#thanksgiving themed prompt

[softsnzstuff]

🥧

Maybe this one for Steve?

🥧: they’re attending some kind of gathering, maybe a potluck or Halloween party, and are definitely starting to come down with something. They don’t want to ruin the mood by complaining, but feel obligated to be there.

Ok this got away from me and I opted for sick!Steve with the remainder of the fruity 4 giving him grief (on good fun)

*******************************************************

Friendsgiving 1988 - Steve’s parents were once again out at a holiday function with colleagues despite their son being home from college. The 21 year old had invited Nancy and Robin, who stayed in town for college, and of course his partner Eddie, who was doing some light mechanic work for Wayne on the side.

Eddie parked just as the girls were walking towards the front door. “Hi Eddie!!” They called, hands full of potluck items.

“Hey ladies! Convenient timing.” He waltzed up and knocked on the door for them.

Steve opened the door, towel over his shoulder. “Hey! Come on in, I was just finishing up the sides.” He stepped aside so everyone could walk inside, setting their things down.

Nancy had brought carved pieces of Turkey, Robin brought mashed potatoes, and Eddie came bearing a store bought apple pie. Steve was working on the stuffing and cranberry sauce himself.

“I’m snF glad you guys could come.” Steve smiled, pulling Eddie closer to him by the waist.

“Thanks for having us!” Nancy chimed.

“Sorry your parents decided to leave though.” Robin said, “I can’t believe it.”

“I ca- heh HEH ISSSH! TISSSH! Excuse mbe. I cad. Typical of themb.” Steve pulled away from Eddie to grab a tissue across the kitchen.

He turned around as he finished tending to his nose, looking up to three enthused stares from his friends. “What?”

Robin breathed a laugh and shook her head. “Are you sick dingus? That is such a you thing.”

Steve felt his ears flush, “What are you talking about?” He lied.

Eddie walked over to his boyfriend. “We’re just saying Stevie, between school stress and everything else, you were bound to catch something. We just didn’t expect it to be so….immediate?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m not sick.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.” Nancy was always the first to stop arguing for the sake of someone proving themselves wrong. She covered her Turkey pan with tinfoil and popped it in the oven to reheat.

The kitchen soon became full of the warming aroma of a good meal. Eddie had raided the Harringtons’ wine cabinet and popped a bottle of sparkling cider to share.

“A toast! To food, friendship, and Steve’s parents for leaving us this delicious beverage.” Eddie raised his glass dramatically, encouraging everyone to join in.

“Cheers!”

They all sipped, in good spirits until Steve started coughing. Eddie, who was standing next to Steve, put an arm around him and patted his shoulder, “Alright there, sick boy?”

“Just went down the wrong way, sorry. And I’m not sick I told you. Go sit down it’s time for dinner.”

Eddie laughed and backed away, hands in the air. The girls followed behind him, taking a seat at the table with their glasses.

One by one Steve was bringing over dishes. The pan of Turkey, the bowl of mashed potatoes, and last his Bowls of stuffing and cranberry sauce.

He balanced the latter, one bowl in each hand as he carried it to the table. He stopped before he reached it and turned to tuck his head into his shoulder, hands preoccupied.

“HNxxxt! Hehh- HIH’NGTxxsh!”

A short chorus of ‘Bless You’s’ could be heard.

“Steve I’m pretty sure the cranberry sauce is meant to be served cold, not served with a cold.” He smirked and the girls held back a laugh.

The younger man set the dishes on the table and scratched his eye with his middle finger as he made his way to join them at the table, which only made them all laugh more.

Dinner was filled with talk about the different college experiences, funny anecdotes about their relationships, and Eddie talking about different car parts.

“Robin cad you please pass m’be the m’bashed potatoes?”

“Oh my god Harrington blow your nose already we can barely understand you.”

“I’b ndot gonna blow m’by nose at the dinner table?!”

Although there was no heat behind the banter, Nancy tried to change topics. “Steve, this is really good stuffy!”

“Did you just say stuffy?” Robin asked, “Steve even Nancy agrees with me.

“No-” Nancy tries to dig herself out of the hole, “I said stuffing! This is great stuffing Steve, really good.”

Eddie’s eyes bulged as he held back a laugh. He but his knuckle and squeezed his eyes shut. “Dude you totally said stuffy and it was awesome.”

“You guys are im’bpossible. I’b sick okay?? Feel like crap but I love you guys too m’buch to NOT do a friendsgivi’g.”

“Aww Steve.” Robin got up and hugged Steve from behind. “We’ll serve Eddie’s pie after this and you can rest on the couch, kay?”

As promised, after plates were cleared, Robin started plating pieces of the pie Eddie bought, popping each one in Steve’s microwave for 15 seconds.

Eddie had sat in the corner of the couch, Steve leaned up against him, eyes closed, resting on his shoulder. By the time pie was ready, he had started dozing off. Nancy draped one of the light blankets around his shoulders as Eddie tried to eat his pie without moving his arm too much.

“Hey Eds we can let ourselves out.” Robin whispered. Steve was fully asleep on his boyfriends arm. “We’ll come by tomorrow!”

“Thanks guys!” Eddie whispered back. There was some rustling as the girls got their things together before the front door gently clicked closed.

Eddie turned to Steve and kissed him on the top of his head. “I’m grateful for you, Harrington.”

[lovelyprincessn64]

Thanksgiving Day request event

Gobble gobble that's right this is the month of feast in the middle of the cozy autumn and this year is something special for the middle of November welcome to the Thanksgiving request event everything evolving around food and all kinds of crazy things that go bumping in the middle of fall.

Step right up and don't be shy but most importantly watch out for the Black Friday apocalypse and here is today's menu for a special month of the turkey.

1. Shopping for ingredients

2. Black Friday chaos

3. Cozy nights

4. Turkey day

5. Hunting for turkeys

6. Your ocs (Thanksgiving theme or your choice of picking)

7. Arts n crafts

8. Cooking for dinner

9. Cookbook

10. Thanksgiving Massacre

11. Leftovers

12. Thanksgiving specials

13. Clean up party

14. Animal Crossing

15. Horror themes

16. Decorations party

17. Room for dessert

18. Charlie Brown

19. A new day A New Hope

20. Day off from work

21. Food fight

22. Hungry night

23. Babysitting kids

24. A special toast

25. Raking up leaves

26. Wholesome love

27. Commercials (fan made or references as long if it's good)

28. Parodies of laughing

29. Mischievous Pranksters

30. Sweet as honey

31. To do list

32. Pumpkin harvesting

33. Getting ready for Christmas

34. Order up

35. A day with family

36. Freebirds

37. Break from school

38. Day of madness

39. Japan Thanksgiving theme

40. Delicious goodies

41. Crazy cinnamon day

42. Yuffie's birthday

43. Baking bread for days

44. Jammed up

45. Rosalina's birthday

46. Any type of Thanksgiving theme

47. Thanksgiving prompts

48. Bakery fun time

49. Brightful smile

50. Lovely picnic

51. Sandwich crazy

52. National Men's Day

53. Deep fried days

54. Redraws

55. Nostalgic November

56. Good old times along with old days

57. Delicious evening

58. DIYs

59. Pie of your choice

60. Chilling in cabins

61. Sleepy hibernation

62. Lazy days

63. Aesthetics of choice

64. Craving for tea

65. Dancing dinner table

66. Lame rainy days

67. Fairy tale story time

68. Doodle skits

69. Making scarecrows

70. Playing with board games

71. Biking in forest

72. Hiking through nature

73. Magical Library

74. Ready for vacation

75. Turkey chasing

76. Egg Fest

77. Feeling dozy

78. AUs

79. Parade or Festival

80. Overcooked burnt

81. Busy Chef's Kitchen

82. Love for autumn

83. Retro style of dinner

84. thickgiving

85. Going nuts

86. Writing a wish list

87. Don't beef with me

88. Disney themed of Wonder

89. Are we there yet

90. Sneaking in the kitchen

91. Nostalgic wave of feeling

92. Non-stop Marathon

93. Teamwork friendship

94. What can possibly go wrong

95. Chores of pain

96. Creative mind of Art

97. Starbucks yummy

98. Where's the turkey

99. Hungry appetite

100. Dinner is served

101. Early bird gets the worm

102. Some Creepypastas

103. Wishing for December

104. Wishing on a shooting star

105. Some errands to do

106. Hellish consumers

107. Butter up too exotic

108. Cranberry Harvest

109. Cheesy macaroni

110. Vegan options / alternatives

112. Satire / joke arts

113. Mustard or ketchup

114. Mashy potatoes

115. Too much stuffing

116. pumpkin pie crazy

117. Setting up the table

118. Stayed in bed

119. Too big of sweet

200. Eating up a feast

201. Crazy competition

202. Kawaii seasoning

203. Leafy collection

204. 1950s style

205. Thankful in grace

206. Lumberjack season

207. Jocks around

208. Spicy Danger

209. Exploring the abandon

210. Determination of heart

211. Bacon alive

212. Wildest imaginations

213. Horrific pilgrims

214. Hunting for shinies

215. Best of variety

216. Apple cider bar

217. Enjoying the sunrise

218. Creamy peaches

219. Dead plate

220. Juicy apples

221. Apple cider day

222. Marmalade sky

223. Food wars

224. Mai Valentine's birthday

225. Mai Valentine dressed in lingerie

226. Cake for my Minnie Mouse

227. Minnie Mouse’s Birthday

228. Gifts for my Mickey

229. Mickey Mouse day

230. American Thanksgiving 

Disclaimer: unlike normal requests you have to request on November theme / Thanksgiving theme also if you prefer something Halloweenish feel free to go to the Halloween request event.

Note: I'll be adding and updating the list if I come up with something creative be on the lookout for that also be sure to read the rules before sending me requests please be understandable and thank you and have a great Thanksgiving one more thing have fun~🍗🍖🍳🍽

If you like feel free to send me a suggestion to add on the list of the prompts list I am now opening to suggestions to what to add on the list that is considered match to the theme leave them down in the comments below if you got a very good idea or possibly for a future adding to a different one.

[jo-harrington]

Disaster Preparedness (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Maybe it's time to put a name to whatever it is you and Eddie are...but not without some misunderstandings first.

Previous Part: Peak Sales Hours

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Angst, Jealousy, Fluff, and a series of unfortunate misunderstandings with a sweet ending.

Note: A day late, but what can you do. This was sort of always a pre-planned part of the Store Manager Verse (and actually set at Christmas Time at StarCourt) but a very special prompt made me switch it up. So without further ado @allthingsjoeq and @bettyfrommars please consider this collection of Holiday shenanigans inspired by I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus my take on Prompt 14 from your Holiday Prompt Party:

You can tell that the mall Santa is a babe under that beard, and you decide to get closer to investigate.

With a little twist...

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

The holiday season wasn't Eddie's favorite, per se.

Just like Thanksgiving, it was a time to make do. Couldn't really celebrate when you were reminded of the things you'd lost or didn't have in the first place.

Still it had its high points. Cookies were great, having a little extra cash between Wayne's holiday pay and bonus and the handful of parties he'd be able to deal at, and let it be known that...Eddie Munson was a sucker for snow and always wished for a White Christmas.

And for his friends? Eddie would always muster up the Holiday Spirit and Christmas Cheer. A special one-off campaign for Hellfire, a potluck dinner with Corroded Coffin, and handmade gifts that he spent way too much time on.

This year...working at StarCourt brought its own spin on Holiday cheer and it was a little annoying.

If he hadn't worked the closing shift on the 30th, and seen all of the overnight workers and maintenance vehicles that rolled out of the service corridors as he walked out, Eddie would have thought that it was magic that transformed StarCourt Mall into a true Winter Wonderland come December 1st.

Because it was night and day.

Lights were strung around every store entrance, wreaths and garland hung every 50 feet from the ceiling, soap snow fell down from special blowers in the vents onto the food court, and the space in front of Montgomery Ward suddenly contained a special gift-wrapping destination.

And suddenly the mall muzak had a festive flair to it.

It was honestly kind of sickening.

He wasn't a scrooge or anything, it was just overwhelming and appeared all at once. And after how overwhelming Black Friday had been, how was anyone supposed to cope with the bright lights, large crowds, and repetitive music? He intentionally started turning the shop radio to a higher volume to drown out the bells jingling and carols mingling for the next few shifts after the decorations appeared.

"It's Holidazzle," you told him as he leaned against the entryway to your store--"the conversion Eddie, for God's sake!"--and watched you hang a special banner in the window, featuring the Gift of Piercing and cartoon bears ice skating around a tree.

"It's overkill," he argued.

"It's Mall Life." You climbed down from your ladder and surveyed your work with a critical eye. "You get used to the big everything that is Christmas and just deal with it, and then, come January, it all dies. We're decorating today, and next week we start wearing reindeer antlers on the sales floor. It just is what it is. Gotta get the customers into the festive spirit so they buy more before it all tapers out.

"Surprised Kyle isn't already wearing like...a Santa hat and a cheesy sweater with ornaments hanging off it or something."

And Eddie wasn't sure if you were somehow clairvoyant or just knew his boss well enough, but that's exactly what Kyle wore to his next shift and, indeed, every shift for the remainder of December.

Santa hats in every color--and he'd bought hats for everyone else in the store--and if there wasn't a Santa hat, there was tinsel in his hair. A piece of glittery garland strung around his neck and a mug full of cocoa constantly present in his hand, even when he was on the sales floor. And, somehow, a different cheesy holiday sweater on every single shift he had.

Where did he even get them?

"Listen," he clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder and shoved a candy cane in his hand. "I know you're Mr. Non-Conformity, but in this instance, you just gotta go with the flow. No one wants to give their money to the Grinch. But Jolly Old Saint Kyle? He's who they're trusting for their Christmas Gifts. You catch me?"

---

So Eddie tried.

He did. He tried.

For all of 3 days.

He wore the hat, he played the game, he did his spiel about gift certificates and BOGO, and he didn't even get a treat at the end of his shifts because you worked the opposite schedule from him. With school and all it was hard...

He just wanted to kiss you. Was that too much to ask for? It wouldn't be the most romantic place but he figured that he could set out some mistletoe by the baler and trick you into a festive smooch when you took the cardboard out. He could do that now, except he couldn't.

...but Wednesday night you'd both be closing. You'd swapped shifts with Mindy two weeks in a row so you could go to his show last week and she could go to her kids' Christmas Recital at the elementary school this week.

He definitely planned to make his move and get his reward. And give you a little reward of your own, seeing how hard you'd been working too. He wondered if this might be the chance to officially ask you to be his girl. Everyone had already made the assumption the two of you had been dating for months...why not put a name to it? And then he could take you out on a real date.

What could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words.

With a few minutes until his fifteen, anticipation building...Mike and Dustin ran into Tape World, looking out of breath and nervous.

Eddie was finishing up a special order for a customer when he saw them out of the corner of his eye. Little assholes, lurking by the door. Mitch had tried to walk up to them and give them the spiel but they waved him off.

