. It’s already past midnight, which means we can exchange gifts.”

“Fine,” you sighed exasperatedly.

In reality, you were more than excited to do your first exchange with your boyfriend. You walked over to your dresser and retrieved the neatly wrapped gift hidden within. The green and silver wrapping shimmered in the moonlight and was topped with a silk black ribbon. Theo grinned as he presented his gift, which was adorned in blue and gold paper. Sometimes it was scary how similar your minds worked.

“You first, cara mia.”

Theo watched as you carefully unwrapped the present. You pulled out a gray fleece jumper and chuckled when you saw the Cambridge crest embroidered on the front. It was identical to the one Theo had given you at the start of term, but with a more legible design.

“I hope that this doesn’t make you think you’re getting your old jumper back.”

“Of course not. I have long accepted that every one of my jumpers will end up in your greedy little hands.” You stuck your tongue out rather childishly while clutching the jumper, which made Theo chuckle. “That’s not all, my love. There’s another gift in there for you.”

Sure enough, underneath the jumper was another smaller box wrapped in gold. The paper looked suspiciously lustrous. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was made from actual gold. As soon as you saw the corner of the book, you nearly shrieked.

“Theodore! You absolutely did not!”

Theo smirked. “I absolutely did too.”

In your hands was a first edition illustrated copy of Pride and Prejudice. It was bound in soft leather and had the original blue cover surrounded with golden peacock feathers. Aside from a few wears and tears, the book was in pristine condition. It felt almost sacrilegious to hold such a beautiful piece of literature in your hands. Especially since owning it had been your dream since you were a little girl.

“How did you know?”

“The field trip to Edinburgh. I saw you looking at it in one of the bookshops.”

“That was over a year ago,” you said in complete astonishment. “Back when we were still bitter enemies. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“I remember everything about you, my love.” Theo smiled softly. “I’ll never forget the way your eyes lit up that day. I didn’t even think twice before buying it if it meant seeing you smile like that again.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “It’s too much, Teddy. This must’ve cost a small fortune.”

He shrugged. “What’s the point of being rich and handsome if I can’t spoil my girlfriend? Money isn’t an object, principessa. I’d gladly drain my vault at Gringott’s in exchange of making you happy.” Theo swiped a tear from the corner of your eyes. “Besides, the book is non-refundable so you better make sure to put it to good use.”

The laugh that left your lips was slightly hoarse and your chest constricted with emotion as all of your affection for this sweet, wonderful boy threatened to spill over.

“Ti amo, Theo.”

“Ti amo cosi tanto, Y/N.”

You kissed the tip on his nose and smiled at the blush warming Theo’s cheeks. “You know you’ve made it nearly impossible to follow that up, right?”

“Why do you think I wanted to go first?” You swatted his arm, which only made him grin in response. “I’m kidding. I’m sure I’ll love your present.”

You nodded, pushing the green and silver box towards him. Theo opened it slowly and lifted the lid. He immediately smiled when he saw the vinyls. After a trip to Camden Market, Theo had fallen in love with a record player and lugged the thing all the way back to school. The boys were fascinated by the muggle invention and played the few records Theo owned until they were scratched beyond belief.

Theo shuffled through the Smiths, the Cure, the Clash and Fleetwood Mac with increasing excitement. When he pulled out the Queen record that you purposely saved for last, a fond expression settled over his features.

“I think I knew I was in love with you the night you snuck me into the music room,” he said softly. “I suspected it for a while before that, but then I heard your cute little snort for the first time and I knew I was done for.”

“Oh my god, Theo. You totally had a crush on me. How embarrassing.”

Theo rolled his eyes affectionately. “Thank you, amore mio. I really do love it. I can’t wait to listen to all of them.”

“There’s—um—another gift in there for you.” Your boyfriend raised a brow at your sudden nervousness. He moved the vinyls aside and found a golden badge carefully wrapped in black silk. A broom and wand was etched on the gilded surface as well as Theo’s name. Underneath it was the title ‘Sports Coordinator.’

“After the slug club dinner, Harry and I started working on something. We both agreed that the separation in this school is doing more harm than good, so we talked to a few people from different houses—Cassius, Hannah, Colin, Cho and a few others who felt the same way that we did. After meeting a few times, we proposed creating an inter house committee that basically acts as a student governing body that represents members of every house equally. We can all collaborate on making decisions regarding social events, academic clubs, and even school policies. McGonagall approved it just before break. We’re hosting our first official meeting when we get back. Pansy agreed to be social coordinator, naturally. Cassius wanted to be treasurer. Did you know he’s quite good at maths? The other upperclassmen will be involved as well, but we wanted to leave the officer positions to the younger years because they’ll be spearheading it after we leave.”

You took a deep breath, anxiously fidgeting your fingers. “I was wondering…if you’d like to be the sports coordinator? I was thinking you could arrange the first interhouse quidditch game. I overheard you and the boys talking about it before.” Theo stared at you in absolute silence. “It’s alright if you don’t want to. I just thought maybe—”

The sentence was cut off as Theo took your face between his hands and kissed you more fiercely than he’d ever kissed you before, which was saying a lot. Your boyfriend was definitely not shy with physical displays of affection. It only took half a day for the rest of Hogwarts to know that you were officially dating after Theo kissed you in the middle of the Great Hall for everyone to see.

“Is that a yes?” you asked when he finally let you up to breathe.

Theo pressed his forehead against yours and smiled. “Of course it’s a yes.” He took the badge and pinned it onto his jumper. “I’ll wear the badge proudly, my love.”

You chuckled. “Sorry that my gift isn’t as good as a first edition Jane Austen novel.”

“Are you kidding? This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me. You single handedly created a new governing student body so that my friends and I and whoever comes after us won’t live in constant hate and judgment. You’re amazing, amore mio. I love that smart brain of yours.”

“Merry Christmas, Teddy.”

Theo gathered you into his arms and kissed the top of your head as you both looked out the window to watch the snow fall softly over the quiet neighborhood.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

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#WHEN IS IT MY TURN HM #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott smut #theo nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine

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griefabyss69 · 3 months

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Pusher

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

SEQUEL TO PUSH (rated E)

[ AO3 ] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

‘HOLE’ wc: 404 | rated: G | cw: Mention of Christmas, Steve's parents

Steve has been buying from Eddie for a while now; desperate tips included. Eddie makes him an unexpected offer.

Eddie sits across from him, fingers tapping on the picnic table, breath turning to ghosts in the cold air.

"I'm closing for the holidays next week," he says, carefully watching him. "You wanna stock up tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't you make tons of cash selling over Christmas?" Steve asks. "You were complaining about your bills last week."

"Everyone's busy with their families, Harrington," Eddie replies, emphasizing a point that just hammers another nail into the coffin of Steve's chest. "And I'll be okay, Wayne's working Christmas to get the extra pay."

Steve nods slowly, trying to radiate "not only am I personally doing great but I am also so understanding and kind", to not wonder how much weed it'll take him to survive his mother's vacation drunk voice wishing him a Merry Christmas a day late.

Last year he had tried to find the joy and the warmth with whiskey, a mistake that still turns his stomach to think about.

"I'm gonna need like, a lot," he says. "However much I buy in a week, triple it… No, quadruple it."

Eddie's eyebrows raise and he gives an obnoxious little whistle; such a Tommy reaction honestly, but he's nicer underneath it.

"Gotta get through all of those stuffy soirees somehow, right?" He asks, smiling wryfully.

His tongue is a quick flash of pink as he runs it along his bottom lip.

"Uh-huh," Steve says, staring.

"I'll give you a discount, for buying in bulk," Eddie continues, and Steve shakes his head, holds his hand up, looks back up to his eyes.

"Don't bother, it's my parent's money. It's only a little bit stolen," he says, expecting rolled eyes, punctuated with a scoff - not the glimmer of mischief in Eddie's smile. "And it's burning a hole in my wallet."

"Bad boy, huh?" Eddie laughs, and Steve wishes.

Maybe then Eddie would find him impressive and fall in… lust, or whatever.

"Nah. Resourceful," he laughs. "Just don't thank them for the tip or there might be trouble."

Eddie laughs with his whole body, delighted as he knocks his knuckles against Steve's.

"If you get bored of being a good boy for all of those fancy people, gimme a shout, we can smoke together," he offers.

Steve doesn't bother getting paranoid about it before he accepts.

"Could be fun…," he trails off, watching Eddie's tongue lick at the corner of his mouth, utterly distracted.

"Hell yeah," Eddie says, winking.

#griefabyss69 writing #steddiemicroficjanuary #the hole story

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yorshie · 5 months

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omg they’re all so good its hard to choose…

2 + 15 for leo on the blurb list??

—noirleo ♡

Hello! Glad you're back! Ahhh, nice prompt choices! Let's see if I can't get some jealous Leo being a sassy s/o out of em. Thank You for Requesting on Blurb Day! (edit: ....hm..... how do I always come right back to spicy leo. *looks at map in confusion*) @noirleo

It seems someone had pressed Leo's buttons a little too much at the casual soiree the Police Chief had put together to celebrate the holidays. You weren't sure if it was the newly graduated cadet that tried to retrieve you a drink, or Vern sloshing over you in a half drunken side hug, but when you caught Leo eyeing you out of the corner of your eye, you knew something had him rankled.

You gave him a questioning look of your own, eyes dodging to the side in a clear prompt to follow you, and you watched as he gave you a small nod before seemingly returning to the conversation he was pretending to have.

Ten minutes later, washing your hands in the half bath on the second floor, you were not surprised to hear the click of the door relocking behind you.

"Took you long enough, Blue." You said over your shoulder, reaching for a towel to dry your hands, only to stop and catch yourself against the counter at the sudden way Leo stepped up behind you.

His beak dipped to blow cool air against your ear, plastron a hairs-breath away from your back, his hands mirroring your own pressed against the marble countertop. "Sorry," he breathed, nuzzling into your pulse, "had to speak to Vern about something before I could get away."

