#Endeavour Christmas fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illbegottenfaith · 4 months ago

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maybe stay here forever (inspired by packing it up by gracie abrams)

the holidays have you feeling sentimental over yours and theo's relationship (theo nott x reader)

a/n - 100 followers in a little over a month is very much insane for me, and like any other writer I rlly appreciate every interaction with my fics <3 also im trying to work on making mutuals (esp with other writers!) but man it does NOT help that im so incurably shy, anyways enjoy!!

tropes/warnings - tw descriptions of grief and anxiety, established relationship, domestic bliss, more angst than I anticipated, an outtake ft. petty!theo throwing down with a 13-year-old

word count - 2.6k

"Y/N! PHONE!”

You placed your butterbeer down with a thunk, weaving your way from your table to the telephone at the counter. Your friend Ivy handed it to you before disappearing into the crowd. You knew who it was even before pressing your ear to the receiver.

“This is highly illegal, as you very well know,” you said breathlessly. "Randy hates anyone using his phone."

“Relax. Ivy said he's gone into the back.”

Even through a telephone line, your boyfriend's voice gave you a giddy sort of thrill. Still, you glanced at the back door anxiously. “For now. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to hear you sound deliciously panicky.”

“Unbelievable. I’m risking being banned from Hogsmeade’s only pub for nothing?”

“What’s the point of having a girlfriend,” Theo wanted to know, “if she won’t enable your illegal endeavours?”

You rolled your eyes. “So, did you manage a game between the four of you?”

“Eh. It was…something. I’m not sure if anyone would call it Quidditch, though.”

“Oh?”

“You should join us next time. The flying, screaming - you’d love it.”

"Rude." The one time Theo had managed to wheedle you into at least trying to play Quidditch with him and some of your friends had not ended very well for you. In your defense, heading straight for the ground sounded like a much safer option than waiting around to be hit by a Bludger.

“You’re still watching the back door, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, eyes sweeping across the crowded pub. He wasn’t here, was he? He did love messing with you. You shook yourself. Of course not, you were using the only telephone in the vicinity. “Am not,” you sniffed injuredly. "Anyway, what are you up to now?"

"I'm about to go down to the shops to run your errands. What did you need, again?"

"Butterbeer fla - are you writing this down?"

"No need, I'll remember."

You frowned. "Teddy, you always say that, and you always forget something."

"Not this time. Shoot."

You huffed. With how aggravating Theo could be, he was lucky he had such a pretty face. "Butterbeer flavoured popcorn, for the popcorn garlands. If they only have regular, don't bother, I have bags and bags of those. New Christmas lights, because one of the bulbs blew out. Wrapping paper, someone's bound to need it. Hm, what else...that disgusting peppermint tea you love - "

"I don't love peppermint tea. It's...it's not bad, that's all."

"Fibber. You cleaned us out last year."

"And I'll do it again if you keep throwing around these unlawful accusations."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, listen - bring Mattheo along with you, will you?"

Having just broken up with his girlfriend, Matteo's Christmas plans fell through at the last minute. You couldn't help it was in your nature to worry. You heard the distant rustle of parchment crackle over the phone. Ah - ha, fibber indeed. "Alright, but for the last time, he's doing perfectly fine on his own." You heard him folding the list up. "He's a grown man, Y/N."

Your tone turned reproachful. "It's the holidays. No one should have to spend the holidays alone, remember?"

"Don't you have your own friends to fret over?"

"They're all going home. You only have yourself to blame for being within arm's reach, you know."

"If I'd known you were going to be this meddlesome I'd have stayed far, far away."

"Please. Like you could have resisted my charms."

You could imagine the teasing look he'd be giving you.

"Speaking of charms, how does a charm bracelet sound? Would you like that?"

You sighed. For some reason, you were having a particularly difficult time thinking of something to ask for this Christmas. You kept putting it off, and now it was less than two weeks away. Theo was doing his best to help, though it did get a bit grating when he'd point out every item in a shop one by one.

"I still don't know," you said helplessly. "Rain-check? Again?"

"Fine. But you don't have much time left." You heard him unfolding the list. "So, for today, butterbeer flavoured popcorn, Christmas lights, wrapping paper and peppermint tea?"

"Yep. Thanks, Teddy."

"Anything for you, doll." Theo cleared his throat and dropped his voice a couple of pitches.

"So what are the odds I can convince you to wear that green little number to tonight's party?"

You grinned at the pub counter flirtatiously. "I don't know. How badly do you want to see me in it?"

Theo groaned. "Going to make me beg for it, baby?"

"In a manner of speaking." You glanced back at the back door, just in case. "Haven't you learned? Sweet-talking will get you everywhere with me." Your eyes drifted to your table, where Ivy was impatiently waving you over. "Damn. I have to go. Ivy looks like she's about to have a coronary."

"Wearthedre-"

You wore the dress. You could be cruel, but not that cruel. It was a cosy sort of party, with friends and friends of friends milling around. You were sitting in Theo's lap on one of the couches, the two of you trying to talk over the music.

" - and so I said to Ivy, if he can't be bothered to even say hi when there's other people around, then that shows how little respect he has for you, and he'll only get worse the more you let him get away with it, and - and I'm rambling."

Theo's mouth quirked into that special smile he reserved just for you. "Only a little. It's very becoming, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah, right."

"It is, but only because it's coming from you."

You fiddled with Theo's hair, trying to fix a cowlick of his. "So what did you do today?"

"We got the popcorn, the tea, the wrapping paper. Matteo got a little too excited with the lights."

You raised your eyebrows. "Do tell."

"Mind you, he's never shopped for anything in his life. He has house elves for that."

"Kind of like you when we first met," you teased lightly.

"I don't think he was expecting so many options. He kept winding each type around his limbs to compare. I think the insulation was faulty on one of them so he got a mild electrical shock."

You gasped. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, as far as I could tell. I think he kind of liked it, to be honest."

"Of course he did." You wrinkled your nose. "Then what did you do?"

"Freed him, obviously."

"And then?"

"Then we got the same lights we always do."

"And then?"

Theo shook his head, bemused, and tugged at a lock of your hair. "And then nothing. And then we left. And then I changed and came straight up to the party to find my nuisance of a girlfriend."

You laughed. Theo wasn't being particularly funny, but it was hot and your hair was sticking to the back of your neck and you were high off the thrill that came with being perfectly in sync with your favourite person. In short, you were too buzzed to care. You were flushed, either from the alcohol or the feel of Theo's hand steadily creeping up your thigh.

"I have some bad news, though."

You sat up and scowled. "What?"

"I couldn't get us out of my family's Christmas dinner."

You groaned. You had half a mind to drown Theo in what was left of your drink.

"C'mon, Y/N," he cajoled, "iwe'll only be there a couple of days. Tis the season of giving."

"Sure, I'll give them a push down the stairs."

Theo stifled a snort and plucked the drink out of your hand. "Okay, that's enough punch for you. Speaking of..." He glanced somewhere behind you, sitting up a little and, frustratingly, pulled his hand off your thigh. "The punch bowl might need refilling."

"Don't," you whined, dragging his hand back to where it was a moment ago. "Let Enzo do it. We don't get to see enough of each other as it is."

Theo sighed. "So you're just never going to let me leave?"

"I can't help it," you said, "I like the way you speak. I love hearing you talk." You rested your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering close. "Promise you'll never quit talking to me."

"Done," he murmured against your lips, a hand sliding to the small of your back.

Hours later, you felt yourself stirring. It was the middle of the night, long after the two of you had gone to bed. You regretfully peeled your eyes open, trying to figure out what had woken you up.

Theo was lying next to you. It took a few more blinks to see that he was breathing harder than normal, the moonlight filtering through the window casting a sickly pallor on his face. His breathing quickened till it bordered on hyperventilating, a restlessness spreading through his body as he uselessly clenched at the sheets.

The first night you had witnessed this, you had gone absolutely ballistic. You thought he was having a seizure. After an awkward conversation between a highly uncomfortable Theo and a panic-stricken you, you learned that it wasn't its first, or last, occurrence.

They weren't nightmares, exactly. If they were, Theo would forget them by the time he was shaken awake, and only the residual tremour in his limbs would be left. They were more akin to bouts of subconscious panic and despair surfacing from the recesses of his mind. Some nights, he recovered quickly, falling back to sleep in under an hour. Other nights, you'd hear him creep out of the room so as not to wake you while he whiled away the hours to dawn.

As hard as Theo tried, bless him, he struggled to put an explanation for these attacks into words. You guessed that it might have something to do with the sudden, unexpected departure of certain loved ones from his life after one mildly confusing fight. You had slipped out of bed early one morning, while Theo was still asleep, to get a headstart on your work for the day. A couple of hours later, when he found you in the Slytherin common room and immediately started going off on you, still in his pajamas, you found out how much waking up in an empty bed freaked Theo out.

Now, you shoved Theo hard on the shoulder. His eyes flew open, anxiously twitchy, as his breathing started slowing down. Still half-asleep, you snuggled up to him, pressing an ear to his chest. You could hear his heart pounding under his T-shirt. After a moment or so, once he'd recovered from the shock, he tentatively wrapped his arms around you.

You squeezed an arm around him as well. "'M here," you mumbled into his shirt. You could feel him taking deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down as he distractedly stroked your hair. Slowly, bit by bit, you felt him relax around you as you started to doze off. There the both of you stayed, a tangle of limbs, till the morning.

one year ago

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower one chilly autumn night, having escaped from the party your friends had dragged you to. The holidays had just begun, and in the coming days, most people would be going home or carrying out their respective plans. Most people didn't include you. This year, more than anything, you wanted to be alone. Your friends assumed you were going home for the holidays, and your family assumed you were spending them with your friends at Hogwarts, and to be completely honest, you didn’t see the need to correct either of them.

You looked up, straining your ears as you heard disembodied footsteps approaching you. A minute later, Theodore Nott emerged from the shadows.

“Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head as Theo settled with his back against a pillar, stretching one overly-long leg towards you while bending the other. You had seen him at the party for the first fifteen minutes you were there. He looked delightfully comfortable in a loose, casual denim button-down. It felt a little odd to think of him as an acquaintance when you saw him nearly weekly while your other friends caught up. But at the same time, there was a tinge of awkwardness in the silence stretching out between the two of you. You weren’t even sure if he knew your name. Now, he was pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jean pocket.

“Is it okay if I -?”

You shrugged wordlessly, still in a bit of a daze. As far as you could remember, you had never been in a one-on-one setting with Theo. It wasn’t that you avoided each other; it just never came to it. You had plenty of mutual friends acting as a buffer between you two.

All you knew about him was that your families’ tax brackets were far apart enough to mean you’d likely never see him again after Hogwarts. And after getting bruised and beaten by one too many failed relationships, you were kind of over trying to reach out or connect with new people.

And so Theodore's familial prestige was all you took note of. That, you thought as you watched him sigh in relief after the first drag of his cigarette, and his mildly concerning nicotine addiction.

You risked a sidelong glance at him to find him unabashedly looking right at you. But with him sitting perpendicular to you, you were in his direct eye line. Where else was he supposed to look? Literally anywhere else, you wished, as you returned his gaze with an awkward half-smile.

“So, Y/N,” Theo was saying, tapping ash off his cigarette. So he did know your name. You decided then that you were right - you had never been in such an intimate capacity with him before. After all, you weren’t one to forget someone saying your name like…like that. Like he harboured some secret fascination with it, from the way he let it linger on his tongue. “Any special holiday plans?”

You shook your head wordlessly. Theo gave a slight frown.

“You do speak, don’t you?”

You scoffed. “…yes. Obviously.” He’d seen you talk in front of him. Maybe not to him, but he knew you could speak perfectly fine. Your tongue currently feeling like cardboard was an entirely separate mystery.

“Going home?”

You hesitated. Theo was neither friend nor family, but for some inexplicable reason, that made it all the more difficult to lie to him. You blamed it on the smoke, it must have been making you nauseous. That, or his relentlessly demanding stare.

“I only ask because Ivy mentioned you were.”

You gave him a look, mildly peeved. If he already knew, what was he prodding around for? The cooler, more rational part of your mind pointed out that he might just have been trying to make polite conversation, and that a normal person who didn’t keep secrets like you wouldn’t be having this kind of a reaction.

“Yeah. I leave…soon.” Not for the holidays, though.

“That’s funny,” Theo continued pleasantly, “because I heard you mention to Matteo that you were staying here with the girls.”

You froze. Crap. How were you going to explain your way out of this one?

“So?” You couldn’t keep the defensive edge out of your voice. Maybe if you acted confident enough, he wouldn’t realise anything was amiss.

“So…you’re lying to someone.” He tapped his cigarette again, irritatingly casual, as if you were only discussing the weather.

“Why are you so interested in my holiday plans anyway?” you asked crossly, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as a chilly breeze started picking up.

Theo raised his eyebrows. He had the gall to look thrown off, as if he wasn’t the one pursuing the topic.

“People don’t normally lie about their holiday plans. You do realise that, right?”

