xxrainshadowsxx

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 7

“Alice, keep your voice down!” you growl at her, while glancing at your mother to see if she heard anything. She hasn’t exploded, so it was unlikely. One small miracle. You turn back to Alice to face the matter at hand.

“How did you find out?” you ask in a low whisper, causing Alice’s eyes to widen.

“So you are courting him,” she breathes. Damn her. You should’ve known better than to fall into one of her traps like that. “I knew there was something between the two of you,” she continues. “He had neither the eyes nor the patience for anyone else when you fainted. And when you were speaking to him outside, your body language was far too relaxed for being very nearly alone with a man you had only claimed to have met once before.”

You’re speechless when she pauses to draw breath. Her perception must have only sharpened while she was away. You yourself hadn’t even noticed some of the things she pointed out. Were you really that relaxed around him? You certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Oh, why did you not tell me?” Alice wails, causing you to wince and attempt to shush her again, but to very little avail. “A fine joke you’ve made of me! You let me go on and on about how I fancied him, while you were having a laugh behind my back.”

“Alice, it wasn’t like that at all,” you try to assure. “Please, quiet down. The only reason I said nothing is because I’ve told no one. It’s not a very public courtship, and we’d very much like to keep it that way. I had no intention of teasing you, I promise.”

Alice furrows her brow. “Oh, alright. If I can believe that of anyone, it would be you. You’ve never been malicious. But how in heaven’s name did you get your mother to agree to the courtship in the first place?”

You shift, guiltily, which is enough of an answer for Alice; she gasps and covers her mouth. “She doesn’t know?” she realizes. “You entered into a courtship without telling your mother? Your mother?! What on earth possessed you to do that?”

“We both knew she wouldn’t agree,” you start, but you’re once again interrupted by Alice. She puts her hand up to pause you, then calls for another drink. You stay silent until you’re relatively alone again. “If you want me to explain, you’ll have to actually let me talk,” you point out with a roll of your eyes.

“If I’m going to hear all the details about your salacious love affair, I need a drink,” Alice states boldly.

“There’s no love affair,” you groan. “I’m not in love with him. He chose me because he needs to marry into an established family, and I accepted simply because I do not need to be a perfect little housewife with no voice of her own to please him. He lets me speak my mind without holding my tongue, and I’ve found it refreshing. That is all.”

“That’s so boring!” Alice pouts, but before long she narrows her eyes at you. “You wouldn’t risk ruining your relationship with your mother just for someone who lets you speak however you want. There’s more to it. You absolutely fancy him, whether you realize it or not yet.”

“I most certainly do not,” you insist stubbornly. “But I can get along with him well enough, and I believe he’ll give me a good life. That’s all I could ask for.”

Alice just scoffs at you. “I don’t believe you for a minute,” she declares before glancing towards Mr. Onceler. He’s back into a corner of the room, and has resumed staring at you. She sighs in defeat. “Well, I concede to you. I doubt anything will sway his affections for you. I shan’t waste my time by pursuing him further.”

You let out a deep breath of relief. “Thank you Alice. Truly. But you mustn't tell anyone. This must stay quiet and away from my mother’s ears until we’re engaged,” you stress.

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about on that front. I can keep a secret,” she insists, but you’re still skeptical, and for good reason. Despite her assurances to the contrary, Alice was horrible at keeping secrets. If a thought entered her mind, it was almost certainly going to come out of her mouth.

“It looks as if we’re starting dinner,” Alice points out. “I guess that’s our cue to rejoin everyone else. And I shall see if I can’t find another handsome, rich man for myself.”

“Mr. Hunte is free,” you tell her under your breath as you thread your arm through hers and make your way over to the table where her parents and your mother have already taken seats. “It would be wonderful to not have to worry about him approaching my mother, and I’m sure your charms will be enough to endear him to you.”

“Sorry to make things more difficult for you, but he’s not my type,” Alice shrugs as you take your seats. “Call me vain, but I’d like to look at my husband. Sorry dear.”

“It’s alright,” you sigh. “It’s not your job to make my life easier, or to fix the consequences of my actions.” You keep your voice down since you’re now around others. Your table soon fills, with Mrs. Ryan and Thomas Hunte joining you, your mother, and the Eaton’s. You were hoping Mr. Onceler would join you as well, but he’s across the room from you, once again making powerful friends and associating with powerful men. That’s clearly where he thrives, and things probably won’t change once you’re married. You sigh briefly, then do your best to focus on the situation at hand.

Predictably, if not a bit disappointingly, your mother is doing her best to speak with Thomas Hunte as much as possible. You knew she wanted you to marry him, but it would never happen. And if you were being totally honest with yourself, the longer you thought about it, the more lucky you considered yourself. You’d always have to watch yourself with Thomas Hunte. With Mr. Onceler, not only were you given the gift of choice, you were also given the freedom to be true to yourself. He’d already seen you at your rudest and most uncouth, and he’d still chosen to be with you.

And yet, the hindrance of Thomas Hunte’s preference for you lingered. You didn’t know how to stop it without being rude to him, which would only be as a last resort. Despite not wanting to marry into the family, you absolutely did not want to make enemies of them either.

And yet, that might be inevitable. Even though Mrs. Ryan was doing her best to help you and keep his attention otherwise occupied, he made a considerable effort to engage you in conversation. You tried to end these conversations as quickly as you could, but there was only so much you could do with your mother sitting right there.

And when the music playing began to shift to something more lively, and as people got up to dance, you knew you were going to have to do something. You could see Mr. Onceler from the other side of the room begin to stand and make his way over to you. Mrs. Ryan could distract either Mr. Hunte or your mother. She couldn’t do both.

That left one option. “Alice!” you hiss in her ear, praying with everything in you that no one else would hear you. “I need you to distract my mother for a moment, please?”

“Why–” Alice looks up and sees Mr. Onceler heading in your direction. “Oh fine. But you owe me.”

You nod a hasty acceptance of her terms as Alice calls your mother and launches into a discussion about the latest fashions in Europe and how she and yourself could start the fashion in the States. It gives you just enough time to surreptitiously leave the table and meet Mr. Onceler halfway.

He doesn’t even bother to ask you the question. He simply takes your hand and escorts you out with the other couples dancing. Even as you get into hold and he starts waltzing with you, he stays silent, simply staring down into your eyes.

“Are you planning on keeping me to yourself for the rest of the night?” you tease. “I would think that would send a bit of a message if you do.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” he says. “Though if I had it my way, I would steal your full attention for this evening and all the rest that follow. As you might have surmised by now, I’m afraid I’m not fond of sharing. Jealousy may be a sin, but it’s one I haven’t yet been able to conquer.”

“Jealous of what, pray tell?” you question, enjoying the banter between you two for once. “My time? My attention? You cannot possibly claim to want all of either of those things of mine.”

“I can claim it, and I will,” he declares. “When I see you with other people, especially other men, I find I burn inside. I don’t quite understand it, but I do suppose I’ve never liked it when other people put their hands on my things.”

That statement makes you raise your eyebrow at him. “I’ll have you know that I’m not your property,” you sniff.

He curls his lip down at you, making you feel a lurch in your stomach that you don’t have a name for. “No, you aren’t my property. Not yet, anyway. Once you become my wife, you’ll find the whole world will view you as belonging to me.”

Your mouth twists at his words. You were very much aware of how the world still viewed women, despite the fact that women were starting to fight back. However, once you get over your initial ire, you notice something about the way he worded his statement. “The world may only ever see me as belonging to you,” you start cautiously, then continue when he doesn’t stop you. “But is that how you shall see me sir? Just another possession in your collection?”

“I tend to think living beings have a bit more autonomy than objects,” he replies, his eyes sparking. “And I would certainly never think of caging a pretty thing like you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you say immediately, not backing down. “You’ll have to do better than just calling me pretty to distract me from seeking the answer I want.”

He actually laughs out loud at that. “Ah, this is why I picked you,” he muses before looking directly at you. “Well, let me be clear then. No, I don’t see you as my possession, and that will not change upon our marriage.”

“Now, was that so hard?” you ask, flashing him a deceptively sweet smile. “For someone who claims to dislike mind games, you seem to me to be a liar in that regard.”

“I’m not,” he denies. “I don’t like the mind games society often plays on each other. You, on the other hand, are simply amusing to tease, and you can give it right back to me. This particular ‘game,’ as you call it, I get great enjoyment from.”

“And why is it that you delight in vexing me so?” you continue your barrage against him. “I would think, considering that we are going to be spending a great deal of time together, that you would want to find yourself with my good opinion of you.”

He raises his eyebrow at you. “‘A great deal of time?’ We’re going to be married. You can call it what it is. Unless of course, you’re afraid to acknowledge the truth.”

His words stun you; you hadn’t anticipated him coming back at you with that at all. But as you give it a little bit of thought, you’re forced to admit to yourself that he’s not entirely wrong. You wouldn’t say you were scared, but you definitely hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet. In your mind, of course, it was very simple; you had all but actually said yes to marrying him at this point. But knowing that, and absorbing the enormity of that decision, were two different things entirely.

“I’m not afraid of it,” you say softly. “I just don’t think it’s completely… sunk in. Understand, I have been told my whole life that my entire purpose is to find a husband and have a family. And now that it’s actually happening, the change is almost overwhelming.” You do your best to explain, but you aren’t happy with your own words. Your feelings about the situation seemed impossible to accurately describe.

“You and I are coming from opposite ideals imposed on us in our upbringing,” he notes, almost making you start. Other than getting annoyed when you brought up Atlanta, he had never said anything about his childhood. You pay close attention now, not wanting to miss a word.

“What were you taught?” you ask carefully. “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with what education gentlemen receive.”

He lets out a short, barking laugh. “I don’t know what that’s like either,” he snorts. “You’ve pointed out several times that I am New Money, and that is more true than you could have imagined. Most families who make their money the way I have are part of the middle-class. My family is thoroughly lower than that, having to work since young childhood to even get food on the table.” His face darkens for a moment. “At least, most of us are working. My mother has never worked a day in her life, no matter how destitute we were, and I don’t think she ever intends to.”

“Does your father do all the work then?” you ask. But as soon as you mention the word ‘father,’ Mr. Onceler suddenly can’t meet your gaze, and the tips of his ears redden.

“No. My father died when I was young,” he mumbles, still unable to look you in the eye. You don’t understand why that comment would trigger an almost embarrassed response from him. Your own father had died when you were young as well, and you suspected early death was even more common in the working class.

“That’s something we have in common,” you murmur. “My father also died when I was small… leaving us with a mountain of debt and nothing but an old name that my mother pretends has more value than it actually does.”

“You’d be surprised at the importance of names,” he says, and interestingly enough, he still seems perfectly genuine, not a hint of sarcasm bleeding into his tone. “Of course, in this company names can open doors and create opportunities, but they’re more than that. They’re the first bit of identity we have to carve ourselves from.” As he’s speaking, you notice he has a faraway look in his eye, almost like he’s talking more to himself than to you. Intentional or not, he was revealing something huge about himself: who he was, and how he fit into this world, was of vital importance to him.

You allow him to stay lost in thought as long as he needs, and it’s not long before he snaps back to the here and now with a slight shake of his head. “Enough about that,” he mutters. “I think you were asking me what I was taught as a child? What education I had as a poor boy from Atlanta?” The smirk is back on his face now. He clearly wants you to think he’s debonair, without a care in the world. You’d play along for now, but you knew better. There was depth beneath the surface, and you fully intended to get him to open up to you, but only when the time was right. If you pushed too hard now, he might close himself off forever.

“Oh stop,” you tell him with a good-natured roll of your eyes. “I’m not attempting to look down on you for not being raised in the same society that I was. I’m simply trying to learn more about the man I am to marry. Do you not agree that our lives would be easier if we become, at the very least, friends?”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, though he can’t stop a small curl of his lips, and you think you might have just impressed him with your wit. It certainly was nice to play with him at his own game. “I can’t fault you for wanting to know me better,” he starts slowly. “However, I must warn you, if you continue to insist on digging, you might not like what you find.” He leans closer to you, making your breath hitch for a moment. “I’m a difficult man to like.”

You take the smallest breath in order to steel yourself. You wanted to prove to him that you weren’t going to run. What was more, his words only inflamed your curiosity. The desire to know more about him was addictive. He was an enigma, one that you desperately wanted to solve, and you’d given up trying to understand why at this point.

You pull away from him so you can look him in the eyes. “And I’m a difficult woman to scare,” you say, your voice low. He meets your gaze and you hold steady, determined to not even blink. You will not break before he does.

A minute passes, and for that minute, even though you can vaguely hear the music and feel yourself moving along the floor, your world has been narrowed to the ocean of his eyes. Is he moving his face closer to you? You can count every one of the faint freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks…

But the minute passes, and he closes his eyes with a soft chuckle. “What’s so funny?” you ask him, a bit annoyed that the moment was over, and also annoyed at yourself for liking it so much.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “I'm going to have to let other people enjoy the pleasure of your company soon though. I'm not looking forward to that.” As if on cue, the music comes to a slow stop, and you must go. It's too risky to spend any more time with him, although you don't relish the thought of finding a new partner either.

You carefully curtsey while he bows to you, before raising his head as you prepare to walk away. But before you can make it two paces, he grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“I can't pretend much longer,” he whispers, and you're shocked by the sudden desperation in his tone. “I don't even know if I can make it through this infernal evening. I know you agreed to a short courtship, but would you be terribly scandalized if we sped it up even further than we originally planned?”

You feel your eyes widen. He can't seriously be thinking… he couldn't possibly be about to propose now? In front of the entire peerage?

Your terror must be clear on your face, for he hastens to explain himself. “Not right now,” he clarifies. “But the next time I see you. I don't know if I have the capability to wait much longer than that.”

Your heart rate slows when you realize that the moment isn't quite upon you, then races again when you figure out how quickly it will come. You could ask him to wait, you're sure he would honor that decision, but do you really want that? Waiting only gave others the opportunity to figure you out for themselves. This way, at least you would have a small semblance of control over the storm that was surely coming.

Besides, what was the point in dragging this out further? You were already prepared to give your answer. Might as well do it as soon as possible and get it over with.

“Alright,” you whisper. All of the tension visibly leaves Mr. Onceler's body at that one word, and for once he doesn't even attempt to hide his delight and relief.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.” He glances around the room, specifically over your shoulder where you both knew your mother and Thomas Hunte sat. “Well, I suppose I have no more reason to take up more of your time tonight.” He bends to kiss the back of your hand. “Until I see you again,” he whispers.

“Until then,” you whisper back, and then finally he lets you go. And the second he does, you find yourself craving his presence yet again.

But you can't indulge in what you want. At least for the rest of the night, you must play the part of a girl who was unattached. Your only solace came from knowing that this would be the last time you'd be forced into this role you were coming to despise.

You don't know how you make it through the rest of the evening. It's a blurry haze to you. You vaguely recall more dancing, and definitely with Thomas Hunte at one point, but you couldn't remember any conversation or anything else. All you knew for sure was that, whenever you could risk it, you would sneak glances at Mr. Onceler. And every single one of those times, you found him looking back at you as well.

And as much as the change of fully moving on from your youth into an adult life, and all the responsibilities that came with it, terrified you, you couldn't help but yearn for the next time you would see him. It wasn't exactly the thought of getting engaged that you were so looking forward to, it was more of the fact that you just wanted to see him again. Despite everything, you were quickly growing to enjoy his company.

It was unnerving. You'd gone from a total indifference of him to ready to say yes to his impending proposal in just a couple months. And what was more, you'd been in complete control of the whole affair. The situation was as much your making as it was his.

But as the evening draws to a close, you can't find it in you to regret anything you'd done, even with your mother's wrath looming over you, getting progressively closer, you knew you could deal with it.

You glance at him one more time before you leave, a strange sense of calm coming over you. Next time you see him, he'll become your fiancé. And you could handle the storm with him at your side.

Next chapter's going to be a big one. I'll see you then.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #the onceler #onceler x reader #the lorax #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic #lorax 2012

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 6

The day of the Hunte’s ball, you were nearly beside yourself with worry, although you were doing your best to conceal that fact. This was the ultimate test. Could your secret courtship survive a huge, New York style event? Or would you be found out, far sooner than you were ready for?

At least you looked decent this time around. You were actually allowed to wear a color now, so you’d chosen a dress of light blue. The corset your mother had once again insisted on was nearly constricting you, but you were a little more used to it, and you could breathe easier than you could at your debutante. It was a small victory, but you would take it.

Since the Hunte’s lived on the other side of the upper-class neighborhood from you, your mother had actually sprung for a vehicle rather than fighting your way through the light flurries of snow that were beginning to fall. You were hoping you were close. The constant motion was aggravating to your stomach.

Miraculously, it seems your prayers are heard, for mere minutes later, the automobile comes to a stop and the driver exits to help you and your mother out. For better or worse, it was time.

From there, it's a short walk to the foyer of the Hunte’s grand estate. There's a small line of people preparing to enter, and you could see the whole Hunte family waiting and greeting their guests at the entrance. You follow your mother into the queue, as you attempt to be discreet while looking for Mr. Onceler. You were sure he’d be there. Society always had to invite other members of society, no matter if they were new money, or even if you disliked someone. Manners and etiquette ruled supreme in this world, and most followed the rules strictly and exactly.

As you reach the front of the line, you can’t help but notice that Thomas Hunte’s eyes seem to follow you. He smiles warmly as he and the rest of his family greets you, causing your mother to get an awful smug look on her face. You tried faking cordiality as much as possible, but you couldn’t stop the pit that's quickly forming in your gut. You had a strong feeling that this was going to cause a problem.

But thankfully, the problem could be postponed, at least for a little while. You had made it inside, while he was still stuck at the front. You resume your careful scan of the room, eyes searching for Mr. Onceler, but before you get far, you hear a voice call out “Darling!” from behind you.

You turn on your heel and spot Alice Eaton, who, after Nellie, you’d probably consider your closest friend. Your parents and her parents had been close as well, so you’d spent a decent amount of your childhood with Alice. However, you hadn’t seen her in over a year since she’d gone to England with her family so her father could collect an inheritance from a relative who’d passed away.

“Oh, Alice, it’s lovely to see you!” you smile, genuinely happy to see her again. “You should’ve written to me, I hadn’t known you were back yet.”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Alice laughs. “I would have said something, but we only arrived back in the states a week ago, and when Mother told me about this invitation, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to surprise you here.”

You beam at her. “Well, your mission has succeeded. I’m thrilled you made it back in time.”

Alice smiles back at you before beckoning you over to the side a bit. You knew exactly what was coming next. Like many New York women and girls, Alice simply loved to gossip.

“Do you see that man in the corner? The tall one with the dark hair?” she giggles as soon as you’re close enough. You have a very shrewd suspicion as to who that could be, and sure enough, when you glance in the direction she points out, you finally find Mr. Onceler, standing in the middle of a group of men, smoking a cigar.

He’s also blatantly staring right at you.

You quickly turn away and back to Alice, though you can still feel his gaze burning into your back. “Yes, that’s Mr. Onceler. I met him about a month ago at my debutante,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice even.

“Then you’ll know exactly how rich he is,” Alice trills. “Father’s been absolutely pressuring me to start seriously thinking about getting married now that I’m out, and I think I’ve found my preference. I mean, look at him. Wealthy and handsome? I don’t think it can get much better than that!” She takes out her fan and gives herself a bit of a breeze, seemingly unaware of the surprising agony her words just put you through.

“You’re not worried about your father rejecting him? He is new money after all,” you say, probably too quickly to sound natural, but Alice doesn’t pick up on it. She’s too busy waving away your words before you’re even done speaking.

“That won’t matter to my family,” she insists. “At least, they’ve never brought it up before. I know your mother has lectured you on the ‘dangers’ of new money, but it’s an archaic way of thinking. We’re both eventually going to be rich in our own rights with no brothers to steal our inheritance, so it doesn’t matter if husband’s are bad with money. We’ll be protected.”

You feel an unfamiliar hot streak run through your body at her words, and it takes you a moment to realize the feeling is jealousy. It doesn’t make any sense as to why you would feel that way, however. You knew Alice’s family was absolutely not experiencing financial worry, and she didn’t know that you were. It had never bothered you before. Why would you suddenly care now?

Then she glances towards Mr. Onceler again, and that hot streak flashes through you once more, making you start from shock.

Oh. Oh no. That can’t be right. You couldn’t possibly be getting jealous over her obvious interest in Mr. Onceler. That was absurd. Besides, there was nothing to fret over. Alice, though indeed a good friend, could be a bit flighty, and she was also perfectly mannered around men. She didn’t seem like she would be his type.

And yet, your reassurances to yourself still couldn’t stop the twinge of jealousy. Alice was regarded as a beauty, one of New York’s brightest jewels. You weren’t plain-looking, but you knew Alice’s beauty far exceeded your own, and her ever-present smile fit her playful personality. By contrast, you were a bit quieter, preferring to sit on the side and observe every once in a while. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that he would take notice and at least consider her…

God, what was the matter with you? Poor Alice had done nothing to earn your ire; she had no idea the two of you were courting. And you certainly didn’t care if he thought someone was fairer than you so long as he didn’t break the courtship. You weren’t trying to gain his utmost affection. So long as your arrangement went through, he was at perfect liberty to fancy whomever he pleased.

You must just be having residual doubts that he would actually go through with the courtship if another girl caught his eye… yes, that was the only explanation. Your sole concern was for the security he promised you, nothing more.

At least, that’s what you were telling yourself. And you would continue to do so until you were fully convinced of it. Because it had to be the truth. There was no other possible reason.

Meanwhile, during your turmoil, Alice was still chatting away, as if she noticed nothing. “I’ve seen him looking this way several times. I hope that means he likes what he’s seeing,” she sighs. “I very much hope he asks me to dance first.” She hums happily at this thought, while you’re made more and more uncomfortable. “Although, speaking of men, I’ve also noticed a certain young Mr. Hunte glancing in this direction a few times as well,” she grins devilishly. “He’d be one to meet your mother’s one requirement. The Hunte’s are one of the most established families in New York, and rich as far back as anyone can remember. He’d be such a lovely match for you.” She sighs dreamily again, seemingly unbothered by your lack of response. 

Still, it was probably time you offered one anyway. “Alice, your ability to dream is remarkable,” you say with a soft laugh so that she would know you were jesting. Mostly.

Alice flashes another grin at you. “Well, as Mother’s always reminding me, we’re only young and beautiful once. We have to enjoy it and all the perks that come with it while we can.” She calls over one of the wait staff and grabs two glasses of champagne, one of which she hands to you. “To a night of thrilling romance as befits us!” she toasts.

You raise your glass with her, though you’re unable to match her smile. It seemed as though she, your mother, and probably several of the more observant members of society, had already decided you were a perfect match for Thomas Hunte. Perhaps a month ago you would have thought the same, but no longer. You’d never done anything remotely scandalous in your life, and yet here you were, carrying a secret that could become the source of gossip for months.