Vern? Shit. You closed your eyes, breathing in deep at the feel of Leo's lips pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder. "Should I be worried?"

Leo hummed, the sound usually low and soothing, but in the inclosed space it brought upon a shiver strong enough to knock your arms against his.

You could feel the smirk he pressed against your skin, his beak nuzzling in search of skin. "What if I promised I was on my best behavior." He raised his head, leaned down to set his jaw on your shoulder to meet your eyes in the mirror, "just for you?"

You huffed out a single chuckle, looking away from his eyes, searching for the movement he was trying to cover, and spying his hands slowly moving towards your hips. "Why do I not believe you?"

"Vern's fine," Leo blinked, long and slow, and by the tilt of his head you knew he was aiming to misbehave. For a moment you wondered if he'd somehow gotten tipsy-

"Is this you being jealous, Blue?" You asked, gaze flitting between his lazy eyes and the slow movements of his hands he wasn't even bothering to hide now.

"If I told you I was, would you let it go?" He asked before turning his head to the side and nudging your head with his beak, grip surprisingly soft as he finally reached his goal, palms sliding against the material of your clothes covering your hips. You went to cover his hands, curling your fingers over his own to hold him in place.

"I might be tempted to do so," You countered, leaning to the side to avoid his teeth when he nipped cheekily at your ear. He swayed to follow, abandoning his original plan to simply snuggle against your neck once more.

"You smell good." He whispered, pressing another kiss before slowly releasing you. "Can we head back home, though? I can't exactly tempt you very well in Chief Vincent's powder room, after all." He gave you a little smirk, one side of his mouth tipping further up, blue eyes trailing down your body.

You swallowed, tongue peeking out to touch your upper lip before to managed to answer, "go... give the Chief our goodbyes, I'll meet you by the door."

Leo pressed one last kiss to your shoulder, blue eyes holding your own in the mirror, and between blinks he was gone, the door locking once more behind him.

#blurb day #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leonardo #bayverse leonardo #bayverse leo x reader #lil spicy #romance #fluff #jealousy #hides under rock

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in-class-daydreams · 7 months

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Talking Terms (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader Synopsis: Things are awkward between you and Sebastian after everything that happened with his uncle. You haven't spoken since before the holidays and this is the first time you've seen each other since the incidents. Your life is progressing with or without him, but you'd be a fool to deny that parts of you - all the important ones - remain with him. Notes/TW: Rich people. Also you're a member of the Black Family in this one. No use of YN. Unedited tho, ya girl ain't got attention span like that.

While families and lineage tended to hold a lot of weight where you lived, and everyone who wasn’t part of the main circle wished they were, money and status weren’t nearly worth the trouble, in your opinion. Late nights at tiresome soirees among the other pure-blood families tittering about how pure their blood is or whatever it is they talk about. You play the game, of course, just until you finally graduate from Hogwarts. As soon as that happens, you’ll never step foot in 12 Grimmauld Place again.

On the train to Hogwarts, you reach out to slide open a compartment door when a pale hand reaches past you.

“Please, let me get that for you,” your companion says, gesturing for you to enter first. Over the last several holidays, your family has been eager to introduce you to some other eligible pure-bloods your age. They were unsurprisingly heinous people, guilty of just about every prejudice in the book - against muggle-borns, against poor people, against women, it was like they had a checklist.

What was surprising was your odd fondness for Pollux Carrow, a fellow Slytherin you’d seen once or twice in the common room but never spoken to, hailing from the noble Carrow family. It would be a stretch to say you liked him. Growing up in a Sacred Twenty-Eight family of pure-bloods would always be a cauldron of generational trauma, and just because Pollux wasn’t a bad person, it didn’t mean he was the most saintly person, either.

The two of you enter the compartment and before Pollux can insist, you heft your bags into the overhead bin yourself. You sit, stretch out, and crack open the first book you grabbed on your way out the door that morning. The well-loved leather cover is soft beneath your fingers.

Goblets, Goblins, and Gobstones: An Anthology of Magical Folklore

Your heart clenches. You’d only received this a few months ago. You remember a flash of freckles and a boyish smile, telling you how he’d found it at a used bookstore and just had to get it for you. The tip of his nose was red from the cold, but he could not have cared less when you hugged him tightly and thanked him for the gift.

You’d gotten him a book as well, naturally, but you never got to give it to him.

“Merlin’s beard, that thing’s been through the wringer,” Pollux says from his seat.

You hum just to acknowledge him.

“Read it many times, then?” he asked.

The incident with Solomon Sallow happened not too long after. Since then, you couldn’t bring yourself to even open the thing. Not when you and the person you wanted to discuss it with the most weren’t speaking. You’d even given Ominis some space so as to not put him in a tight spot between his friends.

Finally, you reply, “It was a gift.”

Pollux eyes your book like it was diseased. “Interesting gift.”

This time you don’t deign to reply, knowing Pollux was one of those people who needed to have an opinion on everything.

Movement in the walkway catches your eye and you gasp when a shock of fluffy brown hair breezes past the window. Ominis’s unmistakable visage follows closely behind, visibly grabbing for the boy in front of him and steering him into your compartment.

“Do you have room for two more?” Ominis asks. His posh accent and soft voice were always pleasing to hear. “All the other compartments are full.”

You know very well that they’re not, but you play along anyway.

“By all means.” You move your legs and belongings out of the way and pat the seat beside you. With the other hand, you shove your book under your thigh.

Maybe it’s seeing him again after time apart or the leather tome that smells like him sitting just beneath your robes, but the words are out of your mouth before you can think better of it.

“Hi, Sebastian,” you murmur.

The boy in question looks confused that you addressed him at all. He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut before shaking his head and giving you a nod.

“Hello.” His voice is a tad deeper than you remember it and he looks more tired. He inclines his head towards your companion. “Carrow.”

“Hello, Sallow,” Pollux replied. What is it with boys and calling each other by their last names?

Sebastian quickly plants himself beside Pollux and busies himself in a book you’ve seen him read a hundred times before. He was reading it when you first met him in the common room, in fact. He buries himself in his reading, but his lips are pressed into a hard line and he’s squinting at the words.

Rather than stir up trouble, you turn to Ominis.

“How was your holiday?”

He laughs. “Of course it was,” then he seemed to remember Pollux, “fine. Good to see family again.”

Being in close proximity to the Gaunt family could never be described as ‘good,’ even for the more obedient members of the family, which Ominis was not.

Thinking quickly on your feet, you feign coughing into your fist.

“Are you alright?” Pollux asks.

“Yes, I’m fine.” You cough again. “My throat’s just a little dry.”

He jumps to his feet. “I’ll get you some water!” And with that, he’s gone. If your calculations were correct, he’d see some more Slytherins on the way to the beverage cart and get held up for at least ten minutes.

“Well, Ominis? How was it really?” you prod.

He rolls his milky eyes and scoffs. “As good as predicted, that is, not at all. My family has migrated to our country estate for the season and when it wasn’t contentious between us, it was terribly boring.” He shrugs tiredly. “And you? Does the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black have anything to do with your new companion?”

You cringe at the full title. “The social season is months away, and yet they insist that I meet the other pure-blooded hellspawn.”

“Unsurprising that they’d favor a Carrow for you,” Ominis sighs. “I think I’ve spent at least half my holiday in the presence of the Greengrass’ youngest.”

“She’s pretty, at least,” you comment before Ominis raises an eyebrow at you.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You desperately stifle your laughter.

“Besides,” he adds, “she takes great fun in making the house elves compete for sport.”

Wrinkling your nose, you ask, “Compete in what?”

“A better question would be what don’t they compete in?”

The two of you stare at each other in disgust before dropping the subject entirely. You steal a glance at Sebastian, who hasn’t turned the page since he opened his book and you know for a fact that he is an amazingly fast reader.

Ominis gives you a look that sends a shock of dread through you. He always made that face when he was planning something.

“Well, Garreth should be around here somewhere.” Ominis stood, stretching. “I have a book of his and I should pass it off to him now before I end up carrying it around for the rest of the day. I’ll be back shortly.”

You open your mouth to protest but he all but ran out the door. Sighing, you resign yourself to watching the landscape blur past through the window. Though, you note that Sebastian still has yet to turn the page. Part of you wants to say something, anything to fill the silence. Yet, what would you say? ‘I know you killed your uncle not too long ago, but how are you? Had a good holiday in an empty house?’ Or even ‘Remember how I prevented you from getting sent to Azkaban? So we’re good, right?’

Stealing another glance at him with his head nearly buried in the pages, you think about how the hardest part of being in this awkward place with Sebastian is that you don’t feel like you can talk to him. Before, you could sneak into the restricted section of the library and raid goblin camps and sit in the astronomy tower seeing who can invent the silliest new constellation.

Sebastian always won at that. It’s easy for smart people to be funny.

The two of you hadn't exchanged a single owl all holiday. Then, with all these memories in mind, you had to wonder: Did Sebastian miss you as much as you missed him? Of course, you had your bonds with Poppy and Imelda and Natty, but for all intents and purposes, Sebastian was your best friend. Being out of sync with him was like hearing a beloved song in the wrong key.

Even while your family paraded you around, introducing the different sons and daughters of the noble purebloods to you, you only thought of Sebastian. You’d never be fond of any of those bigots anyhow, but each of their flaws were in relation to him. They’d be too short or too tall, another lacking enough freckles, and then one wouldn’t laugh at a joke you made that would’ve had Sebastian rolling on the floor with tears in his eyes. They were all wrong on so many accounts.

Pollux was the best of them, which wasn’t saying much, but he wasn’t nearly as hateful as the rest of them. At the time, while you were missing someone, he was an acceptable stand-in.

Being alone with Sebastian was quickly becoming too suffocating. You stand and rush to the compartment door and in your haste you almost don’t register the dull thud behind you.