Oddly enough, something in his tone made you feel embarrassed over being caught in a lie. Scratch that, it was embarrassing to have Theodore Nott catch you in a lie. What for, anyway? He was hardly the most honest person himself. Probably. You felt the back of your neck heat up. You desperately wished he would look away.

“What’s it to you?”

Theo opened his mouth before closing it again. He stewed in his thoughts for a minute while his jaw worked, as if he were trying to find the right words.

“You shouldn’t be alone on the holidays.”

You worried your bottom lip. Was this…concern?

“Maybe I want to be alone.”

“Do you?”

His otherwise dead eyes looked so inquisitive - so piercing yet unnervingly honest for someone as prone to manipulation as him. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to those eyes. You dropped your gaze to where your fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

“It’s complicated.”

“So explain.”

You laughed humourlessly. “They wouldn’t understand.”

You watched the shadows on the tower’s floor shift. You looked up to see Theo finishing off his cigarette as he moved to join you, looking out at the same Hogwarts grounds you were facing. It seemed to make it easier, this pseudo-confession, without the brunt of his needling stare.

Here was someone you didn’t feel the urge to explain yourself to. You felt…less alone. Like you finally had someone unequivocally on your side. It had been a long time since you felt that way.

Even with the slight distance between you, you could feel the body heat he radiated. You leaned towards him slightly, but you told yourself it was only because he was blocking the wind and you were sick of shivering. Perhaps you weren’t as subtle as you would have liked, because he stretched an arm around you, running his hand up and down your arm to warm you up as you sank into his heat gratefully. You didn’t have the heart to pull away. You didn’t want to pull away.

“You could explain it to me, you know.” Theo glanced down to where you were resting your head on his shoulder. “If you wanted.”

You toyed with the idea. So, basically, I’m sick of every relationship I’ve been in falling flat, and lately I’ve been feeling like even my friends don’t understand me, so you’ve caught me just as I’m giving up on it - love, that is, romantic or otherwise. You pulled a face. It sounded far too melodramatic even in your own head. Still, you tried.

“Have you ever felt like…giving up?” Theo’s brow furrowed even more. “No, not - I’m not suicidal. Just…when everything gets too exhausting, and reaching out just feels so…”

“Once.”

You hesitated. You weren’t expecting him to agree. Sympathise, maybe.

“After my mother died.”

“…oh.”

Could you sound any more stupid? But you couldn’t help it - in a group of friends who regularly made cracks at each other’s Death Eater fathers, Theo’s mother was a strictly off-limits topic.

"It was a couple of years back." Theo's voice sounded different now; blithe and almost aggressively neutral. "In front of me. I didn't realise until it was too late, but she was my best friend." He paused, idly tracing the lines on his palm, but you got the distinct impression that he was trying very hard to discuss something that was very difficult to talk about.

“I was -“ he broke off with a sharp bark of laughter that sounded as painful as it was unexpected. “I was angry, actually. Fucking livid. Angry at my dad, for being such a piece of shit. Angry at myself, for every time I thought I was too cool to spend time with her. Angry at her because…because it was too soon, and she was all I had. And she knew that.”

Theo had a white knuckle grip on the edge of the tower’s floor, looking dangerously close to trembling. Every ridge in his face stood taut with the ache of poorly healed emotional wounds. “She knew it. She fucking knew it.”

You placed a hand over his. He drummed his fingers restlessly against the floor, and you could feel the agitation seeping out of him as his breathing evened out.

“How did you get over it? The anger?”

Theo gave you a strange, almost pitying look.

“I’m angry nearly every day of my life, Y/N.”

He sighed and dropped his head, finally leaning into you as well, his hand drifting innocently along your arm as he talked, as if you were old friends. “But if Matteo and the others have drilled anything in my head over the years, it’s that isolating yourself is the real killer.”

Your fists were clenched tightly in your lap. It was almost comforting, seeing how your body language mirrored each other's. You didn't think you would ever feel ready to do it once more, letting yourself be susceptible to heartbreak or loss, in this lifetime or the next, but perhaps...perhaps you could manage. For him. You turned slightly, burying your face into his neck and closing your eyes.

“I suppose…I could try," you started in a small voice, partially muffled by Theo's shirt. You took a deep breath in. God, his neck smelled so good. "One last time."

“Of course you can,” Theo murmured, sounding unreasonably patient. “You’re stronger than this.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You let him keep holding you for a little while longer, just until you warmed up to the idea The quiet felt nice. Theo felt nice, in every sense of the phrase.

“I’m starting to think you didn’t come here for just a smoke break.”

"Ivy might have mentioned something," he confessed. You bit back a smile. You should have guessed. "Your friends really care about you, you know. And you've really worried them."

The bitter taste of guilt hit your jaw. You idly traced the stitching of Theo's jean's pockets. Someone else also seemed rather worried, though you weren't about to point that out.

"Have I?"

"Afraid so. You're lucky you're so precious."

Theo tapped your nose, and for the first time that evening, you grinned. After weeks of wandering in a cloud of grief, the motion felt achingly familiar. Theo returned the smile, as if you couldn't help but amuse him.

“There it is.”

“There what is?”

He looked momentarily speechless again. You frowned. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you made him as nervous as he made you.

“Nothing,” he mumbled hastily. “Can we go back down? It’s freezing up here.”

present day

"Morning."

With some difficulty, you extracted yourself from Theo's embrace. You cleared your raspy throat as you stretched out your stiff limbs.

"H'llo."

Theo leaned down to give you a peck on the lips and you wrapped your arms around his neck. As he pulled back, your hands slid to his face, then down to his shoulders. You weren't entirely sure what you were looking for. "Better?"

"Yes." You saw the sleepy bliss fading from his face. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't," you lied. "I was up anyway."

Theo quirked an eyebrow interestedly. "What could a respectable girl like you be doing at three in the morning?"

You giggled softly and pulled him on top of you, and you thought he gave a rather appealing demonstration on what you might have been doing. A while later, you glanced at the clock, and saw that it was getting dangerously close to afternoon.

"We should probably get up."

"Mhm. You still need to decide what you want for Christmas, by the way."

Cold air rushed in as Theo rolled off of you, pulling his clothes on. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, still trying to figure out what to ask for. When you stepped out, feeling much more human, Theo was missing. You wandered into the empty common room where he had already set out two steaming mugs of that disgusting peppermint tea on one of the tables, complete with candy canes.

His eyebags are terrible as ever, and he's yawning, but he looks happy. Content. As content as you feel. And you think, this is all you want. For Theo to always get the cold side of his pillow, all the peppermint tea he could want, pleasant Hogsmeade trips...a real break, for once. For him to get everything that he asks for, and more.

bonus outtake

"Let's talk about something else. Anything else." Theo pulled you into his lap. "Like what an adorable elf you make."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I'm not sneaking you into this year's gift donation drive."

"Why not?"

You should have known this was coming. "Listen, you got yourself banned last year."

"It wasn't even my fault. You didn't even hear how snarky that guy was being. 'Oh, where's your present?' Jackass."

"The jackass was 13, Theo."

He sniffed with an injured air. "It's not like I lied to him or something, you know."

"Again, for the last time, I cannot impress enough how incredibly inappropriate it is to point out one of the helper elves as your 'present' to a 13-year-old boy."

"But you were my present. I got to unwrap you and everything afterwards."

#okay look so to explain the outtake #i had soooo many drafts and revisions of this fic like the plot changed so drastically and very frequently #the outtake is from one of the drafts/iterations #and i included it here cuz I like it so much that i know if i dont post it somewhere im not going to be able to let go of it #which means i would end up trying to force it into random fics where it does not fit just for the sake of it #hence i just thought to tack it on here ^^#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott angst

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zaldritzosrose · 4 months ago

Text

Naughty or Nice? (Lestat x Human!Reader)

Summary: Your relationship with Lestat was the opposite of traditional, from when you met him until now. Nothing was ever boring, both inside and outside of the bedroom. So why would the festive season be any different?

CW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, Lestat being both romantic and horny (are we surprised?), human reader, mentions of infidelity (reader was engaged when they met), mentions of past sexual encounters, Lestat definitely being on the naughty list, teasing, profanity, innuendo, p in v sex, mild use of restraints.

Words:

This is the third of some full fics especially for the Fan Winter Festival run by @fandomeventcenter check out the page for any other eventual submissions.

You hadn’t intended to fall for Lestat. He had frequented to tailors your, now ex, fiancé owned quite often. Buying one or two new suits every time. Your curiosity grew each and every time he arrived.

Soon, Lestat began to arrive simply to talk to you. It hadn’t taken you long, however, to notice he only arrived in the evenings – having persuaded your then fiancé to remain open after sunset.

And in your talks, he had revealed more and more about himself, trusting you enough after a month to reveal his nature.

“You cannot be serious?” you asked, barely hiding the disbelief as Lestat calmly revealed his immortal nature.

His smile was hypnotising. Holding your gaze as your processed what he had said. Leaning against the counter as you paced along the floor of the shop.

“I would not lie to you, sweet one,” he said softly, and something told you he was telling the truth this time too.

He was a vampire. Centuries old yet he looked no more than a man in his twenties at most.

You knew you should have been afraid. Should demand he leave and never return.

But the words wouldn’t come.

But it was these long, private conversations that had caused the end of your engagement. Though Lestat hadn’t seemed surprised, but you were too enthralled by him to ever consider he may have done more to convince a tailor to open later.

Now, months later, you were living permanently in his townhouse. Still human yourself, Lestat had told you almost immediately that he would only give you the Gift once you were ready.

For now, you were simply happy to exist at his side.

You lived as a normal couple. Lestat would take you out in the evening, expensive restaurants, walks in the park. Always at night, but always planned to perfection.

Holidays were no different. Though time passed very differently for Lestat, he enjoyed celebrating the mortal milestones with you. Christmas, Valentine’s, your birthday. Everything worth celebrating, was celebrated.

But what you had learned quite quickly, was that your immortal lover had a mischievous side.

From harmless pranks to simply brighten your day – though he learned fast that you were a little squeamish – to ‘naughtier’ endeavours. Lestat enjoyed testing your limits, both in and out of the bedroom.

And you enjoyed every second.

Lestat had been excitedly planning this year’s Christmas for weeks. In all honesty, you couldn’t remember seeing him so excited about anything for such a sustained period.

This was your second Christmas as a couple and Lestat had every intention of making it memorable. He had already secured your gifts, little things that would catch your eye when you both took walks through the streets.

Not that you ever asked for anything. If there was one thing Lestat enjoyed, it was gifts. Giving them over receiving them. To see your face light up when he gave you something heartfelt and beautiful.

But this year he had a little something different in mind.

The week before Christmas, you spent as much time with your family as you could. Not that Lestat ever stopped you from seeing them, you simply chose to organise your time this way.

He had met them, after the shock of ending your previous relationship had blown over. A few dinners a month, Lestat playing the part of a human perfectly. You remembered how politely he won over your parents, played with your niece and nephew.

Sometimes it was easy to forget he wasn’t human anymore.

But he never came to your family home around Christmas.

“A time for you and your family,” he would say, every time you would question him or extend the invite.

So, this year, you kept that routine.

“Mother is having everyone around for a meal tonight, apparently she has even hired a musician to play as we eat,” you laughed, sat at your vanity as you finished pinning back your hair.

Lestat leaned against the door frame, gazing at you as if you were the most perfect creature in the world.

“A musician, hmm? Really pushing the boat out this year, I see?” Lestat replied, wandering over to your wardrobe and perusing your gowns.

You turned to look at him, watching as he took out a few and hung them on your privacy screen. A small smile tugged at your lips. Another thing you had quickly learned, was that Lestat enjoyed the finer things in life.

Luxurious clothing, furniture, even once or twice gifting you some of the most beautiful jewellery you had ever seen. You could argue you were spoiled, yes. But to see the happiness it brought him; you realised you weren’t about to deny him that joy.

Lestat had told you snippets of his past, of the traumas that came with such a long life. If you were able to bring him even small flashes of joy, you jumped at the chance.

And Lestat knew you did. He would see it in your mind whenever you looked at him. Happiness rolling off you if he so much as smiled in your direction.

“Maybe you are a bad influence on her? Inspiring her to extravagance!”

You turned fully in your chair, watching him pull out one more dress from your wardrobe. You couldn’t deny, his choices were impeccable.

You made your way over, not noticing the way Lestat quickly turned you away from the open wardrobe. He let you inspect the dresses, letting you make your own choice but subtly voicing his opinions with small ‘hmms’ and sighs.

The signature and excitable exhale told you the one he preferred the most. A sage green dress, tailored to you after Lestat had demanded you do so.

“This one, my darling?” you smiled, holding up the dress.

Lestat nodded, leaning forward to kiss you. Letting his lips linger just long enough to have your heart rate speeding up. Even the most chaste of kisses from Lestat were enough to have your heart hammering in your chest and heat pooling in your belly.

“A dress that will only make you more beautiful, ma chérie,” Lestat mused, turning you to the mirror as you began to slip the dress on.

