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catsfor2 · 2 years

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fem!artist!reader x ellie

<warnings> sexual ?tension ?, slight slight angst, swearing, UNEDITED!

i’ve been wanting to write some hcs/drabbles for a bit and am finally doing it!!. this is kinda self indulgent and i thought others might enjoy. i want to do fics, more hcs, and am CURRENTLY DOING REQUESTS/ASKS!!!!! so plssss interact/tell me what u think!!! —j

Ellie found value in her art mainly through its life and realism. Her sketchbook was merely snippets of her mind - the love, the fear, the humor, the darkness.

Aside from books she’s sparsely found, she hasn’t been exposed to much other forms of art.

When you appeared in Jackson, it barely took days for mentions of the new ‘town artist’ to reach her ears. Dina, fawning over a delicate set of earrings, “Ellie she makes them out of plants…or like…the sap? I don’t totally remember what she said but I swear she’s so freaking cool,”

Or when Jesse came strolling in, rambling about this tiny dagger ring he now has, made out of an old spoon.

“Look I didn’t even buy it alright? Dina won’t stop talking about this chick who makes like…jewelry..I guess? Now I’ve got probably the shortest range weapon known to man,” he finished, smiling.

The final straw was when Ellie came home from a patrol late one night, achy and worn, to a tiny box sitting on her mattress.

As she peered closer, she saw a note hastily taped to the side. It read:

“Hey its Dina. I saw something and it made me think of you. I may have blabbed about you to the artist and she knows who you are now. Oops. She said she wants to see your drawings. Don’t hate me.”

Ellie felt her body suddenly become more achy and more tired. Of course. She didn’t want to get involved in this bullshit, some newcomer wooing all her friends with useless junk. Although, the thought that Dina got her a gift blurred her annoyance to a degree.

Ellie’s fingers tore through the wrapping on the outside, flipping the lid to reveal a small, bone colored pendant strung with a brown braided cord. As she peered closer, the pendant became a moon;It’s face, immaculately tiny, smiling subtly.

The necklace was far too obstructive for Ellie to wear at all, honestly. Dina probably knew this when she got it. But the pendant truly is beautiful. An entirely different art form. A different show of care - of talent. The detail allows her to comfortably sit in her room and study it quietly for another ten minutes.

Ellie sat hunched the next morning, eating something bland for breakfast, only clad in a loose sports bra and some sweatpants.

A knock heightened her soggy mood.

“Are you fucking- I went out yesterday there’s no fucking reason to be knocking on my door at—”

Jesus. There is no mistaking it, Ellie thinks. This is you.

Your hair is intertwined with beads, some homemade and some foraged from the looks of it. Dozens of necklaces, layered and tangled around your neck. The same can be said for both of your wrists. Your ears, pierced up the sides and looped with beads, charms, and other metal pieces.

It was like you were a display for the things on your body. Except, no, Ellie thinks, your face stands out amongst it all. Somehow, with all of the things covering you, your beauty is the most noticeable.

It does nothing to quell how annoyed Ellie is, however.

“Who are you,” Ellie quips(knowing full well who you are). “and what do want.”

“I’m sorry- am I intruding? I really didn’t want to bother you or anything!” You rush, suddenly embarrassed.

“I’m y/n, I just moved here. Dina just said that you might have some extra pencils and stuff that I could borrow if I ran out?” You say, hoping desperately you can save this first impression.

“I mean…” Ellie uncrosses her arms and brushes some hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, you can use some shit. I have enough to share. I didn’t know Dina told you that, so. My bad. For being…rude.” She adds, opening the door even wider. You see her muscles flex as her arms extend and curse yourself for even noticing.

“Oh it’s fine, really!” You say, making sure to remember this about Dina. Also making sure to avert your eyes from the dangerously low cut of Ellie’s sweatpants. Her careless movements are really making you nervous.

Ellie gestures for you to enter, abruptly grasping your shoulder when you don’t move as fast as she would like. She begins to walk you farther into the room.

“You do realize it’s 6 a.m. right? What do you need pencils for at 6 a.m.?” She says, staring you directly in the eyes.

“Ah, well, I guess you’re not a morning type of creator?”

“No.” Ellie sternly remarks. “I’m not.”

She turns around to start walking away.

Starting to feel like a pest, you quickly try to think of something else to change the subject.

“Y’know…I think a ring would look really nice on your hands. Or fingers- I guess.”

That’s a nice compliment right? Or did I just say something fucking insane? You think.

Ellie straightens, slowing her pace a bit.

“I could make you a ring? Like as a trade? For the…pencils?” You say.

She turns.

“Yeah…Sure…” Her hands fall on her hips.

“How do you know how big to make it,” Ellie says. “The ring.”

“Well, what I’ve been doing is using this like, bendy piece of plastic to—well, hold on,” you pause, grabbing her hand to demonstrate.

Ellie’s eyes snap to yours in an instant, invisibly clouding your brain with something warm and fuzzy. You feel her hand flex in yours.

“uh…yeah, so I use this,” you reach into your pocket. “and I wrap it around whichever finger, like middle or ring finger.”

You instinctively wrap it around her ring finger, matching up the lines and moving your head in close to see which number lines up. You feel her figure move closer to you, almost hovering over you as you work.

“aaaand it looks like you’re a size….9” you mumble, running your hands along the base of her fingers before shyly retrieving yourself from touching her, remembering the situation.

Before you can move, Ellie snatches both of your wrists, bringing them in between the both of you. Her eyes intimately gloss over your rings.

“Hold up, could I try on one of yours?”

Your face colors. You couldn’t really explain, but something about the way she’s gripping your hands makes the blood in your body heat up.

“I…yeah, yes. But these are gonna be like…pinky rings for you.” You say, hands fumbling to take off one of your rings for Ellie to try on. Your palms are getting sweatier each time she touches you.

“What?”

“Your fingers are bigger than mine. So,” you take your ring and attempt to place it on her finger. “it only fits…” Ellie’s eyes track your hands. “…on your pinky. There. See? Pinky ring.”

“Oh.” She says. Her gaze still hasn’t left your hands, almost like she’s noticing them for the first time.

You misread her quietness as some sort of sadness.

“Hey, your hands aren’t that much bigger than mine- I know a lot of girls who just have bigger ring sizes. It’s not like- a thing. To feel bad about, or anything.”

Ellie says nothing. Her mouth twitches.

“Your hands are nice. I think..”

She looks up, a laugh bubbling out slightly. Finally, she stops you.

“I don’t mind having big hands.” She looks at you with something weird, something extra.

“They’re not really that big…” You joke, thankful that Ellie has seemed become less irritated with your presence. You notice the wirey veins tracing between her fingers and lining the backs of her hands.

“Yeah?” She questions. “Wanna compare?”

The way shes smiling at you puts a fiery ball in your stomach. It gets hotter as you realize she will not stop looking at you.

“Wow you really can’t take your eyes off my hands, huh? You really want to make me a ring that bad?” She says. Something in her tone makes you pulse between your thighs.

“Oh- I don’t mean to stare. I’m sorry.” You utter, trying to regain your composure.

This is not the Ellie you were taking to before. You felt…vulnerable, now. Your shirt felt thin, it had you rethinking your bralessness. Your shorts felt…short. It felt like the exposed parts of you were burning under the possibility of being seen by Ellie.

“No, I think you mean to.” She continues, “Because you’ve been staring this whole time.”

She’s found you out. You tried your best to be subtle about the yearning, the pull you felt, the way you’ve been just a little breathless ever since you’ve walked through the door.

But you failed.

“It’s really cute, the way you say you like my hands cause of the ring thing.”

She grabs your chin gently and rubs her thumb just under your mouth.

“…But. Be honest.” She stops. Her other hand starts to inch up your leg. You barely notice until her hand brushes the hem of your shorts.

“They just turn you on.”

Your eyes flip wide open, as does your mouth.

“You can pretend it’s some sort of artistic muse thing, but I think…” Ellie tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in closely near your neck. “you just want to be touched.”

Your silence is encouraging to her, it seems. The way your eyes have glossed over and cheeks gone red also let her continue,

“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Have you been waiting for someone to ask you that?” Her eyes flit between your lips and the outline of your pebbled nipples under your shirt.

“For someone to give their fingers to you?”Ellie only grins. She’s pleased, excited, at your inexperience.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you sputter.

The hand on your thigh tightens, causing you to squeeze your legs ever so slightly. You focus on meeting Ellie’s gaze and not closing your eyes to relish in the contact.

“Do you want me to touch you?” She asks.

Her eyes gaze so heavily at your mouth, it’s difficult to remember to speak.

“Cause I really want to touch you. Please?” Both of her hands are now trailing up and down your thighs, almost frantically, tugging at the bottom of your shirt and messing with the hem.

You know that she can now see your bare breasts, pushing through the fabric of your top. Ellie’s hands grope your waist and your ass suddenly slides forward from the force, your breasts pressing up against hers in an instant. The heady exhale she groans out blows past your neck. The warmth gives you shivers.

“Yes, touch me.” You say,

hoping wholly to god that it won’t be the last time you say it.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #tlou part 2 #ellie williams x reader #f reader #lesbian #x reader #abby anderson #tlou fic #ellie tlou #ellie fic #ellie williams fic #catsfor2

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pythagoras180 · 10 months

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Genuine question so I hope this doesn’t come across as rude: why do you like Zoé so much?

I think she’s nice and yay gay rep but she really comes out of nowhere and just feels like a Marinette clone to replace Chloé so fans would stop asking about her failed redemption and stuff

Again, you’re entitled to your opinion and there’s things wrong, just curious

Let's start at the very beginning. I knew absolutely nothing about Zoé going into "Sole Crusher", and I first watched this episode in German dub without subtitles. So I had no idea what was going on. I honestly thought that this new blonde girl was Chloé's cousin or something. Then I read in the summary that they're half-sisters, and I was pleasantly surprised. I thought it was interesting to make their familial connection so much closer than expected, as I don't really see cousins as close family. And then I read that Zoé was the result of Audrey having an affair, and I was shocked, but also really respected the writers for having the guts to add something like that in. Maybe this is just because I haven't watched/read too many stories, but Zoé is the first time I've seen the affair child of such a bad person being portrayed in such a positive light. It kind of changed my view in a way.

I like that Zoé is so sweet, but also a little snarky sometimes. This is just my opinion, but I like that personality. You call her a Marinette clone, but other people have also compared her to Chloé, Adrien, and even Lila. I think at some point in the mixing process, she would have just become an original character, don't you?

When she became Vesperia, I really liked that she had value outside of just the Miraculous. Other heroes would often just use their powers and that's that. Doesn't make them look that unique. But Zoé used to acting skills to taunt Queen Banana into releasing Ladybug, and then tricked Chloé into accepting the Magical Charm. I feel that that gives her uniqueness. I'm a bit disappointed that this hasn't really been utilized since, but it's still something. And no offense to Queen Bee fans, but she made Venom look lame. I only saw it as cool after watching Vesperia paralyze the gigantic gorilla.

In "Transmission", Zoé is the only one being a good friend to Marinette. She doesn't partake in the party, and later goes to check on her when nobody else thinks of that. That made me respect her even more. And obviously, Kitty Noire slays (Blaqueminette is a better name though).

In "Deflagration", I like how she doesn't stand up for herself, but is fearless in protecting Marinette from Chloé. I think that solidifies how good of a person she is. But I was super disappointed to see that she wasn't Sole Destroyer like the leaks indicated. I mean, the name even fits her better. But I guess that idea is too cool for this show.

When I read the leaks for "Adoration", I initially didn't like it. I thought, "This doesn't further Zoé's character, it's just a plot device to push Adrienette further. Zoé deserves better." But after actually watching the episode, I ended up liking the confession. The way they did it was very sweet.

I think the only episode I have a problem with her is "Collusion". First, she has exactly one line, which just feels weird. Second, she says that Andre is a good man deep down, despite him hurting God knows how many people during his corrupt political career. This connects to a larger issue I have with the show, where they portray it that if you're forgiven by one person, all your past actions no longer matter, even if this person isn't the one you hurt most. But this episode is pretty much Zoé's only L in my book.

I understand that not everybody likes Zoé, and I don't expect them to. Honestly, I think her character and her introduction to me was just a perfect storm. I don't think this will change minds, but maybe it'll help you understand my point of view at least a little bit.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #zoe lee #zoe sugar #sole crusher #queen banana #Vesperia #ml transmission #ml deflagration #ml adoration #ml collusion #andre salt #ask

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princesssarisa · 2 years

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Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" is Fanon "Pride and Prejudice" (warning: long)

It goes without saying... or in other words, it is a truth universally acknowledged... that Disney's Beauty and the Beast is full of parallels with Pride and Prejudice.

First and foremost, of course, there's the central romance. A young woman and a young man meet. The man is of higher social status than the woman and tends to be unsociable, selfish, and rude. The woman is the first person to properly call out his behavior, so naturally they don't get along at first. But eventually they get to know each other better and learn to respect each other, the man becomes kinder and improves his manners, and ultimately they fall in love. Both works also include a possible alternate love interest for the heroine: a handsome, charming, popular foil to the hero, who turns out to a total cad. (Although a key difference is that Elizabeth is charmed and fooled by Wickham, while Belle always detests Gaston.) @starberry-cupcake has also, ingeniously, pointed out further similarities in the structure of the two stories. In both, the hero and heroine's animosity culminates in a scene where the hero behaves especially badly, seemingly ending any chance they had of becoming a couple (Darcy's first proposal/the West Wing incident). But then a dramatic turning point takes place, initiated by the hero, which leads the heroine to see him in a different light (Darcy's letter/the Beast saving Belle from the wolves). From that point on, they draw closer and closer together. But then a crisis involving the heroine's family suddenly separates them (Lydia's elopement/Maurice lost in the blizzard) and the hero shows just how far his growth has come by doing a great, selfless deed for the heroine, expecting nothing in return (Darcy bribing Wickham to marry Lydia and save the Bennets' good name/the Beast sacrificing his last chance to be human again by letting Belle go to save her father). Then an antagonist tries to separate them forever (Lady Catherine forbids Elizabeth to marry Darcy/Gaston tries to kill the Beast), but this only leads to their becoming a couple at long last (the news of his aunt's meddling inspires Darcy to propose again/the Beast's near-death leads to Belle confessing her love and breaking the spell). To all these things that @starberry-cupcake has noticed, I'll add one more. In both, early on, a close relative of the heroine's gets sick from being caught in the rain, which somehow leads to the heroine staying in the same house as the hero (although of course there's a big difference between "Jane has to stay in bed at Netherfield for a few days and Elizabeth decides to keep her company" and "the already sick Maurice will probably die if he stays in the dank, cold castle dungeon, so Belle offers to take his place as the Beast's prisoner").

But there's more to both stories than just those parallels. Pride and Prejudice also has quite a few popular misconceptions attached to it, which don't really reflect the novel. Maybe these stem from the popular 1995 and 2005 screen adaptations, or maybe they predate them, but either way, they're pervasive. And I would argue that Beauty and the Beast more closely resembles the pop culture "fanon" version of Pride and Prejudice than it does Austen's actual book.

#1 – First of all, there's the misconception that both Pride and Prejudice and Beauty and the Beast are stories of a flawed man changed by a role model woman, and that in both, the central character arc is his, not hers. But for Pride and Prejudice, that's not really true. Pride and Prejudice is more the story of two decent yet flawed people who both change and bring out the best in each other. Admittedly, the first half of the book is mostly from Elizabeth's point of view, and it sets us up to view her the same way she views herself, as the most sensible, perceptive person present, who cleverly observes and judges the silly and annoying people all around her. But the book's turning point isn't Darcy's revelation-filled letter alone; it's Elizabeth's resulting recognition that she hasn't been as clever or perceptive as she thought she was, and that her judgments of others have been based more in her own vanity than she realized they were. Elizabeth's humbling process is arguably more prominent than Darcy's, both because she's the protagonist and because it takes place on-page, while Darcy's is off-page and only revealed after it happens. But in Disney's Beauty and the Beast? The central character arc of the story is the Beast's learning to be a better person and becoming worthy of Belle's love. Several members of the creative team have described him as "the real protagonist," which Darcy could never be called. Belle's arc of learning to love him is a response to his development, not equivalent to it. The attempts I've seen to argue that Belle is flawed and does change along with the Beast ("She learns to let go of her grand fantasies and find happiness in everyday life," "She learns that people's characters aren't black-and-white and that they can change," "She learns to be less of a snob about who she considers friendship-worthy," etc.) might have a little truth in them, but for the most part, Belle is a clear-headed role model, who serves as the story's best judge of character and whose good or bad opinion is the narrative's barometer of morality.

#2 – Another popular misconception about Pride and Prejudice is that Elizabeth is a free-spirited, independent misfit who defies the social conventions of her time and place. Personally, I don't think that description entirely fits her, but it does fit Belle. True, Elizabeth is lively, strong-willed, both more athletic and more intellectual than a classic ingénue, and willing to stand up to her social superiors or to turn down an advantageous marriage if she dislikes the man. (Although unlike in the screen adaptations, she never says she's only willing to marry for love.) But she also cares very much – more than any other Bennet except Jane does – about pleasing others and following her society's basic rules of decorum. This is both a virtue and a fault, as it sets her apart from her rude, obnoxious family, yet it also leads her to mistake Wickham's gentlemanly charm for goodness and Darcy's stern aloofness for a bad nature. Besides this, she's outgoing and well liked by most (not all, but most) of the people she knows. But Belle is different. While she also cares strongly about good manners and being considerate, Belle is genuinely "never part of any crowd," with no friends her own age, and viewed as "odd" by most of her neighbors because her dreams, interests, and values are different from others of her time and place. That's part of the point of Disney's Beauty and the Beast: it's about two misfits who find acceptance and belonging in each other. Personally, at least, I don't see that theme in Pride and Prejudice.

#3 – Belle is a bookworm, and her preference for books over small talk and would-be husbands is one of her main "oddities" in the eyes of her neighbors. Elizabeth is often remembered as a bookworm too, based on Caroline Bingley's catty remark that she takes pleasure in nothing except reading. But that comment comes from just one incident – Elizabeth choosing to read instead of playing cards at Netherfield, not because she really prefers reading to cards but because they're playing for money and she can't afford to join in – and Elizabeth herself promptly refutes it by claiming that she's "not a great reader." Her favorite pastime, if she has just one, is going for walks, not reading; Darcy is more associated with books than she is.

#4 – The Beast has a redemption arc, while Darcy doesn't. Darcy never does anything morally shameful; he's just "disagreeable" and sometimes rude, dissuades Bingley from proposing to Jane (with good intentions), and fails to warn others about Wickham. Even at his most unpleasant, he's always honorable, generous to the poor, and devoted to the people he cares about. Does his positive growth count as "redemption" when he never really sins? The Beast, on the other hand, does do morally disgraceful things: he imprisons a lost and sick old man just for "trespassing," only letting him go when Belle takes his place, he forbids his servants to feed Belle as long as she refuses to eat with him (although they ignore that order), he makes Belle fear for her life with his rage in the West Wing, and years earlier, he was cursed for shutting out an old beggar woman on a winter's night. He's in real need of redemption, which he begins by risking his life for Belle and completes by sacrificing all his hopes for her sake.

#5 – The Beast is a Byronic hero; Darcy is not, even though pop culture tends to think he is. The Beast is initially moody, tempestuous, and dangerous, tortured by his monstrous appearance and living in self-imposed isolation. Even after his personal growth, which makes him less Byronic, his response to losing Belle (which, to be fair, means losing his last chance to break his spell, not just losing love) is to roar like a jungle animal and sink into suicidal despair. But Darcy? He's initially cold, severe, and prone to annoyance, but not prone to dark moods or outbursts of temper. He's unsociable (though whether out of real social awkwardness or out of arrogance is a matter of debate) but he's not a tortured recluse, he's certainly not dangerous, and while he loves deeply, his apparent response to losing Elizabeth is just to carry on with life as best he can and to try to be a better person. Having a few traits in common with a Byronic hero doesn't make him one.