And the more people who seem determined to box you in, the more likely it was that this secret would be revealed. If Thomas Hunte approached your mother, you would have no choice but to tell her you were already in a committed courtship, and that you had done so without her consent.

It was too much to bear. Your vision starts to tunnel, the edges going black… your head feels fuzzy…

The next thing you’re aware of, you’re looking up into the bright lights of the ceiling, countless featureless faces hovering over you. You blink a few times before it registers that you must have lost consciousness. But instead of lying on the hard floor, there’s a pair of arms encircling you.

And sure enough, when your vision slowly starts to come back into focus, the face that’s by far the closest to you, and looking more concerned than all the rest combined, is Mr. Onceler.

“Are you alright?” he asks, worry coating every word. Something about his tone made you feel as though you were the only two people in the room, even with just that simple sentence.

God almighty, what was he doing to you? The more you were around him, the more you seemed to lose your mind.

You stare up at him blankly for a moment, trying to control your emotions, before you realize he’s probably waiting for an answer. “Um, I’m fine. It’s just hot in here,” you mumble. “I think I just need some air.”

“Of course,” he says as he gingerly helps you to your feet. Several other people surge forward to help, Alice and Thomas Hunte among them, but he brushes them off without a second glance. Keeping one hand firmly holding yours, the other hovering near the small of your back, he leads you out to a blessedly deserted balcony, though he’s careful to at least keep the door open so you’re in view of the rest of the party.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks again the second you’re alone.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate, a bit stubbornly, but you weren’t lying. The cool night air is revitalizing, and all you really feel is embarrassment that you fainted in the first place. “There is one thing I don’t understand,” you say, mostly to stop him fretting over you. “How did you reach me so fast? The last I saw you, you were on the other side of the room. I doubt I was unconscious for more than a couple seconds, and lack of pain tells me you must have caught me before I hit the ground.”

“I noticed you growing pale,” he murmurs. “Therefore, I hastened over as quickly as I could. I’ve noticed that high-class women are particularly prone to swooning. Thankfully, I reached you in time to catch you.”

The swooning comment makes you glare at him. “It’s only because of the corsets,” you huff indignantly. “They very much constrict our ability to breathe. I assure you, this is not a common occurrence for me.” He still looks a bit amused at your assertion, so you turn away from him. He really did delight in vexing you, but you were in no mood for it at present.

It’s quiet for a few moments before he speaks up again. “I fear I might have given our situation away,” he says haltingly. “Your friend was giving me odd looks when I escorted you out of there. Is she likely to figure us out?”

“Possibly,” you sigh. Alice was sharp as a nail when it came to how people interacted with each other. She was a whiz at spying who was having affairs amongst your peers. “Her look could have just been jealousy, though. She’s quite determined to have you for herself.” You glance in his direction to try and gauge his reaction to this revelation.

“Is she?” If anything, his amusement only grows. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed. I have no intention of breaking off our arrangement to pursue her.” You have to work hard to conceal the delight his words give you, which bothered you a bit. It was far too extreme of a reaction for a courtship of convenience.

“She’ll be most upset,” you say, hoping to sound blasé. “I don’t know if I can continue with this, knowing I’ll be hurting a dear friend of mine.”

“You have the power to end this, if you want,” he says, though he’s smirking as he does so. He knows you’re bluffing, and he’s also fully aware that you have no desire to end this either. You’d see this through to the end, to secure safety for yourself and your mother. And hopefully, she would soon see that your choice would indeed save you.

But seeing this through meant… oh, God, you just realized something. This man next to you was going to be your husband. You knew from the moment you said yes to having him court you where it was leading, but this was the first time you’d actually fully understood what that was. This was not just someone you were in a courtship with. Despite not being engaged just yet, there was no doubt in your mind that Mr. Onceler would indeed be your future husband.

Something about your face must have changed, because he quirks an eyebrow and takes a step closer to you. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice lower than usual. “You don’t feel lightheaded again, do you? Do you need to sit down?”

“No… no, I feel fine.” Had his eyes always been so blue? They were deeper than the Long Island Sound. “I'm perfect actually,” you hear yourself whisper.

The change in the atmosphere is palpable. Something had happened between the two of you, though you weren't quite sure what it was just yet. But you're certain it's there, for he seems to feel it too; his eyes darken and he takes a tentative step closer to you.

“There you are!” The loud voice of Mrs. Ryan rings through the night, making you snap your head over to her, and utterly shattering whatever moment had been building between the two of you. “You better get out there if you want this to remain a secret; your absences have been noticed,” she says while gesturing for you both to follow her back in.

Mr. Onceler reaches her before you do, and she uses the opportunity to grab him by his collar and drag him down to her level. “You better propose to that girl quickly after the mess I just had to clean up for you,” she hisses. You think that was supposed to be meant for his ears alone, but you hear every word.

You can't figure out his reaction, however. He keeps his face carefully away from you and declines to give a verbal response as he stands to his full height, straightens out his jacket, and heads back into the room. Mrs. Ryan shakes her head after him.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy,” she sighs before turning to you. “Alright, honey, I think we need to have a quick conversation if you intend to keep this from your mother until you get a ring on your finger.” She beckons you closer with a stern look, though beneath it she still gives off a motherly aura. You sigh, but figure it’s better to keep her happy. She was an ally, and one that you did not want to lose.

You walk over and the two of you reenter the party together. “I know you didn’t faint on purpose, but you need to be careful,” she stresses in a surprisingly quiet voice; you can only just make her out. “There was no way to stop him from catching you, that’s not in his nature. But you could’ve just thanked him and gone about your night, and it would’ve been fine. But when you go off on your own after such a spectacle, well, everyone’s bound to notice that. It took everything I had to convince your mother that nothing was going on, and that he only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t pass out again. You can’t afford any more public spectacles until you’re declared for each other. Dot’s not a stupid woman, and he has not done a good job of hiding his preference for you. She knows that he’s interested, and that terrifies her. You need to get engaged quickly, or she will catch on, and it will cause a state-wide scandal,” she warns with massive gravity.

Her words cause you to wilt a bit. “I know she doesn’t approve,” you say carefully. You can’t be as free with your words with her as you are with Mr. Onceler. “But I am a woman grown, and I must have the liberty to make my own choices. He has afforded me that opportunity. I shall not go back on my choice now.”

Mrs. Ryan gives you a look, and for a moment you fear she’s going to remark on your bluff. His giving you the power of choice was only one reason you had agreed to his courtship, and not even the primary reason. But Mrs. Ryan couldn’t know about the financial aspect… could she? Had he told her?

But the look passes, and she says nothing. You can breathe freely once again. Instead she just says, “I’ll help you in what ways I can, but I can only do so much. I told him, and I’ll tell you again: the quicker you get engaged, the better.” She tips her chin in a direction behind you. “Your mother’s coming. Be careful,” she insists before she waves her hand in acknowledgment of your mother. “She’s fine, Dot. I’ve got her here, and she’s right as rain.”

You turn to face your mother, who’s more frazzled than you’ve ever seen her in public before. “Yes… thank you,” she mutters to Mrs. Ryan before turning her full attention to you. She takes your arm and pulls you to the side. “What were you thinking? Causing a scene like that! And then going off with him,” she hisses in your ear.

“It’s not like I planned it,” you huff. “I told you before we left, the corset was too tight.” Your mother at least has the decency to look abashed at that comment, as well as being offended that you would speak to her in such a manner. But she was going to have to get used to it. If you could learn to stand up for yourself now, you’d be better prepared for when you told her of your relationship (for want of a better word) with Mr. Onceler. And speaking of him…

“I did not know he was behind me when I fainted. How could I?” you say, hoping that by speaking the truth now, it would make your pending lie more believable. “I didn’t even realize who I was with until he led me to the balcony. Even then, he only stayed to ensure I did not faint again. It was all very cordial, I assure you.”

Your mother now seems quite taken aback, so you can only assume you’ve convinced her. However, true to form, she recovers to scold you again in record time. “Whatever might have happened, you must work doubly hard to ensure Thomas Hunte that he has your affections. We are on the precipice of what will save or ruin us. You cannot allow foolish mistakes to lead us to ruin, especially not with New Money.”

“I know perfectly well what I am to do, Mother,” you say coldly. “I fully intend to secure our fates, and I know what I must do for it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to rejoin the evening. I can’t give us a future from here.” With that, you turn your back on her, leaving her looking more affronted than ever. You even think you spotted the tiniest hint of shame.

Head held high, you walk back into the throng of people, and before a minute has passed, you see Alice, looking to be well on her way to accosting you next. “I’m fine, Alice, really, don’t make a fuss–”

“Why did you not tell me you and Mr. Onceler were courting?” she interrupts, acting like she didn’t hear a word you just said. You feel your eyes go involuntarily wide.

Oh no.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #the onceler #onceler x reader #the lorax #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 5

I know this is late, but this chapter was a bitch to write. But, I've managed something I'm happy with, so I hope the wait will have been worth it.

As the day of your next scheduled meeting with Mr. Onceler loomed closer, your mind grew ever more scrambled. You’d carefully laid out the pros and cons to both accepting and declining his offer, yet this didn’t bring you the clarity you seeked. No, if anything, it only made you more confused.

On one hand, this would save you. He could keep you from poverty. There were no pretenses with him, no guessing as to what he wanted. He was honest. In the wolf's den of society, true honesty was a rare gift indeed. The truthfulness might be brutal at times, but it was still present.

Could you live with him? Most likely. As insufferable as you often found him to be, he wasn’t vile. You could have conversations with him, and you didn’t even have to worry about minding your tongue; you couldn’t do that with anyone else in the world other than Nellie. He was also young, which was a huge boon for you. Your fears of being forced to marry an old man would be alleviated. 

You could only find one real con; unfortunately, it was a severe problem. Your mother would never accept it. You could lay out all of the explanations Mr. Onceler had given you, as well as any of your own, and still she’d never be swayed. For as much as she often complained you were stubborn, she was even worse in that regard. Doing this behind her back might be so big a betrayal as to cause an estrangement.

You didn’t want that. As much as your mother could annoy you at times, as much as she attempted to dictate your life, she was still your mother. You still loved her. You recognized that she was the way she was because she didn’t know any different. You also didn’t want to leave her alone if this did lead to an estrangement. You would attempt to support her, no matter what, but would she even accept Mr. Onceler’s money? How deep did her prejudices run?

As such, your week was nothing short of agonizing. You felt as though your mind changed at least once an hour, and even sleeping brought no respite; you woke several times in the night, tormented with indecision.

Of course, you couldn’t keep this from Nellie, who was quick to notice and call you out on your new behavior patterns. At first, you attempted to keep it from her, insisting you were fine. But on the third day after Mr. Onceler’s proposition, after she threatened to tell your mother you hadn’t been sleeping, you broke down, weeping in her arms, and telling her everything.

“Nellie, I don’t know what to do,” you moan after your explanation. “He’s offering me more than I could ask for, and I never thought the decision would be mine. And now that it is, I find myself almost wishing it wasn’t. It’s too much, Nellie, what if I make the wrong choice? What if I say no and we never get another shot and we’re left on the street?” you wail.

Nellie sighs heavily. “Miss, you know the choice you want to make. We both know it. You’re just scared of actually making it, if you don’t mind me saying. You’re scared of declaring your decision out loud since you’ve never had that luxury before. But I think you might need to,” she says gently.

Once again, she’s able to articulate your thoughts much better than you can do it yourself. And yet, the fear is still there, causing your lip to tremble. Nellie reaches out and covers your hand with hers. “Talk to your mother,” she advises. “The relationship will be easier to mend if you take steps now instead of hiding this from her until she can’t stop it.” With that, Nellie takes her leave, leaving you thoroughly admonished.

If you said yes, how on earth were you ever going to tell her? And yet, how could you keep it from her? She would hardly fail to notice if gifts came for you, or if you left the house for seemingly unexplained hours to meet with him, and of course, she would be eagle-eyed to his preference for you at any event. If these steps weren’t taken and you announced an engagement without a formal courtship, that would be a scandal to all of New York. You didn’t know if it would be easier to let her know as soon as possible, in which case she would do everything in her power to end it, or wait until an eventual engagement did come, deal with the scandal, but give her less opportunity to ruin the one and only choice you’d ever been given.

Or you could simply avoid it altogether, reject him, and let your fortunes fall where they may. But even with the preference Mr. Hunte had clearly shown you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Onceler was giving you the best offer you were going to get.

Nellie clearly thought you were going to accept. That was obvious from her initial advice, and from her insinuations in the following days. Any chance the two of you were away from  your mother’s ears, she’d make some sort of mention that the two of you, together, needed to tell her sooner rather than later. The very thought of doing so made you sick to the stomach.

And before you were ready, before you could make a definitive decision, Saturday arrived, and he would be waiting for you at Central Park. You had to meet him. Whatever you ended up choosing, you felt you at least owed him an answer to his face at this point.

Fate decided to smile a little on you, at the very least. Saturday found your mother bedridden with one of her frequent headaches. While you normally felt sorry for her, today it was a blessing in disguise. It would make leaving the house so much easier. You didn’t like to think of what you were doing as sneaking about, but that wasn’t far from the truth.

You were more nervous than you’d ever been in your life, even more than prior to your debutante, as you had Nellie pin your hair into a hat. Your mind was still split in two, and no last minute certainty came to you. In the face of your choice, your future was murkier than ever.

“I suppose that’ll do, Nellie,” you sigh as she finishes, finding no more reason to stall. You couldn’t be late, you didn’t want him to think you weren’t coming at all, but you also wanted time to slow, even cease altogether. You were beginning to be a little too accustomed to being in two different frames of mind simultaneously.

“Good luck, miss,” Nellie hums. “You’ll make the right choice. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders; it shan’t let you down now.” You simply nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you head out the door, being mindful to stay quiet so as not to alert your mother. You keep your head lowered, hoping that the wide brim of the hat you’d insisted on would help give you a little bit of anonymity. If your mother was going to find out about this, it would be much better coming from you than gossiping with the other ladies of New York.

Far too quickly, you make it to the park, and your feet carry you along the path as though they have a mind of their own. And there he is, sitting on a bench, and you still aren’t sure of what you’re going to say.

He stands when he sees you approach, not exactly looking surprised, but definitely pleased. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything you blurt out, “Why me?”

You can tell that the question catches him off guard, and you didn’t know until you saw him that you needed it answered. You hasten to explain yourself. “There are dozens of girls in New York alone with good names, and I find it impossible to believe all of these families have squandered their fortunes. I can offer you nothing but a name, and with an antagonistic mother, I must be more trouble than I’m reasonably worth. So before I make my decision, I must know. Why are you so determined to win me when you could have anyone?”

He looks utterly taken aback, the first time you’ve seen him in such a state, but he recovers quickly. “I’ve met several upper-class women over the past year,” he says slowly. “When I wasn’t growing my business, I was at some event or another, attempting to bolster my reputation. And all of the single women were exactly the same: vain, vapid, and giggly. They couldn’t string two intelligent words together if their lives depended on it. I confess, it drove me mad.”

You frown slightly at him. “It sounds as if you are an utter tyrant towards women, sir,” you say, your tone turning a bit icy. “It’s a wonder you want to be married at all.”

“I’ve already explained my reasons for needing a marriage. I’m not going to repeat myself,” he huffs. “Now, back to the point at hand. As for why I chose you, you were the first socialite I’ve met who had brains along with a pretty face. I would like to be able to come home at the end of the day and be able to have an intelligent conversation with my wife. You may delight in insulting me, but I would take insults and wit over vapidity any day.”

“I still believe you’re being too harsh,” you sniff. “I’m hardly more intelligent than my peers. I’m just worse at controlling my tongue than they are.”

His lip curls into an amused smile. “Perhaps. But I’m not guaranteed their tongues would loosen upon marriage, or if I really would be marrying someone completely useless. With you, I know exactly what I’m getting myself into. Now, I have given you my answer. What is yours?”

You can feel the word ‘no’ rise to the tip of your tongue. Now that it’s come down the moment you’ve been dreading, it suddenly seems very easy. You simply can’t face estrangement from the only family you’ve ever known to gamble your lot with who remains essentially a stranger.

“Yes.”

The word flies out of your mouth before you’re fully aware of what you’re saying. And when your mind finally does register the enormity of what you’ve just done, you almost take it back.

But you can’t. You can’t make the words come out of your mouth. And now that you’ve accepted his offer, you don’t want to take it back. And for the life of you, you cannot fathom why not.

Mr. Onceler, however, seems to either not notice or he’s choosing to ignore the chaos you’ve just caused inside yourself. The first real smile you’ve seen from him splits his face, which only further solidifies your decision, before he’s able to school his features back to neutrality. “Excellent,” he says simply, but his façade has been broken, even if just for a moment. He was genuinely happy.

Which makes you feel guilty when you know you’re about to dampen his enthusiasm. “We should probably decide quickly what we’re going to do about my mother,” you remind him. “She’s not going to like this. And we can hardly keep a formal courtship a secret; she’s bound to notice. Unless you were planning on keeping the entire courtship a secret until a possible engagement and cause a scandal, which I sincerely hope was not your plan.”

“For starters, I don’t plan on having a long courtship before getting engaged,” he says, the devilish smirk returning to his face. Insufferable as ever. “And while I don’t feel the need to have a formal announcement, I would like some of your attention at any events that might come up. As long as your mother is sufficiently distracted, I should be able to steal some of your time.”

“And how do you propose to keep her distracted?” you huff impatiently. “My mother still treats me like a child. She watches me close as a hawk.”

“Fortunately, I have a friend who’s more than willing to help,” he grins. “I’ve already learned that this friend is quite good at distracting your mother, as well as anyone else who happens to be in my way.”

You’re about to ask what on Earth he means, but the answer dawns on you before the question falls from your lips. Mrs. Ryan. Of course. Any time he wanted your attention at the last event, she had initiated a conversation with either your mother or Thomas Hunte, leaving Mr. Onceler free to steal you away. While not a foolproof plan, it was something, and Mrs. Ryan could talk for hours. As long as you weren’t overt, you might just get through your courtship without your mother suspecting a thing.

“I suppose that can work,” you acquiesce slowly. “However, if she does begin to suspect something, I would like to tell her, before she hears it through gossip. And we must say something if we do get engaged. If she hears that from someone before we go to her, it will cause an estrangement. I would like to avoid that at all costs.”

“Of course,” he agrees, though there’s still a twinkle in his eye that you’re not sure how to interpret. “I shall defer to your judgment in regards to your mother. I’m not trying to make an enemy of her, but I must say, I hold you and your opinion in much higher regard. You’ve somehow escaped the usual socialite curse, despite your upbringing. That gives me hope that your mother will eventually see sense.”

You wish you shared his optimism. You knew that when you said yes into entering this courtship, your mother would be furious when she inevitably found out. You can only hope and pray that your circumstances would prevent her from cutting you off altogether. You couldn’t bear losing her like that. Which reminded you of something…

“I should be getting home,” you murmur. “She doesn’t know I left. I don’t want to raise her suspicions so soon.”

“Allow me to escort you home?” he asks, offering his arm to you. You almost decline before remembering the deal you just made. Courtships were meant to lead to engagements. To end one could permanently damage your reputation. You didn’t want to give him any reason to end things, and thus, you had no reason to not accept his offer.

Therefore, after just a moment’s hesitation, you place your hand in the crook of his arm, allowing him to lead you out. You say very little, but the silence is comfortable rather than suffocating. Your thoughts were loud enough; you didn’t think you could handle a full conversation.

It seems like a very short time indeed before you reach the door of your home. You glance up at the windows, but your mother’s bedroom still has the curtains drawn tight. You let out a small, almost inaudible, sigh of relief.

You turn to Mr. Onceler, expecting a goodbye. “I hope I shall see you soon,” he murmurs, and you lift the back of your hand for him to kiss it.

He doesn’t. Instead, he bends and places a soft, swift kiss to your cheek. Before you can even process what on earth just happened, he puts his hat back on his head and walks down the street, leaving you beside yourself.

You lift your hand to the spot where his lips had touched, as if they had made a mark you needed to cover. You can feel your face burning crimson. A kiss on the back of the hand was one thing. A kiss on the cheek was something different entirely, and for him to be so brazen as to do it in public… oh, you could just melt from embarrassment right where you stood.

Oh, Lord, what were you going to do if someone saw that? There was no way it wouldn't get back to your mother, and such an ostentatious display would mean you would have to marry him sooner rather than later to protect any shred of your dignity, whether she liked it or not. No one else would risk another courtship, much less an engagement with you, if that went through the gossip mill.

And a small, nagging part of you wonders if that's exactly why he did it. For as much as he parroted that this was your choice, he was marking you as his. That choice, which you still weren't 100% certain of, was now permanent.

You're still standing, frozen as a statue, when Nellie opens the door a crack. “Miss! You must get inside,” she hisses. You blink, then manage to turn and slip in the house.

“Thank goodness,” Nellie breathes as she closes the door. “I've been checking every five minutes for you for the last half an hour. The mail came, and I'm not sure how much longer I could have stalled from bringing it to your mother.”

“Why didn't you?” you question as you take off your wrap. “I hardly think that delivering the mail would cause such a fuss.”

“You'll want to hear this first,” Nellie insists as she presses an envelope into your hand. Your curiosity piqued, you take the letter out and shake it open. Your eyes scan over its contents, though it takes a few read-throughs for the information to fully sink into your mind.

“Oh,” you say softly as you finally grasp the reality of the situation. The letter was an invitation for a ball for you and your mother to attend, your first major event since your debutante.

And the ball was being hosted by the Hunte's.

“What was your decision?” Nellie whispers. “Is this… going to be a problem?”

“Yes. It will,” you confirm. “I agreed to the courtship, but we both decided to forgo a formal announcement. If my mother finds out before we're fully engaged, she will try to stop it, no matter the harm it could do to my reputation. We had a plan in place to stay quiet at events, but if Thomas Hunte makes an offer to my mother, she will accept. And it would rock l all of society, trying to smoothe over the kind of scandal that would cause.”

“I told you, you should have already spoken with your mother,” Nellie chides. “How much damage could she do, realistically? You've already accepted his offer of courtship. Could she really change that when you've already given consent?”

You nod grimly. “If I stay in the courtship after she denounces it, or declares that it was made without her prior approval, I fear she would never speak to me again. I must wait until this reaches an engagement. She would not risk breaking something that big. That would ensure our destruction. And then, I'll just have to try and convince her to stay private with her displeasure.”

Nellie sighs heavily. “Well, you must do what you think is best. I just hope that this will not turn into a situation you regret. I still say you're playing with fire.”