If your dresses had required help getting into before, the new dresses courtesy of Lestat absolutely required a second pair of hands. And Lestat took that job with vigour. Taking his time to dress you at every opportunity.

His eyes stayed trained on your wardrobe as he finished lacing the back of the dress. Staring at the surprise he had planned for when you returned later that night, hidden behind the doors of your wardrobe. In plain sight if you’d only thought to look.

But luckily for Lestat, you never did.

All he had to do was wait, but Lestat had never been a patient man. You would only be gone for a few hours, but those hours felt like forever.

It gave him time to prepare, however.

His Christmas gifts were usually planned months in advance and cost far more than he’d ever reveal to you. He simply enjoyed spoiling you.

But this year, Lestat wanted to go a…different route. The lady in the fabric shop had looked confused, to say the least, when Lestat had come in and asked for a very specific amount of ribbon fabric.

Though he’d offered no explanation, as expected.

It had taken a few times to get the bow exactly as he wanted. Part of him had assumed it would be easy, but the first time he’d stood in front of the mirror, it had been almost nightmarish.

Tying the bow had been so simple when it was laid out on the table in front of him. But now, half tied around his hips, he could feel his hands tremble in frustration.

But it would be worth it, that’s all he kept thinking. Eventually, after much huffing and cursing, he had managed it.

And now the main event had arrived. You were due home anytime soon; you were always back when you said you would be. So, Lestat prepared himself. As bare as the day he was born, lounging out on the bed he shared with you.

The velvet red bow tied perfectly and deftly covering his half hard cock.

“Lestat! Are you home?” you called, closing the door gently behind you and slipping off your coat.

When you heard no answer, you ventured up the stairs. Lestat rarely left without leaving some clue as to where he was. So, he had to be in the house somewhere.

“Darling?” you called out again, moving further down the hall to your shared bedroom.

The door was ajar, and you were sure you could see Lestat within.

“What on…”

Your words fell silent when you pushed the door open.

“Merry Christmas, ma chérie,” Lestat smirked, fluidly stretching out his muscled form to give you a full and perfect view of your gift.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, your skin feeling hot and your dress suddenly feeling far too tight.

“Merry Christmas indeed,” you sighed, not able to take your eyes off him.

The bow especially.

Your hands tugged at the laces and buttons of your dress. Driven by both desire and the need to simply breathe.

And Lestat waited patiently. The heavy sound of fabric hitting the floor and the sight of you clad in only your underwear had his length already straining beneath the bow.

But he only had to wait a few moments more before you were as bare as he was.

“Do you want to unwrap your gift?” Lestat purred, in a way only he ever could.

Your immortal lover held out his hand, bringing you closer to the bed. Your lower lip firm between your teeth in anticipation. There wasn’t a single thing that Lestat ever did that wasn’t laced with sensuality.

Something like this, playing the role of your ‘naughty gift’, was both unexpected and entirely expected at the same time. You could tease him about it later, but right now, you wanted nothing more than to unwrap him.

“I would enjoy nothing more.”

You leaned in, taking one end of the bow between your fingers. Letting the feel of the velvet overtake for just a second before you pulled. Lestat had managed to tie in just a way that with two soft pulls it fell way from his body. Exposing him to you completely.

Lestat only moved to make space for you on the bed. Helping you straddle his lap as his lips found the soft skin of your collarbone and neck. Leaving heated kissed and soft bites in his wake.

His hands on your hips guiding you in a slow rhythm. Slick skin sliding over his length without the need for him to enter. The thick head of his cock brushing perfectly against your already swollen pearl with delicious precision.

The room only filled the sounds of skin against skin, mixed with the gentle sighs that fell from both of your lips. But Lestat needed more. You both needed more.

His swift movements never failed to surprise you. With little effort, he had you on your back in seconds. His slim hips caged between your thighs.

“I need you, ma beauté,” Lestat groaned against your skin, planting kisses from one side of your neck and around to the other.

Your back arched, your legs falling open to accommodate him as he slipped within. Painfully slowly, savouring the feeling of your walls moving to welcome him.

“You’ve given me your gift, so let me be yours now…” you sighed, gripping at his shoulders as he sheathed himself completely.

His rhythm began slow, gentle. Letting your body work to take all of him. There was nothing he enjoyed more than taking his time with you. Relishing the feeling of your skin against his.

The ribbon, however, didn’t lay forgotten for long. Without breaking his rhythm, Lestat had the red velvet in his hands, wrapping it around your wrists and holding them above your head.

The new position kept your back arched, pressing your chest against his until he could feel the rapid beat of your heart.

He could feel it already, the way your walls clenched around him, your flesh damp with sweat.

“Lestat…”

His name was a gentle prayer on your lips, whispered between pants as he felt your release getting closer and closer. And while he could easily last much longer, he could never get enough of the feeling of you both finding your pleasure together.

“My love…let me feel you…” Lestat whispered into your neck, letting his teeth scrape against your heated skin.

He let his hips slam deeper, enough to bully that rough spot deep inside you until your eyes screwed shut and you cried his name in pleasure.

Lestat followed not long behind, burying himself deep inside as his spend coated your walls. His face buried in your neck as your hands gripped at his back.

He had no intention of moving from your embrace anytime soon. And you had no intention of letting him. Lestat kept his weight from you, rolling to his back so as not to crush you.

“Did you enjoy your gift?” he asked, tilting his head down and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You snuggled in close to him, nodding gently and not trusting your voice to speak. Though you could feel him smile against your hair.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

Lestat Taglist:

@lady-phasma @sylasthegrim @anjelicawrites

@aemondsbabe @thenameswinter99

Please let me know if you want to be added/deleted.

#lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #iwtv lestat #lestat x reader #lestat smut #lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat de lioncourt smut #lestat x you #amc interview with the vampire #fan winter festival

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Time for Cheer

Warnings: non/dubcon, dysfunctional family, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: After your Christmas is ruined, you find an unlikely saviour.

Character: Jonathan Pine

Day Eight of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - finding your home away from home

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“It wasn’t the transmission, it was the fuel line,” your father snarls.

“Then why did replacing the transmission fix the problem,” Aiden spits back.

They’re having another of their pointless arguments. It’s more of a weighing of the egos. It’s not entirely unusual for them to spend hours trying to one up the other or prove the other wrong, but you thought Christmas might be a respite. That assumption seems foolish the more you think about it. There’s never been a good enough excuse to just stop.

Your family has never been like other families. There are no cute matching sweaters or festive photos. The only tradition is to see who you can make feel the worst. You know better than to tell either of them to cut it out, otherwise you’ll just be drawn into their race to the bottom.

Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Dinner. Every year you fight to make the perfect spread and every year, something ruins it. Usually, your family.

Last year, your dad couldn’t get over the ‘watery’ gravy and the year before that, your brother whined because someone put beans on his plate and he hates green beans. For an adult, he sure does act like the same seven-year-old brat that used to scream about bathing.

You feel just as stagnant. The holidays are just the stamp on the year, sealing your lack of progress. Year after year and you’re still here. Still filling the hole your mother left all those years ago. You can’t even blame her. You can only blame yourself for not following her lead and running for the hills.

Vivien arrives just as you baste the turkey and check the temperature. It’s only noon and there’s some hours to go. Your father and brother don’t stop arguing even as the churlish voices of children rise in the entryway. Your sister’s children are another obstacle to your endeavour.

“Hey, Viv,” you say as your sister appears in the doorway.

“Any wine?” She asks.

“There’s beer,” you shrug. You don’t drink, she knows that.

“Beer?” She mutters.

“I don’t know. Dad could have some whiskey hidden in the garage--”

“Whatever,” she huffs.

“You can put the pies on the counter.”

“Pies?” She echoes, “what pies?”

You brace yourself and take a deep breath. You face her, “you said you were bringing pies.”

“No, I said they had the pumpkin pies at the grocery, I never said I’d bring them,” she shakes her head.

“No, you said--”

“Why would I bring the pies? I have three brats to take care of a husband. I got enough to spend my hard-earned money on,” she sneers.

You flinch. Hard-earned? You don’t remember the last time she worked. She calls you about every other week to complain that Chuck’s overtime still didn’t break even.

“It’s fine,” you go to the cupboard and take out your emergency can of apples. “No pumpkin but I’ll figure something out. Maybe crisp?”

“See, you got this,” she says as she goes to the fridge and steals one of your father’s Molsons.

“Viv,” her husband calls from the other room as something crashes.

“Ugh, he can never do anything by himself,” she mutters as she cracks the tab.

You shake your head. Your father’s holler joins the chaos of voices. The kids whine as one of them cries, and your dad yells about whatever’s broken.

You won’t be lured into the storm. Vivien couldn’t offer to help you in the kitchen. This is her chance to get drunk and let her husband wallow in the destruction. Your father never lifts a finger in the kitchen past opening the fridge and your brother would only get in your way.

As you forge on, you can’t help but wonder why you bother. What do you ever get in return? Not even a thanks and you only end up cleaning the mess after. Well, what other choice do you have? You’ve been pushing the same boulder uphill for almost twenty years and you still haven’t gotten over the apex.

You manage to scrounge enough together to fill a pan with the impromptu crisp. You have everything prepped and ready to cook in intervals; bean casserole, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, corn, and carrots. Even if everything else is a mess, dinner should be good.

You open the stove and slide apple crisp in next to the turkey. It won’t be your best work. As you shut the oven door, there’s a sudden clatter behind you. You spin as the bowls hit the floor and their contents scatter with the shards of broken glass. Viv’s oldest, Cameron, swings around his hockey stick, stomping over the mess.

You stand stunned and paralysed. You blink as tears burn behind your eyes and your hands shake in horror and rage slowly builds from your stomach to throat. You can only stare at the clueless child as he wiggles the stick proudly.

“See what I got for Christmas?”

You sway. He’s eleven years old. He knows better. Or he should.

“What the hell is all that nonsense?” Your father yells as he clamours into the doorway. “Now whatcha gone and done--”

As he turns the blame on you, you wince as if you’ve been slapped. Cameron once more swings around his stick, playing with a sliced carrot like a puck. Your father’s voice fades into the back of your mind as your vision narrows.

“You fix it. I’m done.” You shake your head as you swallow down your devastation. “I’m done.”

“Done? What d’ya mean done?” He snarls as you brush past him. He follows you down the hall to the front door.

“It’s over. I’m not doing it again. I’m not cooking for you animals anymore,” you rip your jacket off the hooks and shove your feet into your well-worn boots. “You want a Christmas dinner, figure it out yourself.”

“You can’t just walk out.” He slurs.

“I’m going.”

“Where? Huh? Going to find your mother?”

You stop and face him. He knows it’s low but he doesn’t care. He always throws her in your face, like you ever had a say in what she did. You scowl. Before you can explode with the fury boiling in your chest, a knock comes at the door. Great, now you have witness to the storm. You don’t need another police report. Better deal with the neighbour.

“Well, maybe she’s nicer than you,” you retort and spin around.

You pull open the door and swiftly flit out, swinging it shut to muffle the bluster of shouting and smashing. Worse than Paula coming to complain about the noise, it’s the landlord. Of course.

“Oh, Mr. Pine,” you greet in a fragile tone.

“Hello, I see Christmas is in full effect,” he remarks kindly on the rabble behind the walls.

“Sure is,” you utter. You look him over as he holds a wrapped basket. You don’t expect him. Especially on the holiday. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“I bring holiday tidings. I hate to disturb you and your family but I’ve been making the rounds of my tenants and it’s been a bit more taxing than I would expect.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow.

“This is for you. And your family,” he pushes the basket toward you. “Just a little gesture.”

“Uh, wow, you...” you slowly take it, admiring the ribbon tied around the red plastic wrap, “that’s very generous but... I don’t have anything to give you.”

“It is not given in the spirit of reciprocity,” he assures. “You know, I sadly could not make it home for the holiday but I’ve got many to share it with here so I thought I would.”

“Well, that’s lovely,” you say. “I’m uh... on my way out actually so I’ll just leave it here.”

You turn and put the basket on the wicker chair near the window. You feel Pine watching you. You turn back to his pensive gaze. He wears a nice grey coat and a deep blue scarf with silver edging. He is a perfect contrast to the disaster of your appearance.

You zip up your coat to hide the food smear across your sweatshirt. You pull your hat from your pocket and tug it down over your hair. You near him and force a smile.

“Thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy unwrapping all that later.”

“Well, where are you off to then?” He sidles to the end of the steps, making way for you.

“Um. Just going for a walk.” To be honest, you don’t know where you’re going. You didn’t make a plan. You just need to get out.

“Would it be terribly rude to invite myself? It isn’t often I get to stroll through the neighbourhood.” He dips his chin down as the bitterness turns the tip of his nose pink. His blue eyes are pale but bright in the snowy atmosphere.

“Uh, sure. Not much to see around here,” you shrug and descend the stairs. Your anger subsides for the roiling embarrassment nipping at your nape.

He follows you down and you drag your treads along the walkway heavily. You turn down the street and he comes up next to you. You’re quiet as you wallow in agitation and humiliation.

“Sounded like a very hectic affair,” he muses through the whistling winds.

