#classic tray ceilings

[robynravenclaw]

Denver Dining Room Example of a large, elaborate, enclosed dining room with a medium-toned wood floor and yellow walls.

[introvertedthinking]

Living Room - Transitional Living Room Example of a mid-sized transitional formal living room with an enclosed medium tone wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace or television.

[written-in-wonder]

Minneapolis Master Example of a large transitional master carpeted bedroom design with white walls

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows 02

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: HAUSER - Adagio (Albinoni)

A/N: I’m so glad part one did well! I really liked this idea and hoped other people would too. As always comment if you want to be tagged and I will tag you in the next post! I wanted this to be three parts, but depending on how much I can fit in this chapter and the next one, I’ll see if I need to make four parts. The song at the beginning of this chapter is meant to be played when the line “ The music picked up” Is read. Skip to 5:35 for it to play smoothly, or as smoothly as possible.

Word count: 3.k or something over that idk I got too lazy to count :(

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part three.

Within, the grand foyer unveiled itself, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail in stark contrast against a black and white color scheme. Crystal chandeliers, dangling from lofty black ceilings, cast their brilliance upon white walls adorned with ornate mirrors. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich black and white fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, establishing cozy settings for guests to assemble and engage in enriching conversations. Each room murmured tales of a past era – intricately patterned black and white wallpaper, frames gilded in black to showcase classical art, and a subtle aroma of aged wood and lavender lingering in the air, harmonizing with the monochromatic elegance. The guests walking in all marveled at the details of the mansion.

Charlotte and Vagatha both stepped in, Charlotte in awe of the detailing. A shadow figure bent down slightly to offer her a drink, to which she happily took.

“Vaggie this is all so beautiful. I hope I can make a good impression.” Charlotte said, turning to her partner to ease her nerves. Vagatha just smiled, a hand on her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re gonna do great babe, besides, there’s so many people here, if one likes it I’m sure other people will get on board too.” Vagatha said.

“Or they can laugh at you if one person points out how ridiculous it is.” Husk said, chugging his drink before placing it back on the servers tray.

“Thanks for the kind words Husk.” Vagatha said sarcastically. He just shrugged, looking towards the bar area which was practically calling him over.

Upstairs in your room, you stared at yourself in the mirror as your shadows made the finishing touches on your outfit. Draped in a long, elegant black gown that gracefully embraced your commanding figure, the fabric cascaded like shadows. Delicate chain motifs intertwine with the dress, creating an alluring dance of darkness. A chain belt cinches your waist, a subtle nod to your captivating ability to ensnare and command over your shadows. Completing the regalia, silver chain cuffs adorn your wrists, reflecting both power and refinement.

“Madame, the guests are all in the lobby awaiting your arrival.” One of the shadows said. You nodded, stepping down from your showcase, winking to yourself in the mirror before chuckling to yourself. A shadow approaches you, bowing in respect before holding out a tray with your drink, a contrast to your dark colors. You take the glass in your hand, another shadow lightly putting a thermometer in your drink so it’s the perfect temperature for you, fifteen point five degrees Celsius. The liquid is a light yellow-ish green, Lafite-Rothschild, an expensive French wine you tried in 1906 when you were alive. Lifting it to your lips, you take a long sip and sigh, the spicy and earth notes, mixed with a hint of tobacco and red Barrie’s dance on your tongue like a performance of Gavotte. You pull back with a sigh, setting the glass down, a perfect Ridel Vinum Bordeaux, personally crafted for you as the bottom of the glass is a Smokey black, fading into clear glass towards the top.

“Let’s get this Gala started shall we~?”

In the lobby, guests were socializing amongst themselves. Velvet, Vox and Valentino had split for a short while. After the incident outside, the two overlords wouldn’t stop tantalizing the picture box about his fit of frustration dealing with the Radio Demon. From the lobby, there were large crystal doors revealing the back exterior of the house. The greenery was just perfect, with cobblestone flooring revealing another bloody fountain. Vox stood with his drink, speaking to some sinner he couldn’t remember the name of, about how well his business was going.

“You ever get,” Vox asked, eyeing one of the shadows who stood in a corner, white eyes soulless as they held out drinks to guests. “Creeped out by those, things?” Vox asked, turning back to the sinner. He just scoffed.

“Please, they’re always around and as far as I know, harmless.” The sinner said. At that, a shadow appeared between the two, taking their empty glasses and replacing it with new, full ones. Vox tried his hardest not to seem alarmed at this, and took the glass silently, sipping his drink slowly as it floated away. It was then he took in the shadows appearance. They all looked the same. Tall figures, Smokey outlines, but no feel or hands, just a faded end to their limbs. Their eyes were white and soulless, almost as it they were vacant, a shell of what they used to be. There were no facial features, just two white circles and a thin white line for their mouth. Each one however, had a light Smokey chain around their chest, wrapped in the shape of an X.

“What are the chains for then? They’re pretty much smoke, what do they need chains forever?” Vox asked. The associate laughed, but before he could answer, another overlord stepped in.

“They have chains because they’re claimed souls.” Fredrick Von Eldritch says, his sister Bethesda in toe. The two grin, a shadow following behind them with a tray of their drinks. “If you get invited to the gala long enough, you get a personal one.” He said with a wink, gesturing to the shadow behind the two.

“They’re quite cute once you get used to them.” Bethesda said with a smile, cooing at the shadow lightly. Yet, it still remained expressionless.

“Actually, now that you say that.” The sinner says, looking around for a moment. “It’s been awfully quiet with a laugh track being played.” He says, referring to Alastor. Vox just rolls his eyes.

“Who gives a shit about where that old timey freak is?” Vox asks. Fredrick and Bethesda snicker to each other, catching Vox’s attention.

“Probably hunting for his dear Madame.” Bethesda said dramatically, laying her head on her brothers shoulder and batting her lashes playfully. Fredrick and the sinner laughed at his sisters antics, but Vox grew serious.

“What does that mean? He knows her?” Vox asked, to which Fredrick scoffed, finishing his drink before reaching for another off the shadows server tray.

“Of course he does. She died before him, and they’re the closest overlords in time period. Well, aside from Zestial and her.” Fredrick explained. Vox didn’t say anything else, instead looking to the red ‘moon’ of hell, before glancing at the blood fountain. He had heard rumors about being at the Madame’s table, and how she gave the inside to all her projects and plans before the next extermination. Apparently, this year was supposed to be ‘different’ as people had been talking.

“When does this dinner start anyway? We’ve been standing out here for two hours.” Vox said annoyed.

“In a few minutes, Madame will make her grand entrance. She will socialize with the guests as it is polite to have one on one time with them. Then she will spend the rest of the time while the orchestra gets together deciding on contenders to sit at her table.” A shadow walking by said, stopping to stare at Vox. “Madame is always watching.” It then said, turning to serve other guests. Vox said nothing, instead turning on his heel and making his way inside the mansion. How could someone feel suffocated outside? Fredrick and Bethesda said nothing, watching him go, but sharing a glance between each other before making their leave too, leaving the sinner all by his lonesome.

Inside, Charlotte and Vagatha conversed about how she could get people behind her project.

“Maybe if I sing-“

“Please no. These people are too…” Vagatha said, glancing around the room. Everyone seemed too, fake. Vagatha knew Charlotte being herself around these people would do absolutely no good to the hotel, and though she hated telling Charlotte these things, she knew her kindness would be frowned upon, and made fun of. “Serious for that kind of thing.” Vagatha finished, taking a sip of her champagne. She settled for champagne in a flute while Charlotte drank water, wanting to hydrate herself in hopes to calm her nerves.

“I heard that Madame might be making her entrance soon.” Charlotte said nervously, looking around. She half expected her parents to show up, but knew how they rarely liked getting involved in overlord affairs. She’d be surprised if they showed up.

“Then when she does you can try to pitch your idea to her.” Vagatha said supportively. Charlotte just smiled and nodded, hoping someone would listen to her. She had tried practicing on two sinners moments ago, to which they both laughed and called her delusional. The defeat was beginning to get to her, and she hadn’t even started yet.

With Velvet, she began studying the interior of the old-styled mansion. She was trying her hardest to not be too rude about it, but of course she had her comments, but ultimately kept them to herself. Cramoisie, your fashion line, was the top fashion brand in hell, everyone wanted a piece of it. Velvet had never had an article for herself, despite trying her hardest to get something, anything, even a sample. But people feigned for it like drugs. Velvets line was successful sure, but with your validation and guidance, she could become perfection, the same way you were. Everyone in hell looked up to you, shit, you had even gotten Lilith’s praise as she was photographed wearing a custom piece you designed for her. Your work was art in its purist form, and Velvet kept a close eye on her other colleagues to make sure they didn’t fuck your chance up. Velvet had her assistant hold samples and sketches of designs Velvet had been working on, wanting to show you her best work in hopes of winning you over. She could brag about having you support her line, and her fans would die of excitement. Maybe, she could get you to design her a custom piece, or Velvet could design one for you. The possibilities were limitless, if you agreed to meet with her of course. But that was all the more reason why she needed to make sure she had a seat at your table tonight. She needed to get close to you.

“Are you fucking high?” Velvet whispered to Valentino, who just chuckled softly at her.

“What’s the matter hermosa? Just enjoy the Gala, we’re here to have fun right?” He asked with a giggle. Velvet huffed, deciding to find Vox, hoping he could straighten Valentino out. Valentino would not fuck up her chance tonight.

Near the large staircase in the middle of the room, Alastor stood, glass of whiskey in his clawed hands. He smiles, humming to himself while quietly back up into a wall, careful to scan the room quickly before he disappears into the shadows. Then, moments later, appears in a room separate from the gala. It’s a study, your study. Alastor takes a step forward and quickly the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, casting larger, more dramatic silhouettes that seemed to dance on the walls. The interplay of darkness and light only heightened the mysterious allure of the study. In the midst of this chiaroscuro ambiance, Alastor found himself surrounded by an atmosphere that mirrored the complex nature of the figure depicted in the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was in the far back wall of the study. It was the only light source in the room. Black wooden shelves lined against the tall walls, showcasing famous pieces of literature, all hand picked and to your liking. The fire place, crafted with dark marble, commanded his attention. Above the mantel, a striking portrait of Madame hung, capturing his focus, like a trance. The image portrayed a being universally admired, yet equally feared; someone who elicited both admiration and intimidation all at once, you.

“Hm, hiding now are we?” Alastor asks with a grin, tutting lightly. “That’s not very proper of you Madame~” He says, calling out to you. Seconds later, a dark shadow appears in the corner of the room, taking up the entire corner, before a shadowy figure steps out. Similar to the servant’s out in the lobby, Alastor’s eye twitch’s slightly.

“Oh don’t be so pissy. You know no one gets to see me before my entrance.” You say, the shadow expressionless, but Alastor can hear your tone through the figure, taunting him. He sighs, setting his staff on a slant along his foot.

“And here I thought I could connect with an old friend.” Alastor said with a chuckle, staring down the shadowy figure, hoping his gaze would ease you to show yourself to him. But alas, stuck in your ways, you didn’t show yourself, instead laughing, though the figure did not open its mouth, making your ‘shadow a-presence’ all the more eerie.

“If you really want to speak with me it can wait until my entrance. I should be done soon.” You say, before Alastor just smiles, tossing his staff from hand to hand.

“Well if you’re really going to make me wait, mind you speed the process up a bit? You know it doesn’t take much to make you look breath-taking.” Alastor compliments, but earns a scoff from you.

“Oh please, don’t start with me ‘Radio Demon.’” You mock, before the shadow figure begins to step back.

“Wait, a moment before you go.” Alastor says, standing his staff on the floor. The shadow figure stops, before you speak again.

“Make it quick. You know how much energy it takes to keep this up.” You say.

“So, about this hotel business. I know she’s planning to talk to you about it.”

“Yes the idea you tell me so much about.” You say sarcastically. Alastor had told you bits and pieces about the princess’s project, but didn’t tell you what it was for exactly, leaving you to wonder how important it really was if even he wouldn’t speak on it.

“Well you know how much I crave entertainment. Is it possible to make a request for the seating arraignment tonight?” Alastor asks. You laugh, figure still unmoving.

“Humorous to think you even have a seat. You’ve been gone for what? Seven years?” You say with a scoff.

“You’ve been gone decades my dear, you didn’t even show up to your last twenty gala’s, having your pity shadows do it for you. I doubt you should be speaking on the matter.”

At that, you chuckle to yourself before the shadow begins to back into the corner, black smoke enveloping the corner like a cloud. “I presume you would be correct. Well, I’m off now. Don’t sneak into my quarters again.” You say finally before disappearing. Alastor just grins, stepping into his own shadow, joining the other guests.

The shadows had slowly but, eventually ushered the guests into the lobby, everyone gathering around the staircase as the shadows lined up against the railings, the orchestra playing the music you had specifically requested. You were about to make your grand entrance, something you hadn’t done in centuries. Everyone stood around, awaiting your arrival, the shadows momentarily disappearing to give the guests more space to crowd around. Candles lit along the walls, as well as floating lights appearing going up the staircase. There, the shadows took their place, two on each step on opposite sides, facing each other. The music picked up, the lights focusing at the top of the stairs. Black smoke began to roll down the steps slowly, the anticipation for your arrival growing. The music gets calm for a moment, a larger shadow figure standing at the top of the staircase. It’s larger than any of the other shadows in the room, standing at fifteen feet tall. It speaks in a monotone voice, but loud and commanding.

“Thank you all for your attendance tonight. The Crimson Gala is held once every year to start the new year with all those who survived the extermination. This being said, Madame would like to say her personal congratulations for not being apart of the bloodshed this year. While the past years she has used me to say that she will unfortunately not be in attendance, I am pleased to say that tonight, along with all the new guests, she will make her grand entrance. Presenting to you, the prowess of darkness and queen of shadows, Madame.”

The lights shine bright, and the shadow vanishes quickly. Velvet shushes Vox and Valentino, eyes practically bulging out of her skull to see you. Alastor just stares, waiting in anticipation. Charlie claps her hands quietly to herself while Vaggie just smiles. Rosie sips her glass, eyes waiting to see what outfit you’ve put together this time. At the top of the staircase, a large black smokey circle opens at the bottom of the floor, smoke swirling upwards slowly in a tornado form, smoke getting quicker as it swirls around itself. It gets larger, and guests closer to the stairs have to back up a bit as the wind picks up. Carmilla turns her face to the side, not wanting the wind to mess up her hair too much. Finally, the music picks up again, the peak point in the song, which lasts eight seconds, before the smoke falls to the side in one swoop, leaving you in the midst, now on display for all guests to see. The music continues, the chains against your dress glistening under the light. The music continues the play as you take steps down, looking at the guests. There’s a serious expression on your face, but somehow neutral all the same. Your shadows had added last minute black lace gloves, which went up to your forearm. The bottom of your dress had a lace trimming, as well as the bodice being laced with trim along the bust area. The jewelry was a simple black diamond crystal on a metal chain around your neck, paired with black diamond earrings. The cuff links on your hand remained all the same though. Finally reaching the end of the steps, everyone clapped, now finally being graced with your presence.

Velvet was in awe, staring at you with wide eyes like a child being gifted the most precious thing. Her excitement grew enormously, watching you shake hands and socialize with guests. She had never seen you before, after you had gone ghost for centuries, hardly anyone had photos of you. Hell she didn’t even know what you sounded like.

Charlie was so excited to meet you. She hadn’t seen you in, forever, and was now finally excited to be seen as your equal. Well, that was what she had hoped at least. Having seen a portrait of you in her parents' home when she was younger, she learned of the close relationship between Lilith and you. The anticipation had built over the years, and now, finally, she looked forward to being seen as your equal. Her hope was to hopefully get your support for the hotel, aiming to elevate her standing in the eyes of others. With your backing, she believed people would take both her and the redemption project more seriously, fostering a genuine desire for redemption. Maybe it would even work.

Husk smiled as he watched you socialize with guests. He was glad to finally see you back out again. He never knew why you went into hiding of course, but he never had the balls to ask, so he just stood quiet. When you disappeared, it was after a particularly rough extermination, and he knew something had happened, he just didn’t know what. Since then, the world only had glimpses of you to go on. Some sinners were starting to think you were a myth, since you never showed your face at the Crimson Gala, especially since you were the host.

Vox was taken aback, a sense of confusion and unease settling within him. Your presence had caught him off guard; he had anticipated something different, perhaps an older figure. The unexpected impact left him feeling uneasy, realizing the gravity of your influence. It dawned on him why Velvet had stressed the importance of making a favorable impression. Apart from Zestial and the twins, you stood as one of the strongest and most enduring overlords. In Vox's mind, securing your alliance was imperative for the success of his company. Your potential support would make his endeavors foolproof. Everything had to be flawless – not for any personal reasons, of course, but solely for the sake of his company. He needed you.

Making your rounds to guests, you began to get closer to your colleagues. With a wave to Stolas, and a nod to Zeezie, you run into the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. He grins, sharp teeth getting you. He smiles and nods his head, and you nod back. Alastor takes in your stoic expression, before carefully taking in your outfit.

“My, my, Madame, you’ve truly outdone yourself tonight. Your choice in attire is as captivating as ever – a perfect blend of elegance and sensibility. Quite the spectacle for the grand event, don’t you think?” He asked, holding his arm out to you. You take it, and the two of you walk around the lobby together, conversing.

“Well you don’t look to bad for yourself. Maybe going into hibernation was perfect for you.” You say back, and he grins.

“You’re too kind darling.” He says, dead heart quickening. He puts a hand to his chest, mocking fragility. “Your words leave me breathless my dear.” He says with false dramatics. You roll your eyes and smack his arm playfully.