“I know I am,” you murmur. “I realize how delicate the situation is. And I'm doing my best to manage it. But if I had done things the way she wanted, we might have been left off worse than we are now. How many other men would agree to a marriage after realizing I barely have a dowry. How many others would agree to support my mother for the rest of her life? He's giving me more than I knew to ask for, and keeping our financial worries discreet. I would've been a fool not to accept.” As you speak, you realize you're not just convincing Nellie, but yourself as well. And it is working. At this moment, you feel very assured in your decision.

Why you feel that way, however, you aren't entirely sure. By all rights, you should be feeling worse than ever. You knew you were going to be coming up against extremely challenging weeks, perhaps months; however long it took him to propose. You didn't like lying; you had never given much of an opportunity to practice.

And yet, there was some comfort given to you, this overwhelming feeling that you would come out alright on the other side. Despite your mother's best attempts to squash certain things out of you, you'd always been an advocate for women being afforded more rights than they were often given. Now that you'd met someone who was giving you even a small taste of freedom to make your own choices, you found yourself clinging to it. With Mr. Onceler, you might have a small chance of having a bit of a say in your own life. With that in mind, you turn back to Nellie.

“Nell, whatever you say, I've made my choice. I've never been allowed to do that before,” you attempt to explain. “My new courtship, as fragile as some of the conditions surrounding it are, is at least giving me choice. I must keep it. It is a blessing that I had not realized I desperately craved.”

Nellie sighs heavily again. “You know you always have my support,” she begins slowly. “So, I shall help you in whatever way I can. If this is so precious to you, I shouldn't like to see you lose it.” She chews her lip, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “It's just… do you love him?” she asks in a whisper.

It's your turn to let out a sigh of your own. “No,” you state blandly. “But I don't need love. I never imagined marrying for love. He's giving me security, which is the most important thing, and even a little bit of a voice. And though he vexes me from time to time, I believe I can live with him. It's more than I expected. I shall not be so selfish as to wish for love on top of everything.” You give Nellie a quick hug, something you'd never do if your mother were there, but you couldn't be bothered to care at present. The confidante Nellie was to you was priceless.

And whatever happened next, she would stand with you. It was a rich thing, to know you wouldn't be going into this alone. For it was indeed into the unknown that you were surely travelling.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #the onceler #onceler x reader #the lorax #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic

[xxrainshadowsxx]

I absolutely love your fics and I can't wait for the update to New Elite! What inspired you to write them?

Short answer: The Onceler. Long answer: My Too Much Gene kicked in, started hyper-focusing on the 1910's for some God forsaken reason, and nobody told me no. Also, The Onceler. I'm so glad you're enjoying, and I'm hoping to update this coming Saturday.

#ask #fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #the onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 4

For the next couple of weeks, things were quiet. Not much of your daily life changed, save for the fact that you had to pin your hair up every time you left the house now. But there were no more balls, and no men to call on you.

According to your mother, it wasn’t a cause for worry… yet. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for men to wait a few weeks, or even until a second event, to call on someone. It was the first sign of courtship after all, and most men needed to be sure that was a step they wanted to take before making so bold of a move. However, if a second event or a couple months passed and you heard nothing, then there was trouble.

Two weeks to the day after the ball, you were sitting with your needlework with your mother in the drawing room when Nellie announced herself, carrying a bouquet of lilies. “These just arrived for you, miss,” she explained excitedly. Before you could even process her words, your mother was out of her seat, the same hungry look she had at the ball back on her face.

“See if there’s a note,” she demanded of you, as you were still trying to set down your needlework. You attempt to hasten, though you’re still quite a bit perturbed, as you look through the flowers for a card of some sort.

Eventually, you find something nestled in the middle of the bunch. Being mindful not to disturb the lilies, you pull out the card and read it aloud.

“‘I hope I’ve been on your mind as frequently as you’ve been on mine. I should like to see you tomorrow and will call on you in the afternoon.”’

“Well? Who is it from?” your mother pesters over your shoulder.

“Um… it doesn’t say,” you mutter, which isn’t a lie, but you’re also glad you’re facing away from your mother at the moment, for you know your face has gone white as a sheet. The card might not bear a physical signature, but you instantly recognized the handwriting as belonging to Mr. Onceler.

You weren’t going to reveal that information, however. She knew nothing of the note you received from him and you planned to keep it that way. You’d have to feign ignorance until he showed up at your doorstep tomorrow.

Your mother peers over your shoulder, like she can’t believe the note isn’t signed, then turns to poor Nellie. “And the delivery man said nothing about who it’s from?” she asks, completely aghast.

Nellie confirms that the delivery only stressed that you were to be the recipient. “A fine game, to leave us all guessing!” your mother declares. “If this is indeed from young Mr. Hunte, he had better come prepared with an explanation.”

His last name would be explanation enough for you, you think waspishly. It’s a bit childish, you know, to be this harsh on your mother, but you also know you’re correct. The name of Hunte would be enough for your mother to forgive Thomas of manners as dreadful as she judged Mr. Onceler’s to be.

Oh, you can picture her face now when he shows up tomorrow. It might be enough to have her faint in the entryway.

“Nellie, can you be a dear and get these into a vase and put them in my room?” you ask her with a meaningful look, making your mother’s mouth twist a bit. Mother didn’t like it when you were overly friendly with the staff, but Nellie is the only real friend and confidante you have. 

“Of course, miss,” she says, and based on the look she gives you in return, you knew she figured out exactly who those flowers were from, and had every intention of discussing it with you later.

When she leaves, your mother rounds on you and grills you about how you’re supposed to behave on outings, and spends an equal amount of time bemoaning that chaperones have largely gone out of fashion in America. You’d never be caught alone with a man, of course, but unlike in England, as long as you were in a public place, it was no longer the norm to have someone follow you around the whole time unless they were invited. You couldn’t say you were upset about that. Mr. Hunte would probably have invited your mother to join you. You’re fairly confident Mr. Onceler won’t.

When you finally manage to get away and make it back to your bedchamber, Nellie is waiting for you. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” she cautions. “Your mother’s patience should not be tested for long, you know this. The longer you keep this secret relationship from her–”

“It’s not a secret relationship!” you cut her off hastily. “I don’t have any sort of relationship with Mr. Onceler, nor do I want one. If there’s any interest, it’s entirely one-sided. I might have to agree to a few things for the sake of being polite, but I still have some power afforded to me. My mother would never agree to a courtship. And if he attempted to circumvent her and ask me directly, I am perfectly within my rights to refuse. And I shall be making my lack of interest quite plain tomorrow.”

Nellie doesn’t look completely convinced. “Forgive me for saying, miss, but I don’t think you’re as disinterested as you would like to believe. He’s the only gentleman you’ve spoken of by name since your debutante.”

You were about to protest that you’d brought up Mr. Hunte, but as you thought more about it, you realized you hadn’t. It had always been your mother who was the first to speak of him, and you never mentioned him in private with Nellie. Her brutal honesty made you squirm uncomfortably. “He… made an impression on me,” you admit haltingly. “I won’t deny that. However, it wasn’t necessarily a good impression. He’s very uncouth, rude even. And as I’ve said before, Mother would never allow it even if I was interested. He’s New Money.”

“Women have more choice than they have in years past,” Nellie muses as she begins turning off the lamps. “If you speak with her now, she might be willing to agree on an engagement down the line.”

You’re shaking your head before she even finishes speaking. “She’s far too set in her ways for that. She’d never agree. And you’re missing the main point, Nellie. I don’t fancy him. I’m not delusional enough to believe I’ll get to marry someone I love, but I would prefer to at least like the man. Mr. Onceler does not fill that particular requirement,” you huff with an air of finality. You were very much inclined to finish speaking of Mr. Onceler for the night.

“All right, miss. Whatever you say.” Nellie backs off, although you can tell that despite your stubbornness, you still haven’t fully convinced her just yet. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting enough sleep, in an attempt to prepare for what was sure to be a maelstrom of a day on the morrow.

Sure enough, your mother has Nellie wake you earlier than usual so you can sit through the tedious journey of getting your hair both curled and neatly pinned up. Today took even longer than usual, since your hair had to be pinned into a hat. You didn’t know how your mother managed this every day. The pins plus the hat pulled your hair so tight you were sure you’d have a headache before the day’s end. 

Getting you ready took most of the morning. The card didn’t specify at what time you should be expecting company, it just vaguely mentioned ‘in the afternoon.’ That potentially left a few hours of nothing to do but wait.

You would have preferred to spend the time reading to calm your nerves, but now that you were grown, your mother seemed to think that wasn’t an acceptable use of your time. You were left with one of two options: either do your needlework, which you’d become sick to death of, or practice piano. Piano won wholeheartedly.

At two o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rings, and you immediately cease your playing to join your mother in the drawing room as Nellie runs to get the door. You hold your breath, waiting to see if your mother lets hell break loose.

If your steadily growing nerves are evident on your face, your mother thankfully doesn’t comment on them. You’ve chosen a seat that faces away from the entrance of the room, but as the seconds pass, you can hear two sets of footsteps coming down the hall. Ready or not, this was about to happen.

“Ma’am?” Nellie’s voice comes from behind you, and you can nearly feel your heartbeat stop. “There’s a Mr. Onceler here to see you.”

Your mother’s reaction almost makes this whole situation worth it. Almost. Her face changes from that hopeful, hungry look she sported at the ball to the color of beets faster than turning a light on or off. You can see all of her hopes and dreams for you going up in smoke in her eyes.

But if there was one thing your mother knew how to do, it was keep her manners, even if her world had been turned upside-down. She knows he’s just around the corner and can hear every word being said. “Of course,” she says, though she doesn’t bother to keep the ice out of her tone. She might keep her manners, but that didn’t mean she had to pretend to be happy with the situation. She was a master of toeing the line of societal niceties and true disdain.

But for now, it’s your turn to also play a part, and convince her that his arrival was a surprise to you as well. You crane your neck to look behind you just in time to see him enter the room. He removes his hat and makes a short bow to the two of you, but when he stands, he has a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that immediately puts you on your guard.

“Good afternoon,” he murmurs, looking directly at you. “I hope I’m not causing too much of a wrench in your plans for the day with my visit.”

You wait for your mother to answer, but it’s abundantly clear he’s not speaking to her. You glance at her out of the corner of your eye and find she’s not at all happy about being ignored; her gaze has narrowed to a hard glint. It does, however, leave the burden of answering him on you. “Not at all, sir,” you say coolly, attempting to convey your indifference in your tone.

If he notices, he’s not put off in the slightest. “Then I was wondering if you might accompany me for a stroll around Central Park?” There it was. Your mother was going to be utterly livid.

However, this was your chance to end things before they had an opportunity to begin. You didn’t want him to scare away any other potential matches. “Of course,” you say haltingly as you grab your wrap.

Your preparation from earlier that day means there’s little you can do to stall leaving. With one last breath, you turn to face him. He holds his arm out to you, and you place your hand in the crook of his elbow. You get in a hasty goodbye to your mother, then he’s whisking you out the door.

Your house isn’t far from Central Park, though there are still busy streets to traverse. New York was nothing if not alive, and you knew for certain someone was bound to see the two of you today, and rumors that he was officially courting you were going to be inevitable. Your mother was going to be furious.

You’re silent until you actually reach the park. You certainly weren’t going to speak first, and he seemed to have no interest in doing so either. It’s only when you begin walking the long path through the flora does he finally open his mouth. “I trust you received the flowers I sent?”

You loathed that ever-constant smirk he was wearing. Insufferable man. “They were lovely,” you say, though you allow no emotion, not even confusion, to creep into your tone. “I’m assuming you won’t tell me why you sent them?” you presume, allowing yourself a hint of haughtiness at this point. 

He raises an eyebrow. “I would have thought that obvious from my note. You have been on my mind, and I daresay I think I made enough of an impression that I’ve been on yours. You didn’t seem at all surprised to see me today.”

“I recognized your handwriting,” you scoff. “In case you’ve forgotten, that was not the first note you’ve given me, sir.”

He laughs at that. “You have been paying attention, haven’t you,” he muses, and for the first time, you notice something about his dialect. He tries very hard to mimic the accent of yourself and your peers–a unique blend of an English and New York accent–and he usually does very well, but it suddenly becomes clear to you that it isn’t his native way of speaking. You don’t know why you suddenly notice it now, but you can’t unhear it.

“Do you have a natural Southern accent?” you blurt out, derailing the conversation, and clearly catching him by surprise. If nothing else, doing that, at least, was an accomplishment.

But on the other hand, you also think you’ve finally managed to offend him; a deep scowl mars his face. “Of course not,” he claims, highly affronted. “And if you’re hoping for me to display hidden Southern charm, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I hold no love for Atlanta, and I have no intention of ever returning. How did you even know that’s where I was from? It’s not something I discuss often, especially not among society.”

“Mrs. Ryan mentioned it,” you murmur. Out of habit, you almost apologize before you remember you don’t care if you offend him or not. In fact, it will probably help in your unique circumstance.

“Damn gossip,” he mutters, probably in response to Mrs. Ryan. “I can’t tell that woman anything unless I want everyone to know about it the next day. And that’s a piece of information I would have preferred to keep to myself for a while longer. I didn’t intend to tell you until later.”

That wording immediately makes you suspicious. “Why would you intend to tell me at all?” you ask carefully. “We’re hardly acquaintances; you owe me no answers about your past.”

Now the sarcastic grin has returned to his face. “I told you before, I don’t like playing mind games. You know perfectly well the answer to your own question. So shall we make this easier on each other and agree not to be coy and speak plainly?” You study his face, trying to discern any hidden motive, but find none. In response to his question, you simply nod once.

“Then you and I both know that I have made my interest quite clear. I have every intention of courting you,” he states bluntly and even though you were expecting it, it still causes a lump to form in your throat.

“My mother will never allow it,” you whisper. “You’re New Money. She would never accept a courtship, much less an engagement, from anyone that is New Money. And I have no interest either.”

That just makes him laugh again. “Your mother can pretend all she wants that I’m not good enough for her type, but I’ve seen people like her before. I know exactly what your family situation is. There’s no money left, is there? All you have is a name and nothing else.”

You can feel your face blanche the longer he speaks. You’d never spoken to anyone about your financial situation. You hardly even speak of it out loud to your mother–that would mean forcing her to accept that the problem exists. How could he possibly have known…?

Apparently the question is clear on your expression, for he answers your unasked question but a moment later. “You remember the Spire family? They had the same desperation in their eyes to get their eldest daughter married off as soon as possible to someone rich. The look in your mother’s eyes was the same as Mr. and Mrs. Spire’s from events I attended with them. It’s easy to find once you know the signs.” Unfortunately, you knew exactly what he was referencing. Poor Abigail Spire was barely older than you when she was forced to marry a widower in his sixties. He’d died from a heart attack on their honeymoon before his will could be changed. His children wrenched his money away, leaving Abigail with nothing, and it was revealed that the Spire’s were penniless. Abigail was working as a seamstress now, so you heard. The scandal had rocked New York, and your mother had been terrified that the same might befall the two of you.

“Your mother won’t let that happen to you, or more importantly, her,” Mr. Onceler remarks, eerily answering your thoughts again. “Eventually, she will agree to sell you off to the highest bidder, New Money or not. And I fully intend to remain that highest bidder.”

“You don’t get it. As long as there is another option, even if the money is slightly less, she will pick that,” you insist. “And there is another option that she is far more partial to.”

“Have you not noticed something that I’m being very deliberate about?” he asks quietly. He stops walking altogether and turns to you. “I’m not asking her. I know she’s too stubborn and set in her ways to allow you to have free will at first. You’ve got a much brighter head on your shoulders. You know half of the families who inherited their wealth rely on nothing more than their names or stocks. It could be gone in an instant. I have enough money set aside already that I could live off of for the rest of my life if I needed. It’s real, not behind some old promise. I can keep you safe. I’m not asking for your mother’s permission to court you. I’m asking for yours.”

You thought your knees were going to give out under the weight of his implications. There was no mincing words, there was no playing games, there was just a black-and-white offer on the table for you to accept if you so chose. But there was also a nagging at the back of your mind.

“What do you want from me in return?” you say lowly. “As you’ve noticed, my family fortune is… it’s gone. So what do you have to gain from this union? What do you want from me?”

“Besides the usual heirs that a man expects from his wife?” Oh, Lord, he was serious. This was not some casual courtship for him, he fully intended to see this through… “As much as I detest it, I cannot deny that the vast majority of society, not just in New York but in all of New England, believes the same as your mother. They value an old name over hard work. You have an old, respected family here. Marrying you would open up doors for me that would otherwise be closed, bring a new level of respectability to my own name. They are entirely selfish reasons, but we have agreed to a mutually beneficial relationship, have we not? This is not for love, do not make the mistake of thinking so.”

You close your eyes briefly, weighing everything he just laid on you. This was your choice, he was making that clear. But after eighteen years of having very little choice in the world, suddenly being asked to make one that would determine the course of the rest of your life seemed like the most daunting obstacle that could be placed in front of you.

“Can I… have some time to think on it?” you plead. “You must understand how huge of a decision this is. I don’t want to make it in an afternoon with emotions running high. I want to have a level head.”

“I’d think less of you if you didn’t,” he commends. “Meet me here in a week’s time to let me know. And if you don’t come, I’ll never bother you again. I promise.”

You nod once, and without speaking, you both turn in the direction of the exit. You somehow manage to keep yourself composed the whole way home. There’s so many thoughts racing through your head, you feel as though you’ve gone numb out of self-defense, but you knew that wouldn’t last forever.

“Until I see you again,” he whispers before kissing the back of your hand. After one last, lingering look, he disappears down the streets, and you have no choice but to reenter your family home.

“Well? What happened?” your mother demands the second you cross the threshold. You blink, then decide.

“It was fine. I explained my lack of interest. There will be no future problems,” you lie. “I am tired though. I’ll take my supper in my room, then retire. If you’ll excuse me, Mother. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.” You slip past her down the hall, ignoring her look of slight astonishment that you would speak to her in such a way.

Whatever choice you made about Mr. Onceler, it would be yours and yours alone. She would not influence you. It was thrilling, finally having the freedom to decide something for yourself. 

But if you chose wrongly… you’d have no one to blame but yourself. That knowledge was as terrifying as it was intoxicating. You had to make sure you chose wisely, for your whole future hung in the balance.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Okay okay okay! I cannot tell you how MUCH I'm loving The Elite! You had me swooning so much and I just think this is fantastic!! You are a wonderful writer and please! Keep up the amazing work!!

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're liking it, because I'm having a really good time writing it. I'm hoping to get a chapter out at least every two weeks, maybe sometimes once a week, so I hope that's fast enough!

#ask #fanfiction #onceler fanfiction

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite Chapter 3

The music from the previous dance has just ended as you make your way to the dance floor, and an elegant waltz has begun. That’s good. You could dance a waltz in your sleep, even with your nerves as frayed as they are. It will be one last thing to have to worry about as you try and decipher Mr. Onceler’s motives in asking you to dance.

You’d thought the man was completely disinterested. During your brief introduction before, he’d hardly even bothered to look at you, let alone speak with you. Every other person you’d met that evening at least had the courtesy to acknowledge your presence. But to him, you might as well have been part of the wall… up until the moment he stole the first dance with you.

You settle into hold, one of your hands in his, the other placed delicately on his shoulder. His free hand was light as a feather on the small of your back; you almost didn’t feel it. The music starts properly and your feet methodically go through the steps you know by heart, while you wait with bated breath for him to say anything, anything at all.

For the first minute or so, there’s silence, and it’s nigh unbearable. Finally, he asks a question. “Your family… how long have they been in New York?”

 The question is so bizarre it very nearly throws even your precise footwork off. “Um, four generations,” you murmur. “My family has been in the United States longer than that. We moved over from England before the Revolutionary War, but we originally settled in Philadelphia. It was during the Jefferson administration that we moved to New York.”

“And how far back can you trace your family lineage?” he presses, though you can’t fathom why he’s so obsessed with your family line. He’s looking at you intently now, waiting for your next answer. You almost preferred being ignored by him. This intense scrutiny was almost too much for you to bear. You swallow heavily and clear your throat before you manage to find your voice.

“My family made a name for themselves during the War of the Roses,” you explain, and miraculously, your voice doesn’t quiver. “An ancestor of mine was an ardent supporter of Henry VII, so when Henry won and took the throne, my family was given a place in court. We were favorites until coming to America. Reportedly, my great-great-great grandfather disliked George III, and didn’t enjoy the same privileges we were once afforded. He decided to try American society over British society, then helped efforts during the war.” You were probably revealing too much about your family line at this point, but it was a subject you knew rather a lot about. Your father, when he was still alive, was obsessed with his ancestry, and ensured you knew exactly where you had come from.

“You know quite a lot about history,” he remarks with a smirk. “Pray tell, is this an actual passion of yours, or is it just yourself you’re interested in?”

You narrow your eyes at him. You could be vain about your looks, you admitted that, but you didn’t find your worth through who you were related to. He asked the question, and you gave him an answer. “History is fascinating, sir,” you say, choosing to answer his question instead of lashing out just yet. You would take him down a peg, but you’d do it like a lady. If this was anyone else, you wouldn’t dare do this, but he was infuriating you, and you didn’t need or want his good opinion anyway. “If one doesn’t learn from history, one is doomed to repeat it. It’s necessary for women to know this, for I’ve yet to see a man who understands this lesson.”

Oh, your mother would scalp you if she could hear you. She hates it when you unleash what she calls you “razor tongue,” and society would be scandalized by some of the things that come out of your mouth, but you couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment. This man had lost the opportunity for your good opinion, and if he wanted to insult you, you were more than happy to let him have your razor tongue.

You expect him to get quiet, perhaps offer you a glare, and drop you as soon as possible. You’re not expecting him to throw back his head and laugh, but that’s the reaction he gives. “A socialite with a mouth? I do believe a call to the Vatican is in order to report a miracle,” he chuckles. His mirth just vexes you further, and you’re left as the one glaring at him. Being annoyed that he insulted you isn’t a cause for a miracle, it’s basic logic.

“Tell me, do you enjoy being a tyrant?” you hiss. “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn your ire.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t. If you’d earned my ire or my scorn, trust me, you would know, and you would know exactly why. I’m not in the habit of playing the mind games society seems to favor.” His mouth twists even as he says these words, as if to leave no room for doubt. Yet his words and his actions hardly match up.

“You say you dislike mind games, yet you delight in playing one with me, sir,” you accuse him. 

Yet again, his reaction confuses you; instead of denying it or even admitting his guilt, he simply looks even more amused. “Please, tell me how I’ve been playing with your mind,” he says, his eyes sparking with the challenge. “Because I assure you, my dear, I’ve been quite upfront with you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You don’t particularly want to whine about how he ignored you; it sounds petulant even in your mind. Instead, you decide your best course of action is to play coy. “You know very well what you did. I shall not give you the satisfaction of spelling it out for you,” you say, lifting your chin just slightly. You would not allow him to think he had damaged your pride.