"We're here for Eddie."

Great. This better not be about one of them missing Hellfire on Friday.

"What do you want?" he huffed, trying to be a little patient with them since it was the holidays after all. He picked on them enough at school. "It’s busy tonight."

"Well," Dustin shifted. "We were coming to see the new Ewoks movie--" Eddie snorted and grinned at them fondly. "--and we were just killing some time, when we passed by Mom's store."

Eddie couldn't help the bark of laughter he let out with that one. He told the guys to cut it out, this...continuation of calling you Mom since Halloween.

"You guys gotta stop calling her that," he scoffed. "Steve Harrington's your Mom. Get that straight."

"Well then Mom is upstairs right now flirting with not Mom," Mike sassed, hands on his hips.

Now that gave Eddie pause. Harrington? Upstairs with you?

Flirting?

“Kissing.”

Kissing?!

"What?" Eddie's voice broke a little as he reacted. He chuckled to try and alleviate some of his own nerves. "Isn't Harrington dating someone? Pretty sure I've seen him running around with that cashier from KB Toys."

"Well it was Wicks'n'Sticks."

"But we think they broke up!" Mike piped up. "Because Steve quit Scoops last week."

"Which means we need to pay full price for movie tickets again," Dustin nodded.

"But Nancy said that Robin told her…that he got a job at Santa's Workshop," Mike thumbed over his shoulder. "And we just saw Santa upstairs with Mom and she was wiping strawberry lipgloss out of his beard."

The first thought in Eddie’s head was that you didn’t wear strawberry lipgloss.

The next was that you didn’t wear strawberry lipgloss when you kissed him. What if you wore it for Steve?

No, that was ridiculous.

But unless Santa’s Workshop was operating as a functioning kissing booth and Harrington was looking for a quick and easy fix for a bunch of housewives smooching him after their kids asked for a new bike or Hot Wheels racetrack or Tina the Talking Tabby doll…there was no explanation.

Which, alright, Eddie wouldn’t normally consider himself a jealous person. An envious person. Yeah, he might have seen a little green at the edges of his vision when the kids fawned over Steve Harrington time and again, but ever since he was brought down a few pegs—humbled—he didn’t seem like the same old douchebag from Hawkins High that he used to be.

Eddie might even say Steve was kind of alright.

But you were his girlfriend…or something…

And the jealousy and possessiveness he often mocked others for over the years, as he watched meathead jocks tighten their arms around their girlfriends shoulders as he simply walked past, suddenly overcame him.

“Mitch I’m taking my fifteen!” He called towards the back of the store and strutted out of Tape World, all while Mike and Dustin called after him, fully intending to get to the bottom of this obvious misunderstanding.

---

He planned to ask you about Harrington the moment you opened the door to the loading dock, hauling the dolly of cardboard boxes behind you.

A simple "hey sweetheart, how was your day, anyone named Kris Kringle come to bother you?" and he would have had his answer and all of his doubt would have been alleviated once and for all.

Except that as soon as you appeared--with your disheveled hair and makeup, your slumped shoulders, and your groan of weariness--your eyes got brighter and you melted at the sight of him. So happy to see him, so relieved.

Then he melted.

"God, what a night," you groaned and let the dock door slam behind you. You abandoned your cardboard and walked right into his arms where he was standing by the baler; your arms wrapped around his waist and your face nuzzled into his flannel, just the way he constantly craved. "Some lady wanted an individual gift receipt for every single item she bought. Then Chrissy almost messed up this kid's piercing. Thank God I stopped her as soon as I saw."

"Oh yeah?"

"And then I swear I'm like...I just have one of those faces where everyone comes and complains to me as they're shopping. I have to hear about everyone's life story or their relationship issues, especially this one guy..."

Eddie's ears practically perked up at that.

"This one guy?" he urged you to continue, on the edge of his proverbial seat.

"I dunno," you sighed tiredly. "Not the first time he's come to me for advice. He's a nice guy and he means well, but it just seems I'm always the one. And I'm happy to help just...not during Q4, you know? He needs to figure out how to talk to his ex on his own. And not just...come in looking for extra glossy strawberry lip gloss thinking he's gonna kiss his way back into their good graces."

Extra glossy strawberry lip gloss.

Eddie wondered if he was pushing his luck if he were to ask if this nice guy was dressed in a Santa suit.

Still his heart soared nonetheless. He should have known that it was nothing to worry about, that those little shits just put two and two together to make five, and that mom wasn't actually kissing Santa Claus.

It was just a misunderstanding.

"How was your night?" you backed away from him slightly to look into his eyes. "I feel like I haven't seen you in days."

It was like a weight on his chest had been lifted, as he stared into your sparkling eyes.

"Same old, same old," he chuckled away the doubt. "Probably worse because no one knows what they want to give as gifts for Christmas and they're not listening to me."

"How dare they not take the advice of the great God of Music!" you feigned outrage.

"Gonna give me an inflated ego, sweetheart."

"You mean you don't already have one?" you teased.

Whatever fleeting bits of doubt remained disappeared as his fingers found your sides and he tickled you as punishment for the jab. Even more so as you grabbed his face and kissed him to get him to stop.

---

You'd spent the remainder of your break on Wednesday night softly kissing on the loading dock. You held hands as he walked you back to your store. Then once the mall was closed, you continued the kissing against the side of his van in the employee lot as the rest of the cars disappeared one by one.

With one last kiss goodbye, you agreed to Christmas movies and cocoa at his place on Sunday.

But as he sauntered into the mall on Sunday morning, twirling his lanyard on his finger as he headed to Tape World, Eddie swore that the universe was mocking him--

Or it was just that trademark Munson Bad Luck.

--because with a quick glance up towards your store, he saw you, holding the gate up with one arm, talking and laughing with someone conspicuously dressed in a Santa suit.

Well, he couldn't really see the holly jolly bastard that was up there making you smile, but just a quick glimpse of red velvet and white fur and all of his doubt was back.

The two of you still hadn't put a label on your relationship yet. He'd wondered the other night as he drove home if it was a little juvenile to want to call you his girlfriend. Was it too high school? What did a real life, grown up boyfriend do? He only had TV shows to go by and he figured you'd laugh if he tried to give you his '84 class ring that was stashed in his sock drawer. In fact, he was sure of it.

But how was he supposed to get past the visceral need to be your boyfriend when you were up there being wooed into potentially becoming the new Mrs. Claus yourself?

By Santa Harrington no less.

The doubt was back with a vengeance.

Kyle--decked in red onesie pajamas, butt flap and all--clocked his woes as soon as he walked into the store.

"Don't tell me she broke up with you," he guessed as he counted up the registers for the day. "I know it's not the end of the world, but you guys barely got started. What the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Eddie answered honestly as he restocked the front display.

"Hmmm, actually come to think of it, that might be exactly the point."

"I don't think we were ever together, if I'm being honest."

"Dumbass," Kyle chuckled under his breath. Eddie, exasperated and just needing someone to commiserate with, explained the whole thing to his boss, who simply ate it up like a gossiping housewife and then laughed louder. "No seriously, you're a dumbass. This is the Mall at Christmas, dude. You're gonna start going cross eyed if you're looking around every corner for a suspicious Santa Claus flirting with your girl.

"Why don't you save yourself some heartache and just talk to her. You know, like you should have been doing this whole time? So, one time only because you're my buddy, I'm letting you take an extra break so you can go up there and talk to her."

And Eddie knew Kyle was right: it was all about communication.

Communication, or the lack thereof, was how the two of you had gotten this far, right? You'd known each other since May? June? And had only figured out that there was some mutual attraction in...what? September if Eddie was going to be honest with himself. Two weeks ago if he wasn't.

Lack of communication, caused by self doubt and fear, cost him...months...of getting to kiss you and hold your hand. And while he cherished the time spent being your friend, he was always gonna wish he had all that time being more.

So no, he shouldn't let it draw out much longer.

---

Unfortunately, he really was a dumbass.

So instead of taking advantage of it being so early in the day that there were practically no customers in the mall to go upstairs and clear things up with you and maybe ask you out on a real date...

Eddie booked it across the mall to Santa's Workshop.

There he stood, wasting his extra break in line with the handful of proactive parents coming in early to get their family pictures with the Big Man himself.

"What's on your wish list this year?" A little boy in a tiny navy suit tugged on the leg of his jeans and asked him.

"Uh..." He was at a loss when it came to kids and his hands wrung around his lanyard. But he couldn't just leave the little guy hanging. "A new amp...and maybe a Skeletor action figure."

The boy's eyes got wide and blabbered on about his desired Castle Greyskull while his mom ran a comb through his hair.

"Eddie?"

Eddie froze and his attention shifted from the kid, up and up green velvet clad legs then torso, to a familiar cherubic face and tousled curls covered by a pointy hat.

"Gareth?" he chuckled, staring incredulously at his friend dressed as one of Santa's Helpers. "...what is this? I didn't know you..." his eyes slid down to the little boy, then back to his friend. "...were an elf."

"I was trying to keep it under the radar," he shrugged and gestured down to his costume. "Especially since they have me dressed like this. Uh....anyway, why are you in line for Santa?"

"Uhh..." Eddie scratched the back of his neck then folded his arms across his chest. "Gotta get my wishlist in before all the good gifts are taken."

Gareth narrowed his eyes in suspicion and Eddie hoped that he would just chalk it up as another one of the million things he'd seen Eddie do over the years of their friendship.

"Can I keep the picture?" Gareth finally asked mischievously. "Or was Wayne planning on sending out a special card this year?"

"Nah man," Eddie nodded, grateful not to have to answer any more...invasive questions. "It's all yours."

"Nice." Gareth held his fist out for Eddie to bump and then let the family ahead of Eddie in to see Santa.

Which meant he was next.

Now, Eddie wasn't big on confrontation, so unless he was actively thwarting bullies and deterring them from picking on his friends, he wasn't the type to pick a fight. He also wasn't the type to have a calm and rational discussion and get to the bottom of a problem either.

So this was new territory for him.

What would he say?

What could he say?

"Now listen here Harrington," he muttered. "You...she...I..."

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head.

"I heard you're having some relationship issues," he tried again. "But you can't keep sniffing around my girl. My girl? Ugh...but what if she isn't."

There were a few flashes of a camera and by that time, Gareth was back to lead him to his execution.

"Alright, young man," he snickered. "Are you ready to meet Santa?"

"Shut up," Eddie shoved him and stalked along the carpet into the little photo area.

He was too preoccupied with the task at hand, too consumed with thoughts of you laughing with Steve Harrington and exactly what he was gonna say, that he didn't notice that it wasn't Steve under the beard and hat until he plopped himself directly on Santa's lap.

Santa groaned as Eddie settled himself and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Aren't you a little too old for this Munson?" Santa deadpanned. "Or is this one of your little Hellfire pranks."

Eddie froze at the familiar voice, as years of hearing that grumbling gritty tone at Benny's and the police station and around town flashed through his memory.

"Hop?" he whispered in horror.

"Who were you expecting?" Hopper grunted.

"Why are you Santa?"

"...don't tell me you thought Santa Claus was real, kid?"

"No, I just--" Eddie stammered, looking for the right words. "I...Why?"

"I'm doing this to surprise Jane," he explained in exasperation. "Buddy of mine runs Santa's workshop and Joyce said she'd bring the kids to the mall today, maybe get a picture. So I pulled some strings. I don't know what to get her for Christmas; she's keeping her wish list under wraps."

It all started making sense for Eddie. Jane was friends with Dustin and the others so he'd seen her around Hawkins High, even though she wasn't interested in DnD. She was a good kid, if a little shy. Of course Hop was doing this for his adopted daughter, wanting to give her a perfect Christmas.

"But you...were up at Claire's earlier?" Eddie narrowed his eyes, the reason for him being there still eluding explanation.

"Because that's Jane's favorite store. I swear I'm single handedly keeping them in business with the number of earrings and scrunchies I buy every week. The manager promised she'd keep an eye out if Jane and Joyce popped in today, let me know everything Janie was looking at if this ended up being a bust."

Hopper shot Eddie a pointed glare and Eddie, correctly, looked ashamed of himself.

"Alright, less talking," the elf at the camera rolled their eyes and waved for Hop and Eddie to scoot closer. "More smiling. Say jingle!"

There was a flash and a polaroid was shoved into Eddie's hand as Hopper shooed him away.

---

"What is this?" you pulled away from Eddie's soft, warm lips as your hands felt something foreign in his back pocket.

The Year Without Santa Claus wasn't the most romantic Christmas movie, but Eddie was feeling a certain type of resentment when he had chosen the movies at Family Video, and it was mostly going ignored in favor of cuddling and kissing and sweet words.

Until your hands worked their way downward to pull Eddie's weight further into you, and you found--

"Did you go take a picture with Santa?" you giggled as you inspected the Polaroid. Eddie groaned and rested his head on your shoulder. "Can I keep this?"

"Believe it or not," he sighed, "Gareth already has dibs."

"May I ask why?"

"Because he likes to ruin my life. Pretty sure he's gonna take it to Fox Photos and get it made into t-shirts."

"No, why did you go take a picture with Santa silly," you shoved him. "It's really sweet."

He turned to look up into your eyes, to get the courage to just...tell you how silly he was being...to ask you out for fuck's sake...but the way you looked at him, the softness of your gaze, the way you reached out and pushed his bangs out of his eyes...he didn't want to ruin it all.

"I promised I was getting into the holiday spirit didn't I?" he shrugged pathetically. "Couldn't let the opportunity pass without getting photo evidence."

You stared fondly at the picture for another moment and then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"It's perfect."

---

After Eddie had chickened out, you planned your get-togethers for the rest of December.

Or rather, the lack of them.

With finals coming up and the semester coming, and then mall hours getting later and later the closer to Christmas it got, the opportunities to hang out became sparse.

The best the two of you could unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it--come up with was Christmas Eve.

You'd fight off those final last-minute holiday shoppers, and come 6pm when the mall closed, you'd both be off to Benny's for the special pot roast dinner that he put up for anyone who didn't have family to go to, or didn't want to go see the family they had.

With Rick out making the rounds, and Wayne scheduled for that sweet time-and-a-half holiday double most years, Eddie usually ended up at Benny's anyway.

This year, with you, it would be perfect.

He just had to get through the next few weeks without a hiccup.

The universe, once again, decided to test him.

Mock him.

It was almost comedic at this point.

Santa was everywhere.

Of course, he would be, it was Christmastime but...everywhere in relation to you.

Thankfully, it wasn't Harrington he needed to worry about.

However, that meant it wasn't just Santa he needed to worry about.

It was all of the mall Santas.

Hop had shown his face in the red suit and beard once or twice more and scared the life out of him. Especially when Eddie walked smack into him on the way to drop an Orange Julius for you on the night you closed.

The church's community choir had spent one Saturday afternoon caroling by the Sears, all dressed as Santa Claus. As the two of you made your rounds window-shopping and chatting on your break, one of the Santas grabbed you and spun you around in a circle during a jazzy rendition of The 12 Days of Christmas where you, apparently, were the true love bestowing the many gifts.