You snort. You can’t help yourself. “Yeah.”

He hums as you carry on in a lull. You can appreciate that he doesn’t push it and yet the silence, welcomes your annoyance. You sigh.

“It’s awful,” you breathe.

He chuckles, “family can be a lot.”

“Yeah, well, mine is just... we don’t even like each other.” You rub your cheeks as you speak. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not your problem.”

“Well, as you can see, I don’t have anything pressing to attend to. You are my last stop.”

“Hm,” you sniff. You mull your temper and consider going back. The thought just sparks another flare in you. You shake your head at the idea. “They ruined dinner. Again. Every year--” you stop and click your tongue. “I can’t go back. Not today. So, I guess I’ll figure something else out.”

“No? But surely, they would miss you.”

“No, only what I do for them,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said, we’re enemies more than we are family. Not that it’s your problem.” You get to the end of the street, where the dead-end sign stands. “Look, you’re really nice bringing that by but you should go enjoy your Christmas somewhere warm. Alone. In peace.”

“Ha, it seems we envy each other for what the other has,” he remarks. “You romanticize my solace and I can’t help but covet your lack of.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, I should get the car cleared off. I’ll probably drive it down to the train station and sleep there.”

He tilts his head. You realise what you’ve said as his forehead creases, “you say it as if it common.”

“Won’t be the first or last time,” you say. “Look, you’ve heard enough of my problems. Really, I’m already embarrassed so please, just go.”

He clicks his tongue, “and yet I fear I cannot.” He insists, “you see, I was raised to be a gentleman and that includes never leaving a woman in despair so, I cannot allow you to spend your Christmas behind the tracks. So, either I stay and we shiver together,” he gives a moment to quake in the frigid air, “or you come with me, gather your wits, and maybe a bit of warmth.”

You scoff louder than ever, “and why would you do that?”

“Well, it is Christmas,” he suggests, “and I am your landlord so is it not my onus to house you?”

You laugh sardonically. He grins.

“Come on, I have to confess, I don’t do well in the cold and I cannot feel my hands,” he drawls.

You drop your chin and turn your hands out, “alright. Twist my arm.”

“I would if I could bend my fingers,” he jibes.

🎄

Pine lives further than you expect. You suppose you never thought much about it. Where he’s concerned, you only ever worried about making rent. Yet, subconsciously, you built up a man in his sophisticated condo, like a king in a tower.

Instead, he drives past the city limits into the sparse rural lands where houses are set far apart around thickets of trees. It’s not entirely without sense. Out here, the wealthy can build without the confines of a city lot.

He turns off toward a countryhouse with brown and white siding with black trims. The Tudor-style stands out amid the more farmhouse style facades. He pulls into the plowed lot as you stare up at the immaculate structure. The property he lets to you stands in a lowly contrast. You can’t help another twinge of insecurity.

“Um, thanks... for this. I really appreciate it.” You wring your hands as he shuts off the engine. “I feel a bit stupid now.”

“I wouldn’t. Sounds like you’ve a lot to be unhappy about. To think you’ve put up with so much for so long, a weaker person could not. Myself included,” he assures.

He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. You mirror him in all your movements, taking his lead as you step onto unfamiliar ground. You come up the front steps of the house and he unlocks the broad wooden door.

He lets you inside and you take your time slipping free of your boots. He leaves his salt-stained leather shoes on the mat and hangs his jacket on the rack in the corner. He takes your coat and puts it next to his. You pinch your thumbs between your knuckles anxiously as you look around the spacious and finely curated interior.

“I’ve tea. Or hot cocoa. My mother sent me a specialty frother as a token of her absence,” he offers.

“Oh, I'm okay,” you twist around as you examine the walls. “It’s a very nice house.”

“A very nice but empty house,” he agrees. “I spent so long with the design and construction, I hardly thought of filling it up with more than things. Far too much for only one person.”

“I guess everyone has different problems we don’t think of,” you say. “Like you said before, I’m whining about my family yet yours is so far away.”

“Ah, yes, funny how we rarely get what we so desire,” he slithers. “So we covet what others have so much we cannot see any possible flaw.”

“Right.”

He waves you further inside. You’re quiet as he takes you on a brief tour; a front room, dining room, a large kitchen you could die for, a den, a back office, and that’s just the first floor. He brings you upstairs and shows you a guest room.

“You might stay in here. I’ll find some clean sheets.”

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.” You insist. “Thanks, again. Uh...”

“I’m not much of a cook, but I could put together something. Cheese toasties and soup always do me well.”

“Sure, that sounds great. I could help,” you suggest.

“Only if you truly wish to,” he says. “But I don’t mind.”

“I’d rather stay busy.” You reply.

He nods and takes you back down to the kitchen. The meal isn’t very hard to put together. Melted cheese on toast and a jar of the gourmet soup they sell at the more expensive shops. It’s tasty too, warm and comforting even.

Yet, you can’t help the glimmer of guilt in the back of your head. Your sister is probably throwing a fit, your father too. They’re ranting and raving about you walking out. Comparing you to your mother, as they always do to the worst people they know. It’s that dagger they keep sheathed until they’re ready to cut deep.

Pine jars you from your worry as he takes your empty bowl and plate. You sit up at the table and thank him. He gestures you to stay before you can get up.

You wait in the dining room. You put your hand in your hands and yawn. You feel like you did when you were a kid. When one of your friends invited you over and you realised how much better their house and their life was.

“Tired,” Pine muses, “well, I will make up your bed then.”

“Really, you don’t have to do all that,” you lift your head and bat away the fatigue.

“I do,” he counters. “Shouldn’t take me very long. Feel free to explore. Or if you are so inclined, I've left a bottle and glass on the counter.”

“Oh, uh, that’s sweet of you.”

He goes and you stay just as you are. You feel like you could taint this place if you stray too far. When he returns, you feel sluggish.

“Is there anything else I can get for you? A book to read?”

“No, I think I’ll just lay down,” you get up and push the chair in. “I’ve already taken so much.”

“Taken, you say, as if I’ve not given freely,” he smiles. “I’ve left you something to sleep in as well. I’m afraid my selection is limited.”

“Thanks, uh, again,” you rub your neck. At this point, it’s becoming a chant. Thanking him for everything.

You go upstairs and gently close the door of the guest room. He’s right, the house feels sonorously empty. It’s so big, that it’s almost desolate. You replace your clothes with the button-up he left over the duvet and climb into the lush bed. Even that makes your own seem like little more than a wooden pallet.

It doesn’t take you long to sink into a sleep full of violent illusions. You’re back at home, your father yelling as you try to pick up the spilled potatoes, only for the glass to cut your fingers and stick in your flesh. No matter what you do, you can’t do more than slice yourself up, the blood smearing your skin and dripping onto the cracked tile.

You wake with a start. Your heart races as you’re startled at the unfamiliar surroundings. It sets in that you’re not at your father’s house anymore and you calm. You languish beneath the fluffy duvet and dread climbing out from beneath it, but your bladder demands it.

You finally get up and near the door. It has to be late. You inch open the door and listen to the hallway. You creep out, expecting the floor to creak like the boards at home, but your feet only pad lightly on the polished hardwood.

You find the bathroom down the other end of the hall and swiftly pop in and out. On your way back, you stop near the side table where a small boxy clock stands. The digital face shines the time. It’s just after midnight.

You squint as the background changes behind the numbers. Fancy. You tap the screen curiously and the time disappears. It’s one of the smart devices you’ve seen in the Black Friday ads. But the next image, startles you. It’s all too familiar.

You blink at the sight of your family’s living room. Your father’s passed out in his old recliner and the corner of the rug is bent over. There’s wrapping paper strewn across the floor and Chinese food containers littered over the table. Cameron is sleeping on the couch as your brother continues to drink in the armchair and stares at the television.

But why is there a camera in your house? You shakily bring your hand up to touch the screen again. A menu comes up; Favourites. You tap the first option ‘bedroom’. The next image nearly makes you scream. It’s your bedroom. Your sister’s taken over the bed with her husband. The moonlight shines on them through the window as the camera’s night vision limns their slumbering figures.

Your heart hammers. How could this be real? You pinch your thigh and squeak. You’re not waking up.

“Restless?” Pine’s voice has you stalk straight. You lurch on your feet and face his shadow as it looms at the other end of the hallway.

“Mr. Pine,” you greet.

He slowly struts out of the shadows. You wince and lean back on your heel. He clucks as you try to cover the screen with your hand. He stops and puts his hands on his hips. In the dim, you can see the outline of his naked torso above a short pair of boxers. You gulp.

“It isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he says quietly. “I meant to woo you a little...”

“What... Why...”

“Why... what? Darling? Why would I want to give you a proper home? Why would I keep a close eye on such a sad soul?” He hums, “well, as I said, I was raised to be a gentleman, and this house is dreadfully empty, don’t you agree?”

You gape at him, horrified and confused. What he says cannot be true. It cannot be real. Why? Why you? Has it all been a ploy? Was he just waiting and watching for the moment you cracked?

“Mr. Pine,” you utter.

“Please, darling, call me Jonathan,” he comes closer and swipes your hand before you can allude him. “It only feels right, doesn’t it?”

You writhe in his grasp but cannot escape him. You look around at the walls and the isolation of that place sets in. No, it didn’t make sense, after all. A man like him should be in a condo, in the city, not out here where the trees hide him from civilization. Where the roads are endless and treacherous. It doesn’t make sense, not unless he means to go undisturbed. Unless he means you to go undiscovered.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he purrs as he brings his hand up to cradle your head, “I give to you the greatest gift at all. A true home, a true family. We will build it together.”

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #the night manager #navy and roo's sleepover

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sweetchillipeppers · 3 months ago

Text

Jason Todd x Reader - Teacher AU

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: Y’all what if I actually got back into writing fics? I didn’t know I could do that. But write what you want to see. And I want to see English teacher by day, Red Hood by night Jason Todd with History teacher reader so sue me. More importantly, I want to see Damian in reader’s classroom at lunchtime bitching about his brother. I already have part two, so that will be posted soon. (And y’all get to have a look at the Red Hood!)

Also I believe this is gender neutral if anyone sees gendered language let me know and I'll fix it.

Tags: Rivals to lovers, kind of mutual pining, Teacher AU Word Count: 3368

Pt 1 Pt 2

You were warned that teaching would be just like high school all over again. The same cliques and bullies and drama that plagued the halls when you were 15, to be repeated now that you’ve returned to the school as an adult. To think that fully grown human beings are still caught up in the same scandals, doomed to the same behaviour 10 years after they should have grown out of it. You never would have believed it until you saw it yourself. Until even you devolved to your teenage years, developing a deep hatred for a fellow colleague. Okay. Hatred was a strong word for the rivalry but the dislike you held for a certain English teacher was real. And right now, he was the reason you’ve had to delay a test for your students. The email you’d received less than 10 minutes before your class was due to start did nothing but add to the rage you felt.

“10th grade English stream A2 is running over. 7 kids still need to present their projects. They’ll be late for their next class. Sorry for the delay.”

Attached was a list of students in the class who would be late. All unsurprisingly in your history class. Mr Jason Todd had no respect for you, no respect for your time and no respect for your subject.

As the two youngest teachers at the school, you were often paired together: volunteer work, lunch duty, after school workshops. It didn’t help that your two departments, history and english, also worked closely with one another. You hated that the kids adored him. You hated that the other teachers still adored him, especially after all his flakiness. You knew that he hadn’t appeared at over half the after school volunteer work you had to do, and that he likely had an active social or dating life that was the cause, something you missed since becoming a teacher. So maybe, the hatred was all just jealousy. NOT. As if you’d be so petty.

When you first met Jason, you liked him. Like really liked him. He was pretty and smart and you are oh so attracted to competence. You trapped him in literary discussions from the Brothers York to the Odyssey but he never minded. You threw a couple joint trip ideas around to go see a local Shakespeare play after Christmas or the early 19th century writers exhibition at the museum. He was also the rugby coach and his practice on the field coincided with your volleyball team’s in the hall so twice a week you tidied the equipment cupboard together. You were so certain the two of you would be fast friends. Maybe more. So when the librarian went on paternity leave in October and Jason needed help re-cataloguing the entire library onto the new system you volunteered. A chance to spend time with someone you liked and helping out the school: a win-win. What you hadn’t expected was that what should’ve been a couple hours at most after school for a week turned into a month-long endeavour for you. Only you. Jason would stay for at most 20 minutes before running away with some kind of excuse and vanishing for the rest of the night. By the third week, you’d started cataloguing during your lunch breaks to try speed up the process (and to avoid spending any time with him while your temper simmered under pleasantries). After that you distanced yourself. He clearly had no respect for your time and you by extension. No more literary discussions in the staff room. No more joint tidies in the equipment store and no more library cataloguing. Mr Jason Todd was the most unreliable colleague you had. The bane of your existence. And yet, everyone seems to forget this fact when he flashes a smile or starts talking about classic literature. But not you. No, you could see through his gorgeous face, past those good looks into the depths of his terrible personality. And unfortunately, the only person who agreed with you was a child.