The hand on the small of your back twitches for a moment, and you think you might have finally succeeded in throwing him off of his game. However, before you can revel in your victory, he pulls you closer to him, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “A socialite with a mouth and wit to boot. I think that is a miracle indeed,” he whispers just before the orchestra plays the final note of the song. His hold on you almost releases, though he still keeps one of your hands in his. “Thank you for honoring me with that dance,” he smirks before bending to kiss the back of your hand again. It couldn’t be more different from the last time he did this–he keeps eye contact with you the whole time and his lips linger. Surprisingly, you find you don’t mind much (which in and of itself is concerning).

You dip into a hasty curtsey as he finally releases your hand, then make your way back over to your table, looking straight ahead but seeing nothing. You can feel his piercing blue eyes staring at you from behind, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to look back at him.

Of course, there’s another formidable force waiting for you back at your table–your mother still sits there, and her expression is ice. There was nothing you could have done differently, you’d only shared one dance with Mr. Onceler, but you hope she won’t find a way to place the blame for his sudden interest on you. You had done your very best to express your disdain for him, though why it only seemed to make him more interested, you couldn’t fathom. But you had sincerely tried.

Before you can take your seat again, your path is intercepted by Thomas Hunte. “I wonder if I could have the honor of the next two dances with you, milady?” he offers with a somewhat charming smile. You don’t particularly want to, seeing as your feet are already beginning to ache, but you have a shrewd suspicion that the rest of the night is going to consist of getting passed between various men for dances with very few chances to rest. So you force a smile on your face and accept, allowing him to lead you back to the dance floor.

It was supposed to be easier this time around. It was supposed to be better this time around. You’d accepted that you had to look for a husband, and as far as your options went, Thomas Hunte was definitely a good choice. He was a good conversationalist, pleasant enough, and there were no glaring flaws that you could detect. He was a bit older, yes, but he wasn’t a decrepit old man. He also fit all of your mother’s qualifications, and seemed interested in you. By all rights, you should be pursuing this with your whole heart.

But for some deranged, unknown reason, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing into a corner, where Mr. Onceler had joined other men to drink brandy and smoke cigars. You didn’t even like Mr. Onceler. So why did you keep staring?

What was worse, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t help yourself from comparing Thomas Hunte and Mr. Onceler. The former, though he kept a good conversation going, spoke almost solely about himself, whereas Mr. Onceler said very little about himself and asked about you instead. You knew you shouldn’t blame Thomas for this, it was expected for men to make themselves seem important, but secretly, you thought you liked Mr. Onceler’s way better. You’d felt heard, which was a feeling you’d only ever experienced with Nellie before. Insulted, yes. But still heard. And for a woman, that was a rarity indeed.

There was also the physical aspect. While you knew the most important thing was personality, and that would ultimately be the most important factor if you got a say in your future husband, you were still a young woman and you weren’t immune to liking attractive men. Thomas wasn’t bad looking. Far from it. But you preferred Mr. Onceler’s dark hair to Thomas’ sandy coloring, and the former’s height was also an advantage. And of course, there was also those striking blue eyes that Mr. Onceler possessed, which Thomas’ brown ones could never hope to compete with.

But you must stop these thoughts. Personality was the most crucial thing after all, and Mr. Onceler’s was atrocious. He’d belittled you and refused to give you a reason for his hot and cold behavior. Even with the desperate times your family was in, you deserved better than that.

It was all a moot point anyway. Your mother would never agree to that union even if you were interested. Mr. Onceler was New Money, and that fact was his death knell.

He didn’t ask to dance with anyone else, however, which you found odd. There was no shortage of young women there, who your mother regarded as your competition. He stayed with the other men for the most part. The only other woman he spoke to was occasionally Mrs. Ryan.

You didn’t have too much opportunity to scrutinize his behavior, though. Just as you predicted, now that dancing had started, you hardly had a free moment. You managed to plead exhaustion once or twice, but for the most part, you were on your feet, being passed through so many partners it was impossible to keep track of all their names. You could tell some of them had more preference for you than others, but by the end of the night, you knew you should be focusing your attention on Thomas. You could tell your mother liked him too, which was a boon. It meant an easier time if it came to a courtship.

Finally, Governor Dix called for peace and quiet as he and Mrs. Dix took center stage for speeches. You took a seat next to your mother, almost out of breath from the hours of dancing you’d put yourself through, and you did your best to look as though you were paying attention.

But out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mr. Onceler on the other side of the room again. He’s nursing a drink and not bothering to even pretend to be paying attention. Instead, he’s staring directly at you, his expression unreadable.

You try and train your focus back on the Dix’s, but the intensity of his gaze makes it impossible for you to stop your own eyes from flickering in his direction every few seconds. You're sure he notices since he never stops looking at you, and the smirk that appears on his face all but confirms that.

He was insufferable. Utterly infuriating. You hated that he was occupying so much of your thoughts. You were being stupid, you were painfully aware of that, but try as you might, you couldn't seem to expel him from your mind.

Therefore, it's a relief when the Dix's finish their speeches. That means the ball, as well as your never-racking debutante, has come to an end. You're sure your mother will want to linger a bit to offer people she considers important a farewell, but the time to leave was so close you could almost taste it.

You stand, and sure enough your mother grabs your arm and immediately makes a beeline for the Hunte's, though she's waylaid by Mrs. Ryan. You almost giggle at the stone-cold look on her face, and only just stop yourself in time.

But as your mother's distracted, for the second time that night you feel a hand on your shoulder, and this time you instantly know who it belongs to. You force yourself to remain stoic instead of flying into a panic as instinct is telling you, then turn to face him.

Mr. Onceler stands there, as you knew he would be. He makes a short bow to you, and you incline your head back, being mindful to hold your tongue, but to also appear aloof. Even though your mother was distracted, she was still within earshot, and wouldn't be happy with you being too rude or seemingly interested. You would have to play this carefully.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight, my lady,” he says, though his eyes are still sparking with mischief as he takes your hand to kiss it for the third time that night.

“And yours, sir,” you say coolly, pulling your hand back as soon as you're able. As you close your hand, however, you feel something in your palm that wasn't there before. Covertly, you glance down and find he's managed to put a slip of paper into your hand.

You almost unfold it, but he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and at the same time, you hear your mother manage a goodbye to Mrs. Ryan. You quickly shove the paper underneath the hem of your glove just before your mother turns back to you.

“‘Bye, ladies! I'm sure I'll be seeing much, much more of you,” Mrs. Ryan calls with a twinkle in her eye before finally taking her leave. Your mother has a near permanent grimace on her face now.

“Oh, I loathe that awful woman,” she despairs. “Hurry now. We must catch the Hunte’s before they leave. If we’re lucky, Thomas Hunte will be calling on you within the next few weeks. You did well to make an impression on him.”

You simply nod, and follow her lead to say your farewells to the Hunte’s and the Dix’s. The whole time, the note Mr. Onceler gave you is burning a hole in your skin, giving you even more of a reason to want to get home. Your curiosity to what it says is simply eating at you.

After the eternity of the evening, the buggy returns, and ten cold minutes later, you’re home, where you nearly collapse into Nellie’s arms. You expect a scolding from your mother for that–it’s not at all proper behavior–but she manages a small smile. “You must be tired. I know I was after my own debutante. But you did well tonight. You managed to capture the interest of the Hunte heir… even with that awful Mr. Onceler trying to steal your time.” She suddenly pulls a face. “I hope you did nothing to encourage him to pursue things further with you?”

“Of course not,” you assure her with a sigh. “I was polite but very cool to him, Mother, I promise. I tried much harder to gain the affection of Mr. Hunte.”

“Good,” she nods in approval. “That would be a highly advantageous match, as I’m sure you know. Well, get you to bed. You need to recover; I expect young Mr. Hunte will be calling on you soon, and we must get you ready for that.”

You have no arguments there. You feel nearly ready to pass out where you stand. However, you allow Nellie to lead you to your room, where you collapse at your vanity. She starts undoing your hair and removing your jewelry, letting you sit in silence for a few minutes before speaking up. “So, I hear you managed to catch the eyes of a few gentlemen tonight,” she smiles warmly. “You must tell me all about it. Who is in your favor?”

You’re about to say Thomas Hunte’s name, but the words stick in your throat. Though you’d spend the night convincing your mother, and indeed, yourself, of your interest in the man, telling Nellie the same suddenly makes you feel sick to your stomach, like you’re lying to her.

“I-I’m not sure,” you say instead. “It was only one night, and I think I need more time to process everything, so I can really comprehend all that happened.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair,” Nellie acquiesces with a little hum. “Can you give me your arms, please? I’ll take your gloves.” You wearily do, but as Nellie removes the right one from your arm, the slip of paper from Mr. Onceler falls out, surprising the both of you; you’d nearly forgotten about it. Nellie leans down to pick it up, but for once you’re faster than her. You snatch it up from the ground quick as lightning, your sleepiness quite forgotten.

“I think you might’ve had a better night than you let on if you’re already getting secret love notes from gentlemen!” Nellie trills, but you ignore her as you open the note to an elegant script.

I expect I shall see you quite soon. Until then, I hope I can occupy a part of your mind, my lady.

What on earth was that supposed to mean? He would see you soon? He couldn’t possibly be planning on attempting to court you, could he? 

Only one thing was certain. He had absolutely cemented a place for himself in your thoughts. And you couldn’t decide whether or not you were happy about that.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic #edwardian era

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite, Chapter 2

Was this supposed to be out last week? Yes. So... sorry. Mental health decided to be a bitch. So, I won't waste any more of your time and let you get on with the chapter.

The following week passed by in a blur, and before you knew it, Nellie was waking you up on the morning of your debutante. You take in a deep, shuddering breath and she draws the curtains back, letting in streams of sunlight. You didn’t feel ready, but that did not matter. Ready or not, you had to do this.

“What perfume would you like for today, miss?” Nellie asks as she bustles about. “I know it’s not something we usually use, but seeing as it’s such a special occasion, I don’t think your mother would object.”

“Rose,” you decide after little consideration. It was a comforting scent to you, and in no way scandalous, so your mother had no reason to disapprove. “But Nellie, isn’t it a little early to apply a scent? It’s only morning.”

“I’m going to iron your dress with it, miss,” she explains. “It’s mostly already finished, it won’t take long now, but we really want that scent to stick with you all night. You best be getting along to breakfast now, you know your mother doesn’t like it when you dawdle.” She tweaks your nose affectionately before dressing you for the morning. You don’t pay much attention to the attire she selects. You’ll be changed out soon enough anyway.

All throughout your meal, your mother prattles on and on about what you’re to do and how you’re to behave yet again, nearly causing you a headache.

“Remember, the first thing you’re to do is speak with Mr. and Mrs. Dix, and congratulate him on his election as governor,” she’s saying for the umpteenth time that week. As if you could forget. This whole part happened to the celebration for Mr. Dix being elected as governor, and it also happened to be the first major event for New York society after you turned eighteen. In old times, your family would have had to have hosted your debutante themselves, but such customs weren’t standard anymore. And according to your mother, you couldn’t have asked for a better event to come out at. All of New York society was sure to be there.

As far as you were concerned, however, you would have taken any other event. Even though this was a political outing, it would largely be attended bipartisan; it would be considered an insult to not come. Even Mr. Stimson, Mr. Dix’s opponent, was invited as a sign of good faith.

So in addition to everyone being there, half of the attendees would be unhappy. Unbeknownst to your mother, you had followed the election closely, being a secret champion of women’s suffrage. The election had been a tight one, from what you could gather from under your mother’s ever-watchful nose.

“After breakfast, I want you to practice the newest dance,” your mother says with a meaningful stare when you’re very nearly done.

“Oh, Mother… I’ve rehearsed it until my feet have bled,” you protest. You’re not exaggerating either; Nellie has had to take special care with the blisters that have formed on your feet from the endless dance lessons. “Can’t I have the morning to myself?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you know before she starts speaking that this simple gesture means all hope is lost for you. “Certainly not,” she sniffs. “Have I not impressed that this is the most important night of your life? You can never be too prepared. How would it look if nerves betrayed you and you forgot the steps? You must have them mastered beyond any chance of fault.”

You sigh, but say nothing further. It seemed that you were to be doomed to both a morning and an evening of pained feet. At this rate, you’d have arthritis before you reached thirty.

Thankfully, you manage to get through the morning without reopening any of your blisters, though the arches of your feet are throbbing. You rub them the entire time Nellie is putting the finishing touches on your dress, before your mother can come in.

But far too quickly, the sun starts to set, and that can only mean one thing. It’s time to start getting ready. You’d take a thousand days of sore feet to put this off, but that’s not an option. All you can do is take one last breath for strength before Nellie puts on the accursed corset.

Since making the finishing touches on your dress the previous week, getting dressed goes quickly enough, and then mercifully, you can sit while Nellie pins up your hair. This process does take some time, since you simply have so much hair to pin.

At least you didn’t have to wear one of the increasingly large hats your mother favored. Being unmarried, you could still show some of your hair. Nellie decorates it with a few pretty, and most importantly, not ostentatious, feathers.

You hardly recognize yourself when you’re finished being made up. You don’t appear quite so young as the first time you put on the dress, but instead you’re caught somewhere between youth and being grown. You don’t love it, but your mother is fawning over it, and of course it’s far too late to change.

“Milady, the buggy has arrived!” Nellie calls, spurring you into action. You pull your gloves and shawl on, then follow your mother to the foyer. “Tell me how it goes,” Nellie whispers just before you cross the threshold, and she closes the door, and your old life, behind you.

You take the footman’s offered hand as he helps you into the buggy, then he sits at the reins and you’re off. You’d told your mother that most people would be arriving in automobiles, but, ever the traditionalist, she’d insisted on doing it this way. Probably because it was cheaper.

However, it’s not a far distance. You only have to brave the New York winter for a matter of minutes. And when you do arrive, you’re far from the first ones, and true to your prediction, most of the transportation you see are indeed automobiles. Focusing on details like these helps keep your mind off of what’s about to take place.

But of course, the buggy stops, and the footman comes back around to help first you and then your mother down the steps. Ready or not, it’s time.

“Chin up,” your mother hisses as a final form of instructions before you follow her inside.

It’s not so much a different world; you’ve grown up with the elite of New York since birth, but always on the fringes due to your age. The room is a glittering white, only a few shades darker than your own gown. An orchestra is playing soft music in one corner, though it’s obvious that the dancing has not quite begun just yet. Supper was to happen first, and there are tables lined with gleaming plates, silverware, and stemware.

For the moment, however, the attendees are milling around, greeting each other. Mr. and Mrs. Dix are easy to spot in the center of the crowd as everyone is expected to make their way to them as soon as possible, and sure enough, it’s towards the two of them your mother steers you towards.

She finagles your way through the crowd expertly, managing to seem casual while constantly moving the both of you closer to her target. As soon as an opening presents itself, she plants you right in front of the Dixes, and she and Mrs. Dix greet each other like old friends, although to your knowledge they were merely acquaintances at best.

And then came the dreaded words out of her mouth. “I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter before?” she says as she gestures you forward.

You dip into a quick curtsey. “It’s lovely to meet the both of you. Congratulations on the results of your election, Mr. Dix,” you say with the quiet confidence that’s been drilled into you. Both of the Dixes regard you politely.

“Is this your first event of the season, dear?” Mrs. Dix asks you. You hope it’s only because she noticed the color of your dress and not because of any social ineptitude.

“Yes. I only turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago,” you explain, willing your cheeks not to become pink.

“Well, we’re honored to host your debutante,” Mrs. Dix says, and you hope she isn’t faking the warm smile on her face. It can be so difficult to tell in high society what is fake and what isn’t.

“Well, we won’t take up any more of your time at present; I’m sure you’re quite in demand this evening,” your mother laughs. “But I do hope we’ll have further opportunity to speak later.” You smile your own farewell-for-now to the Dixes before following your mother into the rest of the throng.

“Well done,” she whispers, and you feel an enormous sense of relief wash over you. “Now come. There’s several families I wish to speak to before supper is served–”

“Dot!” a voice calls out, making your mother stop in her tracks and also causing her to wince; you know she hates the nickname because of how informal it is. Nevertheless, she turns, only to find Mrs. Ryan, a woman who Mother thought scandalous for a number of reasons. She had originally been from a middle-class family when she married an Irish immigrant, and though they weren’t divorced, they were amicably separated and living different lives. You were quite sure her husband was not at the event tonight. He might not even be in the same country.

But the worst thing about Mrs. Ryan, at least according to your mother, is though she’d grown up middle-class, she was unbelievably rich now because her husband had discovered a wealth of oil a few years back. And that made the Ryans ‘New Money,’ a blight your mother could never forgive.

But, loathe as your mother was to admit it, Mrs. Ryan was part of society now, which meant your mother had to put on her best manners. She smiles at Mrs. Ryan, though you can tell the smile is far from genuine. “Matilda. How are you this evening?” she asks, her voice strained.

“Oh, just the same as always,” Mrs. Ryan laughs before she notices you. “This your daughter, Dot? My, you’ve grown up from the last time I saw you. You look a vision, dear. In fact, I’ve got someone who you should meet.”

She shouts again across the room, though you don’t quite catch the name. Your mother seems to, however, and judging by her reaction, she’s not at all pleased. Her face goes stark white, and she can’t keep up the fake smile any longer; it slides from her face like quicksilver.

But before you can do more than shoot her a covert questioning look, an extremely tall man makes his way over to the three of you. “This is Mr. Onceler,” Mrs. Ryan introduces, and suddenly your mother’s reaction makes sense. You knew who Mr. Onceler was. All of New York knew who he was. He had come from nothing until inventing and selling a fashion item, the thneed, which half the attendees, Mrs. Ryan included, were wearing.

But coming from nothing meant one thing, and it was the only thing that mattered to your mother. He was New Money, and your mother was terrified of New Money monopolizing your time and scaring other, ‘better’ prospects away.

Mr. Onceler, however, doesn’t look like he’s interested in taking up all of your time. Studying his face, he looks quite disinterested in being here at all. When Mrs. Ryan finishes her introductions and you give your hand to him as courtesy demanded, he only just barely brushes the back of your gloved hand with his lips, not looking at you once.

“Mr. Onceler’s just gotten back from upstate, where he’s built a new factory,” Mrs. Ryan says proudly, as if she’s listing off the achievements of a son instead of a mere acquaintance.

“I can’t take all of the credit for that, Matilda. Your husband was one of the people who convinced me to do it,” Mr. Onceler says, and you can tell, despite his slightly dismissive tone, that he and Mrs. Ryan have genuine affection for each other. It could very well have been the case that she introduced him into the world of society. “And as much as I would love to stay and chat–”

“Yes, yes, go and talk about important things with important men, don’t stay here and gossip with us ladies,” Mrs. Ryan says with a wave of her hand. Needing no further invitation, Mr. Onceler leaves, barely inclining his head towards you and your mother as a farewell.

Mrs. Ryan turns to you. “What do you think, eh? Handsome, isn’t he? And he’s young too, only twenty. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the state right now.”

“But his manners!” your mother blurts out, though she can’t bring herself to raise her voice any higher than a whisper. It seems she couldn’t hold back any longer, even in the company of one she considered inferior like Mrs. Ryan. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man so rude!”

Mrs. Ryan waves her hand impatiently again. “Come off it, Dot. He’s had all the cards stacked against him. He hasn’t had his money for a year yet, and he’s not even used to northern society as an outsider; he’s from Atlanta. It’s a wonder he’s doing this well at all. And manners matter less and less these days. Cash is the only thing that speaks, and trust me, he’s got plenty of that.” She gives the both of you a meaningful look. “I’d keep that in mind before immediately writing him off.” She gives you an extra look, one that you can’t quite read before saying, “Well, I expect I’ll see both of you later.” She grabs your hand. “You look effervescent, dear. You’re only young once. Enjoy your night.” With that, she takes her leave.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, your mother starts hissing in your ear. “The nerve of that awful woman!” she bemoans. “How dare she imply that my daughter can’t do any better than him? His manners were worse than hers! He barely acknowledged you at all–”

“I think that means he’s not interested in me, Mother,” you remind her as gently as you can. “We have nothing to worry about if he doesn’t like me. As you said, there are much better options.”

Miraculously, your mother actually manages to calm down. “Of course,” she murmurs, collecting herself again. “Of course. There’s no use worrying about his opinion of you. He’s new money. He’s not worth expending energy over.” You can’t help but wince as she says that. You very much hope no one else heard her. You’d never admit it to her, but there was nothing wrong in your eyes with New Money. Mrs. Ryan, for example, you actually liked very much for her bluntness. Your mother was just so old-fashioned, and had an inability to understand differing viewpoints. You’d learned this long ago, and didn’t bother arguing with her much over it. It was easier to pretend you agreed with her most of the time.

“Well, let’s get moving. There’s still people we need to speak with before supper,” Mother decides before whisking you back into the room. The next half-hour or so is filled with conversation much more suited to your mother’s preference–polite and removed. To you, it’s empty. Just vain people speaking of the same things over and over again.

You also can’t help but notice that everyone your mother speaks with is an old New York family, and that they either are or have a son that is an heir to a large family fortune. She pushes you in front of these single men, and to your slight dismay, you can tell that some are indeed interested in you, specifically in your last name. Several of these people felt the same way as your mother–that a family name was far more important than being a decent person.

Finally, after you don’t think you could stand another stiff introduction, you’re called to dinner. You know it will be more awful, forced conversation, but at least you won’t be shown around like a prized animal at a fair. You find your seats, and discover Mrs. Ryan is also at your table, which clearly displeases your mother.

You didn’t think she had too much reason to complain though. Also seated with you is the Hunte family, one of the most respected in New York. Their son and heir to the fortune, Thomas, was seated right across from you. He was quite a bit older than you, being nearly thirty, but at least he wasn’t a widower in his fifties. Your mother seemed almost hungry when she looked at him, and you would practically feel her willing the two of you together.

And for the moment, you think you’ve managed to make a good first impression. Though conversation flowed quite easily (to your slight shock) between all at the table, Thomas Hunte did make a point of speaking directly to you on a few occasions. And you were on your best behavior, not bringing up topics your mother forbade and directing the conversation back towards him, so that he could feel important. Men did like to feel important.

Just as the dessert course is beginning to come to an end, the orchestra starts playing tunes you’re familiar with; the dancing has clearly begun. You look up at Thomas, sure that he’ll invite you to dance, but his immediate attention has been captured by Mrs. Ryan, who has asked him a question. Before he’s free to speak with you, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

You turn, and, with no small amount of surprise, you find Mr. Onceler there. You're sure the shock must register on your face, and you can't even find any words to say, but he doesn't comment on that. “I was wondering if you would join me for the next dance?” he asks instead, without any sort of preamble.

