#I thought I sent this like yesterday when I finished the moodboard but apparently not

[nicos-oc-hell]

College AU for Jimena x Jebron? 👀🫶🏻🤍

Their worlds collide when Jimena, a junior fashion major, in an effort to broaden her perspectives and fulfill a general education requirement, enrolls in an environmental science course. Jimena finds herself struggling to keep up with the rigorous academic demands of the class. Recognizing her need for assistance, she seeks out tutoring services offered by the university.

This is how she meets Jebron, the senior environmental law major who serves as her tutor. Their sessions begin strictly focused on coursework, with Jebron helping Jimena navigate the complexities of environmental science. This eventually leads to them getting closer mostly due to Jebron making snide remarks about how her fabrics could be more environmentally friendly and Jimena retorting with “Is that why your clothes look terrible? Did you choose environmentally friendly fabrics over fashionable clothes?”

After a lot of arguing about different opinions in fashion and environmentally friendly fabrics, Jimena and Jebron start a collaborative project to make eco-friendly fashionable clothing. Amidst late-night study sessions, coffee shop debates, and collaborative projects, their friendship deepens, hinting at the possibility of something more.

[moonstruckholland]

Happy Birthday? (p.p)

(the gif has nothing to do with the fic, I was just too lazy to make a moodboard 😂)

Word count: 2,284

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, hella fluff

A/N: This is my submission for @farfromhaz and @angelhaz11's writing challenge! Go send them some love! Anyways, here's writing number two of the night! I really hope you guys like it! Definitely feel free to send any and all feedback, it would make my spooky day even happier 🧡 (I'm technically late but it's still Halloween somewhere so shhhh it's okay)

Sharing your birthday with your favorite holiday, even if it was Halloween, wasn't always as fun as everyone would assume.

Believe it or not, people actually forgot your birthday. You couldn't fully blamed them, Halloween was amazing. What could compare to the candies, scary movies, and fun costumes? Definitely not your measly little birthday parties, especially as you grew older and everyone was trading in trick or treating for Halloween parties that went on for hours into the night.

But you couldn't lie and say it didn't hurt your feelings growing up when you walked into your classroom expecting just one "Happy birthday" and instead getting, "Happy Halloween!" followed by a "Oh, it's your birthday isn't it?"

It hurt your little child heart so much, you decided at the age of 9 to stop telling people your birthday and pretended it already passed whenever someone asked. It was dumb looking back on it now that you were an adult, but back then it seemed like the only reasonable solution.

The only person at school who knew your birthday was your best friend and crush of many years, Peter Parker. You didn't tell him purposely, he stumbled into your apartment window one night in high school, bleeding and in a daze, and you were getting ready for a birthday dinner.

"You look really nice, can I ask where you're going?" He voice was raspy as you cleaned the cuts on his face.

"You don't get to ask questions when you've been hiding the fact that you're freaking Spider-Man."

He decided to keep quiet for a while, not wanting to push you. You waited until he looked less like death to say something.

"It's my birthday," you mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"It's your birthday? And you didn't tell me? I'm your best friend!"

"Don't start with me Spider-Boy," you glared at him for moment before softly adding, "I haven't told anyone in years."

"Why?"

"Everyone would forget, so I figured no one can forget if they don't know, saves me from being stressed."

"Well, now that I know, I'm never going to forget."

You rolled your eyes, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Parker."

He kept his promise, making a big deal of your birthday every year. One year he snuck you out of your apartment at night and swung you around the city, showing you places you hadn't known existed.

Another year, he brought you to a halloween party at the Stark tower. You never thought you'd see Captain America wish you a happy birthday personally, but it was one of the greatest experiences of your life.

It honestly didn't matter what he did, the fact that he cared and bothered to remember is what made it truly special. You were sure as long as Peter was in your life, you'd always have a special birthday.

Well, maybe not this year. So far today was the worst birthday of your life.

You woke up very late, apparently forgetting to set your alarm the night before. You rushed to throw on clothes and get as decently presentable as you could rushing to make it to your midterm.

“If you’re late, don’t bother showing up,” you could hear your professor’s shrill voice as you practically sprinted to your car.

You drove to class like you were in one of the fast and the furious movies, definitely breaking at least one law in the process. Luckily for you, the roads seemed to be empty, one gift from the universe. You knew if Peter weren’t already in class, he’d probably be with you right now, chastising you for your horrible driving,

‘I could really use Peter right now, swinging to school would be much faster.’

It was then that you realized Peter hadn't sent you his usual good morning happy birthday text he always sent, in fact you hadn't heard from him at all since you threw your into studying yesterday. You stomach clenched with worry for a second before you quickly pushed it aside, remembering you had to run to class.

You made it to your statistics class with minutes to spare, barely. You would’ve felt relieved, except the second you sat down to pull out your materials, you came to the realization you left the cheat sheet your professor allowed you to bring in your folder, laying on the exact spot you put it before passing out last night.

‘Fuck,’ you wanted cry. That dumb piece of paper was your key to passing this test and it was at home. You obviously had no choice but to take the test, so you told convinced yourself the studying you did last night would be enough, trying your best to think positively.

You didn't fail, but you definitely didn't get the grade you wanted. After more than an hour of answering questions, working them out on your scrap paper, you ended it with a 72. You beat yourself up about it the whole way home. The only thing you were looking forward to was seeing Peter and your lovely roommate Casey, and the delicious chocolate chip cookies she made just for you.

You couldn't help smiling as you heard Peter laughing from down the hall. You often came home to Peter already there, a perk that came with giving him a key, making food or literally hanging from the ceiling while studying.

"At least he always keeps me on my toes," you mumbled under your breath, wondering how you'd find him this time as you unlocked your door.

Much to your surprise, he was just sitting on the couch, Mean Girls playing in the background as he played what looked like some sort of star wars game on his phone.

“Hey, Pete!” you called out, closing the door behind you.

“Hey,” he barely looked at you, too into his game.

Taking a seat beside him, you sighed dramatically, laying your head on his shoulder while you waited for him to pay attention to you. That didn't happen for another 15 minutes and you wondered how he could be so into a game that he couldn't even play on one of the many game consoles Mr. Stark has bought him over the years.

"So," he said after finally putting his phone down, "What's the plan for today?"

"Oh, um, I thought maybe we'd swing through the city and go to our little spot?"

"I was thinking we'd do something different?"

"Like what?" You were suddenly filled with excitement, knowing Peter always came up with the best plans.

"You know that cute girl from down the hall? She invited me to one of the sorority parties and I thought we'd go together."

"You and the girl from down the hall?"

"No, silly," he nudged you gently, "You and me."

The excitement started to slowly fade away as you realized he was being serious, he wanted to go to a Halloween party, he probably wanted to meet up with the cute girl, he forgot your birthday.

"Um, sure! Sounds good." You gave him your best fake smile, trying not to cry on the spot.

He didn't seem to notice, going on about the exam he took a couple of hours ago. You nodded at the appropriate timing, making it seem like you were fully invested, and you wanted to me, but you were so hurt you could barely focus.

Eventually, Peter got up to leave and you hated to even think it, but you were relieved. Until you heard his goodbyes.

"I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, practically pushing him out the door.

"Oh, and tell Casey her cookies were delicious."

"What cookies?"

"Her famous chocolate chip ones."

You sighed, "Did you at least save me one?"

You knew his answer from the look on his face, the immediately blush coloring his cheeks and the way his eyes wouldn't meet yours.

"I'm sorry! I forgot! She can make more, right?"

'That isn't the only thing you forgot, Peter.'

Now you weren't sure if you wanted to cry or lunge at him, but Peter was out the door and down the hall before you could do either.

