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linddzz · 1 month ago

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I am slamming that validation button like a rodent wanting more sugar water so here's more mostly rough draft Jayvik.

A continuation of the nicknames fic. More science dorks being dorks, this time greatly featuring some seriously questionable boundaries between totally normal lab colleagues, and much more briefly featuring Viktor being so horny it makes him stupid. Also appearing is Jayce Talis, ADHD King and allusions to Viktor's past slut era. Both fics are a sort of preview chapter in the bigger thing @amahhi and I are working on!

Thank you to @avelera for planting the idea of platonically dubious scritches in my head, and for being a constant sounding board!

Rating: PG

Pair: Jayvik pre-relationship

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It continues to be surprising, how not surprising everything is when it comes to Jayce.

A week into the partnership, and that initial bright thrill of something new has not dulled in the slightest. Nor has the perfectly ordinary, easy comfort that he feels with Jayce. The un-remarkability of this calm is what makes it remarkable. With Jayce, there is none of the discomfort of dealing with another person. None of the abrasive tension that arises when Viktor must face other people as distinct personalities which he must contend with, instead of the larger concepts of People. People as an idea have problems that he can solve, whose suffering he can reduce without any needs for interaction causing issues.

But Jayce functions outside of these issues Viktor often finds himself in. Jayce slots into a space Viktor hardly knew existed, like there had always been this jagged edge to him that, to his great surprise, was actually part of a puzzle that Jayce had the other half to.

Past experience would have him expecting that, with time, the shine would wear off. The glow would dim. He would learn all the little faults and human contradictions of Jayce and would grow to feel that jagged tension return. Spending hours upon hours each and every day for a solid week with him have revealed Jayce’s little foibles, yet not one has grown into a frustration. In actuality, Viktor has had nothing but further data points to add weight to his newly forming thoughts of destiny and its relation to himself and Jayce. For each little fault and lacking Jayce has, Viktor can help. He can, perhaps, be the puzzle piece that returns the favor to fit neatly into Jayce's life.

For example, Jayce can grow blind to his surroundings, his mind too caught in their work. Viktor had assumed that the apartment was in the state he first found it in due to an explosive force of arcane power. He still thinks that, but he has learned that this great force was not the struck gem amplifying and reflecting the kinetic force aimed at it to exponential levels, but Jayce himself. He often forgets his keys, or his mugs, or his pencils behind an ear, his goggles on his head, his tools, everything but his journal really.

It was the third time that he left his keys in the lab (on top of twice that he came in groaning that he had locked himself out of his temporary housing), that Viktor realized what the pattern was, and that he could provide a solution.

Jayce had more important things to focus his mind on, so it was both useless and counterproductive to adjust Jayce’s behavior or habits so he could track the little necessities of life. Fortunately, Viktor is well practiced on keeping track of what he needs to. It’s a skill that was refined when he first used it to avoid detection in the Academy, and then even further developed as Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant. When Jayce left his keys behind again, the answer was simple and obvious. They were already missing from Jayce’s person, so Viktor simply took them to the sort of establishment in the lanes that would never ask any questions, but would always make a perfect copy of any keys brought to them.

Jayce’s keys were neatly returned to him, and Viktor took no small delight in waiting for the next time Jayce smacked his forehead as they left for the day, realizing that he had once again locked himself out of his rooms, to reveal his backups. There was a brief moment, where Jayce stared at the keys hanging from Viktor’s finger, when he worried in a flash that this was not something a friend or colleague should do, that he had overstepped in some way. Then Jayce snorted with his grin, called Viktor brilliant if a little terrifying, but mostly brilliant, and everything was perfect.

The key was only for Jayce’s temporary rooms in the Academy housing, but Viktor could make another set once the apartment repairs were complete, even if it seems wasteful to have Jayce eventually move out of the building that Viktor lives in.

Jayce is also wonderful at taking notes for his work, but less skilled at going back to reorganize or refine those notes. His notes are exemplary, even with the little flair of him signing every single page, but it leads to problems.

These problems are their current struggle in the cramped space of their semi-lab at some odd hour of the night. Viktor stands and contemplates the board crowded with copies of Jayce’s notes, additional observations both have about that first successful arcane spell, and Viktor’s little chalked notes next to clusters of paper denoting what sections of an article each goes to. Behind him, Jayce is not exactly pacing, which would require repeating of one path, but he is in a constant state of muttering movement with occasional bursts of frustration over paperwork.

Because they can make a fully stable arcane frame that affects the gravity within the dean’s office, but that means nothing to the academy if it is not properly written and submitted for review. They are on their fourth draft of the paper, and the initial excitement over being published has dwindled with every draft that has been returned with Heimerdinger’s cheerful blue ink slashed across the pages. One of Jayce’s faults, Viktor is finding, is that he does not take such things gracefully. It takes the second set of revisions for Viktor to realize that pride is not the primary hurt that Jayce feels, but the thread of anxiety Viktor had seen woven through Jayce’s journal. The need to prove himself, and the fear of impending failure at every turn.

“How else do they want me to explain it?” Jayce groans, and Viktor does not need to turn around to know that the perfectly clean cut hair is likely sticking out in every direction.

“I was hoping the Professor would not have edited “crank it” so quickly out of the methodology.” Viktor muses. That was his greatest disappointment. “I am deeply curious on how he expects us to find half of the citations he has requested for this entirely new scientific field.”

“And when the Academy insists there aren’t more tomes on mage lore!” Jayce snarls.

“We will have to expand outside of the Academy in the future.” Viktor agrees, turning a little to once again look over the taped up pages of their latest draft and what blue marks are where. “However, I think a more concrete description of the runic array you conducted into the stabilizer may be our ticket past many of the other issues he has found.”

Instead of grumblings or more huffed complaints, a heavy weight thumps onto Viktor’s shoulder. He pauses, realizing immediately that it is Jayce’s head that has slumped against him, and Jayce’s impressive body heat against his back indicating that there is, at most, a few inches of space between them.

“I don’t know how.” Jayce groans, but it’s less petulant and quieter, almost fearful. “I don’t know how to describe what I did.”

“Hm.” Is all Viktor can say in that exact moment. He is, briefly, distracted by Jayce’s hair brushing against his jaw with the strong scent of some sort of…of fancy wood. It is not an unpleasant scent.

