#it’s not bad but it’s not great. I look forward to what he’ll want to do in the future bc he clearly wants to

[dissapointu]

hey! Thank you for sharing your writing process and advice, I'm sure it will help me improve?

Also, you mentioned in that post that "English isn't your strongest suit", and it made me curious to know what your native tongue is (if you're comfortable sharing that information) since I really couldn't tell English is not your first language!

As for the request: could you write a short drabble or headcanons (whichever you prefer) about Ekko with a s/o who's not used to receiving physical affection?

(omg this turned out too long i'm so sorry)

-🫧

Bubbles!!

Ah, Im not fond of sharing that much information, but I will def do your Drabble and headcanons for you!

————————————————————————

Drabble:

Ekko noticed the way you stiffened every time he leaned in for a quick side hug or brushed his fingers against yours when handing you something. You always tried to play it off, but he wasn’t dumb—he saw the way you glanced away, the little jolt in your shoulders, like you were half bracing for something bad to happen. It wasn’t rejection; you let him touch you, but it was obvious you weren’t used to it.

One evening, you sat together at the Firelights’ hideout, the glow of his hoverboard casting faint neon shadows across the walls. You were fiddling with something he couldn’t see, pretending to be way too focused on it. Ekko, lounging back against some cushions, gave you a soft smirk.

“You know,” he started, voice easy and teasing, “I’m not a mind reader, but I feel like hugs shouldn’t make you look like I just asked you to fight Sevika in the pits.”

Your head snapped up, wide-eyed. “What? I don’t—”

“You do,” he interrupted, sitting forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not saying it’s bad or anything. Just… What’s up with that?”

You hesitated. You wanted to say something. Wanted to explain. But the words got tangled in your throat, knotted with embarrassment and a lifetime of just… not being held.

Ekko caught your pause and his grin softened. “Hey, it’s cool. No pressure.” He reached out, palm up, halfway between you. “But, like… if you ever want me to hold your hand or whatever? I’m here. No weirdness, no judgment.”

You stared at his hand for what felt like an eternity, heart thudding in your chest like the hoverboard’s engine. Finally, carefully, you set your hand in his, your fingers trembling slightly.

Ekko’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and steady, like he was anchoring you. “See?” he said quietly. “No explosions. You’re safe with me.”

And for the first time, you believed it.

Headcanons:

1. Ekko is observant as hell – He picks up on your body language way before you ever say anything about it. The stiff posture, the way you hesitate before returning a hug, the awkwardness when he casually ruffles your hair—it’s all logged in his brain.

2. Slow, steady affection is his strategy – Ekko doesn’t push you into big gestures. He starts small: a fist bump, a quick shoulder pat, maybe even offering you his jacket when it’s cold. He lets you get comfortable at your own pace.

3. Physical affection turns into a shared language – Once you start easing into it, Ekko makes physical affection feel natural and safe. He’ll rest his arm along the back of your chair when you’re sitting together or pull you into his side during Firelight meetings when you’re tired.

4. Words first, touch later – He’s great at offering verbal reassurance before anything physical. “You good with this?” “Can I hug you?” He makes sure you feel in control of the moment.

5. He loves the progress you make – That first time you initiate something? Like leaning into his side or grabbing his wrist to pull him closer? He melts. He tries to act chill about it, but his smile is so big it’s embarrassing.

6. Turns it into an inside joke – If you ever freeze up after he hugs you, he’ll jokingly hold his hands up like, “Alright, my bad, didn’t mean to spook you!” It’s lighthearted, but he’s serious about never crossing your boundaries.

7. Big on protective touch – Even if you’re still getting used to casual affection, Ekko’s hand instinctively finds the small of your back when you’re weaving through crowds or sitting close during tense situations. He’s subtly saying, I got you.

8. Once you’re comfortable, he’s touchy as hell – Once you give the green light, it’s over. He’s playfully tapping your nose, looping an arm around your shoulders, or tugging you into his lap like it’s second nature. He thrives on showing you how much he cares, and now he doesn’t have to hold back.

[linoguy]

I’m eating that bridge up

[innerfare]

Shanks Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A random collection of Shanks relationship headcanons

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Shanks can’t stand you at first. You get under his skin without even trying. Worse still, you don’t take his bait- you don’t bicker with him, you don’t argue, but you also don’t laugh at his jokes, and it drives him absolutely insane. He’s never met anyone he couldn’t drag down to his level and he doesn’t know what to do about that. 

You also rebuff his advances initially, and he panics because nobody rebuffs his advances. He could bed Akainu if he wanted to, he’s certain of it, so why can’t he bed you? He becomes consumed by his desire to have you, not just in his bed but in his company more generally, eating at his table and sharing a drink and some gossip with him. 

He never shuts up about you, constantly complaining to Beckman, who realizes what is going on almost immediately. Beckman doesn’t bother trying to illuminate Shanks as to the annoying predicament that is love, just laughs to himself.  

Starts writing down and rehearsing his absolute best material before he sees you. When you don’t laugh, he becomes convinced you’re withholding your laughter just to be mean to him. He almost blows a gasket when Lucky Roux tells him, “you know, Captain, maybe your sense of humor just isn’t for everyone.” 

This eventually culminates in him blowing up and kissing you one night. To his utter surprise, you kiss him back. From that point forward, the two of you are going steady, which is uncharted territory for Shanks. 

When he does finally identify your sense of humor, it’s one of his proudest moments. He’s merciless from that point forward, drawing as many laughs from your lips as possible. He'll even resort to tickling you just to hear that musical sound.

To his surprise, you relationship quickly becomes his temple. You’re the person he’s actually serious with, the person with whom he shares his fears and ambitions, with whom he is raw and vulnerable. When he has nightmares, you’ll be the one to comfort him, and when he has doubts, you’ll be the one to reassure him. 

There’s much more to him than meets the eye. He isn’t just a drunken layabout or a prankster, but a complex man with great ambition, and the foundation of your relationship is your ability to unravel these complexities. 

That being said, if he does eventually make you a little less mature, a little more petty, a little more childish, he’ll view it as one of his greatest victories. 

So dramatic. Tells you things like, “I would cease to exist if we were parted,” and, “you fill in the cracks in my soul,” and he means them 100%. Naturally you don’t realize he means them 100% until you find yourself in a life-threatening situation and he drops literally everything to rescue you, apologizing profusely for allowing a hair on your head to be harmed. It’s in that moment you realize the gravity of receiving the affection of an Emperor. 

Brings you flowers, usually a bundle of cheap supermarket flowers with a lot of different colors (he can't actually identify any of the flowers but thought they were pretty). He’s the sort to throw rocks at your window and serenade you with a guitar (he’ll sing but he’s bad at it), but only after you’re in a relationship so it makes you laugh more than it makes you swoon. 

Will order Beckman to reroute the crew’s course so far out of their way it’s comical because he wants you to try a restaurant on an island he visited a decade ago because they served your favorite food in a unique and delicious way; naturally when you get there the restaurant has closed. Shanks makes it up to you with a bowl of ramen, though. 

Got you a massive stuffed strawberry from a carnival (he lost the game but stole the prize anyway when the carnie wasn’t looking, delinquent ass boyfriend), gets very upset if he walks into your room and it’s not on your bed. Now likes to call you strawberry. Other nicknames include red panda or just panda and even my sake cup. Also refers to you in conversation as the crown jewels. 

Tipsy walks down the beach at night, your fingers intertwined, that end with him chasing you through the shallows, catching you in his arms, and spinning you around. He loves a good came of chase, or even hide and seek. Also, strip poker. 

Would never admit it, but he’s often the little spoon. He’ll collapse on top of you after a night of drinking with the boys. Also, he can’t fall asleep without a fistful of something, and since the two of you became an item, that something is usually your hair or shirt (at least to keep it SFW 😉). 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[islandofsages]

So i got some silly idea, Can i request Savanaclaw dorm with male raccoon beastman reader 🦝 (who is also a third year Savanaclaw student) that likes to ✨ collect trash ✨ and ✨ dumpster driving ✨ Like, He is not poor but he just likes to do that. Thanks! Have a great day!

characters: the savanaclaw boys x male raccoon beastman third year reader

tags: platonic, fluff, imagines format

warnings: none

author's notes: i feel like i made dumpster-diving sound like thrifting in this ... i love thrifting can you tell

Leona Kingscholar

“...Whaddya think ya’re doing?”

Oh, you thought it was obvious but apparently not. You're dumpster diving obviously

A better question would be what is Leona Kingscholar doing near a bunch of dumpsters. You point this out to him

He actually seems to ponder that question for a second. What is he doing there, entertaining some dumpster-diver? Then he realizes that it doesn’t matter

His face merely contorts into an irritated frown and he mumbles something about “fucking raccoon beastpeople and their weird habits” then walks off

You watch his silhouette grow smaller by the second then shrug to yourself. His loss

He doesn’t say anything when you come back to the dorms carrying the junk you get from your scavenging but you can tell he’s somewhat curious of what you found

One time you come back bringing a wholeass couch and it’s somehow in mint condition - he’s more bewildered by the people who’s throwing the trash than you at this point

It’s definitely not for him but as long as you don’t bother him and that you’re happy, he doesn’t say a word about your habits.

Jack Howl

He tries not to be too judgemental since there’s all kinds of people in NRC and he feels like he’s definitely seen weirder things by now

He’s a little confused but he got the spirit! Spirit of what exactly? Spirit of supporting you and respecting his upperclassmen obviously

He’s somewhat stiff around you since you’re older and he doesn’t want to offend you in any way - so you make an effort to make him more comfortable around you

You’d tell him about what you find in your little adventures and he seems to be amused by the kind of stuff people easily throw away here

“That’s part of the magic! Plus, once you get used to the stench and filth, it’s really not all that bad.”

He believes and trusts your words but he still won’t try it for himself. He’ll leave it all up to you and your expertise

Sooner or later, with enough storytelling, a smile on his face becomes a common look for him whenever you’re around

You’d even bring him back stuff you found that you think he’d like (after thoroughly washing them and bringing them back to the best condition of course)

Whenever you see him use the stuff you give to him, whether it’s a decoration in his room or it’s on his person, you feel a little proud of the bond you’ve nurtured with him.

Ruggie Bucchi

He understands the need to stoop to that level but when you tell him you don’t even need the stuff you collect and just do it for fun, he’s silent for a bit

Still won’t judge you for it! Plus sometimes he gets the good stuff from your scavenges so he’s not complaining

Once he gets curious enough, he’ll tag along on the diving… and it’s not as bad as he thought it would be

It’s stinky and dirty but sometimes he really hits the jackpot in some of the dumpsters. It’s like a thrift store but even cheaper somehow

“(Y/N), look at what I found! Are you seeing this right now?”

You unironically become dumpster-diving buddies and the two of you would review the stuff you got after each session to decide if you’re going to keep some or not

You guys can probably get a lot of clout if you start a YouTube channel

You two grow a lot closer after enlightening him of the joys of dumpster-diving, which you aren’t too surprised about since it’s a common bonding experience for you raccoon beastpeople

But as you look back on your memories of junk-collecting and look forward towards Ruggie's laugh, you can’t help but laugh with him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

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

Your legs feel empty, like there’s no blood flowing beneath your waist. You walk beside Rogers, feeling as if you might fall on your face at any time. That’s probably not a good idea seeing as you’ve already knocked out twice within the last hour or two. 

He stops and steps ahead of you. He points to a door before he pushes it open, “in here.” 

You enter as he waits. For a moment, you worry it could be a sinister trick. That he’ll slam the door and lock you in. But why would he do that? Well, why would he beat a man in the middle of the street? 

Thinking of it again, you feel nauseous. 

You look around the room. There’s a desk with folders stacked on it. The chair looks like it was manufactured during your great grandfather’s war and the rug can’t be much newer. The curtains are damask and the walls are real hardwood. 

“It’s... nice,” you say, “vintage. Looks like the floor’s been refinished.” 

“You’re not here to discuss the decor,” he retorts. 

“Of course,” you agree as you twiddle your fingers. “What exactly am I here for, er, sir?” 

“You’re an accountant.” He states. 

“I am.” 

He sighs and crosses to the desk. You cautiously follow. You could tip over all over again. 

“Sir, do you mind if I sit?” You ask. 

He just waves a hand toward the chair. You thank him and gratefully claim the seat. Who knew fainting was so exhausting? 

“Man named Warren. I need you to tally it all up. Tell me what you find.” He explains.  

“Alright, so I’m balancing his ledger,” you nod. 

“Sure,” Rogers sniffs and tucks his hands into his pockets. He backs up and paces across the end of the rug. “You need some water? You gonna check out again?” 

“Oh, I have some,” you put your briefcase on the desk and pull out your water bottle. “Thank you. That’s super kind. I can, uh, start on all this.” 

He turns back to you, “fine.” 

You smile as best you can as his hand runs up his lapel and draws your attention. Again, his knuckles fill you with queasiness. The bruises are the cherry on top of this whole messed up situation. 

He pulls his hand back and looks at it. You realise he caught you staring. You clear your throat. 

“Looks pretty bad,” he remarks. 

“Um, yeah. Pretty bad,” you agree softly. “Look like they’re swelling. Could probably use some ice.” 

He examines his hand further and clicks his tongue, “probably.” He drops his arm. “Well, get to work. Don’t got time to waste.” 

“Got it,” you assure him and reach for a folder. 

He goes and you glance up right as he disappears through the door. He might be gone but your anxiety lingers. These are dangerous men, this is a dangerous place. 

While you wouldn’t want an old lady like Geraldine caught up in all of this, why did it have to be you? It’s just like Mr. Brenner to be tangled up with criminals. And now you’re looking through promissory letters and gum wrappers with scribbles on them. This isn’t going to be easy, especially without a computer. 

Rogers returns. He sits in the leather armchair near the window. He holds a bundle wrapped in a cloth against his hand. It must be ice. 

You pull out a receipt. Half of it is illegible beneath the crimson stain. Little droplets trail over the numbers you can kind of make out. Oh. 

“Is that blood?” You ask out loud, then feel yourself plunging forward. 

Your head hits the desk. You’re a bit foggy but still awake. You gurgle and push yourself up. You fall stiffly back against the chair and it lurches with your weight. 

Rogers appears across the desk from you. You stare at him as you grip the armrest and blow out between your lips. He squints as he comes around to your side. 

“Hey, sweetheart, stay with me,” he grabs your chin and you whimper. “Eh, don’t--” 

He taps your cheek with his fingers. It’s a gentle gesture. His hand is cold from the ice. 

“I’m good,” your murmur. “I just... I’m not a violent person.” You carefully touch his wrist and he lets you go. “Not that I’m saying anything about you. Or what happened earlier. I’m just... look at me, right? Just an accountant.” 

He nods.  

“You think I overreacted,” he intones. 

“I didn’t say... it’s none of my business, right?” You move aside the bloody receipt and wheel closer to the desk. “Numbers are my business.” 

He hums, “sure.” 

You concentrate, or pretend to, on the folder before you. There’s a lot to sort out, and you mean, more than the clutter. Your mind is racing and you can’t quite decipher anything you’re reading with the fear coursing through you. 

“I’ll be back,” he says abruptly as he backs away. “Don't leave this room.” 

You don’t need him to give the command. You wouldn’t dare wander around this place on your own. You nod, “I won’t, sir.” 

He spins on his heel and struts across the office. You only look up as he gets to the door. He leaves and you lean back in the chair. You can’t let your panic take over. The quicker you get through this, the quicker you can get out of here, and hopefully, never ever come back. 

You set yourself straight, fixing your posture, and set to your mission. You might not have the most experience, but you’re determined and you do know what you’re doing. All those places that never replied or sent you those template rejections, they have no idea. 

You hunker down, filling the margins in the ledger, row by row. You are enthralled the more you do. It’s like a story unfolding before you. Dates, amounts, locations. Huh, well, this might be some bad news. You really don’t want to be the one to deliver it. 

Don’t be too eager. That’s only the first folder. You scratch down another number and flinch as something lands on the desk. 

You sit up and stare at the paper bag. Rogers watches you across the desk. Your brows twitch in confusion. He huffs and opens the top of the bag. 

“Figured you might not pass out if you eat something,” he takes out a wrapped bagel and holds it out. “Cream cheese, sesame seed.” 

“Oh, yum, I mean, thanks,” you accept it. “That’s really... considerate.” 

“I can be,” his eyes narrow. 

“Of course, I wasn’t saying... anything. Just thank you,” you slowly unwrap the bagel. 

He takes out his own and sits in the armchair. You peel back the paper and take a quarter of the bagel. You bite into it, careful not to get any crumbs on the desk. 

It might not be the best day, very close to the worst, but you can’t complain for a free meal. 

[jakexneytiri]

hi! I noticed ur response to my request just now!