Closing the door behind you, you decided to settle for the former, tears spilling down your cheeks instantly. A part of you hoped Peter was just messing around and would knock on your door any second now, telling you it was all a joke and he would never forget your birthday.

But as more and more time passed, you knew he genuinely forgot.

You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt, tried giving him a chance to realize his mistake. Hours later, when he came to pick you up, it didn't seem like that was going to happen either.

He greeted you at the door like nothing, "Do you like my costume?"

Even upset with him, you couldn't help laughing as he twirled in his Spider-Man suit. "Again, Peter?"

"What? You can't go wrong dressing up like Spider-Man!"

You agreed with him, though you still hoped he was only joking about the party.

He wasn't, he swung the two of you a block away from the sorority house. You could practically smell the booze from there.

'He really brought me to a party.'

You tried making the best out of it, flirting with cute guys and girls, but it wasn't much fun considering most of them were so drunk, they could barely speak properly. And you knew regardless of how much you flirted, there was only one guy you were actually interested in.

So, after an hour and half of torture, you found yourself outside, playing games on your phone while you waited for Peter on the steps.

He came out not long after, sitting beside you, "Are you having fun?"

You barely looked at him, "No, not really."

"Y/n?" He put his arm around your shoulder, "What's wrong?"

"Everything? From the second I woke up this day has been so shitty, I left my notes and tanked my test, you ate the last cookie, which was mine, by the way," you took a moment to pull away and glare at him.

"Then you brought me here, and what hurts the most is my best friend forgot my birthday," you voiced cracked as you finished your sentence, betraying the cool composure you were trying to keep.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but you honestly didn't want to hear an explaination, you just wanted to go home and leave this day behind you, "It's okay, just take me back to my place?"

He didn't object, looking around for any witnesses before throwing on his mask, picking you up and swinging away.

You didn't open your eyes on the way home, you instead pretended it was a normal night filled with fun and dumb you and Peter things.

'Like it should've been.'

When Peter finally set you down, you were not on the fire escape by your bedroom window. You were on the roof of your building, twinkle lights and candles everywhere. There were tables full of your favorite food, and one had the most beautiful birthday cake you had ever seen.

Peter pulled off his mask, "Did you really think I would forget?"

"I-" you were speechless, he was messing with you.

"It's not over yet," he smiled, "You can come out now."

Instantly, all of your friends and family popped out from underneath the tables, yelling out "Surprise!"

You were immediately flooded by your loved ones, everyone wishing you happy birthday and showering you with love. You were overwhelmed with happiness, tears of joy falling down your cheeks for the first time that night. You couldn't believe Peter did all of this for you, and managed to trick you.

You let yourself have actual fun. It was much easier considering everyone was coherent, plus you were once again blessed by the presence of the avengers. It was hard not to have fun when Thor and Tony were around.

Later on, you snuck away, finding Peter and pulling him to the side. You smacked his arm the second you were alone.

"You ass! I can't believe you did this!"

"I couldn't let this be a boring birthday!"

You rolled your eyes, "You couldn't at least tell me happy birthday?"

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, "I wanted to pull a sixteen candles moment."

"And what was that with the party?"

"You had to be distracted while Casey baked your cake."

You shook your head, "You really thought of everything, huh? It's perfect, Peter. Thank you."

"I, um, actually have one more thing for you."

"No gifts! This was already amazing."

"Well," he blushed, looking down at his feet, "It's more of a question."

"Okay..."

"Would you maybe want to go out on a date?" He asked so quickly, you almost didn't catch the question.

'Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,' was all that ran through your head.

"Or not! That's okay too, it's just Mr. Stark told me you liked me and I should make a move because I've liked you for years," Peter rambled.

Your heart literally melted at his words. He's liked you for years? And you didn't know? How stupid could the two of you be?

"Peter," you took his hand in yours, "I would love to go on a date with you."

"You would?"

"Absolutely," this time you looked away shyly, "I've liked you for a while too."

He smiled brightly, letting out a little sigh of relief.

It was right then you knew nothing would be able to top this, it was truly the best birthday ever.

Tagging: @fangirlwithasweettooth @bravest-at-heart @ravenclawmarvel @rachramblesstuff @angelhaz11 @fairytaleparker @parkerpuff @arielweasley @devildisguiseasangel​ @nedthegay​ @parkeroffline​ @petersmparker​ @lovinnholland​ @tomhollandsumbrella​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @officiallyunofficialperson​ @babebenhardy​ @sleepybesson​ @its-the-unknownspidey​ @antoouu​ @petersstarcadet​ @thollandx​ @xxxxdelenaxxxx​ @smexylemony​ @kxrtwxgner​ @styles-balor4eva​ @80sthottie​ @meghan-8520xx​ @marshyrebelcloud​

[woodelf68]

Young, But Growing

Belated fill for @sifkiweek2020‘s week four prompt “fluff”. With thanks to @otterskin, for furry-faced inspiration. (Note: Sif and Loki are around 13-14 Midgardian years old here.)  On AO3 | Moodboard

----- 

Odin waited until everyone was nearly finished with their breakfasts before addressing his eldest son.

“Thor, you’ll be with me this morning.”

Thor paused with a sausage halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“I spoke to your tutor yesterday, and he felt, and I agree, that you would benefit from some more hands-on instruction in the act of government.”

“But – “ Thor looked at Loki helplessly, then back at their father. “Loki and I were going to go riding to the lake today.”

“The lake will still be there another day.”

“What about me, Father?” Loki looked interested. “Will you want me, too?”

Odin smiled at his youngest. “Your tutor assured me you have an excellent grasp of the topics you’re covering without the need for any extra help.”

Thor scowled, predictably, but Odin was surprised to see Loki’s face fall in disappointment instead of looking pleased by the praise. “What is it, Loki? Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Loki did his best to smooth out his expression, but then, spurred by the fact that his father had actually both noticed and asked, impulsively continued. “It’s just that it’s funny that Thor does poorly and he gets to spend more time with you; while I do well and I do not.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “As I said, it’s no matter.”

Odin looked at him silently for a minute. It hadn’t escaped his notice that his boys were growing up – Thor’s latest growth spurt had put him on eye level with Odin himself, and Loki wasn’t far behind, all slim long limbs with the promise of future height – and that perhaps he ought to take advantage of Loki still being young enough to want to spend time with him.

Loki fidgeted under the scrutiny. “Really, it – “

“If you would care for a lesson in battle tactics,” Odin said, interrupting him. “Then I will be available for a game of hnefetafl after dinner.”

Loki’s face lit up so brilliantly that Odin couldn’t hide his own answering smile in his beard.

“I would like that.” Loki beamed at him. “Thank you, Father.”

“And don’t worry,” Odin added affectionately. “You’ll get your turn at learning the very boring daily duties involved in running Asgard one day, too.” His tone turned dry.  “There are more than enough to go around, Norns know.”

Frigga laughed. “So what are your new plans for the day, Loki?” she asked, feeling a surge of fondness towards her husband.

“Might still go riding, I suppose. Take a book and find a nice spot to read.” He looked at Thor, who still looked put out. “You can tell me about your day later, Thor; you might get to do something interesting.”

“All right.” Thor perked up. “I suppose it’ll be better than books and lectures if I get to actually do something.”

—

Loki exited the palace a short while later, a book and a few provisions for lunch stowed safely away in his interdimensional pocket. It was a bit of magic that he’d only recently mastered and was still thrilled with. He saw Sif sitting on a low stone wall, idly drumming her heels and keeping an eye on everyone exiting the palace. As soon as she saw him she jumped down, smiling.

“Loki!” When no one emerged from the palace behind him, her brows drew down, puzzled. “Where’s Thor?”

“Father kept him behind this morning. Apparently our tutor had some words to say about Thor’s less than exemplary classroom performance and Father is going to try to drum some lessons into Thor’s thick skull via a different approach.”