“Sorry.” Jayce mutters. “Sorry, I know you’re not touchy I just- gimme a second I gotta think.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” Viktor assures him. It is alright. Jayce is correct that Viktor is not nearly as tactile as Jayce is, but he is at this point well acquainted with Jayce’s propensity towards touch. His own lack of aversion or any other strong reaction to it was one of the earliest surprises in their partnership. “Take your time gathering your thoughts. This is a far less dire circumstance than that first stabilization was.”

“You told me there was no pressure then.” Jayce mumbles, already sounding a little less miserable.

“That is because I was lying.” Viktor hums, delighted at the snort he gets, and the way he can feel Jayce’s movement from the small laugh.

“Seriously V, I just remembered that night, remembered what the mage looked like and what all the magic looked like and I…did the same thing. But it wasn’t the same thing, because no one got teleported. I don’t even know if what I did was a spell.” Viktor thinks he can feel the resonance of Jayce’s voice through his core, spreading in waves from the point where Jayce’s forehead presses down at the top edge of his shoulder.

The distraction is not a true distraction however, because Viktor catches something in what Jayce is muttering. “You can remember how he moved, what the runes he summoned looked like?”

“I remember everything about that night.”

“Yes but-” There is something here. He has already seen Jayce's remarkable skill at memorizing things that Jayce deems worth memorizing. If Jayce says he can remember it, Viktor does not doubt it. “The order of them, could you remember that?”

The head on Viktor’s shoulder shifts as Jayce rolls it slightly to one side, but he doesn’t move it in the other to shake his head. It’s a contemplative movement. “Maybe…I think so. Let me...ok this is going to sound so weird but can I just uh, hang out here for a second? It helps me think.”

“By all means.” There’s something particularly marvelous about becoming a stabilizing agent for Jayce’s mind, he would be a fool not to agree to the opportunity. As Jayce calibrates himself, Viktor once again considers their paper, the problems it has given them. Jayce had moved the dial of the stabilizing framework like a conductor, with precision. Heimerdinger wants written out theories and explanations and citations, but what if they could instead find a formula. What if the precision of Jayce’s input could be broken down into components and quantified…

His free hand moves with habitual lack of awareness to where it would usually begin fiddling with his own hair, and it takes a few moments for him to notice the slight change in both texture and location of the hair he is rolling between his fingertips. Even then, he only notices because Jayce’s head becomes an even heavier weight on his shoulder.

“Ah, apologies.” He says, stopping the movement, thinking this might be a thing to feel awkward about. “Force of habit, it helps me think.”

“No, s’fine.” Jayce says, voice thicker in a way that is dangerous for Viktor’s higher thought processes. “It’s nice, actually. I don’t mind.”

After a second, Viktor continues. This time he notes the finer texture of Jayce’s hair. It’s very soft, sleek almost, with traces of the gel he uses to style it making sections of stiffness that crunch away under Viktor’s fingers.

“You smell nice.” Jayce mumbles.

A response to that requires some consideration. Viktor…considers.

There was a time, not all that long ago, where he would have leapt on someone with Jayce’s build telling him he smelled good while standing a scant inch away from Viktor. He would have assumed that the intent was for him to leap. Viktor is more discriminating than he used to be about sexual escapades, mostly because he began finding the nights spent on dalliances not worth the distractions, but even he can admit that if Jayce had put a head on his shoulder and told him he smelled good a week ago, Viktor would know exactly how to respond. It would have involved leaning back against that broad heat, turning lightly twirling fingers into a fist in Jayce’s hair, then gleefully seeing where things went from that point.

But now…

Jayce fits in like a missing puzzle piece. Whatever Jayce is, it is not one of Viktor’s brief encounters. Viktor would want to tell Jayce he didn’t need to get his apartment repaired, when Viktor lives much closer to the lab and things would be much more efficient if they lived together. Viktor can be wildly in love with this man in every definition of love that exists, but romantic or sexual entanglements (and if there is one, Viktor very much wants the other as well) often end. In Viktor’s personal experience, they ended before morning, and that was only considering the sexual entanglement. Heightened intimacy was desperately tempting, but it risked a greater end to the entire partnership. Even if nothing ever started, a proposition alone could forever poison what there already is.

Jayce is tactile in a very casual way. He flirts with everything that smiles at him for more than three seconds, and there has been nowhere near enough data for Viktor to calculate the risk of losing that side of the puzzle, or how much of a reward he would gain from taking that risk.

“Thank you.” He says eventually, slow and still considering. Then, because that feels incomplete and awkward, he adds, “I use soap.

Jayce snorts again, the head on Viktor’s shoulder shaking as Jayce’s body shakes with quiet laughter. Viktor knows he is shaking with it, because every other hitch up of Jayce’s shoulders causes a tiny sway forward, which bumps Jayce’s chest against Viktor’s back. Each of these millisecond bits of contact makes Viktor once again run through the considerations of risk versus reward in relation to getting his hands on that chest. Under the shirt. He would need both hands. There is an awful lot of chest, after all. Maybe both hands and his mouth. Definitely all three. It really is so much chest.

He takes the fantastic effort to rein his mind away from Jayce’s prodigious chest, even more effort to pull it further from contemplating the amount of shoulder matching that chest and what the rest of the torso probably looks like. There should be a response in kind to Jayce’s. A friendly compliment to return a compliment.

“Your hair is very soft.” He decides, as that seems safe as well as relevant to Jayce's compliment. Jayce’s silent laughter turns into some small hitched sounds that near a squeak, which means that Viktor’s thoughts are successfully pulled away from the sexual distractions, but only into the romantic sort.

“Thank you.” Jayce says with a dreadful mimic of Viktor’s accent, which only strengthens Viktor’s resolve to not take any uninformed risks that could lead to him losing this, “I use a leave-in conditioner.”

Viktor’s hand drops from Jayce’s hair, and he turns his head as much as he can to shoot a baffled look at the top of Jayce’s head.

“Why the fuck would you leave in a hair conditioner?” He asks, affronted. “Conditioner already feels dreadful. It’s heavy and slimy, absolutely horrendous.”

Jayce shoots up (which is a shame) so that he can lean around and give Viktor a look of equal outrage. “What does- Viktor it’s a different thing from- do you not use conditioner!?”

“Of course not. It feels terrible, I already said that.” Jayce makes a pained sound, and Viktor waves him off. “Enough of that nonsense. It is a waste of time. I have an idea.”

Jayce moves up next to him, facing Viktor with an intent eagerness. “What is it?”