To say you're flummoxed is an understatement, but the drilling of your manners mean they're able to return to you, even through your confusion. “Oh… yes, of course,” you murmur. Mother won't be happy, and sure enough, she's stone-faced when you glance at her. But what else can you do? It would be beyond rude, practically unthinkable, to refuse. One dance meant nothing. Everything would be fine.

So, you stand, take Mr. Onceler's proffered hand, and allow him to lead you to the other side of the ballroom.

A note on some of the characters:

The Hunte's are purely my invention. Mrs. Ryan, while fictional, is based on Molly Brown, who wasn't born into society but her husband became rich, and was always considered uncouth. John Dix, however, was real and was elected governor of New York in 1910.

Also, apparently Americans used the word buggy instead of carriage. I hate that very much.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic

[xxrainshadowsxx]

New Elite, Chapter 1

Here's the beginning of the new fic. Very different from Interpersonal, it is a period piece, and I have researched it to hell and back (Lord knows why I didn't pick a period in history I already knew a lot about), so hopefully it's mostly accurate. No Onceler in this chapter, but this has to be here to set things up. Also, I'm working on getting a master list set up, hopefully by next weekend.

“Tighter, Nellie. This is going to be her grand entrance into society, she needs to be seen.” You take in a sharp breath as the already near-suffocating corset is pulled even tighter as per your mother’s firm instructions. You don’t bother trying to argue with her. You’d learned from past fruitless attempts that it was pointless.

“Stop fidgeting so much,” was her next admonishment, this one directed at you. You did your best to stay still–dress fitting was nothing new to you–but all too often your frayed nerves got the best of you and caused frequent trembles.

This wasn’t just any dress fitting for you. This was the fitting for your debutante, your formal introduction to the high society of New York. Of course, you’d been surrounded in it your whole life, but always protected, never left to fend for yourself. Now, you were to be thrown to the sharks, and had to pray you had the education necessary to survive.

And of course, the most important part of your debutante was that you were going to be introduced to society as a viable marriage option. And, according to your mother, your whole life has been leading up to making a good marriage.

She wasn’t entirely wrong. While there were parts of the world that were starting to see that marriage and childbearing was not the ultimate goal for a woman, it was not so in your circle. And of course, your mother wasn’t excited for your marriage for you. No, she was pushing it for her own survival.

You sigh through a grimace as Nellie tightens the last few strings of your corset. You really couldn’t blame your mother for pushing this on you, even though you selfishly wanted to. It wasn’t just her survival that hinged on it; yours did as well.

Still, you couldn’t help but resent the fact that the burden to keep the two of you afloat fell solely on your shoulders. Every appointment to get you ready for your debutante, every dance lesson, and especially everytime your mother made you recite the “rules” for the ball in the coming week that would serve as the vehicle for your debutante, made you want to scream and rip your own lovely, painstakingly-manicured hair out from the roots.

And there was no back-up option. As Mother was quick to remind you if you voiced even a hint of dissent, you were the one and only card the two of you had left to play. According to her, a lovely young girl with a good name could attract anyone she so chose, as long as she kept her charms about her. That was exactly the role she expected of you.

So she spent money you were sure you didn’t have in an effort to get you noticed. She made it clear that she fully expected you to end your first season engaged at the very least, and kept dropping increasingly less-subtle hints that this was the last chance you had to keep your family’s name and legacy in New York’s good graces…

Nellie finally finishes with your corset, breaking you momentarily from your melancholy for a whole new type of misery. You cautiously take in a breath as deep as you’re able as your mother is busy instructing Nellie on the correct way to handle your dress. To your dismay, Nellie did far too good a job at tying the corset; your breaths can’t loosen it even an inch, and inhales you can take are far too shallow for your liking.

But then Nellie comes over with the dress, and you have to hold yourself together and lift your arms as she places the delicate material over you, and then she and your mother immediately begin inspecting it for any flaws. As they fuss over the details, you glance at yourself in the mirror and sigh. You hate the pure white you’re in. You’d seen one dress with just a hint of light blue feathers on it that would have done wonders for your complexion, but Mother had deemed it far too scandalous. Women at their debutante wore white, and only white. To wear any other color was to suggest one wasn’t a maiden, and that wouldn’t fall in line with your mother’s master plan.

Get introduced into society. Catch the eye of some rich man and get engaged and married in quick fashion. And suddenly, all of your problems would be solved. If only it were that simple and not have so many hidden rules and regulations in between the lines.

“Darling, what gloves were you thinking?” your mother asks as she finally decides your dress is passable. Before you can voice your own opinion, she gives hers. “The ones with the pearls at the top would be simply lovely.”

“I was thinking that as well.” You absolutely weren’t–you actually fancied an ivory pair with lace just so you could have something that wasn’t pure white–but you’d learned long ago that agreeing with your mother is far easier than trying to change her mind about anything. Besides, it would take an act of God to convince her that ivory would be acceptable.

She hands you her preferred gloves, and you slide them over your hands and arms. “Well, I think that besides the hair, this will be what we go with,” she declares, though she’s still scrutinizing you for the most minute flaw. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t attract the attention of most men.”

You can’t help but notice the fact that she simply says ‘men’ instead of ‘young men’ like she used to. That meant widower’s twice or even three times your age were probably acceptable options to her as long as they had enough wealth and a respectable name. It takes all of your control to suppress a shudder. Your worst nightmare was being forced to marry some fifty-year-old man in a year’s time. He’d probably have children of his own older than you at that point.

But if your mother thought men of any age were appropriate, then it meant your family’s financial situation was even more dire than you originally thought. This really was the last ditch effort you had to restore yourselves.

Well, restore yourselves to the life you were accustomed to. So many people were still living less fortunate lives than you, and you recognized that. But to even suggest to your mother that either one of you should start selling things, or worse, get a job, would destroy her pride. There would be no way to hide the money situation if you did either of those two things, and slowly but surely, you would both be shunned from society. She couldn’t handle that, and you hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her just yet.

Turning away from these unpleasant thoughts, you instead turn to look at yourself in the mirror. You can’t exactly say you’re thrilled with the sight that greets you. All the white makes you look younger than you are, which isn’t conducive for being seen as a marriage option for the men of New York. Your hair at the moment didn’t exactly help matters in terms of looking your age, but you weren’t exactly thrilled about that coming change, either. At present, your hair hung in long curls down your back. While contributing to your youthful appearance, you didn’t like the idea of putting it up whenever you went out, but that was one of society’s rules. From your debutante forward, your unbound hair was a gift for your future husband.

As usual, though, your mother doesn’t share your opinion. “You look a vision, my dove,” she croons. “Well, I think that about does it for today. Nellie, come get it off. Keep it safe for the ball. And have it steamed beforehand.”

“Of course, milady,” Nellie murmurs before going to help you out of your entrapment of a dress, which thankfully, you know would be a good deal quicker than getting it on in the first place. 

As she works, Mother pierces you with a meaningful stare. “You remember what we talked about in terms of how you are to behave, correct?” How could you forget? She’d drilled it into you for the past six months. You simply nod to try and avoid another verbal repetition, but the rules flash across your mind just the same.

There was to be no talking about topics you were actually interested in, like women’s suffrage or the growing political turmoil in Europe. Music and art were acceptable, but only if men brought up the subject first, and there was to be no intentional disagreements. You were to accept a dance with any eligible man who asked, but excuse yourself quickly if he wasn’t up to your mother’s standards for a suitable husband.

And what would disqualify someone from your overwhelming list of potential future husbands? There was only one thing, and it was your mother’s most important rule: Never associate with New Money for longer than socially acceptable.

To your mother, the worst thing someone could be in society was New Money. Her greatest fear was that your only marriage proposal would be from someone who was classified as New Money. She honestly might rather take the two of you being destitute over you marrying into New Money. It was anyone’s guess at this point, and you weren’t confident on which way she would go. It could very well change with her mood each day.

As soon as the garment was off your body, your mother had more rules. Of course she did. “Well, early to bed with you. You’ve been far too pale lately, we need to change that. I don’t want to have to use too much cosmetic on you for the ball. Nellie, draw a bath will you? Bed after that.” She beams at you before leaving you to follow Nellie to a bath.

She means well. You know that, deep down, she just wants to save you from a life on the streets, and this was the only solution she knew of. But you also know she loves her comfort, and her motivation was out of self-preservation as much as your own protection. And though she didn’t know it, you found the rules and regulation of her precious New York society to be just as suffocating as the tightest corset.

As you sink into the mercifully warm bath Nellie has prepared for you, your thoughts turn again to an unknown future husband. You know full well your mother will agree to a proposal from the richest suitor with the most respected name, without giving a second thought to their character. That wasn’t a consideration given to her, and it still wasn’t a common practice among the upper-class, so you know your actual feelings about someone won’t be a factor in your marriage. You’d be lucky to get engaged to someone you liked. You knew it was a fool’s hope to believe you’d actually be in love by the time of your wedding.

And then there was the other factor, the one that scared you more than even marrying a stranger: being forced to bear his children. Women died in childbirth frequently, even with new drugs that claimed to help with the pain, and the infant mortality rate was even higher. That was something you knew all too well. Your mother had had several pregnancies both before and after you, all of which had resulted in either a miscarriage or stillbirth. You had been the only healthy child.

Well, the only healthy legitimate child. Perhaps due to your mother’s inability to produce an heir to his liking, your father had a number of extramarital affairs. You didn’t know if you had any half siblings as a result of those affairs, but it was certainly a possibility. And of course, because it happened to her, your mother told you it was likely to happen to you, too. You were supposed to pretend you didn’t know about it.

That was one task you weren’t sure you’d be able to manage if it did come to pass. Unless you ended up married to a truly horrendous man, you didn’t want him to suffer the same fate as your father, who’d died from a venereal disease he’d contracted from one of his affairs. If your own husband was doing the same, you might not be able to hold your tongue.

“Miss? You’ve been so melancholy today, one might’ve thought a funeral was impending,” Nellie comments, once again pulling you from your doldrums.

“I’m scared, Nellie,” you sigh. Though employed as a maid to your family, she was the closest thing you had to a friend and confidante, and you trusted her to keep your silence from your mother. “This is unknown. And while I recognize the privilege my name has given me, this is the price I pay for it. The burden of upper-class women is no easy one. I think I should find a funeral far easier than my own debutante, for then I would at least know what to expect.”

“Hush now with those morbid thoughts,” Nellie scolds, though she manages to sound much more affectionate than your mother. “You’ll be the brightest young star at the ball, and have any number of young gentlemen interested. Surely one of them is bound to catch your fancy? Now let’s get you washed and out of the water before you start to prune.” You allow her to help you finish your bath and step out of the water and into your night things before returning to your room, where Nellie started running a comb through your hair to detangle it.

There was nothing that could be done for you. Your father left you with nothing but piles of debt, and while the old family fortune had seen you through a few years, it was depleted now. Your marriage truly was the last hope you had to keep yourself and your mother off the streets, penniless. With no man to care for them, women were vulnerable, and that was simply the truth of the world. 

So as much as you detested it, you would play your part. It was the only way to keep you alive.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler #period fanfic #lorax au

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Family Affairs

First family therapy session and the return of angst. Takes place a few days after Jack plants the seed. DISCLAIMER: None of the advice given in this chapter is professional. I am not a therapist, and any advice given is my own personal take on my characters and their situation.

(Also I kind of have an important question down below so please make sure you read that note too!)

Rating: T

Warning: Tiny bit of language, and some heavy topics

“Do we really have to do this?” Jack whispers as the three of you walk up to the quiet center. “All they’re going to do is ask me about planting the tree again.”

“No, she won’t. She’s not here to do that, she’s here to help us learn how to be a family,” you say softly yet firmly. “This is a huge change for all of us, and she’s here to help us through it.” Jack doesn’t complain further, but you can tell he also doesn’t completely believe you. And you can’t blame him for his bad mood. Ever since he’d planted the seed earlier that week, he’d been hounded by just about everyone in the city. It was overwhelming, and while he didn’t regret planting the seed, he was desperate for people to leave him alone again.

Jack wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable. Onceler had been almost completely silent since you had told him where you were going. He, too, had been receiving intense levels of scrutiny after coming back into the public light to help Jack plant the seed. You thought he’d be used to the attention by now, but he seemed to hate it more than Jack did, and you guess you could understand why. He used to be adored. There was a lot more hostility this time around.

But you had to give them both a lot of credit. Despite their complaints, both Jack and Onceler did recognize the importance of this appointment. There were a lot of emotions to sort out, and no one wanted those emotions to become overwhelming in an already delicate situation. Anything that could alleviate the stress was welcome, and at this point, necessary.

Onceler holds the door open for you, and you step inside a quiet waiting room. This particular therapist’s office mimicked a home setting, which you liked; you didn’t want anyone to feel like they were going to a doctor’s office for these visits. You smile a thanks at your fiancé and take a seat on a soft loveseat, Jack right next to you. That left Onceler to sit in the single chair across from the two of you.

You don’t have to wait more than a minute or two before a woman with shoulder-length chocolate hair comes out. “Welcome,” she says in a soft voice and with a soothing smile. “Please, follow me to the back.” You take one of Jack’s hands in your own, and Onceler’s in the other, and lead your family to the woman’s office.

The back room is set up much like the front, with a distinct home-like setting. However, there’s a much longer couch back here, and the three of you are all able to comfortably sit side by side, while the woman sits across from you.

“My name is Emily,” she says in her calming tone once all of you are settled. “And I understand that the three of you are in a very unique situation. I want to impress upon you first and foremost that this is a judgment-free environment. You can speak your mind here, and I will not think less of you for it. And this is your family. We can work on being comfortable speaking the truth to them if you’re not already.”

Her words are exactly what you need to hear, and you hope she’s been able to calm Jack and Onceler as well. You still have one hand of theirs in each of your own, and you give them gentle squeezes as Emily continues. “I know we’ve spoken before,” she says, addressing you. “But I would love to meet the rest of your family.”

Jack takes a deep breath, but decides to go first. “My name is Jack,” he introduces. “And this is my mom… and my dad, I guess. Well, he is my dad, but I’m still getting used to having a dad…” he trails off here, his cheeks turning pink, but Emily, true to her word, doesn’t seem to mind. She simply smiles and nods before turning her attention to Onceler, who shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

But, despite his discomfort, he also introduces himself to Emily, and confirms that he is indeed Jack’s father. Emily nods again, then consults her notes that she’s already begun compiling.

“So, based on what I know about this, and what I’ve discerned so far, I’ll want to do individual sessions with all of you in time, but today I think it’s best to remain together,” she decides. “And just to make absolutely sure I have all of my facts together, Jack, you grew up with your mother your whole life, until just recently when your father came back into the picture. And Onceler, you were unaware of Jack’s existence until then. Am I correct in all of this?” All three of you nod in affirmation, making Emily lean back and sigh. 

“Well, this is a complicated situation, that’s for sure,” she comments, but there’s no judgment in her statement, just an acknowledgment of the bizarreness of the whole thing. “And I can imagine that everyone’s emotions are going a bit haywire.” She turns to you. “If you’re comfortable, can I ask why you didn’t initially tell Onceler about Jack? Do they already know why?”

Now it’s your turn to shift under her gaze. As nice and comforting as she was, the topic was never fun to revisit. You quickly explain to her that you wanted to tell Onceler about your pregnancy, but weren’t able to get in touch with him. To her credit, she doesn’t dig into this point for now, just adds it to the list of very weird circumstances that surrounded all of you.

“Wow,” she comments when you’re done speaking. “Yeah, you three are going through quite a lot. But the important thing to remember is that despite all of these obstacles, I’m getting an abundance of love in this room. There might be hurt, and there might be confusion, but most importantly there is love, and I want all of you to remember that, particularly if things get challenging. We’re probably going to get pretty deep during our sessions here, but there’s no shortage of support for each and every one of you.” She gives another kind smile, and this time, you can tell Jack and Onceler are starting to become more accustomed to her presence, and thus more likely to open up.

“And one more thing that I should probably address,” Emily adds, glancing down at her notes. “I understand that all three of you have been or are currently in the public eye, particularly Jack and Onceler. This might come into play later, but for now I don’t think it’s a big deal, nor do I think it’s something that will drastically affect your family dynamic. So unless I’m proven wrong about that, I’m going to leave the fame firmly behind us for the time being.”

Next to you, you can feel Jack visibly relax. That had been his biggest worry, and it had quickly been alleviated. Onceler, on the other hand, was still a bit cautious, which you understood. You were sure his experience in the spotlight was going to affect him and need some working through far more than either you or Jack would need. 

Emily next asks Jack about himself, and while it seems an innocent enough question, you’re sure she’s also doing her job. Sure enough, you can see her making notes as Jack speaks. When Jack mentions his love of music and his newly formed agreement with his father to learn guitar, Emily apparently reads a lot into that; her pen is practically skating across the journal on her lap.

After Jack, Emily turns next to you. “And what makes you, you?” she asks, the same question she posited to Jack. Unlike your son, you have much less to say.

“I mean, I’m a mom. That’s been my primary role ever since Jack was born, and I like to think I’ve done a good job at it. Jack’s a great kid,” you shrug.

“Yes, but you are more than that,” Emily explains patiently. “You’re not just defined by your relationships with others. You’re more than a daughter or a sister. You’re more than Onceler’s fiancée, or even Jack’s mother. You seem to have forgotten that.”

All you can do is blink, words lost in your throat. You want to refute her because of course that’s not the case, but as you start actually thinking about it… she’s not wrong. For the past decade, you’d delved so deeply into motherhood to numb the pain that was there so now, that was all you knew.

“It’s alright,” Emily comforts gently. “This happens to several women after kids come along. I’m not saying that your kids shouldn’t be your first priority, or that you’re in any way a bad mother, just that it’s not a bad thing to focus on yourself as well. In fact, it’s a necessity.”

Well shit. For as nice as she was, she pulled absolutely no punches. You trusted that this would make your family stronger on the other side, but the journey was going to be even more arduous than you were anticipating.

Finally, Emily turns to Onceler. This was the part that you were really interested in. Since coming back into your life, you had seen him return to life, but there was still a deep rooted self-loathing there. He’d already made it abundantly clear that he thought you were too good for him, and had insinuated that Jack might even be better off without him. You’d done your best to stop these insidious thoughts in their tracks, but it was beyond clear that he, more than even you or Jack, needed the professional help.

And sure enough, as Emily asks him the same question as you and Jack, his line of vision finds the floor. “What am I supposed to say?” he mutters after a moment. “That I’ve failed at everything in my life? That I haven’t even been able to raise my son? I haven’t done anything right. I don’t know why she still wants me around. They deserve a better husband and father than I can be.”

For the first time, Emily puts down her journal and instead scrutinizes Onceler for a few moments. She then asks a question that you never would have thought to ask. “Do you want to lose them? And I need a brutally honest answer.”

“Of course not,” Onceler answers, looking and sounding almost offended. “I love them. They’re all I have.”

“If you love them, but keep telling them they deserve better than you, knowingly or not, you’re putting an idea in their heads that you don’t want to be around,” Emily says bluntly. “Everyone messes up. But no matter how grievous the offense, you can become a better person. You’ve committed no acts of violence against your family, so I see no reason for you to be separated from them. Believe it or not, I see this often. You made a mistake, yes. But no matter the size, your son and fiancée believe the best in you. Instead of trying to convince them they can do better than you, you need to become the man you think they deserve. But you can’t be that unless you forgive yourself first.”

The silence in the room is heavy, a palpable presence after her words. You’ve talked to Onceler about forgiving himself before, but you’d never been able to achieve the same punch that Emily has just given. Whether he likes it or not, this is what he needs.

“I… I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice thick with sorrow. You can tell he’s working hard to hold back tears. “What I’ve done… I’ve hurt so many people. And it’s my fault I wasn’t involved in Jack’s life at first. I made the decision to leave. There was so much I did wrong.”

“Then start with something you did right,” Emily advises. “And I know it’s hard to think of anything you did right when your mind keeps bringing up all of your mistakes, but that’s what I’m here for. I can give you the tools. You just need to choose to use them.”

“And as for something you did right,” you start nervously, looking to Emily to make sure you’re allowed to say this, but she nods encouragingly, so you continue. “As soon as you found out about Jack, you wanted back in his life. And you’ve done everything to be an attentive father since then.”

“It’s not near enough,” Onceler insists, but this time, Jack interrupts him.

“I like having a dad much better than not having a dad,” he says quietly, but in the silent room, it might as well be as loud as a gunshot.

He also manages to completely shut Onceler up. How could he continue arguing after that? He just hangs his head, letting his son’s words sick in as you run your thumb over the back of his hand, offering him what crumbs of comfort you can.

“See?” Emily says, finally breaking the silence. “Your family loves you. They believe the best of you. If you can’t believe in yourself just yet, borrow theirs. I don’t think it’s wrong to have other people as your primary source of motivation, initially. In time, I want you to want to better yourself for you, but if you can’t do that yet, that’s okay. As long as you aren’t using others as emotional support crutches, they can be helpful in terms of motivation.”

“And you can always lay your burdens on me,” you add quickly. “We’re going to be married, and that’s what being married is about. Your joys are mine, your sorrows are mine. And I want to help you with whatever pain you’re going through, even if all I can give is a listening ear.”

“And I want to do the same for you,” he sighs emphatically. “I’m just not sure I know how.”

“That’s why we’re here,” you remind him with a small smile. “We don’t have to know everything right away. We’re here so we can learn how to support each other.” You turn to Jack to include him as well. “All three of us. And believe me when I say, you support me better than you know. There’s so much I could never have gotten through if you hadn’t been there with me.”

“You told me when planting the seed,” Jack says carefully, “that everyone deserves a second chance. I think you should give yourself one, too.”

At yours and Jack’s words, the tears that had been threatening him finally spill over Onceler’s blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says, pulling both of you into his arms. “I don’t know how I ever got lucky enough to get you. Both of you.”

Emily lets the moment linger a while before speaking up. “Well, I think that should do it for today,” she murmurs, seemingly satisfied. “Same time next week? And I think we’ll start with individual sessions then.” You confirm the details with her before leading your family out.

You weren’t perfect yet. None of you would ever be perfect. But you were mending. And you were confident that with each other’s help, you would become as strong a family unit as you were able to be.

OK, question time. My Too Much Gene decided to kick in yet again, and this time... she wants me to write another OncelerxReader multi-chapter fic. The difference is that this one is heavily AU, and set in the 1910's. And the MC isn't the same MC as the one in Interpersonal, if that makes sense. Like, there's no Aurora, her mother isn't dead, little things that make it not the same character. My question is, would any of you actually be interested in reading that? I'll probably write it regardless, but whether or not I post it depends on if y'all would actually read it.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Tis the Season

So, this isn't late or anything, not at all. Oops. In all seriousness, happy holidays, and to celebrate, here's a Christmas themed chapter for you.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild innuendo and not so mild language

“Mom! Dad! Come on, wake up!” A weight that was paired with a very excited voice made it into your bedroom that morning, pulling you away from a lovely deep sleep. After raising your head and groggily blinking a few times, you see that Jack is the perpetrator, but you can’t find it in yourself to get annoyed with him. It’s Christmas morning after all, and it’s your son’s favorite day of the year.