When you turn, you see Sebastian pick up the leather tome you forgot you had. He turns it over in his hands, his expression unreadable.

“Oh!” You exclaim nervously, reaching for it. “Thank you, I’m so clumsy.”

“You kept it?” Sebastian said quietly.

You were somewhat offended at the implication. When he turned, you forced yourself to look into his eyes when you replied, “Of course, I did. It was a gift and I wanted to know why you liked it so much.” By the time the words left your mouth, you wondered if you’d said too much.

Sebastian doesn’t look away. His grip on your book loosened and an array of emotions flashed across his face. The circles under his eyes had lightened since you last saw him, but they were still there.

He wordlessly passes the book back to you and your skin tingles where your fingers brush.

“I wanted you to know.” Sebastian broke eye contact, then seemed to catch himself and reestablished it. “I feel like you deserve to know that–”

You jump when the door slides open right next to you. Pollux stands on the other side holding two cups of water. He begins to speak when rush out the door, calling out some excuse about needing the restroom over your shoulder. Never mind that the restroom was in the opposite direction.

Just the next car over, you run into Ominis, who aims the red tip of his wand towards you.

“Why are you so upset? What did Sebastian say to you?” He demands, then his eyes widen in shock. “Did he give that to you?”

You nod, and adjust your grip on the book. “Yes, a while ago. He said he couldn’t wait until the proper holidays. But I haven’t gotten around to reading it. Not that I don’t want to, it’s just that it’s–”

“You’re rambling,” Ominis interrupts. You smile sheepishly and he looks solemn. “He loves that book more than life itself. Did he tell you that?”

The book is leather, with loose bindings and yellowing pages. “No? It’s just some folklore, I do tend to like stories like these,” you reply.

Ominis shakes his head. “It’s full of his old bedtime stories. His mother used to read it to him before she died. It’s one of the last memories of her he has.”

You stare at the book in disbelief, looking back and forth from it to Ominis. “You’re serious? I can’t take something like this! We’re not even on speaking terms!”

Ominis pats your shoulder on his way past you. “Impulsive as he may be, Sebastian doesn’t take this sort of thing lightly. If he gave it to you, he wanted you to have it. Perhaps talk to him about it? Or about anything for that matter. Honestly, the two of you would have significantly less problems if you just talked to each other.”

As he leaves, you stare after him, the book in your hand suddenly much heavier than it was before. Smiling softly, you find an empty compartment - you knew Ominis was lying earlier - and sit down. The smell of the old book is comforting when you turn the first page, and it reminds you of someone who smells just like it. For the first time in weeks, you relax and begin to read.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt

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xxsycamore · 2 months

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Congrats on 1500 followers Mo!!! It's so hard to choose! The prompts are all so cute and there's so many suitors to choose from! Thank you for opening your inbox and I love the variety/range! Even MidCin too! 😱

May I request IkePri Matthias 💘? Thank you!!

Ahhh thank you so much!! 🥺🥺🥺 Happy Valentine's Day! Your request had the perfect timing, haha! ❤

[💘] 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎…

MATTHIAS:

You don't dare open your eyes; at least you refuse to do so until you feel the exquisitely but not over-the-top wrapped chocolate box being accepted from your outstretched hands by those of the man standing in front of you.

The Achroite prince is an enigma to you; a pretty stranger, a visiting prince that everyone talks about. Your imagination had initially painted the infamous Guardian of Laws as someone as cold as the land he inhabits; with a severe gaze and intolerance for anyone that walks under that gaze. As it goes with royalties, his family name gains shape at the tip of your tongue before his given one does. Now you feel like you've met a whole another person; as you stand in front of Matthias; pretty Matthias, with his flaxen hair, with his baby blue eyes that have only ever looked at you with softness from across lavish long-outstretching dining tables and at fancy soirees.

You want to learn more about him; it's now or never - he won't be long, just another few days or so. It's not your fault that his visit aligns with the holiday of love. There's always something in the air that makes people go crazy around this period of the year; old as time, this unstoppable force.

Would Matthias feel it too, despite that where he comes from spring is still far from arriving to awaken these slumbering feelings?

"Be your Valentine? That's right, the Rhodolitian holiday... my apologies, I am not familiar with the customs. I wouldn't want to accept your kind offer without knowing the conditions and thus eventually having to break your heart. Please do tell me what is expected of me."

Guardian of Laws, was it? He does have a penchant for following the rules strictly. You could tell him anything you want to at this point, let him find out on his own about your audacity post-factum when you would already have to say your goodbyes.

"No, I think— I think I would like to accept your gift. Don't tell me. You can understand this however you want to; I couldn't possibly refuse such a kind gesture. It's an honor for me to be your Valentine."

And just like that, rules are damned; and your heart is set ablaze.

∎Steal My Heart!! - xxsycamore’s 1500 followers celebration event| 💌 event masterlist

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri matthias #ikemen prince matthias #matthias asbrink #ikemen prince matthias asbrink #ikemen matthias #steal my heart!! xxsycamore's 1500 followers celebration event

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yuurei20 · 4 months

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Jade and Floyd Info Compilation part 3: the Coral Sea (pt2), Earrings

Jade says he has personally not seen too many ghosts back home, but there are areas that they are told to avoid every year during Halloween.

“Yet every year, a few students inevitably went missing.”

Floyd mentions that one Halloween in middle school he thought he saw Jade in three different places at once and Jade says that he remembers once speaking to someone he thought was Floyd, only for to learn the next day that the conversation never actually happened.

When Silver says the world beneath the sea seems more horrific that he’d imagine Jade says, “It’s not all bad. I would say our Halloween ‘celebrations’ provide a level of thrill you just can’t find elsewhere.”

Floyd agrees, saying, “It’s never a dull holiday.”

We learn about Floyd’s personal experience with ghost pirates during the Spectral Soiree halloween party when he tells a story to Jack about a time in elementary school when he snuck alone into a sunken ship: he was suddenly locked inside a room, and when he looked through a hole in the wall he saw 20 ghost pirates dancing and singing about having captured him.

Floyd says he waited until they opened the door and started fighting them, but he passed through them, since they were ghosts, and they laughed at him.He managed to escape by breaking through a wall, and the moment he was out they all disappeared.

Floyd says he never learned what it was they were after (though they did comment on his eyes and fin and say, “what, oh what, should we plunder first?”).

Jade corroborates Floyd’s story, saying that he disappeared in the morning and didn’t return until night, though Floyd says he thought he was only gone for two hours, so that by the time he returned home Halloween was over and he had been missing an entire day.

When Jack asks if he is lying Floyd responds, “I never said I made it up. You’re the one who said that,” neither confirming nor denying.

Floyd says that despite the fact he and Jade have been together since the moment they were born, he has never seen Jade “full-on bawl.”

Jade tells the story behind his and Floyd’s earrings in a birthday vignette:

“When Floyd and I first started middle school, a sturgeon challenged us to a fight. He had strikingly beautiful scales…so we asked if we could have some if we won…we made them into earrings, and now Floyd and I each wear one.”

Jade says his earring is one of his prized possessions.

Jade explains that sturgeon scales are popular as good luck charms in the Coral Sea because the sturgeon is referenced in the Sea Witch’s best known magical incantations.

(In the Japan release of the animated Little Mermaid movie, Ursula's line of “come winds of the Caspian Sea” during the song where she takes Ariel's voice was changed to “sturgeon of the Caspian Sea," which is possibly what he is referencing.)

#twstjade #twstfloyd #Floyd Leech #Jade Leech #twisted wonderland #jadefacts #twstfacts #floydfacts

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rancidpancakebatter · 1 year

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A Childhood Innocence-[S.H.]

Pairing: childhood!best friend!Steve Harrington x female!reader

Prompt: I saw this post and all I could think of was my babygirl Steve Harrington.

Summary: Steve Harrington was your best friend once upon a time but years apart makes you see him in a new light. Takes place during season 2.

Word Count: 4.4k

Content Warnings: Mentions of blood, Cursing, Toxic Masculinity/"Man Up" Allusions (Mr Harrington is the worst and I want to roast him on a spit)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Steve Harrington and it was certainly fun. In the future, fics with him will be much more fluffy <3

also, only your father's last name is Stokes

(Y/N/N)=Your Nickname

Hawkins, Indiana is where you grew up, but not where you called home. It's where you were born, it's where your parents met, it's where you lived until you were ten.

In the Summer of '77, your family relocated to New York. Your father was the second half of Harrington&Stokes and the company opened a branch in Albany. The Harringtons were much more attached to Hawkins society so that meant "The Stokes" had to leave.

Your parents told you at Sunday dinner. Mr Harrington made a toast to your father and to the company's growth.

"Albany won't know what hit it!"

You remember feeling like the world had tilted on its axis. You gripped your chair tightly worried you might fall off. Your mother noticed your expression and tried to gently explain the change that was happening. Her words fell on deaf ears as you could only focus on the boy across the table.

Stevie Harrington. Your best friend and partner in crime. Born in the same year and attached at the hip. Your moms were best friends and they wanted that for their children as well. So you guys did everything together.

Sometimes he could get on your nerves but you had built a sort of alliance through the years. You both were often shown off as trophies by your parents at their company soirees. Perfect little children, both gifted. One with brains and the other with brawn. It was nice to have someone your age in that stuffy office. Someone who gets it.

You remember your last sleepover. Your room was barren: all furniture and trinkets gone, save a small lamp plugged into an outlet in the wall. Stevie sat next to you in his sleeping bag with a glum look on his face. You're sure yours didn't look much different.

"Are you gonna forget about me?" His eyes were glassy with tears he refused to let fall.

"No, of course not. Besides my parents say we're gonna visit for holidays and stuff, so I'm not gone forever." You weren't sure who you were trying to comfort.

Stevie just sniffled, nodding his head.