“Oh please, your ego is quite large enough already, yes?” You ask. He doesn’t say much else, but instead, gently moves you to the side while you look at your shadows, now waltzing around in the middle of the lobby, putting on a performance.

“Did you plan that?” Alastor asks. You shake your head.

“No, but the music is perfect for it, so I let them be. They’re already trapped with me, I might as well make them useful.” You say, and Alastor just hums, a laugh track playing. However, as the two of you walk, his track screeches to a halt upon seeing Vox approach the two of you.

“Madame.” Vox says, nodding his head. His expression is serious, and though you’ve heard of him, you’ve never seen him.

“Ah hello. Vox I presume?” You ask, free hand reaching forward to shake his own outstretched hand. The two of you shake hands, and Alastor can’t ignore the way he fights to keep his smile. Why he could just shove his staff right into that flace faced fuckers scree-

“Alastor, I suppose you’ve met Mr.Vox before, correct?” You ask. Alastor nods with a smile, and you notice the way it stretches almost painfully across his face. It makes you uneasy, but you ignore the feeling. He’d surely tell about what this is about later on in the night you supposed.

“Why yes we have! I’ve made him loose his signal quite a few times.” Alastor says with a laugh, his laugh track playing. Vox doesnt say anything, though he doesnt have too as his eye twitching had given enough away. The two clearly did not like each other. Than again, you had felt the same way about Alastor when you first met him, so the feeling was understandable.

“Madame, a dance?” Vox asked, turning his attention back to you. You thought for a moment, before untangling your arm from Alastors and nodding to Vox, taking his outstretched hand to you and leading you to the dance floor, which now had a couple other sinners dancing as well. Alastor held onto his staff tight, but relaxed as you discreetly slid him a card. In white with black lettering, cursive font. Seat number five. He was invited to your table. Guaranteed a seat. That was enough to have him back in light spirits, now searching out his dear friend Rosie to share the good news.

Velvet had been looking for you all over, her assistant close in toe. She had tried her hardest to get to you when you initially made your enterance, but alas you had been too overcrowded with people for her to get to you. She had heard rumors about how you hated rudeness and disrespect. That meant no interruptions, and no loud speaking, or vulgar language. She was sure to keep herself in check, and that meant her colleagues too. So, naturally, you could imagine her shock upon seeing Vox dancing with you on the dance floor, black dress twirling at your feet. You looked so regal, so elegant, flawless. She wanted to be just like you. She waited patiently on the sidelines, waiting for the dance to end. She could see the two of you having a conversation, but couldn’t pinpoint what about.

“So, I presume you’re one of the, newer overlords?” You asked as the two of you danced. Vox chuckled, leading you slowly.

“New? Well, maybe to you I would be. I heard you haven’t really left your own head for quite some time.” Vox says lowly. You nod, letting him dip you.

“Yes that would be correct. So what are you supposed to be exactly?” You ask, quite unsure of his purpose. Overlords are meant to have a strong leading purpose in hell, so what was his?

“Well, you’re looking at the head of Vox Tech. A software company.” He says, and you hum in understanding.

“So modern technology.” You confirm, and he nods, pearly whites shining brightly back at you.

“You’re looking at the future Madame.” Vox says, spinning you quickly, before bringing you close by your hip.

“Interesting. So, what’s your social influence?” You ask. Vox thinks for a moment, before laughing to himself.

“People have televisions in all their homes. Any piece of modern technology comes strictly from me. With a little mind control, there isn’t any influence I don’t have.” Vox says, noticing a sinner walk by with a smart watch, to which he holds a finger up to you, sending himself through it, and then to another sinner with their smartphone, making his way around the room in seconds before he’s back in front of you, stepping in time for the next number. “See? Nothing I can’t do.” He says with a wink. You nod slowly, looking around the room. Being back out in the spotlight after being gone for so long makes you feel a bit, behind. But with an overlord like this in your circle, maybe this could be a way for you to keep up with the current world, get you back up to pace. The dance finally comes to a close, and the two of you bow to one another, before you summon a card, handing it to Vox. Seat number nine. Vox grinned at you, giving you a nod. You nod back, before looking at another sinner who’s asked to speak with you. With that, you leave Vox at the dance floor, white card in hand. His spot at your table was secured. But, this made his emotions churn even more. What was this feeling he had? He was happy yes, but for the companies sake. But, maybe for once, he could mix just a little business with pleasure.

Charlotte had lost her partner at the bar and had been looking for her for quite some time. However, instead of finding Vagatha, she found you instead. You had seemed to be finishing a conversation with Vox, and though she disliked him, she took her chance the moment she saw you walking away.

“Excuse me, Madame- Miss- Um.” Charlotte said quickly, causing you to stop in your tracks. She got closer to you, now a few inches away. It was then she realized how tall you were compared to her. You were easily around seven feet, or just under that. With your heels that was. You looking down at her made her feel intimidated, small, like the child. But, feeling her nerves rise, she began to ramble again. “I know you probably have a lot to do tonight and I don’t want to take up your time, I just want you to hear me out, if that’s okay with you of course.” Charlotte said quickly, pausing to inhale. You narrowed your eyes at her, snapping your fingers and causing a shadow to appear next to you, singular glass on the tray. It was the same tall shadow from earlier, with the same drink. Again, using testing the temperature of the drink, before nodding to you so you could take it. You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact with Charlotte as you drank the wine in one go, putting it down on the tray with a sigh.

“Go on.” You replied, now intrigued. You knew who she was. “You’re the girl with the hotel? Lucifer and Lilith’s child, correct?” You asked. Charlotte smiled, stars appearing in her eyes as she gushed.

“You know who I am?” She asked surprised. You nodded, cracking a small smile for the first time tonight, causing many eyes to stare in shock. You hardly ever smiled. In fact, there were three counts ever of you smiling in hell. Once, when you first got to hell, killing and claiming territory, and smiling once you finally settled down. The second being after World War One, when so many souls came to you seeking ‘help’ yet only being met with contracts. Third, being just before the extermination you disappeared after. You had gone through your belongings from Earth that managed to get brought to you from the surface, and was looking at family photos with one other overlord. Zestial. Now, at the gala, here was Lucifer’s brat, as some would call, making you crack a grin at her giddiness.

“Of course I know who you are. Do you forget I know your mother? You’re practically a niece of mine at this point.” You say, motioning at Charlotte to walk with you. “Now, what is this hotel I’ve heard about?” You ask. She beams at this and follows excitedly.

“OkaysobasicallyIhavethishotelandit’scalledthe’HazbinHotel’whichisforsinnerswhowantobebetterandredeemthemselvestotryand-“ You stopped her, allowing her to take a breath of air after rambling for so long. You lead her outside, finding a nearby bench to sit on. With how quickly she spoke, she needed all the ‘fresh’ air she could get right?

“Why are you speaking so quickly? Also, sinners who want to better themselves? Where would you find those?” You ask with a laugh, the same tall shadow appearing with a glass for you. Again, you sip on your drink as Charlotte collects herself together.

“Usually if I explain slowly people cut me off and I never get to finish, so I’ve gotten used to just saying everything as quickly as possible so they don’t cut me off and actually listen to what I have to say.” Charlotte says, again rather quickly. “Like I was saying; the Hazbin Hotel is a place for sinners who want to better themselves to possibly try to get into heaven through redemption, and I know what you’re thinking, we’ve all died and got sent here, but I believe people can change and that everyone deserves second chances.” Charlotte explained. She saw the look of confusion on your face, and began to speak again. “We already have two residents, who are making strides to be better people every day with group activities and I believe it’s working. If I could just get other people on board, people like you on board who actually believe in my cause, then we can get rid of extermination and maybe save some people here.” Charlotte explained. You thought for a moment, and the fact you hadn’t laughed in her face yet gave her some hope that maybe she had gotten through to you. You stood up, setting your empty glass on the tray before the shadow disappeared.

“Honestly,” You said with a sigh, looking around, your eyes landing on your shadows serving other guests. “The entire project sounds delusional.” You said sharply. Charlotte looked down at this, defeated, before standing as well.

“Well, thank you for hearing me out I guess. You’re the only other person who has aside from Alastor. So, thank you for your time.” Charlotte said, turning to walk back inside the gala, head hanging low with tears brimming her eyes. Maybe it was the connection to her mother, maybe it was because she reminded you of her mother. But, something had to change.

“I didn’t say we were done speaking Charlotte.” You said sharply again. She stopped and tensed up at that, before turning around, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“W-what?” She asked. You stepped forward to her, putting your hands flat together before smoke encased them. Then seconds later it was gone, and in your hands was a white card. You handed it to her with a nod.

“It sounds delusional. But, maybe someone will like that about you.” You said. She read the card, face dropping once she realized what it meant.

“So, so I can sit with you tonight? I can pitch my idea?” She asked excitedly. You nodded, patting her shoulder.

“Yes you may. I’ll allow you to have your time. You get thirty minutes, there will be overlords and royalty there, I’m sure someone is bound to take an interest in it.” You say. Charlotte squeals excitedly before jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so so so much!! You won’t regret this I swear!” Charlotte said, and you just nodded.

“Of course I won’t. I don’t make mistakes.” You say, before walking past her. “Oh, and thank Alastor for that. He was insistent you be present at my table tonight.” You say to her. She’s left standing outside in shock, watching as you walk back into the lobby to socialize with other guests.

It seemed Velvet had finally caught you, rushing her assistant to follow you as she made her way over to you.

“Madame, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight! Your presence here is like a beacon of individuality and charisma,” she exclaims, eyes sparkling. You look her up and down for a moment, stopping in your tracks to listen to her. Something feels, odd about this one. “I’ve been ardently following your unique style for ages, and it’s truly an honor to be in your presence. The way you effortlessly blend boldness with subtlety, it’s unparalleled, truly outstanding. Now, I’ve ventured into a daring new fashion brand, and I can’t help but envision you as the unrivaled star in my collection. Picture it: the illustrious Madame, gracing the world with a revolutionary expression of style. This would be the perfect way to make your way back into the public eye, and of course you would look ravishing doing so.” Velvet said, her assistant handing you sketches of Velvets designs, and photographs of some of her work on her models. “So, what do you say Madame? Will you be the luminary of a new era in Hell’s fashion?” Velvet says. You grow quiet for a moment. Aside from Rosie, you’ve had no other overlord come into the fashion realm, and Rosie is only partially in it as a side hustle, but everyone knows it’s your thing. The designs are things you would never wear, bold and odd colors together, like a child’s clothing line.

“Is this for children?” You ask. Velvet nearly chokes and her assistant tenses up.

“No Madame. It’s modern fashion.” Velvet says cautiously. She knows what she’s doing. Correcting you. No one ever does that. You don’t need to be corrected because you know what you’re looking at. A sad fashion designer who wants you to slap your name on her sloppy work so if it goes up in flames it’s your reputation taking the fall, not her’s.

“So all your models look like they came from a whore house? Correct?” You ask. Velvet’s jaw drops and her assistant hides a laugh. Velvet, inhaling softly, tries her hardest not to cry on the spot. You’re her idol. She can’t fuck this up.

“No Madame! Not at all!” She says, showing you a design she had made personally for you. Based on your other collections, she knows your favorite color is black, so that’s a plus. All she had to do was add a bit more, of her flair to it. It was a black jumpsuit, with a fur coat that dropped down to the knees, black with white fur around the edges of the coat and the cuffs. The sketch wasn’t half bad, and quite frankly better than the others. Maybe it was the forgiving mood Charlotte had put you in. Velvet hands you the design and you skim over it, taking in the details, the hair and eye makeup, the shoes and jewelry notes written on the side. The sketches aren’t bad, but modern fashion isn’t your fashion.

“I’ll consider it. Do you mind if I keep these?” You ask. Velvet shakes her head, handing you the folder from her assistants hands.

“Please, take whatever you’d like Madame!” Velvet says. You nod, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll hear from me soon. In the meantime, I want new sketches of these designs. Modern fashion is fast fashion. Nothing stays memorable that way. You want to be good?” You ask her, and she nods quickly. “Then be better. Modesty and elegance are what people strive for. It radiates power, and everyone is greedy for that. If you can sell that through an item, you won’t ever go out of style.” You say, handing her back the folder, keeping the sketch she’d done for you. Well, at least you liked something. Vevelt nodded her head and watched you walk away, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Um, miss?” Her assistant asked.

“What?” Velvet asked annoyingly.

“She left a card on the folder.”

At that , Velvets eyes snapped down at the folder, before she screamed in excitement. Seat number six. She was invited to your table. Mission accomplished. Now, with only six seats left to fill, you were off to talk to your other guests. The night had proved to be interesting, and you knew your encore would not disappoint.

[russellbee]

SIGNALS with LN4

lando norris x teammate!fwb!reader; nav+masterlist

(andi’s note!! a treat for you all while i work on my longer wips…)

The chandelier hanging from the sky high ceiling casts a warm glow around the event hall, and the classical music mixes in with the occasional clink of glasses. A waiter approaches you with a tray of champagne, which you gladly take. The older man in front of you — some CEO of an important company — has been going on and on about his car collection, and how maybe you should join him some time in his passenger seat. It’s hard not to gag or look visibly disgusted as he speaks. You drink — chug — your champagne as you look anywhere else.

Lando is standing with Zak, talking to some other CEO, who somehow looks creepier than the one you’re talking to. You catch his eye, and he smirks before tapping his finger against his glass; a signal you made when you first started doing…whatever you’re doing. It’s not dating, that you made clear in the beginning, but it feels more domestic than friends with benefits. You’ve spent too much time in his hotel rooms, just in his arms or passing time for it be “friends with benefits”. Somewhere in between the two, then.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” You smile at him sweetly, lacing your voice with excessive kindness so he doesn’t complain. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, like he knows he’s wasted his time. As you walk to the bathrooms, you place your empty glass on a random table. The hallway to the bathrooms is empty, and you slip into one of them quietly; leaving the door unlocked. A minute or two later, the door swings open and Lando walks in.

He locks the door behind him, grinning wide when he sees you. “I think I deserve a reward for saving you from that grandpa.” He rolls his eyes before continuing quietly, “Fuckin’ creep should be spending time with his grandkids instead of hitting on you.” You snort, walking over to where he still stands by the door.

“Don’t talk about him like that, he was sweet. We were planning on me going to his country estate for a drive in his Ferrari,” You tease, backing him against the door. “Ferrari? He’s a Mclaren sponsor and he can’t even have the decency to drive you around in a Mclaren. Idiot, honestly.” He sounds a little too serious for you to not laugh. You lean your head against his shoulder, laughing into the silky soft fabric of his suit jacket.

“You cannot be jealous of him, Lando. He is senile and married, dumbass. I prefer guys who can actually drive fast without worrying about their age affecting their reflexes.” When you look up, Lando’s face is screwed up in pout, slightly playful but also a little offended. “Which is you. You know that.”

“I’m your number one chauffeur, then?” He retorts, his pout replaced with a small smile. “Mmhm. And teammate, as the articles like to say, you love to tow me through quali.” Pure disgust takes over Lando’s (just slightly) love-sick look in a second.

“Nope, we’re not talking about those idiots right now. Or the old man, please.” He grabs you by the hips, spinning you so now you’re the one with your back against the door. After you catch your breath, you laugh, “What? You don’t want him to be our third?”

Lando stares at you for a second before leaning down, his lips hovering above yours as he whispers seriously, “Shut up.” Then, he kisses you, the taste of champagne still on his lips and his lavish cologne overflooding your senses. You groan against him as one of your hands slide up the back of his neck into his curls. The mullet has been a wonderful addition to his look, it’s hard not to love when it’s always there asking for you to pull it.

You push him away as you hear footsteps come down the hallway, and you quickly look at the lock on the door. It’s done, thank god. The door handle rattles, someone grumbles before they head back to the event hall, their footsteps trailing off. “Later,” You smile before kissing Lando gently on the cheek. “You did drive me here. So, you can drive me home, too.” The way Lando’s eyes light up is the last thing you see before you leave the bathroom.

Zak finds you quickly once you’re back in the main room. “Have you seen Lando? He’s supposed to be giving a speech with you soon.” You smile awkwardly and shake your head. “No, sorry. But he’s gotta be around somewhere, right?” Zak murmurs a quick agreement before moving through the crowd, looking around each group for him. A little lie that’ll save your reputation. You don’t need to be blasting your ‘relationship’ with your teammate.

[katesimblr]

Willow Creek make over - Art Gallery

Part 1 of the Willow Creek make overs is the art gallery. It is in an old building with high ceilings full of paintings and sculptures from different eras. On the top floor there is also an exhibition of modern art. In addition to the classic exhibition space, the gallery also offers a place to paint and a store where you can buy art prints or enjoy a coffee in the light-filled annex after the exhibition.

Thanks to all creators who made this house possible with their CC, like @baufive, @k-hippie, @kkbsmm, LadyMoriel, @meinkatz, @msteaqueen and many many more.

Download CC

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[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —TEN

↳ A/N Thank you all so much for the growing interest in LLOID! You're always more than welcome to leave comments or send in asks about the universe...your thoughts, questions, and anything else <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 5.6k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, nsfw, borderline exhibitionism/risky, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk (with very minor degradation if you squint), slight hair pulling, spit, it gets a little messy...

George was wearing pleated grey dress slacks that morning. The expensive fabric stretched down the mile-long trail of his legs in a pristine straight cut that landed just at the top of his polished black loafers. They fit him like they were tailored right to his body, moulding around the muscle of his thighs and around the curve of his ass, sitting precisely around his waist by a black leather belt with a silver buckle. Rosaline wondered if he was wearing another pair of Tommy Hilfiger boxer briefs underneath. 