“Oh. Well, where are you going? Do you want to spar?”

“No, I do not. I’m going for a ride.”

Sif fell into step beside him as he continued walking in the direction of the stables, her ponytail swinging behind her. “Can I come?”

Loki considered. “I don’t see why not.”

They made their way to the stables and proceeded to tack up their horses. Thor’s stallion drummed his hooves against his stall door, demanding attention, and Loki consoled him for being left behind by offering an apple from the barrel that was kept to provide treats for the horses. Drawn by the commotion, Sleipnir gave a bugling neigh from further along the aisle to remind Loki that he, too, existed and Loki fetched an apple for him as well. “Yes, hello,” Loki said affectionately, scratching the thickly muscled grey neck as the apple was lifted gently from his palm.  Sleipnir munched it happily, ears pricked forward, watching Loki out of one brown eye.  “You’d like to come along, wouldn’t you? Thor and I will have to get Father to come riding with us one day.“ One of Loki’s earliest memories was of being lifted up atop Sleipnir into his father’s waiting arms, and how the ground had looked so very far away. But his father had been a steady, solid presence behind him in the saddle, one arm securely wrapped around Loki’s waist, and Loki had been nothing but thrilled with how high up he was.  He smiled and gave Sleipnir a final pat before returning to his own bright chestnut mare, who was as quick and spirited as her eight-legged sire, even if she only had the usual number of legs. He led her to the entrance of the stables, where Sif was waiting with her black, and they both swung up into the saddles to the accompaniment of creaking leather and jingling harness.

“Where to?” she asked.

“Thor and I were going to go to the lake,” Loki said. It was a beautiful day, a fresh, cool breeze stirring the manes and tails of the horses and keeping the sun from being overwarm.  He had thought about staying closer to home, but with a companion along, the longer ride appealed again.

“Sounds good to me.” Sif touched her heels to her horse’s sides, and her mare stepped smartly out into the yard.

Loki followed suit, moving easily with his horse as they rode out into the city’s streets side by side. As they passed through the already busy market square, people moved out of their way, some half-bowing or inclining their heads respectfully to Loki as they rode by. He straightened his spine that tiny bit more, his shoulders going back and his chin lifting, secretly pleased by the fact that he knew they were for him this time and not just for Thor, his usual riding companion, or either of their parents. He nodded back occasionally in acknowledgement, and when a small girl, the daughter of a bookseller he frequented, hailed him by name, he smiled and sent a tiny green pegasus winging her way, her expression one of utter delight as it landed on her outstretched hand briefly before dissolving into sparkles. He was in a good mood when they emerged out into the countryside beyond the capital.

"Care for a run?” he asked Sif. His mare was prancing under him and champing at her bit, clearly eager to stretch her legs.

“Always!” Sif grinned.

Together they sent their horses into a smooth, ground-eating canter over the fields, eventually slowing down to a trot and then a walk as they rode uphill into dappled woodland shade, Sif falling back behind Loki as the trail narrowed too much to ride two abreast. It was cool, and it was peaceful, and Loki appreciated that Sif hadn’t felt the need to fill the silence with constant talking as Thor usually did. Finally they emerged into a broad clearing, the sun shining full upon them again, and Loki grinned as he saw it sparkling on the lake up ahead.

“We’re here,” he announced needlessly, turning to look back at her.

“I haven’t been up here in ages. This was a good idea. Perfect day for it, too. Maybe a bit cool for swimming, but we can catch some fish and gather berries for lunch.”

“Do you have a fish hook? Or line?”

“No, of course not; I didn’t know we were coming out here. Don’t you?”

“I brought a loaf of bread and some cider; I wasn’t planning on going fishing.”

“Well, we can use spears,” said Sif negligibly.

Loki made a non-committal noise. “Mm.” He made for the shade of a broad tree near the lake, where they dismounted and let their horses drink before untacking and rubbing them down and then leaving them in hobbles to graze to their hearts’ content. Finally Loki and Sif slaked their own thirst on the cold, fresh water. “Are you sure you want to wade into that to fish?“ he asked dubiously. "I’m willing to share my bread and we can gather berries, as you said.”

Sif hesitated, then shook her head stubbornly. “It’s the principle of the thing. No point in coming to a lake just to look at it. Unless you want to go swimming or build a raft – “ They had done that one year, she and Thor and Loki, labourously felling young trees and cutting them to length before tying them together tightly with rope, rejoicing when they had finally made a water-worthy craft, spending days happily paddling around the lake on it. She had always had a hook and line in her belt pouch back then. “Then I intend to fish. And warriors of Asgard are not afraid of a little cold water,” she declared stoutly.

“Suit yourself. I brought a book.” He settled himself comfortably at the base of a tree, face shaded but legs stretched out into the sun, and drew forth his book to read.

Sif gave a huff of exasperation and went to find a suitable branch to whittle down into a fishing spear. Finding one that would do, she sat down on a large rock near Loki and began the pleasurable work of peeling the bark off in long strips, watching it curve away from her knife. She began to sing a somewhat suggestive song that she had picked up from the older warriors in the barracks.

“Do you mind?” asked Loki. “I’m trying to read.”

“Read to me, then,” said Sif, angling her knife down the long branch and shaping it into a smooth pole, just the right width to fit comfortably in her grip, Prongs would give her a better chance of catching the smaller fish more likely to be in the shallows of the lake, but she only had a short length of leather thong in her belt pouch, not enough to securely lash the wood above the prongs to prevent it from splitting further up. She made a mental note to add some twine to her pouch and began to carve a simple barb instead. "Unless it’s something on magic I wouldn’t understand.”

“No, it’s on the folklore of Vanaheim. All right, I’d just started a new story; let me go back a bit.” He began to read out loud, of a tinker who was forced, when his cartwheel broke just as dark was falling, to spend the night in a wood known to be haunted by the ghost of a thief who had been hanged for his crimes. Sure enough, the ghost soon appeared, bearing the remains of a noose around his neck and shackles on his wrists, and offered the tinker a deal. If the tinker could remove the ghost’s bonds before the setting of the moon, he would be given the gold that had been hidden and never recovered. If he tried and failed, however, the tinker would forfeit his life. Loki paused for dramatic effect and saw that Sif had stopped whittling and was leaning forward with flattering interest, wholly absorbed in the story.

“Would it be honourable to keep stolen gold?” she asked doubtfully.

“If he didn’t know who it had belonged to,” said Loki thoughtfully, “I think he would be justified in keeping it. And – gold means the victims were probably well-off. The tinker could probably make better use of the money than whoever it had originally been stolen from – if they were even still alive.”

“Fair points,” said Sif. “All right, go on.”

“The tinker agreed,” Loki continued, “And fetched a knife and file from his cart. But they passed through the bonds as if through smoke, without leaving any mark. The moon sank lower and lower towards the trees, and the ghost gave a harsh growl. "You fail as all the others failed, and your bones shall join theirs. Live tools can’t cut a ghost.”“

Sif’s eyes dropped to her own knife, and she absentmindedly carved another couple of shavings away from the barb before abandoning it once again.

"The moon touched the edge of the horizon. Through his fear, the ghost’s words stirred an idea in the tinker’s mind, and he glanced around wildly, seeing the flash of white in the moonlight. Seizing some poor soul’s thigh bone, the tinker brought it down with all his strength on his tools, shattering them into pieces. And there, amongst the broken shards of metal, glowed the ghosts of his tools. He picked them up; the noose parted swiftly under the ghostly blade of his knife, and with six strokes of ghostly file, the shackles fell to the ground just as both moon and ghost disappeared from sight. In the ghost’s place, a bag of gold sat on the ground.”