The next morning you left and the Harringtons waved your family off in the Uhaul. Both your father and Mr Harrington teased all the "girls" for getting emotional.

Your mothers hugged and cried and promised to call while you and Stevie sat in the back of the open truck, swinging your feet. He held your hand as you cried. He had to keep his composure in front of his father lest he face a lecture.

After your goodbyes, the Harrington family stood on the side of the road looking similar to the picture above their mantle. Only Stevie didn't even bother plastering on a fake smile. Your father climbed in first while your mother held the door for you. You looked back at Stevie and tried to give him your most convincing smile before you scaled your way up to the seat.

"Wait!" You turned to see Stevie tear away from his father's grasp.

He ran straight to you, tackling you in a hug. You felt his tears fall on your shoulder and squeezed him tighter. Eventually, his father called out to him and he let go. He looked back at his father's stern expression and took an unsteady step towards him.

"Here take this." In his hand was his woven red, yellow, and blue bracelet.

You took it from him and risked another quick hug before turning and finally climbing in the truck.

That was almost 7 years ago. You had visited for the first two years, but then slowly Hawkins became distant memories. You saw Stevie's parents when business called for it but between your nice private school, new friends, and ballet classes Stevie took a back seat in your mind.

Returning to Hawkins felt like a dream. It was almost unsettling driving through Mainstreet, like opening a diary you had long since forgotten. Your new house was much bigger than the one you had left behind. It's a unique experience, returning to a place so familiar yet foreign.

The Harringtons were waiting for your family as you pulled into the driveway. The lived just down the street. Apparently, the Harrington family had moved, not long after you, into the "nicer" part of town. Cheers and Shouts rang through the air as your parents spilled out of the Uhaul to greet each other while you and Stevie just stared at each other. Two strangers who used to be friends.

He helped you unpack and set up your furniture all while trying to make awkward small talk. You told him about your life in New York and he tried to catch you up on his. He promised to help you adjust, to be your friend. He kept his word.

Steve had changed a lot in 5 years. You had too, you guess. Like now he goes by Steve.

"Just Steve, not Stevie or anything else."

He's a lot less shy, cocky even. You were surprised to see he's popular, nicknamed "King Steve". He was once a bit of a playboy but now he has a girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, who seems really nice. He doesn't seem to care about grades anymore.

But he was also the same in a lot of ways. He still played sports, both swimming and basketball. He still had the same sense of humour. He still loved watching movies and listening to music. He was still sweet (although he tried to hide that).

What surprised you most though was how he had somehow become a babysitter. He wouldn't tell you much about how this came about. He did fill you in on the "Byer's Incident" though. You thought the tale was a little tall but everyone said the same thing, so you never questioned it.

School was pretty okay. You assimilated with Steve's group of friends. Your classes were easy because of your previous schooling. You joined the cheer squad. All in all, Hawkins wasn't so bad.

That was until October. Hawkins gained another "New Kid" who seemed to have it out for you and Steve. Steve because Billy wanted to be top dog and you because you called him a creep when he hit on you.

Then Nancy broke Steve's heart at a Halloween party. He was reasonably upset and confided in you. You hung out after the party, talking it over. The day after she shattered it, unable to tell Steve she loved him. He was then further disgraced when he found out Nacy had run off with Jonathan.

Steve got it in his head that he should apologise, for what you weren't sure. No matter how many times you laid out the facts to him he wouldn't listen. He told you he had to get her back and left. That was Saturday afternoon. He left and you haven’t seen him since. You were starting to worry.

You figured, at first, that his plan was successful and he was just preoccupied. You waited around all Sunday to hear from him. Your parents were all out of town in Tulsa and you were instructed to look out for each other. You waited out at his house for hours and nothing.

When the sun started to set you decided you would track him down. You riffled through the phonebook and found the number to the Wheeler's house. A sweet woman answered the phone but told you that Steve was never there.

"Nancy's spending the weekend at Ally's, if he came to see her we would have told him the same." She must have sensed your defeat because she offered up some other information.

"You know what? Dustin stopped by. Nance told me that Steve sometimes babysits him. He may know, let me give you the number."

You thanked her and hung up to call the Hendersons. Unfortunately, Ms Henderson didn't know where Steve or Dustin were either. She told you to call the Sinclairs, who told you to call the Byers. You called a few times and there was no answer. A dead end.

You paced Steve’s empty house. Where was he? Did he even come home last night? He was a good driver but sometimes he was stupid, impulsive. What if he crashed his stupid BMW? No, no, someone would have called you. Surely his parents or yours would have told you if they got a call.

After an hour of imagining the worst, you called Mrs Wheeler again and asked for the Byers' address. She warned you about driving up there in the dark and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you would be walking. You locked up the Harrington house and left a note for Steve if he did come back. You didn’t know how long the walk would be but you didn’t care.

You reached the mouth of the Byers’ driveway exhausted but suddenly relieved. There you could see a car you recognised as Steve’s. He was here. You had found him. But then you noticed the obnoxious blue Camaro. What the hell was Billy Hardgrove doing here? That’s when you heard screaming.

“Stop!” “Stop it!” “You’re gonna kill him!”

You started running up the gravel path. The screaming stopped before you reached the door. There’s nothing that could have prepared you for what was on the other side. Hargrove was laying on the floor with a bloody nose, a gaggle of tweens were standing in the living room, one holding up a pair of keys, and Steve was bloodied on the floor.

The kids all stopped and stared at you and you at them. No one moved as your collective brains tried to figure out what was going on. Then you heard a small groan and remembered why you were here.

“Steve!”

You fell to the floor beside him cradling his face. He blinked a few times before you saw a glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Hiiiiiiiiii” You wanted to strangle him for trying to be cute right now.

“Arthur. Steven. Harrington. I am going to kick your ass." He smiled and the blood on his lips leaked onto his teeth.

“Billy beat you to it.” And with that, his head lulled to the side and he passed out.

“Shit, shit, Stevie? Steven!” You looked back at the kids still staring at you.

“I need a damp wash rag and a first aid kit.” They stayed frozen, just looking at each other as if having a silent conversation. “NOW!”

That got them to scramble. They returned with a warm washcloth and a handful of colourful bandaids. You looked at the kid you assumed was Dustin with a raised brow.

“It’s all they had.” You huffed, accepting them and trying your best to clean up his face.

The kids fell back into the kitchen as you cleaned him up. When you were done you did your best to move Steve onto the couch.You walk in interrupting whatever important meeting they were holding in hushed whispers.

“I want answers. Now. What happened?” They looked at each other instead of answering. You were getting real sick of that.

“Hey! Over here! Why the fuck is Stevie knocked out on the couch right now?” They must not have appreciated your tone, because only the small brunette spoke up.

“Who the hell are you?” You watched as they all looked you over.

“I’m his friend, your turn.” The kids did another silent group convo before Dustin shrugged.

“Billy came over looking for Max and Steve went to send him away because Max said he would kill us. Then he saw us in the window and next thing we know the psychopath is throwing open the door and pinning Lucas against a cabinet, making threats. Lucas kneed him the dick to get away and then he was all like ‘You’re dead Sinclair. Dead!’ and then Steve was all like ‘No, you are.’ Then he punched him right in the face. Then he got a few more punches in, it really looked like he was gonna win for a second. But then Billy smashed a plate over his head and Steve fell over on the carpet there. And Billy was on top of him, cackling like a maniac while he punched Steve over and over. We thought he was gonna die, but then Max drugged him and then…well, you’re here now.”

You blinked dumbly for a moment before cursing under your breath.

“We don’t have time for this! We have to go, they need us!” You look at the brunette confused.

“Go? Go where? Who needs you? Who’s we?”

“That’s need-to-know information-” The kid in war paint and a bandana says.

“Yeah, party only. And Steve. And Max too.” Dustin tells you.

You look at them in disbelief. “Stevie isn’t going anywhere right now, and I assume he’s supposed to be babysitting you. You can’t just leave.”

“People are gonna die if we don’t leave, right now!” The brunette's face was red now.

As you looked around you saw nothing but desperation on the faces of the children surrounding you. You were inclined to believe them, as crazy as it seemed. All of your paranoia turned out to be justified, maybe theirs were too.

And that’s how you found yourself driving down the back roads of Hawkins in Billy Hargroves’ car with a bunch of kids you didn’t know and your best friend unconscious in the back seat. Not at all how you thought your night was gonna go. You were on a long stretch of road and the car was very quiet. Was very quiet.

“Can I ask you a question?” You glanced in the rearview mirror at Dustin.

“How about you each get one question and you have to tell me your names? Then I return the favour.” You saw some nods from the backseat passengers.

“I’m Lucas,” said your navigator. “How long have you known Steve?”

“We were childhood best friends until I moved to New York when we were ten. But now I’m back.”

“I’m Max, Why do you call him Stevie? Are you dating?” You scoffed.

“No, no, that’s just what we used to call him when he was a kid.”

“Dustin here, and you guys are asking the wrong questions. Is Steve’s full name Arthur Steven Harrington?”

“Yeah, he’s named after his dad.” Dustin let out a laugh.

“Oh my god, King Steve has the dorkiest name ever! Wait, his name is Arthur. He’s King Arthur! That’s kinda cool, actually. Why doesn’t he go by that?”

You huffed, “Dunno and I said one question.”

Dustin’s face fell into a grimace. You glazed back at the brunette who sat silently staring out the window. He seemed especially stressed. You felt you had done a good job of calming down the kids, even if it was at Steve’s expense.

“And what’s your name?” He remained silent until Dustin reached over to smack his arm. Dustin gave him a look of raised brows and that seemed to do the trick.

“I’m Mike.” His answer was short and clipped.

“Nice to meet you, Mike.” Your attempt at warmth did nothing to soften him up.

“Right, my turn then. I’m (Y/N). Now Lucas, where are we going? Like more than directions and more than some farm.” He seemed to hesitate before answering.