#6 – Modern Austen fans sometimes describe Darcy's character arc as being about "toxic masculinity," which he "unlearns" in favor of healthy masculinity. But is that really true? I would argue that Darcy's cold arrogance is gender-neutral and more related to social class than to masculinity. In Beauty and the Beast, however, toxic masculinity vs. healthy masculinity is a central theme. The Beast really does behave in toxically masculine ways at first (i.e. domineering and prone to rages), but by the end embraces healthy masculinity that allows for gentleness and vulnerability. Meanwhile, the real villain, the boorish, macho Gaston, is toxic masculinity personified, in a way that Pride and Prejudice's gentlemanly rake Wickham never is.

#7 – Darcy is sometimes accused of not "really" loving Elizabeth when he first proposes to her – of proposing just out of lust and only really learning to love her when he's a better man. But this isn't what Austen tells us. While he might not fully understand her until after she rejects him, and while his love might be more selfish than it becomes later, the book never denies that it was true love. In his second, successful proposal, he claims that his feelings for her are "unchanged." The Beast, on the other hand, really doesn't love Belle yet when he first hopes to win her love – what he wants is to break his spell. His arc of learning to love Belle, having never loved anyone before, is just as important as his becoming a better person in general. Darcy doesn't need to learn how to love; just to be humbler and more considerate.

#8 – The Beast changes for Belle, and changes drastically; Darcy arguably doesn't change drastically, and definitely doesn't change for Elizabeth. The Beast's efforts to be a better person are intrinsically tied to his desire to please Belle, and he changes from rough to gentle, ruthless to moral, and selfish to selfless. But Darcy was always a good person, just a flawed one, and he goes through personal growth without changing his core self. This happens when he never expects to see Elizabeth again; he becomes a better man because he wants to be a better man. It's slightly baffling that so many amateur critics accuse him of changing his entire personality to please Elizabeth.

None of these differences between Pride and Prejudice and Beauty and the Beast reflect badly on either. Of course Austen's novel is more complex and sophisticated than the Disney film, but each work is outstanding in its genre: a realistic literary comedy of manners and an animated family movie based on a fairy tale. But the fact remains that while they are full of striking parallels, they're very different from each other too.

#comparison #pride and prejudice #beauty and the beast #disney #jane austen #canon vs. fanon

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sphylor · 1 year

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Ramble about a special interest, now, go I wanna hear

🫰🫰🫰

okay okay okay so!! my favourote book series of all time ever literally ever is called the chronicles of st marys by Jodi Taylor. i literally love it so much UGH andni havent read any of the books in a while so my memory is a little rusty but it is definitely a special interest of mine fhshhfj. basically its about this group of historians who "investigate major historical events in contemporary time" (time travel). its actually incredibly respectful in the way it handles it too.(spoilers under the cut)

it mostly focuses on british history for the most part (its a british bookseries) but they do visit troy, the battle of agincourt in france, constantinople (during the sack might i add which. yeah. that was a stressful moment for sure....) etc etc. its so fucking funny like it has me in tears laughing whenever i read it but its literally do devastating at the same time (my favourite book in the series, "and the rest is history", made me cry 8 times in one read through because of how tragic it is...). but its really well written and researched and youd think with like 14 books in the series, multiple short stories and a spin off sister series it would get a bit stale but honestly it doesnt. the characters are so full of life and, well, character.

speaking of the characters. theres Maxwell who is the main character and who we see everything unfold through the eyes of. shes so funny and witty and doesnt know when to stop which can be her downfall sometimes. she acts a lot through anger and does things very impulsively especially in the beginning. it can lead to some very funny moments (like the time she drove her boyfriend's car into the lake when he gave her the cold shoulder and was rude to her (neither of their faults tbh its complicated fhdhhf)) i see a lot of myself in Max. theres a lot of hurt masked by anger inside of her. shes the reason why i chose the name Max fjdhhf

she faces a lot of struggles as well... but its okay because her best friend Tim is there to save the day (and piss on her a couple of times accidentally). He is my favourite character 100% hes funny in a smooth and charming way. literally such a puppy dog i just want to ruffle his hair and give him treats. also have i mentioned that all of these characters that work at st marys are 1000000000000% audhd like these goobers are so neurodivergent i love em all. but yeah Tim is a proper gentleman super sweet and caring and always there for you but also he ends up going through so much shit and it breaks him it fucking destroys him and its so sad to see...

Markham is my next favourite little guy hes such a little guy a little skrunkly wunkly woo a grimey little goober. his characterisation is pretty weak in the first couple of books but he soon becomes really important and fleshed out. hes the court jester the class clown the village idiot. super funny but he also has a tragic past and when he gets serious he gets serious. while Max and Tim were historians, the ones going out of jumps to different time periods to collect data, Markham is security. he makes sure the st marys building is safe and secure and also goes out on jumps with the disaster magnets also known as historians to make sure they dont get into trouble (its actually more like to get them out of trouble at the very last minute when they inevitably do get themselves into trouble tbh djbfhdj) hes indestructible. hes been shot, blown up, fell off of a 3 story tall burning building, frequently has some sort of illness like mange or worms, and the only bit of permenant damage hes recieved is that a chunk of his ear is missing.

then theres Leon... i have a love hate relationship with him. hes Max's love interest. original Leon from the first 3 books is fine i guess...... he does a lot of shitty things but so does Max honestly.... and their relationship gets ruined over one event where really Max was in the wrong but what she did was understandable... still incredibly morally wrong but yeah.... and neither of them stopped loving each other even when they were apart. and then. and then book 3 throws a massive curveball and kills him off. they never made up with each other. and then Max is rescued from being kidnapped by a younger version of Leon from before they met each other and its rough because this Leon is in a very bad spot and not doing well At All. hes almost a completely different person from who Max knew. and she has to convince him that life is worth living. she knows how the rest of his life will go already. she knows he'll meet her and be happy for a while. and she knows that this is the last time she'll ever see him again. and that she cant even say sorry to him now. and that he will never know what this meeting truly meant to her. its fucking heartbreaking and i ugly sobbed every time i read it. and then she dies gets plonked into a different universe (long story) and in this universe shes the one who died and Leon lived. now this Leon i absolutely love to bits hes so sweet and kind and caring. they both know how lucky they are to be given another chance and theyre not going to screw it up and they really do make it work between them.

theres do much more i could ramble about. like Dr Bairstow and Clive Ronan... or Dr Dowson and Professor Rapson and how those two are totally in love... or how Guthrie or the time Max got stuck in the past... but 14 books is a lot to cover fhshhf I'll leave you with the fact that i actually have a signed copy of one of the books which i am super super happy about !!

thank you for giving me the space to ramble <3<3<3

#the autism is strong today.... FHSHFHDHJF

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house-of-slayterr · 2 years

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Family Feud:

Tag: @oceansrose2002 @queer-and-utter-chaos @myers-meadow-selfship @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better

CW: Homophobia (because Hoyt is the worst)

Blinky’s POV:

I had woken up before Macy, three hours before Macy to be exact. I was successfully able to sneak out of her grasp and get over to my back pack. I wasn’t sure why I packed it, the little sketch book Manon had given me. It wasn’t a necessity by any stretch of the means, but in my anger and distress I had grabbed it. I spotted a pencil on Macy’s dresser and sat back down at the edge of the bed.

That had been three hours ago. She didn’t move a single inch in her sleep. Which was a far cry from her when she was awake. To people who didn’t know her, it might not seem like she ever moved. But her eyes, her dark, mysterious eyes were always in motion. Never focused on one thing. I imagined hear ears were doing quite the same task. Always alert, always ready to run.

And her hands, if you listened close enough you could hear the skin creaking against her bones. Always tense, always firing. But right now, she was truly at rest. Not furrow in her brow, no smirk on her lips and no pained look in her eyes. Just total tranquility. And I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. She looked a little awkward on the small bed, and I imagined she wouldn’t fare much better in mine. I would have to build her a better one some day. But it did nothing to take away from her charm, just further high lighting her impressive stature. She was the perfect subject.

“You know it’s rude to stare?” I heard her groggy voice.

I couldn’t hold back my smile for even a single millisecond. She was awake! As much as I loved her asleep, I was partial to her waking hours. She went to push herself up on her elbows, but I stopped her.

“Wait, five more minutes!” I said.

She raised a brow at me, but laid back down. Moving her eyes to try to get a glimpse at what I was doing.

“Are you drawing me Bumble Bee?” She asked.

A blush rushed my cheeks, as I tried to not make eye contact with her. All I could do was nod. She relaxed back fully, allowing me to finish.

“Dwi wedi gorffen.”

“English Blink” she laughed.

“I said I’m done, you can get up now.”

“Oh I can, can I?”

“You know what I meant.” I huffed.

“Can I see it?”

I slammed the journal shut, more forcefully than I’d meant to.

“I wanna add some colour to it when I get back home. Maybe I could mail it to you, or just give it to you the next time we see each other.” I rambled.

I don’t know why I was nervous. There was no reason to be nervous right now. So why did her eyes feel like daggers on my skin? Why was my chest tightening. What was happening. She quickly crawled across the bed to me.

“No no no, Blink, hey look at me.” She said frantically.

I met her eyes, but they felt painful to look into.

“You don’t have to look at my eyes, just somewhere on me ok?”

I nodded, focussing my gaze on her shoulder, the soft slope where it became her neck. I could still see her lips in my peripheral, but her eyes are out of sight.

“Deep breath, ok?”

“Ok.”

I started to calm down after a minuet, and she dared to move a little closer.

“You ok?”

“I think so. I don’t know what happened.”

“You we’re about to have a meltdown, I- I asked Tommy about it cause he gets those sometimes. He told me how to help you.”

“Oh.”

“Blinky, I know it may seem like a lot right now, but I’m gonna need you to talk a little bit more ok?”

“Ok.”

I heard her let out a sigh.

“Was this about last night?”

“Why would it be about last night?”

“Ok, was it the drawing?” She fished.

“I, I don’t think so. I’m just- it was- ugh.” I stuttered out.

She reached out to grab my hand.

“Can you feel my hand right now?”

“Yes-“ I said more coldly than I’d meant to.

“Good, what does it feel like?”

“Your hand?”

“Yes, Blinky, humour me…”

“Umm, it’s rough, because you don’t use lotion enough. But the backs of your hands are softer closer to your wrists. I like you’re wrists.” I said.

“That’s good Darlin’, what else do you like?”

“I like your hair, it’s really long and soft, and fun to play with. My fingers don’t get stuck in it like they do in mine. And I like your voice, especially when you’re tired and it gets all gravely. And I like you.”

“I like you too Blinky. Feeling better?”

“I think so.” I offered her a half smile.

“I think I’m just scared.” I confessed.

“Of what? Me?”

“Oh Lucifer no! I could never be scared of you prydferth, you make me feel safe, I promise. It’s just, I don’t know, there’s a lot going on right now, and there’s a lot of things I don’t understand and that scares me. I have so many people to care about now, and I think my hearts to small to handle that. It didn’t grow big like the rest of me.”

“Blinky there’s nothing wrong with your heart, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with your height. Am I one of those people?”

“I’m afraid you take up the most room. Up here too.”

I pointed to my head. Macy placed a gentle kiss on the spot I’d pointed to, and I swear my heart stopped right there. This was exactly the problem.

“You’re adorable you know that?” She asked, pulling me into her lap and leaning her chin on top of my head.

“I’m not trying to be.”

“I know, but you always are. It’s yer super powe’r”

He accent was much thicker in the morning. Slurring more words than usual. Not trying so hard to “speak proper”, whatever that meant. It made no difference to me, I could understand her all the same.

“You wanted to talk about something.”

“What?” She mumbled into my neck.

“You had that look before you fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep cause I kept worrying you would break up with me in the morning.”

Her entire body tense, and she held me tighter. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Blinky, why on gods Green Earth would you think I’d do somethin’ like that? You think I’m some cowboy cassnaova type, sleeping with girls then throwin’ ‘em on their asses in the mornin?”

I didn’t mean to offend her. It was stupid of me to say that out loud.

“Blinky, I really like you ok? Nothing my family can say will change that.”

I hummed.

“What did you want to ask me?”

She sighed.

“Yesterday, when you threatened Hoyt and I asked you about it, you said you were dead serious. And I believe you, but- Blinky I’m worried about you. Are, is your family hurting you, or threatening you in some way? Is that why you came here?”

I pulled out of her grasp, turning to look at her.

“What?”

“Blinky I’m not dumb, I saw the blood on your clothes, black doesn’t hide everything. I would know. You talked about your mom dying, and you’ve been more quick to anger than usual. And I saw that look in your eyes when you looked at Hoyt yesterday. There’s only two things I can think of-“

“And would the other option be that bad?” I said coldly.

This was going to be it, the moment where six months of happiness came crashing down. Macy would leave and I’d be alone again. But then it was easier, because nobody knew about her. I’d have no explaining to do.

“It’s a hell of a lot better than the first.” She said softly.

“What?” I asked confused.

“Blinky, I just want what’s best for you. So then, are you going to be ok?”

“Are you going to leave me? Report my family?”

“I would never.”

“Then I think I’ll be perfect. I’m sorry I underestimated your love for me earlier. That wasn’t fair, that was my problem”

“Blinky, you have to understand that not everything is your problem. You don’t have to fix everything, and you don’t have to do it by yourself. You said it yourself, you were scared, I get it, I was scared to.”

I scrunched my brows in confusion.

“God, what are the odds of this happening?” Macy laughed.

Pushing away any tears she was about to shed.

“Ok confused.” I said.

She just started laughing more, like how Baby did when she was in a good mood.

“And I was so worried about you finding out.”

“Finding out what?”

She pulled me closer to her, pulling me into a kiss. Of course I kissed back, I couldn’t help it. She deserved it after I hurt her feeling earlier, and I guess this was her repayment for hurting mine. She pulled away, nuzzling her head into my neck. She lowly growled something into my ear.

“I’m a cannibal Darlin’ I eat people.”

It sent a shiver down my spine. But I didn’t mind it, it was exciting. She was right, what are the odds? She kissed the side of my neck.

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

She pulled back to look into my eyes, dropping the scene and searching for genuine consent.

“You sure about that love?”

“Not unless you’re going to eat me.”

“Not unless you asked me to.” She said, playfully biting my neck.

I rolled my eyes, allowing her to nibble at my skin for a minuet. I closed my eyes leaning into her touch. She was addicting, an addiction I didn’t want to fight. We suddenly heard a knock on the door and pulled apart. But no voice came, how odd. Macy grumbled under her breath. I raised a brow at her.

“That was Hoyts polite way of telling us breakfast was ready.” She sighed.

I squinted my eyes at her. It seemed like it was more than that with how quickly she jumped back. But I didn’t press her. We’d already had a conversation today I wasn’t planning on. Macy slowly got out of bed, she wasn’t nearly as graceful in the mornings. He movements being sluggish and tired. But it was cute. She grabbed a hoodie from her closet and tossed it to me.

“Still cold?” She asked.

“Pretty much always.” I shrugged.

You grew used to it. My body simply didn’t produce much heat, even in Texas.

“You’re insane” she muttered.

She switched into some cotton shorts, they looked more like old cut up sweatpants she made herself. And a tight black tank top. In one of the rare moments she had her hair up, she threw it into a messy bun. I sat there holding the hood just watching her. She chuckled onto her breath.

“Like what you see Blinky?” She attempted to tease me.

But how could I lie? Everything in from of me right now was perfection.

“Yes.” I said honestly.

This only made her laugh harder. She crawled back over to the bed.

“You just gonna sit there and watch me all day? Or are you going to get dressed so you’re not shivering later?” She asked, lifting my chin to make me look at her.

“Dressed…” I said slowly.

“Good girl.”

I blushed at the nickname, holding her hoodie tighter in my hands. As she pulled away I slowly lifted my arms.

“Hoodie.” I said smiling.

She laughed, rolling her eyes, but took the hoodie out of my hands and slowly slipped it on over my head. I moved up onto my knees so it could fall straight down and I wouldn’t have to tug at it.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

“I know.” I smiled.

“Since we’re being lazy this morning, why don’t I carry you downstairs?” She asked playfully.

“You just want to give the boys and your mother something to stare at.” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” I smirked.

I was more than fine antagonising those people downstairs. I already decided I didn’t like them. Luda seemed redeemable, but the two other men made my blood boil, and I was sure it would only get worse. Thomas would be the only saving Grace to breakfast, other than Macy of course. But I wasn’t sure she alone could stop me from stabbing one of those idiots if they said something that set me off.

She was right, I had been more on edge because of my mother recently. and I couldn’t help but wonder the chaos I was missing out on at home. I’m sure Otis grew tired of her ability to use her mouth quickly. And Baby was much better on the psychological torture side of things. Probably making my mother question every action that got her there.

I stood up on the bed, making me as tall as my girlfriend. And she turned around, picking me up on her back. She called it “Blinky Backpack time” cause she often liked to carry me places even when I was perfectly fine to walk. Perhaps it was her way to feel closer to me, and I would be foolish to complain about that. It was something nice she wanted to do for me. She opened the door and marched down to the kitchen with a goofy smile on her face. I swooped around to give her a peck on the cheek as we went through the door way, just for good measure.

I looked up to see Hoyt already glaring at us. And Monty just looking confused. Maybe his room wasn’t as close to ours as the nasty old sheriff. But I could at least attempt to get on Luda’s good side.

“Good morning Miss Luda Mae” I greeted with a smile.

“Good morning child. Sleep well?” She asked, not bothering to look at me.

But that didn’t matter, a question was more than I was expecting. But she seemed really good at playing polite if she set her mind to it. Both of us could play this game. While Macy may not have had the best relationship with her mother, she did still have one. And Tommy loved his mother, I wasn’t going to jeopardise that for either of them.

“Mhhhm. You?”

“Just fine Sugar.” She said.

Maybe she was more of the a morning person. It probably didn’t help that I showed up out of nowhere yesterday. At least this morning she had enough time of know I would be joining them for breakfast. I wasn’t sure what she was cooking so I paid no mind to it. Macy pulled out my chair and let me climb off her back to sit. And she sat in the chair next to me. Hoyt was across the table, with Monty to his left. And I’m assuming Luda sat to his right, which meant Tommy would be across from me.

“Is Thomas coming up for breakfast Ma?” Macy asked her mother.

“I’m not sure if he’s comfortable with our guest.” Luda said.

I frowned. I would hope my presence here wasn’t causing Thomas to hide. He deserved to have breakfast with his family.

“I could always go eat in Macy’s room, or later if Tommy wants to come up and eat with his family.” I offered quickly.

“Blinky you’re staying in that chair. Let me go talk to him.”

I nodded. I knew it wasn’t intentionally, but she just fully left me to the wolves. Leaving me alone in a room with these three adults who were clearly weary of much worse of my existence.

“Blinky, would you be a dear and help me set the table?” She asked.

“Oh, umm sure. My family doesn’t really let me touch anything in the kitchen.” I said.

I heard Hoyt snicker, but decided to ignore it. If I could handle RJ’s constant side comments, I could get through breakfast. I followed where she pointed and gathered plates and silverware and cups. Of course taking each category on its own, being extra careful with my steps.

“Bet you’re pretty useless around the house Kid.” Hoyt said.

“In the kitchen, maybe. But I do have chores.” I said flatly.

“What’s, separating the whites from the colours.” He jeered.

I frowned, but bit my tongue. It would be a far cry to jump and assume his meaning. Sure he was a bully from what I’d observed yesterday, but he was also a pushover. It was clear Hoyt held more weight in his house than he did. But anyone with half a brain knew Luda was really in charge here. Which was why I was sucking up to her and not wasting my energy on these idiots.

“I actually focus on repairs. My sister does the laundry, she finds the repetitive nature of the the task calming.”

“Repairs?” Luda asked curiously.

“Umm, you know, that wobbly chair that everyone tries to avoid. An old hole in the wall, light won’t turn on. The basics.” I said.

“You can fix dry wall?” Monty asked.

“Did I not just say that? I did say that in English right?”

“You speak another language?”

“Yes Sheriff, some people have the space on their brains to comprehend more than one thing at a time.”

I was trying my best to be nice to him, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hoped Macy would be back with Thomas soon to come rescue me. I was surprised when Monty just ignored his comment, at least attempting to have a semi normal conversation with me. He seemed like someone who just did what Hoyt said because he was scared of the the other man. I doubted any of his thoughts were fully his own.

“If I showed you a walk after breakfast, think you could fix it?” He asked.

I shrugged.

“You got any supplies?”

“I’m sure Tommy’s got some stuff down in the basement.”