“Jack, give us a minute. We were up half the night wrapping presents,” you yawn, giving him a half-truth. You’d definitely been up most of the night, but it wasn’t to do any last minute wrapping; you’d finished that early enough.

“Still, hurry up! Aunt Aurora made cinnamon rolls, and she said they’re going to get cold soon,” Jack enthuses as he finally exits the bedroom. You hear his feet run down the hall before disappearing, presumably to rejoin Aurora in the living room with the tree and presents.

“How much sugar did Aurora give him?” Onceler wonders as he sits up and stretches. “He’s never got this much energy in the mornings.”

“It's not sugar,” you mumble through a stretch of your own. “It's Christmas. He's always this excited on Christmas. Honestly, I cherish it because I don't know how many more he's got in him before he turns into a jaded and moody teenager.” You stumble out of the bed and make your way over to the dresser, pulling out a blue sweater and white sweatpants, glad that you'd gotten them ready the day before. You change into them, still half-asleep.

“You alright, darling? You've been exhausted lately,” Onceler notes, concern flooding his tone as he changes into comfortable loungewear of his own. You manage to throw a tired smile in his direction.

“It's just the holidays,” you evade. “It should get better once Christmas is actually over. Now I don't have to buy anything anymore.”

“Alright,” he backs off, though still with an air of caution. “But if it doesn't, will you promise to go see the doctor? I don't like the idea of you not getting enough sleep?”

You pull him close and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Promise,” you say. “Now, we should probably go downstairs before Jack comes back up here with full intent to murder us.” Without waiting for a response, you take his hand and lead him out of your bedroom, pulling him along to the stairs of your new house.

You'd only moved in a couple months ago, but already this place felt more like home than anywhere you'd ever lived before. It wasn't as big as Onceler's old mansion, but that suited you just fine. That place had been too massive to ever truly feel like home. Here, you felt comfortable, while still having plenty of room for all four of you.

Down the stairs and a few turns sees you in the sitting room, your Christmas tree in one corner and stockings above the fireplace. Jack and Aurora are already here, and your sister wastes no time handing you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“To wake you up,” she explains with a smile. You flash her a grateful look before taking a long sip, savoring the way the drink warms your whole body from the inside out. You didn't like coffee and you didn't like to rely on caffeine to keep you awake, so hot chocolate was usually your go-to.

You take a seat on the sofa, and Onceler sits next to you, casually draping an arm around your shoulders. Jack, who's chosen to sit on the floor, has been watching the whole exchange impatiently and is practically vibrating in anticipation. You can't help but smile. While he's always loved Christmas, he hasn't been this excited in a few years, and you have a very good idea as to why this year is different: it's the first Christmas the whole family has been together. You yourself are certainly the happiest you've ever been as well.

“Should I start handing out presents?” Jack asks, inching closer to the base of the tree.

“Not much point in that,” you tell him with a shrug. “Most of those are for you. Why don't you just start opening some and if you come across something that's for one of us you can hand it over?”

Jack needs no further convincing. He tears into his gifts with the kind of enthusiasm only a ten-year-old boy on Christmas can muster. You'd done your best not to go overboard, but restraint had proved difficult for you when you'd been given an unlimited budget thanks to your husband. Christmas wasn't about money, you knew that, and you wanted to ensure Jack knew that as well, but it sure had helped after years of struggling to make ends meet in December. 

Still, you didn't want to spoil him too much. You made sure to buy your son things he needed as well as things he wanted. Such as… “Oh good, new basketball shoes!” he shouts gleefully as he rips the paper off the first present he grabs. 

“Well, your old ones were falling off your feet,” you point out. “I know these aren't name brand, but they're a bit sturdier. You'll be able to beat them up while you're playing.”

“And if you follow my growth pattern, you'll be needing new shoes every few months soon anyway,” Onceler adds.

“Thank you!” he enthuses as Onceler goes to grab a trash bag for the used wrapping paper.

For the next several minutes, you mostly watch as Jack opens his own present, occasionally interrupted when he comes across one that's not addressed to him and hands it out. Aurora absolutely cackles with glee as she opens your present to her.

“Do you have any idea of the menace you've just unleashed on this town?” she crows as she puts on her new hat, which simply reads “Fuck The Straights.” “You know I'm going to wear this in public, right?” 

“Oh, I know you will,” you answer lightly. “But you're enough of a menace already that a hat isn't going to make much of a difference unless you wear it inside Jack's school for whatever reason.”

“Don't give me ideas,” she laughs, eyes sparkling. “Anyway, I think there's still two more left under there. Who are they for, Jack?”

Jack pulls both out. One of them, which is huge and was an absolute bitch to wrap, is for him. The other, which is shaped like a brick, is apparently yours. Jack passes it to you, and it's surprisingly heavy. It's also from your husband.

“Don't worry, I didn't go overboard,” he murmurs into your ear. “And I know it's something you actually want. But we can let Jack open his first.”

You don't have much of a choice on that score. Jack has already started tearing into his last present, his face lighting up more by the second as he sees what it is.

“No way! I got a guitar?!” he shrieks in delight. He opens the case carefully, in stark contrast to his unbridled, feral enthusiasm when actually taking the wrapping paper off. Once the case is open, he picks up his new, dark blue guitar out of the case and looks at it with something close to reverence.

“We figured you deserved your own with how much you've been playing mine,” Onceler says casually enough, but his face is beaming with pride. They had bonded over their mutual love of music, and it always made your heart swell to hear them playing together.

Now, there was only one present left, and it was the one on your lap. The room looks at you expectantly, so you quickly take the paper off. And in your hands sits a beautiful, embossed copy of all of Jane Austen's works. It had been something you'd mentioned an offhand interest in to Onceler when out shopping for Jack, and he'd clearly remembered.

“Thank you, love,” you smile as you lean over and kiss him briefly.

“I think that's it,” Jack comments as he searches under the branches for anything he might have missed. After a moment, you decide the time is right for you to speak up. 

“Jack, there's an envelope in the tree,” you say, trying your best to keep your tone as light as possible.

Jack finds and grabs the envelope immediately. “It's for Dad, from Mom,” he announces. Onceler raises his eyebrow at you, but when you're not forthcoming with any further information, he takes the envelope from Jack, dragging his finger through the top to open it, and spilling its lone parcel into his palm.

His face instantly goes slack and drains of all color. His mouth makes motions like it's trying to form words, but no sounds are coming out. Finally, he looks over at you, his eyes misty. “Really?” he manages to breathe out. You simply nod, beaming yourself at this point.

“What is it?” Jack demands. At his words, Onceler simply shows him and Aurora what's in his hand: the positive pregnancy test you'd taken five days ago.

“We're having another baby?” he whispers as Jack and Aurora stare at the pregnancy test, Jack in astonishment, Aurora in amusement and satisfaction.

“We're having another baby,” you confirm, and not a second later, his arms are around you, kissing you senseless. You're only too happy to return his kisses.

“Alright!” Aurora calls after a moment, causing you to separate. “Other people want to congratulate you too. As long as this one was actually planned… for the love of God, tell me you actually talked about this one?” You sigh, but nod. You hadn't exactly been actively trying, but you had agreed together that you weren't going to do anything to prevent it.

“I'm going to be a big brother?” Jack asks. You turn to him. His reaction was the one you were the most nervous about. You didn't want him to feel like this new baby was yours and Onceler's chance to “get it right” since Jack's own early years had been so turbulent.

“Yes. Are you okay with that?” you ask apprehensively.

A grin splits his face. “It's awesome when is the baby gonna be here?” he asks eagerly, and you breathe a sigh of relief. There might be issues down the road, but not today. Today, things were allowed to be perfect, and for the first time, all of you could bask in the glow of the prospect of becoming a family of five.

Later that night, when you're settling down to sleep, Onceler turns to you as you're climbing into bed. “Do you think I can do it? Be a good dad, I mean?” he asks quietly.

You reach up to caress his face. “You're already a wonderful father to Jack,” you remind him. “And I know our new baby is going to be so lucky to have you as their dad.”

He pulls you into his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This means everything to me. There's no greater gift you could have given me, even though I thought I had everything with you and Jack. But now I can't wait to meet our new little one.”

You look up to kiss him once, smiling brightly. “Merry Christmas, love.”

I will be taking a break until the new year, and I might have a new project in the works come January. We'll see. I'll see you then and have a good end of the year.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the onceler #the lorax #also on ao3 #onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Question...?

Oh hey look, it's the return of angst. Jack asks about his dad for the first time. Takes place about two years before Jack meets Oncie.

Rating: K

Warnings: Nothing but angst

You push hair off of your forehead as you bend down to shove more clothes into the washer. It was Saturday, and Saturday meant catching up on chores. That had been your routine for years now. 

“Hey, Mom?” Jack’s voice comes from behind you.

“What is it, sweetheart?” you ask, glancing back at him as you get the last of the clothing into the machine. He’s looking quite nervous, twisting his hands, biting his lower lip, and he can’t meet your eyes. His body language sets off your alarm bells immediately. “Jack? Is everything okay?” you ask, much more urgently now.

“Yeah, it’s just… can we talk about something?” he evades, finally looking up at you with pleading eyes. Eyes that were so much like his father’s…

“Of course,” you say before you can become lost in your own thoughts. “Do you want to go to your room so we can have some privacy?”

He just nods, so you take a moment to start the laundry before following him to his room, taking a seat next to him on his bed. “So what’s going on?” you ask him. He was starting to worry you. You’ve never seen him act this way before.

‘Well, it’s…” he pauses, then takes a deep breath as if to steel himself. “It’s about my dad.”

You feel yourself freeze and your senses go numb. Although you knew this question would be coming at some point, no amount of mental preparation could have sufficiently set you up for the reality of hearing it asked. You take your own deep, shuddering breath before answering. “What about him?” You’re shocked by how even your tone is.

“Like, who is he? Why isn’t he around?” Jack asks in a very small voice. “It’s just been you, me, and Aunt Aurora my whole life but… that isn’t normal, is it? Most of the other kids in my class have dads, and I don’t.”

Damn this kid. He’s always been too smart for his own good, but this is a new level even for him. His perception was beyond incredible, and you were going to have to handle this very delicately. You couldn’t insult his intelligence, but you also had to keep in mind that at his core, he was just a very confused seven-year-old.

“Before we start, I need you to understand something,” you say, taking his hands. “You might have questions today that I won’t be able to answer just yet. I’m not trying to hide anything and I won’t lie to you, but your father is a… touchy subject. Please trust that if I don’t tell you something, I’m doing it for your own good, and that you’ll almost certainly find out one day, just not yet. And when you’re older, you’ll understand why I didn’t tell you everything right away. Can you be okay with that? I know this is a lot.”

“Um, yeah. I think that’s okay,” he says, albeit uncertainly, but you can also tell his curiosity has been piqued even further. With a second deep breath on your end, you try and find a good place to start. After a minute of thinking, you land on something.

“The first thing you should know is that your father is not a bad man,” you stress. “I’m not keeping him away because he’s bad. But the reason he isn’t around is because he doesn’t know you exist, baby.”

Jack’s brow furrows. “How does he not know I exist? I don’t understand,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes as you try and figure out how to best explain this. “Even though he’s not a bad person, he made a pretty big mistake, and we broke up. I didn’t find out I was pregnant with you until a little while later. You know babies are in mom’s tummies for nine months, but we don’t always know right away.”

“And once you found out, you didn’t tell him?” Jack asks, making you sigh again.

“Honey, I don’t think he’s in the town. This was right around when the wall was going up, and I think he made it out before he didn’t have a chance anymore. I can’t say for sure if this is what happened since I honestly don’t know, but I’ve never seen him in Thneedville since we broke up. I don’t think he lives here anymore.” It kills you to admit it, but you know it’s true. You’d tried going to his house several times once you’d discovered you were pregnant, and had found it empty every one of those times. You didn’t like to admit it, and you were definitely not going to tell Jack yet, but you think he ran after destroying the trees. It wasn’t a good look for him, but it couldn’t be helped or changed now, so you tried not to dwell on it too much.

“So I’m never gonna meet him? Ever?” Jack’s voice sends another dagger through you. He sounds so heartbroken. You’d worked so hard to provide for him, but this was something you couldn’t give him, no matter how hard you tried or how much you wanted to. He had Aurora, but as good as she was, she wasn’t his dad and never pretended to be. She knew her role was as his aunt, and that was the part she played. 

“Sweetie, I don’t know,” you do your best to comfort. “We can’t see the future, and never is a long time. That wall might come down eventually, we don’t know. I don’t want you to completely lose hope, okay?”

Jack slowly nods, looking down at his feet. He’s quiet for a moment, then asks the question that you’ve been dreading more than any other. “What was his name?”

It was such a simple question, and should have had such a simple answer, but of course your situation had to be complicated. You couldn’t protect him from what his father had done forever, but you could put it off until he was ready to hear it. Even if you didn’t tell him the full story yet, there was every chance he could overhear someone talking about what Onceler had done. And if Jack didn’t have a name, he could live in ignorant bliss for a while longer.

“I… I can’t tell you that,” you say hesitatingly. You see his face fall, and hasten to explain as best as you’re able. “And I know you don’t know why, and I wish I could explain it better. I will tell you one day, I promise. It’s just… complicated. I don’t want you to get caught up in it until you’re ready, okay?”

“I don’t understand,” Jack says with a frown.

“I know you don’t,” you sigh. “And I’m doing the best I can to try and help. But do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust that you’ll know more when you’re older. And by then, you’ll understand. It’ll all make sense to you someday,” you promise. As you’re speaking, an idea suddenly hits you. “If you want, I can get you a picture. Would that be a good compromise?” you ask.

That suggestion makes Jack perk up a bit. “Yes, please,” he requests with the barest hint of a smile coming back to him. You give him what you know is a sad smile of your own before pushing yourself off the bed and making your way to the dresser in your own bedroom.

Even though you hadn’t seen this picture in several months, you knew exactly where it was. You tended to only get it out on the anniversary of the day you left, the one day of the year you allowed yourself to mourn. Other than that, you tried to think of him as little as you could, though it proves harder as Jack looks more and more like him every day.

You brush a bit of dust off the frame and give yourself a moment to stare at it. It had been the day you’d started dating him, and had wanted a picture the press couldn’t have. Both of you were happy in this frozen image, not knowing about the heartbreak that would come several months later.

You hug the picture to yourself before taking it back to Jack. Taking yet another deep breath, you hand him the picture, and his deep blue eyes immediately take it in.

“Oh, wow,” he whispers. Looking at both of them, it was more obvious than ever how much Jack resembled his father. And that constant pang in your heart that his father wasn’t here with you grew even stronger. Your son was nothing short of a miracle. His father would have loved him. And it was due to horrible circumstances that you couldn’t fix that were keeping both of them from each other.

“Can I keep this?” Jack asks, breaking a bit of your melancholy. You blink once to bring yourself back to the present moment.

“Yeah, of course,” you answer before you pull him into a tight hug. You loved this kid with your whole heart. Everything you did now was for him.

It’s several minutes before you let each other go. “I think I’m gonna go shoot some hoops at the park,” he decides, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes. You pretend you don’t see as you smile and nod.

“Okay. Be back before five,” you tell him, giving him one last kiss on the top of his head. He grabs his basketball, places the photo carefully on top of his dresser, and heads out of the apartment.

It’s only when the door shuts that you allow the tears you’ve been holding back to spill over, mourning the love you once had.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

His Father's Son

Little drabble of Onceler and Jack bonding. Takes place in the week before Jack plants the seed.

Rating: T

Warnings: Couple instances of language (but that should be expected at this point)

The other side of the bed is empty when you wake. It was funny how something that was the status quo for so many years was now foreign after just a few days. Of course, no one could ever accuse you of complaining about this new normal. You were more than happy to be getting used to it.

He’s left the bedroom door open, and you can hear movement coming from the kitchen. He’s probably making breakfast again. You roll to the side, having every intention of shoving your feet into slippers and joining him, but the sound of voices makes you pause.

Obviously, Onceler’s voice is one of the ones you hear. But the other voice belongs to Jack.

Despite Onceler having moved in and Jack having accepted him as his father, the two hadn’t really had any one-on-one interaction since finding that out. The changes had been fast, and there had been so many, and you’d been trying to ease Jack into it as best you could, so you’d made sure either yourself or Aurora were there if he was spending time with his father, just for someone familiar.

But… if Jack was the one who sought this out, and it was likely he was, you weren’t going to stop it. You were definitely going to listen in though.

“How did you get good at cooking? Did you learn because Mom’s bad at it?” Jack was asking, causing you to roll your eyes. He’s far from wrong though; Aurora did the home cooking since you tended to burn even toast.

“No, I learned when I was younger,” Onceler responds. “My own mother wasn’t the greatest, so I had to fend for myself a lot. I don’t mind though. I like cooking, and I like cooking more for people. I’m surprised about all the artificial food here though, your mother never liked that stuff all that much. I know she can’t cook, but I thought Aurora was decent? At least I seem to remember her cooking being tolerable.”

“That’s all there is.” You can picture Jack shrugging. “O’Hare runs the city, and when he took over and put up the wall, Mom said he stopped us from getting help from the rest of the country, so all the food has to be made in the city. I don’t understand too much of it, but Mom and Aunt Aurora always get really mad when they talk about it.”

“Theodosius O’Hare?” Onceler growls. “I should’ve known he would be the one to try and create a monopoly over everything…”

“Theodosius? No, the guy who owns the town is named Aloysius O’Hare, and he makes sure everyone knows it. He’s got his face all over town because he’s the one who sells the air,” Jack explains. Onceler scoffs wordlessly.

“Right, that was his son. He was a nasty little worm, just like his father. I’m not surprised he took a chance to exploit the crisis. And I’m absolutely looking forward to keeping you safe from him.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. “Is it going to be dangerous? Planting the seed, I mean?” he asks in a very small voice. If there was ever a point where you might have gone out and interrupted them, that was it. Jack needed comfort, and your immediate instinct was to provide that. But you force yourself to stay down and allow his father the opportunity to try instead. He’s done great so far. He could do this, too.

“There will probably be… opposition from O’Hare,” Onceler answers, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “But you won’t be in danger. The people in town still remember the trees, they’ll want to help you bring them back. And I promise you, I won’t let anyone who doesn’t want that tree planted to lay a finger on you, and I know your mother and aunt feel the same way.” He barks out a single laugh. “I’d love to see anyone try and go up against your aunt. She’s terrifying.”

“She’s not,” Jack refutes. “But she doesn’t like it when I say that. She likes to think she’s scary.” You can’t help but smile into your pillow at that. Jack had a great relationship with Aurora, and it was already a stipulation that if Onceler was going to be buying a house for the two of you and Jack, Aurora would be coming too.

“She’s nice to you, but she doesn’t like me much,” Onceler’s saying. “Did your mom ever tell you what she did the first time I ever actually talked to her?”

“No,” Jack mutters. “Mom didn’t talk about you much. I asked about you a couple of years ago, and she told me a little bit, and she gave me a picture, but talking about you made her sad, so I didn’t really ask after that. I didn’t want to make her sad.”

Damn. Your kid was too emotionally intelligent for his own good sometimes. He was awfully perceptive, especially for his age. Even you hadn’t known the reason he didn’t ask you about his dad much. Onceler sighs heavily before speaking again.

“I’m sorry for not being there. I’ll never be able to say that enough,” he says thickly. “And you deserve a better dad than me. I’m no Superman. I’ve messed up beyond all forgiveness. But I won’t leave again. I’ve made that promise to your mother, and I’ll make it to you, too, as many times as you need to hear it.”

“I mean… it’s still weird to wake up and have you here at all,” Jack admits. “It’s a good weird though. I was starting to think I’d never meet my dad ever. Mom thought you left town, and there’s no one here who looks like me… Before I got the picture, I used to look for people who looked like me, to see if they could be my dad. But no one did. So I thought I’d never meet you, you know? It’s still weird getting used to it, but I’m trying. I am happy you’re here.”

“I get it,” Onceler says softly. “I used to do the exact same thing. I never knew my dad either. Although in my case, I never found him. I never had a picture either, but my mother let enough slip to let me know I looked like him. We lived in a backwoods, far from here, and every time we would go into the town closest to us, I would always think, this time we’ll run into him, this time I’ll get to meet him. It never happened for me.” He sighs again. “I have to admit, I don’t know what I’m doing. I never had anyone teach me how to be a father. But I’m going to do my best for you.”

“Do I have a grandma on your side?” Jack asks eagerly. “I know Mom’s parents both died before I was born, but what about your mom? And any more aunts and uncles? Cousins?” He can’t keep the excitement out of his voice, and you wince, knowing he’s about to be disappointed by the answer.

“You’re not going to like this, but if I have my way, you will never meet my mother,” Onceler says firmly. “She’s terrible. She was abusive to me, and I’m not going to give her a chance to do the same to you. I’m sorry, but please trust that I have your best interests in mind.”

“I get it,” Jack says, but he can’t quite keep the note of disappointment out of his tone. You agreed with Onceler though. You didn’t want that woman anywhere near your son. She didn’t know he existed, and you planned to keep it that way forever, if you could.

“But hey, enough about me. Why don’t you start telling me some things about you? What do you like to do?” Onceler asks, changing the topic to a lighter subject matter.

“Oh,” Jack says, clearly caught off guard. ‘Well, I like to play basketball. I’m on a team here, and hopefully we can play more people if the city opens up when the seed is planted.”

“Sports, huh?” Onceler laughs a bit. “Well, I’ll be at every game if you want me there, but I won’t pretend I know the first thing about basketball. I was never really a sports kid, I was always more into music.”

“I don’t not like music,” Jack says. “I like a lot of Mom’s old music, like Queen and Nirvana and David Bowie and things like that.” You can already imagine how thrilled Onceler will be to hear that. The two of you had bonded over music yourselves, and now it was also common ground he shared with Jack. 

Sure enough, he laughs a moment later. “You really are my son,” he says proudly. “I mostly listen to classic rock, though I do listen to modern day pop music so that I can learn it and annoy your mother with it because I know how much she loathes it.”

“Learn it?” Jack asks. “Do you play something?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I taught myself how to play guitar in high school,” Onceler admits. “I’m by no means an expert, like I said I’m totally self-taught, but I know the basics. There’s a couple Queen songs I can play.”

“Can you teach me?” Jack asks. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play guitar but–” he cuts off very suddenly, making you feel a bit sick to your stomach. You knew where he was going with this. He’d asked for a guitar and lessons for his previous birthday, and it had been way too expensive for you to give it to him. You’d cried for days over it.

Luckily, Onceler doesn’t push the issue. “I’d have to go back to my old house and grab some things, but I can teach you what I know, of course,” he agrees easily.