“Todd irritates me far too often. I put in a request at the start of the year that I would not be in any of his classes.” Damian states matter of factly. The two of you were sat in your classroom eating lunch. The youngest Wayne opting to spend time surrounded by history displays instead of braving the lunch hall and eating alone. And, as the teacher, it was your responsibility to encourage him to make friends. After the two of you bitch about Jason of course.

“I wish I could put in a request to stop seeing him in the staff room. But no, he wanders in with his fancy books and his fancy teas-”

“Those would be Pennyworth’s” He confirms.

“-Flashes a smile and expects me to be nice to him after how flakey he’s been. Can you believe it?”

Damian swallows a bite of his sandwich and nods solemnly. “I can.”

“He’s incredibly unreliable. I mean how do people give him any responsibility after this?” Your arms gesturing wildly.

“Perhaps this is weaponised incompetence. I always say to Father that he is too incompetent for his job.” Damian suggests, shaking his head. “But Father says that he is one of the most competent people he knows”

It’s not too hard to be competent in front of ‘Brucie’ Wayne. But you don’t tell Damian that.

“No, he's definitely competent enough. I know he’s incredibly intelligent and I sat in for one of his classes. He clearly just has zero time management skills.”

“And he lacks respect.”

“And he lacks respect!” You shout, then realise you should probably calm down and sheepishly rub the back of your neck. Although it seems that Damian hadn’t cared about your outburst.

“I am the blood son, he should at least be respectful to the rightful heir. But no, he and Grayson make a habit of tossing me about like a basketball.”

That sounds quite sweet to you, that Damian’s older brothers treat him so nicely and the disagreement must show on your face because Damian scoffs.

“Pennyworth tells me it’s ‘Sibling Bonding’. I do not wish to think of those two imbeciles as related to me.”

“The curse of being the youngest.” you offer in response, “Although it sounds like they want to be playful with you. That they want a good relationship.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending Todd right now.”

You huff at that, changing the subject. “Maybe you should make some other friends, that way you can spend less time with your brothers. Think of it as an escape plan.”

“Are you not my friend?”

“Um well, yes, but I meant some kids your own age.”

“Ah. Father agrees. He says that Jon is not enough. That I need more than one friend. How many friends do you have? I will achieve the same.” Damian looks determined, which means you’re at least getting through to him. You, on the other hand, feel like a deer in headlights. Honestly you can count the number of friends you have from outside work on one hand.

“I have lots of friends.” You brag. Damian does not look convinced. “How about you aim to make two more friends? Maybe you should join a club. Ms Song says you excel in her art classes. The art club meets on Tuesday lunchtimes and after school on a Wednesday.”

“I enjoy my lunches in the history room.”

“But this would work for both of us Damian. I start lunchtime duty next week on Tuesdays. I won’t be in my classroom.” A lie, of course, but you really want Damian to make some friends and be more social amongst the other students. You’re not sure who’s timetabled for Tuesday lunchtime duty but you’ll find a way to swap. And luckily, Damian doesn’t call your bluff.

“Fine. I shall join the art club. I suppose it is only fair that I do something uncomfortable as well.”

You have no idea what Damian is talking about but he’s joining the art club so that’s a win for you. He’s putting himself out there socially and that’s all you can hope for. The bell rings and Damian packs up his things, leaving you to get ready for your next class.

By the end of the day you were still thinking about how much you hated Jason. It’s not like he was the only thing on your mind though. In all honesty the only thing you had learnt from the earlier half of your conversation with Damian is that you were acting like a 14 year old. Not to say neither of your grievances were invalid but you suppose you should maybe give Todd slightly more grace than you do currently. Especially if he already has one enemy in Damian. You think back to the incident this morning. Maybe it really was an accident. Sometimes projects and classes over run. You have to be flexible in teaching. You gather your materials together when the bell rings and your last class rushes out the door.

“For those of you coming on the trip on Saturday, meet outside the school bright and early!” You call, “The coach leaves at 8.30!”

You sit back down and stretch your arms out as you log into your emails, sending one to the maths teacher asking to switch to her lunchtime duty on Tuesdays. She replies yes and you smile in success. Plan ‘help Damian make friends’ has finished stage one. Wonderful! Scanning the latest reminder from your principal, someone knocks at the door, drawing your attention away. You figure it might be Janice, one of the cleaners or Alejandro the receptionist. “Come in.” you say, and turn back to your emails.

“Where’s good to start setting up?” You would recognise that grating voice in a heartbeat. Jason Todd. You swivel so fast in your chair you almost fall out of it.

“What are you doing here?” You try to sound as neutral and as unaffected by his very presence as possible.

“Parents' evening. We’re sharing a classroom. The email went out three weeks ago and a reminder today?” You turn back to the monitor. The last unread email. Damn. You’d agreed to share a classroom when you were still on good terms.

“I must’ve missed it. I’m ready to start setting up right now.” You smile through gritted teeth.

You were so wrong about giving grace. That man has done nothing but step on your toes all afternoon. That display should be changed, these books should be out, example essays from each subject should have no overlap. And the worst part is that he was right on most counts. But you don’t take lightly to being ordered around by a man who does nothing but infuriate you. In less than an hour the parents will be walking into your room and judging you and the school and you again and Jason still isn’t back. He better be in the toilet having a case of explosive diarrhoea or so help him god, the principal will have to scrape his remains off the teacher car park. It’s been 20 minutes. You suppose the classroom is prepped and ready for the parents so you could just wait anxiously by yourself. You suppose nothing was tethering him here when the displays were done as long as he made it back before the parents. You suppose he wouldn’t want to spend time with someone who had become so hostile and jagged towards him. Maybe he was talking with some of the other teachers, you reasoned. He hadn’t abandoned you again. Not after the promises about turning up and being here. And certainly not after the principal’s second reminder email that seemed more like a warning. Perhaps you should go see if any other teachers needed help last minute as well. To keep your mind busy and away from the failure Jason was setting you up for. You lock your classroom and walk towards the art room.

Jason was running late again. Dick had called in an SOS and he was closest. And to make up for it he figured it wouldn’t matter if he stopped to grab a coffee for you each as a peace offering. He did enjoy your company after all. He knew that your iciness these past few weeks had been well deserved. He didn’t mean to miss all the cataloguing but it was a particularly active week for Black Mask and Penguin and then the week after that he was recovering from a stab wound he’d gotten during a routine drug bust. Getting a second job had taken some getting used to. So he could hardly blame you for your hostility. He knew he deserved it. So in order to make amends, he grabbed you a drink from the cafe two blocks from the school before he joined you in your classroom, ready for parents evening. He signed back into the office before catching a glimpse at the time. Shit. You were going to be so angry if he was late again. So he sprinted like a madman, ignoring all his very new teacher instincts about running in corridors. As Jason rushed towards your classroom he didn't notice the art room door open and you step out, waving goodbye to Ms Song.

The apology coffee ended up all over you. Seeping through your sweater and your shirt. Your nice, white shirt, ironed and pressed for parents' evening. You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to-” Jason starts.

“It's okay Jason, really.” You swallow and turn to keep walking to your class. You were trying not to lose it. Not to cry or yell, when parents could walk through the door at any moment. Jason trailed behind you. When you walk into your classroom he calls your name.

“What?” You snap. You have run out of patience and out of grace for him. He takes off his knit jumper, passing it to you.

“It’ll help cover the stain.”

“It’ll be weird though won’t it?” You question, eyebrow raised. You knew exactly what the staff room would sound like on Monday if anyone saw you.

“Is that worse than letting the principal see you talking to parents covered in coffee?”

You don’t reply. He was right, per usual. You take the jumper, unenthusiastically and pull it on. It smells like him. Not that it would mean anything to you of course, it’s just a smell. It has absolutely zero effect on you. Jason was also not faring too well. Seeing you in his jumper was quite endearing. But it had no effect on him either. Everyone looked good in knit. Thankfully, you both hear the parents walking around the corridors and are able to break the awkwardness.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

“People will like history way better than English.” You promise in response, looking at your display on ancient civilisations, matching your 9th grade class’s current topic. The bright colours and big posters were sure to catch everyone’s eyes.

Jason smirks, “More people like Shakespeare than you think.” He references his own display: a large, badly drawn, picture of Shakespeare with literary technique thought bubbles surrounding him. You roll your eyes, desperately trying to stop any trace of a smile. You were still angry at him. But right now, the parents need your attention.

The two of you finally finished the evening. It had been taxing, no thanks to your revived rivalry. You spent the entire evening one-upping each other to parents, as subtle as possible of course. When the principal had checked in on your pair, you were sweet as saints. No matter how much you disliked the man, even you couldn't deny how well you worked together. He apologised multiple times about the coffee. He really did feel bad about it all. The spill really was an accident. He also apologised for his flakiness, but gave no explanation as to why he had abandoned you for weeks on end. You found no reasonable explanation incredibly hard to believe. So you still didn’t trust him.

When the final parents left and the two of you began the tedious task of tidying, you walked up to him. “Just because we’ve worked well together tonight does not mean I forgive you. I know you’ve said sorry but until you prove it I don’t believe you.” You used your teacher voice but kept it low enough that the few listening ears wouldn’t have the chance for any gossip. Jason nods, gulping. You continue to work in silence. When the two of you finished packing everything away, highly efficiently you might add, you knew you ought to talk to Jason about Damian. No matter how much his brother disliked him, you knew you needed to talk to him about Damian. You wanted his family to encourage his creativity as both an outlet and a means to relax and socialise. You casually leant against a desk and spoke up.

“This might be too personal-” Jason perked up at your voice. “-but I was wondering if you could ask your family to encourage Damian’s art and creativity. I’m aware he doesn’t really have many friends-” Jason scoffs and you stare him down. He was a grown man. He needed to act like one.

Jason breaks the silence, “He has one friend, Jon. He lives in Metropolis. They see each other pretty regularly.” Jason shrugs. “Does he really need more?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You need to think like a teacher. Stop looking at him like your kid brother and see him as a child having trouble connecting with his peers. I want him to have someone to talk to while at school. Someone who is not me. And not you.” You add, even though you know Damian likely ignores his entire existence. ��I’ve asked him to join the art club and go on Tuesday lunchtimes. I’m sure Ms Song has told you about how talented he is.”

“She hasn’t. You’re the only teacher who knows we’re related.” Jason shrugs again. His nonchalance was getting on your nerves.

“What?”

“The school board and principal know, obviously. But we thought it would be better that his peers didn’t. We didn’t want him being accused of favouritism.” You suppose that makes sense. That could have isolated him further. Jason stepped towards you. “And you only know because of your bitching sessions.” Your eyes widen. “Yeah I know about those.” Jason taunts.

This man. The nerve! And after you had graciously half-forgiven him. Surely Damian had not spilled the beans to his asshole brother. No. Jason probably found out by spying or some very nefarious plot. Why would he care anyway? Everyone else at this stupid school adored him. You were indulging his kid brother and helping him talk about his feelings. You were not in the wrong here. Jason was. And he was also far too close to you now. You don’t even know when he got so close. So close to one another that you could see every freckle. Every scar. Every pore on his gorgeous face. You were too close. And you knew you were flushing. You felt so hot. FROM REVITALISED LOATHING AND HATRED OF COURSE. Not from embarrassment. Or any other emotion. You steel your eyes. He would not know how much he affected you. Stupid smirking men do not get to win. You stand up straight and look him eye to eye. “Encourage Damian’s creativity. Your brother deserves more friends.” You dodge past Jason and grab your bag from under your desk. You motion for him to grab his shit. He does so and walks out, heading straight for the office to leave. Allowing you to lock up your classroom by yourself, in the empty school, not thinking about how close the two of you had been. Never thinking about his eyes or his hair or his lips. Peeling off his jumper and staring down the ugly brown coffee stain on your shirt, only thinking about the ways Jason had wronged you.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #dc x reader #Chilli's Jason Todd Teacher AU

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doodle-pops · 3 months ago

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Jingle All The Way

Finarfin x reader

Request: Hi! I love your blog so much🥹Could you please write a Christmas fic where wife!reader and Finarfin cook something together for their children? Something warm and sweet, maybe a little blond elf comes by and makes everybody’s hearts melt. Thank you! And, even if it’s early, Merry Christmas ❤️

A/N: Merry late Christmas to you anon, and a Happy New Year! 😁

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: none, fluff

Synopsis: You, Finarfin and Finrod decided to spend a little quality time in the kitchen for the festive season.

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“Atto,” Finrod slurred, adjusting the apron he wore, which bore more flour than his hands did. “I told you the lemon slices must be symmetrical. If the slices are uneven, the entire aesthetic of the dish will be ruined.”

Finarfin paused in his attempt to zest a lemon, the grater in his hand slipping precariously. “Findarato,” he said with forced patience, “this is not an art exhibition. Your mother will not measure the symmetry of lemons when she tastes the dessert.”

“But I will know,” Finrod replied with a dramatic toss of his golden hair, his tone heavy with youthful self-importance. “Presentation is everything.”