“Then sure I guess.”

“That’s kinda of ya, child” Luda said, starting to place bowls and plates of food in the centre of the table.

“You let me stay last night when you didn’t have to. A kind gesture for a kind gesture.” I shrugged.

“You staying again tonight?” Hoyt pressed.

I came up with a quick lie.

“The house has… pests, my family is handling it but didn’t want me around the um, fumes.”

“Hmm, Texas vermin are the worst, Hoyt would know.”

Did Luda just crack a joke? The sheriff grumbled under his breath. Come on Macy, what’s taking so long? I groaned in my head.

Tommy’s POV:

I looked up to see Macy standing in the doorway. I was glad to see her home after she left in such a rush a day ago. I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing her last night.

“Mornin’ Tommy” she greeted.

I gave her a smile. My mask was off on the table.

“I’m sure Ma told ya we have a guest?”

I nodded. Ma said she couldn’t remember their name, and that they’d just come in late afternoon when I was doing my outdoor chores. I’d stayed in the basement most of the night to stay out the way. Macy had a bright smile on her face, and I pointed to my lips to ask her about it.

“Blinky’s here.” She smiled.

“Here?” I signed.

“Mmmhmm, just up stairs. They’re excited to meet ya.”

She pushed herself off the doorway and crossed the basement to stand on the other side of the table.

“She knows about us Tommy, and she’s not running.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread on my face. I’d heard so much about Blinky already, and I was so happy someone was being kind to my sister. She deserved that more than anyone I knew. But I was surprised to hear they knew. Macy must really trust them.

“Stay?” I asked.

“I don’t think they’re going anywhere Tommy. And I really don’t want them to.”

I frowned. Sure I wanted to believe it, but we Hewitt’s didn’t have the best luck. Maybe they’d run when they saw me. Macy and walked away from the table for a moment, and was rifling through my things. She came back to the table holding a mask.

“Why don’t you wear your fancy mask today Tommy?”

I shook my head no.

“Tommy, they ain’t gonna judge ya, I promise.”

I gave her a look of scepticism, but grabbed it from her hands.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time, just come say hi. They came all this way.”

“Ok.” I signed.

I was beyond nervous. I didn’t want to ruin things for Macy, she seemed so happy. I would hate myself if I was responsible for her loosing another lover. I should have stopped Hoyt with the last one, and it haunted me every night. But he would have punished me if I tried. And Macy reminded me time and time again that that would have only made her feel worse.

I followed her up the stairs, staying a little behind. I wasn’t wearing my best clothes, but Macy was dressed in her pyjamas so I didn’t think it mattered much. My heart almost stopped when I saw them. Macy had described how small they were before, but I never actually imagined it. They were sat near the end of the table, with a pained look on their face. We could hear Hoyt talking from the hallway before we ever rounded corner.

I was surprised when they looked up to meet my gaze, expecting them to flinch or look away. But they just sent me a little smile. Macy placed a hand on my shoulder in comfort, before going to sit next to them.

“There ya are Boy. Making us wait for breakfast”. Hoyt said.

“The foods still hot Uncle, calm your tits.” Macy said.

I slowly made my way over to the table, and stood behind my chair. Blinky was having a silent conversation with Macy. I could only deduce Hoyt had probably said something nasty to them and I frowned. How anyone could be mean to the person who sat in front of me was beyond me. It was like those people who threw helpless kittens into a river, cause they thought it was funny to see a helpless creature struggle.

“Tommy sit your ass in that chair.” Hoyt said, growing annoyed.

Today wasn’t going to be fun if his mood was already this terrible. I pulled my chair out and sat, as we began to pass food around. I wasn’t the only one who seemed to take notice of the small amount on Blinky’s plate.

“No wonder you’re so tiny child, ya gotta eat more than that if you want to be strong.” Ma commented.

Macy grabbed an apple from the bowl that was always on the table and placed it on Blinky’s plate.

“They don’t eat meat Ma, they didn’t want you to have to make anything special for breakfast. They’ll be fine.” Macy explained.

Of course Hoyt had a problem with that. He let out a loud laugh.

“Yes, thank you for cooking Miss Luda. I’m sure these biscuits are lovely.”

“You have any idea who you’re fucking kid?” He asked.

I nearly choked on my own spit. That was a new development. Sure I knew my sister had an affair sex life. Why wouldn’t she? She was the pretty face of the family. But she’d never talked about Blinky like that before. Even revealed to me it was the longest she ever waited. She was worried maybe Blinky didn’t like her like that. But clearly it worked itself out.

“I do actually.” They said flatly.

I wondered if they always sounded like that, or if that’s just how they talked to Hoyt. Their thank you sounded much more sincere. I was glad they were being nice to Mama. Luda gave them a grin.

“Oh, so you’re serious about this one. Good on you Macy.”

She was trying at least. I knew she wasn’t the most comfortable with Macy being gay. She’d probably have a heart attack if she discovered I wasn’t into strictly women. Not that anyone was ever into me anyways, so I didn’t matter. Blinky cut into their apple with a fork and a knife, which I thought was odd. Normally people just bit them. They cut their biscuit into small pieces too.

“You were dumb to bring them here.” Hoyt addressed Macy.

Macy raised an eyebrow at him. And I grew a little worried. I didn’t like Hoyt’s tone one bit. It was how he talked to me when a victim nearly escaped. I saw Macy’s hand tighten around her knife.

“Uncle-“ she warned.

I decided to pull the attention away from Blinky, and decided to take my mask off to eat. They gave me no indication they’d be uncomfortable with it, and if Macy trusted them, then so did I. I didn’t want what happened to the last one, to happen to them. Macy recognised the click of my mask strap and turned to look at me, which in turn caused Blinky’s attention to turn to me. I kept my head low, taking a sip of my apple juice.

I tensed a little when their eyes remained on me. And Macy seemed to notice.

“How’s your juice Tommy?”

I gave her a confused look. It was juice. But I was thankful for the distraction anyway.

“Fine” I signed.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and moved them to look at Blinky.

“Favourite juice?” They sighed.

I was taken aback. I wasn’t aware they knew any sign.

“Orange.” I signed back.

Their eyes lit up.

“My favourite” they signed back happily.

I couldn’t help it, their smile was contagious. I understood what Macy was talking about now. I really didn’t have anything to worry about. Hoyt turned his conversation to Monty which we were all more than thankful to ignore him. He clearly didn’t like that he wasn’t scaring the small girl. Which made me even more confused, Hoyt even scared me. Even though I knew I could do a lot more damage than he ever could.

“You know sign?” Luda asked curiously.

“Tiny, he doesn’t have the best hearing and doesn’t like to talk much.” They shrugged.

“He your brother or something?”

I was intrigued to know the answer too. Macy had mentioned they at least had a sister. But she’d never met anyone from their family. Well expect for something Blinky called a Gruncle. Which I was sure I misheard the first time Macy said it, but she assured me I heard right. She’d seen him in passing. Blinky shrugged. they did that a lot. Like they weren’t sure of what to say, so they just defaulted to the gesture.

“I don’t really know what he is. He’s Mama’s kid, so my uncle maybe? Cousin?”

“That make him your brother, kid.” Hoyt said, annoyed. Chipping into the conversation. “You ain’t very smart, but I figured that already.”

He gestured to where they were sitting. I saw Macy roll her eyes. But Blinky seemed unfazed as usual.

“I was on track for medical school. And Mama is my grandma, we just call her Mama.” They shrugged. “I don’t even think I know her name, it’s just always been Mama.”

What an odd thing to say. But it wasn’t my place to judge their family.

“Medical school?” Luda asked.

Macy seemed equally surprised by this information.

“Ain’t ya a bit young for that?”

“I graduated early.“

That must be impressive, Macy and I had never even finished school. It wasn’t in the plans for people like us. And it wouldn’t serve me much good if I had. It would have been a waste of time.

“Smart” I signed.

“Aww thanks Tommy.”

“You gonna work in one of them fancy hospital?” Luda asked.

“Umm maybe, my family needs me home right now so I just help them out.”

“So family is important to you?”

“Very much, yes.”

It seemed mama was warming up to them, which warmed my heart. I knew Hoyt and Monty could be a handful, at the best of times. Macy wasn’t talking much, just enjoying her breakfast. But I didn’t blame her, she didn’t have dinner last night. I debated bringing some up to her, but Hoyt told me I shouldn’t go upstairs.

“So Tommy?” Blinky started.

I set down my fork and focused my attention on them. It was rude to not look at someone when they were talking.

“Did you make that mask yourself?” They asked.

I nodded.

“It’s so pretty! Maybe you could show me how you made it next time?”

I blushed slightly. Nobody but Macy and Mama ever told me they liked my masks before. Hoyt always made fun of them.

“Yes.” I sighed simply, not being able to convert my thoughts properly. I was too excited right now.

“Careful there Macy, I think Tommy’s trying to steal your girl.”

My eyes widened and I starred at the older man. I guess the look of panic was evident on my face. Cause I would never in a million years considering flirting with one of Macy’s girlfriends. As nice as Blinky seems to be so far, they made Macy happy. Macy was also now glaring at our uncle.

“Why would Thomas steal me when he can have any girl?” They said, sounding genuinely confused.

Hoyt and Monty burst out laughing. Which I had to admit hurt my feelings. Even Mama was glaring at them now.

“You think my boy is handsome?” Mama asked.

“Sure, Tommy is plenty handsome. He’s just gotta find someone nice who will love on him like he deserves.” They shrugged.

My blushing only got worse. I wanted the conversation to be on anything besides me right now.

“Thomas isn’t trying to steal my girlfriend Hoyt. As much as you wish that were the case, he’s just being polite. Maybe you should try it sometime!” Macy scolded him.

“Never!” I signed frantically.

“Blinky is mine.” Macy said, in a warning tone at Hoyt.

I didn’t doubt if he tried to pull his last stunt again, she’d finally kill him. Maybe we’d be better off?

“What, you gonna get married? In the house of god?” Hoyt scoffed.

“Maybe we will!”

“Maybe I’ll tip off some of my friends where it’s happening.” Hoyt threatened.

I had just about enough of this and I slammed my hand into the table.

“Blinky, friend. Stop.” I signed.

“Aww the new kids got Thomas all riled up” Monty cooed.

Blinky cleared their throat, and everyone turned their attention back to them. I felt embarrassed they had witnessed this outburst.

“I would suggest, Sheriff, that you stop antagonising my people. Nothing good happens when you antagonise my people.”

The look in their eyes was filled with determination.

“Sooner or later, everyone at this table is gonna leave you. And you’ll die cold and alone. Not even the angels will take pity on you, and the demons wouldn’t give you the time of day. Reevaluate your life choices before you have nothing left to live for. As for you Mr Monty, just because you have no legs, doesn’t mean you have to be a pushover. Your spine still works, use it, form your own opinions for once. It won’t kill you.”

We all sat dumbfounded. Nobody had ever dared talk to Hoyt like that before. The silence was making me anxious, and I could tell it was getting to Macy too. The edge of the table looked like it was going to snap under her grip. I was surprised when Mama started chuckling under her breath.

“You’re bold kid, I’ll give ya that. Why don’t you kids run off now, Mama is gonna have a chat with your uncle.”

“Thank you for breakfast.” Blinky said.

Macy and I were quick to follow, thanking my mother and walking down to the basement. As soon as the door was closed, we could hear yelling from the kitchen.

“Jesus Blink, you trying to get yourself killed.”

“I would like to see him try, I could run faster than him on Monty’s legs, what’s left of them anyway.”

I could help the small laugh that escaped me. They were funny. Macy sighed, but cracked a smile anyway.

“Why didn’t I bring you here sooner?”

“Cause you were worried about me finding out you’re a cannibal.”

Macy laughed.

“That was a rhetorical question my love.”

“Oh.”

Macy kissed their forehead and walked around to the table. She leaned against it. And I chose to stay by the wall. Leaving Blinky to stand awkwardly by the stair case.

“I meant what I said earlier Tommy, anyone would be lucky to have you. And Macy and I will be right here to cheer you on when you find them.”

How could they me so kind? I wasn’t even aware that was humanly possible. I’d never met anyone quite like them before. Even my nicest victims still said nasty things when they were scared.

“They’re right Tommy. You’ll find someone. And I won’t let Hoyt say shit about it.”

I offered my little sister a smile. She was always able to drag them out of me.

“Think Ma got out the wooden spoon?” Macy joked.

I laughed, shaking my head. Macy help her arms open, and Blinky walked to them like it was instinct. I watched as she wrapped the smaller girl in her arms. Blinky practically disappearing in them. They looked so cute together it made my heart race. But the fact that they were so confident I could have something like that some day, it gave me hope.

“I think I can head home tomorrow Macy, if you wouldn’t mind. Things should be all better at home. Tommy and you are free to visit anytime, just give me a heads up before hand yeah?”

“Whatever you wish.” Macy replied.

I watched as the younger girl nearly dozed off in her arms. But Macy didn’t seem worried about it. Maybe this was normal for them. But I wouldn’t mind getting to know more about Blinky. Maybe I could make them their own mask and Macy can gift it to them next time they visited. That could be nice.

An: Today was a shit show at work, so I wanted to hurry up and finish this to get me in a better mood. Thomas is so stinking cute and I’m dying. Main timeline again next, but they merge soon after the Hewitts and the Firefly’s finally meet!

#blinky firefly #Blinky x Macy #Macy Love-Hewitt #the Hewitt family #texas chainsaw massacre #Texas chainsaw au #house of 1000 corpses au

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lizamango · 2 years

Text

Steven, Please Let Me. (Steven Grant x Reader)

A/N: this is procrastination... also I’m so scared for the finale all the Moonknight fit ideas are finally flowing from the fear

Summary: You meet the charming gift shoppist and his rude manager

Warnings: Donna, that’s it. That’s the warning. Also I used marvel comics for the ancient Egyptian mythology since it’s marvel universe :))

Wordcount: 753 this was supposed to be longer but then I have an idea for a fic...

masterlist

add yourself to my taglist!

Asks/requests are open!

You walk into the British Museum and take a tour of the exhibits. It’s your first time in London so you decided to check off the touristy things on your bucket list. You end up at the gift shop, curious about what overpriced souvenirs were there to mark the day you spent. You happen upon nine small statues that eerily resemble ushabti representations of the gods.

“‘Ello there, you alright?” You turn to see a kind face with a shy smile. You scan him up and down and find a name tag. Steven.

“Yeah, just looking around,” you answer with a smile back.

“Anything in particular?”

“Well I just want a souvenir. It’s my first time in here and I do have a particular interest in Egyptian mythology.”

His eyes seem to light up. “Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place! This right here is the Ennead, that is the group of ‘supergods’ if you will, the main nine.” He points to the statues. “Ignore the poster, there’s only seven there, bit of a marketing error but I didn’t tell you that,” he winks playfully.

You let out a laugh. He’s so carefree and passionate as he speaks.

“So, we have Atum, the sun God and king of the Gods. His children, Shu and Tefnut the deities of air and rain. Then their children; Geb and Nut who represent the earth and sky. Finally their children, Osiris God of the underworld, Isis the Goddess of fertility, Seth the God of Death and finally, Nepthys goddess of the night and the dead.” You smile as he goes on in adoration of the information he was sharing. Steven’s eyes widen. “Oh, so sorry… I- I didn’t mean to waffle on. It- it’s just that it’s all so interesting and I… well, I’m so sorry. I should probably just let you get back to- browsing.”

You shake your head as he turns to leave. “Don’t be sorry. It’s riveting. I love seeing people be passionate in something,” you offer, kindly.

He takes it well as he smiles, grateful. “Well, if you have any questions, I’ll be at the tills…”

“I do have a question…” he looks at you expectantly. “Who’s your favourite?”

Steven’s eyes sparkle and he begins to tell you a tale. You could listen to Steven for hours but you take note of the time as you end up leaning over the counter listening to him, the occasional tourist coming into the gift shop for a souvenir.

“Oi, Stevie, ain’t you supposed to be selling stuff, not gossiping?” A blond lady with beady eyes asks approaching the gift shop.

“U-uh, Donna hi -yes I am, I was just giving this lovely customer some background information on the merchandise and-“

“Stevie, how many times do I have to tell you? You shouldn’t try to show off, you’re a gift shoppist, not a tour guide,” she berated.

You frowned, not thinking he would be treated like this. “Well, I’ve found him quite helpful,” you cross your arms, unimpressed by her power display.

She looks at you and slaps a smile on her face. “Well, ain’t that nice.”

“So helpful in fact, that I think I’ll get this.” You pick up a sarcophagus plush and place it on the till. “Oh and these.” You pick up a few hardcover books and put them on the till too. “And this,” you pick up a… pyramid puzzle set. “And these.” Finally picking up the box set of the ennead ushabti replicas. “For my collection,” you add with a sickly sweet smile.

Donna just hums. “Great work, Stevie.” She bids farewell and leaves.

“You don’t have to actually buy all of this, I- I’ll help you put ‘em all back,” Steven offers once Donna was out of earshot.

“Don’t be silly, I’m trying to prove a point. And if you do inventory and she finds out that you didn’t end up selling all this then it will all be for nothing,” you shrug.

“But… museum stuff is always overpriced, I-“

“Steven, please let me.”

You stares into your eyes before sighing. You smile back and watch as he rings you up.

“You’re gonna have to help me get these to my car, you know… it would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” you tease.

He nods, determined. “Yes, yes it would.” Steven glances up at the clock. “We still have half an hour till closing.”

“Well you can tell me more about Ancient Egypt in that time then.”

💖

thank you for reading!

Please interact it’s super encouraging!!

#moonknight #moon knight fic #Steven grant #Steven grant x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #moon knight x reader #fluff #meetcute

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therealvinelle · 4 years

Note

Thoughts on Esme?

I have them.

To start with, I see Esme quite differently from the way this fandom appears to see her, yet also quite differently from the way Meyer intended for me to see her.

I think we all on this website have noticed that fandom has morphed Esme into a very different character than the one we met in the books.

Now, some people take this further than others, and it’s gotten to a point where I can’t tell if fandom believes this new and shinier Esme is canon, or if they know she isn’t canon but don’t care. Either way, the common denominator to all variations of fanon Esme is that this fandom is sick of the way Stephenie Meyer writes women, and see Esme as the worst affected by all. And fanon Esme is a vindication, one where Esme is an assertive, intelligent, feminist woman with a fantastic sex life and an impressive career. The ideal American woman of the 21st century.

And to each their own - if this makes people happy, then by all means. This meta is my personal opinion on her, though, and since fanon Esme has gained such a strong foothold in fandom I would be amiss not to bring her up.

Another thing I’d be amiss not to bring up is movie Esme. The Esme portrayed in the movies is, like so many of the characters, a different person than the one in the books. She is charming, warm, appears to have no difficulty controlling herself, and off the top of my head I can think of one time where she’s given what was originally Carlisle’s moment. I’m talking about sparing Bree - in the books this is something only Carlisle would do, something that has the others going, “jeez, Carlisle, only you”. In the film, this is a decision he and Esme make as a couple. This changes both their characters.

So, these versions of Esme exist, and they’re good characters, but they’re not the Esme I see in the books.

What we meet in canon is a woman who contents herself with being a 50’s housewife. No one in the house eats, she still knows how to cook. Making beautiful homes and keeping them beautiful is not just her passion, it appears to be all she wants to do. Now, humans can be housewives, and that’s a choice I respect very much, but Esme is a vampire, living in a vampire coven. The Cullens have zero need for a housewives. And she doesn’t do other things, either. There is only the creation of homes and being a mother.

And so Esme floats through eternity, embodying the Mother archetype, going through all the motions mothers do with no deeper meaning to any of it.

She gives me the creeps.

I don’t know if anyone here has read Coraline, but in that book we meet the Other Mother. Other Mother always has time for Coraline, she makes all the delicious food Coraline could ever want, and loves her very much. The cat tells us that this may be, Other Mother may love Coraline, but it could also just be she wants to eat her. And since Bella does end up sowing buttons into her eyes, I can’t shake the association.

I think the Esme Platt who ran away to fend for herself and her child, who got a job and struggled to be independent, died with her child. This was her last tie to hope, to this world, and with his death she gave up on life in a way nothing could meaningfully recall.