“Look, this is all really dangerous. It’s better not to get involved. The less you know the better.” You were confused by his sombre tone. What did a twelve-year-old know about life and death?

“Well, I hate to tell you but I am involved. I’m driving you all to this dangerous location, so maybe you could give me an idea of what I’m getting myself into?” He let out a sigh before explaining you were going underground to set fire to a hive mind running through all of Hawkins.

“Right, of course. That’s uh…okay, sure. Max, What’s connected to this hive mind underneath Hawkins?”

“We’re not sure. We know there’s demidogs and whatever’s inside Will right now. I don’t really get it myself, I just joined this circus today.” Jesus, every layer of this just added more confusion.

“Wait, Will? As in Will Byers, Jonathan’s little brother? There’s something inside him?” Dustin scoffed.

“What happened to one question?” You let out a small laugh.

“Alright, alright. Dustin, What’s inside of Will?” It blows your mind how longwinded this kid is. But you remember Steve saying something about that. He gave the whole rundown. About how Will was kidnapped by an interdimensional creature and taken to the “upsidedown” and how he’s been seeing the “Mind Flayer” and how it got to him.

“Wow, okay. Mike, What’s the plan?” He glared at you from the rearview window.

“You don’t believe us.” You felt the venom he spit at you and you weren’t sure what to do with it.

“Mike it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just this is a lot. Imagine you’re me for a second. You go out looking for your friend and then before you know it a bunch of twelve-year-old kids are telling you the most boring town in the world is actually the epicentre of some evil dimension.” You hoped he would understand and maybe stop being so angsty towards you.

“We're not kids! And we’re not twelve, we’re thirteen!” You apologised for the assumption while Mike continued to stare you down. You thought that was all you were gonna hear from him, but he must have decided you were genuine.

“Our friends are trying to close the portal right now. The demidogs are gonna be swarming them, trying to protect it. The plan is to get to the centre of the hive mind and draw them away, clear a path for them.” You huffed out a sigh, soaking in his words.

“So, we’re the bait. Got it.”

The car fell into silence once again, the roar of the speeding engine filling the cab. You ask Lucas to give you directions again. Not because you need them, you’ve been to Merrill’s Pumpkin Patch plenty of times, but just to hear something. You needed a distraction from your spiralling mind and the nerves you felt eating at the lining of your stomach.

“What’s going on?”

For a second you forget that you’re driving dangerously fast in a car you don’t know well without a license, and you whip your head around to look at Steve, relieved that he finally woke up. He sees your face and begins to panic and that makes you panic too. More so than you were before. You only turn back around when you hear Lucas yell at you to look out. You swerve narrowly avoiding a mailbox. Everyone starts screaming at each other and you snap.

“Everybody shut the hell up!” Your head is starting to hurt, your brain being stretched to its thinnest in the last six hours.

“Oh, wait,” Lucas says catching your attention. “That’s Mount Sinai. Make a left. Make a Left!”

You pull hard on the steering wheel, coming off the road a bit before correcting yourself. Steve has not stopped yelling at you to both slow down and stop the car. You do neither as you continue to focus on Lucas’s voice.

It’s not long until you’re crashing through the familiar “Merrill’s Farm” sign. You park the car and everyone starts spilling out. You take a deep breath as you hear Steve start to try to wrangle the kids. You hear Dustin trying to talk him down and decide to help.

“Now, I know you promised Nance that you would keep us safe. So, keep us safe.” Steve begrudgingly takes the bag that Dustin hands him and Dustin makes his way to the hole.

Only as he’s walking away does Steve notice you rummaging through the trunk for your own gear. He puts his hand out in front of you to stop you.

“Woah, Woah, Woah, you’re not going down there.” You push his hand away from you and grab your bag.

“Uh, yes, I am.” He stands up straighter now, squaring up to you.

“Like hell you are! You don’t even know what’s going on here, okay? This is fucking dangerous and I don’t want you anywhere near it.” You fix him a steeled gaze he hasn’t seen since you were kids.

“Listen to me, Steven. They filled me in on the way here. As confident as they are that we’ll survive, both of us know there’s a really good chance none of us make it out. Someone needs to watch over those kids and only one of us here isn’t suffering from a possible concussion.” You move to grab the Axe you brought.

“(Y/n)-”

“Look, you made a promise right? To keep them safe? Well, I did too, and I’m not about to let you walk through a hell dimension without me there to keep you safe.” You push past him, putting on your chemistry goggles and tying the T-shirt you found around your nose and mouth.

“Hey, (Y/n), wait.” Steve goes to grab the bridge of his nose before wincing. “Let me go first so I can spot you.”

That night he drove you home. The car ride was quiet. He pulled into his driveway and neither of you moved to get out. Both of you were thinking about everything that happened.

“(Y/N/N), are you okay?” You blinked a few times before answering.

“Yeah, I think so.” You looked over to Steve and you were reminded of the many years you spent apart. He’s so grown up now, no longer little Stevie. You didn’t realize you were staring until Steve looked away.

“I’m so sorry.” He was looking straight ahead; his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You never should have gotten caught up in all of this.”

“Steve it’s okay-”

“No, Don’t. Don’t you dare say it’s okay. None of this fucking okay. You risked your life today. We could have died. You…you were looking for me and that’s my fault. And now your life will never be the same.” You rolled his words around in your mind, polishing them like a pearl.

“It was my choice. I could have left several times, but I didn’t.” He scoffed at your words but you cut him off before he could retaliate.

“If it were the other way around, what would you have done?” Steve’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.

“Don’t blame yourself, okay?” He shook his head back and forth as if trying to shake your reassurances out of his ears. You pulled on you your jacket sleeve and placed your wrist in front of his face.

“Do you see this?” His gaze fell onto a band of braided thread, the colours muted after the years.

“You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. And that’s my choice.” His grip on the steering wheel loosened. One hand fell to his lap while the other reached out to touch the bracelet in disbelief.

“You still have this thing?” You just nodded your head as his fingers traced the skin of your wrist.

In the glint of the streetlights, you saw his eyes get glassy just like all those years ago in your childhood bedroom. You reached across the console and did your best to wrap him in your arms. It took a moment for him to respond but when he did he held you tight. This hug lasted much longer than the one you received before disappearing behind the horizon in a Uhaul.

When he pulled away he didn’t go far. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist and yours stayed around his neck. The expression on his face wasn’t one you recognised. His eyes were swirling with something, the chocolate brown of his irises deeply saturated.

You never really looked at Steve before now. His face had matured a lot since you last saw him. His features are soft yet distinct. The moon cradles his face and you think he looks almost holy, a guardian angel damned only to protect but never protected. He has freckles of different sizes on his cheeks that trail down the side of his neck, the only flaws you can find. Even when beaten up he was beautiful.

Steve was having a revelation of his own, several really. He knew you pretty, that wasn’t new. He also knew that he loved you. But now he can’t help but think of his conversation with Dustin earlier that day. Electricity was singing in the space between you. Had it always been there?

That day behind the school gym he had called Jonathan Nance’s “other boyfriend”. She just as quickly called you his “other girlfriend” and told him he was just as guilty. He brushed it off at the time thinking it was nothing more than deflection, but now he wasn’t sure. He told himself that you guys were only so close because of your history, because he promised to be there. But these past few months he’s been relearning you. Your favourite snacks, songs, shoes, all of those things had changed and he loved getting to know you again. Now he sat in his car with you a breath away and he had never wanted to kiss you more.

You had both been staring at each other for a while now, too close for too long for it to be acceptable between friends. You felt his hand move from your waist to hold your face and for a second you forgot to breathe. Your brain was doing pirouettes and grande jetés in your brittle skull. You watch his caramel eyes drift from yours to your lips. His thumb is tracing small circles on your cheek and you feel something akin to fire; pulsing flames dancing between you. He starts to lean in and you panic.

“Stevie are you sure?” He looks at you with furrowed brows.

“Do you not want this?” Your emotions were fogging your brain, this was your last shred of sense he was prodding at.

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice was smaller than he had every heard. He paused, thinking through his answer.

“No, I’m not but I think we should try.” And that was enough for you.

Tag List: @Defrosting-strawberries, @fanfics-intead-of-depression, @heejinw0rld, @jedisstark, @Qualitybeliverflower, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

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personaparadise · 5 months

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Festive yukamitsu 💕🎄

*this isn’t an edit or a screenshot, this is 3D fanart*

#persona #persona 3 #yukari takeba #mitsuru kirijo #yukamitsu #p3 #render #shipping #holiday soiree

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differenteagletragedy · 4 months

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may I request some headcanons for an MC with each of the OL1 boys who bakes/cooks waaaaaay too much (example: instead of like... 1-2 dozen cookies, they make like... 6-8 and often)

-- You know who's going to get a little thicker around the waist? Baxter.

-- I was going to say Cove, we'll get to him in a second but you KNOW that boy is going to be putting those treats away. But the thing with Baxter is that he's never really been this close to anyone before, and if you are in a relationship and have agreed to move in with him and you're just in the kitchen, baking your heart out, and there are all these goodies that you made with your own two hands and they are there in the home you share and and and

-- He is going to be so happy. He normally wouldn't eat sweets like that, like he's not going to grab a cake to eat at home or whatever, but yeah, he'll grab a cookie. Oh wait, those are really good, maybe he'll grab another. He can take some to work with him? Cool, thanks!

-- Cove is in heaven, actual heaven. How did he get so lucky. Why are you so perfect. What did he even do to live in this state of constant bliss.

-- It doesn't matter how many times he's had your baking, it's always like the first time! So many praises, so much thanks, just gushing and gushing over it.

-- If you make something just for him, he might cry. He's so tender, and any time to take the time to do something for him like that makes him feel so many feelings.

-- Derek doesn't have much of a sweet tooth and he is careful about his diet, but not so careful that he wouldn't indulge if you made something special.