I was wondering if u could still do that request? I can be more specific tho!! something more angsty like y/n feels like a bad mom and she starts crying. also u can include the nighttime and the baby won’t sleep and they’re struggling a lot as new parents <3 so neteyam let’s y/n sleep in the next morning and talks to the baby super cutely? tysm I love ur stuff❤️❤️❤️

heck yeah! ofc i can :)

⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰

neteyam is cleaning up from dinner as you’re attempting to feed your son for the final time tonight. however, your son refuses to latch. he begins to grow fussy, arms and legs jolting around as he squirms in your arms. tears begin to prick your eyes, as your breasts grow uncomfortable, weighing down your chest from the excess of milk building up.

“come on, tsantu.” you coo, gently bouncing your newborn. “drink for mama.” you guide his lips to your nipple once more, hoping he’ll finally latch.

only he doesn’t. instead, he turns his head aside, and begins to wail.

“shh shhhh shhhh, don’t cry.” you hush him, rocking his small frame back and forth.

his cries grow louder as neteyam walks over, a cloth draped over his shoulder. holding his hands out towards you, he asks “want me to take him?”

your lower lip quivers as you look up at your mate. “he-he won’t eat, i don’t know what to do! i can’t not feed him, ‘teyam. but he won’t eat! w-why won’t he eat?” tears are streaming down your cheeks now, crying along with your son.

neteyam sighs. he feels awful, helpless even. he knows everything he’s feeling, you’re feeling twice as much, if not more. “let me take him. when he calms down, you can try again. okay?”

you blink more tears away as you hand your son off to your mate. “i’m s-sorry, ‘t-teyam. i’m an awful mother.” you bury your face in your hands, tears falling harder now as you break down.

neteyam is bouncing your newborn in his arms, gently patting his back.

“my love.” he kneels beside you, one hand reaching out to tuck your fallen braid behind your ear. “you are the most wonderful mother. you’re learning, no one gets everything right the first try. we’re learning, together. right? you and me? i’m right beside you, every step of the way. we will figure this out, together.”

you meet your mates gaze with tear-filled eyes. “together.” you agree, as he places a soft kiss to your lips.

you hadn’t noticed at first, but while neteyam was soothing you with his reassuring words, tsantu had stopped crying.

“ready to try again?” neteyam asks, waiting for your consent before handing your son back.

you take a deep breath in, as neteyam sits beside you. one of his hands cradles tsantu’s head, while the other wraps around you, rubbing your back gently.

“take your time.” he says softly, kissing the top of your head.

you give your mate a half smile before pulling tsantu close, leaving just enough room between him and your breast. you lean forward slightly, your nipple just grazing your son’s lips. he turns his head, opening his mouth to finally latch.

you turn to look at your mate, relief washing over you as you both watch him feed. neteyam continues to rub small circles in your back, kissing the top of your head every now and then. “you’re doing great, mama.”

once tsantu is finished feeding, neteyam carefully scoops him up in his arms. “i will put him to bed. lay back, relax, please. get some sleep, my love.” he plants a kiss to your forehead, thumb brushing your cheek as he helps you lay back.

your eyelids immediately droop, exhaustion setting in. you curl up on your mat for the night, taking only a few moments to fall asleep.

neteyam gives you a half smile, before turning his attention back to tsantu, who is also asleep now. he settles his small body in between the two of you, as he lays down for the night.

“goodnight, my loves…” he kisses both of your foreheads, before making himself comfortable.

⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆

after a few peaceful hours of uninterrupted sleep, tsantu wakes. it starts off as innocent babbles, but they grow louder. soon, the babbles turn into cries.

you sit up, yawning as your eyelids are half open. neteyam wakes too, rubbing his eyes. both of you are exhausted, having barely gotten any sleep. neteyam goes to pick up your son, cradling him in his arms before handing him off to you.

you shift the feathers that are draped over your chest, moving them aside to free your nipple. tsantu is quick to latch, his plump lips immediately drawn to your breast as he feeds.

when he finishes, his lips fall from your nipple, heavy lids drooping as he falls asleep within minutes. neteyam takes him from your grasp, cradling him in between your bodies. his thumb rubs your cheek gently, as he gazes over your sleepy form. “get some sleep, beautiful. i love you.”

your hand reaches up to cover his, as you close your eyes. “mmm…iloveyoumore…” you mumble, falling back asleep.

⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆

tsantu is first to wake, naturally. his babbles growing loud enough for neteyam to hear, rousing him from his sleep.

“what’s that, my little warrior? hm?” he gently picks tsantu up, planting a kiss to your forehead before walking him over to the front of your marui. neteyam grabs the sling you both use to hold tsantu to your chest. carefully, he slips tsantu’s tiny arms and legs through the sling.

tsantu kicks and pats his hands against neteyam’s chest, babbling happily.

“oh, is that so?” neteyam asks, like he understands exactly what tsantu is saying. tsantu giggles, squealing happily as his tiny hands hit neteyam’s chest.

“you love mama? i love mama too.” he glances over at you, sleeping soundly on your shared mat. “how about we cut some fruits for her to have when she wakes, hm?”

[writingsbychlo]

WHITE XMAS | mattheo riddle

summary; mattheo comes to spend christmas with you and your family.

word count; 15,245

notes; I have never played chess in my life, chess girlies don't come for me. pic was made by @finalgirllx!

“So, Matty, what are your Christmas plans?” You murmur, head bopping lightly to the beat of the tacky Christmas CD that was playing over the Common Room speakers. “Will Tom be coming home for Christmas?”

“Are you kidding?” Mattheo muttered, cursing as he readjusted his grip on the dwindling charcoal in his fingers once again, peeking another glance over the edge of his tatty sketchpad to you. “Why would he?”

“Because it’s nice! It’s Christmas, it’s a time for family to come together.”

“Not mine.” He blew a curl from his eyes, pausing. Tilting his head, he narrowed his eyes as his gaze flickered between the page, and a very specific spot on your shoulder. “Tom has escaped, he doesn’t have to come home for the annual Riddle-family Christmas Horror Show.”

That brought a frown to your lips, and he tutted. “Keep smiling.”

“You’re not even drawing my face right now.” You snipped back, and the edges of his lips tipped up in a smirk, focusing as he dragged the tool in his hand over the paper, back and forth. Soft scraping filled the room, along with the general chatter of the few other students dotted throughout the room, background noise with their undecipherable muttering and the music. “You don’t like Christmas?”

“Why would I? Christmas magic never existed for me. The very day I first asked about Santa, Tom pulled me aside and told me he wasn’t real. Warned me not to ask about him.” With a sigh, he dropped the notepad to sit flat in his lap, resting the charcoal on the side table, and shrugging. When he wiped his forehead, he unknowingly left a smear of grey over his skin. “I was stupid, and four. I asked my father, and he laughed at me and told me not to be pathetic. Everything I got in this world was hard-earned, and came by his generosity, and his alone.” 

“Matty…”

“Don’t pity me. Can’t love what I never had.” Despite his brave words, there was an underlying emptiness to his voice, the kind that formed over years of hurt finally losing its bite. The way scarred flesh didn’t hurt, but they never stitched up quite right. 

You whisper, standing up and making your way over to him. He looked up at you now as you stood before him, hand raising to wipe the smudge away with your thumb. “It’s that bad?”

He only hummed. “I get to parade around, playing the ‘seen but not heard’ son as my father cashes in on a big business day. It’s such a great time to ‘make connections’. Normally I’d have Tom with me, and we’d spend the days counting down until my birthday, and his. On the 30th, we’d sneak out and get two cupcakes, right between. He’ll be back for New Year's, my father is making him, but I can’t begrudge him staying away for Christmas.”

“You make me so sad sometimes.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” He murmured, leaning up to pinch at your waist lightly, a spot he knew was ticklish. You jerked away from him with a gasp of a laugh, smacking his hand as you went. “Don’t worry. I’ll be at the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball. I’ll see you all then, I can look forward to it.”

“No.”

“No?” He echoed, a smile forming on his face, and he tugged you in closer, arms wrapping around your thighs. “The fuck do you mean no?”

“I mean, that won’t do. Your Christmas plans make me want to commit a festive crime. Hit your dad with a sleigh, or something.” That brought real laughter from him, a loud burst, his eyes closing a little as he rested his forehead on your stomach, his shoulders shaking. “I have a big family Christmas. All my aunts and uncles and cousins and their kids. There’s going to be at least twenty of us.”

“Now you’re just rubbing it in.” He muttered, shaking his head, frowning up at you falsely. 

“No, I’m inviting you, if you’d let me finish.”

His expression shifted then, from teasing and humour to vulnerability and disbelief. Pretty brown eyes shone with shock as he stared up at you. Cupping his jaw, you smoothed your thumb along his cheek. “You’re what?”

“Come with me for Christmas Day, Matty. I cannot, in good conscience, enjoy my day, knowing how you’re spending yours.”

“You really want that? Your family wouldn't mind?” Hope raised in his voice, not a hint of denial in sight, and he smiled shakily when you nodded. 

“What are friends for, huh? I promise it’ll be okay. My parents are a ‘the more, the merrier’, type.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, thoughts spinning in his gaze, before he pulled you even closer. Pressing his face against your stomach, your hands slipped to his hair instead, running through the curls. It was the same way you did whenever you stumbled across him smoking after a nightmare, or sulking after a letter from home. “We have a floo. You can step right in. I promise, you’d be welcome. Please spend Christmas with me, Mattheo.”

“Okay.” He mumbled, breath hot against your navel through your shirt as he breathed the word against you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He finally turned his head again, resting his cheek there instead, looking away toward the fireplace, throat bobbing. With a final squeeze, he loosened his hold. “I’d really like that.”

“I’ll write down my address for you, and give you all the details.” Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his messy hair, and he was smiling faintly as you pulled away. “It’ll be great, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt.” Finally, he let go of you fully, and took a bracing breath. Resetting himself, he schooled his features, picking up his sketchpad again and diverting his gaze to it. “Alright, go sit back down. Try and remember your pose, I want to finish this before dinner.”

Rubbing at your eyes tiredly, you were never awake this early, even the children were still snoozing, only one or two other members of your family had woken. Your father had always been an early bird, forcing your mother to be the same, and the two were tinkering in the kitchen, quietly chatting. 

One of your grandmas had woken, made her way downstairs, and promptly fallen asleep in the rocking chair next to the fireplace after lighting it with a flick of her wrist. You were sure one of your uncles— maybe a cousin, too— had been wandering upstairs, but perhaps, they’d gone back to bed.

Suppressing a yawn, you jumped when the soft pop of the fireplace sounded, flames changing momentarily from amber and orange to a truly festive shade of green. Stumbling through it was Mattheo. 

He didn’t look nearly as tired as you did. More so, he looked alert, in every sense of the word. His eyes were wide, one hand clenched into a tight fist around a bouquet of poor flowers, the other tugging nervously at his collar. He was wearing a red Christmas jumper, a set of tasteful white snowflakes sewn in a band across the chest. His usual black jeans, the best pair he had, seeing as they had no tears or frays, and white sneakers that had been polished to a shine. Possibly, never even worn outside. 

“Matty.” You mumbled, and he stepped down from the warmth of the fireplace as the flames flickered back to normal, your grandma merely offering a soft snore beside you both. Mattheo flinched again, like one of Theo’s pranks when he jumped out from behind doorways to scare you all in the dark, and you raised a brow. “You’re up early. Therefore, you naturally called me and woke me up early too.”

“Sorry. I had… restless sleep. I was anxious.” 

“Aw,” You smiled, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “You’re all excited like… oh. Well, like a kid on Christmas Day. Huh.” The joke washed over you in waves, still not quite awake enough to be aware of your own words, and he gave you a flat look. “Cute sweater.”

“I just bought it.”

“Why?” You smiled, and his lips twisted like you’d asked a stupid question. He followed you as you guided him from the lounge to the hall, shuffling behind you quickly. “Because you said you would be wearing one!”

“You didn’t have to buy a—” Your words shuttered as his lips smoothed back out, face neutral, but a flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes. Mattheo didn’t own a Christmas jumper. It made sense, he’d never had reason to, but it didn’t stop your heart from breaking a little. “Come on. Take off your shoes, and let’s go get something to drink. Maybe a really strong coffee, hm?”

He toed off his shoes, neatly stacking them onto the rack beside the various others, some left in a pile. It wasn’t like him, Mattheo left his things everywhere; the group was always picking up after him, but it was clear that he was doing the most to be on his very best behaviour.

Taking his free hand in both of your own, you squeezed it, bringing his attention to you. “Mattheo?”

He hummed, tugging at his collar as he stared beyond you to his reflection in the hallway mirror. Smoothing your hands over his shirt, you patted it down, his eyes dropping to you as you pushed his hand away. 

“Mattheo. You’re worrying. You’re supposed to be here to have fun, not be the picture-perfect son like you would at home.” His lips pressed together, like he didn’t believe you, as he sighed through his nose. “You’re perfect just as you are, okay? You don’t need to worry. Everyone knows you’re coming, and they know who you are. I’ve been writing about you all in my letters home for years. Your name isn’t a surprise, and you’re welcome here. Okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Mattheo Riddle, have I ever lied to you?” Your teasing finally brought a smile to his face. “Have I ever given you a reason not to believe me?”

“No.” He finally conceded. 

“Then trust me, hm?”

He rolled his eyes, but his shoulders dropped. With one final glance at his reflection, he turned away, closing the page on those fears and ready to proceed with the day. After only a second of hesitation, he took your hand, squeezing for comfort as you guided him back through the house. 

His fingers flexed around your own as you approached the kitchen, your mother laughing gently at some joke your father had told. Both of them turned to face you as you stepped in, tugging Mattheo behind you. 

“Mama, Dad, my friend is here. This is Mattheo.”

Shaking his hand free from your own, he smoothed his palm over his jeans before shakily stepping forward and offering his hand. Your mother only smiled as your father shook it firmly. “Good to meet you, our daughter writes about you in her letters a lot.”

“Dad.”

“Oh, it’s true! More than almost anyone else.” Your mother cooed, your exasperated sigh doing nothing to dull their teasing as your mother only pinched his cheek instead of taking his offered hand. “Oh, you’re so tall! She never mentioned that.”

“Mama, stop teasing him!”

“I’m doing no such thing!” She scolded you, tutting as she peered over his shoulder. “It’s good to find a tall man. Like your father, they can reach the fresh stuff on the storage shelves that they don’t want you to get at when you go to the store.”

“Oh, is that all?” You muttered, crossing your arms as she went back to fussing over Mattheo. Your father rolled his eyes, sipping from his ‘World’s Best Daddy’ mug that you’d made when you were five. He saved it for every Christmas Day, like tradition. 

“These are for you, Mrs—”

“Oh!” Your mother took the bouquet, admiring them, and not even seeming to notice the slightly crumpled stems that had been his substitute stress-ball. “They’re beautiful, look at them.”

She presented them to your father, who nodded approvingly, and Mattheo turned just long enough to glance over his shoulder. He was bewildered, and red-cheeked. 

“Alright, have I sufficiently embarrassed you dear, or should I keep going? I haven’t even told you what a handsome young man he is yet—”

“Oh, I think you’ve done plenty.” Your droll tone made your parents snicker to one another, and she turned away to put the flowers in a vase. Reaching forward and grabbing a fistful of Mattheo’s jumper, you tugged him back to your side. “Is anyone else awake yet?”

“Only your grandma.”

You made a noise of agreement, grateful for the early rise if it meant being able to ease Mattheo into the crazy rush. Leaving his side for just a moment, you took two mugs from the cupboard, your early call also meaning you got the first pick, choosing the best ones and setting them out. Claimed, for the day. 

Your mother arranged her gift, showing them off proudly before disappearing to the dining room to find a spot for them on the table. Your father followed, and only a moment later, Mattheo was sidling up close to your side as you worked. 

“How’re you holding up so far?” You smirked, and he shook his head, a chuckle tumbling quietly from his lips. 

“I think if all your family react like that to me, I have nothing to worry about.”

“Why wouldn't they?” You didn’t give him a chance to disagree, stirring the hot drinks before you and tapping the spoon on the rim. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Mattheo.”

“Some people would disagree.”

“Some people also like pickles.” Your nose scrunched up, and you sought out the pot beside the biscuits, popping the lid and sprinkling some marshmallows onto the steaming surface of each one. “Clearly, their decisions can’t be trusted.”

Turning to him and pushing a mug over the counter, he scoffed. Leaning down until your noses were almost brushing, he smirked. “I like pickles.”

“You’re gross. I’ve seen you drink from a random cup the morning after a party.” Taking your mug, you turned away from him, leaving him spluttering behind you as he grabbed his own and followed. 

“First of all, that was one time. Secondly, I knew it was my drink! I’m the one who left it there!”

“Uh-huh.” He pinched at your hip in response falling back into step beside you, and allowing himself to be led into the snug. Smaller, cosier, with only one couch and two worn armchairs, it was one of your favourite rooms in the house. A wobbly bookshelf stood in the corner, and a chessboard sat out before you on the coffee table, a freshly reset game. The rest of the board games were stacked on a shelf. “Wanna’ talk about how the day will go? Put any last fears to rest.”