“You are going to describe to me exactly what you remember. Each rune, each movement, as much as you can.” Another thought occurs to him, and Viktor snatches his cane from where it’s leaning on the board so he can turn to the inert stabilizing frame sitting on a table. “And I want you to dial in the stabilizer as you did in Heimerdinge’s lab as you do so. I will record everything. I believe there may be something we can measure, some sort of constant in the timing and the runes used, a way to-”

“We can make it an equation.” Jayce interrupts, breathless and awed, knowing what Viktor is thinking without Viktor needing to explain any of it. He so deeply wishes Heimerdinger had let them keep “crank it” in the paper. “Something concrete.”

“Precisely. The runes are instructions, a code. Perhaps the clockwise and counter-clockwise cycles of them are additional instructions. We can use your stable field as a baseline to begin working on a formula.”

“We can give them a solid theorum.” Jayce is already rushing to the stabilizing frame, even recreating the hunched over pose he had that wondrous night. “Okay, tell me when you’re ready.”

Any thoughts on conditioner or smells are gone. In the future, it will be as common as breathing for them to be drawn together when they need help thinking. Jayce’s head will always find Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor will learn that playing with Jayce’s hair further settles his restless mind and channels his thoughts towards solutions. Whatever else there is, the most important goal to further all other goals of Viktor’s life is to keep the partnership. In the partnership there is the work, the thrill. The endless infinitesimal ways they fit together, two pieces destined to find the other. In the moment, Viktor takes up his notes and marvels again on the nature of fate, of probability, and of magic.

#arcane #jayvik #my fic #totally normal behavior for colleagues #theyre so fucking normal #oh my god they were lab partners

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steventhusiast · 2 years ago

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modern au where eddie and robin are roommates and steve is italian <3

eddie has always known that his roommate robin is in the US for college, but grew up in and is from italy. sure, sometimes he forgets, because she somehow has a near-perfect american accent and also speaks two other languages, but he’s always known.

and for the past year and a bit, he’s known how much robin wants her best friend stevie to come visit. she talks about them all the time, and ever since she and eddie moved out of the dorms and into an apartment together for their next year of university a month ago, he’s known stevie is going to come and visit.

he just kind of forgot the exact day stevie would be arriving.

so when he, clad in nothing but his garfield pyjama pants and a metallica t-shirt that’s falling apart, walks into the kitchen one morning and sees someone he doesn’t know at the kitchen counter fiddling with their instant coffee machine, he almost shits himself.

luckily, he doesn’t, because he remembers in that split second that stevie was due to arrive last night. but he still flinches pretty hard at the fright and grabs for the nearest grabbable thing, which turns out to be the doorframe. somehow, he makes a noise loud enough to get the mystery person’s attention, and they turn around.

holy shit. eddie did not know stevie is hot. or that stevie’s actually a guy. he kind of just assumed, with the nickname and all? but the man standing there looks like he could’ve been carved by the gods eddie doesn’t believe in, and- eddie realises he’s been staring at the guy for a few seconds now, and decides to talk like a normal human being. he first adjusts his position so he’s no longer holding onto the archway of the kitchen for support, and smiles at the guy.

“hi, you must be stevie?” he offers, and stevie takes a few seconds to process his words before nodding with a smile.

“my name is steve. robbie just is… hm, silly?”

eddie blinks a couple times, because steve has an accent. a thick one. he should’ve expected that, because- hello? they’re both literally from italy. but it catches him off guard, and adds to steve’s hot factor. why didn’t robin warn him about this.

“yeah, robin is very silly.” he agrees with a chuckle, and then realises steve might not know him, “i’m eddie. robin’s roommate. you probably knew that already though, so now i probably look like an idiot. well- more of an idiot than i already do in these clothes…”

he lets his words trail off as he realises steve is frowning at him in subtle confusion. he’s picked up robin’s rambling-when-nervous habit over their friendship, and hot guys tend to make him pretty nervous. but then he realises maybe steve isn’t as fluent in english as robin is, and even if he is eddie’s a fast talker that doesn’t always pronounce things fully.

“i am sorry,” steve looks embarrassed, “my english is not as good as robin.”

eddie feels so guilty at the pink that’s made itself known on steve’s cheeks, and shakes his head immediately.

“no! you don’t need to be sorry. i just talk a lot when i’m nervous.” he confesses. why did he say that? now steve knows he’s nervous. or does he? maybe he didn’t catch his full sentence.

steve raises one eyebrow at eddie though, and one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he turns around to keep trying to make himself a cup of coffee.

“i am making you nervous? why?” steve asks, his back still turned. now eddie’s the one with red cheeks. dammit.

“it’s because eddie here thinks you’re hot, stevie.”

eddie’s flinch at robin’s magical appearance behind him is somehow more spectacular than earlier, and he clutches dramatically at his heart and spins around to glare at robin.

“robin! what the fuck, man!” he yelps when he realises what she’s said. but robin isn’t listening, she’s too busy speaking to steve in italian about who knows what.

probably about how she knows all eddie’s tells for when he finds a guy attractive and how she knows eddie’s type and steve checks every single box. or, eddie squints at the pair as robin tsks at steve and takes over manning the coffee machine, maybe robin’s just telling steve how to make a coffee with the machine?

“you think i am…” steve starts as he spins around to look at eddie, and seems to be searching for a word for a few moments, “attractive?”

eddie’s eyes widen, and then he sighs and fixes a glare on robin. robin just shrugs and makes a very insincere ‘oopsie’ expression, and eddie is about to start denying like his life depends on it, but he looks back at steve.

and steve has that blush back on his face, and a tiny smile, and he’s looking eddie up and down even in his ridiculous outfit.

“um, yes.” eddie practically squeaks, not used to having someone’s eyes on him like this.

steve says something to robin in italian that sounds like it ends with a question mark, and robin rolls her eyes.

“steve wants me to translate a pick up line he wants to use on you, but i literally refuse to do that. google translate is free.”

and with that, she leaves the kitchen.

#steddie #italian steve harrington #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #st #mywriting #robin buckley #steve is so smooth in italian and so not smooth in english #he just lacks confidence #eddie doesnt believe him #thank you to the person who explained how tumblr tagging system works <3

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lurochar · 6 months ago

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Before It All (Pt. 3)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor

Part 1 + Part 2

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It really was you.

His nameless Doe.

You seemed tense, clearly uneasy by the static he emitted and his presence alone by the looks of your erect ears and puffed fur of your tail.

(How cute, you had your clothes altered for your tail. A shame he hadn’t noticed it back when he had summoned you).