How Eddie let a bunch of Santas serenade you before he got a chance to, he would never know. Nor would he let himself live it down.

And then one awful day, he found you sitting at your usual table in the food court with a charismatic older man in a Santa suit--sans hat or beard. The man sat in Eddie's usual seat and leaned quite close, making you look entirely uncomfortable; he couldn't help puff up his chest to ward off the intruder by the time he reached the table.

"This is Henry," you introduced as politely as you could. "He's gonna be the manager at the new Spencer's store when it opens in January."

"Figured I would do the neighborly thing and just say hi," he chuckled and looked down at his attire. "Oh? This? Figured that this would be a great way to do something nice for the community in the mean time."

"That's great," Eddie sniffed judgmentally, getting a weird feeling about this Henry. "Nice to meet you. You're in my spot though."

"Eddie!" Your eyes went wide and you bit your lip to stifle your laughter.

"Hey, nope, totally get it," Henry held his hands up and stood from the seat. "Those lunch breaks are short, especially when you want to spend them with friends and not a stranger like me. Nice to meet you guys. See you around."

Eddie dropped into his seat and you waited until Henry was well out of earshot to scold him.

"That was not nice."

"I'm not nice," Eddie grumbled. "He was looking at you weird, like he wanted to steal your soul or something. Did you not get creepy stalker murderer from him?"

"No, I totally did," you nodded. "He was like...dead behind the eyes. I know, that's awful to say. Anyway, are you feeling soft pretzels and cheese because I--"

"Are you a Santa magnet or something?" Eddie interrupted you and you looked like a deer in the headlights.

"What?" you giggled. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Seems like they're just always around."

"It's Christmas, Eddie," you frowned in confusion. "Even I have a little Santa dress that I'm gonna wear to work. Everyone's just in the spirit."

"Yeah well..."

"I thought you were trying to get in the spirit too," you reminded him and then reached over and plucked at the fair isle sweater Kyle had gotten the whole TapeWorld team so they could match for a group picture. "Exhibit A, Mr. Grinch."

"I am trying," he whined. "It's just hard to be extra jolly when someone's always sniffing around your girl."

"Am I your girl?" you asked. You were obviously teasing him, but still...Eddie froze. "You haven't asked me if I want to be yet."

Everything inside of him was on red alert at that moment.

Evasive maneuvers? No, that was a bad idea. All power to the forward shields, which were holding but weakened. He didn't have enough firepower for this.

"No..." he replied awkwardly. "I haven't."

The way your expression dropped broke him, and he knew he had fucked up.

---

"I'm disowning you," Kyle shook his head in disappointment by the time Eddie got back from lunch. "In fact. We all are."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie groaned.

"Mitch! Paulie! Eddie's disowned."

"You can't fire him, he's closing tonight," Paulie argued.

"Not fired," Kyle pointed across the store with authority. "Disowned. And such a shame; Edward Tapeworldington, first of his name...you shall never be king."

Eddie stewed in the laughter of his coworkers.

"Why don't you ever listen to me?" Kyle threw an arm around his shoulder. "You could have asked her out right then and there. Been like 'hey you wanna be my girlfriend?' And it would have been like...the happiest day of your life. Hell, happiest day of my life. Cuz then I wouldn't have to hear you bitch about it all the time."

"Didn't know I complained that much," Eddie muttered self-consciously.

"All the time," one of the other guys chuckled.

"It's not complaining," Kyle corrected. "It's just that...we want you to be happy. As cliche as this sounds, we're like a family right? Hey, psst, all of you? Savor it, you're only gonna hear me say it once.

"If one of us is miserable, we're all miserable," he continued. "And you've been kind of a miserable piece of shit for a while, Ed. I'm sure your buddies would tell you the same thing. Lovesick puppy act's only gonna get you so much sympathy until you're the one getting in your own way."

Eddie felt his stomach turn because getting in his own way really did hit the nail on the head.

He thought about it for an eternity--really only 30 seconds--went about asking himself what had held him up for all this time. Fear of rejection obviously but even he started to think that some of the things that had gotten him so caught up were just...excuses.

Even now that he knew you liked him just the way he liked you, they were just excuses.

"So why can't I just...say something?" he finally asked.

Kyle clapped his hand down on Eddie's shoulder twice and then turned so he could head out for his own break.

"Only you can answer that question kid."

---

"Hey do you wanna go out sometime? Ugh."

So he practiced.

"So remember how we're supposed to go to Benny's for Christmas Eve? No."

For days he practiced.

"You know how the first time we went out for pizza I mentioned it wasn't a date? Well this one is. No god, you're an idiot."

Through the rest of the semester, during band practice, he even almost flubbed the lyrics at the gig at the Hideout on the Tuesday before Christmas. There were only so many days left until your dinner together at Benny's and he really wanted it to be your first official date.

But if Eddie was gonna fix this, if he was gonna ask you out, he needed to get it right.

"Hey sweetheart." He muttered as he counted down Paulie's register at the start of his closing shift. "I know I really flubbed it last time we talked but I really like you and I want to know if you'd be my girlfriend.

"We've already kissed enough for it," he added at the end and then winced.

"How about you just lose that last bit," Paulie offered beside him and signed a few receipts. "And then it's perfect."

"Yeah?" Eddie asked hopefully. "Alright. Cool. Great."

He would do it after work tonight.

"Edddiiiiieeee!!!" a screeching voice called from inside the mall and Eddie and Paulie both watched as a Santa with flailing arms ran into TapeWorld. "Eddie man, I really need a favor. I need to use your bathroom."

"What the f--Gareth?" Eddie looked around the store to make sure he wasn't just hallucinating. Gareth was already shedding the hat and the fake beard and unbuckling the wide belt from around his waist. "What the hell are you doing here? Why are you Santa? I thought you were an elf?"

"There's no time to explain," Gareth panted. "But there's a line through the food court to use the bathroom and I couldn't wait, so you either need to let me into your back room or I'm gonna exorcise a demon right here on your sales floor man. Please."

"Ugh," Eddie wrinkled his nose and pointed towards the stockroom. "Yeah, sure whatever. Gross."

"I owe you one," Gareth tossed the fluffy jacket of his costume over the counter at Eddie and then ran into the stockroom. Hopefully just in time.

"So glad I'm cleaning the bathrooms tomorrow night," Paulie scrunched his nose in disgust. "Alright, you and Mitch need anything before I go?"

Eddie was about to say no, was about to send Paulie on his way.

But then he looked down at the coat and got an idea.

An awful idea.

Eddie Munson got a wonderful, awful idea.

"Actually, now that you mention it," Eddie grinned and shrugged the coat on, then the belt, and as he glanced up at Paulie, his coworker groaned, clearly able to read Eddie's mind.

"I thought we agreed no more gimmicks," Paulie exclaimed. "You're just gonna go up and talk to her."

"Yeah," Eddie nodded. "I, Santa Claus, am gonna go up and talk to her. I'm not even gonna take my full break, just five minutes, and then you can leave."

"This isn't gonna work man."

"None of my plans ever do," Eddie shrugged and pulled Paulie into a big hug. "But if it does, I owe you my whole life."

And off he went, across the mall, and up the escalator. He adjusted the coat and the hat and then remembered that he forgot the beard on the counter.

No matter, of course; he really didn't want to get fake beard in his mouth when he planted one on you.

There was practically a line out the door by the time he got to your store. He was able to see you through the window, on the register checking one customer out after another.

You were in the zone, but you didn't look stressed. You smiled a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, but every so often Mindy would crack a joke beside you and it did.

"This actually might be the worst idea," he muttered to himself.

But it was too late.

It was now or never.

You were gonna kill him.

Some of the younger kids in the store started muttering in excitement when they spotted him, only for their parents to say "that's not the real Santa" and "Santa doesn't wear ripped jeans" but you were oblivious until he was standing right beside you at the counter.

"Excuse me," he took a breath and lowered his voice like he would during Hellfire. "I heard there was something special on your wish list this year, young lady."

"Sorry sir," you answered without a thought. "I'll be with you in a second."

"You can't even take a second to help jolly old Saint Nicholas?"

You turned your head, obviously about to tell him off as you schooled your features into something plastic and robotic and customer friendly, until you realized it was him. Then something visibly short-circuited in your brain and he smiled brightly.

"I'd like to apologize to all the boys and girls shopping tonight," he announced to the customers theatrically. "But I have very important Christmas business with our dear Store Manager here. It'll only take a minute."

He was surprised when a few of them started laughing and clapping.

"Alright Santa," you finally composed yourself to answer, arms crossing over your chest in annoyance. "What official Christmas business can I help you with?"

"Well, I was reading over the wishlist that you sent up to the North Pole," he explained. "I don't have it with me, you see. Had to leave it down in the workshop so the rest of the elves could work on the scrunchies and the lipgloss you wanted."

"Uh huh."

"And the new windshield wipers that you refuse to let Santa replace."

You rolled your eyes and waved your hand to get him to go on.

"But there was one thing on the list that...maybe it's these tired old eyes--"

"Old?" you giggled and reached out to tug on his curls. "Your hair isn't even white Santa."

A bunch of nearby kids boo'd.

"Clock's ticking," you whispered. "Get on with it, or I'm gonna have to kick you out Ed."

"--maybe these tired old eyes weren't able to read. See I thought it just said friend. But my trusty elves Kyle and Paulie and Mitch assure me it says boyfriend."

Mindy cooed an awww from beside you and Eddie felt his confidence grow.

"So, Miss Store Manager," Eddie held his hand out to you. "Which one is it? Because I happen to have some high quality...boyfriend material that I can use to make your wish come true. Is that what you'd truly like this Christmas?"

Mindy immediately slammed a hand onto your shoulder and squealed, and although your lips were clamped shut and nose was scrunched, Eddie was sure that you were holding back a smile.

It was the longest 30 seconds of his life.

"Yes, actually," you finally responded. "That's exactly what I want for Christmas Santa."

Eddie's heart surely grew 3 sizes in that very moment as a bunch of customers clapped. And he was eagerly about to jump forward and plant a kiss right on your lips when your hand slammed against his chest to hold him back.

You laughed and your eyes sparkled with promise as you pointed to the door, a silent understanding that you'd continue this conversation later. But for now?

"Get out of my store!"

---

Eddie found you leaning against the side of his van when he clocked out. Your car was parked beside his, running idle, as you waited. The radio softly played the Nutcracker Suite and you hummed along to it.

"Alright," he began when he got close enough. "I know that what I did was a big no-no, but I think everyone was in good spirits about it."

"You're lucky they were," you glared at him in--what he hoped was-- fake annoyance. "I really would hate it if my DM got a call complaining about that. Then I'd have to break up with you before we were actually even together."

"I wouldn't blame you," he winced and then looked down at his feet. "So...do you wanna go out sometime?"

"Like a date?"

"Yeah," he glanced up at you and then back down at his feet. He shuffled them back and forth. "Dinner at Benny's on the 24th? How does that sound."

"Ugh, I dunno," you sing-songed and took a few steps to close the distance between you. You grabbed the lapels of his jacket and shook him a few times.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he questioned as you lifted his hair and turned his head back and forth.

"I'm looking to see if this was the quality boyfriend material that Santa just promised me a few hours ago."

"Hey now," he grabbed your hands in his. "I most certainly am. We've just...been friends for so long. I didn't know if..."

"I do," you answered before he could finish.

"But what if I..."

"You aren't."

"I was gonna say 'what if I fart under the blankets while we're cuddling.'" He deadpanned. "See, this is why it's important not to make assumptions."

"Alright, Fartmeister," you challenged him. "If you want to Dutch Oven your girlfriend, I guess I can't fight you. But don't be shocked when I do the same thing to you eventually."

"That's all I want from a girlfriend," he said. "A strong sense of retaliation and justice."

"Alright then."

"Alright." He shook your hand like you were making some kind of deal. "Christmas Eve at Benny's for our first date."

"Sounds perfect," you agreed.

"Good."

"Good."

You launched yourself in his arms and pressed your lips to his and he swore, probably for the first time in his life, he believed in the spirit of Christmas.

---

Next Chapter: Standard Operating Procedures 1.06

[ohtobeleah]

Thank You to @ailesswhumptober for providing us with this amazing prompt list for Whumptober this year.

-> Rules & Information below ⬇️

Strictly 18+ There will be heavy themes associated with this whumptober. Please remember to curate your own experience by following the trigger warnings associated and allocated to all blurbs.

The author will not be posting or accepting requests for any other ongoing project during the month of September so that all spare time can be allocated in preparation for whumptober.

All work associated with Whumptober contains mature themes that may be triggering to some.

Masterlist will be updated accordingly as blurbs / One-shots are written and edited.

To be tagged in any work associated with Whumptober please ask in the comments below, only on the Masterlist. Requests on daily postings will not be looked at.

All associated media related for Whumptober will be tagged with #AIlessWhumptober2023

Day One: [Poison Ivy] // Robert Floyd:

-> Bobs got the hots for the admirals assistant. Bad. So bad it makes him feral. But what happens when he gets the dosage wrong and messes the whole thing up.

Day Two: [Dream A Little, Dream Of Me] // Bradley Bradshaw:

-> How are you supposed to sleep when all you see when you close your eyes is your dead and soaking wet husband?

Day Three: [Sixth Sense] // Mickey Garcia:

-> A freak accident occurs at the Hard Deck and Fanboy is faced with the challenge of being left to care for you, his not so official girlfriend.

Day Four: [My Brothers Keeper] // Jake Seresin:

-> Five seconds faster and Jake Seresin wouldn’t be standing in his bedroom telling the love of his life the biggest lie he’d ever told.

Day Five: [Odds Are?] Robert Floyd:

-> A quiet night at the Hard Deck doesn’t stay that way when two men hold you at gunpoint for the combination to the safe.

Day Six: [Mind Over Matter] // Bradley Bradshaw

-> Your mind is not your own when you’re exposed to a kind of ‘Sex Pollen’ your date spiked your drink with. But the worst part of it all is that Rooster takes advantage of your willingness to give your body to him.

Day Seven: [Gift Of The Gab] // Bradley Bradshaw

-> Throat Cancer. It’s never the way Rooster thought he’d go out. But when he does—he gets to give Jake a piece of his mind.

Day Eight: [Panic Room] // Jake Seresin

-> Between his ex, bird strikes and suicidal mission parameters it’s hard to keep a lid on things. So when you help Jake through a panic attack in the locker room, you become his lifelong lifeline.

Day Nine: [Battle Scars] // Bob Floyd

-> Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

Day Ten: [The Eternal Mark] // Jake Seresin

-> When at the Abbott Ranch for thanksgiving, the sound and sight of a cattle prod has you feeling like you’d been thrown back in time into the arms of the man who swore blind he was going to kill you.

Day Eleven: [Dark Red] // Jake Seresin

-> Jake Seresin is usually pretty cool, carm and cock sure of himself. But when his wife has an accident? He hits the deck pretty hard.