“Awesome!” Jack cheers happily as you open your eyes quickly to take a glance at the time. Shit. If you didn’t get him out of the door soon, he was going to be late for school. As much as you didn’t want to stop this, you finally forced yourself out of bed and made your way towards the kitchen.

As you go down the hallway to your small kitchen area, you see Jack sitting on the counter, a bowl of cereal forgotten and uneaten next to him. Onceler has his back to the stove, facing the entrance, and sees you come in, making his face light up even further. “Morning, darling. Anything I can get you to eat?” he asks.

“I’m okay for right now,” you smile. Jack scrunches up his nose, acting like he’s disgusted, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased. While it’s certainly not a nuclear family you have, you wouldn’t change it for anything, and Jack is thrilled to not only have his dad in his life, but to have his parents back together.

And it’s to your son that you turn to next. “You need to hurry up if you’re going to make it to school on time,” you admonish gently. 

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles. “Let me get dressed and eat, it’s all I have left to do,” he promises before he runs back to his room.

Onceler’s arms encircle your waist as soon as Jack’s door closes. “You guys have a good conversation?” you ask as you rest your head against his chest.

He doesn’t seem at all surprised that you were listening. “Yeah. I see what you mean. Besides the sports thing, he really is a lot like me. It makes me proud in ways I can’t even begin to describe. But there’s a lot of you in there, too. And things that are entirely his own.”

“He’s got so much life to live yet, and growing to do to come into himself even more,” you muse. “And we’ll get to be there for every second of it.” You spin in his arms and give him a quick kiss to start your day.

So next week we get the familiar return of angst. I'm debating between the first time Jack asks about his father, or their first family therapy session. One would be a lot longer, but the shorter one would be angstier. Let me know if you have a preference.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Electric Touch

Soft smut like you guys wanted. This takes place literally one day after the main story ends.

Rating: E

Warning: Language (should be a given for my writing at this point), and, clearly, smut. Proceed with caution.

It didn’t take the two of you long to find your rhythm again.

You hadn’t known how long it was going to take to convince him to come back to the city with you, so you’d actually used some of your vast reserves of vacation time at work and taken the entire week off. You were glad for it now, because it gave you the time you needed to rediscover each other.

After dropping Jack off at school, you’d gone to the store to pick up some much needed items that you’d been missing yesterday. And by the time you got back home, Aurora had left for work and you were alone with him again. 

He was waiting for you on your bed when you got back, still in a pair of Aurora’s old sweats that he’d slept in the night before (which had been the only thing in your house that even came close to fitting him). The second you join him on the bed, he grins at you and pins you beneath him.

“Finally I get you all to myself,” he sighs before leaning down and capturing your lips with his. Despite how long it had been, it feels so right, like you’d been missing a part of yourself for years that had finally been returned to you. In a way, that’s exactly what it was.

You waste no time lacing your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. Even this simple action makes him growl against your lips, reminding you just how touch-starved he had been these last ten years. If every one of his touches was like a live-wire against your skin, it must be ten times worse for him.

“We have to be kind of quiet,” you remind him. “I have neighbors and the walls are kind of thin. I don’t want the whole building to know what we’re doing.”

“Fuck that,” he scoffs. “I don’t care who hears. The whole complex can hear. And I don’t think I have the capability of being quiet, especially not now. Do you have any idea of how good you feel?”

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “I don’t want a noise complaint,” you say reluctantly. “And we should probably take it slow. Because as much as I want to rip your clothes off, you feel so incredible too, and I don’t want us to get sensory overload.”

He huffs a bit. “I hate it when you’re right sometimes,” he grumbles affectionately. “But if you want slow…” He threads his fingers through your hair and kisses you tenderly, as though you were as delicate as porcelain. “I can go slow, darling,” he whispers as he breaks away, pressing a feather-light kiss just below your ear and nearly making you melt right then and there.

He kisses you again, and as you kiss him back, you can’t stop yourself from dragging your hand over his bare chest, refamiliarizing yourself with the planes your fingers and mind had never truly forgotten. Every touch of him felt more right, felt more like home.

His lips move from over your own to create a line over your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. Interestingly, he doesn’t try to leave any marks on you, which used to be one of his favorite things to do, but you suppose that would fall under the category of being too much.

Because even just his lips are managing to pull breathy little moans from the back of your throat, awakening a primal lust in you that had lay dormant for so long. Only he can make you feel like this, only he can bring you to a state of utter bliss that you can feel him slowly working towards.

Eventually, his lips are forced to stop by the fabric of your shirt getting in the way, so once again, he moves one of his hands down to your waist and scrunches the hem of your shirt in his hand for a moment before slipping beneath the garment, his fingers just dancing over the top of your skin.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a husky, strangled sort of voice that you immediately recognize. It means he’s just barely holding himself back from going all out, and you have to applaud his self-control.

“Yes,” you say hesitatingly. He notices your tone and silently asks the question with a raised eyebrow. “I just… well, I don’t really look the same,” you warn, unable to look him in the eye anymore.

“Hey, no, none of that. Look at me,” he insists. You twist your mouth but glance up at him out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t care,” he assures.

“You don’t care that I have stretch marks to hell and back that I haven’t been able to get rid of?” you scoff with a humorless laugh. “I’m not saying I look terrible, but the stretch marks are a bit of a shock.”

“Okay, let me amend what I said. I do not give a single, solitary fuck about stretch marks or any other thing you may have,” he says, too sincere for you to doubt him. “And you’re the stupidest person alive if you think I would care,” he adds affectionately.

You glare at him without any real potency, but finally allow him to lift the shirt over your stomach, and then off your body entirely.

You knew that you didn’t have the same body that you did in your early twenties. You were ten years older and you’d also brought a baby into the world. Yet he still looked at you with the same wonder and awe that he always used to, as though you were the most beautiful thing in the universe to him. 

After a moment, he leans down to kiss you again, though his hands are eager to explore this new expanse of skin. After just a moment’s hesitation, his hand travels further north to skim over your breast.

Despite your admonishment of him earlier, now you let out a high-pitched whine that’s by far the loudest noise from either of you so far. He doesn’t tell you to stay quiet, he just smirks, his confidence growing now that he knows he still very much has the capability to turn you to putty in his hands.

He seems to take your loud whine as permission to be loud himself now. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls before his mouth moves to your chest, and he’s freely letting out noises from the back of his own throat as he presses his mouth over every available inch of you. He’s not at all quiet about it.

Once again, it eventually gets to a point where an article of clothing hinders the progress of his mouth; this time, it’s your bra. Unlike his slight hesitation with your shirt, now he immediately reaches around your back, and you raise yourself for a moment to help him. His fingers find the latch, he undoes it, and flings the thing across the room without a second thought.

Once it’s gone, he wastes no time in continuing with his ministrations. It’s only when his lips brush against your nipple does he decide to change things up, and adds his tongue to the mix as well. At this point, you’re absolutely mewling for him, any worries about being too loud totally gone from your mind. All you need is for this man to continue what he’s doing, because you’re nearly to the point of combusting.

Your own hands are frantically running up and down his body, desperate for something to land on. Eventually, one of your hands brushes against his cock, hard and needy, in his borrowed sweatpants.

“Shit!” he hisses, and you smile to yourself as you begin to gently rub him as his mouth continues its work on your breast.

Before long, he can’t concentrate on you any longer, and you’ve gotten him to nearly as much of a mess as he reduced you to. His breath is coming out in short bursts and his eyes are screwed shut as though it’s taking every amount of self-control he possesses to not fall apart beneath your hands.

And you love it. You relish in it. For as lovely as it is to know that your body still recognized and responded in kind to him, it was nothing short of delicious to learn you still had this much power over him as well.

“Baby… baby, too much,” he winces, and though you pull your hand away, you can’t help but feel just a little bit disappointed. Perhaps he reads this on your face, because he hastens to explain himself a moment later. “I wasn’t gonna last if you did much more of that,” he pants apologetically.

“It’s fine,” you say, and you genuinely mean it. You yourself were beyond sensitive, and you knew it was just the same or even worse for him. You’d have to build up to your old tolerance level; it wouldn’t come back overnight. Thankfully, you had all the time in the world to do so.

You give him a moment to catch his breath before tugging on the drawstring of his borrowed sweatpants. “Ready to keep going?” you ask, biting your lower lip slightly just to mess with him further.

He groans when he sees you doing that. “Dammit woman, you’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s complaining or paying you a compliment. Knowing him, it was probably both. But before you can respond, he rolls on top of you and starts undoing your pants, and any words you might have said are lost on the tip of your tongue.

He gently slides your pants down over your hips and when they get low enough you help him kick them off your legs. Your underwear follows a moment later, and again, he’s looking at you with that same need and love that he had ten years ago. If anything, it’s only intensified now.

“God, I love you so much. Have I ever told you that before?” he asks, his voice returning to that husky quality it had earlier that made you want him even more.

“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it more,” you laugh as you link your arms around his neck and pull him in for another searing kiss, which he responds to enthusiastically.

As he kisses you, his hand comes to rest on your hips, then ever so slowly makes its way to your burning center. You gasp into his mouth, your own hands clawing into his back as one of his fingers ghosts up your slit.

He pulls his lips away from yours, though you can tell he doesn’t want to. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers. You nod quickly, though most of your attention is focused on taking slow, even breaths in a (most likely futile) attempt to calm your heart, which feels close to beating out of your chest.

“Do we need lube?” you breathe out. You’d picked up a bottle at the store, just in case, and you’d rather use it sooner than later if you needed it.

“We’ve never needed that before,” he says with an expression almost like a grimace. You hope he wasn’t insulted you’d gotten some. Yes, he did always do much too good of a job working you up to where you’d never needed it with him before but…

“I just wanted to be safe. I had a kid, you know? Shit’s changed,” you explain, making him chuckle.

“Well, either way, I think we’re good. You’re… well, to put this mildly, you’re absolutely dripping, darling,” he says, skimming his finger through you again for emphasis and drawing out gasp as he stops short just before your clit. Which, as much as you hate to admit it, is probably a good thing. You don’t think you could handle it if he went straight for the kill; you needed to be built up more first.

And he's only too happy to oblige. He dips his finger inside you, barely moving it to make sure you're well adjusted, and not daring to curl it to that spot just yet. You let out a breathy little sigh of contentment which he knows is a sign he can keep going.

He starts a steady rhythm of moving his finger in and out of you, still keeping his movements gentle for now, though he does reposition himself so his body is in between your legs instead of hovering overtop of you. He's going to take you into oblivion, and all you had to do was hold on and enjoy the ride.

He starts peppering kisses along your thighs, while at the same time, speeding up the movements of his finger, making you let out yet another high-pitched moan. Your thighs were sensitive enough as it was, and add being touch-starved into the mix, well, it was a wonder how you managed to hold on at all.

You reach down to tangle your fingers into his hair, desperate for something to hold onto to keep you grounded. It spurs him on even further; he adds a second finger and decides to move them forward to hit that spot. It's only the barest brush of the fingers, but it's enough.

“Fuck, baby!” you cry out, fingers clenching in his hair, about a second away from release when he pulls back, not stopping entirely so as not to send you into shock, but also not letting you hit orgasm quite yet. You whine at him, your frustration beyond words.

“I know. Give me just a couple more seconds and I'll get you there, I promise,” he murmurs, and then he lowers his mouth to you, giving you a few slow licks while increasing the pressure on that spot by finally curling his fingers forward.

True to his word, that does it for you. With a few shuddering breaths and a high-pitched, drawn out moan, he finally lets you come, prolonging your wave with a few more gentle thrusts of his fingers.

He crawls back up to the top of the bed while you catch your breath, which seems to take a longer time than you remembered. He's patient with you though, not saying anything, just lying there with you while you attempt to regain feeling back in your legs and any form of thought back in your brain.

Eventually, you look over at him, rolling to your side so you're safe in his chest. “Fuck, I missed you,” you say, your voice slightly muffled due to your position. “You're not allowed to leave again,” you say, somewhat in a joking tone, but you're dead serious.

“That's something you'll never have to worry about again,” he promises before cupping your face and kissing you deeply, pouring all his love and affection for you into this one simple gesture. You melt against him, and can only hope you're doing an adequate job conveying your own feelings back to him.

You lay there kissing each other for a long while. You usually didn't take breaks this long in the middle of sex, but he was being so tender, and you had missed him so goddamn much, that you felt it was not only important to take this time together, but necessary. You needed the reassurance he was giving you, whether that reassurance was intentional or not.

But you do have other needs. And when you move closer to him and feel his cock poking your leg, you're reminded that he does too. And it's high time you took care of him after that insane high he managed to take you to.

You pull on the drawstring of his sweatpants, and this time he allows you to undo the tie. Still connecting his lips to yours, you start pushing the fabric down his legs until you can't reach any further. He gets the hint and takes them off the rest of the way, leaving you both naked.

He moves like he wants to get back on top of you, but you pull away to pause for a moment. “We have something we're forgetting,” you murmur before grabbing a pack of condoms from your nightstand, making him pout. 

“I hate these fucking things,” he grumbles as you hand him one.

“Yeah, well, I told you that I'm not having another kid right now,” you state bluntly, not even remotely sorry. You'd relied on your own birth control for close to a year. Now it was his turn.

“I know. I'm not saying I won't use them. I just won't like it much,” he clarifies as he rolls it on. “Now. I really don't want to wait much longer. Ready?”

You nod and spread your legs, hooking them around his waist. He adjusts himself, then slowly eases into you, earning himself another little moan.

He hisses himself as he pushes further until he's all the way in, and not once does he take his eyes off yours. One of your hands comes up to cradle his face. Having this deep, intense emotional connection made the physical side even better.

He starts moving in and out of you, at a glacial pace to start out with. While it would usually frustrate you, today you're grateful for it. It allows both of you to get used to each other again, and for that emotional connection to rise with your physicality.

“Fuck, you're beautiful… I love you so much,” he gasps.

“I love you too,” you breathe as you lift your hips to meet his and speed up your rhythm. Your hands grip into the skin at his back again as you try and pull him impossibly closer to you.

You wish you could stay like this forever, but you do feel yourself cresting far too soon as a result of the little problem of being touch-starved. You can see on his face he's trying to make it last as long as possible, but that it's almost getting painful for him at this point.

“It's okay baby,” you whisper. “Let it out.”

At your words, you both manage to find your releases at the same moment, gasping into each other's bodies as you come. For several minutes you simply lay there in each other's arms, utterly spent.

He's the first to move. He rolls off of you, pulls the condom off, and tosses it into the small trash can in your room before crawling back on the bed next to you, pulling you into his chest.

“You have any plans for the rest of the day?” he asks, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“I should be getting caught up on chores since I'm not working,” you mumble, but the prospect doesn't exactly appeal to you. He doesn't open his arms to release you either.

“Mm… those can wait until after a nap though, right?” he asks cheekily. You roll your eyes. You know he has no intention of letting you do chores after a nap. But sleep sounds far too inviting to refuse, so you curl into his chest, pulling a blanket over the both of you.

And no, chores most definitely did not get done after your nap.

So I know a lot of you want to see Oncie and Jack have some time together. That's next, I promise. I'm going to ATTEMPT to get that out next Saturday, but my work has decided that I'm going to be doing the job of two people for all of next week. I've only done it for one day so far and... yeah, it was a lot. My husband is also insisting that I'm not allowed to kill myself over these one shots because he doesn't like fun. But if I'm going to be a week late, I'll make a note of it. I hope to see you back here next Saturday.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

To Have and To Hold

The first of my "bonus chapters" from Interpersonal. This one was always going to be first. It's their wedding. Enjoy.

Rating: T

Warnings: Just some mild innuendo

“Darling…”

The voice floats dreamlike through your mind, but you don’t much want to listen to it. You’re far too comfortable to even think about moving at the moment. “Five more minutes,” you mumble sleepily, your words barely coherent.

There’s a chuckle in your ear, impeding your goal. “You said that twenty minutes ago,” he reminds you. “And if you don’t get up soon, I’m going to be left standing at the altar alone. That’ll be a little awkward to explain.”

These words finally motivate you to open your eyes, and you’re greeted with the sight of Onceler’s face looking down at you from where you were sleeping on his chest. Your fiancé’s blue eyes are sparking with excitement.

Of course, in just a few short hours, you wouldn’t be able to call him your finacé anymore. He would officially be your husband very, very soon.

“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I probably should get up,” you say, though you’re still rather reluctant to leave the bed; he made a much too comfortable pillow. “We’re about ten years too late on this. I don’t really feel like waiting any longer.”

“I definitely don’t either,” he grins, and despite his efforts to get you out of the bed earlier, now he pulls you back down to press his lips to yours, giving you the perfect slow kiss to start your morning, which neither of you are all too keen to break any time soon.

But of course, you are on a schedule, and there are other people in the house to keep you from getting too distracted. “Are you two decent?” Aurora’s voice comes from the other side of the door before too long.

“Yes,” you sigh as you reluctantly pull back and finally roll away from him as you sit up and stretch. Aurora’s in the room a moment later, her eyes narrowing.

“You said you were decent. He’s not,” she accuses. True, he’s not wearing a top, and he’s got blankets covering the rest of his body, but he does have sweats on. You relay this information to your sister, but she doesn’t back off. “He’s still not wearing a shirt. I’m not you. I don’t wanna see that,” she huffs.

“He lives here now. You’re gonna have to get used to it,” you remind her for the umpteenth time before the two of them can get into another argument. Despite the fact that they can get along in small doses, it was blatantly clear that Onceler and Aurora were not meant to live with each other in such close quarters; they were too similar. They agreed to it for Jack’s sake, but you were all anxious for your move into the much bigger house next month that would hopefully offer everyone more breathing room.

Miraculously, Aurora stands down. Your surprise must have registered on your face because she says, “Don’t get used to it, it’s just because it’s your wedding day.” Despite her words, she is wearing a small smile, and you know that in spite of everything, she is happy for the two of you.

“Anyway,” she says, turning to Onceler. “Jack’s still in bed, but he’s awake. So I’ll be stealing her, and we’ll see you in a few hours.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” you ask him. Since his return to Thneedville, Onceler had become an object of public fascination, while Jack, since planting the tree and taking down the wall, was nothing short of a bona fide local hero. You were fiercely proud of your son, but he was also getting far too much attention that anyone his age should be receiving.

“We’ll be fine,” he reassures. “I’ll keep them away from Jack, darling. And I’ll see you at the altar.” He doesn’t bother to keep the excitement out of his voice before giving you a quick kiss. 

“I’ll meet you at the altar,” you repeat before you’re being ushered out of the house by your sister. “Don’t forget the marriage certificate on the counter,” you call over your shoulder. “And–” you’re cut off as Aurora successfully shoves you over the threshold of the front door and slams it shut, stopping what she calls your “mom mode” dead in its tracks.

“I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t forget anything” you defend yourself from her exasperated expression as you follow her to her car.

“He’s not going to,” she assures. “He’s way too eager for this to mess it up. What I need from you is to just chill for a few hours, okay? You’ve been dreaming of this since you were little, remember? And while I’m glad you decided on something small rather than something over the top like you wanted when you were fifteen, it’s still my job to make sure this is the best day of your life. So let me do my job.”

You roll your eyes at her, but there’s no venom in the gesture, and you let her lead you to the car, and soon you’re on your way to some expensive hair salon. Onceler was only too happy to spend his vast reserves of money, and it had taken little persuasion from Aurora to get him to pay for this.

Once there, you can’t deny how nice it feels to have someone else take care of something, even if that something was as mundane as your hair. You’re sure people there recognize you–you’d been thrust back into the public eye when Jack planted the tree–but thankfully no one says anything.

Dealing with that was a weird experience, that was for sure. All of you were coping with it in your own way. Aurora, who’d never dealt with it before, was strangely handling it best, by simply ignoring people. But to be fair, she and Jack were generally well-liked.

On the other hand, people didn’t know what to think about you and Onceler. Since they knew he was responsible for the destruction in the first place, and you’d been around at the time, no one knew if you needed to share in that blame. And no one knew if either of your efforts to help Jack get that seed in the ground were enough to resolve you of your past sins. People had been hounding all of you for the full story, and none of you were sharing.

Hence, you’d opted for a very small courthouse wedding with only Jack and Aurora in attendance. Even if there hadn’t been the media attention, this is how you’d want to do it. You didn’t need a huge ceremony or party. You just wanted to officially marry the man you loved. 

But Aurora was right. You needed to relax and just enjoy today, not stress and overthink factors that were beyond your control. You never could have predicted that your life would become the circus it had turned into, but you had what you needed: a family you loved with your whole heart. And you were determined that today be magical for you despite everything.

Your hair takes most of the morning. It’s been trimmed, had a color touch-up, and been dramatically curled. After years of you and Aurora cutting each other’s hair yourselves to save money, this is nothing short of heavenly.

You’d opted not to get your makeup professionally done, preferring to go with just a little concealer, mascara, and lipgloss. You still wanted to have some semblance of looking like yourself. The makeup you do in the car on the way to your second to last stop: the dry cleaners to pick up your dress.

You hadn’t bothered to get a new dress. There was only one you’d ever had in mind, and it was your mother’s dress. It was very simple, no embellishments, sleeves that just covered your shoulders, and a plain train, but you’d known for years that when you got married, this would be the only dress you could ever see yourself in.

You pick it up, as well as Aurora’s dress, and then you dash to the courthouse. Never one for formalities, the two of you change in the washroom.

“He just texted me. They’re here,” Aurora informs as she steps out, then stops short when she sees you. It’s a very rare thing when your sister gets overly emotional, but even Aurora has her moments, and this is one of them. “You look beautiful,” she whispers before giving you a tight hug. “He’s going to die when he sees you.” She steps back and goes behind you to pick up your train. “Now, let’s go get you married, shall we?”

“Yeah. I’ve waited long enough, I think,” you murmur, only half-joking. You hurry through the building to your assigned courtroom where your son and fiancé are waiting for you.

Jack was just poking his head out of the door as you round the corner. “Oh good,” he sighs. “Dad was getting really nervous.”

You can’t help but beam at your son. He’s wearing a rented suit just for the occasion and looks more like his father than ever. You pull him in for a brief hug before sending him back into the room.

“Tell him not to worry, I haven’t run off on him,” you smile before taking a deep breath as your heart starts to race. This is it.

Aurora holds the heavy door open for you, and your vision seems to narrow in. You don’t see the room, or the judge, or even your sister anymore. All you see is him waiting at the other end of the room for you.

The widest smile you’ve ever seen on him adorns Onceler’s face, and you’re sure your own smile is just as effervescent. You also feel tears stinging the back of your eyes, and you’re thankful Aurora insisted on waterproof mascara even though you swore up and down you wouldn’t cry.

It takes every ounce of your willpower not to run up to him and instead take even, measured steps down the aisle. But in no time, you’ve reached him and he’s offering his arm out to you.