Alastor was now used to fellow demons being unnerved and frightened in his presence and so they should be, but you – there was no reason for you to be so anxious in his company, though he supposed he could understand it somewhat.

The power dynamics were completely turned around.

You had no advantage over him, he wasn’t that weak human anymore.

But still, Alastor didn’t like the fact you were so wary of him, so he needed to lighten the mood, break the tense atmosphere, and there was no better way than reminding you of your encounter with him when he was the weaker one, when you had the power over him, was there?

“How I’ve missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

Alastor always did find your ears fascinating.

He may have his own pair of deer ears now and they had their uses – his auditory senses were vastly superior when compared to his human self, so much so, it took a week or two for him to adjust to sensory overload. They also gave any would-be attackers a false sense of security, he was just a deer demon, so he had to be weak.

Ripping those sorts to shreds felt much more satisfying.

But his ears were so damn sensitive to touch that Alastor had no idea how you didn’t just melt into a trembling mess when you allowed him to stroke your ears all those years ago.

He needed to move on from these thoughts before–

You blinked at his odd greeting, your body relaxing slightly from its earlier tensed position that had been poised to flee at any given second.

You blinked again.

And then you let out a loud yelp of surprise, springing forward when you felt icy cold hands playfully tug on your ears from behind.

–before his shadow acted upon them.

You reeled around to see what had touched you, not expecting to see a grin right up in your face and you stumbled back a bit, happy enough that you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the Radio Demon/Alastor by letting out some sort of pitiful sound like a scream or shriek.

“I do hope you can excuse my shadow’s behaviour. The poor thing can hardly contain itself, seeing it is a reflection of me.” Alastor gestured the shadow away, which it did after giving you a last glance before it vanished. “Well then, should we do now what we should have done twenty-four years ago?”

You’re unsure what he is talking about.

“Introductions, my nameless Doe! Unless you prefer that name over your real one.” Alastor bows in a flashy way. “Alastor Hartfelt! But you already knew that, correct?” He stood up straight and eyed you expectantly.

“It’s nothing special, it’s just Y/N.” You shrug before eyeing Alastor intently and you hope you don’t get killed or worse for your question. “You just seemed like a miserable boy brought up in a miserable situation, so I gave you a pass. I thought if I got rid of your main problem, maybe you could live the rest of your life normally. You didn’t even make it to forty. What happened?”

Alastor hummed. “It would turn out that my father was only a drop in the bucket. After that wretch was gone from our lives, my Mama instilled in me the importance and value of women. Women are not second-class citizens nor are they property, but this way of thinking was uncommon and misogyny was everywhere.”

You think you can guess where this is heading to…

“I killed men, men like my father. Men who see no problem in beating their wife. Degenerates that stalked the alleyways for their next rape victim. For over a decade, I was the ‘Bayou Butcher’. It’s only due to the incompetence of a hunter that I am here now.” The expression on his face was that of delight. “I have no remorse. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

Oh.

It’s… it’s not what you wanted for Alastor, but you remembered that sheer hatred in his eyes. Something that deeply rooted wasn’t so easily erased, even if the main cause was taken out of the situation.

Unfortunately, you were not wrong in guessing Alastor would eventually condemn himself to Hell.

Fortunately, you had held onto Hartfelt for the past twenty some years.

You do have another question, but you know better than to ask.

Some demons don't care, but some demons can get quite offended if asked about their appearance and why they ended up looking the way they do. It’s personal, tied to their sins in life and their manner of death.

Asking Alastor why he ended up as a deer demon, a prey-based demon, could get you killed or maybe worse.

“I was mistaken for a deer by an inept hunter who took a shot before bothering to confirm what he was shooting at.” Alastor answers easily and casually, as if reading your mind and knowing what you want to ask. “Do not be afraid to ask me anything, my lovely Doe. I assume you heard my message on one of my broadcasts, yes? I meant every word of what I said.”

Lovely Doe?

‘I told him my name…’ You decided it didn’t matter too much as it wasn’t demeaning or degrading. You’ve been called much, much worse and on a regular basis by Hartfelt, so hearing an affectionate(?) nickname was a bit of refreshing change–

Should you be thinking that way?

Your ears dropped.

“Listen, Alastor,” you noticed his eyes seemed to glow brighter from you simply saying his name, “I messed up that day. I… I shouldn’t have touched you, let alone hug you. There are countless reasons why most demons don’t have free access to the human world. Contact with demons tends to screw humans up. Even just one night with a Succubus or an Incubus can fuck up humans for months and they’re low-class demons.”

Alastor simply tilted his head.

“I’m mid-class and… and I should have known better.” You sighed. “I think I messed you up in some way by touching you and letting you touch me.”

You were taken back when Alastor started to laugh and your ears flattened completely, slightly bothered by his reaction to your words.

Did you say something amusing?

“Oh dear me, you have twisted it all around in your worrisome mind, haven’t you?” Alastor chuckled. “So you have yet to realize you saved me and my Mama from that piece of scum I had to call ‘father’? My life even? Had you not killed that man for me, I would have made a clumsy attempt to murder that man, whether I succeeded or not. Such a thing would have cost me my life much earlier. I would not have been able to pursue my career and take good care of my Mama until her final days.”

You flustered, not sure what to say back.

“I lived my life the way I wished to because you freed me from that man. I am here in Hell purely of my own actions, though perhaps a little earlier than expected. You are very much downplaying what you are to me and I cannot say I care much for it.” Alastor couldn’t help the loudening crackle of his static.

“...okay…”

“Pardon?” Alastor’s ears twitched at the mumble of your voice, though he heard you just fine. He wanted you to clarify what ‘okay’ meant and look him in the eyes as you did so. He wouldn’t trap you in a contract like the fools whose souls he owned, but with his guaranteed protection for nothing more than just staying at his side and within his sight, how could you refuse?

(Though, if you wanted to give him your soul, he certainly wouldn’t turn it down).

“Okay! Maybe I didn’t fuck you up! Maybe you were… a little ‘different’ from the start!” You weren’t sure how to say ‘psychopathic’ in a nice way. “I still felt guilty about it this entire time. I hoped differently, but I knew you would probably end up in Hell.” You admitted, huffing when Alastor let out another chuckle. “So I did something to try to make up for it in case I did mess with your mind somehow.”

“Hmm, and what is that, my lovely Doe?” Alastor’s smile seemed to widen and it may be hidden from view, his tail wagged in excitement. “You thought of me, even before I landed myself in Hell? I must say, I’m quite flattered!”

