#I'm not any more normal about this now than i was twenty minutes ago so fuck you again

[birgittesilverbae]

thinking about the honeymoon a normal amount.

mary leaning against her motorcycle in some seaside town, sunglasses catching the light. shannon kissing her on the cheek before bundling herself into a little corner shop down near the ocean, emerging with a penguin-themed beach towel and a plastic bag filled with snacks.

biking down the coast and away from all the tourists, to a quiet spot underneath high cliffs. mary laying the beach towel out like a blanket, weighing down the corners with their motorcycle helmets and a couple of stones. stretched out and dozing while shannon goes into the water, visible out where the waves are breaking.

coming back up to kiss mary with her hands caked in sand, leaving palmprints on mary’s face.

gathering wood together and building a little bonfire, sitting wrapped in the beach towel until the ocean isn’t really visible anymore. first, the sunset falling, turning the surface of the waves to firelight on glass, then all of it swallowed up by the dark.

‘but you can still hear it,’ shannon says, her body very warm. ‘trying to climb up the beach towards us.’

‘spooky, right?’

and mary smiles because she has never felt less like the world is trying to snatch shannon out of her arms.

just the two of them, listening to the crackle of the flames, spared for this small time the memories of wraiths cracking in through space. the sight of bea’s upturned face, looking at the monsters she must always see alone. just… the wash of enormous heat and shannon still wincing a bit at the burn of hard alcohol

mary: ‘wimp’

shannon : ‘wife, actually.’

the sand underneath the embers and kicking the coals in the morning for a burst of heat. the waves a different shade in the sunrise and shannon frowning and then describing the exact color and ‘if i painted this, i’d start right there’

mary like ‘what, and leave me out of it?’

shan blushing a little before saying, ‘well, you can’t be in the painting if you’re next to me.’ lacing their fingers together and looking out towards the sea to hide the glimmer of tears.

🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

shan surfing and eating it over and over again but getting up and trying and failing and trying again and bailing out of a wave to come up fountaining seawater and grinning broadly, waving excitedly at mary and "come on in the water's great!"

mary, shading her eyes with a beaten up paperback novel and shaking her head, "fine enjoying the view from out here, actually"

tugging shannon to her by the front of her wetsuit to kiss her and shannon collapsing bonelessly in the bracket of her thighs, pillowing her head on mary's stomach, kissing the curve of mary's ribs, sighing contentedly as mary threads her fingers through her hair and reads aloud for her

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[mykingdomforapen]

Remember how I said I'm not done yet with the world of 'courage of stars'?

I couldn't help but write about a little one's origin story from the fic...a little Cassini, shall we say.

Spoilers for stars below teehee.

-

Cheng Xiaoshi was hiding something, and Lu Guang took a little too long to realise that maybe he was trying to be obvious about it. 

He lay bundled up in his hospital bed, still attached to various tubes (albeit significantly fewer tubes and wires compared to a month ago), but he fidgeted clumsily with restless energy. In his hand was an oxygen clip on one finger and a birthday card in another, which he was eagerly shoving into Lu Guang’s hand. 

“Happy birthday, Lu Guang!” he sang. 

Lu Guang’s birthday had begun with Qiao Ling orchestrating an entire day out for him–breakfast with her parents, a morning at the art museum, a birthday lunch with Xu Shanshan and Dong Yi, and a nap back at the Qiao household before visiting Cheng Xiaoshi in the hospital. Qiao Ling was determined to spoil Lu Guang as if he was a ragdoll housecat, which meant that she let him use her precious fleece throw blanket during his nap, a privilege even Cheng Xiaoshi never earned. 

Lu Guang was never one to want fanfare for his birthday. In part, due to the fact that for several timelines it was neither his first nor his last time turning nineteen, twenty, or twenty-one. After getting stabbed on his birthday at one point, he found it even less enjoyable. But when September crisped and cooled into October, Lu Guang felt as if he had finally seen the other side of an ocean for the first time, after an Odyssey lost at sea. It was an October identical to any other–dipping temperatures, bank holidays, persimmons–but all of a sudden Lu Guang thought it was the most miraculous of months and seasons. It was October, and Cheng Xiaoshi was alive.

He began to look forward to his birthday. 

Although Cheng Xiaoshi was still bedridden in the hospital, he and Qiao Ling had apparently planned the day together. Qiao Ling had arranged the art museum tickets, and Cheng Xiaoshi had convinced her to let Lu Guang take a nap halfway through instead of going to a cafe (it was the most glorious nap that Lu Guang had taken that week), and now Lu Guang and Qiao Ling were stopping by the hospital to spend time with Cheng Xiaoshi, who quickly demanded to hear in full detail everything that had happened thus far. 

“What kind of art did you see?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked. “What food did you eat? How much money did Qiao Shushu and Auntie Qiao give you in red envelopes?”

QIao Ling flicked Cheng Xiaoshi on the nose (she had quickly learned to restrain herself from her typical, more violent acts of reprimand in this time). “You nosy brat! That’s none of your business.” 

Cheng Xiaoshi snickered. His voice was still breathy and he could only be out of bed for several minutes at a time as his body slowly got used to surviving. He looked a little worse for wear, admittedly–paler than he normally was, chronically drowsy, and was routinely struck with a painful tightness around the chest and shortness of breath that the doctors had yet to fully treat, but he was breathing and smiling and bantering with Qiao Ling. He was alive, and there were no more caveats. 

So Lu Guang regaled Cheng Xiaoshi with his day, as he often did whenever he visited. Cheng Xiaoshi had struggled in the first several weeks of recovery after awakening from his coma, stricken with pain when he wasn’t under the heavy fog of medication and haunted by the memory of being killed twice. Yet he smiled every time Lu Guang visited, tired but genuine, and when he did not have enough breath to ramble he eagerly listened to Lu Guang fill the void, something that Lu Guang was not entirely accustomed to but grew to appreciate as he talked about the shop and recent soap dramas and his petty feud with a neighbor. He ran the pad of his thumb over the hollow of Cheng Xiaosh’s pulse on his wrist absentmindedly, and Cheng Xiaoshi listened with a faint smile on his lips, and neither of them remembered their pain. 

“So, you’re heading home after this, right?” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “No other plans?”

He asked it in such an artificially casual way, like a helium balloon bouncing against the ceiling. As fairly decent he was at pretending to be other people in his dives, he was helplessly transparent when he was himself. 

“I think so,” Lu Guang said, looking to Qiao Ling for confirmation. “We don’t have anything too special planned after this. Probably dinner.” 

“Dinner sounds like a good idea,” Cheng Xiaoshi said lightly.

Lu Guang raised an eyebrow. Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes darted to the side nervously to Qiao Ling. 

“I would think so,” Lu Guang said. “We generally do it every day.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Cheng Xiaoshi said, waving a hand. “A birthday dinner…that will be special. You know, I think you should wear sandals for it.” 

Lu Guang stared at him.

“What?” he asked, aghast.

Cheng Xiaoshi shrugged innocently. 