He addressed the class with his usual gravitas, arms moving in broad strokes through the air of the lecture hall, piece of chalk in hand, the fabric of his tucked-in plain white button-up creasing and wrinkling with his every move. Rosaline’s eyes flickered between him and her laptop screen as she furiously typed her notes, desperate not to let the fact that she knew what he looked like under all those clothes distract her from her studies. 

The sudden poke of her arm had her startling, turning to the classmate beside her with an expression she tried not to make appear so guilty. She wasn’t even sure when he had appeared since the seat beside her had been empty since class had begun. Probably yet another careless student sauntering in late…and now asking to borrow a pencil like he couldn’t show up to university prepared. Rosaline tried not to appear visibly disgusted when she watched him absentmindedly chew on the end of her pencil as the lecture progressed. 

College boys, she thought as she focused back on Professor Russell and his enticing maturity, they really were all the same. 

Rosaline’s second class of the day was canceled which allowed her to finally be able to join Tabitha and Max for lunch. She found them in the New College dining hall, situated at the far end of one of the lengthy communal tables. Gold framed portraits of scholars and headmasters past peered down at them from the wood trimmed wall at the head of the great room, likely judging Max’s neverending critique of British cuisine. 

His grumpy ramblings were interrupted by Rosaline’s arrival as she set her tray down beside Tabitha with a clatter, muffled by the sounds of the lively dining hall that echoed the students’ chatter right up to the rafters of the impossibly high peaked ceilings. Tabitha shifted herself over a little to give her room. 

Rosaline took her seat with a tired sigh and a breathy, “Hey. What did I miss?”

Tabitha answered for them, her arms folded on the edge of the table as she nodded her head towards a frowning Max, “He’s throwing a fit over today’s menu.”

Max looked over at her with an even deeper frown, the furrow between his brows strengthening as he pressed, “I am not throwing a fit. I am simply stating the obvious that British food is the worst cuisine on planet Earth and this sad excuse for lunch is proof.”

Rosaline was quick on the defence as she opened her can of soda, “I doubt Dutch food is any better.”

Max’s head nearly whipped in her direction, eyebrows so high in disbelief at her statement that they were nearly clean off his forehead, and his index finger raised from the table top as he said seriously, “Actually—”

“Okay,” Tabitha laughed, strained and tired, and pushed Max’s tray closer to him as if to encourage him like a toddler, “you’ve been on this for fifteen minutes now, mate, can you please just shut up and eat?”

Max grumbled under his breath but picked up his fork. Rosaline contentedly dug into her own lunch; thankful for something more than a bagel with cream cheese that she normally would scarf down between her classes. In the brief moment of quiet amongst their trio, behind the white noise of the bustling dining hall, her mind wandered back to her morning class and Professor Russell in those slacks. 

It was still hard for her mind to process that she knew what he looked like under them; every arch and valley of his muscle, the hair of his thighs, the mouth-watering shape of his cock. The sounds he made when she touched him still echoed in her mind even four days later. The worst part about this whole ordeal was not being able to talk to him outside of their scheduled office hours, not being able to throw herself over the rows of the lecture hall to kiss him when he spoke a particularly beautiful line of prose. Oh, God, his lips were so incredibly—

“Hello?” Max’s hand was suddenly in her line of vision as he tapped his fingertips against the table top in front of her to get her attention.

Rosaline looked up at him and then over at Tabitha, realizing both had been staring at her expectantly. She mumbled a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Max repeated himself, “I said: I can’t believe you made us wait until today to update us on how your night with the rich kid went.”

Tabitha spoke up, “To which I said: Charles isn’t here. We can’t get updates without him.”

“Sure, we can.” Max waved off her concern, “I’ll update him tonight.”

While Max picked at his subpar lunch, Rosaline updated her two friends on the goings-on from Friday night. As always, she kept the identity of her lover a secret, but spoke down to almost every other detail what had transpired. The drinks, the kissing, the exploring…making him come. She kept her voice low so as to not have her voice be carried through the peaked ceilings and to every other student in the dining hall, the trio leaning towards each other across the table as if in a top secret meeting in broad daylight. 

Rosaline found herself rambling on about how she couldn’t stop thinking about Friday night, how she craved him more than ever before. It was a feeling unlike any other; all encompassing and infuriatingly unquenchable. She hadn’t done much of anything yet but the sureness she felt in wanting more made it feel like she was already miles ahead of where she was. 

Max had a simple solution, delivered with his usual deadpan expression of sincerity, “Go and surprise him then.”

Rosaline was taken aback for a moment, blinking at him, before finally, “Just like that? What if he doesn’t want it?”

“He’s a guy, is he not?” Max pressed like it was obvious, “He’s gonna want it.”

It wasn’t like Rosaline to so willingly accept Max’s unwarranted advice but maybe it was the lust that was still hot in her veins that had her thinking that he might have had a point. What did she have to lose?

At 1pm sharp the very next day, Rosaline knocked on the frosted glass of Professor Russell’s office door. She held her usual file folder in her arm, housing another short story written in haste the night before for his eyes only. She stood for the few seconds it took for the door to open anxiously anticipating their meeting and the progression she hoped it would take thanks to the meticulous plan she had crafted from Max’s little idea. 

The door swung open, and to Rosaline's surprise, it wasn’t George on the other side. Instead, there stood a man slightly shorter than him, donning an awkwardly obvious half-bald, half-grey wig and a poor imitation of a Shakespearean costume—right down to the puffy breeches, tall white socks, and heeled black boots.

Rosaline blinked at him, momentarily speechless.

“Good morrow, fair maiden,” he announced in a theatrical tone that sounded oddly more Australian than British, despite his best efforts. With a sweeping bow, he bent at the waist, arm draped across his chest, completing the ridiculous image.

Rosaline didn’t know what to say, staring wide eyed at him.

“Daniel.”

Rosaline’s eyes flicked past the strange man to find George standing behind his desk, smoothie bottle in hand, an unimpressed expression on his face. 

“Please stop traumatizing my pupil.”

The unfamiliar man stood up straight again and turned to George with a playful huff and a finicky readjustment of his fake salt and pepper wig. Despite his feigned exasperation, his face housed a wide toothy grin framed by a tidy and very real salt and pepper beard. In a voice that was solely Australian and no longer housing that horrid attempt at an old-timey British accent, he chided his friend with a, “Ah, come on, mate. All in good fun.”

With a pointed glance in the direction of Daniel, George then turned to Rosaline and gestured her in with a calm smile, “Come on in, Miss Kent.” 

Rosaline—who had not anticipated someone else in the room and thus was incredibly caught off guard—shuffled past Daniel and took a few steps farther into the office. She naturally gravitated towards George with her folder clutched protectively to her chest.

“Is it the breeches?” Daniel looked down to the puffy pants he was wearing, pinching the excess material between thumb and forefinger and giving it a little ruffle, “Are they intimidating?”

“They’re ridiculous.” George corrected him smoothly with a peak of his brow, setting his smoothie bottle back on his desk, “Don’t you have a class to teach about now?”

Daniel lifted his arm up to check his watch, “Mm, I have a few minutes to spare but I should probably head out. I have things to set up still.”

“Alright. I’ll see you around, Danny.” George waved him off, lifting his smoothie bottle from his desk again.

Daniel pulled another dramatic bow, one pointed boot crossed behind the other and everything, “I will bid you both adieu.” 

And then he was straightening up with a beaming grin at his own hilarity and turning for the door.

“Close the door behind you, Shakespeare.” George called after him, his voice light and amused and only slightly exasperated. 

In silent agreement, the office door was shut but they could still hear Daniel’s boisterous laughter fading down the hallway, his loud voice greeting some other faculty as they passed by. George smiled to his desk and took a sip of smoothie before capping it and setting it back on his desk as he settled in his chair. 

Rosaline must have still looked a little dumbfounded and a little confused as George explained to her casually, “Daniel teaches History of the English Language. Apparently it’s his Shakespearean English lecture today…hence the ridiculous getup.” 

“I see.” Rosaline chuckled softly.

“But enough about him,” George folded his hands together on the top of his desk and looked up at her still standing on the other side. He gestured to her usual seat across from him, “shall we get started?”

He was so good at pretending nothing was going on; so easy to fall into the routine of professionalism in these meetings. Rosaline appreciated his dedication to his craft but, at the same time, as a woman, she yearned to see him outside of their Oxford bubble. Friday night was a taste of what it would be like. She wanted more. She had to somehow tell him that she wanted more. 

“Well,” she cleared her throat and looked down at the folder still clutched to her chest, “I actually brought a short piece of writing for you to review today, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course.” George agreed, leaning back from his desk to relax into his chair more comfortably and he held out his hand towards her to accept the pages. 

The smile he offered her as she passed over the thin stack made her heart skip. He rested back in his chair and opened the blue file folder to reveal the first page, always meticulously laid out in a proper MLA title page format with her name, date, and his name as recipient. Rosaline pulled over one of the chairs to sit beside him. He didn’t bat an eye; their closeness was familiar now. 

George turned to the next page, immediately put into the heart of the smut within the very first line. His eyebrows raised in surprise at the content but his eyes didn’t leave the page, finishing the first paragraph before glancing over at her with a sly smile.

“Someone’s been busy.” he noted playfully.

Rosaline merely shrugged, leaning towards him with a matching bashful smile, “I’ve just been feeling inspired…since Friday.” 

“Mmm.” George offered a half nod as he looked back to the open file folder in his hand to continue to read. Without tearing his eyes away from the narrative, he moved forward to rest the pages down on top of his desk. Rosaline moved with him, scooting her chair a little closer too. 

She just stared at his profile for a moment as he read, his chin in his hand, fingers resting against his lips, elbow balanced on the arm of his desk chair. His eyes flitted across the page in consistent strokes chalked full of concentration and, when he flipped the page to the next one, he continued right where he left off. Rosaline drifted her gaze from his handsome face to his angular jawline and, finally, down to the collar of his pressed button up shirt. He was wearing a tie that day—he didn’t often—and she caught herself staring at the way he hugged his thick neck snugly.

Max’s words echoed in the back of her mind: “He’s gonna want it.”

Rosaline leaned closer and, in a fit of bravery, pressed her lips to the line of his jaw in a soft kiss. She could feel his surprise intake of breath at her action—and maybe it was her imagination but she could have sworn he shivered a little too. 

“Rosaline.” George nearly purred, a small breathy chuckle laced in his tone.

“What?” she replied sweetly, pressing another kiss just under his ear. 

“Mm, are you trying to take advantage of me here?” he teased, dropping his hand to rest on her knee as he turned his head to look at her. 

The look in his eyes was intoxicating; full of desire. She leaned in again, this time to press a kiss to his lips. George reciprocated almost right away, pushing back against her kiss with need of his own, his hand moving to cradle her face. Their lips met and parted in practiced ease, the office welcoming the quiet sounds of their kisses, Rosaline growing more and more familiar and comfortable every time they found themselves in such a position.

“Okay,” George chuckled warmly after a few seconds, pausing just long enough between thoughts to kiss her once more, “that’s enough.”

Rosaline licked away her smile and watched him turn back to her writing still laying open on his desk. His hand lingered on her knee. 

Her eyes skimmed down his body as he sat beside her in his office chair, the crisp ironed material of his slacks hugging his thighs tight and almost pulled snugly over his groin, creased and drawing her eye in. The same thoughts from the previous day returned to her, thoughts of his body and what she knew he looked like beneath those classy and expensive clothes and, specifically, how much she wanted to get him out of them again. 

Without a word, she slowly slipped off her chair and sank to her knees on the floor in front of him, hidden slightly by the shadow of his desk. 

George’s eyebrows raised astronomically and he sat back from his desk in shock at her unanticipated move, “Rosaline.”

She smiled sweetly up at him, resting her hands on his thighs as she situated herself between them. 

“Rosaline, darling—” George stammered, a nervous laugh slipping from his lips as his eyes flicked over to his closed office door. But the feeling of her hand resting purposefully against the front of his slacks had him looking back down at her with a shaky warn, “Rose-”

Her palm rubbed slowly over the front of his pants, her eyes focused upwards at his face, asking an innocent, “What?”

George let out a heavy sigh through his nose, slouching back in his chair a little more as his eyes dropped to her hand. He didn’t answer her at first, as if he were torn between right and wrong for an uncountable time since they had solidified their agreement. But he didn’t need to say anything because Rosaline could feel him getting hard under her hand. She would never outwardly admit it but Max was so right.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip to bite back her smile as her fingers started working at the buckle of his belt, unpinning it and sliding the leather out. George didn’t protest, merely shifting his chair to get more comfortable and giving her room to do as she pleased. Rosaline watched carefully as she unbuttoned his slacks and tugged the little zipper down, rising up onto her knees a little more to see.

George tuttted as he lowered a hand from the edge of his desk to gently stroke her hair, “You want to explore a little more? Friday wasn’t enough for you?”

Rosaline’s gaze flicked up to his face with a bashful smile and a shake of her head, “No.”

“We shouldn’t do this here though, darling.” George reminded her in a breath that sounded entirely unconvincing, “Too many variables…”

Instead of being deterred by his warning, she tugged open his fly some more and then pulled down the front of his underwear. He didn’t make any move to stop her. With a careful hand, Rosaline reached in to carefully pull his dick out all the way, her gentle fingertips on the shaft feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch and the way he was stiffening up little by little. 

Her eyes—wide and wondering—were locked on him, her tongue darting out to dampen her lips. George stroked her hair again, his other hand resting aimlessly on his desk, his attention easily having moved from her short story to her the moment she dropped to her knees in front of him, hidden away salaciously under the shadow of his desk. Rosaline gently moved her fingertips up the length of his cock and back down. 

“Darling…” he exhaled, his body succumbing to her ghostly touch against his will. 

He stiffened up even more under her barely-there touches until he was entirely hard, his dick standing up from his body and pesteringly needy for more. With a strained huff, George shifted in his desk chair again, hips faintly rising off the seat barely a millimeter before reconfiguring. Rosaline watched his every movement in near awe. Then, in some sort of lust-stemmed bravery, encouraged by his lack of stopping her, she reached into his slacks again and gently lifted out his balls too. 

George let out some surprise noise that sounded like he tried to cover it up by a breath. His hand tangled into her hair just a little. His thumb caressed the base of her scalp and her eyelids fluttered at the feeling. With a hum, she slowly moved her fingertips over the length of his cock a few more times, barely touching him, before her hand drifted lower to graze over the flesh of his balls. Dotted in coarse brown hair, her fingers traced the shape of them, taking note of every shudder of his breath. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. He wasn’t stopping her.

Rosaline shifted on her knees in front of him, leaning a little closer towards his lap. Her eyes never wavered from his cock right in front of her, angled out of his open slacks and so deliciously hard. Her heart was racing, feeling like the room was spinning with how badly she wanted this. With one more lick to her lips, she dropped her tongue out and ever so cautiously, pressed the tip of her tongue to the tip of his dick. 

George took in a sharp gasp in surprise, legs flinching slightly on either side of her, huffing out a strained, “Rose-”

The foreskin was still pulled over the soft pink tip, leaving only the slit of his cock peeking out the top. Her eyes were trained in on it, the thrill filling her veins, desperate to get more of a reaction out of him. She leaned down again, giving him another barely-there lap of her tongue over the thin protective flesh over his dick. 

“Holy shit, baby.” George exhaled, “Are you sure you want to—”

Rosaline leaned in again for another little lick, then another, and then dragged the flat of her tongue right over the slit in his cock before sitting back on her haunches again. She licked her lips, trying to taste the ever so faint salty taste of precum that her tongue had touched. It was not a lot—only the tiniest amount—but enough that she could taste something. It was thrilling. Her hands caressed his parted thighs over the fabric of his slacks, eyes trained in on his dick and balls pulled from his open fly. 

When she leaned back in tentatively for another little lick, his dick involuntarily twitched away from her mouth almost instinctively, as if her teasing had been far too much to bear. She glanced up at him in surprise but then they both shared light, breathy laughter. George’s hips flexed slightly as if chasing her touch.

With a cautious hand, Rosaline reached out to take his dick in a gentle but sure grasp so it couldn’t flinch away when she leaned in again to give it another testing lick. When she pulled back, a small string of spit connected her tongue to the tip and it broke almost as quickly as it was formed. George pet her hair again, comfortably lounged in his office chair and letting her explore as she pleased. It was their agreement, afterall. 

Rosaline started to gently move her hand downwards, carefully pulling back the thin foreskin away from the smooth head of his dick. She could feel her mouth watering at the sight of it, a pathetic ache growing inside her, an ever-present need to discover everything he had to offer. So she leaned in again, gingerly dragging her tongue along the underside of the head in another testing lick.

George pulled in a tight breath and his fingers tangled into the roots of her hair at the back of her head. When she glanced up at him after another little lick, she soared with pride at the sight of his long eyelashes fluttering over lust-blown eyes. His bottom lip was momentarily caught by his perfectly straight teeth as he stared down at her and when he released it, it was a slightly pinker shade that made him all the more alluring. 

Rosaline kept those sweet little kitten licks to the tip, just underneath, along the slit, until he was almost squirming in his chair. His hips discreetly pushed up against her hand, chasing more of the warm wetness of her tongue…her mouth. She knew he’d never push her for it and that everything she did was of her own free will even if his natural instinct to chase that pleasure was causing his body to move towards her. He was offering himself up to her. 