“I looked for him as soon as I got back from the human world and found him before he understood how… things worked around here.” You didn’t feel bad in the least. “So I tricked him into making a deal with me. Shelter, food, simple basics for his soul. He didn’t seem used to living on the streets, so he took it right away. He didn’t understand what it actually meant to give your soul away.”

“Well done! What a delightful little tidbit! I had no idea if you would be interested in the art of deal-making. I would be more than happy to guide you. Why, I already own a great number of souls myself.” Alastor’s smile turned a little more sinister and he felt his blood heat at the thought of watching you trick some desperate fool into giving you their soul.

He would slaughter an entire district just to see that.

“I’ve… never really thought about it? I just do what I can to get by. Prey and livestock-based demons don’t have it easy in Hell.” You were sought out for your meat after all. “Anyway, I thought I’d make it up to you by – well, that demon whose soul I own is your father’s.”

The static around Alastor went completely silent.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I always intended on giving you ownership of his soul whenever you ended up here, if you ended up in Hell. You can do anything you want to him, I have no intention of interfering if you… wanted to broadcast his torment or something.”

Shit, why was Alastor staring at you like that?

Was it the wrong choice? Did he want nothing to do with his father?

“W-WAH!” It was the most pitiful fucking noise you could probably make, worse than that earlier yelp when Alastor seemed to melt into the floor through a void of shadows and then reappear right in your personal space before you comprehended what happened. That was not the reason you let out a damn bleat before you could help it, though.

Alastor was stroking your ears just as he had done twenty-four years prior.

“A gift from you is always welcome, but this – I never imagined one that would bring me such… joy. Truly, you were always meant for me, my lovely Doe.”

“S-so, I take it you want ownership of his soul?” You struggled to get the words out, feeling your vision blur for a moment. You let out a breath of relief when Alastor reluctantly released your ears, but he didn’t step away from your personal space.

“Yes. I’m more than willing to give you a soul – ten even, in return. Mama may disapprove of it, but I will pay back a thousandfold and more for what that man put her through. He will suffer the worst torture I can possibly think of.” To your amazement, Alastor’s pupils spun into a shape that resembled radio dials before returning to normal.

“It’s a gift. You don’t need to give me anything back in return.” You blinked in surprise when Alastor poked your cheek, pinching it playfully before tutting at you. “What was that?!”

“You have been here longer than me, but it seems I must teach you a few good lessons.” Alastor held out his hand invitingly. “Before this transaction, would you like a tour of my radio tower?”

You placed your hand in his. “You’re going to have to explain it like you would to a child how this radio stuff actually works. I can turn my radio on and change the station, that’s about it.”

Alastor felt that chill that followed him all his life leave him and his smile felt genuine for very few times that it was as he felt your hand wrap around his.

He may be dead and in Hell, but his (after)life was looking rather bright – he still could enjoy his passion for radio and he no longer had to hide his true sadistic nature and homicidal thoughts. Better yet, he could combine the two and broadcast tortured screams for denizens of Hell to hear!

He was powerful and feared, toppling Overlords to become himself in an extremely short period of time and he owned multiple souls to do his bidding whenever and whatever he wanted – and soon, he could add his miserable wretch of a father to his collection to torment all he likes.

Best of all, he finally found you, the demon who made this all possible for him and now that he had you in his grasp, there was no conceivable way he would ever let you elude him. He could certainly give you the illusion of freedom and space if that’s what you wanted.

He was charming, he knew that, it’s all he needed to win you over.

Perhaps it would take a little time and patience, but he would get what he wanted in the end like he always did.

His lovely Doe. His new wife.

It was a dream that Alastor was going to turn into his reality.

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

I hope this ending was satisfying

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world @n0tmentallystable @xalygatorx @everwolf-20 @yui-onnero

#alastor x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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thedemoninme141 · 2 months ago

Text

Ugly Sweater Party (Set in the "Not a bad day" universe)

Summary: Enid orchestrates an "Ugly Sweater Party" where Wednesday's jealousy takes over.

Parings: Wednesday X Female Reader. Theme: Fluff! Set in the "before dating" period. Wordcount: 4k

Warnings: Jealous Wednesday? Hot-cocoa-Burn??? Cringe Romance!!

Dedicating this work to @blue-because-no-yellow

“So, hear me out, guys! An ugly sweater party! Like, before Christmas break. I’ve been looking at ideas online, and it’s just soooo fun! We could have contests for the ugliest sweater, snacks, music. Oh, and hot chocolate! Lots and lots of hot chocolate. Doesn’t that sound amazing?” Enid chirped.

Ajax blinked slowly, clearly still waking up. “Wait, so… everyone wears ugly sweaters and… that’s it?”

“Not just that! There’s music, games, maybe a contest for the ugliest sweater. We’ll decorate a space with string lights and make it festive!” Enid’s eyes practically sparkled. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

"What's the deal with the ugly sweaters, though? Why not just regular sweaters?" Ajax asked.

"Because!" Enid exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Ugly sweaters are festive and hilarious. It's a Christmas tradition!"

Yoko, sipping her coffee, said. "I don't do tacky."

"Yoko, you wear sunglasses indoors," Bianca quipped.

"Exactly." Yoko said, smirking.

“You know what, this can be fun if done right. Besides, who doesn’t love ugly sweaters and snacks?” Divina chimed in.

“A normal human being,” Wednesday muttered flatly.

Enid ignored her. “Come on, it’s not like we have to take it seriously or anything! It’s just an excuse to hang out and, you know, do something festive for once. Right, Eugene?” She turned to the boy, who had been quite.

Eugene adjusted his glasses, looking sheepish. “Uh, I guess it sounds kinda cool. As long as there are snacks…”

“There will be plenty of snacks, Eugene,” Enid assured him before turning to Kent. “What about you?”

Kent shrugged. “I’m in. Sounds chill. Plus, I’ve got this old sweater with Santa surfing on a shark. It’s perfect.”

“See? Everyone loves it!” Enid threw her arms up in triumph, beaming around the table. “Well, almost everyone.”

Bianca sighed. “Even if we wanted to, where are we going to throw a party like that? We’d need space, like a lot of space."

“What about the forest clearing?” Eugene suggested, “We could string up lights in the trees.”

“Yeah, because freezing to death sounds so festive,” Bianca said.

Enid’s blondeness didn't waver down. Enid turned toward Wednesday expectantly. “What about you, Willa? Do you know a place?”