Day twelve: [Self-Flagellation] // Tom Kazanksy

-> After the death of Goose Bradshaw rocks the TopGun class. Iceman struggles with the ideology that his death could have been prevented if he wasn’t sure sure of himself.

Day Thirteen: [Damn You Seresin] // Jake Seresin

-> After a near fatal car accident sends Jake into a coma, you come to terms with the fact that saying goodbye was always going to be tough. No matter the situation.

Day Fourteen: [Bleed For This] // Bradley Bradshaw

-> It’s not Maverick that goes down in Snowy Mountains, but you. And someone doesn’t make it back.

Day Fifteen: [One Hit Wonder] // Bob Floyd

-> Robert Floyd was a pacifist, he didn’t enjoy confrontation or anything that resembled an argument. He preferred to use logical responses and persuasive reasoning to identify situations that might not work well in his favour otherwise.

Day Sixteen: [Trade Places] // Jake Seresin

-> It was supposed to be Hangman. And if you could go back in time? You’d let it be him. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Day Seventeen: [My Future & Past Javy Machado

-> You left Javy at the altar three years ago. In that time he put him back together again and moved on. But what happens when you show up in North Island looking to apologise for your actions.

Day Eighteen: [Lessons in Love & War] Bradley Bradshaw

-> On one of your first shifts back at work after the events of ToE. Odette is plagued with an illness that sends her to the emergency room with a very panicked Bradley Bradshaw.

Day Nineteen: [Never Good Enough] Mickey Garcia

-> People always leave Fanboy. He goes through pilots like chump change. Is it him? Is he the problem? What happens when one of the many times you’ve tried to console your husband when his demons become to brutal?

Day Twenty: [The Secrets We Keep] // Jake Seresin

-> A Father, Son & The Holy Shit Blurb. You and Jake argue over the practicality of your entanglement. Suddenly you feel like you have nowhere to run, or hide.

Day Twenty One: [Goodbye, Goodbye] // Jake Seresin

-> Jake & Amilia have been trying for a year, when they do fall pregnant it leads to a much bigger discovery and an even bigger heart heartbreak.

Day Twenty Two: [Before You & After You] Mickey Garcia:

-> Fanboys got a crush on the knew Hard Deck Barkeep. But when he’s still getting over the traumatic loss of his wife, crushes and new beginnings aren’t always so ease. (A Jekyll & Hyde backstory)

Day Twenty Three: [Sun & Moon] // Jake Seresin & Bradley Bradshaw:

-> Jakes got a secret he’s keeping close to his chest almost as close as he’s keeping you. Bradley comes face to face with a demand he can’t comprehend, but he doesn’t have a choice.

Day Twenty Four: Flight Deck Prologue

-> In an attempt to prevent Bob from running for the hills believing you’re a murderer. You sit him down to discuss your past.

~ Complete ~

[inklings-challenge]

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 17

Welcome to Day 17 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven't already, make sure to explore the creations linked in the notes of yesterday's post.

Today's Optional Prompt is: Gratitude

Gratitude is a huge theme in Chesterton's work, and offers all sorts of possibilities as a creative prompt. You could write a poem of thanksgiving, make characters consider what they're grateful for, whatever you like!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

[chronically-ghosted]

the days i spend with you

rating: T

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: >1000

summary: a snow-storm keeps you from meeting Marcus's family over the holidays so you cheer him up by maintaining Pike family traditions.

warnings/tags: literally none, so much fluff, bad jokes, talking with your mouth full which is bad manners, references to air bud (do y'all even know who that is), minor praise in a barely kinky way, no y/n

a/n: i was feeling festive and my beautiful beautiful moots answered the call! @yoursoulsunbreakable requested: What about making apple scented candles with Marcus P on a rainy day? 🕯️🍎 🍁 this was healing to my soul to write so there will be more autumn/thanksgiving themed oneshots coming soon! (if you like these, please go look at @trulybetty 's october x 500 -- she did all of October with these yummy prompts, so please check them out and give her a follow!)

🤍Masterlist

“Stop it, you’re going to make me laugh.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re going to make me drop it!”

“What do you want me to do? Shut my eyes?”

“Yes!”

With a smile, your eyes flicker between the dribbling hot wax and Marcus, laughing as he stands up and goes to the other side of the kitchen. He pops half a Snickerdoodle in his mouth.

“Shee ‘m ev’n in a d’frnt room. ‘Appy now?” 

Your distraction taken care of, you return your attention to the culmination of about eight hours of work. Arms straining with the heavy pot, you continue to pour out the amber colored liquid into the small glass container that came with the kit and you bite your lip, focus entirely on maintaining a steady hand. A whole number of things could go wrong here: you could spill the wax and have hot wax splash all over Marcus’s grandmother’s Queen Anne table, which could have been present at the original Thanksgiving. You could pour too fast and the wax would yank down the wick and then you’d have to pluck it out with tweezers before it could harden – naturally clumsy, adding speed to the mix would only incentivize more chaos.

But you hold steady, wrists tight, and the wax slowly fills to the top, the tiny string staying firmly around the chopsticks. 

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing perfect.”

His voice makes your toes clench in your shoes and you bite your lip harder. Caught half-way between wanting his praise and finding even his voice a distraction, you block him out entirely and lean forward, just as the wax reaches the lip of the glass container. Like Marcus had shown you on the one he did just before, you flick your wrist up and the flow of the wax drip, drip, drips until the last bit is stopped by the edge of the pot. 

For a moment, you worry about what you forgot to do or if you’ve missed a step – because everything looks too perfect. The wax is settling properly, a cinnamon apple smell pungent throughout the house, and the string holds strong. 

Firm, warm hands slide over your waist as Marcus kisses your neck. His breath smells like sugar, the weight behind you a balm and a praise all its own.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asks quietly as he noses your ear. “You’re a natural.” 

You bite your lip and run your palms over his knuckles, up to his elbows, then settling firmly on his forearms.

“I know I’m not as good as your sister, or your mom, but at least I didn’t spill everywhere.” You smile gently when he stiffens slightly behind you. Twisting in his arms, you put a hand on that smooth face you love with all your heart. He returns your smile, but it's dampened. You know he’s disappointed that the weather grounded all planes to Maine where the Pikes’ have a winter home – he had been so looking forward to introducing you to his family. “I hope I haven’t shamed your ancestors with my shoddy candle making.”

Marcus laughs and shakes his head, returning the hug around your waist. “You haven’t shamed anyone. I give that candle a ten out of ten.” 

“And I burned the wax only once!” This time you laugh with him as he kisses your cheek. You forget how easy a happy Marcus shows affection, someone entirely different from the forlorn man you met all those months ago after he moved to Washington from Austin. “What’s next for the Pike family Thanksgiving Olympics?”

“Well, for a championship gold medal like that, I think all contestants deserve a hot chocolate and a repeat viewing of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” He pats your butt and walks into the kitchen. “Save me a seat, will ya?”

You smirk then flex in a pose as you head for the couch like you’re showing off your muscles on the Miami boardwalk. “You got it, champ. Put me in, cap, I’ll bring home the gold yet again! Airbud ain’t got nothing on me! Those Rooskies can’t defeat my hockey skills and–,” 

A hand catches your elbow halfway through a pretend hockey stick swing and you stumble back into his arms. You have a second to see his half-lidded eyes before he kisses you, your cheeks nestled between his palms. And you, predictable, go as weak-kneed as a dame on a tarmac. Your hands curl around his wrists, his cashmere sweater as soft as he is.

He nips at your bottom lip, almost a more affectionate squeeze than a real bite and you sigh, adjusting yourself to get closer to him. When he finally pulls away, you feel a little lightning-struck. You lift your heavy lids to his rich, dark brown eyes. The smile he gives you is a full on Pike smile, nothing dampened or dimmed about it.

“Thank you for being here,” he murmurs to your lips. You can’t wait to kiss chocolate off his later. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.” 

There is no silence with Marcus, only quiet contentment. Outside, the snow patters softly against the windows, piling up in the eaves of the house and the bends of the trees and the curves of the cars, the miles of road – a truly snowed-in Thanksgiving.

“Marshmallows with whipped cream?”

“Marshmallows with whipped cream.” You nod seriously. He lets you go and you kiss him once more on the cheek before going to find a good blanket to snuggle under. His heart so full it truly might burst, he turns back to the kitchen to start heating up the milk. 

So the weather ruined his plans this time around, the small black box remaining hidden in the bottom of his suitcase. Well, there is always Christmas to do it in front of his family. And if the weather continued to thwart his perfect proposal, he’d do it in the damn driveway if he had to. 

He didn’t want to waste another second with his ring anywhere but your finger.

[strangerquinns]

Dylan O'Brien Concept/Blurbs

SMUT(18+)

new look; dylan o’brien

morning sun; dylan o’brien

bathtub fun; dylan o’brien

wakeup call; dylan o’brien

friends with benefits; stiles stilinski

first time in months; dylan o’brien

party; dylan o’brien (part two)

apart; dylan o’brien

night-out; dylan o’brien

dirty text; dylan o’brien

hard and deep; dylan o’brien

high; dylan o’brien

breaking the rules; dylan o’brien

slow and hazy; dylan o’brien

“use me”; dylan o’brien

in charge; dylan o’brien

happy birthday; dylan o’brien

four months; mitch rapp

strangers in a bar; dylan o’brien

baby making; dylan o’brien

interview; dylan o’brien

smoking; dylan o’brien

shower fun; dylan o’brien

morning; stiles stilinski

good night; dylan obrien

good girl; stiles stilinski

FLUFF

sacred romance prompt: first date

dinner for two; dylan o’brien

a third; dylan o’brien

birthday boy; dylan o’brien

love of my life; dylan o’brien

movie night make-out (smut-ish); dylan o’brien

family; mitch rapp

crush; stiles stilinski

NYC tourist day: dylan o’brien

the first moment; dylan o’brien | i love you, too (part two)

on the streets of New York; dylan o’brien

drunk snuggles; dylan o’brien

happiness; stiles stilinski

potentially romantic prompt; gaze; dylan o’brien

early morning cravings; dylan o’brien

dive bar; dylan o’brien

stay in bed; dylan o’brien

newborn; dylan o’brien

forehead kisses; dylan o’brien

sneaking in; stiles stilinski

tongue tied; mitch rapp

mother nature; dylan o’brien

little white chapel; dylan o’brien

mother nature; dylan o’brien

“mommy, mine!”; dylan o’brien

terrible plan; stiles stilinski

Halloween fun; dylan o'brien

ANGST

need you close; stiles stilinski

the target; mitch rapp

proposed confession; dylan o’brien

one year anniversary; stiles stilinski | part two

jealousy; stiles stilinski | part two

potentially romantic prompts: catch; stiles stilinski

friends with benefits; dylan o’brien

“because I love you,”; stiles stilinski

“hold me”; stiles stilinski

a year in the dark; stiles stilinski

five years later; dylan o’brien

“will i ever recover?”; dylan o’brien (deleted by accident)

“by your side”; dylan o’brien

OTHER (NO THEME)

jealous; dylan o’brien

tied-up; void!stiles

pillow fort; stiles stilinski

red-carpet; dylan o’brien 

sleepover; stiles stilinski

baby; dylan o’brien

thanksgiving dinner; dylan o’brien

pda; dylan o’brien

mending and distracting; dylan o’brien | part two

shining armor prompt: (kill); void!stiles

Oblivious Lovers Prompt Night

Best Friends Brother

The Kiss

Void!Stiles

Perfect

Adore

imagines + mini-series masterlist

blurbs/concepts page two

[yodeler12]

DP x DC plot bunny the second

James Gordon had seen many different things in his thirty year career. He’d become a team dad to a colony of bay-themed vigilantes, arrested a murderous clown after he tried to blow up a fair, and fought off an alien invasion.

Somehow though, visiting his cousin Maddie for Thanksgiving and seeing her son transform into a glowing white haired superhero then float through the ceiling to go battle a giant dragon was a little bit more different than even he was used to.

Basically, due to lack of Commissioner Gordon in dpxdc prompts/fics and the random thought wondering how common red hair is, I figured Gordon would be related to the Fentons.

[prolix-yuy]

Reflective

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Summary: His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you're partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Notes: Heeeeeeere's LJ! I'm back from my October hiatus just in time for a Halloween fic! Thank you again to @harriedandharassed for the prompt "How does Max Phillips handle not being able to see himself in the mirror?" I was grasping at something to write for Halloween and this prompt came at the perfect time.

This story will include horror elements such as violence, descriptions of blood and some graphic scenes. If that's not your cup of tea, scroll on friend! It was fun to go back to some of my horror writing roots, especially mixing it with the dry comedy of Bloodsucking Bastards. It's Max season babes, and I could not resist writing for this smarmy boy.

There is a part 2, which will post tomorrow. The Discord besties made an excellent suggestion right after I finished the story, and it was so good I needed an addendum. So without further ado, enjoy lovelies and Happy Halloween!

Cross-posted on AO3

If anyone asked Max Phillips what the worst part about becoming a vampire is, he’d probably tell them things like “not getting a tan” or “swearing off Italian food” or “always getting complaints about cold feet”. The last one was often followed by a lewd comment to get a pretty young thing in bed with him to prove it. It’s all farce, of course, clever little quips you’re sure he practiced just like you’d rehearse for a job interview. It gives you a funny little trill when you catch one of those lines again, because you know the truth.

He hates that he can’t see himself in mirrors.

Being Max’s executive assistant, you’re trusted with more than some of your colleagues. Well, that’s debatable, you’ve heard horror stories. But your friend Carla’s stories about her boss’ wife choosing his Peloton instructors for minimum hotness pales in comparison to your early morning runs to blood banks and private contracts with hospital cleanup crews. Max might not be a centuries old vampire, but he’s planning on getting there. You can’t live several lifetimes with a messy trail anymore.

Enter you.

The job listing had been normal enough: Executive assistant. Five years experience. Good references. Not squeamish. Discreet. It was the last three words that piqued your interest the most. You wouldn’t call yourself delicate, at least not for the things Max needed you to do. Your stomach turned when men wanted to stay the night, or your parents begged you to come home for Thanksgiving. Not so much when you had to bag a severed hand. 

When it came to the interview you almost walked straight back out of his office before saying a word. The moment you saw him you knew his type. Arrogant, self-centered, prideful, smooth with a customer and cruel in the next breath if you were in his way. You’d seen too many people like him, avoided working with them at all cost. He was young enough that boomer sexism probably wouldn’t be an issue, but you could smell the demand coming off of him. He’d be a yeller, a paperweight thrower, or worse require you to be on call 24/7. You clocked him in a glance and felt the claw of escape behind your ribcage.

And then Max Phillips did something that convinced you to reconsider just as quickly. He stood from his desk, ushered you in, looked you and your resume over for a moment, and spoke.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Max Phillips, Director of Sales, and I’m a vampire.”

The quick introduction, complete with another curious word at the end, made you bark out a laugh.