He glanced up, running his finger over the Queen on the board as he sat down, nodding, thankfully. “I’d like that.”

Settling onto a cushion on the floor instead, on the other side, you turned the board around. Picking up a pawn, you made your first move, and a spark went off in his eyes. “We’ll start with breakfast, when everyone wakes up. Mum loves making a big breakfast, she’s a breakfast foods kind of person. There’s a lot of stuff, a lot in the fridge. It’ll remind you of Hogwarts, but better.”

He smiled at that, picking up a pawn himself and shifting it across, playing the board as he waited to see what moves you’d make. Mattheo was surprisingly patient, and good at playing the long game. He never made a real move until there was more going on across the board. 

“Then, we’ll open gifts. The kids will be desperate by then, so we’ll all cram into the sitting room. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to pinch a proper seat.” You shrugged, fingers brushing over your pieces, before plucking one up and making your next move. “After that, we do some baking. We’ll make things for dessert, as well as treats to have throughout the day. My mum has a big flow chart of all the cooking for the meal, most stuff we prepared over the last few days, but it all gets heated up and cooked after that.”

“Lot of kitchen work.”

“Oh, yes. Traditionally, all the ladies will do the cooking, and we leave all the washing up and cleaning for the men.” You gave him a wink, watching him play the board while grinning. 

“Christmas Day chores, what a treat.”

“While food cooks, they’ll be… something. Maybe movies, I think one of my uncles put a quiz together, so maybe that. Something fun. Then we’ll eat.” You found yourself stuck already, watching as he already managed to be pinning you down across the checkerboard. You considered your play for a while, and he sipped at his hot chocolate, a pleased noise on his lips as he licked foam from his top lip. “Then…”

“Then?” He said, and finally, you decided what to do, shifting to knock down one of his pieces and snatch it up with a smirk. That smirk didn’t last long, not as you saw his expression. Like you’d fallen right into his trap. He moved quickly, striking like a viper as he swiped up without consideration, and you swore as he took a piece in return. 

“Then… I don’t know. The rest of the day is mostly lazing around, letting the food settle, eating more food…”

“Can’t wait.” He whispered, and the moment you made your next play, he was grinning over the rim of his mug. He crossed the board, knocking down your Queen, and beaming as you scowled. “Checkmate.”

“Fuck you.”

“You lasted longer this time. That was, what, twelve moves? I’m impressed.”

“Bite me.” You scoffed, and he flashed his teeth, snapping them in a bite playfully, and you stuck out your tongue. 

“Don’t be a sore loser.” Mattheo taunted.

“Didn’t you once punch MacLaggen after a Quidditch match because—”

“You be quiet or I’ll come over there and make you be quiet.” As his eyes shone with mirth, you flipped him off, gulping at your hot chocolate and letting the half-melted, gooey marshmallows sit on your tongue. “Much better.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Oh, now, don’t believe a word she says.” You jumped, turning to the doorway as your cousin poked her head through, and Mattheo stiffened instantly. “She told me she wished I fell off my broom last year, just because I won the little toy inside the last Christmas cracker.”

“Jess!” You beam, lighting up a little as she stepped into the room, her youngest following her inside. The girl who came behind her was only two, still dressed in her striped pyjamas, eyes half open and curls pressed from the side she’s slept on. “Mattheo, meet my least favourite cousin.”

“Now, now. That’s just rude.” She beamed, letting go of her daughter's hand as the youngest began to toddle over towards you on shaky little stomps, letting you scoop her up and place a big kiss on her cheek. As you fawned over her child, Jess reached out, shaking Mattheo’s hand as he sat nervously. “Nice to meet you, Mattheo. I’ve heard a lot about you. Better than the Italian one, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve met Theo?” His shock was evident. Jess scoffed while you just laughed and tickled your baby cousin’s stomach. 

“Once, at family week. He happened to bump into us at Hogsmeade. Terrible flirt, isn’t he?”

“You were knocked up at the time, too.” You snickered, and she looked fondly at her daughter. 

“Oh, that didn’t stop him.” 

“Sounds like our Notty-boy,” Mattheo whispered, turning to look at you. When the girl on your knee looked up at him curiously, he wiggled his fingers, “Hello there.”

She only giggled, turning away to hide her face in your neck. 

“You two coming out for breakfast?” Jess sighed, calling her daughter back to her side as you put her down, and she scooped the girl up onto her hip. She turned to Mattheo, mischief written onto her features, “There are some people who want to meet you.”

Standing up and brushing off dirt from the floor, he followed suit, your cousin leaving ahead of you both. Taking your mug in one hand, Mattheo ruffled his hair in the other, patting down the untamed stands. 

“What are you— stop doing that.” Grabbing his arm, you didn’t fail to notice the light tremors from his nerves. “You’re squashing all your curls.”

“I should’ve styled my hair this morning. Your family will think I’m a mess.”

“It’s Christmas Day, and you woke me up before I could even wash my face. Trust me, you’re fine.” He only frowned, reaching his hand up towards his hair again, and you pulled it down. Running your hands down his arm, you clasped his hands, reassuringly. His fingers folded around your palm in return. “Ruining your pretty hair won’t make them like you any more, but it’ll make me like you less!”

“You think my curls are pretty?” 

Heat flushed your cheeks as he stared at you, curious. He’d always been so pretty, and it never failed to astonish you how all your favourite parts of him were the parts he disliked the most. “Shut up.”

His lips twitched, but he refrained from replying, glancing at the door instead. In a bold move, he took a step toward it, evidently deciding he was ready, as he guided you both out of the room and toward the growing bustle of voices.

Only moments after you emerged, he was swept into the craziness; aunties and uncles and cousins descending on him, all asking a thousand questions a minute. They wanted to know about classes, and where his jumper was from, and if he preferred roast beef or roast turkey. He was taken from you, leaving you to hold both mugs and chuckle at the flustered look on his face. 

By the time you’d refilled them both and returned to the pandemonium, he sagged with relief upon seeing you. Kids were already mithering about opening presents, raving madly about Santa, and he was able to slip away from the hustle and back to you. 

“Before you chastise me for leaving you,” You pressed the mug into his hands the moment his jaw dropped, pre-empting his words, “I refilled your hot chocolate. I stood no chance, they’re animals, and you were the newest squeaky toy. Luckily, the young have saved you, by nagging about the presents.”

“I’ll let you out of it this time.” He shook his head, serious like he was really mad, even as he leaned in to kiss your temple. His mouth moved to your ear, “Your family are very friendly.”

“They were excited to meet you. You’re fresh meat. How are you at pub quizzes? Because they’ll be all over you.”

He chuckled, and before he could say anything else, your mother was making the call to start cooking breakfast. Just like that, the room seemed to clear of men, all of them slipping away at the word ‘cooking’, taking the kids with them. Only the grandparents were left in the living room, excused from all chores, naturally. 

“You can go with the other men if you’d like.”

“I’d rather stay and cook with you… is that okay?” He glanced towards the kitchen, and smiled when you nodded. 

“Course you can. Come on.” Leading him to the kitchen, your aunts and cousins were already bustling around, working wherever your mother assigned them to. Your mother snapped her fingers to you, pointing towards the griddle that was heating up, all the ingredients for fluffy pancakes laid out alongside. 

Guiding Mattheo over to it after washing your hands, his cheeks went red as he stood before the bowl. “I, uh, maybe didn’t think this through. I don’t know how to cook.” He whispered, embarrassment tinging his voice as everyone around you both seemed to be getting on at speeds. 

“That’s okay, why don’t you mix the batter while I add the ingredients, hm?”

That brought his sweet expression back, letting out the breath he was clinging to, and pulling the bowl towards himself. You added each ingredient, weighing them up and measuring them out as he stirred the bowl continuously, switching between arms as he tired. On and on you went, until you had enough butter to make pancakes for an army, and he was eating leftover chocolate chips from the bag while you greased the griddle pan. 

He was watching eagerly as your cousin Ki grilled bacon, stacking up a pile that had his entire attention. 

“Mattheo, dear, do you want a piece of bacon?” Your mother snapped him from his dazed watch, and his jaw dropped open, the tips of his ears going red. 

You snickered, nudging him where he stood beside you, still clutching the bowlful of batter. With a shy nod, his mother picked up a piece handing it to him with a wink, and he beamed upon receiving it. 

Tearing off a chunk with his teeth and chewing, he turned to face you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I think your mother likes me.”

“I told you she would.” You said, a happy sound leaving him at the confirmation. Once the tray was ready, you grabbed for a ladle, and he held the bowl securely, the two of you working to set off the first batch of pancakes to cook. He shuffled every step with you, and while they cooked, you began to work on the second batter batch. “You want to try this time? I can help you.”

“Alright.” He nodded, setting the bowl back on the scale like he’d seen you start with. Scanning his hands over the ingredients, he reached for the flour first, holding it up in question. Sieving it through until you told him to stop, he smiled to himself as he watched the dust fall perfectly. A sprinkle of sugar, and a dash of vanilla essence, and then he circled in the centre with a spoon to create a well. 

“Alright, make sure you tap it lightly on the edge. You don’t want bits of shells in the food.”

He was so focused it was almost adorable, your heart skipping a beat as you watched him go, tapping the egg on the bowl so delicately your heart ached. “Like that?”

“Maybe a little harder.”

And then, he cracked it down with another force that the rim of the bowl went halfway through the egg, mangling the whites and the yolks, with splinters of shells going into the food. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, we can just pick the shell out and try again. Don’t worry.”

Dipping your fingers into the flour to pick out the pieces of shell, you discarded the broken egg to the side, and he helped fish out all the pieces, meticulously checking there was none left. Handing him a new egg, he eyed his cautiously now. 

“C’mere, let me show you.”

Guiding your hand down his arm to cup over his, you guided his hand down with the right amount of pressure, cracking the egg enough to slip your nails in and pull it apart. Taking his other hand too, you huddled in close, your hands over his by the bowl as the pair of you pressed to one another, pulling the egg apart and letting it fall into the well. 

“Perfect, see. You’re a natural.”

He turned to look down at you, eyes scanning over your face, a silent moment you didn’t know how to read, before he was turning back to it. You helped him with the second one, and then he did the third and fourth alone, cheering with so much enthusiasm about it that several of your relatives celebrated with him. 

He whisked the batter up, flipping the ones already cooking, and stacking them up on a plate before ladling out the batter he’d made. By the time they were finished, he was so eager to try the first thing he’d ever cooked that he almost burned his fingers as he snatched one up. Blowing on it hastily, he took a large bite, huffing some further breaths to cool it down. 

“So good.” He groaned, taking another large bite. Following as you took the plate to the dining table, lots of food was already laid out, your grandparents beginning to pile up their plates, and parents dishing up for their kids. 

“Sit down, get some of your pancakes while they’re still hot and there’s still some there.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, sinking into a seat and grabbing for a plate. You sat with him, and soon, the whole family was gathered around, filling plates and chatting happily as the sleepiness wore away and the festive excitement settled in. 

Chatter went on around you both as Mattheo gave it his best go to eat his body weight in bacon and pancakes, only pausing when you reminded him that there was still plenty of food left to go over the course of the day. He was happy to sit and listen to the conversation going on around him, but when the attention turned to him, he stuttered over his words. 

He was nervous to answer any questions that came to him, your hand sliding into his under the table and pulling it onto his lap. It took him several questions to realise that they weren’t bothered by his family name. In fact, nobody asked him about his father, or his mother. He had one question about Tom, but only with respect to him being a brother, not a Riddle.

When this realisation washed over him, the way he lit up was obvious. Nervous responses became animated ramblings, talking with excitement and purpose as he responded to every attempt anyone made to get to know him. 

He admitted to your Uncle Jamie that, no, he’d never been fishing. Your father asked him about his grades at school, and your mother berated him, before asking Mattheo about his favourite classes instead. Your Auntie Sally told him all about how she had been sorted in Gryffindor while her brother Steven had been Slytherin. They had epic battles on the Quidditch pitch, no pulled punches, and wondered if that rivalry still lasted. Your Uncle Steven asked him what his hobbies were, and he shyly admitted how much he loved art, which led to your grandad waking back up from his dozing just in time to start telling the same old story about the two-month spell he’d spent as a police sketch artist in the fifties.

He seemed more than happy to talk, settling into the dynamic of the room, and you took your plate to the kitchen, tidying it away. With a kiss on his cheek, you let Mattheo know you were finally going to change.

By the time you stepped back into the room fifteen minutes later, the children were frantically tugging at their adult’s arms to go back through for gifts, the sugar rush starting to kick in. Mattheo was helping to gather dishes away, arms out as your Auntie Sally piled plates and bowls into his arms, his eyes wide as she spoke to him about something. 

You followed them through to the kitchen, not failing to miss the occasional drop of your name in the conversation, clearing your throat dramatically and stealing the spotlight. Your Aunt only grinned over her shoulder conspiratorially, unstacking the dirty dishes from Mattheo’s arms into the soapy water of the sink. Mattheo, however, sagged with relief as you appeared. The moment his arms were clear, he was sweeping back over to you, taking a handful of your Christmas jumper and tugging you to his side. 

You stumbled along after him out of the room. “The second you left the room, they were all over me. What are my intentions, what are my feelings, when will I ask you out—” His voice hit a shrill note, and you chuckled, unclenching his hand from the material of your sweater. 

“I made it very clear to them before today that we weren’t dating. You don’t need to worry about that, they’re just messing with you.”

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t worried, so much as intimidated! They’re scary people.”

“Are you trying to imply I’m not scary?” You tease, taking the edge off of his nerves as he rolled his eyes, focusing on that instead of the conversation you’d just freed him from. 

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action. You’re terrifying when you want to be.” He muttered, leaning down to rest his forehead on your own, voice dropping low. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way Draco screamed when you filled his bed with grass snakes.”

“Yes, well, perhaps that’ll teach him not to steal my skin products just because his own ran out.”

“Come on, you two. Presents time.” Sally emerged from the kitchen, clapping her hands and smirking, and you groaned. Taking Mattheo’s hand and guiding him through to the living room, you snatched up a seat on one of the sofas quickly, Mattheo squeezing in beside you. 

Children were already tearing into their presents, ribbons and bows and paper were already scattered around the room in a messy storm. Your mother pottered through with a tray of mugs, your father following, and you smiled gratefully as she passed you a mug of herbal tea. 

As the mayhem went on, Mattheo settled back into the sofa, tugging your wrist closer to himself and sniffling the contents of your mug before taking a sip. He was perfectly happy to sit back and watch gifts be opened, to gather wrapping paper from your presents onto his lap and scrunch them up into balls. 

Until one of the toddlers, Elliot, pulled out a gift from under the tree and flipped the label over. He struggled over it for a while, sounding out the sounds he could see written down. “Math..ee. Matt-ee-oo.” He mouthed around the word as Mattheo stiffened beside you. “Matthew.”

His head snapped up, looking straight to Mattheo as his mother corrected him softly, lowering her camera from filming him and pointing. Elliot carried the gift over, placing it into Mattheo’s hands, before dashing back to the tree to search for more gifts of his own. 

Mattheo smoothed his fingers over the paper and ribbon, flipping the tag over to be sure, as if he didn’t quite believe it. Your handwriting neatly scrawled his name on the paper, and his eyes flickered up to you. “You did this?”

“Mhm. Open it.”

You pulled up your legs, tucking them underneath yourself and watching excitedly as he ran he tugged at the bow. Undoing the ribbon, he curled it up carefully, setting it aside next to his leg and flipping it over. Running his fingers over the edges, on the left side, they bumped along, and a smile cracked on his face. He repeated the motion, feeling more firmly through the wrapping. “Is this was I think it is?”

“Open it and find out.” You poked him with your toes, and he pushed his fingers under the folds of the paper, opening the seals and tearing it away from what was inside. He stared at it once it was free, fingers dusting across the ornate cover, flipping it open to look through the blank pages, to admire the paper quality. 

“You got me a new sketchbook?”

“Hm. Not just any sketchbook, though. It’s an enchanted one. It’ll never run out of blank pages.” His jaw dropped, turning back to look at it. 

“I’ve never— I didn’t even know such a thing existed. Where did you get it?”

“An art store, at Diagon Alley. I was just going to get you a regular one, but then I found this.” You shrugged, and his eyes were glistening when he looked up again. 

“I love it. Thank you.” He clutched it to his chest, never looking away, not hiding his emotions this time even as his nose scrunched up a little and he sniffed. The busy noise and action went on around you both, but as he stretched on hand out to squeeze yours, it was like the two of you were all alone. Emotion clogged in your throat, your chest ached for him, such a visceral reaction to such a small gift. Tipping your head toward the tree, you laughed lightly. “There’s a couple more over there for you.”

“What?” His voice was shaky, glancing at the Christmas tree as some of the others gathered around it now, the children done and satisfied as they began to pay with all their new toys amongst the mess. 

“Go on, go and get involved.” When he hesitated, a smile breaking free on his face, you encouraged him again, and he took a seat beside your mother by the tree, one more look back at you before beginning to search for the ones with his name on in the pile. 