“I’m just saying things,” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “Just…might be a good idea!” 

“it’s the end of October.” 

Cheng Xiaoshi hummed. Qiao Ling, in lieu of slapping him in the back of the head, pinched her nose bridge instead. 

“Why should I wear sandals to dinner?” Lu Guang asked. 

“Aiyah, don’t pepper me with questions,” Cheng Xiaoshi said. He turned his head away from Lu Guang to sink lower into the pillow. “I’m vulnerable with painkillers! I’m talking nonsense!” 

“You’re such an idiot,” Qiao Ling muttered. 

Cheng Xiaoshi turned to her to grin. Lu Guang resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. 

“I told you,” Lu Guang said. “You didn’t have to get me anything for my birthday–” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cheng Xiaoshi said breezily. 

“Idiot,” Lu Guang said with relish. 

But he smiled, because Cheng Xiaoshi looked sheepish, mischievous, delighted, and above all else, he did not look in pain. He knew that underneath the hospital gown was a bandaged scar running down his sternum, twice opened–once to end his life and once to save it. But Lu Guang felt no compulsion to fix his eyes on it, like it were a beast or a rival he could not turn his back to. Cheng Xiaoshi’s laugh was enough. 

“Surely you’ll have noodles, won’t you?” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “And not those instant noodles, although I would commit crimes for some cup ramen right now. The food here is so flavorless. I feel myself turning into an old man!” 

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Qiao Ling said. “This is probably the most vegetables you’ve eaten than what you usually have in an entire year.” 

“Why are you nagging me when Lu Guang eats the exact same meals as I do every day?” 

Qiao Ling flashed a grin at Lu Guang.

“Because Lu Guang would just nod and say I’m right, and that’s not as fun,” she said saucily.

“What?” Lu Guang said, aghast. “I’m not a pushover!” 

“You are a little,” Cheng Xiaoshi said cheekily. 

Lu Guang huffed, but he didn’t know how to argue back when not that long ago, Cheng Xiaoshi had convinced Lu Guang to sneak a sesame ball into the hospital for him.

They spent the rest of the hour teasing and talking, with Qiao Ling perched on one side of the hospital bed and Lu Guang sitting cross legged on the foot of it. When visitation was over and Cheng Xiaoshi needed to rest, Cheng Xiaoshi beckoned Qiao Ling to come to his bedside and then, whispering loudly enough for Lu Guang to hear, said, “Don’t forget ot make sure he brings a soup spoon in his back pocket.”

“You’re an idiot,” Lu Guang said loudly, to which Cheng Xiaoshi sniggered. He squeezed Cheng Xiaoshi’s ankle. “Thanks for the card.” 

Here, Cheng Xiaoshi’s mirth softened to wistfulness. 

“I wish I could celebrate with you,” he said. 

“You did,” Lu Guang said assuringly. “Now get some rest.” 

“See you tomorrow?” Cheng Xiaoshi said hopefully. “Wait, no, no, you don’t have to. You might need some extra time at home.” 

“Extra time for what?” Lu Guang asked. 

This time, Cheng Xiaoshi’s sheepishness looked genuine. 

“Never mind what I said!” he said hastily. “Happy birthday, Lu Guang.” 

Lu Guang shook his head exasperatedly, bursting with gratitude. He and Qiao Ling bid Cheng Xiaoshi goodbye before heading back to the studio. 

Lu Guang didn’t actually know what sort of dinner plans they would have; Qiao Ling insisted that she would plan every minute of the day, which was very generous if not extremely intimidating, but she had not made any indication of what dinner might be. He did notice, however, that she had been almost entirely glued to her phone during the entire visitation with Cheng Xiaoshi, frantically texting someone until her wrist hurt. She spent the bus ride flexing her hand, wincing. 

“So,” Lu Guang said. “Do I really have to wear sandals and bring a soup spoon?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Qiao Ling said innocently. 

Lu Guang narrowed his eyes. 

“What is he planning?” he demanded. 

“Don’t listen to him,” she said. “He’s on heavy medication.” 

Her lips twitched into a muffled smile. Lu Guang let it slide with blossoming affection in his chest. 

When they made it back to the Photo Studio, the sun had already begun its autumnal routine. Daylight dimmed into dusk as streetlights twinkled on in preparation. The photo studio stood out on the street with its lights shining through the wide glass windows, which struck Lu Guang oddly because he didn’t remember turning the lights on when they left that morning. 

Beside him, Qiao Ling was starting a video call. 

“Qiao Ling,” Lu Guang said. “What’s going on?” 

“Hold on,” said Qiao Ling. “Gosh, what’s taking him so long–there we go!” 

Cheng Xiaoshi’s face brightened her phone screen, his excitement fighting past his drowsiness. 

“Are you there yet?” Cheng Xiaoshi said excitedly. “Are you home?” 

“Almost,” sang Qiao Ling as she pulled out her landlady key. Lu Guang could see through the glass window that QIao Shushu was in the sunroom, crouched over the coffee table to put some finishing last touches on something. It must have been a birthday cake, and Cheng Xiaoshi called in to sing–Lu Guang fought down the instinct to scold Cheng Xiaoshi for not resting as he as overwhelmed with a wave of love.

“Lu Guang, do you have your sandals?” teased Cheng Xiaoshi.

“You’re such a child,” Lu Guang said, wishing for nothing less. 

Cheng Xiaoshi beamed. Qiao Ling unlocked the front door and held it open for Lu Guang. Lu Guang walked inside as Qiao Shushu spun around quickly, shielding whatever was behind him from view with his proud grin. 

“Back already, you two?” he said. 

“Qiao Shushu, are you joining us for dinner?” asked Lu Guang. 

“We’ll bring dinner here,” said Qiao Ling. “I think you might be inclined to stay home for the rest of the day, after all.”

She was grinning with all her teeth, and Cheng Xiaoshi in her hand was practically bouncing despite being propped up in a hospital bed. 

“Happy birthday, Lu Guang!” Cheng Xiaoshi said again, as if he could never have enough of it. “This is my present to you–with the help of Qiao Shushu for setting it up and Qiao Ling for keeping you out of the house. Hurry, hurry, I want you to see!” 

“You really didn’t have to–” 

Qiao Ling hurried several paces ahead of Lu Guang so that she could turn the camera to face Lu Guang, just as Qiao Shushu stepped out of the way. 

Lu Guang stopped dead in his tracks in the sunroom as he stared down at a cozy, bedecked glass tank on top of the coffee table. A wetland biome fit itself neatly in the glass box, complete with water, mud, rocks, and greenery, with a sun lamp shining down into it. 

And in the middle of it all, content to mind its own business, and no bigger than a teacup, was a pale blue Amazon milk frog. 

“Surprise!” Cheng Xiaoshi squealed. 

Lu Guang didn’t realise his jaw was hanging until he noticed his tongue going dry. He knelt down so that he was eye level with the tank, his head buzzing into numbness with disbelief. The frog’s webbed feet were folded neatly underneath it, basking in the heating lamp’s ray with satisfaction. 