Sif sat back with satisfaction. “That was a good story, and a clever idea. I liked it. But I question whether tools can have ghosts. Surely our fathers have seen many shattered weapons in battle, and what is a weapon but a tool? Yet I have never heard any tales of ghostly weapons.”

“Perhaps they have to be shattered deliberately?” Loki hazarded. “There is some small magic involved in all smithing; I would not discount it entirely without testing it.” Surely he could find some old nicked weapon in the armoury that would not be too great a loss to sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge? “And would one notice a ghost of a shattered weapon in the midst of battle? It would serve no purpose against a live enemy, after all, if the logic of the tale holds.”

“Hm.” Sif finished up the back-pointing barb near the end of her spear, thinking. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of shattered weapons yielding ghostly versions of themselves or not. But… “You’re going to test it out, aren’t you?”

“I think I should; we might need to fight an undead foe one day against whom regular weapons won’t work. In fact, I would say that it is my duty, as a prince of Asgard, to learn everything possible which might help me defend her one day,” he said virtuously. “Although I don’t think we can duplicate the conditions exactly. The knife might need to be of Vanir make, and I certainly don’t have the thigh bone of a murdered man. But we’ll start with the basics. Shatter one Asgardian knife, look for its ghost. Do you want to be there?”

“Yes, of course. And what about Thor? He can smash it with his hammer.“ She sharpened the point of her spear a little bit more and tested it against her finger. "What do you think?” she asked, holding it up.

“It looks adequate,” Loki admitted, now half-wishing he had made one for himself. And Thor was a good idea; he didn’t know how hard it would be to shatter Asgardian steel but surely Mjölnir could do it.

“Thank you for your high words of praise,” said Sif gravely, jumping to her feet, and Loki laughed. “Now let’s see if I can catch anything with it.”

Loki put his book away, interested despite himself, and followed her down to the water’s edge. She stripped off her boots and socks, and rolled her breeches up as high as she could before stepping into the shallows of the lake.

“Fuck,” Sif swore, as the cold clamped down on her legs.

Loki snorted and grinned.  Ah yes, that was why he’d forgone the fun of spearing fish.  It was different when you were swimming and moving around, but he saw no need to subject himself to the discomfort of standing still in the chilly lakewater waiting for a fish to go by when he had another plan of his own.  But first he was willing to give Sif a chance.

He tsked at her. “Such language, my lady. What would your mother say?”

“She’d blame my father for not guarding his tongue around me.” She gritted her teeth and forced herself to move deeper into the water, lifting her spear and holding it poised as she stood still, staring into the water, watching for prey. “And I’m not a lady, I’m a warrior of Asgard.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both,  Is it the rank or gender that you take exception to?”

“Neither,” said Sif. “It is the expectations attached to the gender. That I should have no desires other than to learn how to cook and clean and sew, that I might one day take care of a husband and children.” She saw a flash of movement and drove her spear down, scowling as the fish darted back out towards deeper water before her spear reached it. “I wish for more, for honour and glory and the chance to serve Asgard as one of her warriors. I’m a good fighter; I should be allowed to do what I’m good at.” Another jab, another miss. She swore. This was easier in the creek that ran clear and narrow through the back of the palace gardens, and which, when followed deep into the woods, eventually broadened out into a wide pool that was their usual swimming spot.

“You’ll get no quarrel from me there,” said Loki. Sif took joy in battle the way that Thor did, and he was glad that she had been allowed to start weapons training with the other boys. He was sure that his mother had had something to do with that – he’d overheard her talking to his father about it one day, before they’d moved away and out of hearing range. And as for being allowed to practice what one was good at – he let wisps of green magic curl about his fingers – he still didn’t understand why it was looked down upon for men to practice magic on Asgard. His father, the king, practiced magic, and no one said anything against him. He pushed the usual resentment away and brought himself back to the present. “Be a warrior and marry someone who’s got servants to do the cooking and cleaning. Like Thor,” he said, as if it didn’t matter. That was another of those things that went mostly unsaid but understood; he was sure that Sif had originally been introduced as a playmate in the hopes of a betrothal between Sif and Thor one day.

Sif looked up, her face twisting in obvious rejection of the idea. “And have to be queen one day? To be tied to the palace, and have to be nice to people even when I can’t stand them? No thanks.”

Loki felt more cheered by this then perhaps he ought to have been. “Well, there’s me,” he said lightly. “You’d still have to be nice to people sometimes, but you’d be a lot freer as a princess than a queen, and you’d still get the servants for cooking and cleaning.”

Sif laughed. “I’ll keep it in mind for the future.” She turned her eyes back to the water and made a wild thrust, groaning when yet another small fish eluded her spear.

She hadn’t said no, thought Loki, a quiet thrill running through him. It wasn’t often that he heard someone voice a decided preference for him over Thor, and Sif seemed to have so much more in common with Thor. But she had completely vetoed the idea of marrying Thor, while suggesting she might consider him. Suddenly feeling immensely fond and gallant, he stirred himself. “Come on out, this isn’t a good place for spearfishing, and your legs must be freezing. Let me have a go at it.”

“Do you think you can do better?’ she challenged, but was glad for an excuse to leave the water; she had to lean on her makeshift spear to keep from stumbling on her numb feet as she waded back onto shore. “And what makes you think that I’ll let you use the spear that I did all the work on?”

“Oh, I don’t need a spear,” said Loki airily. “Make a fire, and warm yourself up. I’ll go get your fish.” And he shifted, shrinking down in size until an otter stood where the boy had been. He gave her his best open-mouthed otter grin and scampered into the lake.

Sif stared after the sleek brown shape cutting gracefully through the water, dumbstruck for a moment before recovering her voice. “Show-off!” she yelled. The otter disappeared under the water. Shaking her head, she fetched the rub rag she had used on her horse and turned to the task of drying her feet and legs and chafing some warmth back into them, before pulling her stockings and boots back on gratefully. She was just dumping her first armful of twigs and branches inside the ring of stones containing the remains of previous fires when Loki resurfaced at the edge of the lake with a fish clenched between his sharp little teeth. He tossed it onto the shore at her feet, looking as smug as an otter can possibly look, then disappeared back into the water again. She snatched up the fish, quickly stunned it with one of the heavier branches she’d gathered. and laid it next to the fire pit. She resumed gathering wood for the fire, but she hadn’t even had a chance to get it started before Loki was back, squeaking cheerfully as he dropped a second fish beside the first.

“Yes, well done, why didn’t you just say you could do that in the first place?’ she grumbled, dispatching the second fish in the same way before crouching back down in front of her neatly-arranged wood and then pausing in striking her flint to her steel when he simply stood there, watching her with his bright, mischievous eyes. “Well? Aren’t you going to change ba–” She shrieked as Loki shook himself, the water flying out from his dense coat in a wide spray of droplets. Having been wetted by a fair share of them, Sif lunged to her feet and dove at him.

“I’ll get you for that!”

Loki tried to dart away, but Sif had been fast and she’d managed to catch hold of his long, muscular tail. He quickly shifted back to his usual form in an amorphous blurring of shapes, depriving her of a tail to hold, and sprang to his feet, backing away. He held up his hands placatingly, unable to keep a grin off his face. “I’m sorry, Sif, I shouldn’t have done that.” He danced back as she swung at him.

“You don’t look sorry!”

He retreated around the fire pit as she came after him, trying to banish the grin off of his face and failing miserably at it. “I can’t help it! My otter brain thought that it was funny.  But I got your fish for you!  And…and I’ll even clean them if you want.” He felt very generous for offering this; the usual camp rules were that the person who caught the food didn’t have to clean it.

Sif stopped pursuing him, debating and then noticing something. “Fine. Clean the fish and I’ll forgive you. But how are you still completely dry in this form?” She reached out to touch his tunic and he let her. "You can’t have shaken it alloff.”