You opened and smiled at the gifts you were handed, grateful for them all as your family passed presents around, but you were distracted. 

Distracted, watching the joy on Mattheo’s face as he opened another present, looking up at you as he opened a new set of colourful quills and chalks, the blush on his face when he unwrapped an ornament with ‘Baby Boy’s First Christmas’ written on. He glared at you with red cheeks, but held it carefully, and searched for a spot to hang it on the tree at your mother’s insistence. Distracted as you pulled out your phone, taking covert pictures of Mattheo with one of the biggest smiles you’d ever seen him wear. 

He found another, settling it on his lap, his attention diverted as Jess’ son Aiden tugged at Mattheo’s sleeve, shoving a toy racecar into his face. Mattheo was polite, asking all kinds of questions, letting the boy run the car up and down his arm, and over his face, even as the small tyres went in his eye. When he finally grew bored of tangling the model Ferrari in Mattheo’s hair, he pointed at the gift still sitting in his lap. 

Mattheo lifted it, showing it to him as Aiden slumped down across Mattheo’s shoulders lay across his back and tugging at the ribbon. He helped to open it, and while Mattheo’s face lit up, Aiden’s scrunched up, turning to glare at you on his new friend’s behalf. 

“Ew, Auntie (Y/N), why did you get him a colouring book? Colouring books suck.”

Your laughter was hidden by Mattheo’s even as Jess scolded her son, and he stood, bringing it back over to you as his amusement died down. It was no ordinary book, it was a stress therapy colouring book, and by the way he was already flicking through the drawings inside, you could tell he liked it. 

Stacking it on top of the sketchpad with his new quills and chalks. He reached for your mug, taking it from your hands and putting it down on the table by the sofa before tugging you up. Your body flew into his with the force of it, his arms wrapping around you tightly, and his face buried in your neck. 

“Thank you.”

“Just a couple of gifts.” You smile, rubbing his back gently as he sank further into your touch, leaning his weight onto you. Your friendship group had already exchanged presents before leaving for the holidays, you’d done a Secret Santa exchange, and you’d given Blaise a new phone case and a basket full of chocolates.  

“It’s so much more than that, stop playing it casual.” He muttered, words vibrating along your skin. With one final squeeze, he pulled back, the two of you dropping down onto the sofa, and you kicked your legs out across his lap comfortably. He reached for his new sketchpad, cracking open one of the new quills, a green one, and adjusting you. He propped your legs up on his lap to lean his book on, his head falling to your shoulder as his side pressed to your torso, and that oh-so-serious look took over his face once again as he began to sketch. 

Sketching the Christmas tree.

Weaving your hand into his hair, you found yourself slipping back into that place where only you and he existed for a while, scratching lightly at his scalp and sitting still as he drew. 

He stayed like that for a long while.

Long enough for the sun to start properly rising across the sky, and the Church bells on the horizon to start ringing. The children had rushed off to start a new game, and the group had dispersed through the house to keep up with their own activities. He’d long since finished his drawing, and was now lying quietly on your shoulder, your hand still in his hair, his eyes closed as he rested, mumbling responses to the conversation the two of you were barely carrying. 

“I hate to disturb you two,” Your mother said, in a tone that suggested she very clearly did not hate to do such a thing, a grin on her face as she poked her head around the doorway, “But we’re about to start the baking. Did either of you wish to join us?”

Mattheo lifted his head, looking at you eagerly, and your hand slipped down to his shoulder as you pushed him upright again. “Go, make cookies.”

He stood, stretching out stiffened limbs. “Will you come too?”

You hadn't planned on it, much preferring to sit back and maybe take a nap. But, Mattheo was excited, and you’d long since decided that today was all about him. You could spare one Christmas to make him happy in ways he’d never forget. “Of course I will.”

He took on a happy look, and the two of you made your way to the kitchen side by side. Your mum left the doorway from where she ‘was not watching’, walking ahead. “So, what are we making?” Matt asked as the three of you joined the other few who had volunteered in the kitchen. 

“We have brownies over here, cookies on the island, and apple pie being made on the table over there. Take your pick, sweetie.”

“Uh… cookies?”

“Perfect. You’ll work with me.” She took his arm by the elbow, pulling him towards the island in the centre of the room. You took over at the brownie station, washing your hands before joining in. 

He put all of that polite, well-trained behaviour to good use as he chatted up a storm with your female relatives. They all loved him, laughing at his jokes and listening intently to his stories as he worked, barely aware of the attention that was on him as he stirred the bowl. Meanwhile, you spent the majority of the time trying to fight off all the little hands trying to reach up and snatch chunks of chocolate from the chopping boards, and stealing the bowls to lick.

You did, at least, manage to snap a picture of Mattheo with his cookie cutter before he spotted you. 

The children were clamouring for the dishes by the end. You were elbow-deep in soapy water and washing, a tray of hot brownies and out, cookies cooling, and more batches already in the oven as several pies sat out waiting for later. Mattheo was talking to one of your older Aunts, charming her with boyish tales of him and Theo and Draco, when she took the brownie batter bowl out of a sprinting Aiden’s hands from where he had grabbed it and run. 

He wailed loudly as his plot was foiled and she tutted at him. “Thieves don’t get treats, Aiden. You should’ve asked nicely. Only the nice boys get to lick the spoon.”

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, and knowing better than to fight back. She then turned back to the conversation, and held it out to Mattheo. “Matt, dear, would you like it?”

“Me?” He was as astonished as Aiden, taking the bowl and the spoon slowly and bringing them close to himself. You’d told your family a little more than you let on to Matt. You’d told them just enough to know that he didn’t typically have a good Christmas, that one of your favourite times of the year was one of his worst, and you wanted to make that better for him today. 

He picked up the spoon, licking the batter off happily, and crouching down with the bowl in his hands, holding it to Aiden. Swiping his finger through it, your nephew was pleased once again, and soon enough, Mattheo had a swarm of children hanging from him as he made the mistake of sharing something sugary. 

When he finally emerged, notably sans bowl, he wandered over to you, dropping the spoon in the sink. His jaw dropped to speak to you, attention stolen by the tugging of a small hand on his sleeve. Mabel was peering up at him, holding his colour therapy book in her other hand, and lifting it up. 

“Can I colour in’y’book w’you?” She mumbled quietly, and your heart burst in your chest as he slipped his hand down to take hers carefully. 

“Of course.” He let himself be guided away, back to the living room with Mabel, and your head dropped, hiding the smile as you continued to wash up. 

Jess leaned on the counter beside you, a cloth in her hands from where she’d helped with the rest of the cleanup, and you turned to look up at her. 

“I like him. He’s sweet.”

“You should see the pranks he pulls at school, he’s a menace.” Your joke amused her, a low sound leaving her as she wiped at the counters around you both for excess flour. 

“Yeah, but, I still think he’s a sweetheart. And he’s into you, that much is clear.”

“Don’t start with this,” You groan, drying off your hands as the last of the monumental amount of washing up was completed. “I told you, we’re friends.”

“Yeah, just friends.” She shrugged, “But just because that's all you are right now, doesn’t mean that’s all you’ll ever be, or all you want to be. I see the way you look at him. You like him.”

“He’s pretty. Every girl looks at him like that.”

“No,” She shook her head, and you couldn't bear to look at her as she read you like a book. Instead, you began prepping a new mug of hot chocolate. “You look a him like you think his soul is pretty, not just him.”

“Shut up.” Her poetic words made you blush, and she closed in on you, ready to make the final strike. “Don’t you dare—”

“You looove him. You got a big, fat crush on him.”

“I will push you off your broom myself.” Your scowl didn’t ward her away, she was only torn from smirking at you as your mother began to unload the next set of food to start being prepared for dinner. The turkey was already in, had been for hours, but she began to unstack pigs and blankets as trays of sausage meat stuffing onto the surface. 

Swiping up the mug, you followed the rumbling of Mattheo’s deep voice through the house. Sat on the floor of the snug, Mabel was lying on her stomach by his side as she coloured as neatly as possible onto the first page of his colouring therapy books with her crayons. Aiden was under his arm, holding up the instruction manual of a new Lego set, as a half-built model sat in front of them. 

Elliot was playing with some of Aiden’s toy cars, and eight-year-old Jessop was lying on the sofa, reading a book. Knocking two knuckles on the door, five heads all snapped up to look at you. Mattheo smiled as you stepped into the room, and Aiden grumbled at his distraction, going back to the Lego even as Mattheo pulled away. 

You offered him the new cup of hot chocolate, and he smiled as he accepted it, taking a sip. 

“You know the men are all gathered in the living room watching some movie about cars. They have a lot of beer, and an empty seat, if you want to join them.” You sang the words enticingly, hands on his hips as you swayed him to the beat of your melody. 

“What will you be doing?” He stepped a little closer, free hand going to your waist, too.

“I’ll help my mum with the cooking.”

“Can’t I help you cook, instead?” His whisper brushed your cheek as he leaned into place a kiss there, and your heart stuttered in your chest, taking you a moment to recompose yourself as he pulled back with a smile. 

“Of course you can… if that’s what you want, but you don’t have to. You’re here to have fun.”

“What makes you think I’m not having fun?” He mused, peering at you over the rim of the mug as he took a sip. “I’m having a ton of fun. Best Christmas ever, all thanks to you. I just want to be wherever you are today.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll be in the kitchen,” Your words are hardly audible as you say them, swallowing back the emotion in your throat as he held eye contact. 

“I guess we will, sweetheart.”

You turn to walk away, Mattheo following behind you as you lead him back to the kitchen. 

He was more than welcome once again, immersed straight into girl talk as your relatives grumbled and complained over their husbands. Mattheo put his suspiciously good rolling habits to use, wrapping sausages tightly in strips of bacon, and almost choking when your mother complimented his skills. 

He tried to hug you with raw hands, chasing you around the kitchen until your mother scolded him playfully, calling him back and having him lift the meats from the oven to be re-basted. 

He was chopping and peeling potatoes, nudging back and forth with his hip as you worked beside him, when your already-exhausted-looking Uncle Jeremy peered into the kitchen, Elliot dangling upside down from his shoulder. 

“The film ended. We’re going to take the kids out for a walk and burn off some of this energy. Anyone want to join?” 

He looked like he was desperately waiting for them to tire out so the drinking could start, Elliot climbing all over him like a playground frame and your mother shooed you both away. “You can go, c’mon. Go for a walk, let your grandparents and I have some time.”

The kitchen cleared out, shoes and coats and scarves were put on, and then you were all trudging out into the snow as your father shut the door, hands in his pockets as he followed you down the frozen garden path. Mattheo wore an old coat he’d borrowed from your father, zipped right up as he kept his chin tucked down inside it, hands buried in his pockets. 

“Oh, don’t pout, Matty. You’ve had colder than this.”

“How did we end up out here? I was cosy inside five minutes ago.” He pressed his hands even tighter into the coat as you linked an arm through his, snuggling up to his side as you followed the others along toward the fields you’d roam across for a while.

“My mum does this every year. We always host, but she kicks everyone out so she can check on my grandparents, and take a break for herself. She’ll have a large glass of wine, sit down in front of the fire, and watch an episode of whatever her latest reality TV show is, before we all come back.” The grass crunched under your feet as you stepped out onto the frozen fields, glittering and icy as far as you could see. “It’ll help you work up an appetite for the meal, though.”

“Your mother nearly gave me a heart attack when she asked me where I learned to roll pigs in blankets like that for someone who’s ‘never cooked a day in his little life’.” He produced his hands to make air quotes around his words, and only tucked one back into his pocket. The other, he took yours with, lacing your fingers together, and rubbing his thumb over your own. 

“I know. Your face was priceless. I actually got a picture of it.”

“If anyone ever sees that picture, I’ll hex you.”

“You mean it wasn’t okay for me to send it straight to the group chat? Oops.” He stuck out his tongue, but sighed, taking in the countryside around him as you walked through it. 

“You grew up here?”

“Nice, isn’t it? You murmur, looking around and letting the nostalgia wash over you as your thumb wrestled with his absentmindedly. “There’s a river nearby. We used to go down there as kids, this big group of us who lived here. We’d have picnics, and wade in the water and play on the rope swing.”

“Sounds fun.” He sighed, and you squeezed his hand, no words to comfort him coming to mind. He’d had no such freedom in his childhood, you knew as much from the snippets he or Tom would accidentally drop before they could stop themselves. “Sometimes I would walk around the grounds of the estate, but we were only allowed out if it was dry so we wouldn't get dirty.”

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you hugged his arm, snuggling into him as much as you could while still ambling on behind your chatting family. “Oh, Matty…”

“Normally, I hate hearing that. The sad, pitying voices.” He murmured, before twisting to face you, the tips of your noses brushing. “But when it’s you, I kinda’ like it. You don’t feel condescending, you just feel caring.”

“That’s because I do care.”

“I know.” He smiled, turning to face forward once again, and you rested your cheek on his shoulder instead, making it easier to walk along, huddled into his side. 

You remained in silence for a while, letting him soak it all in, pausing occasionally to take a picture or two of him looking at things. Even when he walked away, to pick up fallen pinecones, or to look at initials carved into a tree, he still came back every time, to where you patiently waisted, his hand finding yours or tucking you back under his arm each time. 

You were in the middle of taking several photos of him petting a walker’s dog when your father stopped, hands on his hips as he stared up at the greying sky overhead. 

“It’s going to start snowing.”

Mattheo’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he let the dog go, running to catch its owner. “How can you tell?”

The excitement was clear in his voice, standing up and brushing his gloveless hands off on his jeans. You snorted, he’d really done it now. “Dad has a sixth sense about these things.”

“You see, my boy, those clouds up there are called nimbostratus clouds.” He pointed upwards, hands on his hips as Mattheo adopted a similar stance, copying him and staring up at the sky. “They’ve been settling in all day, and now the sky is full. Not to mention, it just dropped a degree or two a minute ago. Now, it’s not that perceptible when it’s already this cold, but I’m good with temperatures, you know. And it always drops a degree or two right before it precipitates.”

“And, how do you know it’s snow, not just rain? Or do those kinds of clouds only make snow?”

You laughed again, linking your arm through Mattheo’s, and he twisted his head to press a kiss to your temple. He stiffened a moment later, just as you did, and you wondered if he realised what he’d done at all until after. He didn’t take it back, though. Instead, he relaxed a second later, still listening to your dad talk about how he just knows, can feel it in his bones when the snow comes.

“So, how many different types of clouds are there?” Mattheo asked after listening to the whole explanation.

That was how you spent the entire walk back getting to hear about all the different types of cloud formations. To his credit, Mattheo seemed to be genuinely soaking up every word your father said. He had questions, and opinions, which span off into a new chat about the water cycle and glaciers.

It was only when you were ten minutes out from home that your father’s prophecy came true, and snow began to fall in heavy flakes from the sky. The children squealed excitedly, and Mattheo caught the flakes in the palms of his hands, watching each one melt against his skin with a small smile on his lips. 

Finally, as everyone stepped back into the warmth to shake off the snow, and stomp mud off of their boots, it was like a stampede to get to the fireplace and warm up. Shaking out his hands and flexing his fingers, you took your time unwinding your scarf, hanging it up with your coat and peeling off your gloves. 

His cheeks, nose and hands were pink, and he was rubbing at his arms to warm up now that he’d taken off his coat. 

“My hands are cold.”

“I can tell.” You took them in your own, rubbing his frozen skin lightly. His fingers trembled a little in your hold, chilled to the bone, and you lifted your cupped hands together to your face. Softly parting your hands, you blew warm air between them onto his skin, your cheeks flaring with warmth at the gasp he made. 

Rubbing again, you repeated the actions until the shaking of his hands stopped, and you finally chanced a look up at him. He was staring down at you, eyes practically glittering and lips parted. He seemed lost for words for a moment, toying with the thoughts in his mind before finally settling. “I like it when you fuss over me.”

He took his hands back, tucking them faster than you could stop him under the back of your jumper, cold fingers splaying across your back as he tugged you into his body. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, cold nose dragging along your skin. No matter how much you groaned and wriggled, his grip was tight, chilling you with him as he stole your body heat.

Eventually, you just gave in, sighing as you stroked his back, letting him snuggle in for warmth rather than fight for a space next to the fire. Amongst the woodsy smell of his cologne, and the gingery pine scent of the Christmas candles your mum burned every year, something else lingered in the air. 

Berries, citrus fruit, and spices. 

“I think mum made mulled wine.” Your words were right beside his ear, and at that, he raised his head, scrunching his nose sweetly a couple of times before sniffling the air. “Want some?”

“I’ve never had any. Is it good?”

“Seriously? Matt!” Grabbing behind yourself for one of his hands, you hurried him through the house. Just as you’d suspected the morning’s tanker of hot chocolate had been swapped out, and now, a steaming vat of mulled wine replaced it. 

Grabbing two glass mugs, you set them out, pouring some from the little tap, and passing it to him by the handle. The cinnamon and orange smell so much stronger in the air now, and you moaned under your breath as you breathed in the steam. 