Her hand stroked him slowly, moving with the ease of his foreskin beneath her soft palm, and she spoke to him in an angelic voice, “Don’t you want to keep reading?”

George blinked at her for a moment, his eyes hazy, trying to recall what she was talking about for a moment. Then, his brain waves finally connected and he glanced over to the top of his desk where her short story was left open, his mouth forming a soft ‘o’. He cleared his throat, shifted a little, “Right, of course.”

As he focused his attention back on her salacious story she had written for him, Rosaline kept up the timid strokes of her hand and those incredibly taunting kitten licks. But, this distraction she offered him was enough to allow her a moment to gather her racing mind into a coherent thought. Finally, she leaned down towards his lap once more and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. 

George flinched so hard in surprise he almost knocked his knee on the underside of his desk, gasping out a tight, “Jesus—”

Rosaline kept her lips around him, her eyes raising up to his just as he looked down at her with unmissable shock all over his face. The look in her eyes was so unintentionally innocent, staring up at him with his cock in her mouth like she had no idea what she was doing. On the contrary, she had written plenty enough to know exactly what she was doing. 

To hell with reading, George’s entire attention shifted down to her instead as his body slouched down a little more in his office chair to spread his legs wider to welcome her closer. Rosaline, with a watering mouth, leaned in and sank lower down his dick with her tongue gliding along the underside before pulling back just as slowly. Tentatively, testingly. The shudder of his breath had her heart soaring. 

She lowered her hands down to the hardwood floor to help steady herself as she let her mouth do the work, starting to find a cautious pace up and down along the length of his cock. George had one hand resting atop his desk and his other resting on the arm of his chair, clutching onto the leather as if to hold himself back from doing something to brash in the face of lust. She could feel his eyes on him and for a moment she kept hers closed as if meeting his gaze would be too much to bear in such a situation. 

“Ohh, my God, Rose—”

George’s thick voice was like heaven to her, forcing a moan from her throat to vibrate around the shaft of his dick where her lips were wrapped. His hand dropped from his desk to rake through her hair, pulling some of the strands away from her face to grasp back in his fist, sharing in her sounds of pleasure with a shaky groan of his own. 

Her eyes finally raised to his, her insides swirling with lust as she watched the pleasured expression on his handsome face; the heaviness of his lashes, the flush on his cheeks, the tightness of his jaw between panted breaths past swollen lips. As if by its own mind, her mouth moved faster, bobbing her head into his lap a little more insistently. 

George tightened his hand in her hair, staring down at her and the way her face was in his lap, his cock snug in the warm wet confines of her mouth. Her movements were fueled by physical inexperience, unfamiliar in the motions with just a bit of teeth getting in the way, but with an underlying knowledge of exactly what to do like she was doing it by the book. A clever girl, well read and well written in all the most salacious of texts. 

“That’s it, darling,” George all but purred, his voice as rich as velvet, hip hips ever so faintly bucking up towards her mouth, “Ohh, yeah, that’s it.”

Rosaline lifted a hand to rest on his leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of his thigh, while her other wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick. She kept her eyes up his body and trained in on his face as she kept going, her mouth only growing wetter as she drooled around him and the lewd sound of every down-push of her mouth filled the air around them. 

“Look at you…” George exhaled, guiding her motions by his hand in his hair, “Beautiful girl on her knees…knowing just how to suck dick…don’t you, my delightful little contradiction?”

Rosaline’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment as the heat that burned within her sent an unbelievable ache right between her legs. She pulled off his dick with a small whine that she hadn’t even realized was brewing in her throat, spit trailing from her lips and connecting her to the head of his cock. Her eyes felt heavy, dreamy, her mind hazy and almost out-of-body. She licked her lips free of spit but only pursed them as George guided the head of his cock along her cupid’s bow, back and forth. 

She blinked up at him from her spot on her knees between his legs, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue to let him rub his dick all over her. George groaned low in his chest, watching her just sit there and take it even as he smeared her spit and his pre-cum over her lips and cheeks.

“Look at you,” he repeated breathily, “such beautiful eyes behind those pretty glasses…fuck, I want to cum all over those glasses…cum all over your face.”

Rosaline audibly withered, clenching her thighs together on the floor in front of him, absolutely drunk on lust. She had never felt so erotically pathetic before; completely void of thoughts except just wanting his dick back in her mouth, to give him what he wanted, to make him come as much as he wanted. 

Before she could, however, a sharp knock sounded at the office door, followed by its immediate opening—too quick for George to react. Rosaline froze, still on her knees, mercifully shielded by the large walnut desk, her heart hammering. George barely had time to shove his chair forward, concealing the fact that his entire cock and balls were out of his pulled open trousers, before Daniel strode in, fully dressed in his Shakespeare costume, utterly unfazed.

“Hey, Georgie.” Daniel greeted him casually, the door closing behind him as he surveyed the room, seeing that it appeared George was now alone, “Sorry to bother you. You’re done with your meeting with your mentee already?”

George cleared his throat and tried to look as casual as he could as he shuffled the loose pages of Rosaline’s erotica across his desk to hide them back in the file folder, “Yep. Yeah, she’s not here.”

“Clearly.” Daniel snorted, traipsing closer to help himself to the single remaining chair across from his desk. He stated, “Fast meeting. You’re that good of a mentor, huh? Just in and out.”

With a snap of his fingers to finish his lighthearted point, Daniel let out a laugh.

George’s laugh sounded almost painfully strained but perhaps that was just because Rosaline knew he was hiding something. He was hiding her. In desperate need to help Daniel with whatever he wanted that made him just let himself into his office, George asked, “So what do you want?”

“Ah, nothing particular, mate. Just wanted to chat. My class loved my Shakespeare getup, by the way. Was a complete show-shopper, really.” 

“That’s great, Danny.” George replied, fiddling with his pen in his hand as if to make it look like he had been doing something important.

While Daniel went on about how his lecture had gone—entirely clueless as to what had been going on milliseconds before he barged in—Rosaline could see George’s leg bouncing restlessly under his desk from where she was frozen. She barely breathed, barely moved, still tucked half under the large desk right beside George’s chair. Her knees were starting to burn from how she was kneeling on the wood floors in one spot for so long, an uncomfortable ache radiating up into her thighs.

Moving as cautiously as she could, she set her hands behind her on the wood floor to shift off her knees and onto her bum. The old floorboards creaked under her movements. She froze and glanced up at George. He didn’t acknowledge her, simply shifting a little in his chair to play it off like it was him who caused the sound. Perhaps Daniel was too busy talking to even realize anyway. They couldn’t be too careful. 

When Daniel had finished his story about his class and George had responded with required pleasantries to make him feel heard, George followed it up with a, “Always lovely to chat, mate, but I am swamped right now.” 

He shuffled a few papers on his desk to sell it a little more, fiddling with his pen in his fingers. 

“Alright, I get it. How could I forget; you always put your work first before anything or anyone else.” Daniel sighed dramatically, although there was no real heat behind his tone. The old chair creaked slightly as he rose out of it. “Are we still on for tonight though? Drinks and the Bills game at mine?”

George let out almost a reluctant sigh.

Daniel jumped right in again, “You can’t cancel on me! You’re coming.”

“One of these days can we watch proper football?” 

“Mate, what are you on about? You can’t—” said Daniel, his voice nothing short of exasperated as he let out a huff, “We are not having this conversation again. Just come over, alright? 8pm.”

“Okay, yes, okay.” George relented.

“8pm!”

“8pm. Got it. Thanks so much.”

The office door closed with a click. George physically and audibly eased into a heavy sigh, his head dropping back against his chair for a moment, raising a hand to press against his heart. Rosaline shifted in place still hidden behind his desk, peering up at him from the grimey floor.

“Holy shit.” she breathed out in relief. 

“Okay, that was too close.” said George seriously, pushing the chair away from his desk a little so he could tuck his now pathetically soft dick back in his trousers and zip them up, “We can’t keep doing this on campus. The library was close enough but this?”

Rosaline’s racing heart and her veins filled with cortisol had her agreeing without argument from the floor.

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[zraiusxo]

♡ hi! i'm so sorry this took so long, i've just been super busy with this week's finals i completely forgot! but, thanks for waiting so patiently, I'll be tending to the other requests soon. ^^

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A Game of Composure ,, Older Hange Zoë x Younger Fem!reader (3)

The invitation arrived in an elegant envelope, the kind embossed with gold lettering and weighty enough to suggest importance.

Y/N L/N had expected it. Erwin Smith was nothing if not persistent in his networking endeavors, and his belief in her potential as a future lawyer meant he was always seeking ways to broaden her circle of influence.

This time, it was a formal business banquet—an opportunity to forge connections with the city’s most powerful legal and corporate figures.

This was Y/N's opportunity to meet powerful people. This was her chance to brand herself as a law student with an undeniably bright future ahead of her in high society. She couldn't afford to waste this.

—

The banquet hall was a vision of opulence—high ceilings adorned with chandeliers, crisp white tablecloths, and the quiet hum of classical music beneath the murmur of sophisticated conversation.

Waiters weaved through the guests, silver trays balancing glasses of champagne and finely arranged hors d’oeuvres.

Y/N made her entrance purposefully, pairs of curious eyes flickering onto her figure upon getting a whiff of her intoxicating perfume, turning heads as she stepped forward.

She was dressed in an elegantly fitted black dress, sleek in its simplicity yet commanding in its effect. The fabric sculpted her figure with refined precision, the halter neckline lending an air of sophistication while the open-back design added an edge of quiet seduction.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she moved through the crowd, posture effortless, her gaze sharp.

And, as expected, she drew attention.

Men—businessmen, corporate lawyers, high-ranking executives—took notice almost immediately. Some subtle, others obvious. It was something she was used to. Power attracted power, after all, and she had long since learned how to navigate it.

She accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter, offering a polite nod to Erwin, who had already begun introducing her to influential figures. He smirked knowingly, pleased at the effect she had on the room.

What she didn’t expect, however, was the pair of menacing dark brown eyes watching her from across the banquet.

—

Hange Zoë had no business being irritated. They were aware of this.

It had been a month—thirty-two days, to be exact—since they last spoke. And in that time, they had found themselves thinking about Y/N more than they cared to admit. About her charming wit, her confidence, the way she wielded intelligence like a finely honed blade.

And now, here she was. Stunning, composed, effortlessly in command of every man’s attention in the room.

Hange swirled their drink absent-mindedly, watching from the shadows of polite conversation as yet another businessman leaned in toward Y/N, clearly enraptured.

They had never seen her in this particular setting before—among those who sought to impress rather than challenge her. It was… frustrating.

She was entertaining them, but not engaged.

Hange could see it in the way her lips curled at the corners, polite but impersonal.

In the way she nodded, listening but unimpressed.

It was the same mask she wore at intellectual gatherings, the same calculated presence she used to disarm people.

It was infuriating that these men thought they were captivating her.

And perhaps, most infuriating of all, was the possibility that one of them actually might.

—

“Doll face.”

Y/N turned at the familiar voice, her expression shifting only slightly before she took a sip of her wine. “Dr. Zoë,” she greeted smoothly. “I wasn’t aware you’d be attending.”

Hange tilted their head, expression unreadable. “Neither were you, it seems.”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead letting her gaze flicker over them. Hange had dressed formally—atypical, but undeniably striking.

Their suit was sharp, tailored, but still slightly disheveled in the way only they could pull off. A loosened tie, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins along their forearms. The glasses they wore only added to the effect.

Y/N raised a brow. “You clean up well.”

“Funny,” Hange said, voice low, “I was about to say the same about you.”

She hummed. “What stopped you?”

Hange took a sip of their drink, gaze lingering. “Too many people have already told you tonight. Didn’t want to add to the noise.”

Y/N hummed. “And yet, here you are. Contributing.”

Hange exhaled a quiet laugh. “Touché.”

—

The businessmen who had been speaking to Y/N lingered nearby, clearly hesitant to leave. Hange noted them with mild disdain before turning back to her.

“I didn’t realize businessmen were your type.”

Y/N’s red-stained lips twitched, the corners of her lips lifting. “I wasn’t aware I had a type.”

Hange leaned in slightly, just enough to invade her space. “You certainly have their attention.”

“Do I?” she murmured, looking up at them despite wearing heels. “And here I thought you weren’t one to notice these things.”

Hange’s gaze darkened, unnoticeable behind their thick rimmed glasses, but it was impossible to miss the way their voice dropped an octave. “I notice a lot of things.”

The air between them thickened, charged. Y/N tilted her head, watching them closely with piercing eyes. “You sound… irritated.”

Hange exhaled sharply, stepping even closer. Their voice was lower now, rougher. “It’s fascinating.”

“What is?”

“The way you command attention. The way you pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Y/N held their gaze. “And what makes you think I’m pretending?”

Hange’s fingers brushed her wrist lightly—a fleeting touch, deliberate. “Because you’re not interested in them.”

She let the silence stretch, parting her lips a second too long before finally speaking. “And who,” she murmured, “do you think I am interested in?”

Hange smirked, slow and knowing. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Before she could respond, the businessman from earlier returned, clearing his throat. “Miss L/N, I was wondering if you’d like to—”

“I’m afraid she’s occupied,” Hange interrupted smoothly, not even glancing at him.

Y/N arched a brow but said nothing as the man hesitated, watching the blonde-haired man begrudgingly excused himself.

Hange turned back to her, satisfaction evident in their brown eyes. “Much better.”

Y/N exhaled a quiet laugh. “Was that necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

She studied them with narrowed eyes, watching their gaze drift down her form before quickly flickering back up to her eyes. “Are you jealous, Dr. Zoë?”

Hange didn’t blink. “Very.”

Y/N chuckled—slow and knowing.

“Well then,” she murmured, finishing her wine without breaking eye contact, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Hange chuckled, shaking their head in an attempt to hide the red that crept up their cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” she echoed their words from earlier.

Hange sighed, a rueful grin pulling at their lips. “God help me.”

And then, for the first time that evening, Y/N allowed herself a genuine smile.

Because, despite everything, she had missed them too.

♡ you've reached the end! thanks so much for reading, i appreciate the comments you left on my precious post! this was super rushed but i hope you enjoy reading this, thank you. :3

♡ oh forgot to say but i'll try to continue this as soon as i have time to spare. :'>

[steviewashere]

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts. 

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

[hometoursandotherstuff]

My love for New Orleans, LA homes comes from their uniqueness to just one place. You can't really find houses like this anywhere else. Here's one that was built in 2016 in the style of an old historic "Double Gallery" residence. It has 3bds, 3ba, and is listed for $1.675M.

They did the classic entrance hall with a fancy spindle railing. Remember, it's only 8 yrs. old, so it's not a reno.

They copied a sitting room and even included pocket doors.

High ceilings, wide crown molding, built-in book shelves, and pocket doors to the dining room.

Dining room has a tray ceiling and I like that they put medallions up for the chandeliers.

Cute shower room. Love the pedestal sink, mirror and little chandie.

Coffered ceiling in the everyday dining room. Very nice.

The kitchen is lovely. Sliding barn door, a counter that seats 4, Shaker cabinets, and I like the lighting. They've got a pot filler faucet. I wish they'd chosen a backsplash with some contrast. Love the bookshelf for cookbooks.

Check out the butler's pantry.

A potting area? Wow, that's a wonderful bonus.

This is beautiful. A family room with an interesting take on a coffered ceiling, and 3 double doors to the garden. Also, love the fireplace.

Isn't it fabulous to be able to walk out to these porches from the family room?

Upstairs the thick crown molding continues.

Flex space outer room is open to the primary bedroom.

Bright spacious room.

Has French doors to the terrace and an en-suite.

This is new home that looks like a renovated historic home.

Large en-suite.

And, how convenient to have a walk-in closet/dressing room right off the bath.

Secondary bedroom also has a beautiful en-suite.

The 3rd spacious bedroom is used as a home office. It also has an en-suite.

The view from the terraces is the Bayou St. John.

There's a patio down in the garden.

How lovely to be on a bayou.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1148-Moss-St-New-Orleans-LA-70119/157738071_zpid/

[amethystarachnid]

Can you write New Year’s Eve Countdown with Tony? Tony organized a party for all the Avengers, Tony and reader are in a “mutual pinning” situation and they’ll share their first kiss at midnight and promise to stay together forever as a New Year’s resolution 🤍🤍🤍 it’s for female reader

MIDNIGHT KISS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: Y/N and Tony Stark share a mutual but unspoken attraction as they navigate a New Year’s Eve party filled with tension, playful flirting, and subtle jealousy. After a series of near-confessions and teasing moments, Tony finally gathers the courage to kiss Y/N at midnight, asking her to be his girlfriend as part of a New Year’s resolution.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Stark Tower is alive tonight, pulsing with energy as if the building itself knows the year is ending and something bigger is coming. The city skyline glitters just outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor lounge, a perfect backdrop for a party only Tony Stark could throw. You stand off to one side, a glass of champagne in hand, watching the room fill with some of the most powerful people on the planet. Quite literally.

Tony’s spared no expense, as usual. Golden lights drip from the ceiling like falling stars, illuminating the room in a warm, inviting glow. There’s a live jazz band playing in one corner, the music melting into the buzz of conversation and laughter. Waitstaff weave through the crowd with trays of expertly crafted hors d'oeuvres, and the bar is fully stocked with bottles that probably cost more than your rent. You shouldn’t be surprised. Stark’s New Year’s Eve parties are legendary, and this one seems determined to outdo all the rest.

You catch sight of Tony across the room, looking effortlessly sharp in a tailored suit that somehow manages to be both classic and undeniably him. His tie is slightly loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and the glint of his arc reactor peeks through the fabric like an open secret. He’s holding court, of course, surrounded by people hanging on his every word. The way he commands attention is almost hypnotic, like a gravitational pull you can’t resist.