“Do you like him?” Cheng Xiaoshi asked, his light voice lifting slightly with nervousness. 

“You got him for me?” Lu Guang said quietly. 

“I spent weeks trying to find one,” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “And Qiao Ling was helping me make phone calls to different shops all around China. Your yeye told me that you liked the milk frogs the best when you were little–”

“My yeye was in on this?” Lu Guang blurted out.

“Yep!” Cheng Xiaoshi said proudly. “He even got your dad to send me the name of the place you got the frog the first time–”

“My dad was in on this?” 

Incredulity heaped itself on Lu Guang with every turn, but he could hardly summit any of them as he stared at the frog in the tank. It looked just like Milk Toast had, all those years ago, when his childhood frog would patiently wait for him to come home from school. This frog was a little bit smaller, slightly fewer warts, but it looked healthy and happy and Lu Guang couldn’t believe that this was meant to be his. 

Emotion bundled itself in the middle of his throat. He blinked rapidly, moisture catching on his lashes. 

“Thank you,” Lu Guang whispered. “I really like him.” 

Cheng Xiaoshi pumped his fist on the screen. Qiao Ling was glowing with delight as she crouched next to Lu Guang to show Cheng Xiaoshi a closer view of the frog. Lu Guang leaned in so closely that the tip of his nose nearly touched the glass. 

“What are you going to name him?” Qiao Ling asked. 

Lu Guang had not regained his composure enough to make a decision such as that. He was fighting back the dampness on his cheeks and a laugh at himself that he, at twenty-two (twenty-two–it will take some time to get used to), would be weeping over a new pet frog like he did when he was a child. That seven-year-old boy, it turned out, was not as far behind him as he thought. 

“I don’t know,” he said in a watery voice. “What do you think, Cheng Xiaoshi?”

“Me?” Cheng Xiaoshi said, flabbergasted. 

Lu Guang nodded when his throat closed up with an overload of sentiment. Cheng Xiaoshi blinked before his lips stretched into a tentative, hopeful smile. 

“What about Cassini?” he asked. 

It came so naturally to the tip of his tongue that Lu Guang could only imagine how long it had already been sitting there before he had asked Cheng Xiaoshi for his opinion. It was a bold name, surprising in its grandeur, and somehow it seemed to fit neatly in this little frog. Lu Guang nodded, brushing his cheeks with a swipe of his thumb. 

“I like that,” he said. “Cassini.” 

-

It wasn’t until two months after Cheng Xiaoshi returned from the hospital did Lu Guang ask the question. By then, winter was already making room for spring, and a second Amazon milk frog had joined the glass tank. Cheng Xiaoshi had discovered that Amazon milk frogs were social creatures who needed friends. Lu Guang knew this about the frogs but kept that to himself, until Cheng Xiaoshi called him suddenly from the hospital sobbing. 

“I didn’t buy him a friend!” he wept inconsolably, which tipped Lu Guang off that he probably received a generous dose of painkillers. “I ruined his life!” 

“Cheng Xiaoshi, it’s fine,” Lu Guang said, but Cheng Xiaoshi cried over it until his heart monitor went up and the nurse had to check on him. After Cheng Xiaoshi went straight to sleep, Lu Guang thought that was the end of it. Naturally, when it came to Cheng Xiaoshi, it wasn’t, and after secretly selling some of his collectibles he purchased a second Amazon milk frog to the ecosystem. At this point, Lu Guang knew that it was less for him and more for Cassini’s sake, of whom Cheng Xiaoshi had requested daily photos of every day until he had been discharged. 

So Cassini and his new friend, Huygens (per Cheng Xiaoshi’s request), both became Time Photo Studios’ resident frogs. While they were not the sort of animal to play with each other in obvious, mammalian fashion, Lu Guang couldn’t help but get the sense that Cassini was happier with a tankmate. He wasn’t surprised, considering what he knew about frogs.

What he was surprised about was the choice in names. 

“Why’d you pick their names, by the way?” Lu Guang asked.

It was a lazy weekend evening, after dinner had been put away and Cheng Xiaoshi had taken all of his necessary medication. He was sprawled on their new sofa, playing a game on his phone while Lu Guang was snapping endless photos of the frogs on his phone as they politely sat on top of the log together. 

Cheng Xiaoshi turned his head towards Lu Guang, his hair flopped over his forehead carelessly.

“Because you asked me to,” he said.

“No, I mean, why did you pick those names?” 

Cheng Xiaoshi perked up. He set down his phone.

“You don’t know about the Cassini-Huygens probe?” he asked. 

Lu Guang furrowed his brow. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “The names sounded familiar. I just thought they might have been one of your video game characters.” 

“No!” Cheng XIaoshi sat up sharply. “It was a space probe that took tons of photos of Saturn! All of its rings and its moons and it sent them back to Earth and scientists learned so much about Saturn and–” 

He stopped, suddenly pale, as the sudden rise of movement and energy was too much for his heart to take at once. He swayed on the sofa, and Lu Guang immediately beelined to the sofa to gently guide Cheng Xiaoshi back down to rest. 

“Idiot,” Lu Guang said. Cheng Xiaoshi’s sudden drop caused an equally sudden spike in Lu Guang’s blood pressure, one that he had not fully learnt to let go of just yet. He cradled Cheng Xiaoshi’s neck as he lay him back against the pillow while Cheng Xiaoshi’s grimace grew sloppy with dizziness. “You get so overexcited.” 

He sat by Cheng Xiaoshi’s side as Cheng Xiaoshi pressed a hand against his forehead, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Lu Guang unconsciously kept a hand on Cheng Xiaoshi’s other wrist, guarding his rapid pulse until it eased. Cheng Xiaoshi hid his eyes from Lu Guang, still not entirely used to this new state of being and thus self-conscious about it. Lu Guang said nothing else, instead running his hand gently over Cheng Xiaoshi’s forearm. It was, in some ways, more for himself than for his friend. 

“They taught humans so much about Saturn,” Cheng Xiaoshi mumbled again, after a stretch of silence. “And then–and then, after twenty years, they couldn’t bring the probe back to Earth, so it self-destructed in Saturn’s atmosphere so that it wouldn’t accidentally hurt any of the moons.” At this, Cheng Xiaoshi’s voice tightened. “I just really liked it. “

Lu Guang softened. He let his hand fall away from Cheng Xiaoshi. 

“I didn’t know that before,” he said. “That’s really interesting.”

Cheng Xiaoshi nodded. He went strangely quiet. Lu Guang teetered on the precipice of curiosity. 

“How’d you first hear of it?” Lu Guang asked. 

Cheng Xiaoshi hesitated.

“My mom,” he said. “She liked to read up on it, before…” Cheng Xiaoshi swallowed hard. “I don’t think she really knew what happened to it, though.” 