He held the mug in his hands, not even seeming to feel the heat seeping through as he blew on the surface, several times, before taking a tentative sip. You waited for his reaction, practically on the edge of your seat, if you’d had one.

“It’s…”

“It’s..?” You burst, waiting for his reply, and he dragged it out just to tease you. 

“It’s really good.” He eventually caved, taking another sip, and another, as you cheered. “Don’t ever tell my boy Theo I said that. He’d skin me alive. He hates the idea of mulled wine and refuses to touch it. It’s an insult to his Italian heritage, he says.”

“So is cream in carbonara, breadsticks, and chicken mince lasagne.” You scoffed, and he grinned at that.

He drank some more, the two of you sipping quietly on your glasses, before hearing the opening tunes of a movie on the TV. Refilling your glasses, you headed through. The room was only half full, some sat about chatting in the dining room, others upstairs, and some likely in the snug or their bedrooms. It left you plenty of space to lie out across one of the couches, stretching happily, and your toes didn’t even reach the other end. 

The kids were all gathered around on the carpet, and Mattheo paced slowly behind you, with no attention on his movements but all his attention fixed on the animations taking place on the screen. He sat next to your legs nudging them up into the cushions before twisting and leaning back, settling himself against you with his head on your shoulder, back to your chest, as he continued to watch. 

He didn’t see your flushed cheeks or your shy surprise, not as you hid your face behind him from the watchful eyes of the few members of your family that were in here, too. Reaching for one of the rolled-up blankets along the back of the couch, you shook it out, spreading it over his body for an extra layer of warmth. He made a happy sound, shuffling back further into you, and letting the hand not holding his cup fall to clasp your calf by his hip, stroking slowly. 

Your arms crossed over his chest, giving up on what little pretence you had. This day would already be one of your favourite memories that you made, you might as well give into the full depth of what you wanted, and really make it the best it could be. Whether anything came from it or not, you’d still have this moment, cuddling with him on the sofa as he watched The Snowman for the first time. 

Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging out wind-tangled knots loosely, and playing with the curls around your fingers. You were oh-so-fond of Mattheo’s natural hair, dipping down to bury your nose in the strands, and kiss to top of his head. He squeezed your leg again, tipping his head back enough to leave a kiss brushed on your chin, before quickly looking back to the screen, and finishing off his mulled wine. 

Your cheek rested where your lips had once been, glancing around the room. Most of your relatives only gave you a small smile, while your mother winked at you, and your dad offered a thumbs up. You merely rolled your eyes, thankful for the dark of the room and that they couldn't see your blush. 

By the end of the movie, Mattheo was turning to you, abject horror evident on his face, as everyone else seemed to get on like normal. “He melted?”

“He’ll be back next year, don’t worry.” You smile, and Mattheo shook his head, brows furrowed, a deep ridge between them that showed just how bothered he was by the ending. 

“But he melted! How is that— I thought this was a child’s movie!”

“It is!”

“That’s like killing the dog in a Christmas movie.” He stuttered, trying to keep his voice low despite his growing concern. You left a kiss on his forehead in an attempt to hide your amusement from him. 

“Then you’re gonna’ hate The Snowman and The Snowdog.”

“Say sike. You say sike right now, or I’m getting in that floo and going home.” He pointed in the direction of the fireplace, and your laughter broke out, spilling into uncontrollable giggles. He was not pleased with your laughing, even if he did wrap you up into his arms, smothering your face into his bicep and grunting unhappily. “You cruel, cruel woman. Finding joy in my misery.”

That only made you laugh more.

The day was going by too quickly for your liking, it felt like all you did was blink, and you found yourself instead sitting at the dining room table, Mattheo on one side, your Uncle James, Grandma Alice and Grandpa William teamed up with you as you tried to count through the Premier League teams before the other teams.

Someone else hit the buzzer first, and you cursed in a very unladylike manner that made your Grandpa chuckle. 

Mattheo wasn’t much help with general knowledge, but he was enthusiastic. He tried as much as he could to participate in the rounds, and whenever he did happen to get something right, the look that took over his features was enough to light the night sky. He’d cheer, and kiss your cheek, and scribble the answers down on the big answers sheet you’d been assigned. 

It went on and on, only ending when the timer went off for the turkey, and raucous shouting took over from every adult as the quiz was cut short. Mattheo was laughing, loud, his arm looped around your waist as he nestled you into his side, immersed in the noise and hubbub. One of your cousins was adding up the scores, and you already knew you hadn't won, but hearing all of the scores being read, you cringed at just how badly your team had done. 

Mattheo laughed into your hair, the other arm hooking around your shoulders to pull you into him more fully. 

“That was more insane than a Common Room party.” He grinned, spoken close to your ear, and you laughed.

“Why do you think I’m so good at handling you lot when you’re drunk and rowdy, hm?” 

“I have never seen anyone corral drunk Italians like you.” He pulled back enough to peer down at you, and you smiled. 

The moment was snapped away from you both by the clearing of the quiz sheets away. The pens and markers were being gathered by Aiden, while Mabel followed him around with a basket for him to drop them into. Once the seats were clear, the settings all started to come back, and you watched as the room was transformed once again from a disaster zone and back into an elegant eating space. Cutlery went down after the plates, napkins and glasses and a cracker at each space. 

Mattheo was called away to help carry in bottles of wine, filling each glass around the table while the parents began to get the children settled in at their small table in the corner. Meals had already been prepared for them, a small chicken carved up between them all, a couple of roasties and just enough veggies that there would be no tears on Christmas Day. 

Then, the adult table was filling up, you carried bowls of food back and forth; several different kinds of vegetables, potatoes, meats and gravies, sides and stuffings up and down until the table was full from one end to the other.

When you finally sat down and tucked your napkin down to cover your lap, Mattheo settled in beside you. He was checking out every bowl, the dish of roast potatoes you’d mentioned being most excited for seemed to have conveniently found itself placed right in front of you both, and he smirked into his wine as you mentioned as much. 

Your father stood at the head of the table by the turkey, ready to carve, and the room fell quiet as all attention moved to him. Save for the ecstatic chatter of the children, that is. Your father held the meat-fork in one hand and the knife in the other, pausing just over the top of the turkey. Looking back up, he pulled back. 

“Mattheo,” The man beside you still as he placed his glass down, and all attention fell to him. “Come and carve for us.”

Mattheo’s stumbled response was adorable, and he untucked his chair when your father repeated himself. He walked slowly toward the head of the table, taking the instruments from your father’s hands. He paused, splotches of read coming back to his face, but before he could admit to being lost, your dad was guiding him on where to poke and how to slice. 

As soon as the first slice fell out and he lifted it off, clapping and cheering sounded around the room, and you made sure you were the loudest, his proud smile directed at you as he looked right at you. “First slice for you, sweetheart?”

You passed your plate along, all the way to get the meat from where he stood, before it was passed back to you. 

He kept going, slicing again and again until his wrist hurt, and he put down the knife and fork carefully. Stepping back for your father to take over, he clapped Mattheo on the shoulder. “Good job, son.”

It was spoken mindlessly, casually, as your father got back to work carving the meats, but it meant the world to Mattheo. His jaw dropped, and for a second he was frozen. You were almost worried he’d bolt, before he was speeding back over to the chair and took his seat beside you once again. He didn’t mention it, but he did let out a shaky breath, and took a heavy gulp of wine as his hands shook.

Your hand landed on his thigh, stroking lightly as he reached for the bowl of potatoes. “You okay, honey?”

“Never been better.” His tone sounded flat but you believed his words, watching as he dished up some potatoes onto your plate and his, picking out the ones that looked the best to give to you. “I carved a turkey.”

“And did a mighty fine job of it too.”

“You think?”

“Mhm. I’m very impressed.” You served up carrots and parsnips and Mattheo did mashed potatoes, dishes swapping about across the table, up and down until everyone had what they wanted. 

In a blur of good talk and food, you set into polishing off the plate before you, watching Mattheo try each and every item. 

“What’s normally on your Christmas Dinner?”

“Uh… well, father goes hunting with his business partners in the week leading up to Christmas, and normally he makes me and Tom go too. He’ll choose the best pheasant from the day, and that’s served. Along with a turkey, gammon, beef, lamb, and some kind of vegetarian wellington or roast.”

You watched him slice off a piece of his turkey, eyes rolling a little as he hummed happily, combining it with a piece of stuffing. 

“All the usual trimmings, too, to put on a show. But we weren’t allowed to eat them. Mother only let us have things that could be considered elegant.”

A snort left you, and he smirked. “What exactly is considered an elegant Christmas dinner food?”

“Things that can be eaten with a fork. Meat, roast potatoes,” He chopped smoothly down the centre of a crispy roast potato, stabbing it in one smooth move and putting it neatly into his mouth. “Stuffing and sprouts. That’s about it.”

“That’s awful! What about the pigs in blankets?”

“Roll around too much when you try to chop them.” He shrugged, and you scoffed. 

“So do sprouts?”

“Ah, but sprouts are a classic Christmas dish, and mother is nothing, if not traditionally elegant.” He made a show of chopping into a pig in a blanket now, savouring it as he ate it. “First time I ever had a Yorkshire pudding was second year, Tom took me to a pub in Hogsmeade. Changed my life.”

“Matty…”

“Don’t feel too bad for me, sweets.” Turning to you, he dipped a little closer, a smirk on his lips as his voice dropped. “If I didn’t have my sad, pathetic life to tell you all about, I wouldn't have a sob story to use to get a pretty girl to fawn over me.”

“Oh, please,” You muttered, shaking your head to hide your blush as you turned back to your meal. “Now you’re just flirting.”

“I’ve been flirting this whole time, you just never want to see it.”

Your eyes rolled at his smirk, and you twisted away, tuning back into the conversation going on around the table.

Mattheo loved his dinner. He ate everything on his plate, and at your relatives’ encouragement, he had seconds. Christmas crackers were popped, jokes were read and the little toys were exchanged around the table until everyone had a useless trinket they were happy with. 

He proudly wore a bright green paper crown on his head, and forced you to wear the orange one that popped out of your cracker too. 

By the time he was nibbling his way through a third plate, his hand was on your thigh, squeezing as he sat slumped in his seat. Jeans unbuttoned under his sweater, he patted at his stomach, content and full. You dipped another roast potato in a pool of gravy on your plate, dragging it through slowly. Lifting it, you took a bite, and he tipped his head, lips parting for the next bite. 

You offered it to him, and he pulled the bite from the fork, chewing with a hum as he listened to the storytelling of the previous Christmas’ that was now taking place. 

Before the food took you out into a food coma, your mother forced clean-up to take place. Bin bags were stuffed full, gifts were tidied away to respective cars and bedrooms, and the washing up was done, the table was cleared. When everyone put their minds to it, it didn’t take long, and you found Mattheo stacking the lad of the leftover tubs into the fridge. 

“We’re going to put some more movies on, and drink mulled wine ‘til we get tipsy. You staying for that?”

“Wild horses couldn't drag me away.” Mattheo smiled, turning to you as your arms wrapped around one of his, guiding him back to the living room before all the seats had been taken. You sat down first, and he quickly found a home leaning on your chest once again, your arms crossed over his chest, and one of his hands laced with your own. 

The other rubbed up and down your forearm slowly, getting himself comfortable as he groaned, spreading out as much as he could. “Did you eat too much?” You teased, and he pinched your arm, shaking his head. 

“I will never be defeated by food.” Despite his claims, he shifted once again, lowering into the couch cousins. Wine was handed out, the lights turned down, and Love, Actually began to play. Clearly, Grandma Judie had chosen the movie. 

That statement came to haunt him halfway through, though, when your mother arrived with a cheeseboard, handing out small plates, and pressing one into his hands. He was ever so polite, he’d never turn it down, and as she passed the box of crackers around to him, he piled three neatly onto the side of the plate. 

“Take more than that, dear. Come on.” She encouraged, and you hid your face against the top of his head to hide your laughter, as he added another three. Then came the cheese, and you swore you could feel Mattheo’s hesitation as he added slices and cubes of various cheeses to his plate, all under your parent’s watchful gaze to make sure he was taking enough. 

As he settled back, you brushed a kiss to his temple, and he tipped his face up towards you a little more. A smile was on his lips, the plate untouched and balanced in his lap. 

“You sure you’re not being defeated?”

“Me? Never.” He grinned, lifting a cracker with a slice of mature cheddar on up to you. “I made sure to get enough for us both, don’t you worry.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue, the moment your mouth was open, he was forcing the savoury snack into your mouth, a wicked glint in his eye as you chewed slowly. Over mulled wine and cheese nibbles, the movie finished and another one began, this time chosen by one of your cousins. It was more upbeat, not a classic like the last had been, and there had almost been a row over it. 

Classic, or new. Mattheo had sat back and watched in astonished amusement as comments were thrown around the room in an argument for which was better. Eventually, a coin was flipped, and half the room had to grumble and accept it as the other half sat smugly.

The night was fully upon you by now, darkness had taken over as the evening ticked by. The curtains were drawn, candles were lit, and both your sets of grandparents had called it a day and gone up to bed already. The babies had long since fallen asleep too, setting a kind of quiet and peace over the house. 

Mattheo had gone still in your arms a long time ago, dozing between sleep and awake, finally having conceded after his second cracker and left the plate alone on the coffee table. You were sure he’d never admit it, though. 

You were comfy and happy. With the weight of him pressing down against you, and the blanket you’d thrown over your bodies covering you both and keeping you snug, you were sure that this was what you’d call perfect. 

The smell of spices and apples filled the house, your excitement renewing toward the end of the second movie as the time ticked on. Most of the children had fallen asleep, bowls of ice cream left on the kitchen counter from their own desserts, and long since tucked into bed to sleep. 

Your Aunt got up to check the oven, and moments later she called to let you all know that the treats from earlier in the day had finished cooking. “Mattheo.” You nudged, excitement racing through you, and the man in your arms stirred a little. He grunted, rolling over slightly and gripping one of your arms a little more firmly. “Matt!”

“Not right now, sweetheart. M’ sleeping.” He muttered, huffing a heavy breath out, and you chuckled. 

“You’re gonna’ miss dessert, though.”

That got his attention, one eye cracking open, quickly followed by another, and he sniffed at the air. “Smells good.”

“Mhm, so get up, and we can go and get some.”

Your family had already begun filing through to the kitchen, a new excitement surrounding the food as chatter took back up, laughter and new energy taking over. By the time you finally managed to join them, all of the various tray-bakes and puddings had been dug into, and you snatched up a plate to begin serving some to yourself. Some apple pie at one corner, some brownie at another, a scoop of ice cream in the idle, and a stack of cookies at the edge. 

Mattheo shuffled in a few moments later, sleepy and stretching, trying to hold in a yawn as he looked around. Upon finding you, he made his way over, slumping down to rest his head on your shoulder as you plucked two mismatched spoons from what was left in the cutlery drawer. 

Handing him one, he sighed, breaking off a large chunk of brownie and some ice-cream, before finally raising his head and eating the spoonful. With a groan, he told you just how good he thought it was, and went back in for more before even finishing his mouthful. 

The two of you shared the plate between quiet chatter, talking about his day, as Mattheo recounted for you almost every moment. His eyes were sparkling as he got a second helping of brownie for you both, forcing his spoon between your lips when teased him for his excitement, and wiping the edge of your mouth when you glared at him. He was so light, bursting with a kind of happiness you rarely ever saw in him. 

So much tended to weigh Mattheo down, so much of the time. He was a person who was burdened with struggles and troubles, and while he was exceptionally good at making the most of it, and finding silver linings, sometimes, it would eat away at him after too long. Darkness would crawl in at the edges, in the form of exhaustion and temper and emotional outbursts, and you’d find him staving off a panic attack with a cigarette between his lips, leg unable to keep from bouncing as he stood atop the astronomy tower. 

He didn’t look hopeless and world-weary now, though. Right now he looked happy. Full of the kind of happiness that lit a person up from the inside out. He looked like he was at peace, even as he stood huddled with you in the corner of your kitchen eating a shared piece of brownie, while your family around you began to trickle out as the night went on. 

Soon enough, even one more bite of sugar was too much, and you were slumped lazily back onto the couch. Mattheo was lying half across you as the last of your aunts and uncles quietly carried their snoozing children to the fireplace of the cars, ready to floo or drive home. Each and every one of them had bid him a goodbye, telling him how nice it was to meet him as he returned the sentiments with red cheeks and a bashful smile. 

“I suppose it’s my turn to go now.” He mumbled, your fingers running once through his hair, and your mother poked her head out of the kitchen where she’d been chatting with your aunties who were staying, over a cup of tea. At least, you thought they’d been chatting, clearly, she’d been eavesdropping. 

“Oh, Mattheo-dear, you’re not staying over? We thought you would.”

“You did?” He sat upright a little more, eyes wide, and your mother only nodded to him. “I’d like that… as long as I wouldn't be a burden to you.”