She then wakes up as a vampire, beautiful (I’m guessing here, but one of the most common things men like to insult women is by demeaning our appearance. An abusive husband, living with Esme in a time where a woman’s appearance decided her worth even more than it does today, would definitely use this against her. Not to mention, it is a cornerstone in female socialization that we’re taught to value our looks. Becoming inhumanly beautiful would boost anybody’s spirits and install confidence, and I doubt Esme was an exception), stronger and faster than any human man, invulnerable, powerful in a way she never dreamed she could be.

The man she idolized since she was a child, who was supposed to be an unattainable dream, is there, and even more wonderful than she remembered. He’s the one who saved her, and within the year he becomes her husband.

(This by itself is too fantastical, too storybook ending, and I imagine snapped whatever remaining strings Esme still had tethering her to sanity. Any newborn vampire would find themselves in a surreal new state of being, but this is a step further. There’s getting to have it all, and then there’s... well, then there’s this.)

Then there is Edward. Days after she lost her son, she’s presented with a young man who lost his mother.

(And this might be a post of its own, but: we never see Esme be a mother to any of the other Cullens, and I don’t think she is. It’s just Edward. And she loves him all the more for it. She wouldn’t blink at Bella dying if Edward decided his thirst weighed heavier than his fascination with the human. This is canon - they have a conversation about this, and Esme make her stance clear. She puts Edward above absolutely everything else in this world.)

What I’m getting at here, is that Esme was handed perfection on a silver platter. All the things she’d lost, all the things she’d lacked, things that had been taken from her in the cruelest manner possible, were now given to her, in perfect condition at that. Esme will never have to worry about things like money, sickness, aging, or even Edward growing up and leaving the nest. (And even when he does get married and have a baby, he still doesn’t leave the nest!)

Esme was given the ultimate do-over with vampirism, and she spends it being what she never got to be in life. (And I’ll link this post, because Bella’s in the same situation, if less extreme, and they’re both in for a rude awakening. And I don’t think Esme will cope at all.)

To Esme, vampirism is startlingly similar to the afterlife. It’s her tailored paradise, eternal and perfect. There’s the fact that every so often she slips up and eats people, but that only adds to the eeriness of it all.

Esme Cullen is more a ghost story than a vampire to me, haunting whichever house the Cullens inhabit under the guise of being a homebody.

(As for the her supposed sex life with Carlisle - Meyer said they have a spiritual relationship. That’s hilarious, and code for they’re not having sex.)

#there's something very appropriate about this woman looking like she stepped out of a fairytale #snow white in the flesh #and snow white fell into a death-like sleep #only for esme when the prince kisses her something else wakes up #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #carlisle/esme #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #this is the part where my blog gets controversial #carlisle what the fuck did you marry #Anonymous #ask

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goodlucktai · 3 years

Note

Could you write something about natsume getting a hug?? Just, from whoever n for whatever reason. I keep thinking about how no one ever really hugs him n it makes me sad

The absolute last person Joji expected to see today was Natsume Takashi.

Joji slows to a stop on the corner of the street, a block away from the train station, and stares shamelessly.

It's been a decade since the last time he saw Natsume, but he recognizes him immediately. Of course he does. His light hair and eyes aside, Joji has thought about him on-and-off since junior high.

Joji remembers that rainy day when he was thirteen, an empty desk in the middle of his eighth grade classroom, Ito leaning over in his chair to whisper, "Did you hear? Natsume was in the ER. He almost died. The police are looking at his foster parents."

It was as if he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. He sat there, frozen, while their teacher called them to attention for homeroom and announced that Natsume wouldn't be in their class going forward.

What was the last thing Joji had said to him? "It's no wonder your parents didn't want you." Why the hell had he said that? A book, if he remembers right. He'd lent it to Natsume and Natsume gave it back all water-damaged, like he'd gone for a swim with his backpack on. Natsume's eyes were on his hands, on the ruined book, and he'd tried to apologize, said he'd pay for it, but Joji just snatched it away, ticked off.

"This is what I get for trying to help you, I guess. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you."

Joji is almost twenty-four now. He's going into pediatrics. His fiance, Sakura, is a foster parent. She is currently the proud and fiercely protective mother of two beautiful twin girls.

Sora and Miu are terrified of adults and they go everywhere together and sometimes they make up stories. Sometimes they lie, about why their uniforms are torn, why they're home late, why their lunchboxes are covered in dirt. They have this look in their eyes sometimes like they're just waiting to get hurt again.

Sakura has the patience of a saint. She never raises her voice. She stitches their torn uniforms, replaces their lunchboxes, and, on more than one occasion, has marched into their junior high school and threatened the staff with physical violence if her babies come home with bruises one more time.

Needless to say, Sora and Miu adore her. It took them longer to warm up to Joji, but they're there now; no longer flinching when he moves in their direction, greeting him happily when he comes over for breakfast, smiling shyly when he staggers into the apartment underneath the weight of two giant stuffed rabbits that cost nearly half his paycheck, because it's their birthday, Sakura, they need them.

Joji tries to imagine someone telling them "this is why your parents didn't want you" and goes absolutely breathless with rage.

Natsume glances up from his phone to look right at Joji, as if someone had pointed him out. Caught staring, Joji shuffles in place for a moment, and then squares his shoulders and heads over.

He's expecting the Natsume of his memory; he's expecting him to curl his shoulders and duck his head, the way Joji's girls still sometimes do when a stern auntie wants to talk to them.

He's not expecting Natsume to level him with a clear, politely confused gaze. He pockets his phone, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of the cardigan he's wearing; a size too big, like something he borrowed out of someone else's closet, but it's a charming look on him. He's dressed well, in dark-washed jeans and white high-top sneakers, and his silvery hair is long, probably long enough to fall past his shoulders if he didn't have it piled up in a bun. There's a squat calico cat at his feet, glaring up at Joji with judgmental green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Natsume asks kindly. His voice is a shock to the system; Joji remembers him like it was yesterday.

"Oh," Joji says, stymied. It never occurred to him that Natsume might not recognize him in turn. "Um, I'm Watanabe Joji. We were classmates in eighth grade."

"That's right," Natsume says with gratifying quickness. He looks a little embarrassed now and returns Joji's short bow. "Sorry, it's been a long time."

And we weren't exactly friends, he doesn't say, but that common knowledge sits neatly between them.

"Ten years!" Joji replies with some forced enthusiasm. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry?"

"The, ah, reunion this weekend? Ito, from our homeroom back then, put together a whole thing. Our whole class is getting together for dinner and drinks."

It occurs to him that Natsume might not have been invited. Joji thinks that's less because he isn't welcome and more because Ito almost certainly didn't have his contact information. The few times his name has come up, Joji's friends have gone quiet and melancholy. A few of them are parents now, or aunts and uncles at least. All of them know better than they did when they were mean, shitty little teenagers.

Joji opens his mouth to assure Natsume that they'd love to have him, but Natsume cuts him off with a laugh.

It's not a mean laugh. It's not unfriendly in the slightest. But it stings anyway, because Natsume is laughing out of pure disbelief.

"No, no," he says, waving a hand, "god, no. Could you imagine?" he adds, glancing down at the cat. The cat huffs, settling a little more solidly against Natsume's ankle. "We're just passing through, actually."

"We?" Joji asks dumbly. Did he mean himself and the cat?

It's Natsume's turn to get cut-off, this time by a long, drawn-out shout of "Takashiiii!"

A short, russet-haired young man around Joji's age comes barreling down the sidewalk toward them at a flat-out run. Joji's first inclination is one of alarm, but Natsume steps forward with his arms outstretched, and the stranger collides with him in an embrace that looks like it hurts.

Natsume is laughing again, but it's softer this time. It's the warmest sound Joji has ever heard him make.

"What's this for?" Natsume is saying, patting him on the back.

"Just missed you," his friend replies.

"You saw him twenty minutes ago, Satoru," comes the exasperated call from further down the road, and Joji glances over to find a small group headed their way, laden with shopping bags.

"Yeah, exactly," Satoru says, leaning back without letting go, just enough to gaze up at Natsume with a cheeky grin. "I'm all Takashi-deficient. It's pretty serious."

"Sounds serious," Natsume replies, and agreeably keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as the rest of their group catches up.

A tall, dark-haired man stoops to pick up Natsume's cat, and it settles agreeably in the crook of his arm. The brown-eyed woman beside him lets out a coo, shifting all her bags to one hand so she has one free to scratch it behind the ears.

"We're being rude," the dark-haired man says in a soft, pleasant tone. "Who's this, Takashi?"

Natsume introduces Joji as an old classmate, giving absolutely none of their history away in tone or expression, but somehow all of his friends seem to clue in to something anyway. Their collective demeanor shifts, in an unidentifiable way, even if their polite smiles don't slip an inch as Takashi introduces each of them in turn.

All but Nishimura Satoru, still tucked up against Natsume's side, who gives Joji a positively poisonous look.

"Okay, Satchan, you're going to lose privileges if you can't be nice," Kitamoto says dryly, and extracts him from Natsume's person with a deftness that speaks of years of practice.

"Nooo," Nishimura says, but it's curbed quickly by Shibata shoving a bag at him and snapping, "Carry this! It's that stupid lucky cat statue you just had to have, and it's heavy!"

"It looks just like sensei! Tooru loves it, too!"

"I do," Taki admits.

It's a warm afternoon, right at the end of August, the sky turning golden with the beginnings of dusk. Joji still manages to feel cold.

He grew up, but Natsume did, too. He always regretted what he did, he always wondered if Natsume was okay, wherever he went, but Natsume hasn't seemed to spare him a second thought. He's got his own friends now; bright, kind people who look like they'd raise hell for him. Who run to meet him.

Joji missed the chance to have a place in Natsume's life. He's a footnote, now, and not a very good one.

"Jojojojo!"

The bright voices have him spinning around, forgetting everything else, and he lights up when he spots Sora and Miu waving at him from the other side of the street. Sakura has a firm hold on their jackets so they can't go spilling out into the street until the pedestrian crossing sign lights up, and then she releases them like a couple of eager hunting dogs.

Natsume's friends shuffle to one side politely, and Joji steps forward to catch his girls when they reach him. They're so beautiful and he missed them so much, this weekend they were away to visit Sakura's parents. He kisses them each on the head, and then kisses Sakura on the head in the name of fairness, and it makes all three of them laugh.

Taki coos just like she did with the cat, hands clasped together under her chin.

"What sweet girls!" she says. "Are they yours, Watanabe?"

"Yes," Joji says proudly, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. They've come so far, not hiding behind him from the group of strangers, even if they press into his sides shyly. "This is Miu, and this is Sora. We're adopting them."

Sakura shifts her weight imperceptibly, a barely-there tell. Waiting, he knows, for the surprise, or outright condemnation. She's dealt with a lot of bullshit for taking these kids in, from family and ex-friends and even total strangers. It rolls right off her, and she usually gives as good as she gets, but she hates when Sora and Miu have to hear it. They don't deserve to hear it.

Joji will have to explain it to her, later, why he brought it up. Why he knew it would be safe to bring it up in front of these strangers.

Sure enough, all their faces soften immediately, a gentle transformation. Natsume crouches, gazing at the twins with an expression that Joji remembers from his childhood. The delicate resilience, the willingness to reach out even if he got hurt.

The look on his face ten years ago when he handed back that ruined book, owning up to his mistake and trying to fix it, buying Joji a replacement even after Joji said something unthinking and cruel.

"I was adopted, too," he says.

"Really?" Sora asks quietly.

"Really," Natsume tells her. "My parents died when I was little. I wasn't an easy child to care for, even though it wasn't my fault, so I got passed around a lot. It took me a long time to find my place, but I found it. Did you find yours?"

"I think so," Sora says, glancing around Joji at her sister.

"Me, too," Miu adds.

Sakura clutches Joji's hand hard enough to bruise. She won't cry here and now, but he already knows it's going to be an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night.

Natsume looks up to meet Joji's eyes when he says, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

It's forgiveness. Joji hears it plain as day. He didn't get a chance to ask for it-- isn't sure he deserves it-- but there it is, freely given. And it's reassurance, too.

When Joji's daughters used to curl their shoulders and duck their heads, it would always tug at the memory of a boy he used to know, who was as kind as he was desperate for kindness.

Now, he thinks, when his girls are making a mess of the kitchen trying to follow a pancake recipe with their friends, or dragging a stray cat inside with big, hopeful eyes, it'll remind him of this afternoon. Natsume's clear, bright eyes, and the protective cluster of friends surrounding him.

The world wasn't fair to him; it left a mountain in his life that he had to climb, complete with all its pitfalls and crumbling paths and bad weather.

And here he is on the other side, goodness intact. Smiling. Loved.

He found his place. Sora and Miu found theirs.

And god, if that doesn't give Joji hope for everyone else.

"It was nice to see you," he says thickly, hoping Natsume hears his honesty. "Don't come to the reunion, that was-- a stupid thing to say, but-- would you-- dinner?"

Natsume hears it. He tilts his head, considering, and then says, "We missed our train, anyway."

"And I'm starving," Tanuma says agreeably. Clearly, he says it more to agree with Natsume than anything.

Nishimura is the hardest sell, watching Joji with hard eyes. But then his gaze dips to Sora and Miu, and all his sharp edges go soft, like butter melting in the sun. After a handful of tense seconds, he visibly gives up on his anger with a huff. His friends, watching patiently, all give absurd little cheers when it's clear he's on board.

"Fine, but if you live farther than three feet away, we're getting an Uber," Shibata threatens, rustling the shopping bags in his hands with annoyed fervor.

They drift in the direction of Joji's home, and Kitamoto talks Shibata down from the Uber with the promise of ducking into a 7-Eleven for ice creams instead, and Taki and Sakura are fast friends, rolling their sleeves up to compare tattoos-- Taki's is a strange, occult-looking circle that Joji makes a mental note to ask about-- and Tanuma lets Sora carry the fat cat, while Miu pets it with reverent fingers.

Natsume walks beside Joji, calm and unhurried, with Nishimura on his other side. He grew up with so much grace.

"Can I add you to the class groupchat?" he asks without thinking.

"Good luck with that," Nishimura butts in, not unkindly. "He's the most unreliable texter you've ever met. He left me on read for like two days once, and we live together."

"You'd have better luck with an email," Natsume says apologetically.

It's more than Joji thought he'd get; they exchange contact information, in the middle of this chaotic, noisy group making its way down the street toward the well-lit combini on the corner and then, beyond that, home.

Natsume doesn't seem to have any interest in reconnecting with his old classmates, and Joji doesn't blame him for that. Even though it will certainly piss Ito off to be kept in the dark, even just for a few days, Joji decides it's for the best.

Nishimura's goodwill can't be stretched that far.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natsume takashi #nishimura satoru #tanuma kaname #shibata katsumi #my writing #prompt #natsuyuu fic #cha-lii #wanna find a home (wanna share it with you)

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1kook · 4 years

Text

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it.

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out.

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on.

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend.

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression.

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?”

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week.

But also…

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately.

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.”

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing?

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction.

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.”

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?”

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.”

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway.

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will.

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground.

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.”

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did.

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine

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amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!!)

Previously: Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu. Kita Shinsuke. Kuroo Tetsuro. Tsukkishima Kei. Bokuto Koutaro

Masterlist link

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

Genre / Pairings: Fluff, Hogwarts AU, Sakusa / Reader

Summary: You’re invited to Kiyoko’s seventeenth birthday party, which turns out to be a ball for the glittering elite of the magical world, where you meet one very surly, very sulky Sakusa Kiyoomi.

A/N: Comments as always, are much welcomed. Feel free to shout at me anytime!

Requests closed for the time being!

Though if you toss a suggestion my way that I like, I may...reconsider ;)

Requested by Yeon baobei @moondaius I hope you like it, darling <3

-------------------------------------------

You feel out of place in this party filled with the glittering elite of magical society. Your sleeves do not quite reach down to your wrists, and the ruffles on the neckline of your dress robes are a little limp, but you’ve had to make do with the rejected pile of clothes from your more affluent cousins. It’s not often you get invited to formal dinner parties anyway. Your home is a tiny attic flat on the cross junction between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, and your mother is just a humble cleaning lady, so this soiree is just an exception - your classmate Kiyoko being exceptionally kind and inviting you to her seventeenth birthday party.

“Look! Isn’t that Sakusa Kiyoomi? Isn’t he handsome?” You can hear the girls around you sigh dreamily to their friends as said boy enters the ballroom with his cousin Komori in tow.

The Ravenclaw seeker elicits this sort of reaction even in school - or especially in school, but you’ve never joined his legion of fans, his overall grumpiness acting as a deterrent to you ever speaking to him despite sharing multiple classes together. Still, he is handsome, you admit to yourself. Towering over most of the party guests, Sakusa Kiyoomi has artfully tousled black curls, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and the most adorable pair of moles above his right eyebrow.

“Komori!” You wave, grinning with affection as the affable Ravenclaw keeper bounds over towards you like an overgrown puppy.

“It’s so nice to see you here!” He greets you with his usual cheer. “These parties can be a drag if you don’t know anyone.”

“It is a little overwhelming”, you admit, side-eyeing the chandeliers hanging from the arched ceiling, dripping in crystals and wrought with gold. You’re sure that if you managed to sneak just one chandelier in your pocket, it’d be enough to feed you and your mother for an entire year.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have fun tonight!” Komori promises with a chuckle. Then he snaps his head back, realising he’s left his cousin stranded in a crowd of fawning women - a fate that Sakusa Kiyoomi obviously deems worse than death judging from the way he glowers down at his shoes as if they’ve offended him in some way.

“You better rescue him”, you add, internally amused as Yuna-san from Slytherin slides her talons up Sakusa’s arms. “Five minutes in, and he already seems like a damsel in distress.”

Komori answers you with a lopsided grin as he swims through the crowd to reach his cousin drowning in his worst nightmare. You snort to yourself, helping yourself to a generous amount of punch, watching as Komori manages to extract Sakusa while charming the ladies into not sulking too much at the loss of their prey. Sakusa promptly disappears once he’s free from the quicksand of social interaction, while Komori himself gets claimed for the first dance of the night.

You have fun too - well, somewhat. You stand along the sides of the ballroom like an overgrown wallflower, watching as your peers in brightly coloured dresses get asked for dances while you’re passed over with a glance at your ill-fitting dress. But Komori does swing by and dances a foxtrot with you - both of you trip over the other at one point, causing a small commotion in the corner of the ballroom, but it’s all in good fun. Even Kiyoko takes the time to pop by and say hi, even though she’s swamped with well-wishers and familial obligations.

You don’t regret coming to the party at all.

“Omi, be social for once.” It’s only because your ears are sharp that you overhear Komori urge his cousin out from his hiding spot behind the dessert table. “You’ve been hiding from everyone the entire night, and you haven’t even danced once!”

“I don’t like people.” Sakusa grounds out through clenched teeth. “And I don’t dance”.

“Don’t be a grump. There are perfectly nice people here - look, I have a friend here who’d be perfect for a dance”.

You look up, meeting his eyes as he grins apologetically at you. You’re about to mouth ‘hell no’ at the irrepressible Komori, but Sakusa beats you to it in his characteristically blunt fashion.

“She’s tolerable enough I suppose, but I’m not inclined to be a knight in shining armour and dance with someone just because no one else will”.

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline.

Komori looks like he’s about to push Sakusa into the birthday cake, but thinks the better of it. “Omi”, he hisses in warning.

Sakusa glances up, guilt flooding his eyes when he meets your gaze, but you don’t give him a chance to redeem himself, flouncing away in a swirl of faded satin. You brazenly seek out dance partners for yourself - Kuroo from Slytherin might seem smarmy, but he smirks at you in recognition and twirls you around in a merry square dance and Akaashi from Ravenclaw looks like he’d much rather bury his nose in a book but he’s gentlemanly enough to let you take his hand for a stately waltz.

You’re in the middle of another waltz, this time with sunny Bokuto from Hufflepuff when you spot Sakusa squirming from the corner of your eye. Yuna (Slytherin, seventh year, pureblooded of course) has him cornered, back against the wall, and there’s no Komori in sight to save him – nor anyone really, almost everyone else is enjoying themselves on the dance floor.

You sigh inwardly. Sakusa might be cold and cranky but even he deserves to be rescued from Yuna’s clutches, so you maneuver Bokuto towards in their direction. Bokuto, to his credit, catches on immediately, and with a spark of mischief in his eyes, he grabs a glass of punch and tips it over both Sakusa and Yuna.