He must feel your gaze because his eyes snap to yours suddenly, like a magnet locking in place. The smirk that spreads across his face is slow and deliberate, a challenge wrapped in charm. You take a sip of your champagne, feigning nonchalance, but your heart is beating faster, traitorous and uncooperative.

"Y/N!" Tony’s voice cuts through the air moments later, rich and teasing, like he knows exactly how to unsettle you. You blink, and suddenly he’s standing right in front of you, all charisma and mischief. "Looking good tonight. Is that new, or have I just been too distracted to notice?"

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re always distracted, Stark. I’m surprised you even remembered my name.”

He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that sends a ripple through your chest. “How could I forget? You’re the one who keeps me on my toes. Besides,” he adds, leaning in just slightly, “it’s my job to notice when someone outshines my own party.”

The air between you tightens, crackling like the champagne in your glass. You glance around, looking for an escape route, but the room seems smaller now, the crowd fading into the periphery. It’s just you and Tony, standing too close and not close enough at the same time.

"Careful, Tony," you say, forcing a casual tone. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me."

He tilts his head, considering you with a mock seriousness that’s entirely too disarming. "And if I was?"

Your breath catches for a split second, but you recover quickly, masking it with a smirk of your own. "Then I’d say you should work on your timing. There’s a whole party waiting for you to be the center of attention."

"Ah, but you see," he says, his voice dropping lower, "I’ve got everything I need right here."

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you shake your head. "Unbelievable."

"That’s what they say," he quips, straightening up but not stepping back. He gestures toward the bar. "Another drink? Or are you pacing yourself for midnight?"

You hesitate. This is dangerous territory, and you both know it. But there’s a thrill in the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in a room full of gods and heroes. Maybe just one more drink couldn’t hurt.

"Sure," you say, handing him your empty glass. "But make it something good. None of that cheap stuff you probably save for people who don’t know better."

His grin widens, all teeth and trouble. "As if I’d ever let you drink the cheap stuff."

You follow him to the bar, weaving through the crowd that seems to part effortlessly for Tony. He orders something in rapid-fire bartender lingo, and the mixologist nods, setting to work with a practiced efficiency. While you wait, Tony leans against the counter, his attention back on you.

"Having fun?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

"It’s your party, Tony. How could I not?" you reply, dodging the weight of his gaze.

"That’s not an answer," he counters smoothly, his smirk returning. "Are you really having fun? Or are you just standing around, trying to pretend you don’t want to bolt?"

You sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. "It’s a little overwhelming, okay? Half the room could level a city block with a flick of their wrist, and the other half probably have no idea who I am."

"I know who you are," he says, the flippant edge in his voice softening just slightly. "And trust me, nobody here could miss you if they tried."

Your cheeks heat again, and you’re saved only by the arrival of the drinks. Tony hands you a glass, and your fingers brush briefly against his. It’s nothing, just a moment, but it lingers, sending a jolt up your arm like static electricity. He doesn’t pull away immediately, and for a second, you wonder if he feels it too.

"Cheers," he says, his voice quieter now, more intimate. He raises his glass, and you tap yours lightly against it, the crystal ringing out like a bell.

"Cheers," you echo, taking a sip. The drink is perfect, just as you knew it would be, but you barely register the taste. Your mind is spinning, caught in the push and pull of whatever this is between you and Tony.

The band strikes up a livelier tune, and Tony’s face lights up with the kind of grin that usually means trouble. "Come on," he says, grabbing your hand before you can protest.

"Where are we going?" you ask, your voice rising slightly as he pulls you toward the makeshift dance floor.

"You’ll see," he says over his shoulder, his grip firm but not unpleasant.

When you reach the center of the room, he spins to face you, releasing your hand only to offer it again, palm up. "Dance with me."

"Tony—"

"Don’t overthink it," he interrupts, his expression unreadable but still magnetic. "It’s just a dance."

It’s never just anything with Tony Stark. But the challenge in his eyes is impossible to resist, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you place your hand in his.

The next few moments are a blur of movement and music, your world shrinking down to the rhythm and the feeling of his hand on your waist. He’s a better dancer than you expected—confident but not overbearing, playful but precise. You can feel his eyes on you, and every look sends your pulse into overdrive.

"See? Not so bad," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"Don’t get cocky," you shoot back, but your breathlessness undermines the bite.

"Too late," he says, spinning you out and pulling you back in with a flourish. The move leaves you dizzy, your balance tipping slightly as you crash back into him. His arm steadies you instantly, his hand splayed against your back in a way that feels far too intimate for a public setting.

"You okay?" he asks, his tone soft now, almost concerned.

"Yeah," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

You’re not sure how much longer the dance lasts, or even what song is playing anymore. All you know is the way Tony’s hand feels on yours, the way his smile makes your chest ache, and the way the space between you seems to disappear, little by little, until it feels like you’re the only two people in the room.

When the song ends, there’s a smattering of applause, and you step back reluctantly, your hand slipping from his. You’re hyper-aware of the eyes on you now, curious and speculative, and you can’t decide if you’re relieved or disappointed when Tony takes a step back too.

"Not bad, Y/N," he says, his smirk back in full force. "I might have to make this a tradition."

"Don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no real bite to your words.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he says, but the glint in his eyes suggests otherwise.

The party surges back to life around you, but the world still feels slightly off-kilter. Your heart hasn’t quite settled from the dance, and you’re certain Tony knows. He’s standing closer now, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a warm, intoxicating mix that suits him entirely too well.

"Where were we?" he asks casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t already shifted the entire dynamic between you.

"You were probably saying something obnoxious," you reply, a little too quickly. Your drink feels suddenly essential, so you take another sip, hoping the bubbles will dull the edge of your nerves.

"Obnoxious? Me?" He places a hand over his chest in mock offense, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "I’ll have you know, I’m the very picture of restraint tonight."

You arch a brow. "Restraint? Is that what we’re calling it when you hijack the DJ, commandeer the dance floor, and steal someone’s drink all in the span of twenty minutes?"

He grins, unrepentant. "Admit it. You’re impressed."

"More like exhausted," you deadpan, but your lips betray you, tugging upward in a smile.

Tony notices—of course he does—and his grin only widens. "You’re terrible at hiding it, you know," he says, leaning in slightly. "The fact that you’re having fun."

"I didn’t say I wasn’t," you counter, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again. His proximity is dangerous, intoxicating, and the way he looks at you makes it almost impossible to think clearly.

"So you are having fun," he says, victorious. He raises his glass in a mock toast. "To progress."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest makes it hard to muster much of a protest. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," he says, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse stutter, "you haven’t walked away."

"Maybe I’m just waiting for you to run out of charm," you quip, though your words lack conviction.

Tony steps closer, just enough to blur the already thin line between playful and something much more precarious. His eyes search yours, the teasing glint in them softening into something warmer, deeper. "Careful, Y/N," he says, his voice low and almost serious now. "I’ve got a lot of charm. You might be here all night."

Your breath catches, and for a fleeting second, the party seems to dissolve entirely. It’s just the two of you again, caught in a moment that feels both inevitable and utterly unexpected. You’re not sure who looks away first, but when you finally blink, the world snaps back into focus.

"So," you say, desperate to break the tension. "What’s the plan for the rest of the night? I assume you’ve got some ridiculous surprise lined up?"

Tony leans casually against the bar, his confidence returning like a switch flipped. "You’ll just have to wait and see. I can’t give away all my secrets."

"You’re terrible at secrets," you shoot back. "Half the room probably knows already."

"Maybe," he admits with a shrug, "but not you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel special?" you ask, arching a brow.

"Depends," he says, his expression unreadable for a moment before his trademark smirk returns. "Does it?"

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. "Unbelievable."

"I’ve heard that one too," he says, clinking his glass lightly against yours.

The night stretches on, and the two of you fall into an easy rhythm of banter and stolen glances. Every so often, someone pulls Tony away—Pepper with a logistical question, Thor with an enthusiastic slap on the back that nearly sends his drink flying—but he always returns, like some invisible thread keeps tugging him back to your side.

At one point, you’re standing by the windows, staring out at the glittering expanse of New York City, when Tony appears beside you again, holding two fresh glasses of champagne.

"Figured you could use a refill," he says, handing you one.

"Thanks," you say, taking it gratefully. The view is breathtaking, the city alight with the promise of a new year, but you can’t help noticing that your focus keeps drifting back to Tony.

"Pretty spectacular, huh?" he says, nodding toward the skyline.

"It is," you agree, though your voice comes out softer than you intended. "But I’m guessing you don’t spend much time appreciating it."

"Not as much as I should," he admits, his tone unusually thoughtful. Then he glances at you, his expression shifting back to that familiar mix of charm and mischief. "But I’ve got a good excuse tonight."

You give him a look. "You’ve got about twenty of those running around here," you point out, gesturing vaguely at the crowd. "I think they call them ‘the Avengers.’"

"Yeah, but none of them are standing here with me right now," he says, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart trip over itself.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Sam Wilson’s voice booms from across the room.

"Yo, Stark! We need a ruling over here!"

Tony groans, looking momentarily torn before he turns back to you. "Stay right here. I’ll be back."

"Take your time," you say, forcing a casual tone. He narrows his eyes at you briefly, like he knows better, but he doesn’t push it.

The second he’s gone, you let out a slow breath, the tension finally breaking. You glance back out at the city, but it’s no use. All you can think about is the way Tony looked at you, the way his words lingered in the space between you like an unfinished promise.

You’re in trouble. And it’s only 9:30.

You’re still standing by the windows when a voice pulls you from your thoughts. It’s smooth and confident, but it’s not Tony’s.

"Beautiful view, isn’t it?"

You turn to find a man standing a little too close. He’s tall, with sharp features and the kind of tailored suit that screams money. His smile is polished, a little too practiced, but polite enough not to send you running.

"Yeah," you reply, offering a noncommittal smile. You glance past him instinctively, wondering how long Tony’s going to be caught up with Sam.

The man extends a hand, undeterred. "David. And you are?"

"Y/N," you say, hesitating briefly before shaking his hand. His grip lingers just a second too long, and you step back slightly, trying to create some space.

"Y/N," he repeats, his smile widening. "I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you with the Avengers?"

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. "No, definitely not. Just a guest tonight."

"A shame," David says, tilting his head. "I bet you’d make a hell of a hero. Or is this more of a behind-the-scenes thing? You know, the brains behind the operation?"

"Not quite," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

David takes another step closer, ignoring the subtle shift in your body language. "Well, whatever your role, I’m glad you’re here. It’s not every day you meet someone as striking as you at one of these things. Stark’s parties can be… overwhelming, don’t you think?"

"Sometimes," you admit, taking another sip of your champagne in hopes of ending the conversation.

"Maybe I can make it less so," he says, his smile turning more confident. "What do you say we—"

"She’s good," a familiar voice cuts in, sharp and unmistakable.

You glance over and find Tony standing there, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on David. The easy charm he usually wears like a second skin is gone, replaced by something harder, sharper.

David straightens, clearly surprised by Tony’s sudden appearance. "Tony," he says smoothly, offering a polite nod. "Didn’t see you there."

"Funny," Tony says, his tone dangerously casual. "I’ve been standing here for a while. Long enough, anyway."

There’s a beat of tense silence before David clears his throat. "Well, I’ll let you two catch up," he says, flashing you one last smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

You manage a polite nod as he retreats, but the moment he’s gone, Tony steps into the space David left behind. His presence is overwhelming, magnetic in a way that makes your pulse race.

"Making new friends?" he asks, his tone light but edged with something unmistakably sharp.

"Not exactly," you say, raising an eyebrow. "What’s with the interrogation?"

Tony doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on yours. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and deliberate. "He was hitting on you."

"So?" you challenge, crossing your arms. "It’s a party, Tony. People flirt. It’s not a big deal."

"It is," he says, his voice hardening slightly. "When it’s you."

Your breath catches, and you blink at him, trying to process the weight of his words. "What does that mean?"

Tony exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, like he’s weighing whether or not to say what he’s really thinking. When he meets your eyes again, the mask is back in place, but the intensity hasn’t faded.

"It means I don’t like sharing," he says simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your heart flips, and you feel a mix of frustration and exhilaration bubbling to the surface. "Sharing what, exactly? Because last I checked, we weren’t—"

"You know what," he interrupts, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "Don’t act like you don’t."

The air between you feels electric, charged with the weight of everything unsaid. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, you find yourself searching his face, trying to make sense of the storm in his eyes.

"Tony," you begin, your voice softening.

He steps closer, closing the already minimal gap between you. His hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver up your spine. "If you don’t feel it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "just say the word, and I’ll back off."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. The truth is, you do feel it—every stolen glance, every teasing remark, every moment that lingers a little too long. It’s been building for months, and now it’s here, staring you in the face, impossible to ignore.

"I didn’t say that," you manage, your voice trembling slightly.

Tony’s expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. A slow, almost disbelieving smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "No?"

"No," you say, more firmly this time.

His smile deepens, and for a moment, the confident Tony Stark you know is back in full force. "Good," he says, his voice low and warm, like a promise. "Because I wasn’t planning on letting him win."

The night stretches on, and the party seems to gain more energy with each passing hour. The room is alive with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversation, but your focus keeps drifting back to Tony. Even when he’s across the room, talking to Bruce or trading stories with Thor, you can feel his presence like a gravitational pull.

Unfortunately, it seems David can too.

Every time Tony is pulled away, David reappears, slipping into the space Tony vacates like clockwork. It starts small: a comment here, a compliment there. At first, you consider brushing him off, but an idea forms in the back of your mind, reckless and enticing. If Tony wants to keep circling his feelings, maybe it’s time to push him out of orbit.

"So, Y/N," David says as you linger near the bar, his smile sharp and calculated. "I was going to wait until later, but I can’t resist. Care to join me for a proper drink upstairs? The private bar’s a little quieter. We could actually hear each other talk."

You laugh lightly, deflecting. "That’s a generous offer, but I think the view’s better here."

David doesn’t back down, leaning closer. "I think the view’s perfect right where I’m standing."

It’s bold, more so than his earlier attempts, and while his confidence is starting to border on arrogance, you decide to let it play out. After all, you’ve already caught Tony glancing your way more than once. If this doesn’t make him take the leap, what will?

"I’ll take that as a compliment," you say smoothly, sipping your champagne. Your tone is warm enough to keep David interested but neutral enough to maintain plausible deniability. It’s a delicate balancing act, but you’re determined to see it through.

The effect on Tony is almost immediate. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him pause mid-conversation with Pepper, his gaze locking on you and David. His jaw tightens just slightly, the kind of subtle shift most people wouldn’t notice. But you’re not most people. You know Tony Stark better than that.

When Tony finally makes his way back to your side, he doesn’t waste any time.

"David," he says smoothly, his tone polite but razor-sharp. "I didn’t realize you were still here. Thought you’d left hours ago."

David straightens, clearly picking up on the tension but choosing to ignore it. "Not a chance, Stark. I wouldn’t miss the chance to get to know your… esteemed guest here a little better."

Tony’s smile is all teeth. "Esteemed is right. Y/N’s got better taste than to waste her time on second-rate charm."

David laughs, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "Funny. I thought she seemed interested."

Tony steps closer, his hand brushing your arm as if to remind you—and David—exactly where you belong. "Y/N’s a lot of things," he says, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Interested in you isn’t one of them."

You feel your cheeks heat, but instead of stepping in, you let them spar, curious to see how far Tony’s willing to go. There’s a thrill in watching him tiptoe the line between his usual bravado and something far more personal.

"That so?" David asks, glancing at you with a cocky smirk. "She doesn’t seem to mind my company."

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. "That’s because she’s too polite to tell you to get lost. But I’m not."

"Tony," you say finally, your tone light but firm enough to draw his attention. "I think I can handle myself."

"Of course you can," he says, his gaze softening slightly when it meets yours. "But you shouldn’t have to."

David raises his hands in mock surrender, his smirk firmly in place. "Relax, Stark. I was just trying to enjoy the party." He turns back to you, his smile sharpening. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Tony doesn’t even wait for David to disappear into the crowd before he rounds on you, his expression unreadable but brimming with something unspoken. "What was that?" he asks, his voice low and pointed.

"What was what?" you reply, feigning innocence as you take another sip of your champagne.

"You letting him flirt with you," Tony says, his tone laced with frustration. "You didn’t exactly shut him down."

You shrug, keeping your voice casual even as your heart pounds in your chest. "He was being polite. Mostly."

Tony’s brow furrows, and he steps closer, the space between you vanishing once again. "You’re not seriously considering—"

"Why do you care?" you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. The words hang between you, charged and dangerous, but you can’t stop now. "It’s a party, Tony. People flirt. You said it yourself—no big deal, right?"

His eyes search yours, his usual quick wit faltering as he struggles to find the right words. "It is a big deal," he says finally, his voice quieter now. "When it’s you, it’s—"

You wait, holding your breath, willing him to say what you’ve both been circling all night. But just as the moment stretches taut enough to snap, someone calls Tony’s name from across the room.

He hesitates, his jaw tightening, before finally stepping back. "Don’t go anywhere," he says, his voice firm but tinged with something softer. "We’re not done."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," you reply, watching him disappear into the crowd once again. Your heart is still racing, and you know you’ve pushed him to the edge. Now all that’s left is to see if he’ll finally take the leap—or if you’ll have to jump first.