Finarfin sighed, his diplomatic training only just holding back a retort. He placed the grater down carefully and turned his attention to the array of ingredients strewn across the counters. Flour dusted every surface, and bowls teetered precariously at the edges. The once-pristine kitchen was a battlefield of their good intentions, with the remnants of earlier mishaps—eggshells, spilt milk, and a rather unfortunate incident involving melted butter—littering the area.

It was the morning of the celebration of Narvinyë, the festival of new beginnings, a cherished time in Valinor that many in the household affectionately referred to as ‘the Yule.’ The faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, left over from the decorations adorning the hallways and the garlands wound around the bannisters.

The kitchen of the grand household was alive with an unexpected buzz of activity. Warm sunlight streamed through the high windows, painting golden patterns on the stone floors and illuminating the chaos unfolding within. Finarfin, Prince of the Noldor, stood amidst the flurry, his normally impeccable robes exchanged for a simple tunic, sleeves hastily rolled up. He was not a man accustomed to culinary endeavours, but the determined set of his jaw spoke of his commitment. Beside him was his young son, Findarato, barely into his teens, golden hair catching the sunlight and barely reaching his father’s chest as he surveyed the kitchen with a mixture of enthusiasm and disdain.

Finrod sniffed disdainfully, glancing at the mess. “Mother would never allow this,” he murmured, more to himself than to his father.

“Well, your mother isn’t here to see it,” Finarfin replied, his tone verging on defensive as he attempted to salvage the situation. “She’s supposed to be resting. Or, at least, that was the plan.”

“She will smell the chaos before she sees it,” Finrod quipped, folding his arms. “And if this is meant to be a surprise, I suggest we proceed with a bit more...order.” He gestured authoritatively at the table. “I shall handle the garnishing. You focus on not burning anything.”

Finarfin narrowed his eyes. “You are dangerously close to losing your privileges to taste the results.”

Finrod smirked but wisely returned to his task, arranging berries and mint leaves with painstaking precision on a platter that held no finished dessert yet. “I’m merely offering guidance, atto. Leadership is in our blood, is it not?”

Finarfin muttered something indecipherable under his breath, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. He was about to respond when the distinct sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Ai,” Finrod hissed, his eyes widening. “She’s coming!”

“You don’t know that,” Finarfin replied, though his own movements betrayed a sense of urgency as he hurried to whisk a bowl of batter that was dangerously close to curdling.

“Father, look at this kitchen! She will think we are incompetent!”

“Remove me from the equation please!” Finarfin corrected, though he immediately regretted it when Finrod’s expression turned mock-horrified. “Findárato, less talking, more doing.”

The door creaked open, and both father and son froze, looking up like startled deer. There you stood, framed in the doorway, your expression a mixture of confusion and amusement as you took in the scene before you. Your husband’s tunic was streaked with flour, his hair slightly dishevelled. Your son stood with a handful of berries, his expression comically guilty, as though you’d caught him in some grand act of rebellion.

“I...” You paused, biting back a laugh. “What on Arda is happening here?”

Finarfin cleared his throat, attempting to straighten himself. “We thought you were resting.”

“I was,” you replied, stepping into the room and carefully avoiding a puddle of something suspiciously sticky on the floor. “But the racket coming from here was hardly conducive to rest. What are you two doing?”

Finrod, ever the dramatic one, stepped forward with a flourish, holding out the platter of berries as though it were a masterpiece. “We are creating a surprise for you, ammë. A display of culinary excellence.”

“Culinary excellence?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as you gestured to the chaos surrounding them.

Finarfin coughed, shooting Finrod a warning glance before stepping forward. “It was meant to be breakfast...or dessert. The exact nature of the dish is still under negotiation.”

You couldn’t help but laugh then, the sound warm and infectious. “Well, it seems I arrived just in time.” You rolled up your sleeves, looking at the two of them with mock sternness. “Step aside, gentlemen. If this is going to be edible, you’ll need a professional touch.”

Finarfin smiled, a mixture of relief and adoration in his eyes as he stepped back to make room for you. Finrod, on the other hand, looked mildly offended. “I am perfectly capable,” he protested, though he quickly followed suit when you gave him a look and came to stand beside you, the top of his mop of golden curls meeting your shoulder.

You took charge, guiding your husband and son with a gentle but commanding hand. Finarfin, to his credit, listened attentively, his movements more deliberate under your watchful eye. Finrod, however, couldn’t resist his flair for theatrics. He appeared far more interested in inspecting his own reflection in the polished surface of a nearby copper kettle.

“Findárato, you do not need to pose while you mix the batter,” you said, trying not to laugh as your son tilted his head just so, his golden hair falling artfully across his forehead.

“But I do,” he replied with utmost seriousness. “How else will it be perfect?”

“Perfection doesn’t require theatrics,” you replied, though your tone was fonder than scolding.

“Tell that to atto,” Finrod muttered, earning himself a sharp look from Finarfin.

“I heard that,” Finarfin said, though his tone lacked any real bite. He turned to you with a sheepish smile. “Is this salvageable?”

You glanced at the bowl in his hands and nodded. “Barely. Add a bit more sugar, and it should be fine.”

At one point, Finrod accidentally knocked over a bag of flour, and the resulting cloud left all three of you covered in a fine dusting of white. The new mess created only earned groans and grumbles about ‘hair’ and ‘clothes being ruined’ while you and Finarfin stood there, shaking your heads with amused expressions while dusting the flour off each other.

“You look like a ghost, atto,” Finrod said, grinning. “Very dignified.”

“And you look like a mischievous imp. Your true nature,” Finarfin shot back, though his tone was full of affection.

At last, the dessert—a simple but delicious fruit tart—was ready. You slid it into the oven, wiping your hands on a cloth as you turned to face your two co-conspirators. The kitchen was still a disaster, but there was a warmth in the air that made it feel less like a chore and more like a cherished memory in the making.

“Thank you,” you said softly, looking at both of them. “For trying so hard. It means a lot.”

Finarfin stepped forward, his hand brushing yours as he smiled down at you. “Anything for you, melda,” he expressed genuinely. “Even if it means braving the kitchen.”

Finrod, not one to be left out, placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “And I, dearest ammë, have sacrificed my dignity and my favourite tunic for this endeavour.”

You laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair despite his protests and pulling him in for a hug. “You’re both ridiculous,” you stated, though your tone was filled with love. However, within the blink of an eye, your tone flipped, and without missing a beat, you uttered a command. “But clean up the mess you two made and make this kitchen spotless.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’,” you laughed as you spun on your heel and grabbed the broom, handing it to Finarfin and motioning for him to get started. And just when Finrod thought he was about to be forgotten as he tip-toed out the kitchen, you walked over with a mop and offered it to him. “Make the floors just as golden as the hair on your head.”

Their complaints easily died on their tongue as you sat on the stool in front of the door, but turned into grumbles and mutters with the occasional side-eye as they went about. And as the minutes dwindled, so did their whining once the scent of the tart nearing its end waffled through the air.

The first to stand before the oven was Findárato, complaining about the heat while he watched you remove the tart. His mop was left on the floor, halfway through with cleaning while Finarfin completed his task, which was him cleaning the entire kitchen due to your son whining about his clothes becoming messier. Once the tart was placed on the table, there was no need for plates and extra utensils. Choosing to act with a lack of etiquette, you stuck your fork into the edge and carved out a piece, feeding it to Findárato first. The tart wasn’t perfect—its edges slightly uneven, the berries a little haphazard—but to you, it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Carving out the second piece for Finarfin, he gingerly took the fork from your fingers and instead, offered you the bite. “Say ‘ah’.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took the piece of fruit tart and hummed in satisfaction at the taste. It was slightly tangy and a bit crunchy, too crunchy to be considered a tart, but it was fairly decent for a group effort.

“Not bad,” Finrod muttered, earning a laugh from you and a mock glare from Finarfin. “For amateurs, that it.”

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @aconstructofamind @addaigio @stormchaser819 @lamemaster @eunoiaastralwings @elficially-done-with-life @feanorynz

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#finarfin x reader #finarfin imagine #finarfin scenario #finarfin fluff #finarfin x you #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fluff #silmarillion fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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gonzo-rella · 1 year ago

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Headcanons: Being Married To Old Man Ray Stantz

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): old man!Ray Stantz x gn!also old!reader (romantic)

Warnings: Possibly inaccurate science words, because I'm a simpleton. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: Here's my first Ghostbusters thing! I've got a few other Ghostbusters fics in the works, mostly Ray-based reader-inserts because I'm in love with him, but I've also got a Phoebe-centric character study in the works that's based on part of her storyline in Frozen Empire. By the way, I loved Frozen Empire! I've already seen it three times, and it's such a joy. I'll try to catch it a couple more times at least before it leaves cinemas. Anyway, I haven't included any explicit spoilers for Frozen Empire in this, so you're safe to read this if you haven't seen it yet. I'd love to write more old man Ray Stantz fics, especially something involving Phoebe. I'm really excited to write for Ghostbusters, so feel free to send in requests! I've only seen the movies, but I plan on watching the Real Ghostbusters at some point soon. Also, even though I took my mum to see Frozen Empire the other day, I still don't have anyone to talk to about this movie, so please feel free to talk to me about it!)

It’s evident that, even after all of these years, Ray is still madly in love with you.

The adoration with which he looks at you is clear as day.

Venkman has always loved to tease you both about how sickly sweet your relationship is.

He will make fake gagging when either of you are affectionate to one another when he’s around.

(He won’t admit it, but he actually finds your relationship to be kind of cute)

It’s not like either of you are overly lovey-dovey, especially now.

Ray’s naturally a very passionate and expressive guy, but he’s rarely mushy.

Still, you show one another how much you care.

I have this idea that your silent way of saying ‘I love you’ to each other is holding the other’s hand, stroking their knuckles with your thumb and smiling at them.

It just seems so cute to have this thing that you’ve been doing for your whole relationship.

Ray knows you like the back of his hand, and you know him just the same.

It’s almost scary how well you know one another.

I can imagine that there’s been a time that someone’s asked one of you a question, and the other has been able to answer it with ease.

I love the idea of Ray being with someone who’s not a scientific mind like himself.

So, if you’re not as knowledgeable about the supernatural as Ray, you’ll still have picked up on plenty of information against your will, and Ray will always be impressed with and proud of you when you manage to regurgitate or understand his ‘science-y word salad’ (as you have referred to it).

He will also find it very attractive when you talk supernatural or science to him, but he tries not to make it obvious.

His eyes still light up like he’s a kid on Christmas when he explains supernatural stuff to you or tells you about a new psychically charged item he’s bought, and you find it so endearing.

Also, I can imagine him practically forcing you to listen to Podcast’s podcast when he discovers it, and you both end up getting really into it.

As devoted as he still is to his work and his supernatural endeavours, spending time with you is his greatest priority.

He might miss being an active Ghostbuster, but the silver lining of it is that he gets more time with you than he ever used to.

Even if you both used to be Ghostbusters, it’s nice to spend time together that doesn’t involve being covered in ghost slime and shouting over nuclear accelerators.

If you’ve not got anything else to do, I think it’d be sweet if you kept him company in his store.

Phoebe and Trevor are your honorary grandkids and you and Ray are beyond proud of them, especially Phoebe, who you’re closest to of the two of them.

Phoebe will always remind the both of you of Egon, so whenever she does something particularly Egon-like, you will exchange a knowing glance, and when she’s gone you’ll end up reminiscing about your old friend.

If Phoebe or the other Spenglers ever want to hear about Egon, you’re both more than happy to talk to them about him.

Even in his golden years, Ray is still the same sweet, passionate, excitable man you married all those years ago.

Sure, the regular excitement that came with Ghostbusting is long behind you both, but you both cherish this quieter time together just as much.

#ghostbusters x reader #ray stantz x reader #ghostbusters #ray stantz #x reader #x gn!reader #x gender neutral!reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #phoebe spengler

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deepperplexity · 6 months ago

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🎄RICKMAS 2024 - a daily prompt challenge for all who love Alan Rickman and the characters he has portrayed 🎄

Welcome to this year's RICKMAS event! You all know the drill by now, but if you're new here, I will give one prompt for each day up until the 24th of December to do with as you wish — make it the theme of the fic/drawing/song/edit/etc., make it a feature, or simply mention it in a corner. It’s all good no matter how you choose to create with these prompts and all creative things are welcome!

Everyone is welcome to join in the fun and if you do one, eleven, or all prompts is completely up to you! I’m hosting this lovely event to allow fans of Alan Rickman (any of his characters) to connect and share some love, joy, and warmth through December. Let’s build our fandom universe and community further and interact more with each other!

This year’s tag is rickmas2024 — make sure to tag your work with it so we can all find your posts darlings and I’m hoping that even more darlings join in the fun this year - by creating or indulging in the creations while spreading it all to share the joy!