-- You know what would be fun though? If you taught him how to bake! Think about it, trips to the grocery store (grocery store trips are so fun with Derek and such an occasion, he makes everything special and fun and you have memories about grocery shopping. How great is he that he makes something so mundane into a fun little thing you look forward to every week?). Quality time in the kitchen. Derek in an apron (he likes an apron).

-- If you need, you can send some of the extras to his parents' place. Nico loves them!

-- Oh but speaking of special memories, baking was obviously a big thing with Baxter, so every time he sees you baking, his heart gets to fluttering. He thinks about making the cupcakes that first summer together and about making the cake before Jude and Scott's wedding. Just seeing you mixing something up is enough to get him to thinking about how lucky he is that you crossed his path not once but twice (or three whole times if you met at that summer soiree).

You: *turning off your mixer, looking over at Baxter* You ok?

Baxter: *sitting at the counter staring at you, resting his chin on his hand with actual hearts in his eyes* I'm wonderful, thank you for asking.

-- I know you said cooking too but we kind of ran off with the baking huh

-- Derek is totally fine with the extra cooking. Of course he'd be a meal prep bro, you already know. Don't worry about this, you just cook and he'll take care of the leftovers.

-- If there are leftovers, because our guys is going to have to eat a lot to maintain those muscles.

-- If you cook something to take over to a holiday or just a get together with his family, he's going to be so proud. Making his parents try it, watching their reactions. He's as smug when they like it as if he'd made it himself lol.

-- Baxter likes to cook too! You can cook together, and that come become a nice little tradition too. He's not great at baking, so he'll leave that to you, but you can make dinner together every night and talk about your days, and how nice is that? When there's extra, he can take leftovers to work for lunch the next day (or for the next few days if he really likes it).

-- But he will tease you relentlessly, like "Darling, you are aware there are two of us and you are cooking enough to feed an army, yes?"

-- He loves it though, you can tell him to kick rocks if you want.

-- Cove is still crying. This baby loves to eat lol, you are so good to him!

-- Oh if you are Cliff's MC, he's also loving this. He's another one that likes to cook, but he's used to cooking for everyone else, so if you take over, at least every once in a while, he's going to feel so pampered and cherished.

-- He will gladly eat your cooking for every meal for the rest of his life. Please be in charge of baking his birthday cake every year too. He will not turn down a batch of cookies. He won't gorge himself like his son lol but he looooves a little handmade treat!

-- Cliff hasn't been in a good healthy relationship literally ever, so just having a solid partner who he loves more than anything, who loves him just as much and to have such normal homey stuff going on as you baking a batch or two (or ten) of cookies while you're spending time together in your home? Amazing, perfect, best feeling there ever was.

#our life beginnings and always #cove holden #derek suarez #baxter ward #cliff holden

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wardenparker · 4 months

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At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria.

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak.

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo.

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead.

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better.

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light.

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach.

Tonight you fear it might be you.

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way.

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you.

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky.

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man.

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo

Alan Tags: @nrthernsong @inept-the-magnificent @trulybetty @justcallmebirdie @jefferson-in-the-tardis @thesluttylittleknee @munsonownsmyass @laurfilijames @hudson-bay-girl @ruflirtingwithme @rhoorl @scorpio-marionette @absurdthirst

My Masterlist!

#Charlie Hunnam #Charlie Hunnam character fanfiction #Charlie Hunnam fanfic #Alan McMichael #Alan McMichael x you #Alan McMichael x reader #Alan McMichael x female reader #Alan McMichael x f!reader #Crimson Peak #period romance #just some flirts #I don't even know what I'm doing

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valiantstarlights · 10 months

Text

[Wedding Planner AU] Part 3: Wedding Dress

Part 2: On the Restaurant's Balcony Area

I would like to thank @seiya-starsniper for reminding me about this AU, and making me realize that I had not, in fact, posted this chapter yet. 🙇‍♀️ It has literally been sitting (90% completed) in my labyrinth of notes since June 25. 😂

CW: just the usual 28 angsty stab wounds 😊

Being inside the Endless mansion is like being in a tomb.

Not that Hob has been to any tombs, since that would require a fuckton of money as well as the absence of common sense, but the air inside was noticeably heavier. No doubt the tangible weight of generations' worth of expectations and disappointments.

He remembers Dream not wanting to go back home for the holidays. How he took his sweet time packing, and even then he only packed light: a toothbrush bought from the convenience store near the dorms, a bottle of black nail polish, and snack sized chocolate bars enough to last him a month. He didn't take any of Hob's clothing with him, even though he wore them almost exclusively during the school year. He claimed that it was because they might get taken from him, but Hob suspected that it was because Dream had been ashamed of him.

Their eventual break up had proven him right.

"Mr. Gadling!"

Hob turns towards the pool area and spots Ms. Muse, wearing a bright yellow sundress and looking positively radiant. Meanwhile, Hob is a frazzled mess, having come straight from Constantine's main office all the way across London, making nonstop calls to catering companies in his car about the billion and one hors d'oeuvres Mrs. Muse and Mrs. Endless wanted.

"Ms. Muse," he greets amiably, and notices the distinct lack of her groom-to-be, as well as their overbearing mothers. "Is everyone else running late?"

"Oh, no," Ms. Muse says, and gestures to the comfortably padded wicker chair beside her. It seems that this meeting will be taking place in a less formal setting. Hob wonders if it is for his benefit or hers. Does he look as sleep-deprived as he felt? "Mother and Mrs. Endless are attending a soiree in Berlin, and Dream is working inside." She points to the side, where a dark figure is seated behind a desk, typing on his laptop, face set in concentration and earplugs in.

Hob remembers that face well. Dream is deep in 'the zone,' as they called it, back in the day. Hob remembers bringing him tea once in the early days, only to find it cold and untouched, and Dream apologetic afterwards. He had insisted on drinking the cold tea, but Hob took pity on him and drank the tea himself. After that incident, he would only make tea for Dream when he surfaces from his 'zone,' and it's a system that worked for them.

He wonders if Ms. Muse knows that, then mentally slaps himself. Of course she does. She's Dream's goddamn fiancee.

And more to the point, she would know Dream better than him, being in the same social class. They probably attended the same rich people parties all the time since they were kids.

Hob should just get this over with and leave. He still has more than three dozen calls he has to make before the end of the day, and an appearance to make at one of the junior wedding planners' small wedding receptions, to make sure that everything goes well, and to serve as back-up in case something goes wrong.

It's barely midday and he's already so fucking tired.

He takes out a stack of bridal magazines, since Ms. Muse expressed in her email that she prefers to flip through magazines rather than browse pinterest boards. Hob went the extra mile and got a couple of good vintage issues as well, in case she prefers the style of older gowns.

"Here," he says, and slides the stack towards the middle of the glass-topped wicker table between them. "Please feel free to browse and point out anything you like, even if it's just a color palette from a certain gown, the style of the lace, or the hairstyle of the model. We'll narrow down your choices later, and I will write and note down all your preferences. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me."

Ms. Muse dimples at him and excitedly flips through the topmost magazine on the stack. "Thank you for doing this, Mr. Gadling," she says. "I know it's not easy, what with our mothers' extravagant ideas, but you still manage to do everything so well and so professionally. I'm glad you're our wedding planner."

"Of course," Hob says, returning her smile, but doesn't say anything more. Lord knows what would happen if he were to speak his mind and tell her that all he's thinking about lately is foisting off the Muse-Endless wedding to someone else, preferably to someone who doesn't have a romantic history with the groom-to-be.

Hob notices that Ms. Muse is different when her mother and Mrs. Endless are not around. She looks more at ease, and instead of holding herself up so rigidly, she was slouching a little, one elbow on the table and one leg tucked neatly underneath the other.

She has told Hob that she definitely wants to have a simple, Grecian style gown made with light fabrics, and maybe a short train. She wonders if she could have a wedding gown that ombres from white to a dark orange at the bottom, while her bridesmaids (Dream's sisters and her own), could wear sunset-colored gowns to a style of their choosing that would fit their body type well.

"Delirium would definitely want to wear something like this, but have it ombre from a dark pink at the top to white at the bottom," she says, pointing to a Cinderella-style gown.

"Is Ms. Delirium Endless your maid of honor?" Hob asks as he notes down the page where the Cinderella gown is located, as well as the title and the issue number of the magazine where Ms. Muse found it.

Ms. Muse nods absently, waiting for Hob to finish his notes before flipping the page. "We have been friends since we were toddlers. I remember getting into so much trouble when she dared me to dye my hair bright green."

Hob chuckles. "I'm sure you looked like a very beautiful forest nymph."

"That's certainly one way of looking at it," Ms. Muse says, smiling. "But now I hope to repay the favor by making Deli look like a very beautiful radish."

Hob hums and reviews his previous notes. "Seeing as all the gowns of the wedding party are to be sunset-themed, I'm sure your mothers wouldn't take issue with it, if that's something that you're worried about."

Ms. Muse sighs happily. "I'm so glad we see eye to eye, Mr. Gadling. Oh, but please don't tell anyone about the secret meaning of Deli's dress!"

Hob smiles at her, this beautiful woman with a sunny personality. No wonder Dream fell hard for her. "Your secret is safe with me, Ms. Muse."

They talk about colors and fabrics some more, as well as the style of wedding veil that would pair well with her wedding gown. Ms. Muse, Hob is coming to find, is a very reasonable woman, very much unlike her own mother.

He just knows that she will be a good wife to Dream.

Hob had just finished answering her question about the feasibility of long wedding veils at a beach wedding and how detailed their embroideries can be, when Dream comes out from his office space and walks up towards them.

"Dream!" Ms. Muse says cheerily. "Are you going to be joining us after all?"

Hob makes sure the lines of his body are relaxed as he writes some more detailed notes, so he has the excuse of not looking up and greeting Ms. Muse's groom-to-be.