“I am neither interested in your puerile event. Do whatever you want. Just leave me out of your hideous party.”

“What party?”

Wednesday’s posture stiffened immediately. Her grip on her fork tightened as she glanced up, only to find you approaching the table. You carried your tray with that infuriatingly warm smile on your face, the one that made her chest feel like it was simultaneously imploding and catching fire.

You slid into an empty seat beside Eugene, your curious eyes scanning the group. “What’s all the fuss about?”

Enid’s face lit up as if Christmas had arrived early. “Oh my gosh, okay, so I’m planning an ugly sweater party! Everyone wears the tackiest sweaters they can find, and we’ll have games and hot cocoa and, like, a contest for the ugliest one. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

You laughed softly, and Wednesday’s pulse quickened. She hated how much she noticed the subtle curve of your lips. It was maddening.

“Sounds interesting,” you said, your smile lingering.

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. Interesting? Why did you have to find it interesting? And why did that single word make her want to throw herself into the abyss?

The group continued discussing but Wednesday heard none of it. Her focus was on you—the way you rested your chin on your hand, the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. She’d planned to completely ignore this party nonsense, but now? Your involvement complicated everything.

“Where are we even going to host this?” Divina asked again, bringing Wednesday out of her spiral.

Enid groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ugh, I don’t know! There’s got to be somewhere big enough that we won’t get in trouble.”

“You could ask Principal Weems for the common room,” Kent suggested, though his tone made it clear he didn’t think it was a great idea.

“She’d never go for it,” Bianca said. “Not unless you can somehow convince her it’s educational.”

“Educational?” Enid snorted. “What am I supposed to say? That ugly sweaters teach math?”

The table erupted in laughter, but Wednesday remained silent, her mind racing. She could feel your gaze on her, curious and patient. It was unbearable.

Before she realized what she was doing, she spoke.

“The Gates Mansion.”

The group fell silent, turning to look at her in surprise.

“What?” Enid asked.

“You can host your ridiculous party at the Gates Mansion,” Wednesday said, her tone clipped.

“Wait, are you serious?” Ajax asked. “Isn’t that place, like… haunted or something?”

“The hyde is gone. Crackstone is gone. Thornhill is gone,” Wednesday replied matter-of-factly. “It’s nothing but an old, decrepit house now.”

Enid’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, that might work! Weems would never find out if we do something there and we could totally make it festive with some cleaning and lights! This is going to be so cool!”

“You’re going to need more than cleaning,” Yoko said. “That place is a wreck.”

“And terrifying,” Eugene added.

“Exactly why I’m going to need someone brave and crazy to help me clean it up!” Enid declared.

The entire group turned to Wednesday , even you were watching her, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

Wednesday sighed deeply, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But don’t expect me to wear one of those abominable sweaters.”

Enid squealed in delight, clapping her hands. “This is going to be the best ugly sweater party ever!”

Wednesday cast a fleeting glance at you.

She wasn’t sure whether to curse you or thank you for making her day infinitely more complicated.

"Uh… are we sure about this?” Ajax asked, glancing at the dilapidated structure. “It looks like the setting of every horror movie ever.”

“Relax, Ajax,” Enid chirped, her voice brimming with forced cheer.

“Wednesday and I have been here before. Just a big, spooky, totally-not-haunted house.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Ajax muttered, inching closer to Enid as if proximity could protect him.

“The last time we were here, we were chased by the hyde. You know, a grotesque, murderous monster with claws designed to flay flesh.” Wednesday was behind them, getting dragged into this mess by Enid.

Ajax stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Wait—what?”

“Wednesday!” Enid shot Wednesday a sharp glare. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

Enid rolled her eyes and turned to Ajax, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Look, I promise it’s safe. The hyde’s gone, and Wednesday’s just being dramatic.” She shot her roommate a pointed look.

Ajax hesitated, glancing at the mansion again. “Uh.. I think I forgot something back at Nevermore…”

Enid nudged Ajax forward. “Come on, don’t bail on me now. Besides, we need someone tall to hang the lights. Right, Willa?”

Wednesday didn’t answer. She was too busy glaring at the mansion, as though willing it to collapse and save her from this pointless endeavor.

“Alright, team, let’s split up and conquer! Ajax, you can start by clearing the cobwebs. Wends and I will tackle the furniture.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Wednesday said flatly.

Enid ignored her. “Come on, it’s for the party! And think of all the fun everyone’s going to have. Especially you-know-who.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Enid said dramatically, holding a hand to her chest. “I just didn’t get enough help with the setup, and that’s why this party isn’t up to your standards.”

Wednesday’s glare could have turned Enid to stone. She knew exactly what her roommate was doing, and worse.... it was working. Begrudgingly, she picked up a dust-covered chair and moved it to the corner of the room.

Enid winked at Ajax, who looked more confused than anything. “See? Teamwork makes the dream work.”

The hours dragged on, filled with Ajax’s muttered complaints, Enid’s chatter, and the occasional sound of Wednesday grinding her teeth. As they worked, the mansion slowly transformed. The dust was swept away, the windows sparkled, and strings of lights began to illuminate the once-shadowy corners.

By the end of the day, the Gates Mansion was looking almost festive—if you squinted and ignored the peeling wallpaper and the leftover cobwebs.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Wednesday stood near the fireplace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture was as rigid as ever, her expression blank. But inwardly, she was waging a battle against her gag reflex. Everywhere she looked, there was an explosion of color—garish reds, obnoxious greens, hideous yellows. And the sweaters. The sweaters.

Her own attire was simple, deliberate, and true to her identity: a plain, black sweater devoid of any embellishment. It was the only concession she had made to Enid’s ridiculous demands.

Her circle of idiots had gathered on mismatched sofas dragged into a semi-circle at one corner, all chattering as Enid zipped around with an energy that could power a small town. Ajax trailed behind her, struggling under the weight of a tray filled with cups of hot cocoa.

“Wednesday!” Enid called, waving her over. “Get over here and grab some hot cocoa before it’s all gone. Ajax nearly spilled half of it on the way in.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes as she stepped closer with deliberate slowness, as if approaching a live grenade.

“Isn’t this just the best?” Enid beamed, handing her a mug. “I mean, look at us! Ugly sweaters, hot cocoa, and friends. It's like a cute dream!"

“More like a nightmare,” Wednesday muttered, eyeing the mug suspiciously. Still, she accepted it, if only to keep her hands busy and distract herself from the urge to claw her eyes out.