“A burden? ‘Course not, dear. You’re a treat to have, and an extra set of hands on Boxing Day is always handy.” She hummed, clearly pleased with her meddling as she disappeared. Mattheo accio’d for a notebook and a pen, sending a lazily scribbled note addressed to his housekeeper through the floo, to inform them of where he was staying for the night. 

As he stood by the fireplace, folding the note and waiting for the flames to change colour, you wrapped your arms around him. Pressing your face between his shoulders, he sagged back into you, relaxing into your touch. 

Orange flickered to green, and he tossed the note in, watching it disappear to ash in the flames in a split-second, before the warm glow was back. 

“Come on, Matty. Let’s go upstairs.” You whispered, and he slipped a hand down to take one of yours from his stomach, lacing your fingers together. Lifting your hand up, he issued the back of it, before turning, and letting you guide him away upstairs. 

You guided him through the house, the floorboards squeaking quietly under your feet in certain spots. “You can stay with me.” You murmured quietly, and he only nodded. 

Opening up the door to your bedroom, his eyes immediately started flicking from one corner to the other, taking in every detail. It was fairly sparse these days, most of your most important possessions came to Hogwarts with you, and everything else, you’d had a big clear out of. Your skincare bottles were all lined up along the dresser, your laptop on the nightstand, and a few half-burned candles littered around. 

One thing you always had, was candles. 

Gathering the bottles you’d left out, you slipped away to the bathroom to get ready for bed before exhaustion took over. 

When you returned, Mattheo was looking through the drawers of your wardrobe. “Searching for something, or just looking for all my dirty secrets?” You tease, and he jumped a little, but smiled as he turned to you. 

“Where are your spare blankets?”

“Given out to all my cousins and relatives who are staying over. Why?” You pulled out a lighter from your nightstand drawer, moving from one candle to another and beginning to light them. He scratched at the back of his neck, and you raised a brow. “Matt, you’ll sleep in the bed, not the floor. Are you insane? It’s freezing, and uncomfortable.”

“I— Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You could never,” You murmur, flicking the flame out once they were all done. Most of your drawers were half-empty, and it didn’t take long for you to search through and find an oversized sleep shirt for him. Unfortunately, it was pink. “You want something else to sleep in? I can lend you a shirt, but I don’t have any shorts that would… suit you.”

A flush rose to your cheeks and you actively fought any kind of mental images from passing through your mind. Particularly any that involved Mattheo, and a pair of booty shorts. 

He accepted the pink tee with a grin, stripping his jumper off and over his head. Folding it neatly and leaving it on your dresser, his t-shirt followed, and he donned the hot-pink band shirt with a half-faded Taylor Swift setlist on the back. 

“Enzo would love this shirt.” He muttered, frowning at you as he admired the huge print of her across the front. Undoing his belt, you quickly diverted your gaze, turning back to the bed and tossing throw-cushions out of the way. You heard the rustle of denim, the clink of his belt as he folded it, and then the squeaky steps on the floor as he crossed the room. 

“Do you want to watch a movie before we sleep, or are you—” Arms curled your waist, his face pressed into your neck, and your words stuttered off as he tugged you back into himself firmly. “Matty?”

He shuddered against you, and you turned in his arms despite his tight hold, cupping his face and forcing his eyes up to your own. 

“Mattheo?”

“Thank you. For today, thank you so much.” He leaned in, a kiss on your cheek so soft you could barely feel it. Then another, and another, firmer as he worked, muttering his thanks between kisses all over your face, mumbling his appreciation. His voice cracked as he kissed your forehead, and he sniffled as he moved down to your other cheek. “This was one of the best days of my life, thank you.”

“Matty honey,” You pulled back, enough to see his face as his water-lined eyes shone gold in the flicker of the flames around the room. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I wanted you here. I was so happy to have you here, this was perhaps the best Christmas I’ve ever had, too. Watching you be so happy, making you this happy, it made it so. I love seeing you smile.”

He hiccuped a sob, nodding a little as your thumb swept over your cheek. He attempted to choke back tears, and you shushed him quietly. “I didn’t— I didn’t get you any presents, I’m sorry—”

“Mattheo, stop. Please, look at me. See how happy I am right now.” His eyes scanned over your face, fighting the battle against the tears wanting to spill over. He was clinging to your waist, hands bunching at the sleep shirt you wore as he tugged you in a little closer. “Please smile. That’s what I want you to get me for Christmas. I got snow, I got my family, I got to see you. Now let me see you smile.”

He sniffled through a laugh, the lines of worry etched onto his face finally smoothing out. He smiled, watery and weak, but he smiled, letting out a heavy sigh.

“There he is, my pretty boy.” You pinched his cheek, his head tipping a little further into your hold, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“I’m in love with you.” The worst bubbled from him in uh a rush they almost blurred together, but his body finally sagged, like he was losing the very tension that even kept him upright Swaying forward, his forehead fell to settle on yours, like he was collapsing. “I’m so, so fucking in love with you, and I just had to tell you that. After today, after everything, I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

His nose nuzzled against your own as the words he’d said settled over you. “Oh, Mattheo. After all that I just said, you don’t know how I feel about you?”

“‘Course I do. Why do you think I finally had the courage to say it?” Tipping his head up, he kissed the tip of your nose, arms sliding properly around your waist. 

“I love you, Mattheo.” You murmured, shifting up enough for your lips to brush his own, and he smiled against your lips. 

“You are the best thing in my life, sweetheart.” His confession was followed by his mouth closing over your own. A kiss that emptied every part of your mind, you could only focus on him. The slow movements of his lips, drowning in the feel of him pressed up to you, mouths making slow motions as you crossed that line between friends and more. 

He pulled back for a breath, and you chased after him. Your mouths collided once again, needy and desperate this time, his hand slipping up to tangle in your hair as the other slid low down your back. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself up to a better angle as your heart pounded against your ribs, a steady drum beat to match the rhythm of your lips. 

This time, when your mouth slid from his own, he left kisses dotted along your jaw, panting onto your skin but unable to stop. Only when he had kissed down to your neck, face buried in your hair, did he pause Hugging you close, his chest rose and fell as he moulded you to his body, fingers massaging against your scalp as his hand still resided in your hair.

Eventually, the two of you shifted to the bed, tucking yourselves snugly under the covers, wrapped around one another as you balanced the laptop on your lap, pulling up a movie. 

“What are we watching?” He whispered, between lazy kisses along your jaw, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. 

“I was thinking Arthur Christmas. I think you’d like it.”

“Huh,” He murmured, pulling back as you turned up the volume and set it between you both. “Kinda’ sounds like Father Christmas, doesn’t it?”

You laughed against your will, taking his face in your hands and pulling him in for another kiss. “Godamnit, you’re cute.”

Suffice to say, he loved that one, too.

As fate would have it, Mattheo Riddle has a soft spot for animated Christmas movies.

[c0nsumemy5oul]

"Alright, Black?"

I saw some people doing this so I thought I'd try my luck.

Jegulus minific, 687 words, rated G.

Almost everyone at Hogwarts was aware of the fact that James Potter fancied Regulus Black. At least a little. 

In the same way everyone was aware he used to fancy Lily Evans. By serenading her whenever they passed each other by. 

But also everyone knew that he stopped fancying Evans a long time ago. 

Yet, not many know about Lily’s girlfriend. (She’s happy with Mary now, Regulus hears.) 

What caused Potter’s focus to shift to him, Regulus isn’t sure. He’s not exactly opposed to the attention but it’s certainly hard to adapt to. 

Not to say that he hadn’t adapted to it. James had flirted with him and called him out, seeking his attention enough times by now, for Regulus to sense when Potter walked into the room. 

Regulus was sitting with Lupin in the library, both were reading silently and enjoying each other’s company until Evans walked in confidently. 

“Remus!” Lupin’s head snapped up from his book. “Prefect meeting in five minutes!” She whisper-shouted, “Did you forget?” 

He looked down at his watch, “Oh, I didn’t notice the time…” He started packing his things to follow Evans out before she stopped him. 

“Don’t worry, it’s been cancelled,” She grinned, “Just wanted to give you a scare.” 

Lupin rolled his eyes and pushed a laughing Evans back. 

And then Regulus felt it. 

James Potter. 

Sure enough, the rest of the Marauders appeared from behind a bookshelf, calling out to Remus. 

“Moony!” Sirius called, “Up for some mischief?” 

Lupin grinned back at him. 

“Nothing too bad,” Peter tried to reassure the other Prefect among them. 

Lily rolled her eyes. 

Regulus was wondering if it was gonna come when— 

“Alright, Black?” 

There it was! 

Regulus hummed something in Potter’s general direction (who was messing up his hair and grinning at him) as they took Lupin with them and left. 

He went back to reading, thinking he’ll get some peace and quiet but instead felt watched. 

Evans was still there. She seemed like she was trying to say something, but was struggling to find the right words. 

Regulus went back to his book, waiting. 

Eventually, she blurted out, “Remember how James used to flirt with me like that?” 

I beg your fucking pardon? He wanted to say, but he raised a brow instead. 

“I just mean,” Lily backtracked quickly, “If you want him to stop or at least to get a different reaction out of him, just flirt back.” 

At Regulus’s scepticism, she continued. 

“Trust me, he’ll be so flustered he won’t know what to say.” 

And so Regulus considered it. 

The opportunity presented itself at dinner. 

Regulus stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, talking about practice with the Slytherin Quidditch captain when James and his gang passed by. 

“Alright, Black?” James grinned at him, walking by. 

Sirius rolled his eyes like usual, Remus snorted as usual, even Peter ignored them as usual but Regulus replied for once. 

“Alright, Potter.” His head was downcast but his eyes looked up mischievously. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

James stopped walking. He completely froze. Sirius bumped into his back. 

“Mate,” He said, a little annoyed, but James wouldn’t move. 

He stared at Regulus, clearly not expecting a response. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. He let out a nervous chuckle. His entire head, down to his neck, was a dark red. 

“I’m…” James laughed, flustered. 

Sirius, now completely done with his friend, pushed him forward, moving them along towards the Gryffindor table, murmuring something like “Come on!” 

The rest of the Marauders followed them, sneaking glances at Regulus as they passed. 

James was still frozen, his legs moving aimlessly wherever Sirius pushed him. 

He seemed to be in a trance. 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Regulus turned back to his captain, not understanding a word that was said and just nodding until the boy left him alone. 

The rest of the meal was spent with James grinning while trying to catch Regulus’s eye and Regulus hiding a grin of his own, trying his hardest not to think of how cute James Potter looks when flustered.

I wrote this in a few minutes so don't judge if it's bad. Hope you liked it! :D

[gogo-gogurtman]

Oh, Darling of Mine!

Do you want to know what’s it like to have the Subway Masters crush on you? How they’d act when they catch a glimpse of you in the crowd? It was about time Cupid’s arrow struck these workaholic train men!

👉 Contains: SFW fluff, separate headcanons, Ingo x Reader, Emmet x Reader

🌙 I just wanted to write about how giddy the Subway Masters get every time they see their sweetie heart :)

🖤 ▵ 🔲 𝓘𝓷𝓰𝓸 🔲 ▵ 🖤

When love hits Ingo, it takes him a while to realize that these feelings aren’t purely platonic.

It’s either because he’s oblivious or inexperienced with romance.

Doesn’t matter though, because when he first starts to feel that pull towards you, he just knows that he always wants to be near you.

Ingo wants to be your friend so bad! But he didn’t know how to ask without it sounding like a business proposal.

Emmet had to ask for him and initiate the friendship. He was so forward with it, too. Ingo nearly pulled the breaks on the conversation because he was so red and flustered over how his brother put him in the spotlight like that.

Ingo thinks you’re cool. Your job? Interesting. Your stories? Pleasant to hear. Your Pokémon? Absolutely stunning and asks if you want to have a group play date.

Despite this all, he still manages to keep that frowny face. It’s kinda uncanny with him speaking nothing but goodness over you while wearing that frown but it’s charming.

Especially in the moments where his eyes softens and the ends of his lips curls upwards. Aren’t you lucky? His cat-like smile was only reserved for his family and close friends.

Every time he catches a glimpse of a color you frequently wear, his head immediately snaps up to see if it was you in the crowd.

His frown somehow deepens when it’s not you.

Ingo is such a gentleman! The type of guy to give you his coat on chilly days, open any doors for you and pull out chairs, keeping you close to him as he navigates through busy areas….

Basically, I’m a believer that’s he’s an old fashioned guy. An odd, old fashioned guy (and we love that <3)

Great man with great life advice. He’s got you when you need them (not for romantic advice lmao)

But like his speech, his advice includes heavy train analogy 🚂

If you’re sensitive to loud noises, he’ll make the effort to lower his voice around you.

Doesn’t realize that half the things he’s done for you can be considered romantic.

He really hopes that you will challenge the battle lines! If you make it to his cart, he would shower you and your team with loud praises and show you his best self when battling.

Ingo would even research your preferred Pokémon typing and interests. He’ll even give you advice of some strategies and be an active listener when you talk about your likes.

He would start to offer you potions and berries.

For a while, he puts up this friendly and professional front. He doesn’t want you to think less of him if you see his mask slip.

Like many, I headcanon him as the older twin, so he does harbor insecurities such as bottling his emotions to appear more “reliable” and feeling like it’s expected of him to make sacrifices for everyone.

If you offer him your shoulder to cry on and give him promises of being there for him, he would feel so relieved. It would touch him to know that you don’t mind him without his mask.

Mans so stiff. But he would like to slow dance with you.

He gets caught up in that daydream every time he catches the speakers playing classical or love songs at the station.

Keeps mental tabs on your favorites. Window shopping for Ingo will never be the same (He once stood outside of a display for twenty minutes debating whether or not he should get you an item he’d think you’d like.)

You’re just his favorite person (that isn’t his brother or Elesa)

As his feelings for you grow, he will call you by your name less and start picking up nicknames like “Dear” and “Dearest”. He did, on one occasion before confessing, let a “sweetheart” slip out. When you caught that, Ingo was not looking at you as he was busy hiding his red face behind his hat.

The day Ingo realized that friends shouldn’t be this affectionate and that he liked you, it hit him like a train.

Though, he accepted it quick, and changed tracks so he can see if there was a chance that you’d feel the same.

But by that point, his love for you grows to be too much. His heart yearns for yours, his soul aching to merge the tracks of life with yours.

With a pleasant restaurant marked down for later and his brother giving him a supportive slap on the back, Ingo faces you and in his own, loud, conductor-esque way, tells you how much he loves you. Do you feel the same?

🤍 ▿ 🔳 𝓔𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓽 🔳 ▿ 🤍

Love? Ha. No.

He acknowledges that you’re attractive. He acknowledges that he may harbor a crush on you.

But the minute Emmet feels his crush solidifying into an infatuation, he’s at war. He’s in denial about that.

Emmet loves to see your face, especially your smile with matching bright eyes.

He tries extra hard to be the main reason for your smile.

If you battle, most likely every time he sees you he’ll demand a battle. Get those handy dandy potions ready because he is still not going easy on you.

If anything, Emmet goes all out on your battles. An excuse to show off his skills and Pokémon. But if you lose, he doesn’t get in your face about it. He would praise both you and your Pokémon’s efforts and share some battling advice. He would also offer you potions and berries.

A favorite of his is spending time with you talking about strategies and both of your Pokémon teams. Think of all the combinations! Emmet would still enjoy it if you just listened to him as well.

Emmet also likes listening to you too! Your rambles are verrrry interesting!

Definitely look into your interests in his free time. He wants to be the best conversation person!

Also, gossip bestie. He likes a good gossip session 💅

Somehow, he always manages to spook you when he suddenly appears at your side. For someone with long strides, he’s pretty quiet.

It’s just that every time he spots you in the crowd, he immediately b-lines towards you. One time, it took Ingo ten minutes to realize that Emmet wasn’t walking with him anymore and had stop to talk with you.

Has a tendency to drag you around when he’s excited. Doesn’t realize it until you say something and completely do a 180. AKA, he completely removes himself from you and pretends that nothing happened.

Mans got a bad case of cuteness aggression. Why??? Are??? You??? so??? CUTE????

Replays your conversations in his head all day. Files any important details away in his mind for safe keeping. Emmet also tends to daydream about future conversations and how to wow you.

On that topic, also daydreams about successfully sweeping you off your feet.

He would like very much to go on different outings with you. It also just be a simple walk and it’s be enough for him.

When he gets offered sweets, instead of saving them for his brother, he would now offer them to you if you’d enjoy confectioneries (Ingo cannot know about this betrayal)

His signature smile does get a bit wobbly and rosey when he interacts with you.

Emmet also teases you. It can be by flirting or playful jabs. He likes to see all the expressions he can pull from you.

He’s very physically affectionate. Squishing your cheeks, full on hugs that squeezes the air out of your lungs, doing that hold holding thing where he swings your intertwined hands to match his strides.

Emmet would also respect it if you didn’t want to be touched. Last thing he wants to do is to make you uncomfortable.