“You idiot!?!” Yuna shrieks, horrified as the bright red liquid stains the front of her robes. “These robes were specially tailored for me in Paris you know?”

You didn’t know that, and frankly – you couldn’t care less about the cost of her fancy robes, and with a murmured – I’ll help Sakusa clean up, you grab said boy by his sleeve and manhandle him out of the ballroom. Thankfully she’s so distracted that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that you’re both seventh years now, so there’s really no need for you to rush to the washroom since it’s completely legal for you to be using magic to clean Sakusa up. You leave Bokuto in your wake to deal with an irate Yuna, but he’s grinning nonetheless, telling her that his cleaning charms are awesome, does she want him to try fixing her dress? Akaashi and Kuroo join the commotion, and in the diversion they cause, no one notices your escape.

You tug him down a deserted hallway, relinquishing your grip on him only when you find an appropriate hiding place – an open air balcony, where no one is likely to stumble on you. ‘Turgeo’, you whisper, whipping out your wand, nodding in satisfaction as the charm siphons punch off Sakusa’s robes.

“You can catch your breath here for a bit”, you tell him, hopping up to take a precarious seat on the balcony railing. His brows pinch together, and you watch, bemused as he tries to make sense of what just transpired.

“Tha-“

Taking pity on him, you interrupt him. “You don’t have to thank me. I came to your rescue cos you’re tolerable, even though you’re always grumpy. Plus, I’m a Gryffindor, so being a knight in shining armour comes naturally to me”.

Your amusement grows as he splutters at having his ill mannered words quoted back at him, embarrassment burning into his cheeks. It’s fun to throw calm, collected Sakusa Kiyoomi off balance sometimes, you think – and perhaps given his privileged, pureblood background, he probably needs it every once in a while. But then you’re surprised when he gathers himself and inclines his head ever so slightly.

“That was…inexcusable of me to speak of you that way. I apologise.”

“It’s fine”, you reply easily, but he doesn’t allow you to shrug his apology off.

“It’s not. I was rude and unkind.”

This is the most you’ve ever heard Sakusa Kiyoomi say, and you want to capitalise on it.

“I know how you can remedy that”, you interject with a smile.

He quirks his eyebrows in confusion, watching you warily. You’re tempted to drag out the suspense to watch him squirm, but you don’t want to torture the poor boy any further.

“You can pay me back by giving me the dance you so cruelly refused me”, you tell him, jumping down onto your feet. Then with the most unladylike laugh, you sweep into an exaggerated bow, holding your hand out to him -

“My good sir, if you please?”

He stares down at your proffered hand. “Here? Now?”

“You have another time in mind?” You ask sarcastically, back still bent in a bow. “Come on, your mother probably brought you up better than this, don’t keep a girl waiting forever.”

“Fine, fine”, he mumbles. So as the string orchestra in the ballroom strikes up another tune yet again, he takes your hand, and wrapping his arm around your waist, he leads you in a waltz.

Step step twirl.

One two three.

Step step twirl.

He’s the ideal dance partner, expertly steering you through the one-two-three of the melody, never once making a misstep – though he does wince when you tread on his toes once too many times.

“You’re surprisingly good at dancing, for a misanthrope”, you comment.

“My mother made me learn”, he replies, ignoring the hidden barb in your remark. “It’s a waste of time, but I guess now that I keep getting invites for balls, it’s useful knowledge so I don’t make a fool of myself when I get forced to dance.”

“Like now?” You chuckle self-deprecatingly.

He doesn’t reply for a few beats and you assume the conversation is over when he replies –

“Not like now. It - this is nice.”

It’s summer, and while the cool night still nips at your skin, warmth inexplicably suffuses your cheeks. You thought you were just having a laugh, it’s only now that you realise that the situation you’ve put yourself in with Sakusa is practically lifted out of a fairytale – a boy and a girl, hiding in a balcony, waltzing under the stars? The only thing missing is maybe a shooting star falling from the skies, or a lost glass slipper or two.

Your train of thought is interrupted when the song ends, and he surprises you yet again when he does not drop your hand.

“Would my lady wish to dance with me again”, he asks, though there’s a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes that belies his formal tone.

You ignore every fiber of your being screaming at you that dancing with him again is going to be terrible for your heart, dropping into a low curtsy.

“Why, I thought you’d never ask”, you simper in a poor imitation of Yuna and her toadies, and he only snorts, sweeping you into his arms, intent on dancing the night away.

----------------------------------------------

“The two of you have been gone the entire night”, Komori comments, a faint accusatory tone colouring his words. “I was about to organise a search party.”

“I was just helping Sakusa clean up after a mishap with a glass of punch”, you reply, though your lie is punctured by the wince you give when your shoes pinch your feet – a sign that you’ve danced far, far too much on this magical night.

“Is that so?” Komori directs his question to his stoic cousin.

Sakusa doesn’t even bother to reply, palm warm against the small of your back as he ushers you off to his flying carriage, intent on sending you safely home.

Your mother’s jaw drops when she wakes up to Sakusa’s carriage thunder down your street, a fleet of winged white horses dragging an enchanted golden carriage. You feel like Cinderella as he escorts you to the front door, pressing a courtly kiss to the back of your hand when he wishes you goodnight. That is, if Cinderella snagged her Prince Charming on the first night they met - by accident, no less.

Your jaw drops when you wake up the next morning to a delivery from an imperial looking snow owl, and when you tear open the parcel, your hands shake so much you have to sit down. That ridiculous boy sent you dress robes of pearl white tulle, along with an invitation to his seventeenth birthday party, to be held in two weeks.

And the most staggering of all – the parcel also includes your dance card, Sakusa’s name neatly written in it to claim ayour dances for the night.

Every single dance of the night.

“Impertinent fellow”, you mutter to yourself, though you can’t help but fall back onto your bed, giggling like a loon.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is an enigma, a boy shielding his true self from the world by cocooning himself in layers of unfriendliness and grumpiness. But in the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, you’ve discovered that he isn’t as cold or unfeeling as he makes himself out to be. You unearthed his sharp sense of humour when he started dropping barbs about preening party guests, telling you the dirty secrets of each pureblooded family gathered here tonight.

“She did what?” you gasped. “No way.”

‘Believe it”, he smirked. “She later tried marrying her daughter off to me, but my parents refused”.

And over the course of the night, you start to see shades of his softer side. He surprised you when he apologised over and over again for not dancing with you the first time, saying he hadn’t realised that you were being overlooked because almost everyone in attendance were snobs.

“It’s the dress”, you told him cheekily, tugging at the cheap fabric. “Otherwise everyone around here would be falling for my sparkling personality”.

He couldn’t help but snort at that.

Then he started to tell you about himself. You learn that he wants to go pro not because he has a burning passion for Quidditch, but rather because it’s something he’s put so much effort into that he might as well continue doing it into adulthood. You learn that despite his complaints about the Ravenclaw team - seemingly sweet Suga and the troublesome beaters Makki and Mattsun in particular driving him insane with their relentless ribbing and puns and jokes, he’s grown fond of them.

He’s funny and witty and sentimental and smart. You truly enjoyed his company last night.

You can’t wait to see him again.

Neither can Sakusa, so it seems. He’s on your doorstep before noon, a bouquet of roses and a bashful expression on his face.

“A gentleman caller”, you pretend to swoon as you open the door. “Happy day!”

“I hope I’m the only one”, he retorts, all shyness evaporating immediately, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes.

“So far you are”, you tease, nose buried in rosebuds. “Fair warning before you sweep me off my feet though - I’m not going to be one of your typical, pureblooded heiresses who’ll titter at every word you say, just cos you’re Sakusa Kiyoomi”.

He actually chuckles at that. “I’m counting on that”, he says, taking your hand.

You both share a shy smile.

#hqradiostation #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu!#haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi x y/n #kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x you #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic rec #haikyuu romance #hogwarts au

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weelittleweasley · 4 years

Text

masquerade (d.m.)

prompt as requested by anon: draco malfoy was your rival in slytherin house. both of you ambitious, bold, and daring. as one of the few pureblood slytherin families left, you promised yourself that you would continue your lineage, but not with scum like malfoy. instead, you would meet a suitor at the annual masquerade ball hosted by the malfoys each year. but what if your prospective suitor is someone you didn’t expect...

pairing: draco malfoy x fem! pureblood slytherin reader

warnings: language

word count: 8.7k

author’s note: let’s say this takes place around 7th year (no voldy) right after the reader’s 18th birthday. also--i took the liberty of naming the reader’s parents just for sake of making things less confusing.

you guys...would you want a second part to this? i may have an idea for a sequel? depends on how you all like it, but this...kinda went hard ngl

here is a playlist that i found on spotify that works well with the fic! credits to owner!

Rivalry; nothing like it. It gave you a reason to work harder, faster, and stronger than your rival. You were taught at a very young age that you should never surrender to someone who tries to make you feel inferior. And you took that to heart throughout your time at Hogwarts. You fought wisely with your charisma and charm, earning you the highest marks at school. You were a prefect, one of the top five students in your graduating class, and you were already making plans for your future.

But that didn’t mean that there weren’t any challenges in your way. Many obstacles stood in your path of achieving greatness. One of those obstacles named Draco Malfoy. The two of you came from pureblood Slytherin families who had been fighting for power that dated back hundreds of years. That only meant that when you both entered Hogwarts in the same year, you had a rival to beat. But Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew how to keep up with you, sometimes surpassing you. Draco was also a prefect alongside you, one place higher than you in your class ranking, and not to mention, Professor Snape’s favorite student.

It drove you ballistic that no matter what you did, you couldn’t outsmart Malfoy. He was always one step ahead of you. He anticipated your every move as if he had studied you for years. But you had something on your side that Draco didn’t expect; divine feminine energy.

You would never fall for Malfoy, not in a million years. But that was exactly the point. Use what you have that Draco wants to your advantage. Your mother always told you that women had the energy of a thousand suns in their eyes and could burn anyone they wanted with just a stare. So that’s exactly what you did throughout Hogwarts. Burn Malfoy.

With just a look in the halls, you would set the boy on fire. With rage, with envy, with frustration, and with passion. You wanted no more but to see the boy fail. But failure wasn’t in Draco’s vocabulary. Needless to say, your time at Hogwarts became full of push and pull between the both of you. A rivalry of the ages.

It was exhausting, being tasked with rivalry at school, but you were thankful when winter break rolled around. You sat in your family’s manor house, the roaring fireplace in front of you as you read an alluring book. The crackling fire warmed up your chilly toes as a green velvet blanket rested over your shoulders. During break, you didn’t have to worry about Malfoy or his every move. You could enjoy yourself.

As you read, you can hear the footsteps of someone descending the stairs. “(Y/N), dear,” your mother’s voice calls out.

“In the drawing room, Mother!” you call back.

Soon enough, there your mother was, looking regal as ever as you smiled. Your mother was truly a force to be reckoned with. She stood in front of you, in a beautiful black gown, trimmed with gold and silver, your family crest embroidered above her left breast. Her hair was styled away from her face to reveal her youthful looking face. She was stunning to say the least. “I have news, darling,” she smiles, approaching you before taking a spot on the loveseat that you rested on.

You close your book and smile as you mother sits behind you, combing through your hair, something you always found relaxing. “I hope it’s good news, I could use some,” you tease her, earning a small giggle.

As she combs through your hair with her fingers, she speaks, “As you know, the annual masquerade ball occurs around this time of year.” You remembered watching your parents get ready for the ball as a child. You would sit next to your mother’s vanity and watch her delicately make up her face as her ladies’ maid did her hair. Your mother always wore a beautiful gown from the finest silk, adorned with jewels or lace or whatever she fancied. You remember your father told your mother she could get whatever she liked; your father wanted nothing but your mother to be satisfied. “The ball is open to any pureblood Slytherin who has reached the age of eighteen. And since you’ve have your eighteenth birthday not too long ago, you are eligible to attend,” you can hear the excitement in your mother’s voice. It had always been her dream to see you attend the ball. And yours to attend it.

You smile widely, “I’m delighted. We’ll need to contact the seamstress now if I want a dress in time.”

Chuckling, your mother places her hands on your shoulder. “Yes, yes, dear. But before we talk about what you are wearing, we must discuss the details,” she informs as you sigh. You just wanted to get to the fun part. “The masquerade ball is not just a party, but a tradition. The ball was made for young pureblood Slytherins to meet each other blindly and find a prospective partner for marriage,” you mother reveals as your heart stops.

A partner for marriage? You had just turned eighteen and now you had to think about a partner? You hadn’t even graduated from Hogwarts yet.

But before you can protest the thought of courtship, your mother adds, “It’s how your father and I met in fact. We had danced the whole night and at the end of the ball, he took off my mask and we realized that we knew each other already. He was my partner in my potion’s class at Hogwarts.” She smiles at the memory. “Now, I’m not saying you need to find a fiancé, but it would be nice to be open to it. It’s tradition.”

The thought of finding a fiancé at the ball made your mind reel and your heart race. Sure, the tradition was old, but there was something romantic about it. Especially since that’s how your parents found each other. You nod your head, “Of course, Mother.”

Your mother presses a kiss to the top of your head. She opens her mouth to speak, but instead you hear another voice. “There are some fine suitors attending the ball this year,” your father speaks. He walked into the room a teasing smile on his face as you roll your eyes. “Let’s not overwhelm our daughter with the prospect that she might find her future partner, shall we, Porpentina?” your father tells your mother.

She simply sighs, “Let’s not rule it out though, Samuel. Anything can happen.”

Your father walks over to the two of you, a handsome smile on his face as he shakes his head. Your father was the smartest man you’ve ever met. He always led with logic and had a rational brain. But when it came to you, your father was putty. He loved spoiling his only child, his daughter. “Anyway, I’m glad that you’ve decided to come to ball, my dear,” your father beams as your mother squeezes your shoulders. “I’ll let Lucius and Narcissa know,” he looks to your mother with a nod.

“Wait, Lucius and Narcissa?” you freeze. Malfoy’s. “Are they coming to the ball as well? Will Draco be in attendance?” you interrogate.

Your father chuckles, “Well, I would hope so since they host the ball every year, dearest.” You scoff and let your mouth fall open. Since when was your family alright with the Malfoy's? Last time you were aware, your families despised one another. “I know, it’s strange, but over the last few years, our families have been able to be more level headed with each other. Lucius is still a fucking prick, but he’s been more tame,” your father huffs, making you laugh a bit. “But yes, Draco will be at the ball.”

You immediately rise from your seat on the hardwood floor. “Then I’m not going,” you state as your mother stares at you confused. “You know how much I hate that pretentious, loathsome boy since I stepped foot in Hogwarts. He’s rude and spiteful and inconsiderate and vile. I refuse to voluntarily be in the same room as him whilst I am supposed to be enjoying winter break. I simply refuse.”

Springing to her feet, your mother tries to reason with you. “Think about it, darling. It’s a masquerade ball. You won’t even recognize Draco. He’ll be in costume as well as everyone else. You won’t even know who is who. It’ll be a night to remember, I promise you,” your mother speaks, rubbing your arms. “Besides, I already called the seamstress and she has a beautiful design that she has custom made for you,” she wiggles her brows.

The thought of attending the ball still did excite you. Live orchestral music, beautiful gowns, champagne in golden flutes. It all sounded so regal. How could you let Draco Malfoy stand in the way of your fun? Besides, the chances of you stumbling upon Draco were slim. Sighing, you surrender, “Alright, fine. But if I so much as smell Draco Malfoy, you won’t hear the end of it.”

---------

Meanwhile, Draco stood beside his mother as servants and maids and butlers ran through the Malfoy Manor, carrying fine china, silverware, champagne flutes, and the finest decorations from around the world to decorate the manor in time for the ball. To the common person, this would all be so fantastic to watch. People decorating the manor in golds and greens, preparing for the quickly approaching festivities. But to Draco, this was normal. All the glamor and the splendor was just another day.

Narcissa holds her son’s arm, linked with hers as she sighs, “Your first masquerade ball. You’ve grown up so quickly, my darling.” Narcissa smiles at her son inspecting his grown face. Where did her child go? All she saw was a fine man.

Draco smiles kindly at his gentle mother. “I’m not being shipped away, Mother. It’s just a ball,” he laughs, giving her hand a squeeze. “Besides, I don’t expect to find a potential wife at the ball like Father believes...” he trails off.

The thought of marriage made Draco’s stomach churn. It wasn’t like he had a choice. Lucius Malfoy expected Draco to find a wife and a wife soon. Even though the boy hadn’t graduated, Lucius wanted to know that the Malfoy name would continue on for generations to come. He needed to ensure that his boyish son found another pureblood and produced an heir to the Malfoy name.

Narcissa looks sadly at her son. She wanted nothing but the best for him, but also wanted the same as her husband. “Draco, dear, you know how important this ball is to your father and I. There are some perfectly sweet, beautiful girls in attendance to the ball tomorrow. What about Pansy Parkinson? Pureblood, Slytherin, comes from wealth,” Narcissa starts.

“What about her obnoxious personality or obsessive nature? Parkinson is a hard no,” Draco dismisses the notion. “Who else?”

Narcissa thinks, “The Greengrasses! Daphne will be in attendance since she just turned eighteen. Her younger sister still has a few more years before she can attend.”

Draco shakes his head, “Daphne is a good friend. It would be awkward.” Narcissa sighs and laughs lightly. “Anyone else or am I stuck with Pansy?”

Mrs. Malfoy stays quiet for a while before bringing up the next name, knowing how touchy it is for her son. “Well, I received news yesterday of another pureblood Slytherin who just turned eighteen recently who will be in attendance...” she trails off as Draco looks at his mother, intrigued and curious. “Miss (Y/L/N) will be coming...”

Draco’s face then contorts with disgust. “You invited my biggest rival to the ball?” he exclaims. “Mother, you know how I feel about her! Merlin, at this point let’s invite Potter and his friends to really spice things up shall we?” he scoffs sarcastically.

Narcissa starts, “Draco, please. I know how you feel about (Y/N), but she is a pureblood Slytherin. Her family has money and power and a title. Maybe if something happened between you tw-”

“Nothing will happen between (Y/N) and I, Mother. So don’t get your hopes up,” Draco cuts his mother off who sadly sighs. Draco monitors her sad expression before he feels guilty for his outburst. “I just cannot see myself getting past my feelings for her as they are now,” he reasons with his mother, squeezing her hand as she sadly smiles. “But I did hear that you invited some Beauxbatons to the ball,” he wiggles his eyebrows as Narcissa rolls her eyes.

-----------

Standing in your room in front of the mirror, your ladies’ maid tightened your corset as you sucked in a breath. “Too tight?” she asks, scared that she hurt her master’s child.

“No, Lottie, just fine,” you smile at her as she ties the strings to the corset before taking your gown off of its hanger. “Lottie, can I ask you a question?” you ask as she helps you step into the gown.

Lottie smiles, “Of course, my lady. What would you like to know?”

As Lottie shimmies the dress up your body, you speak, “When you met your husband, when did you know he was the right one for you? Was there a moment? Or something he said? Or was it love at first sight?”

You hold the dress up as Lottie makes her way to the back to zip it up. “It’s more of a feeling you get in your stomach, my lady. I knew my husband was the one because I felt like my stomach was doing flips and my head was reeling. There’s no feeling quite like it,” she tells you as you smile. Love was so complicated to you. You didn’t understand how it was supposed to work. You loved knowing that there were answers to almost every problem, but when it came to love, you were clueless of its answer. “Take a look, my lady.”

Looking into the mirror, you softly smile. The strapless gown was of emerald silk, hugging your chest beautiful as it came in at the waist as it cascaded down your long legs. It wasn’t puffy or poofy or full of tule. It was sleek and sexy and mature. Your hair was straightened, but pieces fell loosely in your face, framing it. Gold eyeshadow was swept across your eyelids and your lips wore a peachy pink gloss. It was perfect. “I love it,” you smile.

“You look simply stunning,” Lottie added. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife, my lady.”

You smile at Lottie, “Thank you, Lottie. Could you call my mother in please?” She curtsies before leaving you in your room. Nervously, you pace the floor, anxious for tonight’s events. Were you really expected to find a suitor? Who was coming to the ball? Maybe someone from a different country? A bright, handsome wizard might sweep you off your feet and take you away. The thought made your heart race.