You can feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface as the night wears on. Tony’s brief departure leaves you restless, the unanswered weight of your earlier exchange hanging in the air. You’ve played coy, let the jealousy simmer, and even pushed him to the edge, but he still hasn’t crossed the line.

It’s maddening, but you’re not ready to back down. Not yet.

When Tony reappears, he’s alone this time, his gaze immediately seeking you out. There’s a flicker of relief in his eyes when he spots you still standing by the bar. You take a deep breath and make your move, the kind of bold decision that would make Natasha proud.

"Hey, Stark," you call, your voice cutting through the crowd.

Tony raises an eyebrow as he approaches, his usual confidence masking any lingering frustration from earlier. "Back to last names now? That’s cold, even for you."

"Couldn’t resist," you say with a playful shrug. You set your empty glass on the bar and lean closer, just enough to draw his attention. "Dance with me."

The surprise that flashes across his face is brief but satisfying. "Dance? Again?" he asks, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "You sure you can handle it this time?"

"I’ll try to keep up," you reply, grabbing his hand before he can argue. His fingers curl around yours instinctively, warm and firm, as you lead him toward the edge of the dance floor. The DJ has shifted the music to something slower, sultry, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Tony doesn’t protest, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression as you pull him close. Your hand rests lightly on his shoulder, his settling on your waist, and for a moment, the rest of the room falls away.

"You’re full of surprises tonight," he says, his voice low and teasing. "What’s next? A karaoke duet?"

"Don’t tempt me," you shoot back, feeling the electricity crackle between you as your bodies move in sync. "You’re already out of your depth."

"I don’t know," he says, his tone dipping into something darker, more intimate. "Feels like I’m right where I’m supposed to be."

The words send a thrill down your spine, but you refuse to let him see how much they affect you. Instead, you step a little closer, letting your fingers graze the back of his neck as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

"You talk a big game, Stark," you murmur, your voice barely audible over the music. "But I think you’re all bark."

His eyes darken, the playful edge replaced by something more dangerous. "Careful, Y/N," he warns, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. "You might not like what happens when I bite."

"Maybe I would," you challenge, your heart racing as the tension between you reaches a breaking point.

Tony’s grip shifts, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. His face is so close now, his breath warm against your cheek, and the sheer intensity of his gaze leaves you dizzy.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress in a way that sets your skin on fire.

You don’t answer right away, your pulse hammering in your ears as the world narrows to just him. He’s holding back—you can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his hand lingers just shy of something more daring.

And yet, he doesn’t move.

You tilt your head, your lips so close to his ear that your voice is barely more than a whisper. "You’re hesitating, Tony. I didn’t think that was your style."

The words are a calculated risk, and they hit their mark. Tony’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, his composure slipping just enough to reveal the storm brewing beneath the surface. For a second, you think this might finally be it—the moment he stops holding back.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls away.

His hand drops from your waist, and he steps back, putting a deliberate distance between you. The mask slides back into place, his expression carefully neutral, and your stomach twists at the sight.

"Nice try," he says, his voice lighter now, almost teasing. "But you’re going to have to do better than that."

It’s infuriating, the way he brushes it off, like he hasn’t just unravelled you with a single touch. You force a smile, masking your disappointment with a flicker of defiance.

"Guess you’ll just have to wait and see," you reply, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

Tony holds your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, with a slight nod, he turns and disappears back into the crowd, leaving you alone on the edge of the dance floor.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in your chest. He’s so close, teetering on the edge of everything you want, but still too stubborn to take the leap.

And the worst part? You know you’re just as guilty.

The night stretches on, the party’s energy climbing as the countdown to midnight approaches. The chatter grows louder, the laughter more uninhibited, and yet you find yourself slipping away from the crowd, seeking a moment of clarity amid the chaos. You end up back at the windows, staring out over the glittering cityscape below.

You barely notice Tony until he’s right there beside you.

“Good spot,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his posture casual, but his eyes are locked on you. “Looks like you’re hiding.”

“Just needed a breather,” you reply, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Your parties are a little… overwhelming.”

“Don’t I know it,” he says with a smirk, though it quickly fades into something softer. “But you’re not running away, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you tease, but there’s a vulnerability in your tone you can’t quite hide.

Tony shifts closer, just enough that the warmth of his presence brushes against your skin. He hesitates, something uncharacteristic and almost shy, before finally speaking.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he admits, his voice low, almost tentative.

“You found me,” you reply, turning to face him fully. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath hitch, a mixture of determination and nervous energy you rarely see from him.

“I need to say something,” he says, his gaze steady. “Before the night’s over. Before it’s too late.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of the moment settling over you like a thick blanket. “Okay,” you say softly, bracing yourself.

Tony exhales, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve probably noticed I’ve been… off tonight. Holding back, maybe.”

“Maybe,” you say, unable to hide the faint smile that sneaks onto your face. “Subtle isn’t your strong suit.”

“Not usually,” he agrees, chuckling softly. “But tonight, it’s different. Because tonight, I wanted to do this right. And I couldn’t screw it up—not when it’s you.”

Your breath catches at his words, the sincerity in his voice stealing any witty reply you might have had.

Tony steps closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, almost reverent, and his eyes search yours with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

“I wanted to wait until midnight,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because starting the new year with you feels like the biggest win I could ask for. And because if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it big. You deserve that.”

“Tony…” you begin, but he shakes his head, cutting you off gently.

“Let me finish,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I’ve spent so much time holding back, circling around this, because I thought it’d be safer. But the truth is, I don’t want to play it safe with you. I don’t want to keep pretending it’s nothing when it’s… everything.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to overwhelm you as he continues.

“So, here’s the deal,” he says, his confidence returning with each word. “When that clock hits midnight, I’m going to kiss you. And then, I’m going to ask you to make me the luckiest guy alive by letting me be your boyfriend—starting with a new year’s resolution to not screw it up.”

Your heart feels like it might burst, the intensity of his words sinking in all at once. “You’re sure about this?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything,” he replies, his hand brushing against yours. “But it’s up to you. Midnight’s coming fast. If you want me to back off, tell me now.”

The thought is laughable—impossible. You meet his gaze, your own resolve matching his as you step closer, your fingers curling around his hand.

“Not a chance,” you say, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in your chest.

Tony’s smile deepens, the relief and joy in his eyes unmistakable. “Good. Because I’ve been dying to do this all night.”

The countdown begins in the distance—ten seconds, nine—and the room around you erupts in cheers. But you barely notice. Your world narrows to just him, the anticipation building as the seconds tick down.

At the stroke of midnight, Tony closes the gap, his hand cradling your face as his lips capture yours in a kiss that’s equal parts fireworks and homecoming. It’s soft and deliberate, a promise in every touch, and it leaves you breathless.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he smiles. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Tony,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

“So,” he says, his voice teasing but still brimming with emotion. “What do you say? Will you let me start the year off right by making you mine?”

You laugh softly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I thought I already was.”

His grin is blinding, and he pulls you into another embrace, the rest of the world fading away. In that moment, everything feels exactly as it should be.

The morning—or rather, early afternoon—sun streams through the gaps in the curtains, painting lazy stripes of light across the plush duvet. You stir, blinking against the brightness, your senses slowly coming online. The first thing you register is warmth—a solid, comforting weight wrapped around you. Tony.

He’s spooning you, his arm slung around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. His slow, even breaths tickle your neck, and you can’t help but smile, even as your mind pieces together the whirlwind of events from last night. Midnight kisses. His confession. Laughter that lasted far too late into the night.

You stretch slightly, careful not to disturb him, but Tony grumbles groggily, tightening his hold.

"Morning, sunshine," he murmurs, his voice still raspy with sleep.

"Morning?" you say, twisting to glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Tony, it’s past noon."

"Afternoon, then," he amends, nuzzling into your neck with a soft groan. "Still counts."

You roll your eyes, though your heart does a little flip. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’ve been told," he says, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "But hey, you can’t complain. I mean, after all, you’ve been my girlfriend for a whole year now."

You let out a sharp laugh, turning in his arms so you can properly glare at him. "It’s literally January 1st, Stark. Don’t start."

His grin is unrepentant, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I’m just saying, technically, we got together last year. You can’t argue with science."

"I can argue with you, though," you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. "And I will. Relentlessly."

"Sounds like a great way to spend the year," he replies, his hand sliding up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Which, by the way, I still can’t believe you agreed to spend with me. You must really be a glutton for punishment."

You sigh dramatically, even as your cheeks heat at his tender expression. "I already regret it. This relationship is exhausting."

Tony’s laugh rumbles in his chest, and he pulls you closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Liar. You love it. You love me."

It’s a bold statement, but you can’t deny the truth in it. Instead, you bury your face against his shoulder, muttering, "Maybe. But if you keep making dad jokes, I’m reconsidering."

He gasps in mock offense, his hand flying to his heart. "Dad jokes? That was a finely crafted piece of wit, thank you very much."

"It was terrible," you say, giggling despite yourself.

Tony leans in, his lips ghosting over your forehead. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he murmurs. "Otherwise, I’d be offended."

"Likewise," you reply, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. The soft smile on his lips makes your breath catch, and before you can think twice, you lean in, closing the gap between you.

The kiss starts slow and languid, a perfect echo of the lazy comfort of the morning—or afternoon, technically. Tony’s fingers trail up your back, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens. You lose track of time, lost in the warmth of his touch and the familiar spark that ignites whenever you’re together.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. "We should probably get up," you say, though your voice lacks any conviction.

"Probably," Tony agrees, though he makes no move to release you. Instead, he shifts so you’re lying more comfortably against his chest, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your arm. "But let’s not. It’s still technically the holidays. We deserve a break."

You laugh softly, unable to argue. "Fine. But only because I’m too comfortable to move."

Tony presses a kiss to the top of your head, his voice filled with affection as he murmurs, "Happy New Year, Y/N."

You smile, your heart full. "Happy New Year, Tony."

And as you lie there in his arms, the rest of the world forgotten, you can’t help but think that this is exactly how you want to spend the rest of the year—and all the years to come.

[capuccinodoll]

The Holiday

Before the sun hits (chapter two)

Summary: You spend an interesting morning with Joel drinking hot chocolate.

-

DECEMBER 19TH

When you got up from bed, your parents were gone. You looked at the clock on the living room wall. 8:20 am. Outside, the snow covered almost the entire ground and the sun had barely finished rising completely. You'd been awake for at least thirty minutes and at no time had you heard them leave, so surely they had gone out earlier. Where had they gone?

You didn't think too much about it and approached the window that overlooked the entrance to the cabin. The scenery took your breath away. You and your parents arrived yesterday afternoon after a five-hour flight, and you fell in love with the place from the very first moment.  It was high tourist season, you saw them last afternoon when they'd fleetingly strolled through downtown, you being a tourist too. The quaintly decorated cafes gave off a delicious aroma of coffee, cinnamon, chocolate and apple, and all sorts of events were taking place in the local bookstores and galleries, such as movie showings at the local theater. Your mother mentioned them to you the night before; all kinds of Christmas classics would be playing and after eight o'clock, the occasional Christmas horror classics. The last part really caught your attention - seeing Black Christmas in a cozy theater in Canmore? Yes, sounded like you. 

You moved away from the window as your feet began to cool. The smell of the coffee was still fresh in the air and it didn't take you long to fill a cup and sit down at the kitchen counter.  The whole cabin looked like a fairy tale. The ceiling, with exposed wooden beams, was high, giving a sense of spaciousness without losing the intimate feel. The large windows that dominated the front walls allowed natural light to flood the room and offered a breathtaking view of the snowy outside. Through them, you could see snow-capped mountains, fir trees with white flakes on their branches, and a pale blue sky that promised a sunny day. In the living room, an L-shaped sofa upholstered in soft, light gray fabrics sat in the center, accompanied by red pillows and wool blankets. In front of the sofa, a rustic reclaimed wood coffee table held a tray of empty coffee cups. Your parents, you thought. A cozier corner was created to the side by an antique leather armchair and a floor lamp with a warm glow. Maybe you could sit there and cry a little.

You connected your phone into the TV and opened Spotify in search of the perfect song to brighten up your morning. Suspicious minds by Elvis started playing through the speakers and suddenly your body began to feel light, as if the weight of the last year was no longer in your veins. Your movements were loose and carefree, letting yourself go with the infectious rhythm of the song. You turned and jump on your heels with a wide grin on your face, arms raised, as if there was no other concern in the world but to warm up. As the music increased in intensity, your steps became bigger, almost theatrical, emulating the style of the 60's, with little hip swivels and a light laugh that escaped your lips. You moved your shoulders in a carefree manner, improvising as you sang along with Elvis' voice. Suddenly your steps stopped and you placed your hands on your chest: Oh, let our love survive, you sang, i'll dry the tears from your eyes, let's don't let a good thing die, when honey, you know i've never lied to you. 

Your feet began to move animatedly again as the pace quickened, and a cold breeze began to blow across your back, but you ignored it. Until, after a few seconds, as you turned back toward the archway leading into the hallway, you saw your parents standing in the doorway, watching you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. And right behind them... Joel, with his coat in his right hand and a suitcase in his left, looking at you in surprise. Time seemed to stand still. Your eyes widened and the music, which had been the main character before, suddenly seemed very loud, too loud. You stopped, frozen in a strange pose; your arms still raised and your legs slightly bent, completely out of place in the middle of the room. 

You straightened up and were suddenly very conscious of how you were dressed: in your Snoopy pants and an old Soundgarden t-shirt.  Your parents exchanged an amused look, trying to contain their laughter, as one of them says in a soft but playful-sounding voice: 

You quickly dropped your hands, feeling acutely aware of your Snoopy pajamas and worn Soundgarden t-shirt. Your parents exchanged a look, smirking like they couldn’t hold back their laughter any longer.

“Are you rehearsing for a show, darling?” one of them teased, their voice a gentle mockery that only made your cheeks burn hotter.

You fumbled for your phone, fingers clumsy as you turned down the volume, then retreated to the kitchen counter. Sipping your coffee, you tried to feign calm, but the cup trembled against your lips. You could only hope your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

“Hi, Joel,” you finally managed, aiming for casual, though you worried your voice betrayed just how rattled you felt.

He gave a slight nod, dropping his suitcase beside the sofa. He moved toward the kitchen with a familiarity that caught you off guard, turning on the faucet to wash his hands as if this were just another morning.

You hadn’t expected him to show up, and your attempt to keep cool faltered. “I thought you weren’t coming,” you blurted, trying to play it off. “I mean, it’s good to see you… if you wanted to be here.”

Your mom appeared beside you as if she’d been eavesdropping from the next room. Her sudden presence made you tense. “Your dad talked him into it, you know how he is. And don’t be rude, honey. Nobody should be alone this time of year,” she added in that gentle tone of hers, the one that left no room for argument.

You glanced at Joel quickly, worried that he might think you were upset that he was there. That wasn't the intention, but you didn't want him to misunderstand.

You glanced at Joel, hoping he wouldn’t misinterpret your words as unwelcoming. That wasn’t how you meant it, but you couldn’t help the awkwardness that slipped through.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry…”

“S’okay,” Joel cut in, waving his hand dismissively, like he hadn’t noticed your clumsy words. “I know what you meant.”

But then his eyes shifted down to your pajama pants, lingering just a little too long. Of course, this was how you always ended up—making a fool of yourself in front of him. Did he have to look so good while doing it? He was wearing a dark green flannel, black jeans, and leather boots that seemed perfectly suited for him. His hair was a little messier than it had been last night, a hint of silver in his beard catching the light. He looked unreasonably handsome, like he’d just walked off the cover of a magazine for outdoorsmen.

You noticed a small heart-shaped patch between his chin and jaw, a detail you hadn't seen before, and suddenly felt an absurd urge to reach up and press your thumb there.

When your gaze flicked back up, you found him watching you—his eyes lingering over your face like he was memorizing every feature. The air between you seemed to thicken, your pulse quickening as heat rose to your cheeks. And yet, you couldn’t look away, and neither did he. For a few moments, everything felt suspended, like you might say something—anything—to break the silence. But then, your dad called out to him from the doorway.

Joel broke eye contact first, the spell snapping, and straightened up. “Coming,” he replied, and as he walked past, you caught yourself following him with your eyes, feeling a pang of something you couldn’t quite name.

You asked yourself if he would ever consider mentioning to your dad what was going on with you. Or, if at some point during his flight, the thought would have crossed his mind. But you forced yourself to stop thinking about it almost instantlyy. He had assured you that he wouldn't say anything, and, for some reason you didn't fully understand, you chose to believe him. 

*

Your mother tapped lightly on your bedroom door before pushing it open without waiting for a reply. The door creaked, her silhouette appearing in the frame with a cheerful familiarity that was always both comforting and a little intrusive.

“We're heading to the market to get some stuff. Need anything?”

You were sprawled out on the bed, limbs loose, staring up at the ceiling like it might reveal something new. It was hard to remember when you'd started doing that, letting your thoughts run away with you, drifting without purpose.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Alright. We’ll be back soon. Don’t fall asleep,” she added with a gentle warning as her face disappeared back into the hallway.

A few moments later, you heard the rumble of your father’s car starting up, the low murmur of their voices mingling with the crunch of snow as they left. You knew they’d come back with arms full of holiday cheer—sweets, wine, things that seemed to make their eyes light up. You understood their excitement; you weren’t so different. Canmore at Christmas was magic wrapped in snow, each corner dressed in gold lights and bright red ribbons.

Who wouldn’t love this? Only someone heartbroken, you thought dryly. But then, you almost caught yourself sounding like your mother.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Ally:

I think this is your chance to find a hot Canadian to flirt with. I've heard the rumors, y'know.