“What kind are we talking about? Emotionally, mentally…” you rattle off, tight posture relaxing just a fraction. If he was joking with you, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Oh you know, the usual kind. With the blood,” he says nonchalantly, baring his teeth dramatically when your eyebrows raise. 

“You don’t say.”

“I do, actually. And you want to be my assistant.”

The conversation flows, with some fits and starts as you realize he’s not kidding. He is indeed a vampire, tossed out like his zodiac sign. The questions he peppers off range from highly professional (tell me a time when you performed well under pressure) to unsettlingly irregular (do you know how to remove blood stains from silk?). You shoot the answers back just as quickly, waiting for the moment when either the charade will drop…or you’ll get the job. Because you want it now. It’s easily the most interesting thing you’ll do in your whole life. 

“I think that’s all I need,” Max ends abruptly, shuffling your resume into a pile with some others. Panic grips you, and you rush into your next sentence without breathing.

“Are there any concerns you have about my qualifications?” 

Max raises an eyebrow and smiles, one that is much too charming to be in its path too long. Casting your eyes down, you glance at the worn-out toes of your nice interview heels, bemoaning getting them out of the closet for another failed interview.

“On paper you’re perfect,” Max says, and being in the same sentence as perfect skitters up your spine for a moment. You bat it away peevishly. “I only worry that you don’t have the constitution for what I’m looking for.” You shift on your feet, pull one corner of your lip between your teeth while you think. It makes you miss Max’s too-long glance at your mouth.

“I’ve watched all of the Saw movies,” you finally say, meeting Max’s eyes with determination. It makes him bleat out a laugh. 

“Okay, not squeamish. Those are movies, though, and this is the real deal,” he teases. “Favorite vampire movie?”

“Let the Right One In,” you answer quickly, your face scrunching with regret seconds after. “Or Only Lovers Left Alive. I watched Queen of the Damned three times at a sleepover once. Have you ever seen Vampire’s Kiss? The one with Nic…” Max’s chuckle lets you trail off into silence.

“And you didn’t even say Twilight.”

You were signing employment paperwork the next day.

Most executive assistants put up with a certain layer of bullshit on a daily basis. Booking flights, picking up paperwork, schedule maintenance. You’d stood in line for four hours to pick up a previous employer’s new iPhone once. 

Max had very different needs. 

You were briefed on your duties in the privacy of his office. While he did reveal to you how many of his sales force were turned by his hand (or fang, you thought with a giggle), discretion was still a priority. He needed someone to go to his blood bank hookup a few times a week, take care of daytime activities when the sun beat down too hard. Body disposal on very rare occasions (so far only the one time) among all of the normal activities you thought you were signing up for. 

The one duty that gave you pause, made you tap your nail on the printed line, was close to the bottom of your orientation packet.

“You need me to ‘maintain your appearance’?” you asked, looking up at Max from across the shiny acrylic tabletop. He was lounging back in his chair, knee pressed against the edge of the desk and spread out with boredom. He rolled his head to his shoulder as you flipped the page around to show him.

“Oh that. Yeah, I need you to check me over, make sure everything looks sharp, especially if I’m going to a big meeting.” You quirked a brow at him.

“Can’t you just look in…a…oh,” you said, slowing to a molasses vowel by the end. 

“Yeah, mirrors and I haven’t been on speaking terms since Romania,” he sighed, one heavy thumb tracing the crest of his full lower lip. You tried not to notice the subconscious stroke. 

“So you need me to…be your mirror. Make sure your hair isn’t a mess and you don’t have spinach in your teeth.” You were rewarded with a sheepish nod from Max. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“What else is true about vampires? Or fake, I’ll take either,” you asked, crossing your legs and settling into the wildly uncomfortable modern chair. Max’s smile turned secretive, and that was the first moment you felt him brand you his confidant.

“The sunlight thing is a bummer. I miss the beach, and swimming in the ocean. Garlic just makes my mouth go numb. Inviting someone into your home has a lot more loopholes than you think. And the sign of the cross does jack shit.” You nodded, making a mental list of even more questions to pepper into everyday conversation.

“Why do you think that all is? Because you’re essentially…undead?” you prodded, getting another bark of a laugh from Max and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, undead is a little harsh. It’s more like…a virulent vitamin deficiency. If I don’t get what I need, everything starts to shut down.” Max pondered on this analogy for a long moment, looking at a dull mass-produced corporate painting. 

“But all the superstitions…like why are those true?”

Max shrugged, running his thumb along the inseam of his dress slacks in a way that pulled your eyes to his thick thighs.

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this. Half the stuff is supposed to be because I ‘have no soul’,” Max made finger quotes as he says this. “But mirrors stopped being silver backed ages ago and I still have to be careful when I go into the men’s room.” He shrugged, taking an exaggerated sip from his iced coffee straw. “I just know what works and what doesn’t, and you just need to help with those gaps, pretty girl.”

You almost choke on your tongue, shooting Max a warning look. He raises his hands in deference, but keeps a raised brow.

"Sorry, I call it like I see it. Can't have someone with poor taste in charge of my appearance."

"Yeah and if you don't want to walk in to a meeting with HQ with a Kick Me post-it on your back, you'll be mindful of that mouth of yours."

The crinkles around Max's eyes deepen, something knowing passing by, but he nods in acquiescence.

It’s honestly not as bad as you thought it might be. You could even call it boring. Max thankfully isn’t a paperweight thrower, though he does speak to most of his subordinates like they’re idiots. Never you, thankfully, he’s all smiles and winks and traded comments during your daily interactions. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Routine is your master, and you follow its pattern to the letter. It’s what makes you a great assistant. First thing in the morning is Max’s coffee order, set on his desk atop a coaster you provided when you saw the coffee cup stains. He whirls in, all noise and breeze, and you help him get ready for his morning meetings. A straightened tie - you can practically knot one blindfolded now - a quick sweep of fingers through his short hair, a pantomimed smile so he shows you his teeth. It’s all utilitarian, fast, not thrilling or intimate in a way you’d rarely been with a man. Of course not. That would be…unprofessional.

Lunch involves a teakettle, a blood bag, and a deep bowl that you use to warm his meal. All done in the safety and privacy of the kitchenette in his office. You pour the contents - a balmy 98.6 degrees by the time you’re finished - into a silver to-go cup, which he takes with appreciation when he bursts in. The first few weeks you left right after, but once you were more settled he asked you to stay while he sipped on his “lunch”. The conversation was always interesting, if not a little one-sided.

“You really don’t want to eat like, a salad or something? It’s just O-Positive Capri Suns for the rest of your life?” you asked, stabbing at some lettuce in your tupperware. Max laughed, a braying short one, and put his chin in his hand.

“You can technically eat cardboard and not be hungry, but it’s not food, pretty girl,” he replied, a shit-eating grin stretched across his broad face. You'd scolded him enough about the nickname that it's almost a joke now, except for how those words made you feel. His lips were a deeper red, and the sight plucked at something forbidden in your chest. Not disgust, more like morbid fascination. The sight pulled something primal to the surface, his tongue several shades darker when he licked an errant drop back into the lush cavern of his mouth. 

You are not allowed to be lusting after your vampire boss is your mantra when thoughts run rampant.

The afternoons tend to be boring, filled with schedule juggling or email management. Max is often occupied through to the end of day, so you’re left to your own devices. You have a lot of “guys” now, as Max calls them. A blood guy, a disposal guy, a law enforcement guy. It makes you feel important in a way other jobs have lacked. You spend your afternoons making arrangements, both professional and personal, for your boss. It’s when you get the bulk of your work done, but it’s also when you have to be most on guard. 

You see, Max has a few other “hungry” employees, and as the day grows long they tend to saunter by and watch you with barely veiled appetites. Brad in sales is the boldest, leaning over your desk and making a show out of smelling you with half-lidded eyes. Creepy. You’d told him off several times, but as he likes to say with just the right amount of douche, “I’m a closer baby, I always get the deal.”

In the metaphor you’re not sure what part of the “deal” you are, but you have no intention of finding out. Enough polite excuses and faked phone calls have kept him at bay, but you worry what might happen if he gets bolder, or gathers a few more vamps to sway your opinion. Is there a clause in your contract about not getting turned into a creature of the night? You should have checked.

The end of the day is often a quick affair. Max gets a debrief of anything important that came up, and what’s on the docket for tomorrow. Normally he packs up his suitcase with a little small talk, bids you a good night, and is off to do…whatever a vampire does when he’s off work. 

Today, however, the script has a few additions.

“What’s wrong?” Max says, movements slowing as he takes in your shaking hand placing an itinerary on his desk. You tighten, smile forced.

“Nothing! Just fine,” you spit out, which only increases Max’s suspicion.

“Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?” he asks, voice dropping to a low fuck-that’s-hot register. You swallow hard and will something, anything to come to mind.

“Just Brad being Brad. I don’t think he’s turned anyone in a while and he’s getting desperate,” you try to chuckle lightly, but Max’s eyes darken. He stands to his full height, shoulders straining against his jacket. Planting his hands on his hips, he pins you in his sight.

“Did he touch you?” This is a true growl now, and Max’s face changes into a terrifying mask, perfect teeth suddenly lengthening to points as he fights against the rush. Your mouth drops open, but only monosyllabic words come out.

“No. Safe,” you gasp, and the simple admission sobers Max. His jaw ticks, rolling his shoulders and jaw until the transformation recedes. You wish your heartbeat could slow that quickly. After a few steadying breaths, Max finally turns back to you.

If his gaze was electric before, it’s damn close to lightning when your eyes meet. The jolt pulses in your veins, and his nostrils flare briefly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, all smooth professionalism like you haven’t just watched him vamp out because a coworker was a sleaze. You nod once, grateful, trying to ignore the sweet friction taking a step back gives to your core. 

“Will there be anything else?” you ask, the customary end to your daily exchanges. Max gathers his briefcase, movements purposeful but fast. 

“Nothing more, enjoy your night,” he answers, slipping past you with a wave of copper and musk that can’t be hidden by his Hermès cologne. You echo the sentiment but wait to take a full breath until you hear the elevator ding.

The next day Max walks in like a goddamn gladiator, powerful strides and testosterone rolling off his wool jacket. You can sense him before you see him, sometimes wondering if that’s part of the power he wields.

“Good morning!” he booms out, coming to a stop in front of your desk. You type out the end of your sentence and turn to him, smile at the ready, when your eyes drop to a box in his hand. The smile twists to confused amusement.

“What’s that?” you ask as he places the box in front of you with a pat to the silk bow neatly wrapping it. 

“Happy six months of working here,” he says with more pomp than necessary. You narrow your eyes; it’s only been four, but his face is eager so you shrug it off. The bow is buttery soft under your fingers, and your heart rate ticks up rapidly. The box hinges open, and nestled inside is a women’s Rolex watch. 

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s stunning, the perfect mix of feminine and authoritative. Gleaming oystersteel and everose gold, diamonds circling the watch face laser etched with delicate leaves. It’s easily worth four months of your pay. Your mouth drops open in disbelief.

“Max, I can’t…” you start, but he places his palms on your desk and leans close, tilting his head to one side to favor your cheek with his spearmint breath.

“Wear it. No one will dare touch you, pretty girl. I promise.” His eyes are darkly confident, and the reassurance does ease the shock of the gift. 

“Okay,” you manage to squeak out. “Thank you, Max.” He nods once with a lopsided smile before returning to the usual routine of your day. While he settles in, you slide the ungodly expensive timepiece out of the box and onto your wrist. It snaps shut in a perfect fit, and the thought of Max demonstrating your wrist size to the sales person makes heat radiate in your cheeks. 

Miraculously, he was right. Brad spies you in the afternoon but one look at the watch has him about-face and leaving twice as quick as he came. At lunch the next day you ask Max about it. He smiles conspiratorially, leaning up against his desk to look down at you seated with your sandwich. You might have thought he was trying to cop a peek at your cleavage, but you had a turtleneck on today, and his eyes didn’t roam from your face.

“The sign of the cross doesn’t do shit…for me. I wasn’t a church-going kid, never got into anything organized. For a talisman to work, the belief has to be twofold. You have to believe it will protect you, and they have to believe it too. So if you want real protection against something out to get you, you have to know them intimately.” He pauses, thumb absently rubbing along the line of his bicep where he’s folded his arms. “If you both believe, anything can work.” 

“Like this?” you ask, lifting your wrist with a twist. A flash of something passes over Max’s face before he gives you a lopsided smile.

“You believe it protects you?” he asks, his voice dropping into a softer lilt. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You told me it did.”

“And they all believe it does, because I gave it to you.” An unspoken phrase hangs between you.

I’ll protect you.

“Could have chosen something less flashy,” you joke, needing to cut through the heaviness in the air. Max’s smile cracks his face, shaking his head as he moves to his side of the desk.

“Where’s the fun in that? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

"And you're on thin ice, Max."

"My favorite place to be."

When it’s actually your six month anniversary, Max schedules a dinner for you. Private chef, live music, a beautiful venue. He told you to bring whoever you wanted, and his name dances on the bow of your lips for a moment. You thought hope might be in his eyes that you’d let it spill. But cowardice struck, and instead you brought your two sisters. They gush over the decadence.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to fuck you?” One says, forking another mouthful of the best chocolate cake you’ve ever tasted into her mouth. “This is like, fourth date level extravagance.”

“He’s my boss, god. Just shut up and eat.”

“I’m just saying, my husband takes me to the Cheesecake Factory, and while I will never say no to another round of Bang Bang Shrimp, this is above and beyond what anyone would expect from your boss.” 

Your other sister doesn’t say anything until you’re alone.

“Just…be careful. This could get really messy.”

Oh you have no idea.

You nod, folding your hands under your chin and looking out at the glittering skyline.

“I will, I promise. We just have a…different working relationship than anyone’s used to. But he’s never made me feel uncomfortable.” 

Quite the opposite, really. You’ve never been so comfortable with another person in your life. You’d given him floss picks and wiped shaving cream from behind his ear, smoothed flyaways and cupped his chin to inspect an uneven sideburn. He’d let you touch every part of him without comment, brushing lint from his broad shoulders and tucking inside-out pockets back into their rightful homes. 

In return, he treated you with respect. Apart from the nickname, which you won't admit you've come to enjoy, he treated you kindly and professionally. He was a womanizer, but not with you. You weren’t naive, he was definitely fucking plenty of women in the last few months you’d been working for him. Sometimes you saw the ghosts of them in his suitcase, or crumpled in pockets. Once you’d been ready to knock on his closed door but high, breathy moans held your hand at bay. Janet from Web Design left an hour later (impressive, though you’d never say it) and Max called you in shortly after, hands freshly washed and the heavy musk of sex combating faux floral notes of air freshener. Neither of you addressed it.

The difference, you assumed, was professional. He lauded your work, told you how much he appreciated how smooth you made everything for him. He wouldn’t want to fuck that up for a quickie over his desk. Or against the mahogany door. Or on the kitchenette floor, his reddened lips leaving sticky trails on your breasts. 