Interrupting your thoughts, you hear a knock on the door before your mother enters. “Darling,” she sighs as you laugh. “There are no words to describe the way you look.”

You beam, “Thank you, Mother. I feel good, but I’m nervous.” She walks closer to you, concern on her face. “What if there is no one there for me? Even worse, what if there is someone there for me and I miss them?”

She shakes her head, “You cannot think of those things. (Y/N), I raised to be confident, powerful, and smart. And that’s exactly what you are plus more. Anyone with a brain and eyes will see how brilliant you are. No need to fret.” You exhale as she smiles at you. “I came in here to give you one last thing before we go,” she says as she reveals a gorgeous gold mask, adorned with pearls, diamonds, and emeralds. “It was mine when I went to my first masquerade ball. The same mask I wore when I met your father when I was eighteen. I thought that it might bring you some luck,” she tells you.

Tears start to well up in your eyes before you hug your mother tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper as she holds onto you tightly. “Thank you so much, Mom.”

Your mother gives you a squeeze. “I’m your mother. It’s what I do,” she says. “Now let’s put this on you and get ready to go. The ball waits for no one.”

-------------

The ball was already bustling and it had just begun a mere twenty minutes ago. Women and ladies wore beautiful gowns varying of colors and textures, adorned with jewels and precious stones. Men wore suits and capes, perfectly tailored, all very clean cut. But everyone wore a mask to conceal their identity. Each mask beautiful and intricate in design. Some masks covered their whole faces and parts of their head, other just the eyes, and some wore masks that covered their whole head. Everyone was anonymous and that just made your excited anxiety increase.

As you stepped into the Malfoy Manor, you took in your surroundings. Their home was lovely. Beautifully decorated in golds and silvers, accents of black and green. Huge diamond chandeliers came down from the ceilings and twinkled as light passed through it. A large orchestra was settled in the ballroom, playing the finest music your ears have ever heard. You swooned. This all felt like a dream. A very real dream.

At the foyer, you were greeted by a butler who took your coat and another who offered you a flute of golden champagne as you graciously accepted it with a smile and a soft thank you. Your heart fluttered as you examined the manor through your mask.

“May I escort the two loveliest ladies into the ballroom?” your father speaks as he offers his arms to you and your mother. You smile widely at him before you made your way to the ballroom where the rest of the party was.

The ballroom was enchanting. The walls were golden adorned with the most gorgeous architecture you have ever seen. Painted ceilings of pastel colors with tall candelabras that illuminated them. The orchestra played passionately as couples ranged from ages eighteen to fifty danced across the floor, women’s dresses swaying with each elegant movement.

Your eyes searched the dance floor, trying to see if you recognized someone’s body language or movements. But everyone looked unfamiliar to you. Almost as if there was a fog over your eyes.

That’s when your question was answered. “There is a spell cast over the ballroom,” your mother speaks. “To ensure that no one recognizes each other until all masks are removed. When the clock strikes midnight, all masks are removed and everyone sees each other for who they truly are. Exciting, isn’t it?” your mother whispers as you smile.

It was truly a one of a kind experience. You stood and watched those who danced around you, quietly sipping on champagne. Your eyes drifted off to the sidelines as you looked at the people who were your age. Everyone looked beautiful. One girl wore a dress of ruby red and a large diamond necklace that hung gently from her neck as she made quiet chatter with what you assumed was her parents. Another boy wore a velvet suit of navy blue with shiny dress shoes. He quietly stood by himself, watching each and every lady in the room, watching out for who caught his attention.

Every one of the age of eighteen was on a mission it seemed. These people wanted to find their partner for the night and potentially for their life. The stakes were high. It made your heart race and your adrenaline pump. Your competitive nature was coming over you; you couldn’t help it. You were determined to find someone tonight if it was the last thing you did.

Suddenly, the music faded away and the sound of a clinking glass filled the room. “Good evening, esteemed guests,” a feminine voice called out. “Welcome to the annual masquerade ball!” she exclaims, earning claps from every corner of the ballroom. “As you all know, the ball is designed for young witches and wizards to find a partner. We welcome each of you with excitement for the journey that lies ahead of you. That being said, the time as come for the eligible witches and wizards to come onto the dance floor and mingle. Wizards, you may approach any witch who is eligible and ask to have a place on her dance card. Remember, do not tell each other of your names! The dances will begin in ten minutes, so get to talking!” Another cling resounds in the ballroom as eligible bachelorettes and bachelors flood the dance floor.

You turn to your parents and give them nervous eyes as your mother and father give you a warm smile. “You’ll be brilliant,” your father speaks as your mother grabs your champagne glass and hands you your dance card.

With a deep breath, you shake your head and walk out to the dance floor. Your heart was thudding hard against your chest. The moment you stepped onto the floor, someone approached you. “Good evening,” the boy bows as you curtsy to him. “Might I say you look gorgeous this evening,” he compliments you.

You smile, “Thank you very much. You look very nice as well.” He wore a simple black suit and a green pocket square. The detail made you think he was definitely in Slytherin house. Was he in your year? Did you know him personally? Was it Malfoy? No, Malfoy wouldn’t be this kind to you. But then again, he didn’t know it was you.

The boy speaks, “Could I have the pleasure of having a space on your dance card?”

He seemed friendly and kind, there was no reason to say no. Maybe as you danced he would become more interesting. “I would be delighted,” you respond as you hand him your card. He strikes the card with two x’s before returning it to you.

“Thank you, my lady,” he bows before walking away quickly to the very next girl he laid eyes on. You were startled at how quickly you moved, but quickly realized he had prepared some sort of script to dance with as many women as possible before his time was up. Clever.

You continue to make your way around the ballroom, chatting to a few more suitors here and there. Some men you found more charming and clever than other, while others you found yourself bored of, politely dismissing their request for a place on your dance card.

Glancing at the dance card tied around your wrist, you think to yourself about the gentlemen who asked for a space and you granted them the honor of a dance. The first space to the boy who wanted to ask every lady to a dance, the next to a tall, dark, and handsome gentleman with the deep voice, the next to a funny gentleman with a thick Scottish accent, and the last space empty. There was only two minutes left of the mingling before you were to dance with your suitors.

Too distracted by your dance card, you bump into someone else’s body, making you stumble a bit. “Oh my days, I’m so sorry,” you apologize to the body in front of you.

You look up and meet a pair of ice blue eyes that seem to stare into your soul. Your heart stops in its chest as you suck in a breath. In that moment, it felt like the whole ballroom had stopped moving and it was just you two in time. The two of you said nothing and just looked at each other, deep into the other’s eyes. It was if the man in front of you’s eyes held all the secrets to the world.

Clearing his throat, he speaks in a low tone, “No, I apologize. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You politely smile at him. “But in a way, I’m thankful that I wasn’t or else I wouldn’t have stumbled upon you,” he casually flirts making you blush.

The gentleman bows before you as you curtsy, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. It was like there was some sort of magnet between the two of you. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? You remember Lottie saying it should feel like there were butterflies flying around and your head should be fuzzy, but none of those sensations were happening. You just felt hot in your face and your palms were sweating, thank goodness for your long gloves.

“I’m glad neither of us were paying attention,” you confess as he smirks. “You are much more interesting than what I was previously focused on.”

The mysterious suitor in front of you chuckles. “I can only hope that you have a spot for me saved on your dance card,” he speaks as you blush.

Teasingly you look at your dance card and fake gasp, “Well, would you look at that? One last spot saved for a special someone...” The gentleman chuckles again as he ticks off the last spot on your dance card.

He slips the card back around your wrist as you suck in a breath as he fingers touch you. “I look forward to our dance,” he bows as you reciprocate the gesture. “Until then, my lady.”

His eyes don’t leave yours until the very last moment as he walks away. You could swoon. He was charming, smooth, witty, and even though much of his face was concealed by his mask, you knew he was handsome. He just had to be. Your face felt hot and your mouth was dry. You knew that you would anxiously await him as your last dance.

With another few clinks against the glass, you are informed that it is time to start the dancing. But before people gather with their first partners, people run back over to where their parents were quietly observing. You excitedly scurry to your mother and father and small smile on your lips dancing as you approach them. Your mother smiles, “Anyone interesting?”

You don’t say a word and take a sip of the champagne that your father offered you. “I know that smile,” he beams. “Which one, darling?” You don’t speak. “Oh, tell us, dearest. We don’t know who any of them are, we are just as clueless as you.”

Sighing, you surrender. “The last gentleman. The one I bumped into.” Your mother scans the room, looking for him. “He has my interest the most out of all of them by far. If the dance goes well, I recon he’ll ask me to promenade outside,” you giggle as your mother joins you.

Your father speaks, “With a chaperone, I assume.”

You roll your eyes as your mother slaps him on the arm. “She’s eighteen, Samuel. She can walk outside with a suitor. Besides, there is security all around the manor. She will be safe.” Your father sighs as your mother looks at you and hands you your lipgloss to reapply. “Go on. Have fun. Play the field, dearest. Remember what I taught you.”

“Yes, Mother,” you beam before heading back to the dance floor.

There, the first boy is waiting for you, his arm extended. You walk arm in arm to the dance floor as the orchestra begins to play a ballroom waltz. His arm is around your waist gently, his one hand holding onto yours as you begin to dance. “Is this your first masquerade ball?” he asks you.

You nod, “Yessir.”

He smiles, “So you’ve just turned eighteen I presume.” You nod again. “This is my fourth ball. I’m hoping to find my one and only here tonight. Do you think you have met yours?” he asks.

You are taken aback by his directness. “Um,” you stutter, “I’m not quite sure. I mean we’ve just met each other.”

He retorts, “Yes, but sometimes you just know, don’t you. You know what I mean?” His eyes are fixated on yours in a fashion that is full of anxiety and nerves as he anticipates your answer. His eyes have a tired look in them, but behind their exhaustion, there is hope.

You gulp, “Nope.” He furrows his brows. “But maybe another lady here understands what you are saying,” you remain hopeful for him as he sighs.

“I am hopeful,” he speaks. “That’s all we can be.”

Before you know it he spins you away and you land in the arms of your second suitor. The tall, dark, and handsome one. You smile as he smirks down at you. “Good evening, my lady,” he speaks in a deep tone that makes you feel like a school girl. “You are ravishing.” You kindly thank him. “So, are you here like everyone else? To find a partner?”

You speak, “I guess so. My parents would like me to be open to the idea of finding a suitor, but I’m still young. I would like to enjoy my time as a single, free woman of my age and status.”

He nods his head. “I see, I see. My parents want me to find a wife here tonight. Me on the other hand? I really don’t want anything serious. I’m just trying to find someone to shag to be quite honest with you. I’m too young to be tied down quite yet,” he reveals as your eyes widen. His eyes on the other hand remain fixated on yours, but aren’t afraid to wander to look around at the other women on the dance floor. You watch his eyes as they occasionally find another woman’s and he drops one of them into a wink. He was a flirt, couldn’t be tied down type. Bedroom eyes that wandered through several bedrooms type eyes. You’ve dealt with those eyes before and were not looking to deal with them again.

You agreed with him on the part of being free and not finding anything too serious, but just a person to have sex with? That wasn’t what you were looking for either. “I see,” you tell him as he winks through his mask. “I’m not quite sure I want something that casual. I am looking for something more consistent, a little more serious than just a shag. More emotional intimacy as well.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “It’s a shame. I found you quite attractive,” he sighs.

But before you can protest, he spins you away from him and into the arms of your next caller, the funny Scot. “Hello there,” he greets you as you meet his gaze. He wears a gentle smile with kind eyes. His eyes are soft and full of childlike wonder. It makes your heart swell to see someone with such eyes.

You softly smile at him, “Hello again.”

The two of you dance back and forth, making light chatter here and there, him sliding in a joke when he can, earning a few giggles from you as he smiles. “How has your night been so far?” he asks you. “Has anyone caught your eye yet?”

You sigh, “The night has been tame so far, but no complaints.” He nods. “As for someone catching my eye, I cannot lie,” you smile as his interest peaks. “There was someone I met who I have my last dance with.”

The Scotsman chuckles, “That’s all you can ask for, isn’t it?”

You join in his light laugher. “What about you? Have you met someone yet?” you ask him as you continue to waltz across the ballroom.

You can see a light rosy hue appear on his cheeks as he smiles. “I have indeed,” he looks across the ballroom as you follow his line of sight. And there she was, dancing with the man you were dancing with before. The same girl from earlier with the gorgeous ruby red gown. “She’s wonderful. And I’ve only spoken to her twice and no more than a total of six minutes.”

Giving his forearm a soft squeeze, you repeat his phrase, “That’s all you can ask for, isn’t it?” He smiles. Maybe you didn’t need a suitor out of the Scot, maybe he was a good friend.

“In that case, we both don’t mind what I’m about to do,” he speaks.

And then he spun you around and off to your last dance.

And that’s when your eyes meet.

You inhale sharply when his hand finds the small of your back and he takes your hand in his. His eyes were still that beautiful ice blue that stared right into your soul and made you want to tell him all of your deepest darkest secrets. Eyes that could tempt you into making the most dangerous decision. Eyes that could lure you into a trap, but a trap that you wouldn’t mind being stuck in.

He breaks the silence first. “We meet again,” he smirks as you blush lightly. The two of you begin dancing as the orchestra swells with music, almost as if they waited to play the most enchanting music right now in this moment. The violins hum a hauntingly beautiful melody as the violas and cellos support the sound. The moment was more than you could ever ask for. “I must tell you, I loathe dancing,” he whispers, making you giggle. “But somehow,” he starts. “You make it feel alright. Not good, but alright.”

You lightly laugh, “I’m glad I can make dancing tolerable for you.” The two of you continue to dance, letting your gown sweep across the floor as the music crescendos. “How has your night been so far? Enjoying yourself?” you ask, curious to know where his mind was at. It had only been minutes but you wanted to know everything about the gentleman in front of you.

The gentleman sighs, “It’s been fine. Not particularly a huge fan of balls or dances. But so far, so good.” He drops his left eye in a wink. “And yourself? How have your other dances been?” he asks you.

You bite your lip and take a moment to think. Now was not the time to play a mind game with him, though you so easily could. But you let your heart get ahead of your head and speak, “None of them as good as compared to this one.” The gentleman laughs, turning away from you in order for you to not catch his delighted blush on his white cheeks. “And your other dances? Did they make dancing more or less tolerable?” you joke with him.

Before the gentleman answers, he looks at the ground with a small smile. He looks up at you and gulps. “I actually didn’t ask anyone else to dance. Just you,” he reveals, making you breath hitch in your throat. That was quite the confession. “No other lady caught my eye like you did.” You don’t turn away when you blush at his flirtations. His eyes stare into yours as your mouth runs dry. “You have the most captivating eyes.”

It felt like you were in a storybook in this moment. The way the orchestra played, how he held you tightly against his body, the way his eyes stared into yours. Your eyes harnessing the power and energy of a thousand suns, but his ice blue eyes able to tame the heat they gave off. Why did this feel so right?

“I don’t know if I should say this,” you start, “but I’m going to anyway.”

He laughs, “I love a girl who can speak her mind. Go on.”

You breathe, “I feel like I’ve known you forever. Like this isn’t our first time meeting. I feel like I’ve known you since the dawn of time.”

You can see him gulp and blink a few times. Did your words scare him? Were you too upfront with him? But before you can think of any more questions, he speaks, “It’s like you can read my mind.” You chuckle as he smiles. “I feel like I was supposed to meet you here, tonight, in this moment. Like this dance was...fate. And I don’t believe in fate.”

For the rest of your dance, no more words are spoken. The two of you just sway and dance to the orchestra that swells with beautiful music. You both gaze into each others eyes and watch the expressions that come across each others faces. With the occasional laugh here and there, absolutely nothing is said. Slowly, everyone around you begins to fade and it is just you two in the ballroom. Why was this happening? You prayed that this was a sign. A sign that this was right, he was right. But you didn’t get the feeling that Lottie was describing to you earlier in your room. Your heart was on fire and you felt like you were about to burst, but no stomach churning or head reeling. Instead, you felt like you were burning. Burning for this man. Burning for his touch. Burning for his attention. You could only hope he felt the same.

Before you know it, the orchestra finishes playing and everyone slowly stops dancing. The ballroom applauds the orchestra and you both join in, but don’t leave each others gazes. Soon enough, people begin to leave the dance floor to partake in other conversations or dance with other people or even promenade outside.

You smile at your gentleman and say, “Thank you for the dance. It was...magical to say the least.” You curtsy to him and turn away to go, but wished you didn’t have to.

Without even taking a step away, you feel him grab your hand. “Wait,” he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “Would you...would you like to go for a promenade with me? Outside on the grounds?”

Your heart skips a beat as you sigh and smile, causing him to smile back. He had his answer right there. “I would be more than delighted,” you confess. “One moment please,” you tell him before walking over to where your mother and father watched you in anxious anticipation.

“So?” your mother beams as you nod your head as she smiles.

You had her your dance card and give your father a smile. “I’m going for a promenade outside with the last gentleman I danced with,” you beam as your father nods his head approvingly. “I will see you later,” you speak before walking back to your gentleman as he extends his arm to you.

Your father holds onto your mother’s arm, “Porpentina, how our daughter has grown.” They watch you exit the french doors out of the ballroom and into the gardens of the Malfoy Manor.

Still arm in arm, your suitor speaks, “Now, I know we can’t reveal much of our identities to each other, but I would like to know more about you.” You smile at him, holding onto his arm tightly. “What’s your family like?”

Smiling as you think of your mother and father, you start, “They’re wonderful people. My mother has been my sun, moon, and stars since I could remember. She’s passionate and smart and powerful. She’s everything I want to be.” The gentleman smiles as you tell him of your mother. “My father is incredibly kind though many wouldn’t believe that because of what he does for a living,” you laugh. “But he’s my protector. He’s sacrificed so much for me and for my mother. He’s the best man I know.”

He squeezes your arm. “They sound lovely.” You squeeze his arm back to let him know that his sentiment is appreciated. “Any siblings?” You shake your head. “In that case, we are similar. I’m also an only child.”

“What about your parents? What are they like?” you question him next.

This earns a gulp and deep breath from him. “Well,” he starts. “My mother is kind-hearted. Braver than anyone I have ever met. She’s suffered a lot and continues to suffer just to protect me,” he confesses to you. “I’m sorry I know that’s a lot, but-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” you cut him off, placing a hand on his. “She sounds remarkable. Please, continue.”

He smiles. “She is remarkable. The best woman I know.” You smile warmly at him. Your cheeks hurt so much from smiling. The gentleman takes a deep breath in before starting, “My father on the other hand. He’s a complex man. We’re not particularly close. But similar to your father, he protects me to the best of his ability. I’m not sure whether it’s out of love for his son or for some other selfish reason...probably the latter...” he trails off. You look at his face as it falls lightly. You feel for him. “But that’s beside the matter. I want to know more about you. What are your passions? What are your ambitions in life? What do you want to do with our lives that can be so fucking meaningless?”

You laugh at his joke, crinkling your nose as you do so as he watches you contort your face in delight. He thought you looked beautiful when you laughed. “Well,” you catch your breath. “I want to do something that my family never did. I want to pursue a career when I can help people. Other people. And I have no benefit from it. I just want to help others in any way. When I was a child, I used to want to be a Healer. Then when I was a little older I wanted to be an Auror. But now I’m thinking about being a Healer again or maybe do some form of charity work and philanthropy? I don’t know. I have dreams, but I don’t know which ones to pursue.”

You look at the man beside you and he’s smiling from ear to ear. “It all sounds wonderful to me. You seems so selfless. I’m not used to it, I guess,” he confesses. “But whatever you chose, I know you’ll be brilliant.”

The two of you continue to chat and walk through the gardens, discussing future plans, hopes and dreams, and whatever comes to mind. Talking to this man felt like breathing. It was so easy. Conversation flowed like a channel of water. The conversation seemed never ending and you were perfectly fine with that. You had completely forgotten that you didn’t even know what this man’s name was, but to be honest, you didn’t care. You already knew so much about him from your conversations, you didn’t need to know something as silly as a name.