Bianca smirked from her spot on the sofa. “You’re just mad because you couldn’t resist joining in. Look at you, wearing a sweater like the rest of us.”

“This is not a sweater,” Wednesday corrected, her tone sharp. “It’s a black, woolen garment devoid of festivity.”

“Still counts, anyway, guys! It’s time to decide who’s wearing the ugliest sweater. We need a system!” Enid chirped.

“Can’t we just vote?” Ajax suggested, taking a cautious sip of his cocoa.

“No way,” Enid replied. “That’s too boring. We need something fun. Like, a panel of judges or—oh! Maybe we each explain our sweater, and the group decides.”

“Or,” Bianca drawled, raising a brow, “we pick someone who’s brutally honest to a fault and let them decide.”

As one, the group turned to Wednesday.

Her grip on the mug tightened as every pair of eyes locked onto her. Enid was practically bouncing with excitement. “Wednesday, you’re perfect for this! You’ve got the sharpest eye. Come on, roast us.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Oh, come on!” Enid pleaded. “You’re perfect for this.”

Bianca smirked. “Well, we’ve finally found a use for Wednesday. Come on, Addams. Judge us.”

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t cry when I destroy your fragile egos.”

“Yay!” Enid cheered, clapping her hands. “Okay, go!”

Wednesday stood, her gaze sweeping over the group. She started with Yoko, her tone clipped and precise. “Yoko’s sweater is an abomination of neon and flashing lights. It looks less like a holiday garment and more like a warning sign for an approaching biohazard.”

Yoko snorted, clearly amused, while the others burst into laughter.

Wednesday’s gaze landed on Enid. She paused, taking in the jingling bells and riot of color. “And Enid… Your sweater is less a garment and more a crime scene. It’s a murder of taste and decency, except crime scenes look beautiful, yours is hideous. ”

Enid gasped in offense, clutching her chest. “How dare you? This is festive perfection!”

Next victim was Ajax, “Your sweater is an assault on the senses. The color palette suggests that it was designed by someone experiencing a particularly vivid fever dream. And the snowman? You know what, I take that back, I actually like this sweater, that abomination of a snowman can work in a horror movie."

“Thanks, I think?” Ajax said nervously.

Bianca crossed her arms, waiting for her turn. Wednesday obliged. “Your sweater is a desperate attempt to marry elegance with obnoxiousness. The glitter alone is enough to give a child a seizure. What do you think it is? The Raven? Your sweater screams, ‘Look at me,’ which, I suppose, is your specialty.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Touché.”

Finally, Wednesday turned to Eugene. She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Your sweater is… acceptable.”

Eugene blinked in surprise. “Wait, is that—was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Wednesday said flatly.

“What about me?”

Wednesday’s head snapped toward you. You were standing near the cocoa station, holding a mug and smiling at her. Your sweater was a disaster—neon orange with a pattern of candy canes, snowflakes, and . It looked like it had been knitted by a maniac with no sense of restraint.

“Go on,” you said, your tone teasing. “Roast me. I can take it. Tear mine apart.” Say what now?

Wednesday opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her mind raced. Hideous. Obscene. A crime against humanity. The words were there, perfectly formed. Yet when she looked at you, all she could think was—

Beautiful.

“Well?” Enid prodded, her grin mischievous. “What’s wrong, Willa? Cat got your tongue?”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. She could dissect the flaws in a masterpiece with ease, but when it came to you, even wearing that, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything remotely cruel.

“Your sweater…” she began, her voice faltering. “It’s… functional.”

The group failed to stifle their laughter.

“Functional? You said all that for mine and you call her's functional? Come on Wednesday, that's the contest winner right there!” Bianca teased, Wednesday only shot her a glare.

Sensing Wednesday's growing unease, you quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, this cocoa is amazing. Who made it?”

Ajax perked up, raising his hand. “That’d be me.”

You smiled at him, and Wednesday’s chest tightened. “It’s really good. Nice work.”

Ajax grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. My grandma taught me how to make it. Secret family recipe.”

"You have to teach me someday." You took another sip, your eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation. Wednesday clenched her fists at her sides, the mug in her hand threatening to crack under the pressure of her grip. The warmth of your smile directed at Ajax did something unexplainable to Wednesday’s insides. It was irritating and fascinating all at once.

And so she found herself back in her spot beside the fireplace, trying to look as composed as always.

Her eyes, however, betrayed her. They followed you.

You were by the snack table, chatting with one of the stoners—what was his name? Nate? Nick? It didn’t matter. He leaned closer to say something, and you laughed, the sound a soft chime that seemed to echo in Wednesday’s ears far too loudly, it was maddening.

And that boy, with his messy hair and an air of unearned confidence, was soaking it all in. He said something else, and you giggled again, nudging his arm playfully. Wednesday’s fingers twitched. She imagined reaching for her knife, a comforting thought, though regrettably impractical in this setting.

“Wednesday!” Enid’s chirpy voice broke through her thoughts. She turned her head sharply, meeting her roommate’s bright, oblivious grin. “Isn’t this amazing? Everyone’s having such a good time!”

Wednesday glanced at the room, her gaze flickering back to you before she responded. “I fail to see how this qualifies as ‘amazing.’ ”

“Oh, come on! Look at everyone, laughing, drinking cocoa, making memories! Even you’re not glaring as much as usual. That’s progress.” Enid nudged her playfully, earning another withering glare.

Ajax appeared, holding a tray of other snacks. “Hey, Enid, where do you want these?”

“Over by the snack table!” Enid directed. Then, turning to the group, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, people! It’s been super fun hanging out, but it’s time to get your pairs ready because we’re dancing next!”

A collective murmur rose, some students cheering while others groaned.

“Dancing?” Bianca raised an eyebrow, sipping her cocoa. “You didn’t say anything about dancing, Sinclair.”

“I did too!” Enid protested. “Well… maybe I hinted at it. Anyway, it’s happening, so suck it up!”

“Uh, what if we can’t dance?” a random student yelled.

“You sway awkwardly and call it a day,” Enid quipped and dashed toward her barely put together DJ booth to adjust the music while everyone started paring. Wednesday remained by the fireplace, her gaze locked on you.

Nate-nick stepped closer toward you, his posture overly casual, and Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists.

“So, Y/N,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “You’re, like, really cool. Wanna, uh, be my partner for the dancing?”

Wednesday didn’t even wait to hear your answer. Spinning on her heel, she made her way to Ajax, who was setting down the last of the cocoa mugs.