You need an opinion? Emmet is as blunt and honest as an old woman. He will say that outfit does not look right and save you from a wardrobe malfunction. But he will tell you when something looks great.

His compliments are straightforward, you may end up with a red face.

His brutal honesty is also good for snapping you out of delulu land. He really doesn’t intend on making you feel bad, he just wants to help.

He doesn’t tell anyone, but when his feelings grow genuine, he has self-deprecating thoughts over how this friendship is an elaborate cruel prank of yours.

You can’t possibly enjoy his presence that much. Doesn’t he get annoying? Doesn’t he get too rude or too pushy with battles? Doesn’t his train talk get tiring?

Emmet thinks of himself as the weirder one of the twins. There’s not a lot of people approaching them with a genuine friendship, much less with him.

As the younger brother, he tends to downplay his misfortune and shut himself out when he’s going through something. He doesn’t want to add on any more burdens to Ingo.

But with you, you make him feel safe to act like himself. You make sure to let him know that he doesn’t need to cut out parts of himself to make you enjoy his company.

After hearing that, he decided that he can’t have you disappear from his life. You’re verrry important to him, now.

The Joltiks, man. You will find some stowaways on you, either by their own choosing or Emmet planting them on you.

Gets more starry eyed if you baby them like he would. The Joltiks are a testament to see if you’re a Real One.

Affectionately would call you “Dear”, “Darling”, or when you two are dating, “Baby”.

Emmet likes upbeat music. When he hears it, he feels like dancing. He imagines dancing with you and swinging you around and around.

Your giggles would be music to his ears. Don’t be shy now, he wants to hear how happy you are with him.

At some point, he comes to terms with the fact that he’s fallen in love with you. You, his friend that doesn’t shame him for being himself and being his rock.

There was no planning, no prolonging when he realizes this. Because when the two of you are enjoying a moment together, Emmet holds you close and tells you he loves you.

His pretty darrrling, would you like to be his?

[aroeddiediaz]

7x04 Coda

Sprained ankles hurt. Eddie shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by the pain, because he knows all too well that the amount of pain injuries feel like is almost inverse with the actual damage they cause. A shot from a sniper felt like almost nothing, while a stubbed toe sends ricochets up his spine.

But that’s nothing compared to the encroaching feeling of dread as Eddie thinks back on his interactions with Buck over the last two weeks, and what might have caused his best friend to lash out at him.

“I think we fucked up,” he grumbles to Tommy, who gives him a quick glance before returning his attention to the road.

“You mean with Evan?” Tommy says.

Evan. That was kind of weird, right? Eddie had only ever heard Buck’s sister and parents call him by his first name before. He’d only used the name once himself, when he told Buck about his will.

But Buck hadn’t corrected Tommy on it, so he must not mind, Eddie supposes.

Eddie shakes that stray thought away.

“Yeah,” he continues, even though talking kind of hurts right now. That didn’t seem fair, it’s Eddie’s ankle that’s injured, not his lungs. “I mean, with me kind of blowing him off to come to that karaoke night… and the UFC fight in Vegas… and the pickup game…”

Looking back on it now, Eddie’s not sure when it all got so out of hand. He and Tommy had hit it off on the Coast Guard ride back to LA, while Buck was off checking in with Bobby and Athena. He’d been so excited as they shared their similar interests and history- army, MMA, old cars- that he’d immediately made plans to hang out. When Tommy mentioned that he could get them rinkside tickets in Vegas, Eddie had jumped on it immediately. He didn’t even think about mentioning it to Buck.

And the babysitting thing… Eddie kind of wants to curl up thinking back to the strange face Buck had made when Eddie asked him to watch over Chris. Buck usually loved hanging out with Chris, even volunteering for it when Eddie mentioned having plans, so he didn’t think twice about asking it of him. He should have known.

“Ooh, yeah.” Tommy lets out a whistle. “We did fuck up, huh. Could have at least invited him to muay thai after the match.”

Eddie laughs a little, strained by the pain and the stirrings of shame. “Buck doesn’t know muay thai. Just boxing.”

“Yeah?” There’s a funny tone to Tommy’s voice. “Maybe we should teach him.”

Eddie does a careful rotation of his inflamed joint. The stretch does help ease the pain a little. “Maybe you should offer him lessons,” he says. “I’m gonna be out of commission for a little bit.”

Tommy glances at him again. A slightly longer one, with them stopped at a red light, kind of searching. “You think he’d be interested in learning from me?”

“Oh yeah. You’re great. And Buck’s a quick study for sure.” Eddie glances out the window, and sees the urgent care clinic sign just past the intersection. “Actually, you think you could do me a favor?”

The light turns green. Tommy drives forward. “Of course.”

“Could you talk to Buck for me?” Eddie asks. “I’m sure he’s feeling all sorts of guilty right now, and it’s not his fault. He just got a little too aggressive at the game.”

It’s really too bad. Buck’s really good at basketball, for someone who hates the game so much. Eddie’s sure he’ll never get Buck to touch a ball again.

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy says, slowly, as he pulls up into the parking lot. “If you’re sure you want me to speak with him.”

Eddie nods. “He’s probably licking his wounds at his loft right now, and he’ll need a bit of a kick in the pants before he comes to see me. I trust you.”

Tommy chuckles a little. “Alright, then. I’ll swing by his place in the morning, before my shift, check in on him for you.”

That’s a relief. They find a parking spot close to the clinic entrance, and Eddie hisses a little as he opens the door and swings his legs out. He needs to be more considerate of Buck’s feelings, going forward. He has the sinking feeling that he’s started to take him for granted.

He’ll have to pay him more attention.

[hisui-dreamer]

cook your way to your man's heart!

Characters: Deuce, Ruggie, Jade, Malleus

Synopsis: In which you decide to cook your guy's favourite food to condition them into liking you. Don't underestimate a person in love!

Tags: fluff, crack, reader is good at cooking, food is used as bribery, bot proofread

Word count: 766

Notes: inspired by this post

Disclaimer: this post is entirely light-hearted and as a PSA, please do not manipulate people.

Masterlist

this man adores you to bits

house-spouse material!!

every time he's so curious to see what you made for him

is it an egg sandwich? a quiche? an omelette? egg rolls?

he'll happily eat all of it, he loves your food!

refuses to share with anyone else unless it’s you

he finds you so endearing and he really appreciates the gesture

he would offer to cook with you or help you wash the dishes

before he knows it, he wants to always be close to you

walks you to school every morning, saves you a seat at lunch, etc.

when you tell him you made him food bc you liked him, he’ll be ecstatic

you put in all that effort for him?? that’s so sweet of you!

he wants to introduce you to his mom and see you two working in the kitchen together, his two most favourite people in the world

"Prefect, thank you so much for making me food!" Deuce says heartily. "Everything tastes amazing, you're so talented! I'm so happy to eat your cooking!"

oh he falls for it so bad

house-spouse material no.2!!

while he's careful with trusting people, he can't deny seeing you makes him so happy and he just can't resist the food

every time he sees you his tail is shaking in excitement

he has half a mind to wonder where you're getting the expenses from to keep making food for him

but hey how could he ever resist donuts?

he's so flattered and wants to repay you somehow

finds more opportunities to spend time with you in his busy schedule

works extra hard to earn thaumarks and get you some gifts

also he's always there for you if you need help

by the time he realises, he's head over heels in love with you

he can't say he minds, you're such a lovely person and you come with great food!

"Wow Prefect, are you trying to bribe me with donuts? I'm not that easy, ya know. Shishishi!" Ruggie laughs, his lips coated in chocolate. "But I gotta say, these donuts are awesome. You really know how to make a guy feel special. Thanks a ton, you're the best," he beams.

he's cautious when you start giving him food withouta good reason

he knows what you're up to fast

what else would you expect from a master manipulator like himself?

he'll play along though, only to enjoy your cooking

he does appreciate the effort you're putting in to make him happy by preparing his favorite food

even though he knows, he still finds himself looking forward to seeing what new dish you might bring

would it be octopus carpaccio? a toasted mushroom and egg sandwich?

he loves everything you make for him

eventually he'll find himself in love with you, but only willfully

by that point he'll start teasing you and play around with your expectations to keep you on your toes

truly a match made in heaven, two scheming dorks in love

but hey, all's fair in the game of love

"Why thank you, Prefect. Your thoughtfulness is truly appreciated," Jade says as he savors another bite. "This octopus carpaccio is quite exquisite. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to impart some of your culinary secrets to me? I would love learning from such a skilled cook." He's smiling but there's a certain glint to his eyes.

happy dragon noises

he's so in love with you omg

he was already interested to you when he met you in ramshackle

but one night you started offering him ice cream?

he's smitten

and you made it by yourself???

lilia's holding him back from marrying you instantly

he’ll find himself visiting you whenever he’s craving food or you

he's so fascinated by how ice cream is made and all the different flavours he can try

insert image of malleus furiously shaking a plastic bag with ice and cream in it

appreciates your determination and hard work in the kitchen so much

it makes him feel so valued and cared for

gives you all of his treasures to woo you and pays for all of the ingredients

and offers to help you in the kitchen, although you should keep a close eye on him if you don't want ramshackle burnt to the ground

Malleus smiles at you contently. "Might I express my sincerest gratitude, prefect? Your efforts to make my favorite food are not unnoticed, and I am deeply appreciative of your kindness," he says. "Your gifts are cherished, and I find myself drawn to your company more and more each day."

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[justwannabecat]

It was quiet. That suited Danny just fine. After all, he had endured enough to realize that noise often meant something was about to happen. Nowadays the only times he heard something that wasn’t caused by himself was if Cujo came to visit. The first time it happened, Danny was afraid he would have to fight again, but all they did was play for a while. The second time he welcomed it, same with every time thereafter.

He had plenty of time to stargaze. Nobody really visited the Antarctic, so it was perfect for him. Cold, quiet, and with no light pollution, so he could see every single star in the night sky. He could see the Southern Lights as they dance through the air, he could trace the paths of the planets as Earth rotates.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to explore. He wanted to see all there was to see, get lost in the endless cosmos, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know if his human half would survive that long without food. He didn’t want to find out.

Besides, Jazz was here. She was still on Earth, and as much as Danny wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Not while she was still here. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to visit her, to see the disappointment that would no doubt be clear in her eyes, he couldn’t completely abandon her.

As with every time he thought about Jazz, he briefly considered visiting her, but decided against it. If she really wanted to find him she could use the Boo-merang. The fact that it hadn’t happened yet was enough proof that his presence was unneeded.

Besides, why would he leave? He has a sick tower made out of unmeltable ice! It’s been furnished with things that, admittedly, he may have stolen, but only things that would have been destroyed soon anyways! He doesn’t cause any of the disasters that endanger so many pieces of furniture, but he’ll take advantage of it! You can only sleep on hard ice so many times before you realize how nice beds really are.

The point is, he doesn’t leave unless he has to. And since he’s furnished the place, he hasn’t had to leave once. It’s been like a slice of heaven- No ghosts to fight, no hunters to hide from, no insane billionaires who can’t decide whether to kill him or adopt him…

Danny looked up at the night sky again. He could see Acrux twinkling brightly overhead.

It was quiet.

———————————————

“I’ve got bad news and worse news.” Constantine announced at the next League meeting. “Bad news, beings from the Infinite Realms are, from this point forward, unable to be summoned. Wouldn’t be too bad if we weren’t trying to make peace negotiations with them, but we are, so it’s not great.”

Batman remained visibly impassive, though anyone who knew him could tell just how unsettled that made him. “And the worse news?”

Constantine sighed. “So… Before they blocked themselves off, I spoke to one of them. The Guardian of Time. He told me that, due to his perception of all time, he knew we would lose. Luckily he doesn’t want humanity to die, but he told me that Phantom ghost has a medallion in his chest that makes him immune to his abilities. As such, our one hope of survival could be anywhere by now. The only things he could tell us were that he’s probably not far from Earth, because he still has living relatives.”

Superman straightened up. “That doesn’t sound like it’s worse news. We know Phantom is near Earth and that he’s got relatives here. Surely he would go back to them, right?”

“Well. I didn’t really get to that part yet.” Constantine shifted uncomfortably. “You have to swear to not tell anyone who doesn’t already know. This is like people learning your civilian identities. If you ever try to use it against them, hell, even insinuate that you’re gonna use it, then they will kill you, and they won’t face punishment from their court because it’s technically self defense. Understand?”

Everyone readily agreed. After a second, Constantine continued.

“Phantom is Danny Fenton. He’s what the Guardian of Time called a Halfa, half ghost and half human. His parents are the ghost hunters who started this whole thing.”

Tag list: @random-dude12 @overtherose @osnii @profounddestinyrebel @currentlyalivebutmentlyd3ad @thatonegirl10 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @epilepticnerd @alcorbearson @hoarder-of-gender @sirtin @oddessy @naluforever3 @litlecameron @skulld3mort-1fan @nogenderonlyfrogie @screamingtofillthevoid @the-church-grimm @malice-of-the-sunrise @jaytriesstuff @legowerewolf @akikkobara @apointlessbox @midigeria @kumoko-yokai @antmeisteronion @lizz-blizt @anonymousf28 @keegan-parker @sailor-goddess @rowanaway-fromthisbs @yjfk @screechingnoises @myfloweryrose @derpxp @adeniumdream @56thingsinaname @demiourgias @alice-hazelwood @mur-ururu @blue-avis @rosecinnamonbun @babbling-babull @yumeyoruppr @haron-ghost-10 @icedbluesoul @busterkeel @cat-in-a-fedora @sadpersonmadeoffruitpunch

[ollimus-prime]

I adore your work :) I can only hope to be able to write as cleanly as you haha. I'm not sure if your comfortable writing starscream but if you happen to be okay with the idea maybe something similar to your jazz hands fics ? In the sense of him gaining his own personal human that he cares for?

I hope you have a great day :)

Oh My Stars

A/N, not important: BELIEVE IN YOURSELF NONNIE! ANYONE CAN WRITE LIKE THIS I'M NOT SPECIAL I PROMISE. Also I'm super comfy writing Starscream(not well, mind you). He's my favorite. Sorry if this isn't quite what you wanted, I'm not creative enough to come up with some way that Starscream would properly want a human without some alternate reason first. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Kidnapped reader, reader being dehumanized

Words: 1657

Summary: Starscream is forced to take care of you as a mockery of his failure to lead his troops. However, after a while, he soon realizes you're not as bad as he imagined.

Starscream shifts his wrist, testing the way his plating creaked and moved. It hadn’t taken too long to fix him after the beat down he faced under Megatron’s servos, but it was still an annoyance. He makes his way down the corridors of the ship, trying to avoid any of the ragged forms of the Decepticons he had been able to lead. Starscream gripes under his breath as he marches down, feeling bitter about the entire ordeal. Megatron had been right. Starscream was not fit to lead the Decepticons. 

He knew this long before Megatron had beaten the notion into him of course. Watching his soldiers slowly perish under his lead, watching them actively ignore his command even when he had the stupid Autobot matrix in his servos. It killed him, turning guilt and frustration into burning hate and resentment. Everything was so easy for Megatron. Everyone listened, everyone followed him with ease, everyone reveled in his words.

Starscream turns another corner, his wings hiked up and his teeth grinding against each other. He’ll find a way to make the Decepticons respect his authority. He has to. Starscream halts in place as he nears his quarters, narrowing his eyes at the large bot in front of him. Megatron looks at Starscream carefully, a cunning grin on his lip plates. Starscream could tell something was cupped in the warlord’s servos, but he couldn’t tell what it was just yet.

“Starscream.” He greets, taking a step forward towards his newly-repaired second in command. Starscream bristles, narrowing his optics in suspicion.

“Come to remind me of my failures once more, Megatron?” Starscream sneers, watching the reaction of his superior carefully. Megatron takes no care towards Starscream’s wounded pride, simply offering his loosely closed servo instead.

“In a way, yes.” 

Megatron’s callous answer agitates the jet even more, insults and complaints hot on the tip of his tongue. Now that Megatron had taken over once more, the humiliation of Starscream's failed attempts at leadership were starting to slowly slip away, leaving indignation in its place. All arguments were dead before they even got to be uttered when Megatron opened his palm, revealing one of the many organics that plagued Earth’s environment. Starscream reels back at the sight of you, his face scrunched and wings hiking.

“Why are you holding one of those pitiful creatures?” Starscream asks incredulously. Megatron rolls his optics, grabbing Starscream’s wrist and yanking him forwards. He drops the human unceremoniously into the jet’s open palm, only making sure he doesn’t immediately drop it before letting go.

“Because, Starscream, you and this creature seem to share that particular trait in common. Besides, you obviously need practice taking care in taking charge of something. I don’t have any more troops for you to diminish, so you get to practice with this organic instead.”

Starscream’s face remains taut in disgust, inspecting the trembling human in his servo. They were covered in some lumpy white suit, their face obscured by the large helmet. He huffs, looking back up at Megatron. “I really don’t think this is necessary.”