You walk further and further through the garden until you come across a small area that was covered in rose bushes. It was a strange sight to see, beautiful roses in full bloom in the middle of winter, but with magic, anything was possible. As you walked closer, the masked gentleman plucked one from the bush and offered it to you as you graciously accepted. You continued to walk as he spoke, “There is a game called Rose, Bud, Thorn where you tell someone of the best part of your day, the worst part of your day, and something you are looking forward to. I want to hear yours.”

You nod, “Alright then. My thorn is having to wear this bloody fucking corset top all night,” he laughs at your comment. “My bud is taking said bloody corset off when I get home,” the two of you chuckle. “And my rose...I guess was meeting you,” you bump into his arm playfully. He smiles. “Your turn.”

He sighs, “Let’s see...my thorn is having to dance tonight.” You scoff. “Although, you did make it better...” he teases as you roll your eyes teasingly. “My rose is having the most beautiful, kind, and intelligent woman at this ball with me right now,” he breathes as you blush. “And my bud...” he turns to you as you take a gulp. His soothing icy blue eyes staring into yours made you shiver. “My bud will be taking off this bloody mask of yours and seeing your beautiful face.”

His face is so close to yours, you feel his breath against your lips. Your mouth his dry as you feel him moving closer and closer to your lips. His eyes look at your glossed lips before moving back to your eyes and inching closer and closer to you. Your heart was thumping out of your chest. This was all happening so fast, and yet you were alright with it?

But before he can kiss you, a guard interrupts. “All ball attendees must report inside as per the hosts’ request. It is almost midnight and time for the unmasking!”

The gentleman in front of you sighs as he turns to the guard and gives him a dirty look. “So much for a romantic moment,” he huffs as you chuckle. He takes your hand in his as you both walk back to the inside of the Manor, retracing your steps. You are only a few paces away from inside when he speaks, “Those guards always know how to ruin a bloody moment of mine.”

You furrow your brows and chuckle, “What do you mean?”

“They always seem to catch me at the worst time to tell me something important,” he speaks as you remain confused. He notices your confusion and laughs. “This will all make sense in a moment.” You contort your face in confusion, but before you can ask any further questions the same woman who spoke at the beginning of the ball spoke again. “Welcome back! I hope you all had a lovely night full of mystery and romance,” she giggles. “But now the mystery is over.” Behind her, the clock strikes midnight and bongs. “The spell over the ballroom has been lifted and you may all remove your masks! Please reveal yourselves to each other!”

Slowly, people reveal their true identities and you start recognizing people from Hogwarts. The girl with the ruby red dress that the Scot took a liking too was Pansy Parkinson. So many other familiar faces are revealed as you chuckled. This really was a magical moment.

Beside you, your mysterious man sighs. “Finally.” Your heart beats quickly as you turn to him, anticipating who the man behind the mask was. You hoped he was handsome like you had imagined him to be. Was it someone you knew? Maybe an old classmate? Maybe someone from Hogwarts? Who could it be?

Reaching behind his head, he pulls on the silk strings that hold his mask up. Gently he peels it off and runs his fingers through his styled hair. And that’s when your heart stops and drops into your stomach.

The platinum blonde hair, the icy cold, unforgiving eyes, the pink lips that curled into that smirk. It was all too familiar. All too familiar that it made your chest feel tight with venom and anger. How could you be so naive? How did you not remember those eyes? Those eyes that dug into yours. Those lips that spat such cruel and vile words at you when you were just children.

It was Draco Malfoy.

You inhale a sharp jagged breath as he laughs. “I know, it’s strange, but I’m assuming things are starting to click for you. Especially with how I know the guards and why they let us into the rose garden. But it’s me. I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy,” he speaks with a smile. You feel like you are about to vomit.

Of course, how could you not notice the guards letting you both through the gardens without interruption or protest? How did you not notice his wave of a finger when you needed to be let through somewhere? How did you let him distract you? How did you let yourself become so captivated by the man you hated most in the world?

“I think it’s only fair if I see you now,” he chuckles, waiting for you to take off your mask.

But instead of taking off your mask, you wanted to run. Run far away. Run so far and forget this whole night happened. Forget every word exchanged with Draco full of such adoration. This was a sick joke.

Draco notices your horror and he speaks, “Are you alright, darling?”

His nickname for you made your stomach churn. You felt ill.

You couldn’t look at him any longer. You turned away and began to swiftly walk away from him. “Wait, where are you going?” he asks as you weave through the crowd. “Please, don’t go!”

Your stomach was churning and your head was reeling. How could this have happened. Then it all clicks. Lottie’s words. My stomach felt like it was doing flips and my head was reeling. There was no way. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. You were in love with Draco fucking Malfoy. This was a nightmare.

That’s when his hand grabs your arm and flips you to look at him. “Where are you going?” he laughs as he looks at you. “Are you that surprised?” he asks with a smile as you just stand there, trying to catch your breath. His brows furrow. “Is there something wrong? Do we know each other?” he asks. “Take off your mask so I can see you, darling.”

In pure anger and frustration, you hastily sigh and undo the masks strings quickly before ripping it off your face to reveal your identity. The smile on Draco’s face instantly drops as he recognizes exactly who you are.

And there you were, two enemies standing in front of each other, glaring at each other in the middle of a ballroom, surrounded by other young couples who were falling in love. The two of you just burning holes into the other. The energy of a thousand suns trying to melt the ice that stared right back at it. Two sworn enemies now destined to fall in love. What a conundrum this was.

“Call me darling again and I’ll hex you, Malfoy,” you breath through pants of sheer anger.

Your stomach was still doing flips and your head continued to reel. Your face was flushed. How could Draco Malfoy and your masked gentleman be the same person? It was impossible. Your gentleman was kind and charming and witty and smart and thoughtful. Draco Malfoy was vile and rude and unkind and selfish and self absorbed and loathsome. There was no way you could be in love with a version of someone who you swore you would hate until you took your last breath.

Draco’s face slowly moves into a cautious one. “(Y/N),” he starts. “I swear I didn’t know it was you. I was just as clueless as you. You have to believe that I didn’t do this on purpose.”

You laugh, “I don’t believe a thing that comes out of your mouth. I was stupid to believe that I could fall for a person as disgusting and despicable as you.”

And with that, you march away from Draco, ignoring his calls out for you as you approach your mother and father. Once they see you, their expressions change from excitement to concern. Before anyone of them can ask what was wrong, you demand, “We are going home. Right now. I want to go home. Please. Can we go home?”

You feel a lump in your throat and your eyes become hot with tears. Your mother grabs your hand as your father pulls out his wand to apparate you back home. The last thing you hear before you leave the ball was Draco’s voice calling out for you to come back.

Before you know it, you are back in the comfort of your own home, face stained with tears as you run up the stairs to your room. You ignore your mother and father’s call to tell them what happened. You slam your bedroom door shut and lock it before letting the sob rake through your body, shaking you from the inside out.

You were foolish to believe you could find someone at a stupid ball. Those fucking masks. Making you believe someone was something they weren’t. It was all a lie. Smoke and mirrors. And you fell for it. You fell for Draco and there was nothing that you could do to forget it.

You fell for a facade and you would have to live with that forever. How you were supposed to face him at Hogwarts was beyond your control.

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tippedbykreider · 3 years

Text

it’s all coming back to me | c. kreider (i)

Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: Slow burn, exes to friends to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol mention. Author’s Note: So many of you have been requesting for this to be brought back! The consensus was that you’d rather have it in smaller chunks so I’ll be posting each new part weekly and they’ll come in between 6 & 9k per chapter. Not only is it more manageable for you guys but it also gives me chance to keep writing new content for it 💖 There is a playlist for this fic which I posted separately, it gives a chronological feel for their relationship and their story. This has been a tonne of fun to write so far and I can’t wait to tell the rest of their story. Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten? Tagging: @danglesnipecelly - this girl deserves a writing credit on this thing because she’s pushed me to keep going with this and her input and advice has been invaluable. Thank you for all the support on this one, K 💖

*Italics indicates a flashback*

The notion of fresh starts is often something that is associated with the arrival of the New Year. People use the turning of the calendar to turn over a new leaf, to learn a new skill, to challenge themselves to be better than the year before and to let go of all that was and focus on all that will be. There’s something inherently magical about a new beginning, a fresh start; sometimes it’s the excitement of what might lie ahead and other times it’s the comfort in knowing that you can seize the opportunity be whoever you want to be and to reinvent yourself. It’s the line in the sand and the final full stop at the end of the chapter and it’s the anticipation of picking up the pen and writing those first few words on the new page.

For Chris Kreider this feeling wasn’t one that was brought about by the strike of the clock at midnight on New Year’s Eve because while the date on the calendar changed and while he still spent the next couple of weeks dating things with the wrong year just like everybody else, it still often felt like nothing really changed for him. Chris could only feel like the year was truly coming to an end when the first petals of spring exploded like fireworks in a symphony of technicolour blooms and he found himself giving the locker-room clearout interview. That was the end of the year, the full stop, the line and the warmer days and the balmy nights would give him the opportunity to decompress ready for the turning of the page come September when his focus would once again turn back to hockey.

Chris loved New York; that much was undeniably true. He loved the vibrancy of the city but he also loved the way that he could melt into the background or enjoy the feeling of quiet solace his apartment gave him. It was oftentimes a bolthole, an oasis of peace during an otherwise hectic few months between September and May but the end of the hockey season and the arrival of summer had him seeking the cry of gulls on the breath of a gentle breeze and that crisp, purifying sea air that always managed to fill his lungs differently. Rowayton wasn’t far, a little over an hour on a good day but with its coastal Connecticut charm, slower pace and pretty houses, especially the ones that overlooked the water, it was a world away from NYC and exactly what Chris needed to reset and recharge.

It was a Saturday morning in mid-July and for the first time in a long time, longer than Chris could recall, he allowed himself to sleep in. His bedroom window had been open all night and the welcome breeze snaked through the slats in the blinds and carried on it the faintest smell of salt and sunshine. Chris stretched his muscles in big pulls around the bed before he settled on his back and inhaled deeply, the fresh air clearing his mind and filling his body as the last remnants of sleep slipped away on the exhale of breath. Imbued with energy, he climbed out of bed and pulled the blinds all the way up, flooding the bedroom with beautiful incandescence born out of a cloudless sky. He didn’t make his bed though, not yet, because while he had left his room and was padding down the stairs, he had every intention of returning to the still warm sheets to read a chapter or two of the book on his nightstand with a fresh cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin bagel, that invigorating coastal air and the oceanscape outside as the soundtrack.

One chapter turned into two and two became three and before Chris knew it, the sun was high in the sky and lunchtime beckoned. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day in Rowayton and Chris thought it would be a crying shame to spend his time at home, even if the page-turner he’d held in his hands moments ago seemed incredibly appealing out on the back deck overlooking the water. It was then he decided to take advantage of that gorgeous sunshine, take in the scenery and stretch his legs by going for a walk into town to pick up a few essentials at Rowayton Market. For all it was a small, it contained everything he would need to keep him going for a few more days until he’d finally need to drive into Norwalk to do a more substantial grocery shop, something that he’d admittedly been putting off. The Market also had some of the best baked goods and fresh coffee in the village and if you asked Chris it would be pretty rude to not take advantage – it was right there, after all, and Chris never could say no to a still-warm Danish and Americano.

He walked slower than he usually would, a conscious effort on his part due to the fact that his legs seemed to want to go into an auto-pilot primed for life in New York City. He was in no rush though, he never was whenever he came here and even though it was a route he’d walked hundreds of times before, and one he would walk hundreds more, Chris still wanted to soak in all the pretty trees and shrubs that were nestled in amongst those classical New England style homes, all shingled exteriors and white, gridded windows in soft muted colours that mirrored the coastal landscape of the village. It was a world away from the brick and the concrete and the bright lights of the city and while Chris loved all of those things about New York and loved wandering through the streets of Tribeca and Soho, getting lost in bookstores and hole-in-the-wall cafes, he also loved the sand, shale and stars and those were things that he just couldn’t find in the city that never slept.

There were quite a few people out and about, Chris noted, most of them he recognised as being residents with their friendly smiles and waved greetings, but there were a handful of tourists too; there always was on weekends during the summer. Not that Chris minded, of course, because for all the village was a popular escape for those seeking a break from the metropolitan life of the nearby hub of cities, it never succumbed to the all-too-often inevitability of commercialisation and still managed to hold on to its peaceful charm, despite it not quite being the quaint fishing village it once was back in the days before the Civil War.

It was one of the reasons why Chris found himself retreating here in the summer and not making the trip back home to spend the off-season in Massachusetts. He would go back to Boxford for a couple of weeks, naturally, because family was something that had always been important to Chris and he would never miss an opportunity to spend time with his parents and sister, but if he had the choice between spending his entire summer being bitten to death by mosquitoes back home (his father always did say that they were the town bird, after all) or feeling the gentle kiss of the ocean breeze against his skin, there was no real contest. Rowayton would always win.

The main street through town was busier, which wasn’t exactly unexpected and if anything it only seemed to add to the charm of the village. Chris decided to head straight to the market to pick up his groceries, if only to facilitate the Danish eating in a more timely-fashion. He picked up a basket as he entered and proceeded to add only the essentials he’d need to get him through the next couple of days. He’d pay for his shopping before going to the coffee bar, because trying to pack his reusable grocery bag with a full takeout cup was a mistake he’d made once before and was sure to never repeat again.

With his groceries purchased and bags packed in such a way that the couple of bottles of wine he’d picked up wouldn’t clink together when he walked (it was three to be exact but after seeing the selection of cured meats, cheeses and olives available he thought it’d be a crime if they didn’t find their way into his basket to come home with him, and if there was cheese there had to be wine), Chris made his way to the coffee counter situated near the Market entrance.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a trip away without the company of anyone else but the last couple of months at work had been incredibly stressful, with projects seemingly coming out of your ears and while you knew your mother had been worried by your suggestion of taking off somewhere alone for the weekend, she also knew better than to fight you on something you’d quite clearly already set your mind to. If you were being completely honest, your plans for the first full weekend you’d had off in months would have consisted of not setting foot outside of your apartment or engaging in any kind of unnecessary conversation had you decided to stay home in Hartford, at least this way you’d be getting some fresh air and the sun on your face.

It was just shy of a two hour drive down to Rowayton, which had the dual benefit of being close enough to home that it didn’t feel like a huge trek just to get there, but also being far enough away that you would be a complete stranger in this town and could take the time to decompress and recharge while blending into the background, and the place was pretty to boot. You’d found a little studio Airbnb not too far away in South Norwalk, figuring that you’d only be using it as somewhere to sleep as you’d planned on spending as much of your time as possible being right by that ocean with the wind in your hair and the warm sun on your skin.

That’s how you’d planned on spending your Saturday afternoon, sat on the sand of Bayley Beach with a good book and a cup of coffee. It was set to be a balmy day, with temperatures sitting in the mid-eighties and the last thing you wanted to be doing in the heat was any amount of excessive walking. So with that in mind, you’d spent your morning exploring the village and taking in the sights and sounds. The gentle protest of your stomach told you it was lunchtime before you’d even taken the opportunity to glance down at your watch and a quick Google search pointed you in the direction of somewhere to get that all important cup of coffee and a small bite to eat.

Rowayton Market didn’t look like much from the outside in the sense that it was a little on the petite side, but the reviews were great and the coffee was allegedly some of the best in the village and that was good enough for you. You were greeted with the smell of freshly baked goods and ground coffee, which was welcoming enough before you even saw the bright smile of the girl behind the counter. Your eyes drifted over the selection of pastries, each one more delicious looking than the last and you knew that you were going to have a hard time choosing just one. You knew you’d have to make a decision, though, suddenly aware of the small line that had seemingly materialised right out of thin air behind you and while you were sure that these people were more accustomed to a slower pace of life, the city girl in you, who was so used to living life in the fast lane, didn’t want to keep these good people waiting while you deliberated. You’d go with your usual and that would be that.

Chris’s attention was fixed out of the large glass windows at the front of the shop, watching as people milled in the street and went about their daily business. It was something he quite often did, whether he was here or back home in New York. There was something oddly soothing about watching the world go by, he thought, and occasionally he’d catch something that would quirk his lips up into a smile, like the sight before him now of a rather large gull in the process of committing larceny against what he could only assume was an unsuspecting tourist. Their sandwich was held high above their head while their free hand attempted to shoo the bird away with little success. He chuckled quietly to himself then, not least because the gulls seemed to get more brazen with each year that passed and he was sure that one of these days he’d see someone’s lunch get snatched right out of their hand by the feathered menaces.

Chris had no reason at all to believe as he stood in that line that everything was about to change. Why would he? The day had started like any other. He’d picked up his groceries in this store more times than he could count, he’d waited in a line just like this one for his coffee and Danish and yet, in that moment, something as innocuous as a woman’s voice would bring feelings that he thought he was done with, and memories he thought had strayed out of his mind for good, flooding back to the surface. But it wasn’t just any woman’s voice, no, it wasn’t as detached and neutral as that. It was your voice; a voice he hadn’t heard in nine years and it was something as simple as a coffee order, an order that he now knew to have remained the same since the day you’d first met at Boston College all those years ago, that blew the dam wide open and every word the two of you had ever spoken, from day one to the last thing you ever said to him, came rushing back.

The sound of Chris’s voice calling your name was something you never thought you’d hear out loud again. It was a voice you’d only heard in your dreams for many years after he walked out of your life, but even that had faded beyond memory to where you weren’t a hundred percent certain that you’d be able to remember what it sounded like anymore. And yet, in the middle of a tiny supermarket in Rowayton, you heard him clear as day with his tongue rolling around the syllables of your name with the same fondness, even after all this time and it was like you’d never forgotten the sound at all.

Autumn was beginning to make her presence felt in Boston. The palette on campus had shifted from a spectrum of vivid greens to shades of deep russet, amber, ochre and vermillion; but even above the changing leaves, the turning of the calendar brought a slight chill to the air that had you reaching for your jacket on a morning as you left your dorm.

Today was no different. The temperature had dropped again overnight as November creeped ever closer and it was chilly enough that you had to draw your coat tighter around you as you walked across campus towards class. Your brisk pace had bought you enough time to make a stop at the coffee stand just outside of Campion where your first class of the day was being held. There was a decent selection on offer, but it wasn’t enough to sway you from ordering your usual.

You rooted around your backpack for your wallet while the barista prepared your coffee and grabbed you your cinnamon roll, unaware of the new presence to your right, before handing over the money and taking the coffee and pastry bag from the young man’s hands.

“Coffee and cinnamon roll, eh? Now that’s the breakfast of champions.”

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, lips quirking into a small smile at the sight of the stranger beside you who looked to be not much older than you were, incredibly tall and broad for his apparent age but not for his height. He was grinning at you with a fullness that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and gave him a unique kind of softness.

“My mom would disagree,” you replied with a smirk. “If she found out I was having this for breakfast she’d be in her car so fast and dragging my ass back to Hartford.”

He laughed at that, loud and bright with his head tipped back slightly before running a hand through his dark brown hair that was shorter on the sides but had the faintest hint of a curl at the longer strands on top.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not telling her,” you grinned as you swung your backpack over one shoulder. “So looks like you’re sworn to secrecy.”

You studied him for a brief moment, with the way he was still grinning at you and his eyes that seemed to sparkle behind his dark lashes before your brain gently reminded you that you, in fact, had somewhere you needed to be. “Well, I hate to impose a vow of silence on you like some sort of mafia boss and then immediately split but I uh I gotta head to class.”

“No problem at all and hey, your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’ve forgotten already. What were we talking about?”

There it was again, that smile of his that made you want to stay rooted right where you were standing and look at it all day, but class beckoned and so you gave an awkward wave of your hand and a soft laugh before you turned and headed into the building behind you without another glance back. If you had you’d have seen the stranger from the coffee stand watch until you’d disappeared from view, with that smile still on his face.

This little routine of yours would continue over the course of the next few weeks. Every Tuesday morning, at around 8:45am, you’d find yourself stood at that coffee stand outside of Campion to get your coffee and cinnamon roll, and every Tuesday morning, at around 8:46am, the tall stranger would appear beside you with his kind eyes and his bright smile. You’d exchange a ‘hello’ and a friendly grin and you’d laugh more often than not too while you made pleasant small talk before you both said your goodbyes and went to your respective classes, though you would always leave first and he would watch you go until you’d disappeared into the building.