On to the promptlist! This year we are having a theme of depth and perhaps a bit more weight to each prompt than the earlier years - I endeavour to keep this event exciting and inspiring now that we are on year five (holy moly!) I decided to go a different route with the exception of prompt 24 (it's always Christmas Party) which I hope you'll love - and be wholly inspired by! *Drumroll please!*

✨RICKMAS 2024✨

December Moon

Secret Watching

A Treat

Darkest Night

Open Doors

Wrapped Tightly

Quiet Wishing

Never-ending Consequences

Unwanted Solitude

Lingering Touch

Out Of Reach

Missing Mirth

To Belong

Deceptive Kindness

Decorative Obsession

Thoughtful Gifts

Truthful Longing

Secret Visitor

A Helping Hand

Wrongful Perceptions

Heartfelt Confessions

Shivering Certainty

Eve Of Revelations

Christmas Party

Good luck everyone and I hope December will be good for you and amazing for this community of ours!

Lots of love, and jolly holiday wishes, Plex

DON’T FORGET TO TAG WITH rickmas2024

Creator taglist: @evans23 , @snowblossomreads , @smilingformoney , @theheartwants-what-itwants , @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky , @slyckman , @mamawolfsmith87

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Want to be tagged in my writing? You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you!

(Posted: 2024-11-01)

#rickmas2024 #rickmas #alan rickman #rickmaniac #fanfiction #judge turpin #severus snape #snape #turpin #fandom event #christmas event #christmas fic #christmas promptlist #promptlist #prompt list #deepperplexity #IT'S FINALLY TIME AND I MADE IT IN TIME TO POST THIS ON THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER WHOOP WHOOP

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drrden · 4 months ago

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‘Festive’ Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Not a specified holiday but it is set in December. Since not everyone celebrates Christmas. :) Reader gives me second hand embarrassment in this one. Grumpy x Sunshine. Just a silly lil fic!! Fluff?

Finally. The new year is just around the corner and the city couldn't be more bustling than it currently is. Everyone seems to be in a lighter mood when it comes to the holiday season, as if a switch has flipped all of a sudden, changing the usual mundane life of a 9-5. Bright lights and bold decorations illuminate the streets, painting a serene picture of unity and mutual joy, two features of life that seem to be uncommon nowadays. Even the headquarters of DSO has been decorated to a degree, namely in your office, thanks to yourself. You're not one of the seasoned agents who frequents endeavours and missions, preferring the office environment over life-threatening circumstances. Not exactly an unpopular opinion. Regardless, the time spent in the familiarity of your city means you have access to convenience stores and store chains - all in which result in having unrestricted possibilities in how many decorations you can buy. It gets boring in the office sometimes, not something you'd expect from a Government agency, but it's all due to the fact that the majority of your colleagues are out on missions a lot. Only making rare appearances as to do mindless typing and writing away at stacks of paperwork. They often complain about the workload, which is ironic as you're faced with it five days a week, whereas with these co-workers of yours? It's about two days a week. Plus, they're not always out on missions, meaning they technically have a lot more free time to themselves then you do. Regardless, it must be due to the strain of carrying the weight of their missions that they take time for themselves by going on vacation. Apart from the one who's been bending over backwards for the Government since late 1998. Leon Kennedy. Who just so happens to be snowed in with you right now.

On the one day he decides to come into work this week, it just has to snow the most it has in five years round here. If he knew that his day was going to end up like this, then he would've snuck in his treasured whiskey flask. You, however, seem more preoccupied on admiring the view, leaving your chair and bounding over to one of the windows. Pressing your cheek against the smooth surface of the glass as you watch the blizzard run rampant across the greenery, now only coated by thick layers of snow. White and untampered with, no dents from people walking upon it, not a single imprint of a shoe, just pure snow. It's ethereal. There's no cars passing by, no people on the streets acting as the root cause of any aggravation. Seems like the earth if most beautiful when it looks like no humans inhabit it. The animals roaming freely as they make their way back to whatever makeshift shelter they call home in the forest, nestled and all snug with their family. Even just feeling the glass upon the side of your cheek makes you shiver, the cool sensation tingling down your spine. Feeling your nose and cheeks sting a little, you pull yourself away from the inviting view, instead turning back to face the office. How you would've loved to have just gone out there and built a snowman. Inwardly noting to do so later, you take the moment to admire the decorations. Tinsel seems to be a favorite, placed delicately along the edges of each person's desk, all in different colors. There's a faint rustling sound which catches your attention, and your gaze flickers over to the culprit of making said sound. Ah. Of course, it's Leon. You're the only two stuck in this room together. Lately, he's been less corny and more capricious, prone to murmuring to himself about needing a vacation. Both of you aren't exactly two peas in a pod. Doesn't mean you don't get along. After all, opposites attract.

The call of your name causes you to regain focus, and you raise an eyebrow in silent intrigue. "What's up?" You ask, tone light-hearted as you seem to be fuelled by the uplifting aura of winter. To be met with a more distant voice, the words of someone who's a lot less eager to be here than you are. "...How are you so damn happy about being snowed in like this?" A valid question from Leon, since he seems to be considering the downside of things, such as how you're going to get home tonight if there's no possible way of getting your car on a road full of snow. Debating it for a moment, you chew absentmindedly on your bottom lip before shrugging. "Just makes it feel like winter. Nice and cozy, y'know?" The filler word being used as a question just makes it seem like you're implicitly asking for the approval and agreement of him. To be fair, it's only natural as you don't seem to agree on much. With a drawn out sigh, Leon shakes his head and murmurs something to himself before continuing. Might as well not go through the day with prolonged silence almost suffocating the two of you. "I'm surprised you're just a fan of winter. You remind me of summer - like summer itself was made into a person." Quirking a brow, you offer a still encouragement for him to resume. And he does. "You find the positivity in any situation. For goodness' sake, you could be dying and you'd take the time to appreciate the sunset, or some whimsical shit like that." Sure, he's bitter and he just doesn't get you. When he was younger he withheld a similar notion that there's always a brighter side to things, but that quickly faded after Raccoon City and only seemed to continue the older he got. There's years of unresolved trauma plaguing the poor guy. It just seems to be a lot worse as of late. Which is why he's taken to drinking.

"You're like fall." You declare all of a sudden, the words tumbling out of your lips before you can prevent them from doing so. "People miss summer when fall comes. Like it's a harsh aftertaste following a sweet drink. But some prefer that sharp sting on their taste buds." Leon frowns in response, voice dropping to a low murmur. "I don't get what you're saying here. Did you plan a monologue or somethi-" The question is cut short as you carry on, "Fine. Maybe I'm using a bit too much hyperbole but what I'm getting at is that seasons, like people, are different. But they all make up the year, just how you and I are making up half of this office right now." Not sure what provoked you entirely to go off on such a tangent about the two of you being polar opposites, you take a moment to catch yourself. Maybe it's your belief in the world being good that's caused you to suddenly be a spokesperson for humanity and respecting each other. Cringing to yourself, you attempt to reign in the drama and dumb it down. "I find positivity. You don't. That's that." Followed by a shrug of nonchalance, maybe that'll seal the deal of the idea that you haven't just pulled some Pinterest quotes out of nowhere. You know he has issues and all you've ever wanted to do is help him with them. Maybe you've come across as someone who's more pitiful than sympathetic. He's probably going to hate you after all of this. "Huh. I guess you're right." Leon responds after the several moments of quietness, and you figure that this is the closest he'll get to talking about his problems. Pacing over to the window, he overlooks the frosty sight of the warm city. "Never really liked fall, but..." Leon speaks, tired blue eyes staring blankly. "...Maybe it isn't that bad."

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dontsh0vethesun · 1 year ago

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back in town

part one of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, lots of Christmas, hallmark movie cringe

for the sake of this fic, all characters are the same kind of age; ≈mid 20s

wc: 1.4k | part two

Serving customers their coffee has been an opportunity for a moment of peace lately. Wanda, as well as the remainder of your insufferable friends, had taken it upon themselves to set you up on dates. Somehow, their lack of success so far hasn’t managed to convince them of their matchmaking deficits.

So, during work hours, you’re bombarded with suggestions to which you decline time and time again. Apparently, being the Christmas season and all, it was a matter of extreme importance; the so-called ‘Christmas magic’ had to have a source of focus and, according to them, that was you.

You’d tried; the amount of boring and unsuccessful dates you’ve embarked on is almost embarrassing. You’ve had short lived relationships, fleeting flings, and so many blind dates you can’t even count them with all ten fingers. But none of them were right for you. None of the options were worthy to ‘cuddle up with by the fireplace’ or ‘entwine souls with beside a decorated tree’. Wanda had an optimistic take on your love life - you’d all be lying if you didn’t call her obsessed.

“C’mon, that girl in the bookstore was totally obsessed with you,” she spoke as soon as the customer in front of you had left with a smile and a cup of coffee in their hand.

“Wanda, please,” you groaned, busying yourself with the messed up counter, wiping down the surface hoping it’d will her away.

“She could be the one.”

“You say that about all of them,” you huffed with a laugh. She truly was a hopeless romantic. You hypothosise her obsession with your romantic endeavours is some haphazardly disguised attempt to draw away her own infatuation with a certain bookstore owner. It’s no coincidence you’re both in there so often and it’s definitely not because you have a crush on anybody there.

“Maybe this one’s different.”

“You always say that too,” you laughed. “What about you anyway? How about we get you a date with that woman you ogle, huh?”

“What woman? There isn’t a woman,” she defended, you saw right through her.

“The one that likes to give you discount on all those books you buy and never read. Agatha, is it?”

“Oh, look, you have a customer. I better get more coffee from the back,” she hurried out before rushing away.

Luckily your best friend seemed to have taken the hint for the time being and the next couple of hours passed with you working in your regular harmony.

“That man is always late, I swear,” Wanda spoke with a glance at the clock. Sam was meant to be in for his shift twenty minutes ago, though you find his lack of punctuality to be an endearing trait. And, as though his ears were burning, the man in question burst through the wreath-decorated door with quickened breaths from what you assumed to be a sprint into work.

“You will never guess who I just bumped into,” he shouted to you both as he pulled his coat off to replace it with the coffee shop apron.

“Santa?” Wanda grinned with an excitement an adult likely shouldn’t present herself with at the prospect.

“Better.”

“Nobody’s better than Santa,” she pouted.

“If it wasn’t an old guy in a red hat you’re gonna have a real sad boss to deal with,” you responded with a laugh.

“Well now I don’t wanna say,” he answered with a chuckle of his own.

“You can’t lead with that and not tell us,” Wanda countered with a poke to his arm.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

“You’re kidding.”

The pair of you answered him at the same time, a mirrored disapproval in your tones.

“Nope. She’s here for the holidays.”

“What, New York’s not good enough for her anymore?” you uttered in annoyance, rolling your eyes before plastering on an appeasing smile to the customer that approached.

“I didn’t think the small town Christmas vibe fit her new Scrooge persona,” Wanda added with an equally annoyed voice.

“I dunno, I didn’t talk to her much, I came to tell you two. You know I like the gossip,” Sam answered with a smile, though he wasn’t so pleased with her appearance either.

“You can put your matchmaking shit on hold,” you stated. “All focus is now on ‘operation avoid Romanoff’.”

“Mission accepted as long as you come up with a better title,” Wanda returned. “A Christmas themed one.”

—

“Oh my God, I need to tell you all who I saw in town this afternoon,” Kamala practically squealed as she took her seat in the booth with the rest of the group. A girl’s night out at the local bar was a no brainer after the news.

“Let me guess,” Monica voiced. “Red hair, expensive suit, kinda scary, and a knack for ghosting certain people?” She added, tapping her chin with her face contorted into one of faux musing and a pointed look towards you with her final words.

“Pretty good at breaking poor innocent hearts?” Carol added with a teasing nudge to your shoulder to lighten your mood.

“She didn’t break my heart,” you scoffed.

“Just stomped on it a little,” Kate said with the same joking tone - if there was one thing you adored your friends for it was their way of making even awful situations fell a little less dire.

“Poked at it with her expensive stilettos,” Wanda added.

“Oh, so I’m the last to know,” Kamala sighed. “That’s cool, I guess. Not that I wanted to come in here with big, dramatic news or anything.”

“No, please, go on,” you laughed. “Who was it that you saw?”

“Natasha. Romanoff,” she exclaimed with all the dramatic flare she’d hoped to achieve. And, of course, you all gasped just as you knew she’d enjoy.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned.

“I know!”

“I’m gonna get us some more drinks,” Kate spoke as she stood up. “No gossip whilst I’m gone, you know all the drama gets my blood up.”

And so you all talked. And talked. And talked. Every detail of your relationship - or lack thereof - was explored. Her departure and the toll it took on you was examined and you remembered just how grateful you’ve always been for their support, they’re truly the best friendship group you ever could’ve asked for.

“Oh my God.”

The phrase was grumbled out by the three of you positioned in the line of sight of the door, the faces of you, Carol and Wanda all laced with discontent at the sight.

“Alright, look behind you but be subtle,” Carol instructed. “I’m talking to you, Kamala.”

It started off discreetly to begin with, Monica glanced over her shoulder with a scoff at the image behind her. Kate, somehow, was just as discreet but, of course, Kamala being Kamala an obnoxiously loud gasp followed her gawking. It drew the attention of those at the eye of the display you were staring at and two pairs of eyes looked back at you.