“On the contrary, my dear commander.” Megatron taunts, looming over the smaller mech. “You clearly can’t take care of anything other than yourself. This organic will help you learn how. Do not let its life extinguish.”

Megatron waits for Starscream’s pained acknowledgement before stalking off and leaving him with the unwanted creature. Starscream scowls at you as you cower in his open palm. He didn’t want you.

Squaring his shoulders and trying to repress the shudder going down his spinal struts, Starscream makes his way into his quarters and quickly drops you onto his desk. He wipes his servo on a rag nearby, grumbling obscenities under his breath. You were the last thing he needed right now. He didn’t want you. You were a pathetic creature that would only cause further humiliation for him amongst the ranks. He can’t take care of a human! He only knew they were fragile and squashed easily, something he has been able to take advantage of many times before.

Starscream walks through his quarters, moving to the controls of his room in the ship and stabilizing the air in the room. He taps his pede on the ground as he watches the dial slowly turn to indicate the room was gradually filling up with a viable mixture of gasses so you wouldn’t immediately perish under his watch. He can hear you moving behind him, but pays no mind for the moment. Unless you were completely moronic, which was possible in admittance, he wasn’t worried you’d be able to do anything drastic so soon.

Once the air is breathable to your kind, he turns back around to address you and watches you scurry behind his pile of datapads. Starscream moves closer, unamused to your antics. He picks up the pile and moves it to the side, staring your tiny form down.

“I am going to keep you alive,” he grits out, more a promise to himself than to you. “I will show Megatron I can lead. I will pass this idiotic test. You will flourish under my care, do you understand me human?!”

He watches you stare back at him in fear, his spark swelling in pride. At least something was able to listen to him and respect what he had to say. Starscream settles down in the chair to his desk, poking at your helmet and suit. Your meager protests amuse him as he messes with you. At least you were entertaining.

The next few months of having you were rough. He had forgotten to feed you multiple times or gave you food inadequate for your health. Your many tiny needs annoyed him to no end and he contemplated ‘accidentally’ getting rid of you many times. It was always Megatron’s smug face that made him stick it out in the end. Starscream refused to let him win this, to let him see that he couldn’t even take care of such a pitiful creature. He had kept you alive and well enough out of pure spite at this point.

Starscream held you in his servos as the meeting drones on, rubbing your stomach gently to keep you quiet. It was commonplace for him to be holding you at these now, especially after your last attempt to escape while he was gone. None of the high command was worried about your current knowledge of the Decepticon’s plans considering there was very little you could do about it. Even if you escaped, there were no Autobots who would know to find you for information.

Your small protests of distress call his attention, interrupting Shockwave’s current report of his findings. Megatron glances at Starscream, watching as he tries to shush you.

“Something the matter, Starscream?”

“I squished it,” Starscream grumbles, shifting you in his servo so he wasn’t gripping you so tightly anymore. He gravely hopes you get the hint and shut up. Megatron watches Starscream deal with you for a moment more before reaching over and plucking you from his servos, holding you up to his face like a lame kitten. Starscream balks, his spark tightening at seeing you in Megatron’s grasp. He grits his teeth and watches Megatron inspect you, trying to repress the urge to snatch you back. You were his human. Megatron had no right to take you like that.

“I had it! Give them back!” Starscream growls, having a difficult time remaining somewhat respectful. Megatron ignores the huffy jet, inspecting the creature in his servos.

“Enough of your prattling, Starscream. If you can’t control your pet, you can’t hold it. Continue, Shockwave.”

Starscream fumes in his seat as Shockwave picks back up where he left off, his wings twitching periodically. He didn’t like you in Megatron’s servos. He didn’t trust Megatron not to damage you, or to break what little trust you had put in him. He wanted you back. He wanted you.

Starscream tensed as that thought came to mind, his tanks churning uncomfortably. He shoved that thought away as fast as it came, refusing to think on it again. You were an organic. A squishy, pathetically adorable organic. His organic. Starscream seethes in his seat as he watches you being poked and prodded by Megatron, vigorously waiting for the meeting to end so he could whisk you back to the safety of his quarters. When Shockwave wraps up and Megatron dismisses the meeting, Starscream stays put. He stares daggers into Megatron, waiting for him to hand you back. He seethes as he realizes Megaton is making no effort to.

“If we’re done here, I’ll be taking my squishy back now.” Starscream says shortly, holding his servo out. Megatron glances at Starscream’s open servo in amusement.

“So eager to get your little pet back I see,” he muses, clearly trying to provoke the seeker. Starscream seethes, trying to not let his agitation show on his face.

“I have work to be doing. If I leave them out here, they’ll most likely be stepped on. I’ve already trained this one, as well as they can be at least.”

Megatron hums in thought, dropping you carelessly back into Starscream’s servo. The seeker quickly pulls you close, dropping you off on his shoulder to keep you out of the way of wayward hands. He doesn’t bother waiting for anything else from Megatron before he storms out, his stress levels rising immensely until he’s safe back in his room. As soon as the door closes, you’re back in the ‘safety’ of his servos as he looks you over, checking for any damage to your fragile form. He can hear your griping and complaints but doesn’t pay them any mind, focused fully on your current well being.

His newfound attachment to you was worrying, especially since Megatron had probably realized it as well. Starscream sighs, cupping your small body to his chest. He had to find a way to keep you safe.

[blenselche]

insert for ch2

"Finn, come on."

background items: Marcy Acoustic set poster from Scream Queens, Fern's leaves pressed between glass, Finn's Candy Kingdom diplomat pin, the cash he won in a bet in the comic Marcy & Simon, the dimensional sword, root sword. I wanted to add more but thought it'd get too busy.

closer view and excerpt under the cut

He finds himself before the sink, mussing up his oily hair and disheveled beard to rid himself of wood chips, splashing water over his face and coughing after breathing deep off a stale cigarette. The cherry fizzles back at him against the aluminum as he taps it off into an empty. He tugs at the bottom of his eyelid — the whites of his eyes are yellowing again. Pressing his forehead to the mirror and staring at his reflection he sees Martin's eyes, jaw and brow. He sees his maladjusted view, understands now what he meant, in the end.

He can't look in a mirror without seeing the man staring back at him, and it only gets worse with age.

“You’re fine. Today was just a bad day,” he recites just as he’s been told to, loyal tool of the kingdom that he is, a coping mechanism PB calls self affirmation. He leans back, scoffing, “in a long line of bad days.”

His feet carry him to the stump set before his wood stove, and the air toasts his frozen fingers and melts away the pins and needles in the skin that his port connects to. Anxiety bubbles its way up his esophagus and he drowns it with a long pull off his homebrew, eyes flickering from the bottle to his prosthetic, foot tapping furiously. He sighs and gives into the itch at the back of his brain, taking the wish out and reading it over again, biting more teeth marks into a pencil already shredded down to the lead.

It’s something to look forward to. Something he can put off, hoping ‘it gets better’ but it hasn’t and he’s almost certain it won’t. A morbid form of motivation to get more built, work harder, save more people, hoping against hope he’ll wake up happy before he has to spirit himself away. But none of it matters without fulfillment, sat alone and suffocating under his own melancholy in this empty space, only a facsimile of a loved one on his chest for company. He wants to see his brother, he wants to see his mom. He wants from the bottom of his being to go back and smack himself for being dumb, deaf and blind in the face of his own wants and needs. He hunches more in on himself and clutches it harder, it crinkles back at him, threatening another rip.

Slim, sage colored fingers enter his vision and pluck the precious slip of writing from his hand.

“I’ll give it back if you clean yourself up and go to bed.”

“I have it memorized,” he sighs. “I thought you believed in nihilism, anyway, Miss nothing matters and the wind makes my decisions.” Their eyes meet and he can’t help himself but to smile, though it doesn’t reach the rest of his face.

“I believe in natural predeterminism inscribed on our souls by our great earth mother, not in being a sad sack with whisky dick.”

“Ouch. My ego,” he drones, throwing his palm to his chest in faux hurt. “Like I’m disappointing anyone these days. Cot’s closed, sweetheart.”

“So not why I’m here.” She rolls her eyes and holds her hand out, motioning for the bottle.

“If you crack it open against my floor you owe me a face cord of firewood.” He hands it over by the neck and she takes a fifth straight, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove and gagging. “Christ, bad day?”

“Not yet.” She sighs deeply, clearing her throat of the burn and takes a seat on the floor next to him. “You’re going to be pissed with me. I thought saying anything would just upset you, but you’re still set on doing this,” she waves the wish in her hand, “so. It might help. I don’t know.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice drops decibels, adam’s apple bobbing as he gruffly clears his throat.

“I swear to you I didn’t keep this from you on purpose.” She huffs a sigh and peers up at him guiltily. “You know, Fern crashed in my woods with LSP, but we never spoke. Not until the war.”

“…” his breath gets caught in his lungs, burning.

“I forgot. There was so much going on, back then.” She blinks at him, brows steepled, and covers his hand with her own. “What he said— when I did remember I thought it would just break your heart all over again, so I’ve kept it to myself.”

His hackles raise and defensiveness floods his veins, skin hot and starting to prick with nervous sweat. “Excuse me?” he asks, resistive.

Her eyes hold his though, expression full of pity unchanged. “Finn. Come on.” Her thumb brushes against his knuckles and he shakes her off.

His anger speaks for him, misplaced and protective of his brittle heart. “It’s been a decade and you think I’m like this over some kid I knew for half a minute when we were teenagers?”

“He wasn’t just some kid, I‘ve seen you- you know. Lurking in his tree. It’s a contributing factor in your whole bummer lifestyle because you never processed his death. Or are we still pretending that he has nothing to do with us?” Her voice is gentle but firm, not entertaining his usual evasiveness.

“I'm not doing this,” he snaps, shutting down. He stands and walks to the door, holding it open even though the cold night air will chill the space again. “I am sorry, ‘Tess, for— for whatever you think you know. I can’t rehash it. I’ve buried that shit deep, and it’s gonna stay there.”

“I asked him what he was fighting for. He was dying, falling apart under me, I was just trying to keep him distracted," she barrels ahead anyway. “He looked me in the eye and said ‘same as you.’ Maybe he opened up to me because of what was happening to him, or because he knew we had— you in common, I’m not sure.” She looks at him with such compassionate sympathy that it makes him nauseous. “He adored you, Finn—“ his knees buckle, “—he said he was happy to die for you if it meant he could 'make up for everything that happened after you left him behind’.” She stands and reads the wish, scrutinizing. “If you truly need to do this to be happy… knowing that can’t hurt.”

How he’s able to remain upright he doesn’t know, but a flash of devastation covers his face before he can recover.

“Please, don’t tell me his business,” he rasps, voice wavering. “I can’t,” he begs, croaking out the words through the raw vice of emotion choking him. “I can’t think about it.” He closes his eyes, pleading with his whole body.

He feels a hand brush against his cheek, and her lips press to his softly, whispering “I’ll miss you.”

When he opens his eyes again she’s gone. Bottle and paper placed neatly on his stool. He closes the door and leans against it, hugging himself and breathing hard, face hot with upset. The more he tries to calm himself the closer he comes to hyperventilating, and when the tears start his breathing only worsens. He crams his fist against his mouth and takes a shuddering gasp in, close to wailing over it.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.10

Hii guyss, here's part 10 of the story if you've missed part 9. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The next morning, you find yourself sitting at a café with Kika, catching up over some coffee. As the conversation shifts, you decide to tell her about Charles’s invitation to the Grand Prix in Austin.

“So, uh… Charles invited me to the next race,” you say casually, trying to sound nonchalant.

Kika’s eyes widen with excitement. “Wait, what? That’s amazing!” she exclaims, practically bouncing in her seat. “You have to go!”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. “I don’t know, Kika… I have school, and I don’t want to be a bother. Plus, it’s Charles’s race. He’s got enough to focus on without me tagging along.”

Kika shakes her head, waving off your concerns. “Are you kidding? If he invited you, it means he wants you there. Trust me, you’re not a bother. And besides, how many chances do you get to travel with an F1 driver to a race like this? You need to go!”

Her words echo in your mind, and though you’re hesitant, you can’t deny how exciting it all sounds. “I guess I could ask him if he’s really sure,” you say, pulling out your phone.

You draft a quick message to Charles:

Hey, Charles. About your invite to Austin… Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother, especially since it’s such a big weekend for you.

You send it and wait, nerves bubbling in your stomach. Kika leans in, watching you with a grin on her face. “I bet he’ll respond in no time.”

Moments later, your phone buzzes, and you see Charles’s name flash on the screen:

Of course, I’m sure! I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you there. I could really use your support. It would mean a lot to me.

You feel a warmth spread through you as you read his response. His sincerity is clear, and you can’t help but smile. “He says he wants me there,” you say, showing Kika the message.

“See? I told you!” Kika beams. “You have to go.”

You hesitate for just a moment before typing your reply:

Okay, I’ll come with you to Austin.

Charles replies almost instantly, and you can feel his excitement through the screen: That’s great! I’m looking forward to it. It’s going to be fun, I promise.

With the decision made, you feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness about the trip. You put your phone away just as Kika gives you an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have the best time, trust me.”

Later that afternoon, you get a call from Arthur, and his familiar voice brings an instant smile to your face. “Hey, want to hang out today? I’ve got nothing going on.”

“Sure, I’d love to,” you reply. You agree to meet at his place, and before long, you’re lounging on his couch, chatting about your week.

Everything feels normal, easy—until you mention the trip to Austin.

“So… I’m going to the race with Charles next week,” you say cautiously, watching Arthur’s reaction.

He goes quiet for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly, though he tries to mask it. “Oh, are you?” he says, keeping his tone light, but you can tell something is bothering him.

You nod. “Yeah, he invited me, and I thought it would be fun. I haven’t traveled in a while, and it would be nice to support him.”

Arthur forces a smile, though you notice his hand grips the edge of the couch a little tighter. “Right. I mean, it’s a big race for him, so it makes sense he’d want you there.”

There’s something in his voice that makes you feel uneasy, and you can’t help but feel bad. Arthur has always been your best friend, and the last thing you want is for him to feel like you’re drifting away. “Arthur, are you okay? You seem… off.”

He exhales, leaning back against the couch, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “It’s just… I don’t know. I feel like Charles is always taking you away from me. It’s like he gets everything he wants, and now you’re spending more time with him.”

His words hit you hard, and your heart aches. You hadn’t realized Arthur felt this way, and the last thing you want is to hurt him. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. I’m not choosing him over you. It’s just… he invited me, and I thought it could be fun, but it doesn’t mean we’re not going to hang out.”

He looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the hurt is still there. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

You shake your head, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise. When I get back, we can spend as much time together as you want. We can have more movie nights, cook together, whatever you want.”

Arthur’s eyes soften, though you can tell he’s still not completely satisfied. But he nods, accepting your words. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You smile, feeling relieved that you’ve at least eased some of his concerns. But as the evening goes on, there’s still a lingering tension in the air—one that you can’t quite shake. You can only hope that things will go back to normal after the trip.

Part 11

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly

[gayou01]

Astrology observations I made pt 6 (SPICY EDITION)

DISCLAIMER- Placements will not play out the same way for everyone and having challenging placements + aspects does not mean that you are a bad person or that you will have a bad life

-men with cancer mars tend to be very much into boobs and prefer to finish inside their partner, not on them. They may also have a breeding and pregnancy kink

-people with mars in Leo tend to have praise kinks and exhibitionist tendencies. If your partner’s a leo mars, let them know how great they’re doing and how good they look

-even if sex with a Capricorn mars is “vanilla”, they’ll be the one dominating in the bedroom and will make it known to you. They rarely play bottom for anybody

-ask a libra mars man what his favorite position is and I’ll bet he’ll mention a position where he gets to stare at and play with his partner’s butt. Libra mars are very much into butts

-Sagittarius mars natives will try anything at least once and so will Pisces mars natives, except the latter is less likely to initiate it. Also people with mars in Sagittarius are more likely to have sexual encounters with people from outside of their hometown, culture, race, country, etc

-Mars in the 3rd house or mars aspected to Mercury can indicate the native being into dirty talk and reading a lot of smut

-people with Scorpio mars and/or Lilith tend to really enjoy giving and receiving oral

-Lilith or Mars in the 11th house or in Aquarius can indicate having (or wanting to have) friends with benefits and not easily getting emotionally attached after sleeping with someone

-People with Scorpio mars or mars in the 8th house may practice (or be fascinated with) BDSM. They also tend to enjoy being blindfolded or blindfolding their partner

-Mars or Lilith in Taurus can indicate being into choking during sex. I guess giving oral can also apply here since Taurus rules the throat

-Both Aries and Leo mars may be into hair pulling and leaving marks (hickeys, scratches, etc). Aries mars tend to approach sex in a rougher, more forward way than Leo though

-People with mars in Pisces have an innocent, almost virginal vibe to them even if they aren’t virgins. That innocent vibe is the reason people want a piece of them and fantasize about what it would be like to be in bed with them