It was mid-November, now, and the campus of Boston College was firmly in autumn’s frigid grasp. The temperatures continued to drop, seemingly overnight, which had you bundled up in your hat and scarf and the trees had shed their branches of leaves, crunching underfoot with the slight frost as you made your way towards Campion. Your hands were shoved deep into your coat pockets to ward off the gnawing chill and you were looking forward to being able to warm them around your coffee cup.

You approached the stand as normal, rooting through your backpack for your wallet ready to order.

“Hey!”

You looked up, your features fixed in a state of mild confusion while you looked for the source of the voice you recognised but couldn’t quite place. It was then you saw him though, all bright eyed and bushy tailed with a medium coffee and pastry bag held up in one of his large hands as if on display. He was grinning at you and cocked his head, beckoning you over with the wordless gesture.

“Hey, yourself,” you smiled as you approached. “What’s this then?” You tilted your head slightly at the items in his hand as he offered them to you.

“Breakfast of champions.”

Your eyebrow quirked as you took the coffee from him before taking a tentative sip, smiling while the warm liquid slid down your throat.

“You got my coffee order right.”

“It wasn’t hard,” he smirked. “You order the same thing every week and if you open that little paper bag I think you’ll find a cinnamon roll in there.”

Sure enough, as you opened the bag you were greeted with the sight of a perfectly formed cinnamon roll and you couldn’t help the grin that sparked at your lips and spread the full width of your face.

“I don’t order the same thing every week.”

“You do,” he replied with a laugh. “Every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks you’ve come to this coffee stand and ordered a medium Americano with half and half and a cinnamon roll and every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks I’ve been meaning to ask you your name.”

Your face flushed warm at that, not only at his words but at the sure little smile he was giving you and the way his eyes were sparkling. In fact, now that you were really looking at him properly, you were knocked back a bit by the perpetual kindness that seemed to rest in them and you couldn’t help but notice how they really were the perfect shade of hazel, like a forest with a deep bark heart surrounded by leaves that were every shade of green. You’d been quiet a little too long though and so you took a settling sip of coffee to give you enough time to find your voice again and tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled as he offered you his hand, which was large and warm as you shook it.

“And who should I thank for the coffee?” you asked.

His smile grew into a grin then, the kind that you’d noticed over the course of the last few weeks that made his eyes crinkle and happiness radiate from him, before simply replying:

“Chris.”

“Chris?”

It was as if time had stood still in that little Market in Rowayton, where your surroundings become a still-frame and there’s nothing but static in your ears. You’d often thought about what it would have been like to see him again. Those first couple of years after he’d left Boston College had you imagining all kinds of scenarios, much like the one you were in right now where you’d bump into each other in a supermarket or a pharmacy, anywhere really, but now that you were living it, seeing it, breathing it, there was nothing you could have conjured up in your imagination that would have prepared you for what it would really feel like to see him again. If you were to be completely honest, you were glad that your coffee and cinnamon roll were still on the top of the counter because you were certain that they would have fallen right out of your hands and onto the Market floor.

He abandoned his position in the line then, as if you speaking his name was a call to him, and maybe it was, on some level, but the truth and simplicity of it was that you were suspended in a state of pure disbelief and even in the short time it took for him to close the distance between you both, you were still yet to move and fix your features to something more neutral.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting that he gave you and logically you knew that there wasn’t really any tangible meaning behind that single word he spoke and yet there was something about the look in his eyes and the warmth in the smile he gave you.

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you replied, finally finding your voice. “You look, you look good.”

It wasn’t a lie either, he did look good. The tall college boy you remembered, who was just a little too slight for his height, had filled out; you could tell that just from the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across the broad plains of his chest and strained around his biceps, and he was no longer clean shaven, which was something that had always made him look quite baby-faced. Instead he was sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and while he had kept his hair short on the sides, just like you’d remembered it, it was longer on the top than it had been in college and the curls were sweeping in a way that reminded you of the waves just beyond the Market door. He looked older, yes, which is exactly what you would have expected in the nine years since you’d last seen him but his eyes were still exactly the same, sparkling and full of mischief , yet still soft, perhaps even softer than before on account of the faint lines around them drawn by time’s fair hand.

“So do you,” he grinned. “You cut your hair.”

“I did,” you looked down as your face flushed with warmth, unsure exactly what you were supposed to say to him.

It was something you’d thought about during those imagined scenarios where you’d magically bump into each other again and you’d thought about all of the things that you would say to him. You would tell him about how much you’d cried when he left you behind to live out his boyhood dream and how angry you were that he didn’t want you to be a part of that, how it felt like all the plans you’d ever talked about were nothing more than empty words and how hurt that had made you feel. You felt like you at least deserved that, especially given that it was never just a casual fling between you both. After all, you’d been practically inseparable for two years. You’d been inseparable ever since he’d said those three words that mean so much. But now that he was here in front of you, all those words that had swirled around in your head and in your chest like a hurricane for so long, dissipated into nothing and you found yourself clutching at straws to find something, anything, to say.

Chris could sense this though. Of course he could because he was Chris and he had always been so in tune with you and your emotions and the fact that he was still able to read you so well was both a comfort and a knife in your chest, and while he internally grimaced at the fact he was having to fall back on using small talk between you both, he felt like it was what you needed in the moment. He wouldn’t expect things to go back to how they were after all this time, he couldn’t, and so he started with something simple, something he knew you would be able give him an answer to.

“So, what brings you to sunny Rowayton?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied.

“Ah,” Chris grinned, trying to keep the mood light. “See I asked you first and also, I live here so therefore the ‘question answering’ responsibility falls back to you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, at both his words and the silly little expression he was wearing and despite all the years that sat between you both like a void and all of your hurt that was held within it, it all seemed to briefly melt away and in that moment it was like you were back at that little coffee stand outside of Campion.

“I didn’t realise this was an interrogation. Wait is this one of those little weird cult towns? Should I be worried?”

Chris knew by the little smirk you were wearing that you meant no malice behind your words and so he responded by sucking in air through his teeth before speaking again with one of those smiles that went all the way up to his eyes.

“Watch it, Pickle.”

Your stomach fell right into your shoes in that moment, that name he used only for you slipped from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do, like he’d never stopped calling you it and like it hadn’t been nine years since you’d last spoke a word to one another. Chris knew all this of course and he didn’t need to rely on intuition either because he could see every emotion written all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly on the exhale of a breath. “I um.. Force of habit, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. “Although not exactly ‘habit’, it’s been how long?”

Chris winced at that, the reality of how he left things between you both slapping him in the face and he was filled with the guilt that he’d spent almost a decade pushing out of his chest and shoving into the darkest corner of his memory where he would hope it would rest undisturbed. He knew that you were angry at him for leaving things the way he did, how could you not be? After all, he was the one who had broken your heart and left you in Boston, but it was never as simple as that, even back then there was so much he should have said but that was something he wouldn’t realise until much later when it was too late to repair the damage. The thinly veiled hurt in your eyes and the way your mouth was downturned was demonstrative of that fact.

“I know,” he all but whispered. “It just-“

“It’s fine, Chris. Can we just forget about it? Please?”

He nodded, watching with a quiet kind of sadness on his features as you turned to finally pick your coffee and cinnamon roll up off the counter before he cleared his throat softly to continue speaking.

“You never did say what brought you into town.”

You took a sip of coffee to give yourself long enough to settle the thundering in your chest before answering him, because for all your heart felt like it was about to burst from all the hurt you’d managed to hide away up until now, there was also a weird sense of nostalgia that came with seeing him and hearing his voice again, and even though he’d shattered your heart completely when he decided he no longer wanted you in his life, your mother had raised you right and you knew the proper thing to do was to indulge him in a little small talk, even if for nothing more than old time’s sake.

“Just here for the weekend,” you replied. “Work has been nuts lately and I needed some time away from home.”

Chris shuffled on his feet for a moment as you spoke while his eyes darted between you and the door that would lead to the outside world and the possibility of the two of you parting once more. It was an unexpected pull that he felt in his chest at that thought, you reappearing in his life out of the blue only to slip out of it just as suddenly by doing something as simple as walking out of that supermarket back out into the wide world. For nine years he’d thought about where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy and with each year that passed without seeing your face or hearing your voice, he’d resigned himself to the fact that you were lost to him, drifting out there in the seas of life never to see you again. He didn’t know why you’d suddenly come back to him now, whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, although Chris couldn’t have cared less which one it was. All he cared about was the fact that you were here at all and it was an opportunity that he was sure he wasn’t going to waste. He didn’t even know for certain that you would want to give him any of your time after what had happened when he left Boston, but he wanted to at least give you what he should have all those years ago and that was an explanation and an opportunity for you to tell him how his actions had made you feel.

“Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?”

“Not much,” you shrugged. “I was just going to sit on Bayley Beach and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Would you mind some company? No pressure, of course, I understand if you… I understand if you’d rather not want to spend any time with me.”

You exhaled then and Chris’s shoulders visibly sagged, bracing himself for your polite refusal, but your response was not one that he was expecting and truthfully, it wasn’t one that you had expected either.

“Honestly?” you started, getting swept up in the nostalgia of seeing him again before the rational part of your brain could catch up. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” he smiled in what you could see was pure relief. “Do you mind if I grab a coffee before we head out?”

“Sure,” you replied. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

You headed out the door and were sure to stand where Chris could see you, knowing him well enough to realise that he’d be worrying, at least on some level, that you’d slip off into the crowd. You’d never do that to him, of course, even after everything, because while he had broken your heart, he was also the first person you’d ever truly loved and when you’d put the pieces back together, you couldn’t help but keep a part of him wrapped up amongst the tape and string holding those pieces together while you healed. It was in doing that that you understood that he would always have a special place in your heart and honestly? You were kind of okay with that because while the ending hadn’t exactly been perfect, the two years you’d spent together were and you wouldn’t have changed that time for anything.

You weren’t sure what exactly had possessed you to let Chris talk you into venturing off campus and out in the early-February snow to get burgers at Eagle’s Deli but you were cursing those sparkling eyes and that roguish grin of his for wearing down your sensibilities as you righted yourself after what felt like the hundredth near-fall. It was slushy underfoot, the kind that’s a twisted ankle or sprained knee waiting to happen and while you’d dressed weather appropriately in your winter boots and heavy parka, you were still very newborn lamb-like in your movements which was amusing Chris to no end.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he called from up ahead as he grinned at you over his shoulder.

“Not all of us can be hockey prodigies and thrive in this kind of inclement weather,” you grumbled, shuffling slowly so as not to slip.

Chris laughed as he came back towards you with confident and purposeful steps, surprising you when he offered his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Now, I’m no expert in geography or meteorology but it snows in Hartford, no?”

He was grinning at you, the kind of grin that you had to fight with every fibre of your being not to reciprocate because you’d already committed to your grumpy act and you couldn’t have him thinking he’d cracked you already, even if he, in fact, had.

“Yes,” you stressed. “But I don’t make a habit of going out in it to get burgers like a crazy person.”

The cackle you received from him in reply was loud and a little wild and you couldn’t help but be completely captivated by the way his cheeks were ruddy from the cold and the snowflakes clinging to the curls on top of his head and long eyelashes. Tuesday morning coffees with him outside of Campion before class had turned into coffees in actual cafes during free periods and getting lunch together. It was even dragging your body out into the cold to the Alumni Stadium with your blanket and your thermos to watch Chris play with the BC Eagles because you couldn’t say no to that damn smile and those damn eyes and even now, as you looked at him taking in the scenery along the Chestnut Hill Reservoir pathway, you knew that they were going to be the death of you.

“It’s really pretty along here,” he spoke, more quietly than before; softer too. “You wouldn’t think we were in the middle of Boston.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice walk,” you agreed before shooting him a smirk and a look. “Would be nice in the spring sunshine too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Little Miss Chilly.”

“I don’t know what you have against being warm, Kreider. Warm is good, warm is nice-“

You shrieked as your feet went out from under you, courtesy of a patch of black ice hidden under slushy snow and you squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for the impact of your ass hitting the cold, hard ground. But it never came.

“It’s okay,” Chris spoke reassuringly, one hand tight around your bicep while his other arm was curled around your waist, holding you upright. “I’ve got you.”

You opened your eyes then to be met with Chris’s looking right at you, all moss and bark and warm. He was smiling at you but it was different to the easy grin he usually wore around you, this was softer somehow and all rational thought was replaced by one of those monkeys playing the cymbals. For the briefest of seconds, and for reasons completely unknown to you, the monkey tried to take the wheel and the idea of kissing him right there, in the middle of the pathway that had made an attempt on your life, flashed into your head.

Maybe it was the snow and how perfect and picturesque the scene around you felt? Maybe it was the fact he’d just saved you from slipping? But the reality of it was that those eyes and that smile held some sort of power over you that you couldn’t yet fully understand. You shook your head quickly, if only to take back control of the situation before you did something more embarrassing than almost falling on your ass.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you regained your composure. “This damn pathway.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Chris grinned as he turned so his back was to you and stooped slightly. “Hop on.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I never joke about piggy-backs,” he replied in a faux solemn tone with the face to match. “Come on, we’ll get you to the Deli in one piece one way or another.”

And that was how you ended up with your arms looped around Chris’s shoulders and his strong hands holding the backs of your legs as he carried you on his back to Eagle’s Deli.

Not twenty minutes later, the pair of you were shuffling into a booth as you shed your coats, gloves and scarves, Chris grinning at you while you blew on your fingers in an attempt to restore warmth into them.

“See, told you I’d get you here in one piece.”

You scoffed at him and shot a playful glance across the table separating you both.

“You’re not human, that is the only explanation for how you’re able to walk in that,” you nodded towards the window where the snow was still falling to illustrate your point before continuing, “and not fall flat on your face.”

“Or my ass,” he added with a grin.

“Hey, that never actually happened!”

Chris’s face split into an even bigger smile at your little protest and the pout that had formed on your lips and while the gentle teasing between you was simply a part of the dynamic of your friendship, Chris would have been lying if he didn’t admit that the reason he did it so often was because you always looked so adorable trying to rebut him.

“No, you’re right. It didn’t,” he mused with a smirk, not needing to remind you that it was him who had come to your rescue judging from the unimpressed look you were throwing his way.

“All I’m saying is that we could’ve just gone to Hillside for lunch.”

“But the burgers here are superior,” he countered, smiling at you. “And you got to enjoy a beautiful walk in the snow with me so who’s the real winner he- mmpf!”

Chris was cut off by your damp mitten hitting his face, brows knitting into a slight frown before laughing at the proud grin you wore at the accuracy of your throw.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said with mock hurt.

“Maybe I’m not a very nice person.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” he replied, but there was no teasing in his tone this time, only the kind of sincerity that had your face flushing warm and had you reaching for the menu to hide behind under the pretence of looking at the choices available.

He couldn’t help but smile at the awkwardness with which you were trying and failing to hide from him but soon joined you in picking up a menu and perusing it, despite already knowing what he was going to order.

It was a few moments before the waitress came over and while neither of you spoke the silence between you both wasn’t exactly awkward even though Chris knew there was something about his last words that had had some kind of effect on you. He was right, of course, because despite the fact that you’d had hold of this menu for a good couple of minutes already, you hadn’t actually looked at a single thing on it even though you’d made such a show of doing just that and now that Chris had ordered, a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake, the waitress was looking at you expectantly. Unable to form any kind of rational thought under that kind of pressure, you found yourself simply saying “same” and soon enough it was just you and Chris at the table once more.

Chris was looking at you like he had something he wanted to say and the unreadable expression on his face had you feeling somewhat uneasy for reasons you hadn’t quite ascertained but probably understood on some level if you let yourself think about it for more than a second. He could feel the nervous energy radiating from you though and so rather than pursue his current train of thought, he picked a topic of conversation that was much safer and knew you’d be comfortable with: school.

You talked about your classes and upcoming assignments while he listened intently and you returned the favour while he spoke earnestly about hockey and his own academic workload. It was so easy to settle into a natural rhythm with Chris whenever you talked, as if you’d been having conversations like these for years when in fact it had only been a few months of knowing him and a few weeks of meeting up like this. None of that seemed to really matter though, not when the conversation was good and the chemistry felt right and especially not when it was clear that you were both on the same page when it came to your friendship. There was something else there though, something that was beyond being purely platonic, that much was becoming crystal clear and yet despite the ease in which it was to talk to him about literally anything else, there was something that had you stumbling over the thought of bringing it up.

You were saved from falling down that particular rabbit hole by the reappearance of the waitress, two burgers that were big enough to have your eyes popping out of your head in her hands. Chris chuckled from behind his milkshake at the look of disbelief on your face as your burger was set down in front of you before he reached for the bottle of ketchup between you both. You took the top of your burger bun off, nose immediately wrinkling at the sight of four pickle slices resting on top of the lettuce and tomato.

“Ugh, I forgot to ask for no pickles.”

Chris looked up from where he was squirting ketchup onto his bun, his eyes meeting yours briefly as his face split into a grin.

“You’re not one of those people, are you?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you began to pick the offensive green menaces off your food and set them at the edge of your plate. “I like what I like.”

Chris reached across and began to transfer the pickles from your plate to his burger, smiling widely at you as he did so.

“Well, I might have found a solution to this particular pickle you find yourself in,” he chuckled at the exaggerated groan and roll of your eyes at the expense of his joke. “You see, I love pickles.”

“You love anything,” you countered. “You’re like a human dumpster.”

“Hurtful,” he replied as he clutched at his chest. “But also true so I’ll allow it.”

You picked up a fry from your plate and threw it at him, immediately filled with equal parts surprise and a strange sense of awe as he reflexively moved and caught it in his mouth.

“You really are a dumpster,” you grinned as you shook your head at the proud little smile he was giving you.

“I am, so how about you don’t ask for no pickles on your burgers and you just give ‘em to me instead?”

It was easy to agree to his proposal, not least because his logic actually made a lot of sense when you thought about it, but mostly because of the way his eyes were sparkling and the way his smile made you feel warm all over, like the falling snow and freezing air outside didn’t exist, like your fingers and toes hadn’t been numbed by the biting cold during your walk here, like there had only ever been sunshine. It was also why you’d agreed to let him carry you back through the snow to your dorm, his large hands hooked around the backs of your thighs and your arms draped over his shoulders much like during the walk to the diner. You’d protested initially, of course, not wanting to burden Chris or put you both at risk of an injury due to the slippery conditions, but he wasn’t about to be convinced otherwise and remained unperturbed by the weather, gently reminding you that he had in fact got you to the diner in one piece in the first instance at your objections.

Truthfully, despite the mild embarrassment you felt at your complete ineptitude when it came to walking on ice, you couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed at Chris’s sheer strength. You wondered then, about how hard he must work in the gym to develop such a strong core because while you knew from first-hand experience how slippery it was underfoot, he didn’t falter once throughout the entire walk home and with the way he was talking amiably about his favourite places in the city he called home, and how his hands were holding your legs so surely and securely, you felt safe as houses with your chest pressed into his back – even with your thick coats and layers of winter clothing between you.

He walked with you on his back right up to the entrance of your dorm, setting you down carefully on the pathway that looked to have been newly shovelled before he turned to face you, his cheeks once again ruddy from the cold and your walk home.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ twice in one day,” he grinned, sucking air in through his teeth and shaking his head slightly. “But didn’t I say that I’d get you home safely?”

“So what if you were right twice?” you rebutted with a playful nudge. “It’s not like it’s ever gonna happen again.”

“Watch it, Pickle. I’ll have you know that I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Pickle?” you barked out a laugh, watching as Chris walked slowly backwards down the path away from you with that smile still on his face. “What kind of a name is that? I don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” he called out into the growing distance between you both. “But I do, remember?”

You shook your head at him, chuckling to yourself with a smile on your lips that mirrored his as you watched him.

“See ya Tuesday then, Trash Can!” you hollered.

His raucous cackle cut through the silent flurry as he continued to walk slowly backwards, his grin clear as day even through the falling snowflakes.

“Trash Can! Fucking, Trash Can! Man, you got some serious chirps, Pickle. Can you throw hands too? I mean, I know you suck at keeping your balance on the ice but we could use an enforcer! I could push you around?”

“Anytime, anywhere!” you laughed, watching him with a grin until he had waved his goodbye and turned away before he retreated into the heavy snow.

Part ii

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