You chuckled to yourself, though the suggestion wasn’t entirely unappealing.

Just got here, lol. Haven’t met anyone yet, but we’re going out to dinner later. I’ll keep you posted.

For a moment, your mind drifted back to Liam, to the last photo you saw of him, fingers entwined with his new girlfriend’s. And the words he’d left you with before your final day at the office. Strangely, the memory didn’t sting as much anymore—it had dulled, becoming something you could almost look at from a distance.

You exhaled, pushing yourself out of bed, and rummaged through the suitcase you still hadn’t bothered to unpack. Swapping your pajamas for a white turtleneck, a soft cream sweater, and black pants, you kept your slippers on because, well, you could.

As you opened your bedroom door, you nearly collided with Joel stepping out of the room directly across from yours. You hadn’t processed this arrangement earlier—your rooms were exactly opposite, separated only by a narrow hallway.

He had just showered; damp hair brushed back in a way that was somehow both careless and careful. His beard was neatly trimmed now, taming the stray grays you'd noticed earlier. He wore a gray flannel shirt, dark slacks, and practical boots, his look somehow fitting with the cabin’s rustic charm. You, by contrast, shuffled in your slippers.

You gave him a small smile and moved down the hallway. He followed, his steps deliberate and heavy. By the time you reached the stairs, he had already turned back towards the bathroom, the echo of his footsteps fading behind you.

In front of the television, there was nothing interesting, or at least nothing familiar to you. You switched channels without much enthusiasm until a sigh of satisfaction escaped your mouth. The Holiday was on the screen, right at the scene where Cameron Diaz throws her cheating boyfriend out of the house, yelling at him from the window while throwing his clothes from the second floor. Perfect, you thought. The Holiday. The only thing you were missing was a nice cup of hot chocolate.

You moved into the kitchen, feeling a little thrill when you found the chocolate bar your mother had insisted on buying at the airport. Maybe she’d been right after all. As you heated the milk, you glanced back at the couch, where Joel had reappeared, watching the movie with an unexpected intensity. You hadn’t pegged him for the rom-com type—more of a Western or noir guy, maybe. But he seemed to know the film, his eyes following the characters across the screen.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He shook his head slightly, his expression serious. “Too sweet, usually.”

“I can make it less sweet for you,” you offered, adding a faint smile to soften the words.

He seemed to consider it for a moment and then gave a small nod. “Okay, I’ll trust you on that.”

You poured the warmed milk into two mugs, adding three squares of chocolate to yours and just one and a half to his. You skipped the sugar—no way he’d go for that. You stirred until the chocolate dissolved into a rich swirl, then carried the mugs back to the couch. He took his with a quiet, “Thank you,” and you settled beside him, leaving a cautious space between your bodies.

“Do you like the movie?” you asked after a moment, your curiosity winning out.

He shrugged, but there was a softness to the gesture. “It’s... got its moments. Used to watch it with Sarah.”

You nodded, the detail fitting more easily than you expected. It made sense now, why he seemed a little drawn into it.

“I love the neighbor part,” you said. “The little old man.”

“I love the neighbor storyline,” you admitted. “The old writer."

“Yeah, the writer’s good,” he agreed, then fell silent, watching the TV again.

But you couldn’t help yourself, his presence pulling at something inside you. “Joel,” you said suddenly, turning to face him. His name came out unbidden, and you almost regretted it when he looked at you, brows drawing together slightly.

“I—thank you, for not saying anything to my parents. About what I told you.”

He considered this, then nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. “Wasn’t mine to tell, don't worry” he said simply, but something in his tone held a weight that made your throat tighten.

Don't worry. He looked you straight in the eye as he said it, and for some reason, it made you freeze for a few seconds longer than necessary. 

“Anyway, thank you,” you said, breaking the silence. “For listening to me, too. I'm not usually like that.”

“How?” he asked, without looking away. There was something about the calmness of his posture -chocolate mug resting on his lap, one hand resting on the armrest of the couch- that contrasted completely with the stiffness of yours: straight back, both hands clutching your mug, feet tangled together as if trying to keep yourself anchored.

“Emotional, in an exaggerated way.”

He straightened a little, taking your answer seriously.

“I get it,” he murmured, ”though I'm not sure you were exaggerating.”

“What d'you mean?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual as you watched him bring the cup to his lips. The fact that he took another sip made you feel an unexpected sense of relief, as if the success of your chocolate was somehow relevant to that conversation.

“I mean your motives make sense,” he replied, before the television screen drew your attention. Kate Winslet was sobbing on screen, her character’s heartbreak mirroring your own too neatly. Joel’s gaze lingered on your face, his eyes scanning you as if searching for something beyond words.

Joel looked at you, pursing his lips slightly, almost as if he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it.

You tried to make a joke out of it. “It’s funny, right? The timing?”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking upward, but he looked down as if to hide it. “Yeah. It’s a little funny.”

“I don't want to butt in too much,” he began cautiously, ”but I get the feeling that boy doesn't deserve the crying.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, surprised by his unexpected statement.

“I just feel it.”

"How?"

"I just do."

“You could try to convince me,” you said, half joking, half serious. “I've been feeling ridiculous about this for the last whole month.”

Joel let out a deep sigh, sinking back into the couch, his shoulders loosening. He raised the cup to his lips, the steam curling up between you, almost like it created its own fragile barrier. His usually guarded eyes seemed a little sharper, as if he was sorting through his thoughts, deciding which ones to share.

“How long were you two together?” he asked finally. His voice was softer than usual, but steady.

“Seven months,” you replied, bracing yourself for his reaction.

He frowned, his expression crinkling with something close to concern or frustration. And it struck you then, how natural that look seemed on his face, like it belonged there.

“And when did you break up?” He held your gaze, waiting for you to continue.

“Three weeks ago.”

He paused, considering this, then asked, “And how long had he been seeing the other woman?”

You hesitated, feeling a familiar sting in your chest, but you pressed on. “I found out about a month ago. But honestly, I’m not sure when it started.”

His frown deepened, shadows settling in the lines of his face. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes—anger, maybe, or some unspoken frustration on your behalf. And despite the ache that came with telling him all of this, you couldn't deny the small, guilty satisfaction that he cared enough to be bothered by it.

“When did he get engaged?” His words came out slower now, like he was struggling to keep his disbelief in check.

“Last Friday,” you murmured, the memory fresh and bitter on your tongue.

“Last Friday?” He blinked, eyebrows knitting together, genuinely thrown. “You mean... like, right after you broke up?”

You nodded, watching him as he processed the timeline. He dragged a hand over his mouth, then licked his lips, as if trying to choose the right words—ones that wouldn’t be too harsh, even if they probably deserved to be.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone quieter but no less direct. “He doesn’t deserve any of those tears, you know. No one does.”

Something about the way he said it landed with you—his voice so matter-of-fact, so assured that it cut through the dull ache in your chest, striking deeper, in a way that was both comforting and disarming. It wasn’t a question or a gentle suggestion; it was a statement, one that left no room for doubt.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. It felt as if any sentence you might have tried to form would have crumbled halfway through. And he seemed to understand that immediately. He held your gaze, a faint crease of worry settling into his brow. For a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something else, maybe push further, but then the front door flew open, and your parents’ voices filled the space.

The moment broke, and he glanced away as if the sudden noise had snapped him back to the present. You felt his fingers graze your arm, just barely, as he shifted on the couch. You glanced at the spot where his touch had lingered, not sure if it had been a gesture of comfort or just an accident. But when you looked back up, he was still watching you, his concern barely masked.

You forced a smile, and he returned it, though his expression remained unconvinced.

Your mother swept into the room like a whirlwind, her laughter echoing against the walls as your dad set down bags of groceries on the kitchen counter nearby. She glanced between you and Joel, her eyes lighting up with something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction.

“I love seeing you two hanging out together!” she said brightly, her excitement bubbling over. “See, honey? I told you we needed that chocolate.”

You gave a small nod, taking the last sip of your hot chocolate. Joel did the same beside you, his cup now almost empty.

“What do you guys say to taking a walk around town later? The fair is in full swing, and there are all kinds of goodies,” your mother suggested, practically bouncing on her toes.

A pair of hands rested on your shoulders, your dad’s familiar warmth pressing into you, followed by a gentle kiss on the top of your head. It was a gesture that grounded you, something solid amidst the mess of emotions.

“Sounds perfect to me,” he said, glancing over at Joel. “And Joel and I can finally get those beers he promised me. What do you say, Miller?”

Joel tilted his head, offering a faint smirk—just a hint of something roguish in his expression, and it sent an unexpected shiver through you. How did he manage to stir so many conflicting feelings in you, all at once?

“Sounds good to me, Evans,” he replied with that casual tone that always seemed to catch you off guard.

You got up from the couch, slipping away under the pretense of putting your empty mug in the sink. As you moved into the kitchen, you busied yourself checking the contents of the fridge, smiling at the sight of your favorite foods, thoughtfully picked out by your parents. And some things you didn’t recognize—probably Joel’s, adding a new layer of domesticity to this strange new dynamic.

With them still chatting, you stole a chance to slip back upstairs, seeking the quiet of your room. The familiar comfort of your bed wrapped around you as you lay back, staring out the window. The view was breathtaking: the snow-covered mountains, the trees standing tall under the clear sky. It was the kind of beauty that tugged at something deep inside, something that made you want to cry, but in a different way than before. A better way. Joel’s words echoed in your mind. Maybe the mountains deserved your tears. Maybe the snow. The sun, absolutely. And the moon, too.

A soft knock broke the stillness, and you peeled yourself off the mattress to answer. The door creaked open just a sliver, revealing Joel leaning against the frame, closer than you’d expected.

“Joel? Did something happen?”

He hesitated for a beat, then shook his head. “No,” he said, voice low, almost sheepish. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I feel like... maybe I was a little insensitive earlier, down there.”

You stared at him, taken aback by the admission. A warmth spread through your chest, seeping into every corner as you realized he meant it. A smile pulled at your lips before you could stop it.

“It’s all right, really. I promise,” you said, your voice softer than you’d intended.

“You sure?” He narrowed his eyes, studying you, and there was something about the way he looked at you then—like he was trying to figure out if you were telling the truth.

From that angle, you could get a good look at him, the way his dark eyes studied you. From above, and you below. His gaze moving as it did in the kitchen; slowly across your features. What could be going through his head? You didn't know. But you did know what was going on in yours, and it wasn't anything pure. So you looked at his lips and felt that extending that attention for more than a second was daring, but you did it anyway. And something throbbed in you.

“So sure,” you said, managing to sound steady.

He nodded, pulling back ever so slightly. His gaze flicked over you one last time, as if memorizing the way you looked at that moment, then he stepped back.

“Okay,” he agreed at last. “See you in a bit, then.”

As he left and you closed the door, a strange sensation began to form in your entire body and suddenly, Canmore began to take on a very, very different tinge. 

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

“I want it on record that I have no desire to even be here.” “The record so states,” Gemma replies, her tone dripping with mock solemnity. She tightens her grip on Euphemia’s arm, weaving them through the throngs of impeccably dressed witches and wizards. The chandelier above them sparkles with enchanted crystal, throwing fractured light over the crowd. “But you’ll like him.” “I’ve not liked any of the other boys you swore were my soulmate,” Euphemia mutters, dodging a floating tray of hors d'oeuvres. “Well, I was wrong then,” Gemma says breezily. Euphemia sighs theatrically. “You’re wrong now, Gem. Besides, I told you. My mother—” “I don’t give a toss what your mother says, and neither do you,” Gemma interrupts sharply. “Exactly! He’s a Potter. His father is in the Wizengamot—“ Gemma stops abruptly, turning to face Euphemia with an exasperated smile. “Euphemia.” “It’s different—” Euphemia tries to backtrack, but Gemma cuts her off. “You work for the Wizengamot!” “I clerk! It’s not the same.” “Yeah, because you’re not old enough to run for a seat,” Gemma says with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t aim to be up there one day, Dearborn. Stop making excuses for why you can’t introduce yourself to a cute boy and have fun for one night.” Euphemia sighs in defeat, though the corners of her lips twitch upward at her friend’s boldness. These Ministry parties are all the same—sprawling ballrooms with charmed ceilings, glimmering candles floating overhead, and the faint hum of classical music from an enchanted orchestra. They aren’t so different from the common room parties she used to avoid at Hogwarts, only with more champagne and fewer fireworks. “Oh! There he is!” Gemma squeals, dragging Euphemia behind her with renewed purpose.

continue reading on ao3

[simstorian-blog]

Planet Honey Pop!

(CC List + Links)

[NOTE: The light switch to the Ravasheen Hidden Lights is on the bubble tea kiosk half wall on the ground level.]

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Fashion District

Lot Size:  30 x 20

Amenities:

Arcade

Gaming/Internet Café

“Manga” Reading Area

Retail

Rooftop Bar

Thrift & Bubble Tea Store

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

Eco Lifestyle

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Lovestruck

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Stuff Packs

Moschino Stuff

Kits

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Arcade Lot Trait

City Vibes Lot Trait Collection

Functional Arcade

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

MC Command Center

Spawn Refresh

Build Mode

Hamsterbelle

Mini Space Hamster Set (Railings, Stairway)

Felixandre

Paris Pt 1 (Awning Open Long & Short)

Harlix

Harluxe (Laminated Wall)

Tiny Twavellers (Mural Wallpaper)

Harrie

Klean Pt. 2

Klean Pt. 3

LittleDica

Rise & Grind (Fence 2, Wallpaper 1)

MoonSimmers

Bonaerense Set (Mosaic Floor Small, Trim Granitic Mosaic Floor)

Nempne

Cover Sheet Ceiling Tile

Pierisim

Tilable (Plaster)

Syboubou

Classic Elevator (This is NEEDED)

The Royal Geek

Vintage Life Flooring

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Museum Exhibition Shop (Bag, Bag Wall Display, Poster Rolls Display)

Cepzid

Arcade Room Pack (Only the Games)

Felixandre

SOHO Pt. 1 (Mirror Slim, Round Sink, Toilet & Remote)

SOHO Pt. 4 (Lounge Seating, Lounge Table, Planter, Shelving & Poles- ALL, Stool)

SOHO Pt. 5 (Duffle Bag, Kelly Bag)

SOHO Pt. 6 (Jute Rug 4 x 3, Postcards)

Hamsterbelle

Cyberpunk Neon Lights (SpunkyMoney, Tengu)

Floor Light Décor

Hanraja

S015 (Desk Chair 3 LOW)

S019 (Desk, Desktops)

Harlix

Kichen (Glasses)

Kichen 2.0 (Glasses)

Livin’ Rum (3D Wall Art, Coffee Table, End Table, Shelves)

Ledger Atelier

Bar Counter (DL Attached Bellow)

LittleDica

H&B Store (Aisle Sign Lit, Lit Letters – ALL, Stage Light 8)

LustrousSims

Simlish Bookstore

NANDO

Fashion Store

No Style x Woodland

Cöfkeksa Lounge Chair

Tamsusja Booth Corner

Peacemaker

Kassova Sectional

Pierisim

Stefan Living Room (Curtains & Rod - TALL)

Unfold (Dining Table, End Table)

Ravasheen

Easy Peasy Lumen Squeezy Hidden Lights

Shake & Shimmy Dance Floor

RusticSims

IRL (Dining Chair, Taburete)

Sundays

Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow- Solids)

Sumba Pt. 2 (Wardrobe Dresser II- Small)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chillin’ Areas Pt. 1 (Drinks - ALL)

Tuds

Beam Kitchen (Table Bar 1x2)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[charliedawn]

Ohhh, Charliessssss, remember when you made the fanfic where Peter and Kevin hannibal both liked the reader? What if the same dinner happened, but before that, they get to meet the rest of the family, and the family likes the reader how Peter and Kevin like them. The reader is very versatile, with music, Sr. Hannibal likes classical. So while he's listening to it doing whatever he does and like the reader starts singing some of the lyrics. (Not expecting them to know the song) For Hannibal Jr., the reader would love to help him cook, and they would probably dance a little with some fun music in the background. For Morgan, the reader hears him reader and politely ask him if they could join him and listen, saying his voice is nice. Peter and Kevin, they already know the reader from school. The reader is besties with kevin but keeps him in check when he snaps at his family or is being snarky.

Kevin: *fighting with Peter for the umpteenth time* Give it, you little monkey!

Peter: No!

Morgan: *cue an eye roll* Just give it back, kevin

Kevin: Oh, shut up, Morgan

*Reader gets up and slaps him over the head*

Reader: Stop being an asshole and give it. Dirtneck. *Give Kevin the same thing as Peter to stop fighting*

Do you also remember that moment when a reader made little sister reader cry in that one fanfic, and Kevin wouldn't listen to his father? I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up and listen to his father so badly. 😤

For Peter, the reader is very sweet to him and gives him hugs and likes to make him flustered. The reader knows when he's faking being nice. (Like when he did to capture his s/o and pretend to be hurt to fool them)

And the reader isn't faced by blood or bodies because they like horror movies (the none of the family knows that yet?

At dinner, they all like the reader (and would like them to be their s/o) hopefully.

(Also, could you use the artist, Tyla, for a face claim she's so pretty)

Love you! Have a good day!

(Here you go ! Enjoy. 💜)

You had followed the instructions to the letter and found yourself on Hannibal property. Both Peter and Kevin had been struggling with school and hence, you had proposed to tutor them. But at the time, you hadn’t realised the lions’ den you would be stepping into.