He shrugged. “Magic.” He made a face. “Ugh, my mouth tastes horrible, though.” He pulled his bottle of cider out of his interdimensional pocket and took a long draught, chasing away the taste of raw fish. Replacing it, he walked over to the fish and squatted down, taking out a knife to scale and gut it. “Get the fire going.”

Sif did as instructed, using lots of kindling to get the fire to burn fast and hot, and then sat back, watching Loki come back from the water’s edge with the cleaned fish and sit back down, setting them aside on a rock until the fire burned down into hot coals. He looked at her sideways, a little smirk on his face. Sometimes, she thought, he looked exactly like his mother. She’d seen that expression on the queen’s face more than once.

“You think you’re so clever.” She threw a small pebble at him.

Loki batted it aside easily. “Am I not?” He couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself; this was only his second time as an otter, and he hadn’t tried to catch anything the first time. But certain instincts seemed to come naturally with each shape.

“You have your moments,” she admitted grudgingly. “What’s it like, being an otter?”

“Fun.” Loki grinned and drew forth the cider again, offering it to her. “If you don’t mind sharing the bottle.”

“When have I ever?” Sif uncorked the bottle and took a swig, pleasantly surprised to find it still cool. “If I can overlook the fact that you had your actual teeth in the fish that I’m going to eat…” She took another swallow before passing the bottle back. “Are you using magic to keep this cool?”

“Yes, it’s a fairly simple spell.” Feeling justifiably smug, he took a swallow of the cider and then re-corked it and set it down between them. “I can keep things warm, too.” He pulled out his loaf of herb bread and tore it in half, passing her one portion.

Sif bit through the crispy crust into the soft, warm bread. “Mm, this is good.” She tilted her face up to the sun, closing her eyes contentedly as she chewed. “Hey!” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Could you have kept my legs warm in the lake?”

Loki pursed his lips. “I’ve never tried to use that spell on a living being, but I don’t see why not?” He spread his fingers and held out his hand, staring at it consideringly.

“Well, don’t go and start experimenting now, when we’re out in the middle of nowhere. If something were to go wrong, I wouldn’t know how to help.”

“Such faith in my abilities,” said Loki deprecatingly. “But no, I’ll ask my mother about it first. Although – “ he smirked at her. “I thought, as a warrior of Asgard, that you weren’t afraid of a little cold water.”

“And I’m not, and I proved it. But what if we were someplace where an enemy might ambush us, and I couldn’t run or fight well because my legs were stiff with cold? I wouldn’t turn down a spell to keep them warm if I had to go wading in a cold lake or river.”

“Sensible girl,” said Loki approvingly. “If I am to marry some day, I will consider nothing less in a wife.”  He took a bite of bread. “Also – “ he chewed and swallowed. “You are not afraid of hard work. Another admirable trait.”

“Oh? Well, I suppose I must admit that you have shown that you would be a good provider. That’s important, in a husband.”

Loki grinned. “Thank you; tooth-marked fish are my specialty. Also, I’m very adept at stealing bread from the kitchens.”

Sif snorted. “‘Stealing’, my foot. You’ve got every single kitchen maid charmed and willing to give you whatever you want.”

Loki looked modest. “It’s amazing what a few compliments will do.  But,” he added fairly, “They deserve them. It’s hot work, slaving in the kitchens. They’re nice to visit, but I’d hate to be cooped up in there all day. And – how many people do you think ever bother to send back a message that they enjoyed what they ate? It’s not hard to make the cooks happy by letting them know that you appreciate their culinary efforts.”  His mother had pointed this out to him once, and he’d found it good advice. It was only when the cooks were truly frazzled preparing for a feast that he ever found himself chased away from the kitchens empty-handed.

“Well,” said Sif, “Please tell whoever made this bread that I enjoyed it very much.”

“Solveig will be pleased to hear it.” Loki poked at the fire, which had nearly died down, the smoke scenting the air. “I think this is ready; have you got a couple of sticks to lay the fish on?”

Sif pulled two straight sticks out of her pile of unburnt kindling, and laid them down upon the hot, glowing embers of the fire. Loki leaned over her and laid the two fish crosswise across the sticks. They only took a few minutes to cook, and then they were burning their fingers as they pulled the hot fish off the coals onto a couple of large leaves they’d had ready, the blackened, crispy skin flaking away and revealing the succulent flesh within.

Loki sucked and blew on his burnt fingertips as he tried not to drop his fish, the leaf not doing much to shield his palm from the heat. “A hand-cooling spell would come in useful right about now.”

“Mm,” Sif agreed, blowing on fish and fingers alike, and saying another unladylike word.

There was no way to eat it neatly, so Loki didn’t even try, biting into the smoky-tasting fish with as little care as Thor usually showed at mealtimes, Sif making just as much as a mess of it as he did. They chased it down with the rest of the cider, and washed their hands in the lake afterwards after smothering the remains of the fire. A quick check on the horses showed them to be fine, and Loki stretched and yawned, comfortably full and disinclined to movement.

“I think I’m going to close my eyes for a bit,” he announced, and chose a spot on the soft grass to stretch out on, folding his arms behind his head.

“Seriously?” While Sif wasn’t feeling particularly energetic, she wasn’t in the mood for a nap, either. “May I borrow your book to read, then?”

Loki lazily twisted his hand and the book appeared in it. He held it out to her without opening his eyes. “You could read me a chapter if you like,” he offered magnanimously.

“All right.” Sif settled with her back against a large rock and turned to where he’d left the bookmark. “The Bäckahäst,” she read, and began the description of a shapeshifting creature that could take the form of a beautiful white horse to lure humans to it and drown them under the waters of the brook where it lived.  Sif particularly liked the story of the farm girl who defeated one by keeping her wits about her; Loki liked the fact that she banished it with a magical rune.

“You’ve never turned into a horse, have you?” She was quite sure he would have made sure that they’d known of it if he’d had – he’d been quite proud to show off the elegant, silky-coated hunting dog he’d transformed himself into one day – but one never entirely knew with Loki. Sometimes he kept a new skill hidden until the most opportune moment to reveal it.

“Not yet. Mother doesn’t want me to try anything that much larger than myself until I’m a bit older; all the books advise against it,“ he admitted. "So far I’ve only shifted into things the same size as myself or smaller.” He shrugged. “ I think I would be fine, but it’s more fun to do animals that can pass unnoticed where a person couldn’t, so I’m willing to oblige her for now. Why?” He cast a mischievous glance her way. “Would you like to ride me?”

Sif’s face heated; she wasn’t so young or so sheltered that she was unaware of the possible innuendo in that question. But if he thought that would put her off…

“That depends on whether you want to be ridden,” she said levelly, and saw the answering tinge of pink rise to his cheeks.

“Mm.” Loki jumped to his feet. “Why don’t we head around to the side of the lake where the berry bushes grow thickest?” He held out his hand. “I’ll put the book away.”

Sif passed it back to him, glad of the excuse to drop that particular line of conversation, although a part of her mind couldn’t help imagining how he would look as a horse, and how it would feel to sit astride him, to feel the intimacy of him moving between her thighs. Her mind couldn’t quite go to the other place yet.

Thankfully, the new and slightly awkward heightened awareness of him only lasted until he bent and picked up a smooth stone on their way around the lakeshore, and sent it skipping across the water.

“Four,” he announced. He knew he could do much better, but it wasn’t bad for his first throw of the day.

Sif at once accepted the unspoken challenge and cast her eyes around for a suitable stone of her own. Picking one up, she sent it chasing after his, and the easy familiarity between them was back as they engaged in a friendly competition as they made their way towards the west shore of the lake in fits and starts. “Six,” she crowed.