Lu Guang hummed. He had come to learn Cheng Xiaoshi and what he needed most when the topic of his parents came up, before their deaths. Cheng Xiaoshi preferred to bring them up on his own, because the moment anyone else did he couldn’t help but assume they meant so accusingly and would automatically get defensive. And perhaps that was fair of him–neighbors assumed the worst, Qiao Ling’s parents avoided talking about them, and Qiao Ling followed suit. Lu Guang learned to take their example.

But what about now, when the grief was finally defined? The day Cheng Xiaoshi finally saw Cheng Yinhe’s ashes for the first time, he wept without restraint, releasing all the tears he had denied himself for fifteen years. Nothing technically changed, and yet his grief was fresh and unfamiliar, now that death made their absence final. Lu Guang knew even less what to do to help, if anything would. But if there was something he knew about Cheng Xiaoshi, it was that his best friend always wanted to share the things he loved with others. 

“Did she tell you a lot about astronomy?” Lu Guang asked.

Cheng Xiaoshi sniffed heartily before nodding. 

“She always talked about the moon,” he said. He dragged his wrist over his eyes and blinked blearily at Lu Guang. “She told me all sorts of things about it.” 

“Like what?” asked Lu Guang.

“Like…did you know that the moon shakes?” 

Lu Guang blinked.

“It does?” he asked.

Cheng Xiaoshi cracked a smile. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It vibrates. Because it goes super hot and then super cold all of a sudden all the time, or something like that.” 

“Huh.” Lu Guang tilted his head so that he could look out the sunroom glass. The moon was rising early, its crescent arc peeking through the treeline. “I never knew that.” 

“Cool, right?” Cheng Xiaoshi said.

“Yeah,” Lu Guang said earnestly. “So the Cassini-Huygens, it studied Saturn’s moons?” 

“Yeah,” Cheng Xiaoshi said. “Saturn has tons of moons. Not as many as Jupiter, I think, but…I don’t remember how many.” 

“Let’s check,” Lu Guang said as he pulled out his phone. “I’d like to know more.”

Cheng Xiaoshi smiled wider. 

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Prompt idea! Dew going feral over Aether eating a candy apple all messy and sticky like!

He doesn't go feral (sexually). He goes feral (annoyed) because Aether's love language is Pestering You. Sorry.

Aether's a goddamn menace, Dew thinks, slouching against the wall. And not even in a fun way. No, he had to get it into his head to try out all sorts of recipes with Mountain that they both insisted everyone needed to eat as part of the seasonal cheer.

It wasn't that Dew was against food. That would be ridiculous. He just drank so much coffee and smoked so many cigarettes that his appetite was next to nothing on a good day and there was only so much pie he could eat before feeling like he needed to up his jean size. He would be fine surviving on what Sunny and Aurora called "girl dinner" but Aether would have him sample a little bit of everything anyway and then somehow trick Dew into eating enough variety to fit his body's nutritional needs.

"Okay." Aether says proudly, setting the tray down. Dew glances at the apples resting on it, dripping with caramel. Did he intentionally go for the biggest fucking fruits he could find? Did he realize how difficult that would be to bite into? "We need to wait but honestly, I think they're fine to eat now."

"Should slice them up next time." Dew says. He searches for the smallest one, because he ate a sandwich about twenty minutes ago and would rather not have any of Aether's hard work go to waste. "Easier to eat than this."

"Says the guy who begs to choke on my knot." Aether mutters and starts whistling innocently when Dew gives him a sharp glance.

"Okay, no." Dew says. "It's not that big."

Aether makes a dramatic, hurt noise that leaves Dew rolling his eyes. "Big enough to hurt your jaw." The other ghoul mutters and Dew steps back, hands up in the air, flipping Aether off.

"Fine asshole, you try fitting one of those whole in your mouth! See how fun it is."

"Easily." Aether sniffs haughtily and licks up a candied apple by the stick. He opens his mouth as wide as it will go and tries to shove the whole thing in, but of course. It's too big.

"Maybe now you'll be grateful." Dew mumbles, crossing his arms as Aether struggles to take a bite and then struggles to get his teeth unstuck from the cool caramel. "The next time I decide to let you knot my mouth. Dickhead."

"Ooo..." Aether says pathetically through his mouthful. "Eehh eeee."

"I'm not fucking helping you, but I'll watch you suffer."

He keeps his promise. Watches as Aether's eyes start feeling up with tears from the strain of trying to get the apple out of his mouth. He's blushing. Breathing heavy through his nose.

It's a good look on him.

After an eternity of struggling, Aether finally managed to dislodge the sticky fruit. He huffs and gasps in great big breaths of air, drool and caramel mixing on his chin as he stares at Dew with a stunned expression.

"Yeah." Dew says, feeling some kind of way about the whole thing. "Not a nice feeling, is it? And I have to keep my teeth off too."

Aether shrugs. Takes a normal bite out of his apple now, chewing as he raises his eyebrows.

"S'not so bad once you get used to it." He says. "Maybe you just need more training."

"Maybe you should be grateful I even let you stick your dick inside me!" Dew hisses.

"Hey, Dewdrop."

"What."

"I love you."

[painfulstretch]

had this daydream recently about living in a relatively remote area with few houses next to mine, in front of a huge park. not too long ago, i got a new neighbor - a pretty woman, in her late twenties maybe early thirties, sporting a big, round belly. even massively pregnant, she still seems to care about her body. every day at precisely 4:30pm, i can see her leave the house to go on a walk, all the way around the park, and without fail return at 5:15pm. i make it a habit to spy on her from my window.

today though, she's late. she came out of her house with a few minutes delay, her waddle more pronounced than ever, one hand pressed against her back and the other supporting her belly - even all the way from my window, i could tell how low it is.

an hour passes and she's not back yet. i'm starting to think about going to look for her when i see her stumble along the path, slightly bend over. both her hands are now clutching her round middle, and her face is scrunched up in effort and pain. i raise an eyebrow, watching her make her slow way to her house. she's almost directly in front of my home when she suddenly drops to the ground with a scream that i can hear even through the closed window and distance between us. i realise this isn’t just normal late term pregnancy pains or braxton hicks contractions but actual labor. she's in labor, in front of my house, with no one else around. i know the rest of the few neighbours we have is on vacation. it's just her and me. i feel the heat between my thighs start to build as i jump into action.

i run outside and up to her. as i come closer, i see that her pants are drenched with amniotic fluid. her fingers dig into her skin. sweat glistens on her forehead and she's panting frantically before breaking into a loud guttoral groan. the contraction consumes her for what seems like eternity, making her tremble all over. when it subsides, she struggles and fails to get up. she lets out a sob.

"do you need help?" i ask, trying to make my voice sound as innocent as possible.

her eyes open and her head snaps in my direction. for a split moment, embarrassment fills her features, humiliation of being found like this, but then it's replaced by relief. she thinks help is here. she tells me yes, yes she does, and, thank god i'm here. i offer to take her inside, so she can make herself comfortable until an ambulance arrives. she gratefully nods.

i help her up and lead her to my open front door. when her eyes squeeze shut to ride out another contraction, i can't help but smirk to myself. she has no idea what she's agreed to. there won't be comfort and there will definitely not be an ambulance. why would i give up this golden opportunity of enjoying myself for the next several hours? hell, maybe the next few days. that baby won't come out any time soon

[archangeldyke-all]

*heavy breathing* I need more protective Sev, that bodyguard fic had me foaming at the mouth...anyways please may I request vigilante!sevika x journalist!reader

i was up all night thinking about this ask anon this is such a good idea

men and minors dni

"you really won't come with me?" you ask. sevika laughs across the table at you.