"No," Dream says. "I'm just taking a short break to get some tea. I still have emails to reply to and a meeting to oversee."

Ms. Muse nods understandingly. They really are a good match. Were it Hob in her place, he would have pestered Dream to eat something as well, and maybe rest his eyes and mind and hands for at least ten minutes. He would have asked Dream to lie down on his lap and stroke his hair until he falls asleep, then wake him up with kisses once his low-volume alarm beeps.

No wonder Dream got tired of him.

"That's too bad," Ms. Muse says. "But no worries! I'm having fun looking through the bridal magazines Mr. Gadling brought. Maybe we could even decide on what flowers to put in the wedding bouquet today."

"Sounds wonderful," Dream says, and he does sound like he means it. Hob wishes he could excuse himself without drawing any attention. He's sure Dream wouldn't even notice or care if he disappeared, but it would be rude to Ms. Muse if he just left.

Maybe he should just leave anyway so the bride and groom could have some time for themselves. Let them unwind for a bit and openly show each other affection without an unwanted audience.

"It is," Ms. Muse says brightly. "I was nervous because the task seemed daunting, but Mr. Gadling has been super helpful. He really knows his stuff, and he listens well and is very kind."

A pause. "He is," Dream says, and there's something in his voice that sounds unsure and vulnerable and maybe even a little hopeful. Hob quickly squashes that treacherous thought. Dream is about to get married. He would do well to remember that.

"Oh, hold on," Ms. Muse says, standing up. "Let me ring someone for tea. We could all use some, anyway."

She walks away, her yellow sundress waving like a flag behind her.

Hob does not have to look at Dream to know that he is staring after her.

Hob says nothing. He has nothing to say. Not now, when he is just the help.

"Thank you for assisting Calliope," Dream tells him, when Ms. Muse has disappeared from view.

"Of course, sir," Hob tells his notes, his tone bland and professional. "It's what I'm here for, you know. Gotta be helpful somehow or I'm gonna get fired."

The last part comes out bitter, and Hob doesn't know why he thought to say that. He should have just stopped talking after the first sentence and left Dream to navigate the awkward silence alone.

"Our mothers wouldn't dare to fire you," Dream says quietly. Gently. Hob grits his teeth as subtly as he could. "You are the best in your field. They would be hard-pressed to find someone better."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Mr. Endless," Hob says airily, and this time he looks straight at Dream when he says it. Dream looks taken aback when their eyes meet. Hob wonders if he could see the pain of the last ten, fifteen years in Hob's eyes. Hob hopes he does. Hob hopes he feels every last fucking glass shard buried in Hob's heart, still bleeding to this day. "I'm sure they would immediately find someone better to replace me with."

Dream looks like Hob just slapped him.

For a moment, there is pure devastation on his beautiful face. Lips slightly parted as if feeling the need to explain, eyes wide and wet, brows furrowed in hurt.

Hob has never seen him look like this before. They had never argued badly enough in the past to the point where Dream would be brought to tears.

Hob almost stands. Almost reaches for Dream to hold him in his arms, and allow him to hide his face against his neck while Hob pets his hair softly and soothingly, shushing him and murmuring against his ear that he doesn't mean it. That he's just hurt. That the last thing he wants is to hurt Dream.

But before Hob could do anything, decide whether or not to comfort the lost love of his life, Dream's mask reforms, and between one blink and the next, he is once again the picture of neutrality. "As you say, Mr. Gadling."

Hob opens his mouth. To apologize, perhaps, or to ask Dream how long it took him to move on.

'How long before you and Ms. Muse got together after we broke up?'

'How long before I'm only just another bad memory from the past?'

'How long did you really love me?'

'Were you actually in love with me, or was I just another way for you to rebel against your parents?'

He closes his mouth and says nothing. And for a few moments, he and Dream just looked at each other, Hob cataloguing all the ways Dream is still the same, wondering if he could have maybe done something differently that would have made Dream stay with him. Or maybe their relationship has always been destined to fail. They come from different backgrounds, after all, and Hob should have known to listen to fairytales.

Princes do not end up with paupers. They end up with beautiful princesses and live their lives happily ever after.

The only indicator of Dream's tumultuous thoughts is him raising his hand and almost unconsciously fidgeting with the ruby pendant of his necklace.

As soon as Hob's eyes drop to it, though, Dream stops entirely and places his hands on his sides, like nothing happened.

They were startled out of their silent staring when the door to the side opens, and Ms. Muse comes out like she brought the sun with her, as well as a fancy metal tea tray with three cups and a kettle that would not be out of place in 18th century Versailles.

"Mrs. Jones would be by in a bit with afternoon tea snacks," Ms. Muse says, just as Hob rises from his seat to take her burden from her. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Gadling. See how kind he is, Dream?"

"I have to return to my work," Dream says, and plucks the black teacup and its accompanying saucer right out of the tray that Hob is still holding.

Like Hob is just another goddamn servant employed by the Endless.

Then again, Hob thinks sardonically, that's exactly what he is, isn't he?

It's actually so nice to finally see that this is how Dream really sees him. Now Hob won't have to guess just what he is to him. What he always was.

Ms. Muse shrugs. "Sure. But don't work too hard, okay? Death will have my head if she finds out you're not taking proper breaks."

Dream visibly softens at the mention of his favorite sister. "Of course. I will see you later, Calliope." A colder glance at Hob. "Mr. Gadling."

Hob fights the urge not to bow mockingly. He settles for his default professional mode. Dream has just shown him where his proper place is, and Hob would do well to stay in it. "Mr. Endless."

Without another word, or indeed, another glance at Hob, Dream turns and walks away.

#wedding planner au #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs #note to self: for everyone's sake please title your notes properly 😭🙏#oh and (hugs everyone) sorry for the angst #i hope you guys enjoyed it though 🖤

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xienst · 1 year

Text

MASTERLIST of all ! era EVENT stories

reading all enstars! stories is... a lot. what if I want to read just the event stories?

[summaries will be added to the complete stories masterpost]

meanwhile, links to translations of !event stories here u go:

from spring:

THE FLAG'S HONOUR (fine) - spring2

EASTER NIGHT (switch, valkyrie) - spring3

BOOK FAIR (knights, switch) - spring12

RESURRECTION SUNDAY (undead, akatsuki, 2wink) - spring14

PURPLE WISTERIAS OF MAY (mam, rst, r, k) - spring 15

HAPPY SPRING (ra*bits) - spring 23

BAND ENSEMBLE (trickstar, undead, ritsu) - spring 24

SCHOOL FESTIVAL 4 (rst, kk, kh, tm, wh) - spring 31

from summer:

SHINSENGUMI (akatsuki, trickstar) - summer 8

AMUSEMENT LIVE (2wink, ra*bits) - summer 10

MAGNOLIA (fine) [unavailable] - summer 17

SUNSHOWER FESTA (switch, 2wink) - summer 18

RAINBOW (g&a) - summer 19

POOL (Tomoya, switch, trickstar) - summer 22

SUMMER LIVE (eve, trickstar) - summer 35

STARS * GLITTERS OF THE PRISM- (crossover) - summer 39

SUMMER NIGHT FESTIVAL - (akatsuki, ra*bits) - summer 42

BEACH MATCH (rst, 2wink) - summer 47

PLEIADES NIGHT (switch, trickstar, ra*bits) - summer 52

AQUARIUM - (rst, undead) summer 54

CHEVAL LIVE - (knights, valkyrie) summer 55

from autumn:

TSUKIMI LIVE (akatsuki, ra*bits) - autumn 2

REVENGE MATCH (eden, trickstar, fine) - autumn 7

MUSIC FESTA (rst, fine, izumi) - autumn 11

FLEUR DE LIS (knights, reikao, mam) - autumn 13

ROCKIN STAR (undead, trickstar)- autumn 17

MAGICAL HALLOWEEN - autumn 21

SWEET HALLOWEEN (rst, ra*bits, mam) - autumn 22

HORROR NIGHT HALLOWEEN (knights, trickstar) - autumn 23

SCHOOL TRIP (fine, knights, trickstar)- autumn 24

BLOOD BANQUET (undead, switch, valkyrie) - autumn 25

HOSPITAL VISIT (rst, mam, kh, ns) - autumn 26

TOYLAND (fine, kh, sk, ha) -autumn 32

SOIREE IN THE CANARY HALL- (knights, mam, nn, ko) autumn 33

from winter:

CATS AND THE CAMELIA TRAIN (akatsuki, knights) - winter 5

CHRISTMAS LIVE (rst, 2wink) - winter 9

STAR FESTIVAL (knights, valkyrie) - winter 12

JINGLE BELLS - (fine, trickstar, ta, mt) winter 13

ROMANTIC COMEDY (undead, ra*bits) - winter 14

HOLIDAY PARTY (undead, rst) - winter 15

SS (trickstar, eden) - winter 18

DREAM TRAVEL (fine, mt, hs, kh, ss)- winter 30

FORTUNE DREAM BANQUET (knights, switch) - winter 31

SAGA (trickstar, eden) [ongoing] - winter 32

DINER LIVE - winter 33

SETSUBUN FESTIVAL (2wink, rei, mi, kh, rs, ns, sh) - winter 34

SWEET AND BITTER (knights, ra*bits) - winter 42

DECORATE (undead, akatsuki) - winter 43

HOT AND ELEGANT CHOCOLATE FES (rst, valkyrie) - winter 44

WONDER GAME (switch, eden) - winter 49

next year spring

CLASS LIVE (class 2a + tsumugi + yuta)

HUMAN COMEDY (valkyrie + nn, kk, ra*bits)

REQUIEM (knights)

EP: LINK (fine, trickstar)

OPERETTA (undead)

note: labels of "<season><number>" are according to my masterpost of summaries,, I apologise for the messiness of the labels -> will create a spreadsheet for this one day

also i dont own any of these translations i did not make them (most links are to the wiki via the wayback machine, but some are to current translations on tumblr that are still ongoing)

#also i have not proofread this i will change things up as i summarise when i spot mistakes lol #entire enstars! summary #enstars #ensemble stars #enstars textpost #this is mostly for my reference for when i summarise #event stories

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slippinninque · 5 months

Text

A Lil' Bit Special

The upcoming holiday has you feeling brave, so you decide to take a change.