Loki narrowed his eyes and took extra care in choosing his next stone, looking for one as large and flat as possible. He angled his body and let it fly, sweeping his arm out with a fast, fluid, practiced motion and watching the stone skim low across the surface of the water, barely touching before lifting off again. Seven…eight… “Nine,” he said with satisfaction.

She scowled at the fading ripples in the water. “Are you sure you’re not using magic?”

“For nine ? With the right stone, I can do 14-15, easy. You just need to spend more time throwing things and less time hitting them.”

“I don’t think throwing my sword at you during practice would be as effective,” she teased.  

“I meant knives,” he retorted. “You should practice with me sometime.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” she allowed, and was surprised by the brilliance of the smile he gave her.

“As I said, sensible.”

They arrived at the start of the berry bushes, and meandered their way through them, picking and eating at their leisure until they were sated and their fingers and mouths were stained purple with the juice.  Loki fought the urge to smear a purple streak down her cheek, still feeling beneficent at not being rejected out-of-hand as possible future husband material.

“What do you think Thor’s doing right now?” Sif mused.

He shrugged. “Since he hasn’t hunted us down, he’s probably in the training yards. Hitting things,” he added with a laugh. “Father only mentioned keeping Thor in for the morning. By the time he’d had lunch, there wouldn’t be much point in following us all the way out here only to have to turn around and go home again almost at once. Speaking of which – “ he glanced up at the sky, judging the time. “We should start heading back. Don’t say anything to Thor yet about our plans; he’ll want to go charging down to the armoury immediately to pick out an old weapon to smash, and I want to do some research first, see if I can find any other accounts that lend credence to that story.”

“All right.”

They made their way back to their horses, tacking them back up before mounting and turning their heads towards home. The energy of the morning was gone; they took their time going back, setting an easy pace until they clattered back into the stableyard. Loki waved away the groom that came out to take their horses.

“We’ll take care of them ourselves, thank you, Leif.” He swung down from the saddle, Sif following suit, and they led their horses inside, untacking them and companionably grooming them together, cross-tied in the aisle. They parted ways after returning their horses to their cleaned stalls, Loki heading for the royal wing of the palace.  He’d take a fresh look through his own books first, and then go down to the library after supper. Passing the open door to his mother’s chambers, he stuck his head in.

“I’m back, Mother.”

“Oh, good,” Frigga called from within, rising from her loom. “Come in and talk to me.”

Loki stepped into the comfortable, airy rooms, feeling as at home here as he did in his own chambers.

“Did you have a nice day, sweetheart?” She pulled him in close, smelling woodsmoke and green grass and fresh air, and underneath all that, the scent of her own boy which she’d always know no matter what overlaid it. It was a good smell. She buried her nose in his hair, breathing in deep, and kissed him.

“I did. Sif rode down to the lake with me.” He leaned against her comfortably. “I took my otter form again and caught us some fish.”

“Clever boy. Did you have any trouble changing back?”

“None at all.” He looked at her a little wistfully. “I wish you could shift with me. We could do things together.”

Frigga smiled. “I could chase you around the lake. That would be fun. But alas, I am stuck in this one very dull form. I hope I do not disappoint too much.”

“Never!  I didn’t mean that.  And you could never be dull.” Loki said stoutly, and her arm came around him in a one-armed hug. “I like all the things we do together. Magic, and my knife lessons, and talking about books.”

“That’s good.  And I can still chase you…but you have to run first.” She curled her fingers over his ribs, tickling, and Loki sprang away with a yelp of laughter. “Not far enough,” she warned, stalking towards him, and Loki backed away, circling behind a chair.

“What is it with girls chasing me today?” he complained, but his eyes were bright.

Frigga’s eyebrows rose. “Sif?” she guessed.

“I…might have shaken water all over her before changing out of my otter shape,” Loki confessed sheepishly.

“And did you apologise?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good boy.” Frigga said approvingly. “I’m assuming she forgave you, since you don’t seem upset.”

“No, we’re fine; that was hours ago,” said Loki dismissively. He heard a noise behind him, and made the mistake of taking his attention off of his mother as he turned around to see his father and Thor coming in from the hallway together. It was a move he regretted as his mother caught him up from behind and began tickling him mercilessly.

"Got you!"

“AAHHH!” He kicked and wriggled and squirmed away, taking refuge behind his father, who looked down at him in surprise.

“Are we interrupting something?” Odin asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Mother’s in high spirits,” said Loki, half breathless. Impulsively he fixed his eyes on his mother, and mouthed “TICKLE HIM.” He cocked his head towards his father and wriggled his fingers in illustration.

Frigga smirked and gave Loki the tiniest of nods.  It was a look that Sif would have immediately recognised.

“I am indeed; come give me a hug, husband.” Frigga held out her arms, and Odin automatically moved forward, although he looked a little suspicious.

“Far be it from me to deny such a request from my beautiful wife.”

Loki watched in anticipation as his father went into his mother’s arms, and his mother slid her hands under his outer robes, turning her face into his father’s neck for a moment with a contented hum. And then Odin jerked and shouted, and Loki broke into the giggles.

“So it’s to be like that, is it?” Odin roared, and Frigga squealed as her arms were pinned and she was lifted bodily from her feet. “Two can play at that game!”

“Odin!  Put me down; the boys are watching!” Frigga laughed, still trying to tickle him but otherwise not fighting it.

“Boys, go away and entertain yourselves until dinner.” Odin ordered, heading into their bedroom.

Thor and Loki exchanged wide-eyed glances.  “Yes, Father,” they chorused, and pushed and pulled each other into the corridor, fizzing with mirth, and closed the doors behind them.

“I never expected that to happen.” Loki giggled again.

“You didn’t expect Father to back down from a fight, did you?” Thor grinned. “Even if it is only a tickle fight.” They made their way to their adjoining rooms.

“Come tell me about your day while I wash up,” Loki said, pushing open his doors. He went into his washroom and began scrubbing at the berry stains on his hands.

Thor lounged against the wall. “Well, we started with accounts. Very boring, you can handle those when I’m king.”

Loki snorted. “The treasurer will handle the day-to-day accounts, but you need to be able to look at his reports and understand them in case he tries to siphon off any money for his own use.” He considered his teeth, and thought of fish breath, and gave his teeth a rub with tooth cloth and paste, the sharp clean scent of the crushed rosemary in it filling the air.

“Father said something along those lines,” Thor admitted. “Then we discussed the current trade re-negotiations with the dwarfs, and he asked my opinion on the various points being discussed. You would have done well with that, Brother, it’s all about using your words as cleverly as possible to get as much out of the other side as you can without them noticing. And then he grilled me on the history of the dwarfs over lunch but afterwards he came down to watch me spar,” said Thor happily. Now what about you?”

Loki rinsed his mouth out. “Went to the lake with Sif; she was hanging around when I went outside and asked to come along, so…” He shrugged. “Did some reading once we got there, skipped rocks, caught some fish for lunch.”  Mischief struck him. “Talked about marriage. You know, the usual thing.”

“What?” Thor started, and stared at Loki casually inspecting his hair in the mirror, tidying it slightly with his comb. “You and Sif? Aren’t you a bit young to start courting?”

Loki turned away from the mirror and brushed past Thor to go into his bedroom, hiding his pleasure in the idea. “Of course we are. Don’t be silly; we were just talking about it in the abstract, about what we might want in a spouse. If we ever did get married.”

“Oh.” Thor sounded disappointed. “What did you decide?”

“I said I wanted someone who was sensible and a hard worker; Sif said a husband should be a good provider. All very romantic,” he said lightly.

“Hm.” Thor thought about it. “Sif is sensible and a hard worker. She’ll stay at the training yard as long as she has an opponent, and then work on her forms by herself.”