You came up to the door and knocked. The door opened and a nicely-dressed gentleman appeared.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure ?" He asked—his deep brown eyes giving you a careful once over.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N, sir. I am here to tutor Peter and Kevin." You replied with a smile and Hannibal Jr. stared at you curiously for a few seconds before wordlessly letting you step inside.

"Of course. We were expecting you. Come on in."

You obliged and stepped inside. But, you were rendered speechless by the immensity and the beauty of the place. It was literally carved in mahogany and black and white marble. You looked up and there was a legit glass dome covering the ceiling. HOW RICH WERE THESE PEOPLE ?!

You shook your head when the man with the elegant suit and the charming smile returned with a tray of homemade chocolates that he place in front of you.

"Kevin and Peter should soon be downstairs. Anything you would like to drink before the session begins ?" He asked politely and you smiled back.

"Hum…Water, please ?"

He nodded.

"Of course. I shall be right back."

As you waited in the grand sitting room, your eyes wandered across the opulent space, taking in the intricate designs and sheer extravagance once more. The Hannibal mansion was more like something out of a gothic horror novel than a home, and yet, it didn’t faze you. After all, you had seen your fair share of horror films, and this place—while eerie—was nothing compared to some of the haunted houses on screen.

Your train of thought was interrupted when Kevin and Peter came tumbling down the stairs, already bickering.

"I told you not to touch it, you little gremlin !" Kevin snapped, his dark eyes flashing with annoyance.

Peter held onto some kind of red stone, his blonde curls bouncing as he stuck out his tongue. "And I told you I found it first, so it's mine."

Kevin made a lunge for Peter, but you quickly intervened, stepping in with a firm, playful slap to the back of Kevin’s head. "Stop being an asshole, Kev. It’s not that serious."

Kevin rubbed the back of his head, shooting you a glare that was more annoyed than angry. "Wha—?! What are you doing here ? Who let you in ?! And why are you always siding with him, Y/N ?"

"I'm siding with common sense," you said, rolling your eyes before taking the red stone from Peter. "Here. Mine. Now, both of you stop acting like children."

Peter grinned, clearly pleased with the outcome, while Kevin muttered under his breath.

"Fine, fine. But only because you asked," Kevin finally said begrudgingly.

"Right, because you're such a martyr," you teased.

Just then, Hannibal Jr. returned with your water, his gaze flicking between the three of you with mild amusement. "I see you're already keeping the peace. That is a rare talent around here."

You smiled, taking the glass from him. "I have a lot of practice."

Kevin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue as Peter stuck close to you, practically beaming. It was clear Peter already adored you, not just as a tutor but as someone he could rely on. He tried to look tough, but you knew how soft he could be, especially when you gave him attention. You ruffled his curls affectionately, and he blushed, looking away to hide his flushed cheeks.

"Y/N, you're embarrassing me…" Peter mumbled, though he didn’t move away from your touch.

Hannibal Sr. entered next, his presence commanding yet elegant, and you instinctively straightened up. He was an intimidating figure, but as he approached, his eyes seemed to soften slightly. His gaze landed on you, appraising, but there was something about your calm demeanor that intrigued him.

"You must be Y/N," he said in his deep, cultured voice. "Peter and Kevin speak highly of you."

"Thank you, sir," you replied, flashing him a polite smile. "It’s a pleasure to meet you all."

They all smiled before your session with the Hannibal brothers started. You gave them exercises to do and gave them time to do them before explaining their mistakes and giving them each individual tasks and exercises to do. You asked Kevin to exercise breathing techniques before oral exams so he may control his nervousness and not be as snappy about criticism. For Peter, you decided to give him texts to read aloud and also, ask him to write in a journal to exercise his pen writing. Once done, you asked if you could stay a little bit and look around—as you had never seen such a beautiful house. They agreed.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself slipping seamlessly into the Hannibal household dynamic. At one point, you wandered into the grand study, hearing the soft strains of classical music playing in the background. Hannibal Sr. sat at his desk, a book in hand, but you could tell he was deeply immersed in the music. The familiar notes of "Lacrimosa" from Mozart’s Requiem filled the room, and without thinking, you softly began to hum along.

When you started singing the actual latin lyrics, Hannibal Sr. raised an eyebrow, not expecting anyone else to know the piece so well. He didn’t comment, but there was a small, approving nod. You had caught his attention and he approved of you—as a worthy tutor for his children.

Later, when you moved into the kitchen, you found Hannibal Jr. preparing dinner. You asked if you could help, and to your surprise, he accepted the offer. The two of you worked side by side, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, the atmosphere surprisingly light. A fun, upbeat tune played on the radio, and in a rare moment of levity, Hannibal Jr. twirled you around the kitchen, his reserved demeanor cracking just slightly as he chuckled. He then invited you to stay for dinner.

Morgan, the ever-serious one, was in the library, reading aloud to himself when you found him. His voice had a deep, soothing quality, and you asked if you could join him. "Your voice is nice," you said with a genuine smile, causing him to pause for a moment. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments like that, especially not about something as simple as his voice. But he obliged, allowing you to sit with him as he read, the two of you sharing a quiet, intellectual moment.

When dinner was finally ready, the entire family gathered around the table. Peter sat beside you, leaning into your side as you gave him a quick hug, whispering something teasing to make him flustered. He blushed furiously, stammering a response, while Kevin, across the table, grinned and nudged you with his foot under the table, clearly enjoying Peter’s reaction.

As the meal progressed, you could feel the eyes of the Hannibal family on you—not with suspicion, but with interest. Each of them had found something about you they liked. You were adaptable, versatile, and somehow, you managed to fit into their strange, chaotic world with ease.

Hannibal Sr. raised his glass at one point, his voice smooth and composed as he spoke. "To our guest, Y/N, who has proven to be an excellent tutor." His eyes gleamed with something deeper, something approving, and you realized that this dinner had become more than just a simple meeting. It was a test—and you had passed.

As the family toasted to you, you couldn’t help but smile. Whatever you had gotten yourself into, one thing was clear: the Hannibals liked you, and whether you realized it or not, they each wanted you to stick around for a long, long time.

As the evening drew to a close, the tension at the table grew thick between Peter and Kevin. What had started as a few playful jabs escalated into something more heated. Peter, with his wide, puppy-dog eyes, had been clinging to your side for most of the night, clearly loving the attention you gave him. Kevin, on the other hand, had been throwing snide comments Peter's way all evening, barely containing his frustration.

It finally boiled over when Peter leaned in a little too close to you, and Kevin, not having any of it, snapped.

"Can you stop clinging to her like a leech, Peter ?" Kevin growled from across the table. "She’s here to tutor us, not babysit you."

Peter puffed out his chest, glaring at Kevin. "She’s my tutor too, Kevin ! You’re just mad because she doesn’t let you act like a jerk."

"That’s not—" Kevin stood up, his dark eyes flashing dangerously as he pointed across the table at Peter. "You’re acting like a little kid. She’s not interested in you like that !"

"At least I don’t treat her like dirt !" Peter shot back, standing up as well.

The argument escalated from there, with both brothers bickering loudly, trying to one-up each other. You groaned inwardly, unsure of how to defuse the situation this time. It wasn’t uncommon for them to bicker, but this felt different—more intense, like both were trying to win your approval.

"Kevin, Peter, enough !" you said, standing up from your seat, but they barely heard you over their arguing.

Morgan rolled his eyes from the other side of the table, sighing in exasperation. "This is ridiculous. Can’t you two go five minutes without acting like idiots ?"

Kevin shot Morgan a glare. "Stay out of it."

That’s when Hannibal Jr. stood up, his presence immediately silencing the room. His calm, measured voice cut through the tension. "Boys, sit down. Now."

Both Peter and Kevin looked momentarily chastised, though they didn’t sit. The argument was still simmering under the surface. You could see it in the way they kept sneaking glances at each other, daring one another to start something again.

Hannibal Jr. turned to you, his gaze softening slightly. "Y/N, I will drive you home. It’s getting late."

You nodded, more than ready to leave after the chaos. You gathered your things and followed Hannibal Jr. to the door, the air between Peter and Kevin still crackling with unresolved tension.

As you walked out to the car, Hannibal Jr. opened the passenger door for you, ever the gentleman. Once you were seated, he walked around to the driver’s side and started the engine. The drive was quiet for a few moments, the hum of the engine filling the silence.

Then, after a while, Hannibal Jr. broke the silence, his voice low and calm. "…I deeply apologise for my nephews’ behavior tonight." He glanced at you, his usually composed features tinged with a hint of regret. "Here is the promised money." He reached into his coat and handed you an envelope, which you took hesitantly.

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, he continued, "I would understand if you would not come back to teach them. They have put our family to shame tonight. But, they are good boys," he added, his voice softening even more, "They are just very young and impulsive."

You held the envelope in your lap, looking out of the window for a moment as you processed his words. There was an undeniable weight to his apology, a sense that this wasn't just about tonight. It was about the expectations that came with being part of a family like theirs—expectations that Peter and Kevin had yet to fully grasp.

"I…It's okay," you finally said, glancing at him. "They’re not bad kids. They just need someone to keep them in line."

Hannibal Jr. gave a faint smile, his eyes flicking over to you briefly before returning to the road. "Perhaps. But it shouldn’t be your responsibility. They’ll learn… eventually."

The rest of the drive was peaceful, and by the time you arrived at your place, the earlier tension had faded into the background. Hannibal Jr. parked in front of your house and turned to you one last time, his expression sincere.

"Thank you, Y/N, for your patience tonight. I do hope this won’t dissuade you from coming back."

You smiled back at him, giving a small nod. "I’ll think about it."

He seemed satisfied with that and gave you a polite nod before watching you head inside. You weren’t entirely sure what you had gotten yourself into with the Hannibals, but you knew one thing for certain: you weren't running away just yet. You smirked and chuckled to yourself.

You were definitely coming back…

[thescarletnargacuga]

Will we see a halloween themed carnival au showtime? With pomni and Caine doing trick or treat with the other ai?

TRICK OR TREAT

A CARNIVAL AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

AU credit @sm-baby

Art by @13piecebucket

WARNING: none

~~~

"Ack!" Caine gagged, "Cahn u urrey uh?" He spoke with his mouth wide open.

"I'd be done faster, if you stopped moving." Pomni adjusted one of Caine's fake fangs in place. "There. That better?"

Caine flexed his jaws, closing his teeth a few times to test the fake fangs. "Yep, all good! Thanks!" He fixed his cape, held together by a jeweled broach. The classic vampire ensemble was ready for trick or treating, he even had a small plastic pumpkin bucket for his candy.

Pomni was wearing a classic witch costume, complete with a large hat and fake nose. "Let's get started then! Since the circus, my door, is technically the start, I'll give you a freebie." She takes a hand-sized ball out of her pumpkin candy bucket and holds it out to Caine. "Happy Halloween!"

Caine takes it with a smile. "Why, thank you, Pomni." The ball had a seam around the center that popped open in his hand. Inside the ball were a few pieces of candy. "Oh my! What a surprise! Thank you, again." He puts the candy in his bucket.

Pomni smiles bashfully, rocking on her heels. "You're welcome. It wasn't anything too complex. Everyone gets to choose what trick or treat to give the player, and I thought a little candy ball would be fun. I'm glad you liked it."

Caine took her hand, lancing his fingers with hers. "I loved it. It came from you." He swung her hand playfully as they walked to the next door.

"Stoooop." She giggled, "I can't wait to see what the others have in store. The trick or treat side quest is supposed to be pretty light-hearted."

"Let's find out." Caine knocked on Ragatha's door.

After a beat, Ragatha answered with a tray of pastries. "Oh, hello! What adorable costumes!"

Caine and Pomni reached for a pastry, but were blocked by the sudden presence of a large knife.

"What do we say?" Ragatha asked with darkness in her eyes, looming over the shorter avatars.

Both Pomni and Caine jump back in surprise. Pomni gives an apologetic smile. "Uh...truck or treat?"

"There we go." Ragatha allows Pomni to take a pastry, then looks at Caine, still holding the knife at the ready. "Your turn, player."

Caine gulps, "Truck or treat?"

Ragatha smiled, holding the knife behind her back whilst offering the tray to Caine. "Take your, pick." She was cheerful, like she wasn't just threatening to take their hands off.

Caine took the closest one quickly and backs off, keeping an arm between Pomni and Ragatha. "Thanks, have a Happy Halloween."

"You too!" Ragatha closes her door.

"Well, that could've gone worse." Pomni sighs.

"I suppose we better not forget to say Trick or Treat." Caine steeled himself for the next door and knocked on the one with Gangle's face.

Not even a second after knocking, Caine and Pomni were swept off their feet by a snare of ribbons. They hung upside down back to back as the door opened. Gangle descended from the ceiling, greeting them from the top side of the door. "Right on cue."

Caine held out his pumpkin bucket. "Trick or treat?"

"You two are just in time to help me with rehearsal." Gangle grinned mischievously.

"Oh no..." Pomni groaned to herself.

"Don't worry, the lines are short. You'll get them in no time." Gangle showed them a cue card that read: Both characters say AAAAAH!

"Huh? Why would we-" Caine was spun rapidly in the air with Pomni. They screamed at the top of their lungs as Gangle laughed.

Caine and Pomni flopped in a heap on the floor as Gangle released them. Cartoonish swirls spun in their eyes. Gangle dropped a few handfuls of candy on them. "Hope you enjoyed my trick!" She then slammed her door.

"Ugh...my head." Whined Caine as he sat up.

"That would have been fun if we weren't dropped like a sack of potatoes." Pomni said as she got up. "At least we got candy." She scooped a few handfuls into her bucket.

"I think my sweet tooth fell out in the fall, cause I don't want her candy." Caine kicked some of the stray pieces out of his way and moved on to the next door.

Pomni hid behind Caine. Who knows what kind of antics Jax would be up to tonight. Caine brought his hand up to knock with some hesitation. With a deep breath, he knocked.

After a single knock, the door flew open and a giant hammer came crashing down. Caine and Pomni jumped to either side to avoid being crushed. The hammer broke the floor, spidering cracks went out for several feet from the epicenter of impact.

A maliciously gleeful chuckle came for the grey shadows beyond the threshold. "Still quick on your feet, I see. Good."

"Jax! What are you doing!? This is supposed to be a light-hearted quest!" Pomni stood, brushing herself off with some annoyance from being on the floor two doors in a row.

"Oh, but I am being light-hearted. If I actually wanted you dead," He laughed louder. "We wouldn't be having this conversation. Now, since you survived my trick, here's your treat." Jax reached behind his back, bringing two cream pies into existence. He splattered both Caine and Pomni in the face before shutting the door, laughing hysterically.

Caine licked the pie filling from his front teeth. "Hmm, coconut. What'd you get?"

Pomni sighed, exasperated. "Banana." She grabbed a corner of Caine's cape to wipe her face off.

At Zooble's door, Caine didn't get the chance to knock. The door opened the moment he raised his hand. Zooble appeared in the doorway with a literal armfull of candy, dropped all of it on Caine and Pomni's heads, then shut the door without a word.

"Thank you." Caine's muffled voice said from under the mountain of candy. Pomni sighed. Again.

Their buckets full to the point of overflowing, they stand before the King's curtain at the end of the hall. Caine looked over the curtain, a little confused. "Um...how do I knock? This isn't a door?"

"How am I supposed to know? Technically, I'm not supposed to leave the circus." Pomni grumbled, still cleaning pie filling out of her costume.

"Snippy." Caine muttered. "Hey, Bubble?"

A small, bright pink bubble appeared next to Caine. "Hello! How can I help you?"

"Yes, how do I knock on curtains?" Caine asked with all sincerity.

"You don't! You just say the most magical of words on Halloween night! Trick or treat!"

"Thanks, Bubble." Caine tossed a piece of candy for his helpful AI companion. Bubble caught the teat and munched it with a smile.

Caine cleared his voice and spoke clearly. "Trick or treat!" There was silence at first, Caine almost said the words again, but then the ground rumbled as something large imposed the curtained doorway. Caine and Pomni took a step back as the curtains divided to reveal Kinger himself gazing down on them. They lifted their buckets, neither making eye contact with the royal figure.

"About time. I was starting to think you wouldn't show." Kinger's voice was quiet but authoritative.

"Many apologies, your highness." Pomni said without looking up.

"No matter. The night is still young. Come inside."

Caine and Pomni looked at each other before daring to look up at Kinger. "..huh?"

"I said: come. in."

"Yes, your majesty!" Pomni grabbed Caine's wrist and dragged him inside, sprinting past Kinger.

Kinger's royal court was decorated top to bottom for a Halloween celebration. Chess pieces and various game NPCs mingled and danced. Pomni and Caine stood stunned in the entryway as Kinger slid up behind them. "Welcome to the party! Do make yourselves at home!" His voice was lighter, even cheerful.

"OOOO! Punch!" Bubble flew off and dove into the giant foaming cauldron of punch on the snack table.

The party was loud and a bit crowded, Pomni and Caine stood closer. Pomni pointed to a corner with giant cushions. "Hey, why don't we go over there?"

Caine followed her without argument. He sat with her on the largest cushion as they both dumped out all their candy and started sorting. They traded pieces and tossed candy neither of them wanted to Bubble, who ate every piece with a smile on his face.

"Things got a little crazy, but I had fun with this quest." Caine smiled at Pomni, who returned it.

"I'm glad, Caine. The others may be allowed to be a little weird for the holiday, but it's all in good fun. Thanks for inviting me to come with you."

Caine put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. "Absolutely. I love having you around."

"I love being around you, too." A pink hue dusted Pomni's cheeks.

Caine leaned his head against Pomni's. "Happy Halloween, Pomni."

"Happy Halloween." Pomni relaxed against him.