“What a surprise,” Yelena grinned as she approached with her sister in tow.

“Yelena, you were literally invited,” you grumbled. “You said you had plans.”

“There’s been a change in plans,” she shrugged, clearly amused at the awkward situation she was dragging you into. “My dear sister and I are joining you.”

“I’ll get more drinks,” Natasha mumbled. The first words you’d heard from her in years and she kept her eyes everywhere but directed towards you; something about the way she still buries her hands in her coat pockets when she’s nervous stirred up a stinging familiarity.

“Lena, what the hell?” Wanda whispered when the blonde smugly took her seat in the already crammed booth.

“What?” she shrugged, feigning obliviousness at her clearly deliberate actions. “It’s Christmas, even the grinch needs a drink.”

Speaking of, the redheaded grinch in question approached with a tray of drinks and an awkward yet fleeting smile gifted to you when she pulled a chair up to the end of the table. To your surprise, she even held your gaze as she slid your glass over to you though you couldn’t muster much more than an almost inaudible thank you.

“So, you’re back,” Carol spoke, leaning forwards with her arms resting on the table.

And that began the awkward evening. There was an obvious tension between the pair of you; Natasha answered any questions she was asked and you pretended not to notice the way she’d steal looks at you over the edge of her glass. You, however, barely spoke.

How do you talk to the woman that left you behind? Especially when she comes back into town looking even more perfect than before; you scold your lustful eyes for tearing your mind apart.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel fanfic #au: home for christmas

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aziraphales-library · 1 year ago

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The requests for Christmas fics have started to come in... far, far too late. Remember folks, it takes us months to answer asks and then they're in the queue for a while before publishing.

Luckily this blog is a resource, not simply an ask blog. We already have a #christmas tag you can check for fics we've recommended before!

As a little bonus, here are a few new fics from this year...

City Of Blinding Lights by ShadesOfDeviant (G)

“Well, I sometimes—that is to say—I often considered an early evening walk round the area to see the lights quite the romantic endeavour. Arm in arm under the glow of the fairy lights, I even have a route planned out for should I ever get the chance to go.” “Should you ever get the chance?” Crowley snorts in a way that would be unattractive to almost anyone other than Aziraphale before he folds his newspaper in half and then half again, and casually tosses it onto the coffee table beside him. “You need to be a bit more subtle when you’re aiming for a temptation angel.” He adds with a quick wink before he rolls up onto his feet. AKA: Aziraphale has always wanted to go on a romantic evening walk round London to see all the Christmas lights. Now free of Heaven & Hell and able to openly express his feelings for Crowley, Aziraphale can't think of a better time to implement a plan nearly 40 years in the making.

A Dream Is A Soft Place To Land (may we all be so lucky) by randomramblingsofme (T)

Crowley feels as if the universe won't let him get his feet back under him. He has no plan, is juggling two jobs, coping with chronic pain from an old injury, expertly (so he thinks) hiding a raging crush on the bookseller across the street, and he is currently covered in tree sap. But things could be worse. For example, he could forget all about the Whickber Street Christmas party being hosted by said crush until five minutes beforehand. Oh shit. --- Modern AU, Barista Crowley/Bookseller Aziraphale

Eggnog and Effervescence by RepQueen15 (T)

Crowley turned so as to be able to watch the rest of the movie, and his ear pressed against Aziraphale’s thigh. He felt the angel tremble a little, as though this weren’t just some small service to him either, though that was nothing short of ridicule. Or perhaps…? No. This was just Aziraphale being his perfect, soft self. Though maybe, just maybe, Crowley wasn’t the only one who needed a little more physical contact in his life. *** Crowley and Aziraphale spend a quiet Christmas Eve putting up fairy lights, getting tipsy on eggnog, watching ridiculous Christmas movies and... cuddling.

Here’s a Hand (My Dearest Friend) by perilit (T)

Wherein Crowley allows himself to be comforted in the days leading up to the Christmas holiday, and repays with some comforting of his own.

I’m Dreaming of a Light (and Dark) Christmas by cheeseplants (T)

Aziraphale had begun plotting his revenge a few days after the encounter with the man he had begun to refer to as the demon in his head. Not that he was a vengeful person. He was a good and righteous person who believed it was important to bring light into people's lives. Lights, in fact. Several of them. _______ Two shopkeepers with very different ideas about Christmas battle it out on Whickber Street to create the most extravagant Christmas lights in London. But when the lights go out, they start to find they may have more in common than they first thought. An enemies to lovers human-AU Christmas decorations feud!

If the Fates Allow by catherineland (T)

Crowley makes a shocking discovery: Aziraphale claims to hate Christmas. Crowley’s new mission is to show his angel what he’s been missing.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #christmas #fluff #domestic fluff #human au #mod d

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too-antigonish · 5 months ago

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I'm all in favor of Win fantasy Christmas. Maybe take a few cues from her description in Zenana...

"I'm sure you'll have made plans of your own, but you're very welcome to have Christmas lunch here with us ...You know, it's nothing extravagant, but it's just enough food for everybody. ...And the children get out a game or two, for after the queen and... Fred has a doze in front of the big film."

With the dreaded holiday month fast approaching, I've been thinking about Christmas fics. And as much as I adore the ideas of a lot of fics about Morse having fluffy Christmas things, I actually think that everyone should be dedicated to making Win Thursday happy this year.

(that might be by inviting Morse over for Christmas or getting to have lots of family feels but I digress)

#itv endeavour #fic ideas #win thursday #win thursday fantasy christmas

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samsalami66 · 5 months ago

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Cinnamon Warmth

I simply HAD to write a little continuation of @unpredictable-probabilities' wonderful fic Where It Goes, so definitely read her fic before you read this one or else this will make little sense!

Read either here or on AO3!

To be completely honest, Morpheus was a bit nervous now that he was standing in front of the Gadling family home, his one hand resting in the crook of Hob’s elbow. Agreeing to Christmas brunch with Hob's parents had been easy as they had laid in the bed of the hotel, relishing each other's presence and warmth in their own little bubble, away from the rest of the world. But standing in front of the other man’s childhood home as his unexpected plus one for Christmas was a bit more spontaneous than his usual endeavours, and so the nervousness perhaps should have been expected.

Hob on the other hand seemed totally unbothered that he would be introducing a man he met the day before to his parents, even with what had happened to him last Christmas. Morpheus strived for such a level of self-assuredness and optimism. If he were lucky his family would only disown him for such a decision. Or behead him, if he were less lucky.

“Promise they don't bite,” Hob murmured to his right, and Morpheus snorted in response.

“I wouldn't be too sure of that. Their son certainly didn't seem disinclined if prompted, and he must have learned it from someone.”

“That would be Marleen's influence right there, I tend to keep my teeth to myself.” A male voice suddenly answered from the doorway, amused to no end. Morpheus whipped around with a deep blush rising on his face to the man now standing in the doorway to Hob's home. Leave it to him to make a bloody fool of himself first thing.

Mr. Gadling was a very soft man, with smile lines around his mouth and crows’ feet around his eyes, which sparkled with the same sort of mischief Morpheus had already witnessed on Hob's face. There was also the same sort of resolve to make him feel safe and welcomed, and Morpheus deflated a bit at that slowly familiar look on his face.

“Apologies, Mr. Gadling,” he said quickly and held out a hand to Hob's father, determined to overcome his social faux-pas as quickly as possible. “I'm Morpheus, Hob's… friend. At least for now.”

The man barked a laugh at that and ignored his hand in favour of giving Morpheus a full-bodied hug. “I do like a man that knows what he wants! Call me Frank. No need to be all formal with family, eh?”

Morpheus was released with a clap to his back and the most stunned expression he had ever worn in his life. He was given a moment to collect himself as Mr. Gadling moved to hug his son with the same enthusiasm he had bestowed upon Morpheus. The comparison made something ache in his chest, but in the best way he could imagine.

“Now come in, boys, it's freezing! Marleen will want to meet the new face, so prepare for all the usual motherly fussing.” Mr. Gadling winked at him then, and Morpheus had exactly zero seconds to prepare before he was being pulled into the next pair of arms at the same time as Hob.

“Oh, Robert, you didn't say you would be bringing such a gorgeous young man along!” The woman now embracing them both had a smile that rivalled the sun and brown eyes the same shade as Hob's. She smelled faintly of garlic and bacon and herbs, which caused Morpheus' stomach to growl with interest. The croissant perhaps hadn't quite been enough to fully ease his hunger this morning. “And he's hungry too! Well thank goodness I just finished preparations for brunch.”

Mrs. Gadling shooed them into the dining room before Morpheus even had the chance to introduce himself and then headed off back towards the kitchen to continue her preparations. All that Morpheus could now do was blink, but somehow it didn't help with his orientation. Beside him Hob chuckled, then slowly led them to the table so they could sit down.

“Perhaps I should have mentioned that they're very handsy.”

Honestly, Morpheus wasn't sure if that would have helped. Nothing could have prepared him for this welcome.

“It's alright…” Morpheus frowned as he realised that it really was alright. Usually he hated physical contact. But somehow, this wasn't too bad. Some part of him was even hoping to experience it again. The Gadlings were… warm. Their touch felt soothing instead of irritating. Perhaps it was a quality the whole family shared. “They're nice.”

“They try their best,” Hob agreed and Morpheus nodded in response.

Pans and pots clattered in the kitchen and some colourful but delighted curses accompanied most sounds. Morpheus was itching with the need to make himself useful.

“Shouldn't we help your mother with preparations?”

“Not if we want to keep our heads, no. She takes great pride in preparing Christmas brunch by herself, we get to do the washing up later, if we're lucky.” Hob’s voice was fond as he talked about his mother, about this joke that must be reoccurring every year.

“Marleen is a very independent woman,” Mr. Gadling agreed with a smile from the doorway, and Morpheus got the feeling that popping in on conversations like this was simply his thing.

“She certainly seems like one, Sir.” Morpheus cringed a bit at his politeness, but no offer of first names could erase a lifetime of addressing even one's own father as ‘sir’.

“Polite boy you are, hm?” He chuckled and sat down opposite them, then rested his chin on one of his hands to look at them. “How did you guys meet?”

Morpheus opened his mouth to answer, when Mrs. Gadling suddenly flicked her husband against the temple with a disapproving click of her tongue.

“At least wait until we're eating before you grill them. Here, be quiet.” She instructed and shoved a steaming pastry into Mr. Gadling's mouth, who only shrugged and munched away happily on the very fluffy looking cinnamon roll.

Mrs. Gadling then places the rest of the tray and several other types of pastries on the table, quickly followed by a spread of hearty cheeses and meats and bread, as well as a pot of tea. It was simple, but the heat radiating off the pastries and breads spoke of a very early morning spent in the kitchen and hours upon hours of preparation work. Morpheus felt slightly unworthy of being on the receiving end of such a meal, made with care and love and at the sacrifice of time and energy.

His own parents did not cook or bake or put any effort of their own whatsoever into Christmas dinners. They hired private chefs that made incredible eight course meals which only tasted of the craft but never of love.

When Morpheus bit into a warm cinnamon roll dripping with sugary goodness and topped with an ungodly amount of frosting he tasted nothing but the love Mrs. Gadling held for her family. And possibly enough sugar to give him cavities overnight. He dove in again immediately after the first bite.

Mrs. Gadling looked pleased at his enthusiasm as she cut off a piece of fresh bread for herself and buttered it generously.

“So, now, how did you meet your lovely new friend, Robert?”

Hob chuckled at the curiosity in her voice and quickly swallowed his mouthful of cream cheese puff pastry.

“Fell asleep on him on the train yesterday.” Two pairs of eyebrows were raised at that and Morpheus felt a blush dust his cheeks again. “And Morpheus very gallantly saved me from face-planting when the train suddenly broke down.”

Mr. Gadling made a face that said Yep, sounds like my son and Morpheus wasn't sure what it said about Hob that such a situation apparently was very like him.

“And you just decided to tag along for Christmas brunch, darling?”

It took Morpheus an embarrassingly long time to realise she was addressing him with ‘darling’. Considering she didn't ask his name, he probably shouldn't be so surprised.

“Er, yeah. Yes, sorry. I didn't have any other plans for the day and as Hob offered… I hoped his family would be as lovely to spend time with as he himself is. And I haven't been disappointed.”

“Oh what a charmer!” Mrs. Gadling laughed in delight and nodded her approval. “I'm glad we didn't scare you away yet, sweetheart. But I gather if you survived a full day with Robert, you'll survive a meal with us.”

“It is no hardship,” answered Morpheus quickly, then turned slightly more red than he had already been. “Neither spending time with Hob nor with you. I feel very welcomed, although you barely know me.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Gadling smiled indulgently at his words and Hob, too, seemed touched by them.

“You're going to be good for our boy.” Mr. Gadling stated then and Mrs. Gadling hummed her agreement. “So, what do you do, son? Music or art?”

#dreamling #the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #salamiwrites #christmas fluff #meeting the parents

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