Loki thought of the time Sif had put into fashioning her spear, and was quite sure she would have stayed in the water for far longer trying to catch a fish if he hadn’t stepped in. “She is; I’ll give her that.”

“Well, there you go,” said Thor cheerfully. “Just so you know, I would be delighted to have Sif for a sister-in-law some day.”

“You’re not interested in her for yourself?’ Loki asked cautiously.

Thor tried to think of Sif that way, and couldn’t. He shook his head. “It would be like courting my little sister. It would be nice to have her really be.  Besides, I’m probably meant for a political marriage. Sif’s of good family, but Tyr is already loyal to our house.”

That was true, Loki had to admit. Perhaps he’d been wrong about things? “But don’t you think Sif would rather have a big strapping warrior for a husband instead of someone like me?”  He wasn’t even sure why he was asking this, except perhaps the need to hear it reputed. But she didn’t say no, his mind chanted at him.

“You mean an infuriating know-it-all?’ Thor grinned.

Loki hunched himself unhappily. “Is that what I am?”

Thor hesitated, seeing that he’d misspoke. “You are, sometimes, but it’s only because you’re so smart and clever that it can make me feel stupid by comparison. Like today. But you’re so much more. Mother says you’re going to be one of the greatest mages in the Nine Realms, and I say you’re going to be one of the finest warriors as well. And there’s no one else I’d rather have as my brother than you.”

Loki flushed with pleasure, his shoulders coming back up. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not being kind, it’s the truth,” said Thor loyally. “And you’ll see. One day we shall ride out together across the Nine Realms on adventures far and wide and prove our worth in battle. Skalds shall sing of the deeds of the Odinsons and Sif the Valorous.” Thor sat down on the edge of Loki’s bed, and Loki, deciding that he was clean enough not to need to change clothes, joined him, magicking his boots off and swinging his legs up onto the furs.

Loki smiled. "Sif the Valorous?"

"She would like that, would she not?"

"She would indeed." Loki could so clearly see the pride in Sif's face if she were to earn such a name. Or perhaps it would be Sif the Bold, or Sif the Fierce, they would suit her equally well. Still smiling, he turned the conversation back on Thor.

“So what about you? What qualities would you like in a wife?”

“Someone pretty,” said Thor promptly, and Loki couldn’t even chide him for being shallow, because it seemed a perfectly reasonable request. “And kind,” he added, rather more surprisingly.

“A good quality in a future queen,” Loki said, studying Thor’s thoughtful face.

“And someone who is… comfortable to come home to at the end of the day, someone who will listen to my problems and be able to advise me on them.”

“So, basically Mother.”

Thor smiled ruefully. “We would be lucky to find someone like her.”

“Father’s getting lucky right now.”

Thor scrunched up his nose. “Not an image I want in my head, Brother.”

Loki’s face copied Thor’s. “No, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Tell me more about what you would like in a wife,” Thor said, to distract himself. “There must be something other than ‘sensible and hard-working’.”

“I don’t know; it’s not something I’ve thought about much before.” Loki drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “The things you said, they’re good. And she must be fine with me working magic. That’s the most important thing.” He rested his chin on his knees, thinking. “Someone who doesn’t bore me in conversation. And someone who is comfortable with silence, who doesn’t feel the need to fill every minute with mindless chatter.”

“Still sounds like Sif.” Thor grinned.

“All right, yes, I suppose she does fit some of the qualifications,” Loki allowed magnanimously. “But don’t you dare say anything to her of this. Swear it. On your honour.”

“I swear,” said Thor, but his eyes were twinkling.

“I’m sure Sif will be too busy making her name as a warrior to have any time for romance anyway.”

“Ah yes, of course. You’re probably right.”  Thor nodded, very seriously, an effect ruined by the smirk he couldn’t quite stifle.

Loki hit him with a pillow.

But, his mind said gleefully, she hadn’t said no.

[hope-for-olicity]

Pumpkin Spice and Football 7/?

Felicity is the new Social Media Coordinator for the New York Jets, Oliver is the veteran quarterback - their worlds will change when they literally collide.

I LOVE the Fall and I hope you do too! This story will focus on all the fabulousness that Fall has to offer including NFL football. That being said, you don’t have to like football to like this story. This story is also available on AO3.

Thanks so so much to the AMAZING @mel-loves-all for the moodboard!

7. Sick

It turned out Felicity was right. Something Oliver was soon going to realize was the usual course of things. Instead of the press attacking him for keeping a secret, he was praised for helping out his family’s business. Between the news of his personal life and the Jets going 8-2 so far, this was the best year of Oliver’s professional career.

The team had flown in late last night from Miami. Felicity skipped the trip as she was feeling under the weather. He sent her some video from his phone to post. Oliver wanted to check on her but didn’t want to disturb if she was sleeping.

It was Monday, he knew Felicity had brunch plans with her friends but he could invite her for dinner her smiled as he picked up his phone.

Oliver: Hope you are feeling better

Oliver: Missed you yesterday

Oliver: Would you be up for a home cooked meal this evening?

Oliver: I’m leaning toward a cheat day with pasta :)

Oliver put his phone down,  pretending he wasn’t waiting for the buzz.

*****

Felicity grabbed a tissue as she sneezed. Her head felt like it weighed a million pounds. She thought working from home would do the trick yesterday, apparently not. She felt like she was going to die. Her phone buzzed on her nightstand.

Felicity: Welcome back

Felicity: I missed you lots

Felicity: I’d love dinner but I’m still sick

Felicity: Can’t make the star qb sick, his fans would kill me

Felicity: cough, sneeze, cough

*****

Oliver smiled. It was so sweet that she cared.

Oliver: I’m going to let you in on a secret

Oliver: I don’t get sick

Oliver: Are you going to brunch?

Felicity: I’m dying

Felicity: No brunch

Felicity: No dinner

Felicity: No fun

Felicity: No welcome back kisses :(

Oliver: Okay, rest up. I need my welcome back kisses BADLY

Oliver: I’ll be by later

Oliver decided to make his famous chicken soup. He just had to run out to get supplies.

*****

Felicity snuggled under the covers. She didn’t deserve Oliver Queen, he really was too wonderful. They had not gone public with their relationship yet. They told Coach Lance and Oliver’s agent John Diggle as well as their close friends. They wanted to make sure they weren’t breaking any rules. They were given the go-ahead to go public but decided to wait.

Thanksgiving was fast approaching, Felicity was very excited to spend her first with a traditional family. Oliver told his family they were together, he said they were happy for him. She so hoped this was true.

Felicity closed her eyes thinking of Thanksgiving, she woke to a soft knocking on her bedroom door. She slowly opened her eyes to see Oliver.

“Hey,” Oliver spoke softly, “I used my key so as not to wake you but then how would you know about the soup?” Oliver smiled.

“Soup?” Felicity poked her nose out from under the covers. “Brr, it’s cold in here.”

Oliver took a seat at the end of her bed. “I know, I think you forgot to turn on the heat. I turned it on for you. I also put the soup on your stove burner to heat.”

Felicity looked worried. “Is there smoke?”

“No.” Oliver tried not to look alarmed. “Why would there be smoke?”

Felicity shook her head, quickly grabbed a tissue before sneezing again. “It’s just I’ve never used it before, usually when I use the stove there is smoke….” Her voice trialled off, she looked sheepish.

“Okay, I’m an experienced stove user so you don’t need to worry. No smoke.” Oliver reassured. Felicity looked so cute bundled up under a dozen blankets with her pink nose and messy hair. He knew better than to say it but he simply adored her.

“Thank you for the soup. You are too good to me. But Oliver, you need to go home! Wash your hands, take a shower, you must disinfect!” Felicity began to shoo him away with her hands.