"fuck no."

"sevika!" you pout. she shakes her head.

"what made you think i'd say yes? you know i hate the promenade." she grunts. you roll your eyes.

"but you're just invested in this story as i am!"

"you don't know they'll strike tonight."

"right. the masked vigilante that's been picking off zaun's corrupt rich one by one won't be attending the biggest gala of the year, that makes sense. don't be stupid sev! they're gonna be there, and they're gonna take their next victim, and i'm gonna be there to catch 'em. and then you're gonna feel like an asshole for not comin' with me."

"'catch 'em'?" sevika asks. you roll your eyes.

"no, fine, not catch 'em. just ask 'em a few questions." you say, leaning back in your chair as the waitress arrives with your food.

you've been investigating this vigilante since they started their work about a year ago. you don't know much, just that they're protecting the people of zaun better than any piltover enforcer ever has. they're quick and efficient, they don't leave a trace. they'll kill anyone from corrupt businessmen who live on the promenade to lowlife domestic abusers in the depths of the undercity.

you work for the local radio station, you get a weekly hour long segment where you can talk about whatever you want. lately, this mysterious vigilante has been all you've talked about.

about six months ago, you got a visitor at work. sevika. she told you she'd heard your segment last night, and she was fascinated with the new hero of zaun. you'd never met the woman before, but the two of you became fast friends discussing the vigilante and comparing notes. and now, she's abandoning you.

"i can't believe you. you're supposed to be my partner in crime!" you pout as you tuck into your sandwich. sevika chuckles around her burger.

"i've got a job, you know." she says. you roll your eyes.

"you don't work nights." you grunt. sevika chuckles.

"maybe i just don't wanna meet my hero. aren't you worried you'll meet 'em and they'll be... normal?"

"what are you talking about, that would be amazing! a normal person taking justice into their own hands? protecting the vulnerable and poor? that's the story of the year right there!" you say, throwing a french fry at sevika across the table. she just rolls her eyes and tosses the fry in her mouth.

the gala blows. you spent half your paycheck on a dress nice enough for this, and you're definitely regretting it. it's just a bunch of rich people who make their money off exploited miners making speeches about how hard they worked for their money. at least the food's good. and the drinks are free.

you've caught no sight of anyone who looks like your mysterious vigilante. the worst part is sevika's gonna be a know-it-all asshole about it. you can already hear her now, 'i told you it'd be a bust,' and 'i can't believe you spent that much on a dress!' you pout. she's such an asshole. you're still a bit pissed she didn't come with you. you were looking forward to seeing her in a suit or dress, maybe dancing with her for a bit, making fun of rich assholes all night long as you both slip fancy silverware into your purse to sell later.

you sigh. you've been daydreaming about sevika a lot lately. the teeny tiny crush you've had on her since the moment you met her has grown ten times in size, and now you're so hopelessly in love with your friend that you can't go twenty minutes without thinking about her. fuck this, you're going to smoke.

you make your way to the balcony, leaning against the wall and fishing a joint out of your purse. shit. you don't have a lighter.

there's a man beside you smoking a cigar. you recognize him from the papers, the CEO of some chemtech company that's in deep shit right now for it's human experimentation. "you need a light?" he asks. you snatch the lighter out of his outstretched hand, lighting your joint before passing it back. "what, no thank you?" he asks with a smirk. you roll your eyes.

"my cousin was one of the poor fucks who signed up to get poked and prodded by your scientists. died three weeks later. all for a hundred extra bucks." you spit out. the man chuckles.

"i'm sorry for your loss, dear, but you should know i had nothing to do with it." you take a long drag off your joint, considering how many nights you'd spend in jail if you decked this fucker right here and now. "i was just as shocked as the public was when these accusations came to light!" he insists, his cocky smirk never leaving his lips. you roll your eyes. "what's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone, anyways?" he asks. you scoff at him.

"working." you say. he raises an eyebrow at you and you turn to go back inside. before you can push the door open, he's got a hand around your wrist.

"working? what kind of work do you do?" he asks, his eyes trailing up and down your body. "anything i can... support you in?" he asks as he licks his lips. you scoff.

"fuck you! i'm not a hooker! and even if i was i'd rather die than sleep with a spineless fuck like you." you grunt as you struggle against his hold. he backhands you, and you gasp, your hand coming up to hold your cheek.

"you better watch your mouth, girl." he grunts out, crowding you against the balcony railing. you gulp.

you're trapped. if you back up any further, you'll tip over the ledge and fall a few hundred feet to your death. his hands are pinned on either side of you, and in front of you his growing erection is pressing against your thigh. panic starts to build in your chest. "get the fuck off of me." you squeak. he chuckles.

"and why would i do that? i got you right where i want you now." he whispers against your ear. you shiver. "don't worry, honey. once i'm done with you i'll send you home with enough money to feed you for a month." tears start welling in your eyes as you push against his chest. he brings his hand up to choke you. you whimper. "if you keep makin' noises like that, i'll pay you double." he grunts.

behind him, something falls and lands on the balcony with a thump. you can't make out what it is, and he doesn't seem to notice. just as your vision begins fading in the corners, his grip on your throat releases. you gasp in a quick breath and watch as the man stumbles backwards. you blink. he's holding his own neck now, with both hands, as blood trickles through his fingers. you blink again. his stumbling stops when he backs into something, and he turns around to look at his assailant.

you look at them at the same time.

six foot something, broad shoulders, shrouded in black clothing, a ski mask over their face, blood dripping off the pink sword being sheathed back into their copper arm. you blink.

the man collapses to his knees in front of the vigilante, choking on his own blood. they don't seem to notice, their silver eyes locked on yours. the fear and panic in your body recede, something similar to glee rising up. you smile.

"sev?" you ask, tentatively. the eyes behind the mask blink. you giggle. "are you fucking kidding me?!" you ask, giddy. the vigilante before you sighs, their shoulders falling, a hand coming up to scratch the back of their head.

by your feet, the man's gargling and wheezing subsides. he's dead, finally. you step over his corpse into sevika's space, slowly reaching up to fiddle with her ski mask. she doesn't smack you away, so you slowly pull the mask up and over her face.

sevika's biting her lip, a worried look in her eye. you giggle. "you had work, huh?" you ask. she shrugs.

"i mean, technically this is work." she says. you shake your head in disbelief.

"i can't fuckin' believe you. this whole time?" you ask. she shrugs.

"i-- i didn't think we'd become friends." she admits. "i just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna expose me." she says. "i didn't really expect--" she cuts herself off. you blink up at her.