The blast of chill outside the restaurant sobers your thoughts. You send a text to Max, thanking him for the dinner and sending a couple selfies of you and your sisters. His return text is swift.

You deserve it, pretty girl. Looking gorgeous.

The wine loosens your inhibitions just enough to send a text back. 

What?

Instant response.

Guess.

Your hands start shaking too hard to respond, suddenly feeling much tipsier than you thought. Typing a hasty, “Thanks again, good night,” you get into the cab and spend the ride home regulating your breathing. Max doesn’t respond.

Minor issues aside - a rowdy employee or two, some tense negotiations, a race to the finish one month for sales - you like your work. You’re considering settling in, maybe not looking for the next big thing for a little while. The pay is good, the benefits are better than most, and you’re happy. For the first time in years, you actually look forward to coming to the office. And a tiny part of you that you hide away knows why.

The start of October is always a favorite time of year for you. Scary movies in abundance on TV, fall decor, and the excitement of heading into the darker months. Thanksgiving and Christmas are fine in their own rights, but Halloween is your personal favorite. You don’t add frivolity to your desk beyond a tiny pumpkin next to your pen cup, which Max eyes with a wry little smile, and a bucket of Halloween candy that anyone is welcome to dip into. It twists the mood just a fraction away from corporate dullness to corporate-appropriate holiday spirit. You even catch Max with his hand in the candy jar once or twice, waving a snack-size Twix or KitKat as he comes and goes. 

You do wonder if the childishness of the holiday is something Max dislikes. 

“It’s a little naive,” he bemoans, swallowing the dregs of blood from his insulated mug as you wash your tupperware in his kitchenette sink. Wordlessly you hold a hand out for the empty cup to clean. “Seeing everyone gallivanting around, pantomiming monsters, when they’re all too real.”

“More than vamps? Friends with any werewolves?” you tease, soaping up the sponge designated for Max’s lunches and scrubbing the congealed mess out of the lid threads. 

“Would you like to meet one?” he answers, a sing-song mockery of your own joke. 

“God no, I have enough supernatural shenanigans with you,” you laugh, washing your hands clean so you don’t smell of copper. You’re careful to slide the gifted Rolex back around your wrist when you’re finished, a ritual Max watches closely every time. Clearing your throat, you gather up your lunch bag and move to leave.

“Maybe a Halloween party would be good for morale,” Max says nonchalantly, voice stopping you in the door. You wrestle the smile off your face before turning back to him.

“Would you like me to arrange something?” you ask, failing to keep your expression breezy. Max flashes that conspirator’s grin that drums up excitement in your chest.

“Please.”

The office latches onto the party date, only a couple days before Halloween proper. There will be food, drinks, a few small prizes for best costume and raffles. You count down the days with mounting excitement, the spirit of the season making you bouncier, lighter in and out of work. Max teases you about it.

“So you’re not going to tell me what you’re going as?” he wheedles, watching you lay piles of paperwork in neat folders on his desk. You shake your head, clucking your tongue when you notice you’re one short.

“Half the fun is the surprise,” you call over your shoulder as you speed back to your desk and return with the final folder. Max doesn’t even pretend he’s interested in the documents. “What are you going to be?” His eyebrow cocks, shaking his head with derision.

“I’m a vampire, honey, I am my own costume,” he drawls, making you roll your eyes.

“So I should expect a cape with a high collar? Some dollar store plastic fangs? Hair gel?” you tease, making your hands into claws over the desk. “I vant to suck your blooooood!” you mime in your best Dracula impression, getting your own eye roll in return.

“If you’re not telling, I’m not,” he throws back, finally scooting forward in his chair and opening one of the folders. You straighten up, triumphant, and leave him to his work.

The day of the party greets you with excitement. You made the decision to go subtle, since you’ll be sitting in costume all day. Your coworkers would have time to change before the party, but you were organizing and didn’t have that luxury. So on went a sensible white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and sheer black nylons. Slipping them up your legs, you grind your lip between your teeth. The back seam of the nylons, paired with the black stiletto heels you found in your closet, turn the dress from something mundane to possibly recognizable. When you turn your back to the mirror, crossing your ankles prettily, one of the most recognizable movie posters in history pulls to the forefront. 

You could give Maggie Gyllenhaal a run for her money.

The last piece - an addition that turns the costume from seductive to silly - you tuck into the chest pocket of your blouse before leaving. 

The day passes quickly, Max calling to tell you he’s meeting with HQ through lunch and to get the festivities started without him. You usher in the caterers, laughing with your coworkers when they ask what your costume is. So far the cover story works, and they all enjoy the clever play on words. 

The party is in full swing, raffle tickets being handed out and drinks starting to flow, when Max enters. His voice precedes him, and it’s a good thing it does because if you didn’t have that brief moment to gather yourself your mouth would have dropped open.

It’s a perfect recreation of Gary Oldman’s Dracula costume. It’s so on the nose a laugh almost bubbles out if you weren’t breathless. He’s swathed head to toe in dove gray, save for the sharp shock of black around his neck, the shine of his shoes, the rich dark leather of his gloves. The waistcoat pulls tantalizingly against his stomach, a bright silver pin at the base of his throat. He’s slicked his hair into a side part, small blue-tinted glasses perched halfway down his curved nose. Leaning on the walking stick and crossing his ankles, he makes a sweeping “ta-da!” motion with his hand. Applause erupts, giving you cover to gasp in some much-needed air. 

“To All Hallows' Eve,” he croons, sharing secret looks with the team members you know are his brethren. By the time he catches your eye across the room you’ve finally comported yourself, smiling brightly at his nod. 

It takes him some time to get to you, fighting through the crowd of people wanting to rub elbows and make an impression. He gives them all their five minutes of fame in his presence, annoyance slowly ticking up with each stop. You keep busy organizing the raffle, handing out voting sheets (Max will certainly win best costume) and watching him out of the corner of your eye.

It’s at the first lull in your duties that Max slides up next to you, a warm hand on your lower back. It makes you jump, but settle quickly when his impressed smile comes into view.

“I think I know what you’re supposed to be,” he murmurs, coming to stand in front of you to get a better look. His brow furrows when his gaze lands on your breast pocket. “Hmmm, maybe not. So spill, what’s your costume?” he says, leaning on the cane and dragging his gaze up and down your body. Aiming for a carefree smile, you tap on the little calculator peeking out of your pocket.

“I’m someone you can count on,” you enunciate, the confusion and realization swirling in his eyes until a laugh bubbles out, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you came to the party as a pun,” he chokes out, both of you now giggling next to the bags of chips and finger sandwiches. When he finally gets control of himself he nods approvingly.

“Well, you might not win best costume with that…” You shrug, conceding, “but I’d give you the prize if you admit what you actually came as, pretty girl.”

Time slows to sticky seconds as Max inches closer to you, eyes sliding over your shoulder, tracing the curve of your neck, lighting for much too long on your lips. He knows, knows you wore the outfit from Secretary and for no one else but him. You keep your stare trained on his face. It’s not the first time you’ve considered throwing out professionalism in favor of hunger. It’s not like anyone else has been upholding your rigorous standards. Would it be so bad to let Max chase his desires with your body? To bloom underneath him, above him, around him? Would you like the taste of his mouth, coppery and thick? 

He’s close enough to be more than professional but not so close to be indecent, hot fingers tracing the band of the Rolex circling your wrist. Your mind blearily wonders if that’s when you let down the wall that kept him out. His eyes finally meet yours, a question in their depth, before his face contorts and he steps back quickly, a grimace painting his features.

“Are…” You swallow, mouth torturously dry. “Are you okay?” 

He nods, fighting on a smile and straightening with effort.

“Yes, sorry, I was…busy this afternoon, haven’t eaten yet.” He raises his hands in defense at your scolding glance, the tension back to a bare simmer. 

“Well go get a drink, I won’t announce the winners until you get back,” you say breathlessly, giving him a dazzling smile that he returns shyly. The tables are turned for once in your favor, and you savor watching Max on unsure footing. “Do you need me to heat something up for you?”

“No, I’ve got it taken care of,” he assures you, making his way to his office. A wave back at you is the last you see before he closes the door.

Finally able to make sense of what’s going on, you get back to the party, mingling with the girls you like from marketing and keeping tabs on the liveliness of the party. Max doesn’t return, the time to announce the costume winner closing in. You worry at your cuticles, his absence starting to toll on your mind. What if he was passed out in his office, weakening by the second? While you were out here with coworkers that had never given you a second glance?

Your resolve snaps, mother henning be damned, as you move to Max’s office. The din of the party muffles your voice, stepping close to listen at the door.

“Max?” you call, with no answer. Heart thumping, you test the handle. Locked. A quick trip to your desk has the spare key in your hand, ready to slot into the lock. 

“Max, it’s time for the announcement, I didn’t think you wanted to miss it,” you say, and this time you hear something. A low, pained groan.

The key slams into the lock, turning frantically as you whip the door open, two steps in with it shutting heavily behind you before you register what’s happening.

Max is not alone. And he’s…

He’s…

Oh fuck.

It’s easy not to see the monster when it looks like a middle manager. It’s easy to pretend the blood is a beetroot smoothie, or that the stains on his shirt are red wine. When Max makes it seem so dull, so boring, you sometimes forget he’s something strange and powerful.

But when you’re face to face with the truth, it all comes rushing to the forefront.

Max has Janet, the pretty thing from Web Design, spread out on his lap, her hands gripping the armrests of his chair. One hand is covering her mouth, leaning her head back to loll against his shoulder. The other is buried under her skirt, and from here you can see wetness shimmering inside her thighs. The lewd flexing of his forearm working her with those fingers you covet day in and day out almost distracts you from what’s actually happening. Almost.

Dragging your eyes up, you take in the true horror of the situation. You recognize the change, his face contorted with lines of deepening purple and red streaking his skin. The same that you saw when you told him about Brad. His mouth is latched onto Janet’s neck, red oozing around the seal of his lips. He’s groaning, swallowing thickly as you imagine mouthful after mouthful of her blood pouring down his throat.

The slam of the door drags Max’s eyes up, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when he sees you. Mouth popping off Janet’s skin, he growls your name, deep and drunken. The loss allows blood to spurt from Janet’s neck, thick droplets spraying across her bare legs, the carpet, his desk, staining papers you laid there just this morning. Your stomach churns violently, legs weakening as Janet thrashes against Max’s hold. He tears his eyes from you to look down at the mess, a rough, “shit,” falling from his blood-stained lips before he fits his mouth back to the ring of teeth. 

There is nothing darkly romantic about this now, no suave vampire lover sipping delicately from a young debutante’s neck. Blood sluices down to stain Janet’s pink top a deeper red, her face painted with rusty smears that gather between his fingers. Max pounds his fingers inside her, the telltale spasm of her orgasm accompanied by the liquid squeak of her flats slipping in her own blood. He withdraws, a sticky string of her cum trailing across her thighs. Pressing her flush to his chest, he sucks and growls and hums until Janet goes still, fingers falling away and body slumping. The pop of his mouth off the wound lets a dribble slip between the swell of her cleavage, more still smeared and dripping from his mouth. He sighs with relief, thick tongue lazily licking at the mess around his lips. He bands his arms around Janet and lifts, folding her face-down on his desk, legs dangling limply over the edge. Her eyes are sightless, blood smearing onto the Meyer report. 

A maddening thought - you’d have to reprint that - spikes through your consciousness.

Max stands, swaying slightly as he rolls his shoulders, finally looking at you trembling in his office. His eyes are blood red, human only in that he sees you with them. Realization flits across the face you barely recognize, smile going predatory. As if a body isn’t lying mere inches from him, he places his hands on his desk, leaning over to give you a sultry look.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he purrs, a sound that vibrates in two tones. It makes your fight or flight instinct claw up your spine. Specifically the flight part. The fight part is warring against the fiery arousal burning in your belly at Max’s slick mouth, the generous tenting in those gray pants, and the rabid desire in his eyes. Fear sharpens your pulse, and you know it would take barely anything to make you cum with a wail if he’d only touch you. 

“Can smell you from here, little secretary. Know you want me to devour that juicy pussy.” Max lengthens his neck, closing his eyes and inhaling with a satisfied moan. Flecks of blood dot the gray waistcoat, jacket abandoned in a heap on the floor. The black shirt hides the color but not the wetness of what Max could not eat. “I would, you know. I would eat you even if I was full to bursting. Let me taste you, pretty little thing. I want you on my tongue. I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll wash me clean.” 

He’s prowling around the table now, steps soft and light, and you’re a frozen gazelle with a tiger approaching. No, that’s too grounded, too finite. You’re a candle flame in the middle of an ocean, a moment away from being swallowed up. Your face is wet; you’re crying. You’re scared. You’re so aroused it hurts. You’re so in over your head you’re drowning. 

You can’t breathe. 

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Realization flickers over Max’s face and you watch him change. The veining and depth of his features recedes, eyes clearing back to soft brown as he slows his advances even further.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’m not…I’m not gonna hurt you.” He turns his palms up, keeping his distance as you struggle to let air back into your lungs. The first whoosh makes you so lightheaded you stumble back, falling to your knees. Max goes down to his knees with you, one hand outstretched but still too far to touch. You can’t stop shaking, taking in big gulping breaths. Max waits, a drip of blood from his chin shocking him into scrubbing his sleeve over his face. Most of the gore vanishes, but the pink hue remains. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never hurt you,” he tries again, scooting another pace forward. “I’m sorry, you were never supposed to see that. I fucked up, please…” 

His hand brushes your ankle and you know you’re going to be sick. Bile rushes up your throat and you scramble blindly for the trash bin. You make it just in time, emptying your stomach with retching sobs. A warm palm strokes your shoulder and you snap your arm out, head still hanging.

“Don’t touch me!” you rasp, and the hand is gone, letting you finish shuddering and coughing into the bin. When your stomach stops cramping you crawl away, ignoring Max’s concerned face in your periphery. You lost one of your shoes, picking it up from its topple onto the floor and holding it in your hand like a weapon.

“Please, look at me,” Max begs, and you finally take him in. He’s much more the Max you know, but so different now. Same hair you arrange for him, same soft-shaved face you touch more than you actually need to. Same brown eyes that look to you for guidance. But when you look closer you can see the film of blood on his teeth, droplets clinging to his eyebrows, and a never ending hunger in the depths of his eyes. 

You scramble to your feet, hobbling in one shoe. Max stumbles back up to your height.

“Pretty…?” he begs again, but you’re opening the door, striding out into the ruckus of the party. A couple people turn, eyes expectant until they see you. Confusion, or realization, turns them back around to ignore you. Heart thumping in your throat, fear pangs through your chest. Is there any blood on you? A quick inspection finds none, so it must be your haunted expression and disheveled appearance that inspires discretion. 

Unable to spend another moment in this building, copper still strong in your nose, you stuff your shoes in your bag and try to hurry out the back door. You need to get home, behind a locked door, maybe several. Somewhere you can think, get a level head, figure out what to do. 