Fontaine x black reader

warnings: long-fic, bad attempts at seduction and flirting, cursing, smoking, rambling and my horrid attempts at writing humor lol

::::

It was one of those days in autumn where it was just pleasant enough to hang outside. The sun was strong through the few clouds that grazed the sky, the breeze more cool than crisp.

Stacy decided that you needed to "get out more" so it somehow led to her low-key kidnapping you. Apparently there was a kickback happening with "a few friends already coming".

"It'll get you all ready to play hostess later on, trust me." Stacy offered as an excuse to your rolling eyes.

Wasn't long before you were parked, you two leaving the car to meet up with the rest of your girls.

It definitely became worth it when you saw a familiar Gran Prix not too far away.

You were playing the long game, but this was a beautiful opportunity.

To the knowing smiles and grins from your friends, you pardoned yourself to begin walking over to Fontaine's car.

You faltered when you were close enough to see him speaking with someone bent through the passenger window.

You weren't brave enough to have an audience. Another time then.

'Another time, then.' You thought, turning to retreat to retreat when you heard the soft bop of a horn.

Fontaine crooked his finger for you to come over and you huffed to hide the smile creeping on your face as you did.

"Huh, so you're honking at me like I'm some sort of peasant?"

"My bad, Lil'Bit, my bad. It looked like you wanted to talk to me about somethin'."

Your face warmed at his nickname for you, "I do, actually! Real quick, I know you're busy an' all that. I didn't want to interrupt."

Fontaine smacked his lips and gestured to the passenger seat.

"C'mon in here and talk to me, don' be standing out there."

Your heart squealed but you played it cool, "Can't do that--I'm hangin' with the ladies right now, but I do need you to say 'yes' to something."

He huffed a laugh, "And what's that?"

You leaned into the car a bit through the driver side window, propped onto your elbows and wore your best smile.

"I'm here to invite you to my Friendsgiving soiree later this week."

Fontaine paused, eyes going a bit narrow, "Friendsgiving?"

The butterflies returned under his scrutiny but you busied yourself, reaching out to run your index finger along the ridges of his steering wheel's grip. As far as your finger could reach before going back tracking on the opposite side.

"I don't have any family here, so I host one for all my people that can come through. ."

When you looked up, you saw he was watching your fidgeting with rapt attention.

"I would like to see you there. Big Moss too, if you can bring 'em. Anyone really--there's going to be enough to feed an army."

This was a bit of a risk for you. After all, he could consider you more of a familiar customer if anything.

You could have the vibes all wrong. Misread the looks, the small but thoughtful gestures. The few but pleasurable conversations they've had thus far...

You watched his eyes slide from your fingers and up to meet yours, the most expressive pair of eyes you've seen, your favorite part of that man.

"Yes."

You couldn't help but to smile. You were down bad but if there was a chance that Fontaine would like to join you, fuck it. You wanted to burrow in that.

"Wonderful! Bring anything you like, but it's not mandatory or nothing." You spotted a dude walking up through the passenger side window and straightened.

"I'll see you later, 'Taine, yeah?"

He nodded and when you turned to make your way to your friends, you could feel them warming your back.

::::

You spent the rest of the week getting ready to host. You did all of the prep and cooking of the essential sides, just in case plans changed. You would rather have too much food to end up giving away rather than too little to share.

When thanksgiving finally rolled around, you allowed yourself to get swept up in the festivities.

There was a lot of food. Friends who couldn't make it sent forward a dish to be shared the next day. Coworkers who came through to get something on their stomachs before going to the company's booze-only party.

Neighbors who lingered and played a few hands of Spades, bringing fruits and plants as gifts. There were drinks and smoke flowing with the easy togetherness that you were grateful for.

You were in a bit of a difficult standing with your family at the moment. A lot of silences, hesitant texts. It just needed some work, when you were ready to do it. Until then, you still reached out to the fam to let them know you were still thinking of them.

The evening came and your core crew began dispersing. You felt floating and full yourself, tipsy from the good time you've been having since the afternoon. Your apron was filled with messes and you long ago slipped on your slippers.

While farewells happened in the front room, you went into the kitchen to make a few to-go plates and map out exactly how all the left over were going to fit in your fridge.

"You wasn't fuckin' around, Lil'Bit."

Startling, you looked over your shoulder and saw Fontaine standing there with a few bags in hand. You felt your face flame, knowing how much of a mess you looked.

"You're here already?" You checked the time on your phone, "Of course you are, you'd said you'd be a little later. Sit, sit. I'll make you a plate."

"I ain't trippin', I can make it--"

You turned, walking right up to Fontaine and for some reason found yourself grabbing the zipper of his jacket.

"I'm glad you're here, Fontaine. Show me what you brought while I make your plate."

Silently, Fontaine put the bags on the island. Putting the assorted fruit platter and wine bottle onto the kitchen counter.

Bless his heart, he brought paper plates and plastic silverware too. You cooed, grabbing the big count of assorted utensils and immediately tearing into them.

Before long, Fontaine was leaning against your fridge with a hefty plate as you returned to the to-go plates.

"Is 'Moss with you?" You just remembered with a jolt.

Fontaine hummed a positive, "Out there talkin' to Stacy."

You laughed a bit, making an extra plate. With the finished plates, you went to the front room to pass them out. You greeted Big Moss and wished safe travels to your departing friends.

There was only Big Moss, Stacy, yourself, Fontaine. You should have stayed in the front to get Stacey to put away her pretty little eyes, less she get involved in the whirlwind of Big Moss and his baby mama--but...

You switched on your radio and lowered it, asking them if they needed anything.

"Girl, sit yo' tail down." Stacy admonished, shuffling a deck of cards while Moss poured something for them both, "You've been standing all day. Eat something too, while you're at it!"

"Eek, alright, you can't fuss at me in my house!"

Stacy made a show of narrowing her eyes and you hightailed it out of there. You took one of the stools with you, plopping it next to the one already pulled to the island.

Fontaine was rolling a blunt next to his plate. When you finally took a seat, you took a deep sigh. The kitchen would have to wait until morning, you would put all the food away the best you can.

'A happy trouble.' you told yourself as you took in the spread on the island.

A bunt being set in front of you brought you out of your head. Fontaine rounded the island to take a seat on the stool before you. Taking out the lighter in your apron, you fired up in one flame.

"My bad for comin' so late. Big Moss' Mama roped us into cleaning up after her and her gang."

"Her...gang?"

You passed the blunt to him as he nodded, "Somethin' about a knitting circle potluck. I ain't even sure, but she was laughing...so..."

He shrugged but you understood. So long as Mama Moss was having a good time, it didn't matter what she needed.

"Not the Mama Moss Gang." You giggled at the image of Fontaine and Big Moss chaperoning knitters going wild.

He grinned, chuckling a bit. You both fell into easy conversation, comfortable and familiar as you passed the blunt back and forth.

In the background you heard Stacy and Big Moss talking shit and a Lauryn Hill song played. Fontaine glowed in the low light of single kitchen light.

"You want somethin' sweet?" You asked him, your appetite perking up. Fontaine made a low noise, considering?

He tamped out the blunt, "Whatchu got sweet, Lil'Bit?"

"Ugh, I demand a new nickname." You leaned over to grab the top of the cake container settled in the middle of the chaos, "How'd you feel about pound cake? I made the frosting too."

You didn't wait for his response. You cut two generous slices and put them on the same paper plate.

Fontaine passed you a plastic fork, "Can't do pound cake, I ain't lettin' no one else call you that shit."

You stared at him blankly for a moment before you scoffed, soon trying to smother your laugh into your hand. You stood to pour two glasses of milk,

"Well, I don't like Lil'Bit. It makes me feel like you don't take me seriously."

"I take you serious, 'Bit. Trust an' believe. I'm tryin' not to take you too serious."

"What's that mean, Fontaine?"

He tilted his head and gave you one of those faraway looks that meant he was choosing his next words very carefully. You sliced your cake into little squares and waited.

He reached out and took one of your hands it began to fidget, "That came out crazy. I dig you. I think you're somthin' special. I don't...want to run you off. 'Cause you ain't seen it all yet."

Turning your hand so you'd meet his palm to palm, your stared into his eyes.

"What is it that you think I need to see to make me not want you?"

That was a bit heavy handed, but you couldn't make yourself feel regretful if you tried. Especially when you saw his eyes train onto where you still held hands, not able to say anything.

"I don't mean to force you," You said softly, "I just wanted to let you know how I feel. That I like what you've let me see so far and...I would like to show you more of me too."

His brows rose and you sighed, "Alright, I'm a few double-shots down---Okay? I can't dismantle every innuendo."

You were glad to see his face soften, the hand around yours holding a bit tighter.

"It's all good. I'm looking forward to what we'll show each other next."

He lifted your hand, paused a bit, then pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

He promised to think of a name that would 'better suit you'.

Your heart sang at the nearly bashful look he shot you and suddenly you couldn't wait to see how many nights you could get this man to kiss you over dessert.

You kept yourself present, though. Fontaine seemingly done with words as he turned back to his cake. He was content to hold your hand, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.

There was still more words to be had, but there was always tomorrow.

This, right now though, was one exciting start.

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notes: PHEW! this one was a longer one. thank you for reading all of this, i just really wanted to write something holiday themed for Fontaine. Any feed back is welcomed!

#fontaine x black reader #they cloned tyrone #soft fic #they cloned tyrone fic #this took so long but i'm so proud lol #i may still edit some things lol

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