"expect what?" you ask.

"i didn't expect you." she finishes simply. you open your mouth to ask her what she means, but you're distracted by the shadow of a figure approaching the glass door that leads to the balcony.

"shit. you need to go." you say, pulling her mask back down over her face. she glances behind her and curses.

"fuck." she grunts, before turning and leaping up to catch the lip of the roof. she pulls herself up, then turns to reach her hand down for you. "come on." she says. you blink, then reach up to take her hand.

she pulls you up to the roof effortlessly, steadying you as you take your heels off to walk better on the slanted slate tiles as you both run away from the scene of the crime. sevika takes you back the way you suppose she'd came, down a fire escape, across a ladder between two roofs, then down into a dingy alleyway.

she catches you before your feet can get mangled by broken glass and pebbles on the alleyway, holding you bridal style. you giggle. she gulps. "you're ridiculous." you say. she shrugs. "did you know i was out there with him?" you ask. she shakes her head no.

"just heard a struggle." she says. "he wasn't the initial target tonight, but... i'm glad i went after him instead."

"me too." you say. she huffs above you. you bite your lip. "i really missed you tonight." you admit. sevika blinks down at you.

"i was gonna tell you eventually, you know." she says. you smile.

"it's okay." you say. she shakes her head no. "what?" you ask.

"it's not. you're my best friend and i've been keeping way too many secrets from you. i know i can trust you it's just..." she trails off.

"secrets?" you ask. she freezes. you laugh. "come on, sev, it can't be worse than 'i'm actually the masked hero you've been obsessed with for the past year'." you say. she huffs. you elbow her.

"i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." you say. sevika raises an eyebrow at you.

"you got secrets?"

"just one." you say, shrugging. sevika blinks.

"okay." she says. you gulp.

"okay. put me down." you demand. sevika tosses your heels onto the ground before gently helping you into them. she keeps her hands on your hips as you wobble, shoving your feet into the shoes. she doesn't move them once you're done.

"so?" she asks. you sigh.

"if i tell you this and you act like a jackass i'm telling all of zaun your secret identity." you whisper. sevika laughs at the empty threat.

"no you wouldn't, you're not a snitch." she says. you huff.

"i know." you say. then you shrug, look sevika in her eye, and speak. "i'm kinda in love with you." you say. sevika freezes, her hands on your hips clenching into your flesh.

"'me' like, me? or 'me' like... me?" she asks, gesutring at her all black get up. you chuckle.

"you like you, sevika. you. the you i've actually known for half a year. i mean the whole vigilante thing is hot, sure, but. you're the one i'm always thinking about." you whisper.

"you think about me more than the new hero of zaun?" she asks, disbelieving. you chuckle.

"is it that hard to believe?" you ask. she gulps.

"a bit. you're very dedicated to your work. almost figured me out a few times there." she says. you laugh.

"so?" you ask. she blinks at you. "what's your other secret?" you ask. a smile slowly crawls up her face.

"oh." she says, like she's just remembering her end of the deal. "can i just show you instead?" she asks. you blink, then nod.

you expect her to take you somewhere, or maybe pull something out of her pocket. maybe she's gonna show you another feature on her mech arm, or maybe she's got a secret hideout somewhere.

what you don't expect, is for sevika to surge forward, both hands coming up to cup your jaw, her lips crashing against yours.

you squeak in surprise, then moan in pleasure, your hands coming up to wrap around sevika's strong shoulders as her hands move down to grip your waist. she presses you against the wall of the alleyway, sighing against your lips in relief, shoving a thigh between your legs. you gasp and pull away to look at her.

sevika's grinning down at you, a cocky little glint in her eye.

"surprise." she whispers against your lips. you giggle, then pull her down for another kiss.

your listeners are gonna be pissed when you give up your search for zaun's new hero. oh well, you think as you press your lips against sevika's, sevika will help me come up with a new story.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

[jessjad]

Unexpected

Chapter 15 - Epiloge

Summary: After a Halloweenparty Y/N actually didn't want to got to, her life seems to be turned around. The reason is a very stubborn Supe that seems to have her in his visier. Is it just a coincidance or more?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 881

Warnings: none really, again some medical freedom

A/N: Here we are. The last chapter. Do we still remember the little secret Y/N had? Well, here comes the answer to that. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

5 Months later...

"You really don't need to come with me." Y/N said for the third time while she was putting on her coat.

She turned around to look back into her living space just to see Ben already standing there, waiting for her. He was wearing some black jeans, a dark green Henley, his most favorite boots and a very stubborn and determinate look on his face.

"I'm coming with." was all he said, his arms crossed infront of his chest.

One thing Y/N had learned in the last months was that the supe who didn't left her side anymore was a lot more work than she had thought. It was tough for him to get used to the new world he had woken up in. The technology, the new worldview of men and women. Y/N knew that he had felt lost.

After everything that has happened with Homelander on school side, mankind screamed for a change and the overthrow of Vought. Most people didn't want to be around supes anymore and they questioned if it was still necessary to have superhuman people on the loose. The discussion did not end, especially with recurring footage that the world should never have seen. Bloody, horrific splatter that showed how much the supes just did not care.

Everything Ben had lived for, worked for, was now the worst thing of all and he did not know what to do with it. The once most loved man had lost his worth and he just couldn't handle it. This drove even her to despair sometimes.

"Okay, okay." Y/N gave in.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in Doctor Field's consulting room, waiting. Doctor Field was a specialist in DNA research and nuclear medicine. He was recommended to Y/N after she explained her new situation to her previous doctor. While Y/N sat quietly in one of the chairs, Ben paced around the room.

"Ben, can you please sit down?"

"Where the fuck is this mountebank?" Ben said, ignoring her question. "Back in my day they never left me fucking waiting."

He sounded annoyed, but Y/N heared that he was a little on edge too. And she could not blame him. She hadn't felt any different when she first told Ben about her appointment with Doctor Field. Of course he immediately wanted to know why. But she found it difficult to find the right words. By now, Y/N knew that he had an abandonment problem and it was difficult for her to know how he would react to this news.

So she explained to him that they had Alzheimer's in the family. After her grandma showed the first signs, Y/N's mum had herself tested, but nothing was found in her case. So Y/N had dared to take the test too, but her test came back positive. She had inherited the ApoE4 gene twice. Which meant she would most likely get sick. Ben then disappeared for three days.

"Sorry I kept you waiting." the door opened all of a sudden and startled both of them. "But now I'm here. So let's not waste any more time."

The doctor sat down behind his desk and opend up Y/N's file. Now Ben also sat down next to his woman. Eventhough he looked normal he couldn't deny that he was a little worried now. But only minimally.

"So? What are my results?" Y/N asked nervously, but doctor Field did not answer right away.

"To be honest, I've never seen anything like this before." Well, that did not really help. "Your original test results were several years ago now. So we repeated the tests using today's standards. Normally the results should not have changed much. But still... it's different in this case."

Y/N and Ben saw how his eyes drifted from one to the other.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ben wanted to know.