“Hi,” you say, unable to stop yourself from giggling a little.

“Hi,” he says back in almost the exact same tone. He’s beyond excited, he’s giddy, and you can’t deny that you are too. It seems surreal that finally, finally, you’re getting to marry him.

“Dearly beloved,” the judge begins, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the union…” You don’t hear too much else of what the judge says. You’re too lost in Onceler’s eyes, which are looking at you with so much adoration you feel like you could be sustained off of that look for the rest of your life. In fact, the whole world is shut out to you until Onceler is asked to start reading his vows.

He begins by letting your name fall off his lips like a prayer. “I can’t begin to describe how much you mean to me,” he continues, devotion coating every word. “You’ve loved me even when I don’t feel like I deserved it. You saw past the face I put on for everyone else and found who I really was, and even that didn’t scare you away. I am forever grateful that I found someone that I can show all my flaws, and that you not only understand them, but love me in spite of them. You’ve given me love, healing, and most importantly, a son. And I promise my whole life and heart to you, because it’s the very least of what you deserve.”

You couldn’t have stopped your tears now even if you had tried. His words were perfect, and it takes you a few moments to collect yourself before you can start reciting your own vows. You take the paper from Aurora and clear your throat before you start.

“Onceler,” you say, looking up into his deep blue eyes. “I know that the road to get here hasn’t been easy, but we’ve proven that our love is stronger than anything the world can throw at us. We’ve faced so many obstacles, and yet we’ve always come back together through everything. And through it all, I’ve fallen more and more in love with you every day, and I promise that won’t ever stop. I can’t promise that I’ll give you my heart, but that’s only because you already have it. But I can promise I’ll do my best to take care of your heart, because along with our kid, it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever had the privilege to call my own.”

His own eyes are swimming with tears as well now, and Aurora hurries up from her seat again to give you both a tissue to dab the tears away. You do so, but pay close attention to this next part. Two words from each of you, and you’ll officially be married.

The judge turns to Onceler first and asks him that all important question–if he’ll take you forever, to have and to hold, as his wife. His eyes are shining, and he never takes them off yours. There’s absolutely no hesitation as he says those two little words that mean he’s yours forever. “I do.” He slides your engagement ring back onto your finger; you hadn’t bothered to get a band to go with it.

And now it’s your turn. The judge asks you the same question, if you’ll take this man before you to have and to hold forever as your husband. Your answer is one of the easiest you’ve ever given in your life. “I do.” You slide a gold ring onto Onceler’s finger as well.

“Then by the power vested in me, it is my great honor to pronounce you husband and wife. Onceler, you may kiss your bride.”

The words are barely out of the judge’s mouth before Onceler puts his hands on either side of your face, pressing his lips to yours eagerly, and you kiss him back with just as much passion. The claps of Jack and Aurora fade into the background; your whole world is consumed with your husband.

Eventually, he pulls back, and you’re reminded that you’re in public and can’t do everything to him that you’d like just yet (though you had plenty of plans for when you finally got him to yourself later). Still, you can’t stop yourself from giggling like a schoolgirl as you push yourself up on your tiptoes to steal one extra peck on the lips.

“Okay, you two, I know you’re excited, but you still have to sign this,” Aurora reminds you, but she’s beaming as well. She gestures over to your marriage certificate, which thankfully wasn’t forgotten.

The judge has just finished with his part, which was the most extensive portion. All you and Onceler have to do is sign and date, which he does first, signing with that same loopy signature you’d seen the first day you’d met him. You go after, scratching out your own signature and dating the paper. Your handwriting is nearly unreadable compared to his, but it’s there, so it counts.

Aurora is the last to sign as the witness, and as she does, Jack comes up to you and gives you another hug, a proper one this time. You barely have to bend down to reach his height; he’s growing like a weed, and it’s another trait he’s clearly gotten from his dad. And after you release him, he hugs his father next, perhaps not as long, but it makes your heart swell to know that their relationship has been improving steadily every day.

You exit the courtroom, hand in hand with your husband, but before you can leave the building entirely, Aurora makes you stop in front of a window. “You didn’t think you were getting out of this without me taking a couple pictures, did you?” she cackles, holding up her phone.

You roll your eyes, but acquiesce, sliding your arm around his waist and resting your other hand on his chest. After a couple pictures like that, you pull Jack over as well, having him stand slightly in front of the two of you, each with a hand on one of his shoulders.

Thankfully, Aurora doesn’t insist on more than a few pictures. “What’s the plan for the rest of the evening?” you ask as she tucks her phone away. “Dinner and then home?”

She exchanges a look with Jack. “About that,” she says slowly, making you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “You two actually have a train to catch. Now that Thneedville has actually opened up and is allowing travel, I got you two booked into a resort a few cities over.”

You’re stunned into near silence. “B-but how–?”

“He gave me his card to book the hair appointments, and I went and did a bit more. Don’t worry about the money, this didn’t even make a dent,” she promises with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Hope you don’t mind,” she grins, turning to Onceler.

“Not at all,” he murmurs, though he’s looking just as dumbstruck as you. “We should probably hurry up and pack then…”

“We took care of that too,” Jack pipes up. “Aunt Aurora and I packed suitcases yesterday while you were picking up the marriage certificate. We just have to grab them and you guys can have a honeymoon.”

You turn to your sister. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you–” you start, but once more she cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t worry about it. You deserve this,” she assures. “Now go hurry home and get changed, we’ll follow and take you to the train station.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You take Onceler’s hand and head down to the car. Once inside, you waste no time pulling him in, kissing him deeply like you’d wanted to earlier. Surprisingly, he’s the first to pull away.

“We should get going,” he reminds you, making you whine.

“I finally get you alone, and all you want to do is leave,” you grumble, causing him to chuckle.

“Oh trust me, I have several things I want to do to you later tonight,” he says with a wicked grin that makes you shiver. “But we don’t need to rush anything. We have forever, remember?” He leans over and gives you another kiss, and you’re content with the knowledge that yes, he’s yours and you’re his, for as long as you live. You’ve always known it, but now it’s affirmed. He’s your husband, and you’re his wife.

“Forever,” you agree.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler

[xxrainshadowsxx]

I could literally read your to do lists and enjoy every single written symbol.

thank you for writing interpersonal, it was like a breath of fresh air. Me and a couple of my good friends lived till Saturdays only to read it😭

Please, if You don't mind me asking, do you plan on writing more Onceler fanfiction in the future? And thank you for your work once again!! It was a wonderful experience to go through

Hi anon! I'm so glad you liked the fanfic! While I don't have any concrete plans at the moment to write another big, multi chapter fanfic, I am going to be writing quite a few one-shots that didn't make it into the main story of Interpersonal. These can be anything, so if there's anything you'd like to see, let me know and I'll do my best to make it happen. You should see the first of these one shots on Saturday the 25th. Again, I'm so happy you liked it, and thank you for letting me know, it really does make my day.

#anon ask #fanfiction #onceler fanfiction

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Interpersonal Chapter 20

Here we are at the finale. Enjoy.

Despite your resolve to actually work something out with him, it was much easier said than done. It had been ten years of not seeing each other. What the hell were you even supposed to say?

And it wasn’t like this had just been a casual fling like any of your other past relationships. You’d been ready to marry him. That wasn’t something you’d taken lightly. He’d completely ruined any chance of you ever forming a romantic connection with anyone else, because you knew no one had a prayer of igniting your heart the way he did.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and he seems just as reluctant to actually start the conversation as you are. It was terribly reminiscent of when you were still working for him and had developed a crush you knew you shouldn’t have but for the life of you couldn’t get rid of. You’d driven yourself mad trying to figure out where his head was at in those days.

“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy, one of us needs to start talking,” you finally blurt out, unable to stand the silence any longer. “We’re both adults for God’s sake, not idiot teenagers. Having a conversation should not be this fucking difficult.” Try as you might, you were more trying to convince yourself than him.

He just gives you a sardonic smile. “And yet here we are,” he points out.

“Here we are,” you repeat. “We really are hopeless, aren’t we? We haven’t learned a damn thing.”

“Should I get a guitar and stand outside? Would that help? Seemed to work last time.” He’s clearly joking, but his attempts at humor work. You laugh and some of the tension in the air seems to evaporate. It’s not gone entirely, but it’s not nearly as suffocating anymore.

“If you play Jesse McCartney again, I’m kicking you out,” you threaten, but there’s no heat behind your words. He chuckles at your comment before you both sober up, finally able to look in each other’s eyes.

“I thought you hated me for ten years,” he whispers.

“I thought the same thing,” you admit. “I saw how much I hurt you when I turned you down. And it killed me to do that to you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But I hurt you first,” he sighs. “You did nothing that my own actions didn’t deserve. You were absolutely right. I wasn’t honest with you. I can give you all the reasons in the world, but in the end, it comes down to the fact that I chose to do it, and you were right to leave me for it.”

Slowly, you reach up and touch his face. He immediately, and almost subconsciously, leans into your hand. “I never hated you,” you tell him, just because he needs to hear you say it. “I was angry, but I never hated you.”

“I’m genuinely surprised,” he says. “I would’ve hated me if I were you.”

“That’s because you haven’t forgiven yourself yet,” you murmur. “And I forgave you a long time ago. You’ve owned up to it and apologized for it, which is literally all anyone could ask for at this point. We just have to work on getting you to forgive yourself. Hopefully planting the tree will help. By the way,” you add before you can forget, “Why didn’t you replant when you were still making the thneeds?”

“We were,” he winces. “Trufulla trees grow tufts before they seed. I ended up taking the tufts from trees that weren’t fully grown and eventually they weren’t able to stand up to the machines that were cutting everything down. There just weren’t enough seeds to keep replanting. It was idiocy.”

“And why did you never plant that last seed?” That question has been burning your mind since Jack had brought it home.

“One, I didn’t trust myself not to screw things up again,” he frowns. “And second, how could I? I was the one who destroyed everything. I don’t deserve to be the one to start bringing the trees back. I always knew that wasn’t my role to play.”

“No. Instead your son is going to do it,” you remind him with a small smile. “He’s completely determined. He doesn’t want to wait until the weekend, but I want him to have the whole day in case someone tries to stop him.”

“That, I have no problem getting involved in. I won’t let anyone stop him,” he promises with a hint of a growl behind his words. He needed to not do that because that growl made you want to make bad decisions. You shake your head a little to clear your mind.

“Don’t worry, Aurora and I are in complete agreement with you there,” you hear yourself say. You suppose that’s one thing that will have to be part of your relationship discussion: how you want to move forward with co-parenting Jack. That’s an easier topic than feelings, so you latch onto it.

“What do you want to do about our co-parenting situation?” you ask. “I know you don’t have a place here or anything, unless you were thinking about moving back to your old house, but once you do have somewhere we’ll have to decide how we want to go about raising Jack from this point forward because obviously it’s going to be a different dynamic–”

He says your name loudly, cutting you off. “You’re deflecting,” he accuses. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to admit it, so you just stay silent. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to only see Jack on weekends or every other week or something like that. I’ve missed so much time already. I don’t want to miss another day. I don’t know what you want to do about us, but I do know what I want to do as far as Jack’s concerned.”

Your breath catches in your throat before you bury your face in your hands with a groan. “Don’t do this to me,” you whimper, all sense of dignity lost. “You can’t be doing this to me. You can’t just walk back into my life and expect me to have all the answers. I don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”

He takes your wrists in his hands and gently pries them apart so he can look in your eyes. “You know I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he soothes. “But I’m also not going to give up my chance to be a dad. We need to work something out, because I can’t be at war inside everyday–”

“Oh, you’re at war?” you screech, standing up. “You think I’m not? Do you think I got any sleep last night because I was so nervous about seeing you again? Do you know how many nights I sobbed, alone, wishing you were there with me? I didn’t just break your heart the day I left, alright? I broke my own heart too, and I don’t think I’ve ever really recovered. I wanted to say yes. And now you’re back and that’s literally all I’ve wanted for ten years… God, and it’s agonizing. How am I supposed to sit here and pretend everything is fine and see you everyday when I’m still so desperately in love with you?”

There’s silence after you’re done screaming, no sound at all except for your heavy pants as you try and catch your breath. Onceler looks like he’s just been hit over the head with a sledgehammer; eyes wide, head tilted, mouth agape. “You’re… you’re…” he stammers, but never quite manages to force the words out completely.

You sit back down next to him, the hysteria fleeing your body. “You know I love you,” you whisper. “I never stopped. Not for a single second.”

He looks at you with nothing less than sheer wonder in his expression. “I never dreamed I’d ever hear you say that,” he murmurs as he finds his voice again. “And I’m still so in love with you too. Always have been, always will be.”

“That doesn’t make this any easier,” you say quickly before he can move his face towards yours. You don’t like saying it, but you know you have to. “What do you want me to do, just take you back like nothing ever happened? You shattered me. I might have forgiven you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever forgotten just how much you hurt me…” Your voice cuts off into a sob, and before you know it, just like your son and his father before you, now it’s your turn to cry uncontrollably. All of the pain of the last ten years, as well as the unbridled joy of seeing him again, all comes bubbling to the surface as the emotions you tried so hard to suppress now turn the full force of their wrath upon you, and you’re reduced to this.

He’s ready for you as you dive into his chest. You clutch at him, terrified he’ll disappear if you let go. Somehow, he seems to understand this; he threads his fingers through your hair and whispers reassurances into your ear. “It’s alright darling. I’m never leaving you again.”

He never complains, giving you all the time that you need to fully cry yourself out. It’s not until you have it back that you realize just how much you missed what a pillar of strength he was for you when you were at your most vulnerable.

Eventually, after the sky grows dark, you extricate yourself from his arms, wiping the last vestiges of your tears from your eyes. “Don’t you dare say sorry,” he quickly warns. You close your mouth; that was the exact word that had been about to fall from your lips. Sometimes it was almost unsettling how well he knew you.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” you say instead, voice hoarse after all your crying. “I agree with you that I don’t want you to miss any more time with Jack; too much time has been stolen from you two already. And I know that realistically, the easiest way to make that happen would be to live together. And that’s going to be a hell that I’m not sure how to navigate. I’ll do it for Jack, I can get through anything for Jack, but it’s going to be really hard. I won’t sugarcoat that.”

His expression is unreadable as his eyes shut. “So is the door closed on us getting back together then?” His tone is mostly neutral, sounding more resigned than anything else, but you can detect the pain beneath it. It stabs another icy knife right through the center of your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Before you can say anything, he offers you a smile that looks more like a grimace than anything else. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want to stand in the way of you finding happiness with someone else. You can move on from me.”

You’re completely taken aback by his words. Whatever you had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. “I don’t want to move on with anyone else,” you state bluntly. “Look, I know I said Jack was the reason I haven’t dated, but that was only part of the reason. I know nothing will ever be able to measure up to what we had. I don’t want to settle for mediocrity when I’ve already had something that was nothing short of magical.”

Onceler quirks an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re giving me mixed signals here,” he accuses, causing you to wince. Once again, he’s far from wrong. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing here or fuck this up, so do I have a chance or not?”

“Look, I know I’m not making sense, and I’m sorry,” you sigh. “You’re suffering the whiplash of what my emotions are going through. One second I want nothing more than to try this again, and then the next I second guess myself because I’m so scared of getting hurt again. I barely survived that once. I don’t think I can handle it a second time.”

His brow furrows like he’s deep in thought for a moment. “Do you want my input on this or is this something you want to work through with as few distractions as possible?” he asks with a glint in his eyes that’s making you feel things.

“Yeah, please, tell me what you’re thinking. The fewer decisions I have to make, the better,” you murmur. 

He reaches out for a moment, pauses, then finishes his journey to cup your face in his hand. The electricity of his touch is almost too much for you to bear. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. “But I can promise that I won’t leave. And I’m never going to hurt you in that same way. I learned my lesson. From now on, I won’t hide anything from you, no matter how ugly the truth is.” Your breathing is totally erratic now, but he presses on, not granting you a reprieve. “And in the spirit of full transparency, yes, I do want to be with you. I love you so much, darling. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me.”

For the umpteenth time that night, your breath catches as he manages to steal it away. “How the hell am I supposed to say no to that?” you say.

He grins cheekily at you. “I’m hoping you won’t,” he smiles, causing you to roll your eyes at him. God, he was such a dork sometimes.

But as much as you might have tried to deny it, he also held your heart in the palm of his hand, and he always would. Technically, you could live without him. But you absolutely didn’t want to anymore, and you were tired of fighting with yourself. You trusted him when he said he wouldn’t hurt you in the same way. And now that he’d repaired the trust he’d once broken, there was only one answer that you could ever give him.

“Yes,” you whisper, and before you can even process the enormity of that decision, his arms are around you, one hand on your back and one of the back of your head, and he’s pressing his lips to yours like a desperate man dying of thirst. The electricity that all of his previous touches had been building now explodes, and before you’re aware of it you’re kissing him back, hands grabbing at his hair, needing to drink in the fact that he’s here, he still loves you, and whatever transgressions might have been committed are now firmly in the past where they belong.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he whispers huskily into your ear before his lips return to yours, his tongue impatiently swiping along your lower lip. You open your mouth for him, and he slides his tongue along yours and pulls sounds from the back of your throat that you didn’t know you were still capable of making.

He gently pushes you down on your back as he hovers over you, his lips never leaving yours. Even after all this time, it’s only too easy to find your rhythm again; your body melds into his just as easily as before.

Maybe because it’s been ten years coming, maybe it’s just recency bias, but this might be your favorite kiss with him. Your hands can’t find a permanent place; they travel from weaving through his hair, to framing his face, to running up and down his back. Similarly, his own hands dance over you, rediscovering you.

It’s only when one of his hands slips under your shirt and starts to slide the material up do you reluctantly pull back and push his hand away. “Ah, sorry. Too far, I know,” he winces.

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” you assure. “I wanted to too, trust me. It’s just that Jack and Aurora will be back soon, and I don’t have any condoms on me, and I doubt you do either.”

“Since when have we used those?” he scoffs.

“That fact that we didn’t is what resulted in a very unplanned pregnancy in the first place,” you remind him with an eye roll. “I don’t regret having Jack, obviously, but I’m not even on any sort of birth control at all right now. Are you trying to knock me up again?”

You mean for your words to be a joke. As soon as they leave your mouth, you can tell that he’s not taking them that way. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he says as he sits upright, tugging your arm so you follow him. “I don’t want to call it a do-over, and I don’t want Jack to feel like we’re only having another because I messed up the first time, but I wouldn’t mind having one or two more, and actually being there from the beginning this time around.”

“We’ll talk about it someday,” you murmur. “I’m not ruling it out, but I am saying not yet. This is going to be a lot of change for Jack. I don’t want to add a sibling on top of that.” You look at Onceler and offer him a shy smile. “We should probably take some time for ourselves too before adding another kid into the mix,” you say lowly, your tone laden with meaning.

He pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head. “How is it after all these years you still manage to drive me absolutely fucking insane?” he teases before leaning down to kiss you again. You indulge him for a moment before pulling back.

“Can I make a request?” you ask. He raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue. You wave your hand over the direction of his facial hair. “Not a fan of that. At least not a fan of how much there is. You’re not opposed to shaving, are you?”

He looks at you, blinks once, then starts to laugh. “I thought you were going to drive a much harder bargain,” he snickers. “Yeah, I can get rid of it if you hate it that much. I might miss it though, I've had it for years now,” he teases, and you know he's getting an absolute thrill out of vexing you. His demeanor is so much different than it was from this morning; he's like a totally changed man. All the life has returned to him.

“You can keep the stubble? Maybe? I'll see how it looks,” you attempt to compromise. “Look, I tried to stay neutral about it, but I couldn't. I'm sorry.”

“You wouldn't be you if you didn't have an opinion about everything,” he grins. “Who knows, maybe I'll get rid of it and I'll decide I like being clean-shaven better again. Although if you can make a request, I think it's only fair that I be able to ask you a question as well.” His face and tone have both gotten much more serious, though you can't fathom why.

“Sure,” you agree easily, and he digs into his pocket for a moment before he pulls out a simple black box, one that's strangely familiar to you. Wait. No, that can't be…

But he's flicking it open and yes, your guess was correct. There in the case sits the same ring that he'd offered to you ten years ago. “You kept that this whole time?” you ask. You have no idea why that's the first thing that comes into your head, but he's making you short-circuit again, and you haven't found your ground yet.

“It wasn't mine to get rid of,” he explains. “It's never been mine. It was always meant for you. So… how about it? You think you want to do a round two?”

The words stick in your throat, and you can see the fear just behind those blue eyes you love so much. But your lack of an answer isn't coming from indecision this time. You just can't believe this is actually happening.

“That's the best proposal you can do?” you hear yourself say. “No getting down on one knee? No popping the actual question? I have to say, I expected something bigger.”

“You never liked it when I went big,” he counters. “If you want me to get down on one knee and do this properly, I can. I just thought you'd prefer something more casual. But if you want–” he starts to get off the couch, but you quickly stop him.

“You don't have to do this if you don't want to,” you try and assure, mostly because you're not sure if you want him to do it “right” or not. It's very on brand for the two of you to do things your own way, and yet…

“I don't mind. Do you want me to?” he asks gently.

“Yes,” you decide before you can think yourself out of it.

He gets off the couch, and this time you don't stop him. He slowly sinks to one knee in front of you, and this is insane, it's surreal, it's too good to be true. But no, it's real, he's actually here, and this is happening. He holds the ring up to you again. “Will you marry me?” he asks, words you never thought you'd hear, but had dreamed about ever since you fell in love with him.

“You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?” you choke out, just to get one last little bit of confirmation.

“Yeah. I do,” he says, not one bit of hesitation in his voice. He gives you his signature cheeky grin. “I mean, how bad could it be?”

You can't help but giggle, and that triggers your tears again, but they're happy, so happy this time. “Yes,” you tell him, because he deserves to hear it. You extend your hand, and he slips the ring onto your finger before grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you again.

And with his lips on yours, you finally feel complete and whole again, the misery inside you being swept away by light and love. The moment is pure bliss, and you allow yourself to fully indulge in the perfect beginning of your forever.

I hope you liked it. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this journey. Every heart and comment made me so unbelievably happy, you have no idea. And I do want to say, even though this story isn't over, I'm not done writing about these guys just yet. I'm going to be posting a series of one-shots, moments that didn't quite make it into this story. They might be into the future, they might be from the ten year gap, or whatever else I happen to think of (my best beloved and I brainstormed A LOT for this story because I have a Too Much Gene). And if there's anything you want me to write for one of these one-shots, let me know and I'll make it happen. So look for those soon (but I'm taking at least a week off because it's been twenty straight weeks of writing a chapter per week... I need a break). Again, thank you so much for the support, and I hope the ending was worth it for sticking out through the angst of the past few chapters.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #the lorax #the onceler #also on ao3 #onceler