Oliver chuckled. “No. I’m a big strong man with a strong immune system. I’m here to take care of my girlfriend. It’s okay that I call you that?”

Felicity practically beamed. “I like that.”

“Good, I do too.” He knew he was smiling at her like an idiot. “So, what do you want to do? Do you want me to bring you soup in bed? It’s important we get some liquids in you.”

Felicity began to cough.

Oliver rushed out of the room, returning with a glass of water that Felicity gratefully accepted. She took a few careful sips. “Sorry, guess I should go get some cough medicine.”

“No need! I brought you everything!” Oliver smiled hoping he was scoring boyfriend points.

“You did? What did you get?” Felicity began to get out of bed, quickly sat back down. “Oops,” she blushed. “Did that a little too quickly.”

Oliver got up to help Felicity get up. She was a little steadier on her feet the second time. “I take this means you are getting up”

Felicity walked over to her dresser. “Yes, I’ll put on a fresh pair of comfy clothes then meet you in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be waiting. Call if you need me.” Oliver closed the door behind him.

Felicity smiled she really did have the best boyfriend. She’d never had a boyfriend take care of her when she was sick, it was kind of, no really nice.

*****

Felicity shuffled out into the kitchen in her bunny slippers, leggings, a Jets t-shirt and one of his old Jets hoodies.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything but now I have to. Felicity Smoak you are adorable.” Oliver quickly put some soup on the small table for her. Followed by a tall glass of water.

He took the seat across from her, watching Felicity crinkle her nose.

“What? You don’t like it? You haven’t even tried it yet.” Oliver pushed her bowl closer to her.

Felicity rose her hands in defence. “It’s not that. I’m just wondering, where is your soup?”

“The soup is for you. To make you better. I’m good.”

“What if I said it would make me feel better if you ate the soup too? I don’t want you to get sick. I’ve been breathing all over you. Breathing my yucky germs, I mean.” Felicity began to eat her soup. “This is amazing, Oliver. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Oliver chuckled. “Felicity, I doubt anything about you is yucky, including your germs. If you insist I’ll have some soup if it will make you feel better but first let me show you what I brought you.” Oliver grabbed a bag from the kitchen island. He began placing the items on the table in front of her. “I got cough syrup which will also help with your head cold, the pharmacy said this was fine as long as you don’t have asthma.  I got apple juice, orange juice and pineapple juice because I wasn’t sure which one you liked. I got you a chocolate bar and ice cream which I put in the fridge and freezer respectively. Some magazines,” Oliver tossed some a People, a Wired, a Vanity Fair and Sports Illustrated on the table. “Finally, I got you this,” he pulled out a stuffed Tardis. “It’s the right one, I think, it has a Doctor Who tag.”

Felicity slowly got up, walked toward Oliver. Who was looking a little worried. She hugged him. Germs be damned. “Thank you, Oliver. I love it all. I’ve never had anyone spoil me like you do. You make me feel so special.” Tears began to form in her eyes.

“Hey,” Oliver hugged her tight. “Don’t cry. I’m glad you like the stuff. It’s supposed to help you get better.”

“Well, it does. Your soup has magical healing powers.” Felicity beamed up at him.

“You best finish it then.” Oliver gestured for her to sit again.

They spent the rest of the day together. In the end, Oliver did get a minor cold. Felicity felt awful but he assured he was a big tough man and it was totally worth it.

*****

As Oliver and Felicity remained professional at work, no one outside the people they told knew about their relationship. Oliver really was amazed given how the press followed him that their secret remained a secret. They both knew they were living on borrowed time.

Which was why when they were cornered by photographers while packing Oliver’s SUV for their Thanksgiving trip, Felicity put Team Olicity plan into action.

First, after the encounter, she scrolled through media outlets and social media to see if they were being talked about. She insisted, but Oliver disagreed that the press might think she’s his assistant.

As Oliver drove, Felicity scanned on her phone. Making little noises now and then.

Finally, Oliver couldn’t take the silence anymore. It was weird. Felicity was never silent. “Well?”

“We’ve been outed,” Felicity said sadly.

“Finally!” Oliver was overjoyed.

“What do you mean finally? You wanted this? Why didn’t you say anything?” Felicity felt confused. She knew her whole life was about to change. She had already seen trolls on Twitter saying she was too fat and nowhere good enough for Oliver Queen.

“Felicity, I am so proud to be your boyfriend. I want to shout it out to the world! The only reason I haven’t as I know you didn’t ask for this. For the attention, you will receive. I will try my best to protect you but you, more than most, know how people can be awful. That being said.” Oliver looked away from the road for a quick second to hand her his phone. “Can you tweet my tweet?” He gave her a quick smile that was only for her.

Team Olicity already had a tweet written and a pic to attach. Felicity had loved the idea of them controlling the story when it was hypothetical but now that it was happening she was freaking out. Like, what if Oliver changed his mind tomorrow. She’d lose her job, her reputation, everyone would laugh as they knew she wasn’t good enough for him.

Felicity was so caught up in her own personal mental freakout that she didn’t realize Oliver pulled over at a rest stop.

Oliver turned to face her. “Breath, baby, just breath. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We are going to talk about this. Everything is going to be okay. Just breath.” Truthfully, Oliver thought he’d be the one freaking out. Felicity was always so calm and collected. Seeing her freak out was a little reassuring.

Slowly, Felicity began to breathe evenly. “Sorry, about that.”

Oliver pulled her close for an awkward car hug. “No need for sorries. This will be big change for you. And you more than most, being so connected to social media, know this. Just remember, I know you, nothing these trolls say is true.” Before Felicity, realized it was happening Oliver had taken both their phones back from her. He saw the trolls comment about her being fat and not good enough.

“I need you to listen to me. Felicity, you are not fat. Being fat is not bad but you are not. If you gain or lose weight for whatever reason, it will change nothing. No matter your body type, you are too good for me.” Oliver wiped a tear that slid down Felicity’s cheek. “I love you and I want the whole world to know it.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “You love me?” She took off her glasses, wiping the tears from her eyes before putting them back on.

“Yep. I have for some time now. Maybe since the first time, you spilt a latte on me.” He chuckled.

“I love you, Oliver. I was worried about saying it too soon but I’ve never felt this way before. I just hope that everyone knowing won’t change things.” Felicity smiled hopefully.

“We won’t let it.” Oliver leaned forward to kiss placing a soft kiss on Felicity’s lips. The kiss quickly escalated.

Finally, Felicity pulled back. “Best not start something we can’t finish.” She smiled. They hadn’t slept together yet but she had a feeling it would be soon. Truthfully, she couldn’t wait.

Oliver smiled at her slyly. Then picked up his phone. Copied the text they planned into a tweet, attached a pic of them before turning the phone to Felicity. “Look good?”

Felicity sighed. “Looks perfect.” She hit tweet.

I am happy to confirm that I am in a relationship with @FelicitySmoakNYJets. Ms. Smoak and I met when she took on the role of Social Media Coordinator for the New York Jets this year. We are both very happy. We ask that you respect our privacy. #GoJets

(Not my photo)

So hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading :)

@mindramblingsfics @memcjo @mel-loves-all @wherethereissmoak @green-arrows-of-karamel @spaztronautwriter @tdgal1 @vaelisamaza @lucyyh @tangled23works @swordandarrow @marcsmom6 @smoaking-greenarrow @pattid1 @1106angel @it-was-a-red-heeler @obibaldwin @folly1977 @nathiawarrior @alemap74 @samwinter09 @miriam1779 @coal000 @alejandra1400 @you-are-not-done-fighting @matalala @alexisa1206 @blondeeoneexox @felicityfan20 @emw751103 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @stephswims @fortheluvofolicity @ajillgreen @laurabelle2930