Then Brad steps into your path, and your stomach plummets again. 

“Hey, where are you going? You haven’t announced the costume contest winner yet!” he laughs, blocking your path. Stepping to the side, you watch in dismay as he does the same. Again, but the other way, and he follows. Tutting, he nods at your Rolex.

“Seems like this is just an expensive gift now,” he bemoans, dunking you in clarity. 

You have to believe it will protect you.

Nothing can save you now. 

Only yourself.

Another step-dodge hides your hand diving into your bag, and when Brad grabs your wrist you swing your arm back and drive your stiletto into the side of his neck.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, hands coming up to staunch the dark blood seeping around the wound. Faintly you hear Max’s door open and the party drop to silence, but you leave the noise as you burst into the stairwell, racing to your car and away from the hell behind you.

Max stumbles out of his office as the door slams behind you, clothes sticking to his skin and mouth full of metallic tang. 

“Bitch put her heel in my goddamn neck!” Brad shouts, stomping up to Max. “Your assistant needs some fucking discipline Phillips.” He must have more to rant about, but two swift hands snap Brad’s head clean around and off, letting his body crumple to the floor. Max watches with disinterest, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling long and deep before tossing the head to join. 

“Okay people, cleanup protocol,” he calls out, and the vampires in the crowd all look at each other. 

“Boss?” one of them says, making Max snap his attention to them in frustration. 

“You heard me, we’ll start relocation tomorrow.”

Max ignores the screams of his turned subordinates feeding on the human ones, his eye catching the glint of something on the ground. He kneels, heart sinking at what he finds. The Rolex, her talisman. Picking it up, he turns it grimly in his hands. Brad shouldn’t have been able to touch her, not with this. As long as she still believed it worked. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over the face, an errant smear of blood clouding the crystal.

You get the call on Sunday afternoon, a whole weekend spent locked up in your apartment and stressed over what Monday would bring. The unknown number is the district manager letting you know that your office is being outsourced, effective immediately. Do not return to the building, please ship company property back to HQ, on and on. Part of you is relieved to not have to step foot back there. The morbid voice in the back of your mind whispers that there’s more to it than cheaper labor. You let that voice fade in favor of relief.

With enough savings for a few months out of a job, you begin the search anew. HQ gave you a generic recommendation letter, which should be enough for your new employer. It would have been preferable to have one from Max, but thinking about what it might say gives you hysterical giggles.

Can warm blood up to body temp perfectly.

Handles high stress situations such as scheduling a body dump.

Looks into my eyes like she’s known me forever.

You force yourself out of this line of thought. 

Three weeks after you ran out of that building for the last time, you get an email.

From: mphillips@pge.com

Subject: Can we talk?

<no body copy>

Your fingers hover over the keys, throat tightening. The hysteria died down after the first week, your trips outside cautious over the second, and finally a sense of calm had settled back into your life. Did you want to invite chaos back in?

To: mphillips@pge.com

Subject: When?

<no body copy>

Your reply sends and moments later your inbox pings again.

From: mphillips@pge.com

Subject: Now?

<no body copy>

Your face scrunches in confusion before the sharp buzz of your front door bell jars you out of your chair.

“Fucking…Max, give a girl a minute,” you curse, smoothing a hand through your hair and shrugging at your loungewear attire. Padding to your intercom, you click the button to activate the video screen. No one is standing on the stoop of your apartment. Confused, you press the talk button.

“Hello?”

“It’s Max.”

You’re stunned into silence before a smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re not visible on cameras too?”

“Ha ha, yeah I know, it’s great for a life of crime,” he drones out sarcastically, and even though you can’t see him you can imagine that mocking face.

A ball appears in the back of your throat. You missed him.

Buzzing him up, you wait at your door, leaning in the entryway. You don’t think he’s here to violently tie up a loose end, but you could be wrong. Your good judge of character has been suspiciously absent in the last eight months.

Three swift knocks and Max is standing in your doorway, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. You’d assumed he’d be in a suit, but this one is more casual, no necktie and his collar open. He’s wearing a cocky I-knew-you-missed-me face, but underneath there’s a current of worry, concern, and care that warms you.

“Oh, you never told me,” you say, holding the door open thoughtfully, “what are the loopholes for entering someone’s home without being invited in?”

Max’s eyes crinkle up as he rolls his eyes. There’s the man you’d been falling for.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Shit, that’s the first time you’d thought that.

“So in the movies it sounds so formal. Like ‘may I enter your home?’ and the other person has to say ‘yes, you may,’ but nobody talks like that anymore. You can just say come in, and that’s it. Or I can ask if I can come in and if you say yeah, that’s good enough. I’ve even had people tell me to come get a hug, or get out of the cold, and that worked too. Human language has evolved so much and…I am absolutely babbling like an idiot right now.” Max trails off and you stifle a smile behind your hand. It pulls a relieved one onto his face.

“I missed you,” you say, the words coming easier than you expected. Max’s eyes soften.

“I missed you too.”

You look at each other in silence before you snap back to the previous conversation.

“Oh, shit, right, yeah come in,” you stutter, Max crossing the threshold and handing you the sunny bouquet. The plastic wrap crinkles around your fingers, making for a good distraction as you move to put them in water while Max hangs his coat. 

It takes you a few minutes to snip the stalks and place them in a vase, and then a few moments more to ask Max if he’d like something (“whatever you’re having”) and brew two cups of black tea. Entering your little living room, you find Max sitting at one end of your couch, thumbing through a travel book. He puts it down to accept the tea, setting it to cool on the coffee table. Placing yours beside, you settle into the couch and try to think of where to begin. Thankfully, Max starts.

“I’m sorry you had to see any of that after all that you’ve done for me. It was inappropriate for me to feed at work, even more so to scare you. It was wildly unprofessional and I completely understand if you don’t want to be associated with me after that.”

You blink slowly at him, absorbing this carefully rehearsed apology. He waits for your response, damnation or salvation.

“Is Janet okay?”

You watch his face cooly as he struggles through a few different emotions. Confusion, incredulity, amusement, relief. 

“Yeah, Janet’s fine, I turned her. She’s moving to England, not as much sun.”

Silence slips between you before you break into giggles, Max following along as the tension unwinds. When your breath stops hitching you give Max a warm smile, picking up your mug to take a sip. 

“Sounds like HQ just wanted to sweep all this under the rug. Would it always have ended up this way, or was the party to blame?” Max shrugs, arm slung over the back of the couch and ankle resting on his knee.

“It’s different every place I go. Sometimes it’s longer, other times it’s only a few weeks. You made it easier,” he says, a blanket of fondness warming your lap. Tracing the lip of the mug with your fingernail, you sort through what you want to say next.

“Before the party…was something going on between us? Or is that some weird vampire thing to make humans easy to manipulate?” Peering through your lashes, you think you see Max blush.

“I can assure you I did not use my supernatural powers of suggestion on you. Only on difficult clients,” he laughs, tilting his head lazily onto one shoulder. “Yeah,” he adds quieter, face turning to his lap. “Yeah, there was something going on between us.” Slowly, giving you time to shy away, he reaches out to brush his fingers along the inside of your knee. A trill of excitement flutters through you. “I hope it’s still there.”

Just as cautiously, you reach out and let the tips of your fingers meet, his hand turning over to cup them in his palm. The softness of his skin entices you to stroke along his broad palm, the undersides of his fingers, until he moves to lace them with yours, joints stretching pleasantly around his larger ones. When you get the courage to look up he’s regarding you with quiet wonder, lips parted. You smile at him, eliciting one in response.

“I have something for you,” he says, voice tight as he digs into his pants pocket. It’s a smaller box than the first gift he got you, and you release his hand to take it. Sliding the top off, you’re treated to a delicate silver chain. 

“I don’t think the Rolex quite expresses what I’d like us to be now,” Max says, lifting the chain out of the box. It’s even more dainty in his hands, thick fingers struggling briefly with the clasp. 

“So you’re not asking me to keep being your assistant?” you say, pulse pounding in your ears so loud you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Put this on and I’ll show you what I’d like us to be,” he says, a soft challenge but no fire in his eyes. Instead there’s a question, one that you’d struggled with in the weeks following the party.

Could you handle this? 

Pushing up on your knees, you gently lift one leg over Max’s lap, settling on his thighs. His eyes widen, then that bratty smile comes back to grace his face. 

“I’m waiting Max,” you tease in a sing-song lilt. He lifts the chain to loop around your neck, fastening the ends together. It hangs cooly against you, sensation slowly disappearing as it warms to your skin.

“This will protect you, if you believe in it,” he says, and as he breathes the words he leans up to place a soft kiss to your collarbone, pressing the chain between his lips and your skin. “It will protect you from those with ill intent,” he continues, trailing his lips along the necklace as he places another kiss at the base of your throat, “because I will never let another creature, living or undead, bring harm to you.” Here he places an open-mouthed kiss on your sternum, a tentative lick pebbling your skin. “And it will protect you from me,” His mouth moves up the other side of your neck, peppering kisses along the way, “because I will never lay a hand on you that you’re not begging for.” 

You bury your hands in his short locks, scratching your nails along his scalp. The groan he lets out makes him circle you in his arms, sliding you down his thighs to sit tight against him. His breathing becomes erratic, and he rolls his hips below you.

“I’ll never…fuck, I’ll never drink from you. I’ll never bite you, I promise,” he growls, and now his mouth is hot and possessive on your neck, sucking and scraping teeth up to worry behind your ear.

“I like biting,” you whisper back, grinding lightly on him. “Only these teeth, though, not the sharp ones.” 

The dark chuckle he makes precedes him pulling you back, looking up at you with wide eyes and a damp mouth. 

“I still want you to be my assistant, though, I’m a mess without you,” he pants, eyes glittering with mirth. Shaking your head with a sigh, you dip down to capture the mouth you’d been coveting. He tastes like bitter tea leaves, coffee, and the primal coppery heat of blood on the back of his tongue.

It’s a taste you could get used to.

NEXT

[whumpingaround]

it’s almost thanksgiving for the americans out there, so here’s a whump/sickfic prompt to go with the holiday everyone forgets about:

Character A is going with their partner, B, to a large gathering of B’s family. A has never really felt like they belonged in B’s large, tight-knit family, but B assures them that they belong in the family just as much as the others. Cut to the family gathering itself, and A is beginning to feel unwell, but they try their best to push through their worsening symptoms— until they black out. When they wake up, they’re laying on the couch, with B hovering over them, concerned. B’s entire family pitches in to help them: maybe one of B’s older siblings brings A a cold cloth for their forehead, or maybe a few of the younger cousins stay with them and do little wholesome things to try to make them feel better, or an aunt or uncle brings them medicine and a glass of water. However B and their family take care of A, knowing that everyone cares so much about them makes them finally feel like they truly belong.

or maybe A finds out the hard way that B can’t cook. your choice of thanksgiving-themed sickfic prompts.

[omgzineplease]

OMG Zine, Please! #2: #SwawesomeGreetings

Get ready for OMG ZINE, PLEASE! #2: #SwawesomeGreetings!

When we started omgzineplease, we were going into unknown territory. Thankfully, y'all have been gracious with our little foal steps, and as a result, the zine had been a resounding success.

In the wake of that success, we are pleased to announce the prompt for the next volume: #SwawesomeGreetings!

Yes, a zine about the holidays for the holidays during the holidays. A time and place for fic and fanart of your favorite characters partaking in holiday spirit: be it setting up decorations, upholding sacred traditions, subverting traditions, opening presents, fighting off the mob during Black Friday, listening to Christmas music (or subjecting others to the music), counting down to the new year, and so on.

The key thing is that it has to occur during the holiday season (roughly November to the start of February; Halloween and Valentines are explicitly out) and be tied to holiday themes, not just generic Winter themes.

And don't feel like you're restricted to Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Gregorian New Year's. After all, many different holidays like Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Lunar New Year happen during that period as well!!

Like the past iteration, this will be a multi-month affair, with sign-ups happening in August, check-ups happening throughout the process, and the zine being published in PDF format February 2024.

Sign-ups open August 14, 2023 and more specific guidelines will be released then as well.

Looking forward for y'all to take part. This will be a 'swawsome time.

---FFR

[sunflower-lilac42]

welcome back to unfinished notes app blurbs! these are either going to be fics that i was in the process of writing that i scrapped or just random thoughts that i had.

-

It was a common theme since she was little, she always felt like the odd one out. She was the youngest, already being given the disadvantage when she was just a thought. You’d think that being both sets of grandparents' only granddaughter she would be the favorite however it was not the case for y/n.

Her grandmother had told her parents that “they didn’t know what to do or talk about with a girl.” Both of her parents were baffled at the words, not knowing how to exactly respond to that statement. It felt stupid, how could you not know what to do with a girl when you were one?

However, it seemed like on her dad’s side, the whole family was the least favorite, the outcast. Her cousins took her grandparents' pride and joy, them being cast aside as if they were nothing. Though, at least for her brothers they got their attention when no one but them was around, she was the last resort but even that was a stretch. It seemed as if her grandparents would rather sit in silence than talk to her.

When she was in high school not once did they bother to ask her any questions unless prompted by her parents. Not once about her classes, not once about colleges she was looking at, not once about anything. She often found herself asking why she even bothered to go when they were supposed to be meeting them. It was another wasted two hours of her life in which she could be doing the same things at home.

Her mom’s side was a bit more inclusive, asking her some questions here and there but overall it was the same experience. she got along better with them, but it was less always than it usually was with her dad’s side.

maybe it was because she was awkward, introverted, and shy. She often thanked the universe for blessing her with two older, extroverted, and loud brothers. Ones that would save her from awkward small talk and pestering questions. Sure she hated talking but at least when she was asked questions it felt like she wasn’t a bother, that people cared. She didn’t mind answering them.

When she moved away for college she wasn’t surprised that the dynamic between everyone and herself hadn’t changed. It was still the same for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mother’s, and Father’s Day. it was the same. little to no interaction, the same old awkward and quiet y/n who was really loud and obnoxious with her friends.

Now, she has moved to a completely different state to work and be with her boyfriend. She still came home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Father’s Day, and Mother’s Day when her schedule allowed it. This year would be the first time that he was meeting them, the thought of that gave her anxiety. She made sure to give Jack the briefing of her extended family ever since they met, ever since Jack had even thought about meeting her family. 

Christmas time was the best time to do it, she got to see her mom’s side of the family on Christmas Eve and her dad’s side on Christmas Day. In her family, Christmas Eve was more of a holiday than Christmas was. It was like the day brought out a new side in all of them, it was one time when y/n was able to let loose in front of her family. They found a way to make everything dirty, even when she thought it wasn’t possible, they watched football and screamed at the TV, and they made the tiniest jokes about everything, it was the time of her life. 

Jack drove with her to her aunt’s house, y/n anxiously grasping onto her hand. He looked over at her and smiled, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “What is then?”

“I’m nervous for you to see how my family is, with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack, I’ve told you a million times. They don’t really talk to me.”