Ben had asked Y/N almost the same question after he came back three days later. The argument that had ensued afterward because he had simply left Y/N alone and then acted as if it had never happened had ended in wild, hot sex and his word that he just had to get out, getting high and brake a few things. And Y/N believed him.

"The ApoE4 gene has... changed. There is a certain blueprint for every gene, but for you it looks different now. It has changed. The radioactive radiation you've been exposed to for so long seems to be affecting the gene."

"How?" Y/N asked surprised.

Did that mean, that there was still hope? With one quick look to Ben, she saw that he seemed to think the same thing.

"To fully determine that we need to make further tests." But now doctor Field was looking at Ben, not Y/N.

"No fucking way." Ben stared back.

"To fully understand what has happened here, we need to find out how the radioactive radiation affects you. You're a supe."

"Fuck off!" he shouted. "I'm not gonna let you do some tests on me like I'm a fucking lab rat."

"Ben..." Y/N tried to calm him down, but she knew it was uselss.

"No fucking way!"

And as the discussion continued, Y/N had to grin. No matter how this turned out, she wouldn't have it any other way.

A/N: This is it. I really liked these two. 🥹 Aaaand I left the ending open on purpose. Maybe I'll come back to them. 😊

Thanks to everyone who gave this story a try, reblogged or commented on it. It really meant a lot to me! 💜 And maybe we'll see eachother on my next story. 🤗

@lyarr24 @k-slla @leigh70 @deadlydivergentgirl @deans-spinster-witch

@chriszgirl92 @bitchykittenconnoisseur

[gtlurker]

Chapter seven of inhuman! Hope this chapter I'd enjoyed because I loved writting it, bit of violence but nothing to major in this chapter, enjoy!

Chapter seven

Atlas

“There is no way in hell he just said ‘you have twenty minutes,’ then hung up.” Ronan tells me from the other side of the kitchen where he's pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the locked cabinet that I'm not allowed within ten feet of.

He started to keep a lock on the cabinet a few months ago when I stole a bottle of rum and brought it to school to try with some other kids, so it makes me a little annoyed when he offers a glass to isabelle. “Isnt she underaged?”

I ask, gesturing to miniscule girl. Isabelle chose one of my favorite dresses that i made, a simple forest green ankle length, long sleeve running dress with built in shorts. It's simple, yes, but I can certainly see why she chose it.

“She's twenty, not fifteen. If she wants some alcohol then she can have some.” Ronan responds with an eye roll, he turns back Isabelle, who shakes her head in response. “I'd rather not.” Her voice is so quiet it's basically a whisper, I can't tell if it's because she's so small her voice won't project, or if it's because she's still scared.

She spent the night here last night, and most of the house didn't get a wink of sleep. I had stayed up the whole night trying to find more information about our little guest. Isabelle just stayed up the whole night, sitting on the window sill and watching the backyard, the house is surrounded by acres of forests, but at night there's not really much to look at.

I tried to start a few conversions, but her responses were always quipped, and each time I spoke she would jump out of her skin. I don't know how she's still so awake right now after spending the whole night awake.

Ronan had asked her a few questions about her time in the lab, but she didn't really seem inclined to answer any of them. It's impossible to not stare at her, she's holding a single cheerio, and it's taking her a while to eat through it. It's almost hard to imagine that just one of something people usually eat by the hundreds is enough for Isabelle to eat.

I wonder what it would feel like to hold her, though she hasn't let me hold her yet, i've seen ronan hold her a handful of times, she clearly hates it each time and is never very willinging to be picked up, i still find myself jealous that i probably won't get the opportunity to hold her before her brother comes to get her in a few minutes.

The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence only punctuated by the sound of Ronan taking a sip from his glass.

A loud knock at the door that's more like a banging than a knocking is the only warning were given before the door bursts open, and a very angry looking damien is storming into our house, in the span of five seconds, the chain lock broke and is currently sitting on the other side of the kitchen, ronan has got to put more money into our security system.

Ronan's glass has shattered to the ground and his gun is drawn and aimed at Damien, and Damien's gun is pointed at me. Why me!? I don't even have a weapon on me, unless you count a bowl of soggy cheerios a weapon.

As Damien and Ronan start to shout over each other, both threatening to pull the trigger if the other didn't put his gun down, my gaze shifts between the two of them for a good few seconds. I really hate when I'm held at gunpoint, it's not as fun as it seems in the movies.

As the two gun wielding assholes continue their screaming match, the sight of Isabelle curled in on herself and covering her ears catches my eyes. Did neither of these idiots think that maybe screaming and pulling their guns out might hurt her ears? She's four inches tall, her ears are probably a lot more sensitive than a normal persons.

I make sure neither Damien or Ronan have their eyes on me, before I slowly reach over to gently tap on Isabelle's back. Naturally, she recoils from my touch and looks up to me, her hands still pressed tightly over her little ears.

Our eyes meet and i nod to my outstretched hand, it takes a moment before she carefully removes her hands from her ears and scoots a bit closer to my hand, i quickly look up to make sure that both of them are still distracted and watching as damiens finger get a bit closer to the trigger of the gun.

I don't understand why both of them had taken their guns out, I'm also a bit concerned that Ronan had a gun on him when I thought that we were both unarmed. How many times has he had guns on him and I was unaware, he probably sleeps with guns under his pillows for all I know, and I really don't know why Damien pulled out his gun when he broke in.

we would have let him in if had just knocked on the door, you know, like a normal fucking person. It also makes no sense why he has his gun pointed at me.

After confirming that their both still distracted i gently scoop isabelle into my hand, bringing her to my chest and cupping my second over top of her to make a small quiet space for her, it's probably still noisy for her, but it's definitely more muffled than when she was covering her ears on the table.

When the realization that i'm holding an entire life in my hand right now. Her whole entire life is in the palm of my hand, and it feels so surreal. It's almost unreal how I can feel her squirming slightly in my grip. I swallow and try not to make a sound or move a muscle so as to not scare her into making a sound. I don't want either of them to notice that I'm now holding her.

I flinch at the sudden sound of Ronan bursting out laughing and damien demanding to know what's so funny. Rona looks over to me and points at Damien with his gun, laughing harder as he tries to get the words out.

“He- he has a BB gun!”

Ronan exclaims, followed by another fit of laughter. Damien stares dumbfoundead, and looks at his gun, my eyes also slide down to his gun. He turns to the gun in his hand and looks back to me, and then at his gun. His gun in fact, is not a BB gun, it's a 3.3 Semi-automatic handgun.

Damiens brow furrowed in confusion as roman's laughter abruptly stopped, and he fired two shots at damien, one in the elbow and one hand.

Damiens shout is more out of shock than pain, he gun clatters to the floor and Ronan wastes no time grabbing it and aiming that in him as well. I can feel Isabelle trembling in my cupped hands, muttering and trying to figure out what's going on.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Ronan asks calmly, there's an anger lacing his voice that I've never heard before. When Damien's only answer is a pained grunt, Ronan fires another shot that takes Damien's pinky finger right off, Isabelle shrieks at the sound of a third shot followed by a pained cry, and I feel my dinner rise to my throat at the bloody sight.