“Ajax,” she said, her voice flat but laced with an edge that made him flinch.

“Uh, yeah, Wednesday?” he asked nervously, straightening up.

“I need more hot cocoa. Boiling.”

Ajax blinked, clearly confused. “Boiling? I mean, sure, but isn’t the regular batch warm enough?"

“Did I stutter?” Wednesday’s dark eyes bore into him, and Ajax quickly held up his hands in surrender.

“Nope. Boiling cocoa, coming right up.” He scrambled to prepare a fresh batch, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder just preparing himself to dodge any flying knives. When it was ready, he handed her a mug. The liquid inside was steaming.

“Here you go,” Ajax said, still baffled. “Didn’t think you’d like cocoa this much… careful tho."

Wednesday’s lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a shiver down Ajax’s spine. As he watched her turn and walk away, realization dawned on him. He quickly busied himself with something else, wisely choosing not to question her about whatever she planned to do with this acid he just gave her.

Without hesitation, Wednesday approached the boy who had dared to ask you to dance. He was still by your side, oblivious to the doom looming behind him. With calculated precision, Wednesday "tripped," her hand jerking just enough to send the scalding cocoa splashing onto his arm and chest.

“AHHH! HOT!” He yelped, flailing as the cocoa soaked through. His friends quickly gathered around him, their faces a mixture of shock and fear.

“How clumsy of me,” Wednesday said flatly, not bothering to mask her lack of remorse.

His friends exchanged nervous glances, none daring to confront her. They helped him toward the kitchen to clean up, leaving you standing there, bewildered.

“Wednesday,” you said, stepping closer. “Was that… really an accident?”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice calm as ever. “Gravity is unpredictable.”

You sighed, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she deadpanned.

The music started up behind you, and the others began pairing off and moving to the makeshift dance floor. The room was alive with laughter and chatter, but you and Wednesday stood apart from it all. You glanced around before looking back at Wednesday. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a question. For a moment, Wednesday hesitated, her mind racing with a thousand reasons to say no. But instead, she found herself nodding. “Lead the way.”

Wednesday followed you up the grand staircase. She didn’t bother asking where you were leading her, she didn’t particularly care. If you wanted privacy, she would oblige. If this was another attempt to pry some semblance of emotion out of her, you would fail. Or so she told herself.

You pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a spacious room bathed in moonlight streaming through large, arched windows.

Turning to face her, you crossed your arms, “Well, considering you’ve likely left my dance partner with third-degree burns…”

Wednesday tilted her head, “I fail to see how that is my problem.”

“Oh, it is.” You stepped closer, your voice softening. “Because now, you have to take his place.”

Her eyebrows rose, a rare flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise stoic face. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

“You caused the incident. You take responsibility.” Your tone left no room for argument, but before she could protest further, you added, “But I’m kind enough to spare you the humiliation of doing it downstairs. We’ll dance here. Privately.”

The word privately settled uncomfortably in her chest, both a warning and something she couldn't recognize.

“I’m even letting you have a say in the music,” you said, glancing at her. “Any requests?”

“Something haunting,” she replied without hesitation, the corner of her mouth twitching into what might’ve been a smirk.

You hummed thoughtfully before selecting a piano piece—somber, slow, and emotional. It wasn’t the haunting melody she had hoped for, but it was close enough.

Wednesday stepped closer, her posture rigid. “I don’t slow dance.”

“Well, tonight you do,” you said with a teasing smile, holding out your hand.

She stared at it as if it were an unfamiliar weapon, something both intriguing and dangerous. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. Your fingers were warm, soft against the coolness of her own, and she tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the contact.

You guided her hand to your waist and placed your hand on her shoulder, the touch sending a ripple of something unfamiliar through her. She mirrored your movements stiffly at first, her steps awkward as the two of you began to sway to the music.

“Relax, Wednesday,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that somehow made Wednesday feel chills.

“I am relaxed,” she countered, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her words.

You chuckled, a sound that grated on her nerves and yet inexplicably soothed them. Slowly, her body began to follow the rhythm, her steps becoming less mechanical. She focused on the music, letting it guide her movements, but her attention kept drifting back to you.

Your eyes were soft, your smile easy, and the way you looked at her—as if she were something precious—made her chest feel something she didn’t fully understand. She had always prided herself on her ability to remain detached, to keep the world at arm’s length. But with you, that distance seemed to collapse, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in a way she found both infuriating and intoxicating.

As the dance continued, the space between you grew smaller. She could feel the faint scent of whatever perfume you wore, and it was all-consuming. Her usually sharp mind felt dull, clouded by your presence.

This was dangerous. You were dangerous. Not in the conventional sense, of course, you posed no physical threat. But the way you made her feel, the way you seemed to slip past every wall she had built around herself, was a danger of an entirely different kind. She didn’t like it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

And then you rested your head on her shoulder.

Wednesday froze, her body stiffening before she forced herself to relax. Her heart, that stubborn organ she often dismissed as a mere biological necessity, pounded erratically in her chest. She didn’t understand it, this inexplicable pull toward you, but she knew she didn’t want it to end.

You sighed softly, your breath warm against her neck. “Thanks for this, Wednesday. I know it’s not your thing, but… it means a lot.”

Her other free hand, which had been hovering awkwardly at her side, hesitated before resting lightly against your back. The gesture was hesitant, almost uncertain, but it felt… right. Too right.

She didn’t know how long you stayed like that, swaying gently in the moonlight. All she knew was the warmth of your body, the softness of your breath, and this, whatever this was...

When the music finally faded, you lifted your head and met her gaze. There was something unspoken in your eyes, something she couldn’t quite name but felt all the same. She didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The silence was enough.

As you stepped back, breaking the spell, she felt an ache she couldn’t place. You smiled at her, soft and genuine, and she found herself returning it—just barely.

“Thanks for the dance,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her expression as stoic as ever, but her mind was anything but calm.

As you turned and left the room, she felt something in her hand, a small note, "Call me sometimes Wednesday"

The faintest trace of a smile tugged at Wednesday's lips.

Not a bad party, not bad at all.

[This was so fun to write, thought you guys need some fluff after the heartbreak from the last oneshot]

[A VERY IMPORTANT REQUEST: A close friend of mine @blue-because-no-yellow is leaving for a few months on her basic training. So I would be really grateful to you guys if you wished her some goodluck in the comments! Like really, sometimes, the kind words of strangers become something to remember during hard times in the future...]

[WORKLIST]

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