“I’m sure that’s just a misconception, an over-exaggeration.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Jack sighed and moved his gaze back to the road, slowly rubbing his thumb in small circles on her thigh. The drive was silent the rest of the way there, no one saying a thing. It was tense, but only the tiniest bit, mostly from nerves and the little fight from earlier. When they got there, she took a deep breath before getting the gifts out of the backseat and walking up to the door, knocking on it.

Then she walked in, with no answer. The rest of her family was there, both of her brothers with their wives and her eldest one with their baby, her parents and her grandparents along with her cousins and her aunts and uncles. No one met her in the foyer to say hi, all of them staying in the lviing room and kitchen to chat. She looked at Jack with her eyes wide in a sarcastic manner, “Welcome to the family, Jack.”

He gave a light chuckle, taking the presents from her hands so she could take her shoes off. Then her uncle came in, finally noticing them, “Hey!”

“Oh hi! Sorry, we’re a little late.”

“Oh no worries, we’re just hanging out as usual. And this is?”

“Right, Jack this is my uncle Ted, Ted this is Jack.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” He took both of their coats and hung them up in the closet. Then he took the presents from them, moving them to the living room with the tree. 

Y/n took hold of Jack’s hand and took another deep breath, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

The two walked fully into the house, seeing everyone in the kitchen and living room, “Hi everyone!”

They waved, her mom coming up to hug her, “Hi momma.”

“Hi baby, should we place bets?”

“No, we don’t do that till tomorrow.” She pulled away and went to say hi to her niece, briefly forgetting about Jack.

“Hi, little Layla. Oh my goodness, I forgot how adorable you were.” Her brother handed his daughter to his sister, smiling at her, “Hey y/n/n.”

“Hi. How are you guys?”

Her sister-in-law nodded, “As well as we can be with an 8-month-old.”

“She’s so cute.”

Jack came up behind her, awkwardly standing next to her, “Hey.”

Her brother immediately whisked him into a conversation about hockey which Jack and y.n were grateful for. Throughout the night everyone made conversation with both her and Jack, which wasn’t uncommon with them. She was thankful for this, knowing how bad tomorrow was going to be. Jack had the opportunity to experience the crazy side of her family, but he loved it. It was a fun night and y/n was just hoping tomorrow wasn’t going to be bad.

–

In the morning, Jack and y/n woke up in her childhood room. It had been a tradition that every night, she and her brothers would spend the night at her parents’ house opening gifts around just like they were little. Even though a lot of things had changed, this hadn’t. Jack pushed a piece of hair out of her face, smiling as she slowly blinked her eyes open, “Morning, baby.”

She smiled at him, cuddling more into him as she attempted to go back to sleep, “Hi. We have to be the one of the first ones down there.”

Jack looked at her with an amused smile on his face, “Why?”

“Because the last one’s down there has to make coffee for everyone.”

“Oh, well we better get moving because it’s already 9.”

“Shit!” She got up quickly, running down to the living room but halted when she saw everyone there.

Everyone laughed as she groaned, her brother giving her a smirk, “Go make that coffee, y/n.”

“Shut up.” Jack came down a few seconds later stopping when he saw everyone talking and assumed that his girlfriend had been in the kitchen. 

[mommabird1772]

Happy Witchcore Samantha Wednesday!

For those of you who are new here, this orginally stemmed from my obsession with Sam Winchester and Sastiel in the Supernatural fandom, and in an attempt to provide Sam a better life, created an AU with a transgender MtF witchcore Samantha, a genderfluid cottagecore beekeeper/gardener Cas, and non-binary toddler Jack

New audiences call for a slight change in direction, and while Samantha, Cas, Jack, and I are still available to answer questions about the family, Witchcore Samantha Wednesdays will now be focusing on making moodboards that fit the cottagecore and witchcore vibe. Suggestions and prompts are always welcome, just shoot me an ask or a DM! Today's moodboard is dedicated to @lord-kaira, who suggested the theme of embroidery.

Also, a big THANK YOU to everyone who liked and reblogged my last two moodboards! The Samhain hit over 120 notes and the Dia De Los Muertos is pushing 250!!! Thank you for all your love and support!

As with the rest of my moodboards, none of these pictures are my own, and I claim no credit for any art or design used, only for the concept created

Tagging: @somethxng-angel @lord-kaira @hexlorde @regnumveritatis @need-that-sastiel-serotonin @ruinedsam @allieyourally @stemroses @eunoiastarz @wendibird @thewinchestersruinedmylife0924 @sassyfoxunknown @oh-no-its-danger-gays @heaven-ecologist @the-gray-ghosty @stuckysdaughter @clairenovak-winchester @moostiel @fandom-hoarder @magpie-wings @mxltivxrse2020 @hey-its-moss @fae-and-night @twobrothersoneheart @annoyingdinosaurnoises @kayla-sparrow @fangirlxwritesx67 @nvybloo @cowboyincest @zwahkmuchoney @cordellwinchesterwalker @willgrahamscat @mychem1calbr0mance @chimerazodiac

(If anyone wants to be added to/removed from the weekly tag list, DM me and let me know! I'm also open to suggestions for moodboards that fit the cottagecore/witchcore theme, although I'd like to do an Indigenious moodboard for Thanksgiving- if anyone has any Native heritage and would like to share their traditions, let me know!)

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

Fellow Travelers Fic Recs | Current WIPs: April 2024

Active WIPs with most recent updates posted in the past month featuring awkward hospital room conversations, a hospital room meet-cranky, and hospital whump... I'm sensing a theme, here. More fake-ish dating, Mama Fuller wisdom, Professor Hawk, a couple road trips, some time travel and a few modern AU's. There really is something for everyone!

Happy reading!

✨ Be sure to show the authors some love and appreciation with kudos and comments on the fics you enjoyed!

🌺 Remember Our Love - Remember Me by Larnee💠[G, 638] Tim Laughlin - the love of Hawkins life is gone. Hawk struggles to move forward until someone unexpected shows up at his doorstep. Tim has never left Hawk, not now, not ever.

🌼 Chances Are by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove [G, 3K] After a family Thanksgiving, Estelle and Hawk talk. Then she meets Tim.

🌺 I Know I’ve Never Lived Before by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove [G, 3K] Wherein Hawk completely accidentally and through no fault of his own intentionally ends up dating the man he's sleeping with.

🌼 Within The Heart of Me by drabbleswabbles💠 [NR, 3K] Lucy goes to the hospital to talk to Tim. When she arrives, Hawk is already there.

Otherwise known as, a prompt fill that wanders a bit off the mark, but is close enough in spirit to give credit where credit is due as far as inspiration goes.

🌺 Darkness Before the Dawn by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [NR, 350] It’s June 1944, following the US offensive against the German-led Caesar line that tore through a small squad of the 141st Regiment, killing two men and wounding others, along with Sergeant Hawkins Fuller. Following the blast of the Nazi’s K5 railway gun, he underwent surgery to repair sustained shrapnel damage and is now recovering in the Army’s 32nd Evac Hospital. In the bed next to him lies Corporal Marcus Gaines from the 85th Infantry Division, also wounded in action.

Or, the story of how Hawk and Marcus met.

🌼 A Disaster Beyond Measure by drabbleswabbles💠 [NR, 23K] Hawkins Fuller is a campaign manager with a PR disaster on his hands. The solution involves pretending to date none other than Timothy Laughlin.

Featuring: unrealistic portrayals of the life and job of a campaign manager for the sake of the fake dating trope.

🌺 Who Are You (who am I?) by Anonymous [G, 2K] AU- Hawk fails his security clearance after Tim goes to the army and Senator Smith locks him in a mental hospital where he is lobotomised

Or, Tim receives a letter from Mary saying Hawk needs him.

🌼Too old to play (and too young to mess around) by @bejeweledmp3 | ninav [M, 61K] Kimberly Fuller goes on a two-week vacation to San Francisco, in which she: drinks excessive amounts of tea, gets betrayed, cries more than she should, eats donuts, and seeks out truth with the help of a man she only knows from a presentation card; not necessarily in that order.

But mostly, she finds her father in every least expected place. And learns to make her peace with what that means.

🌺Sands of Time (Turn Backwards) by @brouill3r | brouiller [NR, 22K] 1987 Hawkins Fuller is full of regrets for the life he's lived, though Tim once told him he regrets nothing. Hawk so wishes he could say the same.

In the still night air of a hotel room, clutching a cracked paperweight to his chest like it's carved of the finest gold, Hawk gets his wish.

Or, a time-travel fix-it fic that nobody asked for.

🌼 Is it over now? by @satelarry | satelarry [M, 43K] Seeing the love of your life walk away without being able to tell him that you love him has to be one of the worst situations a person can go through. But Hawk decided to fulfill Tim's request, knowing it will be the last. What happens when he wakes up, 18 years before, with the knowledge of what's going to happen if he makes the same decisions? Does the ending always stay the same?

Or, the Time Travel AU in which the only thing ruining Hawk's plan is Tim's stubbornness.

🌺 Again, only better by @madsmeetsmisha | madsmeetsmisha [M, 17K] Hawk had no idea what was really going on here. All he knew was that he was back in 1954 and a completely distraught Tim was standing outside his door. And he also knew that he certainly wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

🌼 🪴His great consuming lovage* 🪴 by @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter [T, 2K] Tim's potted plant has a story to tell...

🌺 We'll be on the road like Jack Kerouac by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [M, 4K] He tried to think of what Tim would do or say. The man who had only spoken to his son a handful of times over one weekend in 1968, but had seemed to understand him far better than Hawk ever had.

The business card felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

An idea burst to life in Hawk’s mind. This was an emergency if he’d ever seen one.

“What would you say to coming with me to San Francisco?”

Or, Hawk and Jackson go on a cross-country road trip to San Francisco.

🌼 Educate Me by @fullerthanskippy | fullerthanskippy [E, 13K]  A Hawk x Tim AU in which the timelines jump from 2012-2014 to present day 2024. When present day Tim receives an invitation to the 10-year reunion of his Georgetown graduating class, he is filled with both hope and dread that he will run into one particular professor.

One man who was the through-line of his two years in grad school. The man who taught him more than he could have ever learned in the classroom.

When Tim is re-acquainted with Professor Hawkins Fuller, he immediately flashes back to 12 years prior, when he first encountered the man that he had no idea would be the greatest love and loss of his life.

Or, tons of garbage filthy smut sprinkled in between pining, angst, and fluff. Contains explicit material including but not limited to the likes of top!hawk, bottom!tim, top!tim, bottom!hawk, dom!hawk, sub!tim, bratty!tim, and much, much more. Enjoy!

🌺 I Sing the Body Electric by telescape8💠 [M, 28K] Modern AU. It all starts on Election Night 2016. Tim falls hard. Hawk falls harder.

💠Authors: if your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it! Or, if you’re linked already and would prefer not to be, please contact me to remove it.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

BNHA

bloody, but unbowed by redrobin1989

“I’m sure you all have a cause that means something to you, something you want to help change." Aizawa said, addressing the class. "For the next few days, I want you to think about what it is you believe in and do a short presentation for the class on Friday."

It's Advocacy Week for Yuuei's hero students and it gives Midoriya Izuku a lot to think about about what kind of hero he wants Deku to be.

DC (Batfamily)

The Fishbowl by LordLuxury

Dick’s goal for Thanksgiving (code named Operation F.I.S.H.): A family outing to the aquarium.

It feels achievable - everyone has been getting along better lately, Jason is spiraling closer, Cass is coming home. But there is a lot of unspoken hurt in every direction, and Dick’s own position in the family is shakier than ever since Bruce returned.

If Dick wants to realize his dream of family bonding, there will have to be many painful conversations between all parties. Dick’s own secrets will need to surface, the ones he has long kept submerged, the ones he will fight to sink forever.

(Or: Where Bruce is just a bit darker, even less emotionally available, and treats everyone a little worse, and how they all fix their family anyway.)

family helps family by RedHoodie19

Tim never learned how to swim.

Being slung over Red Hood’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes as the crime lord walked toward the Gotham docks seemed like a good time to learn, though.

Whumptober 2021 prompt #11 - drowning.

Stranger Things

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting. by badpancake

It’s the first time in a while that he doesn’t know what comes next. He’s dove into the water hundreds of times. Screamed as his flesh was torn apart, heard Master of Puppets in the distance and held back tears. Felt Max’s cold, small hand in his as she laid in the hospital bed. There are things that always happen, no matter how hard he tries: El doesn’t arrive in time. Eddie dies. Max is put in a coma.

Steve fails. They lose.

“Steve, how many loops have you been through?”

His head is nodding, and his eyes are watery, and Eddie has approached him like a spooked animal.

“I lost count.”

AKA: The one where Steve Harrington is stuck in a time loop, and Eddie Munson is really fucking hard to save, or: fuck Volume 2, these bitches are in love.

it's his party (and i'll fall if i want to) by formosus_iniquis

“Who invited us to this party anyway?”

"Well I invited you," the ‘you should know this already dingus’ hangs in the air, not needing to even be said, "and Steve invited me."

"Steve?" She nods, but even death couldn't stop him now,

"Harrington? Steve Harrington? King Steve? Steve "the Hair" Harrington? Steve "Big House, No Parents" Harrington? Steve "Sex God" Harrington?"

"I am certain you made at least those last two up. Yes, Steve "Lady Killer" Harrington invited me to his party."

"Are we about to be Carrie'd?"

hometown blues by pukner

The quarantine over a Post-Vecna Hawkins has been provisionally lifted, allowing family to come home and visit those who didn't leave even after the world got cracked open.

Which is how Gareth Emerson keeps running into Steve Fucking Harrington and hearing a dead man on the radio. Dorothea Harrington comes home only to find her house filled with strangers and aforementioned dead man. And Vickie Summers is getting swept off her feet by Robin Buckley.

Meanwhile, Steve and Eddie continue to be the Most Insufferable Couple In Hawkins.

the secret i have learned by Crykea

It takes some new additions to the party for the gang to realize that something has been off with Steve for quite a while now. They help him together and, in doing so, strengthen themselves as a family. Steve lets himself be cared for, remembers important people from his past, and finally allows himself to move on in some of the ways he never thought he could.

[christmas-countdown-playlist]

Hello, and Welcome!

This Christmas Countdown Playlist is going to be an annual event which will run Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve, spanning the whole holiday season. Though the event is titled for Christmas and the songs which inspired the prompts are Christmas tunes as well, the event is open to all, and as long as a prompt is filled, feel free to theme your content to any holiday, make faithful or secular work, or give your work a general wintery theme with no special dates attached.

This year's prompts and playlist will be released on Thursday, November 23rd, and the event will conclude December 31st. I will leave the ao3 collection open year-round; the event's end just means I will no longer be reblogging works to this page.

Finally, this is a no-stakes event! The purpose is to have fun and celebrate, so create as much or as little as you desire!

More info will be coming during the week about Rules and Tagging, but never hesitate to ask questions before or after!

See y'all soon!