“I said, who. The fuck. Are you?!”

Ronan shouts again, and I quickly realize he has no idea who Damien is. I make a dash for the door as damien starts to shout who he is and what he's here for, i hold isabelle tight to my chest, and the sound of two guns clanking against the floor is the last thing i hear before i shut the door to my bedroom and open my hand to see isabelle.

she's been crying the whole time from the look on her face, so i set her down to not further overwhelm her. “Was, was that my brother?” she asks, and i nod, deciding to be honest.

“Why did he have a gun?!”

“I don't know.”

“Was he shot?”

“Yes. in the arm.”

“Will he die?!”

“No.”

Never mind being honest, she is not in the right mindset for hearing the truth. The truth is I don't know if he'll survive those bullet wounds, I don't hear any more gunshots or shouting, so I'm assuming they've started to get along.

Isabelle and I stayed in my room for another hour. She gets changed into a set of pajamas I sewn two weeks back, a pink pair of pajama pants and an ill fitting pastel yellow shirt to pair with it.

When I'm confident that they've dealt with all the blood and started to calm down, I take Isabelle and slowly creak open the door.

Ignore the question part I clicked it by accident and don't know how to remove it, so just enjoy a little pole lmao

ANYWAY hope you enjoyed this chapter, Ronan forgetting the face of his own client is honestly so real

[lesbianslovebts]

When I was a young child, I had lots of meltdowns that my mom didn't understand. I would cry and cry, but I could never say what was wrong. Well, it turns out I couldn't even speak in that state, let alone explain what I was feeling. As I got older, I became more prone to shutdowns and bouts of severe depression rather than meltdowns. But now I'm in my mid-late twenties, and I've started having meltdowns again as an autistic adult. It's probably been about a year since they started up again, and I didn't know what they were at first. I wanna share what they're like for me, in case there are any other late-diagnosed autistic people who want to know more about what meltdowns look like in an adult. This is what happened 2 Saturdays ago:

I went to the store and found out they'd changed the deli section around drastically. The person who normally slices my salami wasn't there, and the new person sliced it thicker than I like. Still, as long as I had the right brand, I knew I'd be okay. But then I got home and found out my brother had his kids come over. There was abnormal debris in my path, like toys and backpacks and empty boxes for the new gates we'd had to install. That was overwhelming both visually and spatially. But I was able to heat up my regular Saturday burrito and ate it in my room. I took a nap after to recover from the grocery trip, as I usually do.

When I woke up, things started really going downhill. I stayed in my room and was trying to do things on my computer. I turned on my fan for white noise to drown out the kids, but I could still hear them squeal or cry, come up to my door and bang on it with toys, and there were other loud, unexpected bangs that made me jump in my seat, multiple times. No one had an explanation for me what those were. So, I put on my noise cancelling headphones. That worked for an hour until my ears got tired from being pressed on, so I took them off. I went out of my room to get something.

Then, I realized there were 3 additional unexpected guests over, including another child. My brother didn't tell me or my mom about this, so I froze up when I saw them. My mom pointed out that I hadn't acknowledged their greetings, but I couldn't really say anything, waved awkwardly, and moved on. I holed up in my room again and kept flinching from the noises.

Additionally, my brother, who sounds just like our abusive, alcoholic father, kept yelling at the kids. It sounded like it was right outside my door. Physical anxiety began to set in from the PTSD. Then a migraine came on. It felt like 3 nails were being hammered into my head. I took my pills and tried to sleep some more to prevent it from getting worse, but the noise was too much. I texted my mom about the migraine, desperate for her to quiet everything down, but it didn't happen.

I started breathing abnormally. I sat in my bed, rocking back and forth, unable to sleep. A couple tears fell, but I tried to stop because crying makes migraines worse. The noises didn't stop. I started pushing the heel of my palm on my head where the migraine hurt and dragged it across my skull. It would have looked like I was hitting myself. Then I started sobbing. Mouth open, gut-wrenching, screaming sobs. I tried to muffle it with my blankets, which made it harder to breathe. I coughed and gagged and blew my nose.

When I ran out of energy to sit up, I slumped against the wall, still sobbing, with my arms sticking out and tense. I dug my heels into the bed and dragged them on the mattress, kicking each leg out one after the other. By the time the meltdown ended about 30-40 minutes later, when I'd completely run out of energy, the extra guests left, and the kids were in bed. I laid in bed, exhausted, but unable to sleep. Eventually, I got out of bed to talk to my mom about what happened and what needs to change to prevent this from happening again.

I had no control over the crying, hitting, or kicking. I think frustration and anger were the most prominent emotions I felt. I was also deeply disappointed because it was my birthday weekend, and it was ruined. I still don't know what I can do, if anything, to make these meltdowns easier or shorter when they happen. I'll be working with my therapist on that. Anyway, that's what an adult autistic meltdown looked like for me.

(This is okay to reblog. I invite other adult autistics to share their experiences in the tags or comments.)

[madarasthicc]

Chapter 8: The Break In.

FINALLY!!! I'm posting again, Sorry for the long wait life has been pretty wild and musing has been rare.

Madara x reader

I'm looking for 35 notes for this one hopefully that will take enough time for me to work on the next chapter.

Thank you for your continued patience while I work on this.

[Chapter Seven] -> [Chapter Nine]

[Masterlist]

“Hashirama.” 

“M sleeping.” Hashirama grunted, rolling over in his bed trying to ignore the voice. He was trying to sleep. 

“Hashirama.” The voice hissed.

“What?” Hashirama sat up so fast, he smacked his head against something solid. “What the-“ There was Madara standing on his ceiling, rubbing his own forehead. “What the absolute fuck Madara?!” He hissed softly. “What are you doing in my room at- at gods it must be close to 3am?” 

“I had to talk to you right away.” Madara said letting his chakra stop flowing to his feet and landed on Hashirama’s bed-thankfully not on the man himself. Groaning, Hashirama gestured for him to continue. “I’m having a feeling. Feelings.”

“Really? This is what you woke me up for? Feelings? Don’t you have feelings all the time. Divine, Madara.” Hashirama was going to strangle his friend. 

“Hm anger and annoyance mostly.” He said but shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. Feelings for Y/N.”

“Anger and annoyance are feelings Madara, how dumb can you be.” Hashirama said, rubbing his eyes. “Of course you have feelings for Y/N, she will be your wife. She’s a joy to be around, very sweet, and intelligent. Those are all good things.”

“But she has an ex, and he is an asshole. Hashirama I’ve never wanted to pummel someone more… well, other than Tobirama.” 

“You’re jealous.”

“Jealous? What do I have to be jealous of?” He asked, frowning. “I’m one of, if not the strongest shinobi, leader of a prestigious clan, founder of a great village, and handsome on top of it. There is absolutely nothing he could have that makes him better than me.” 

“I’m not even going to comment on the first part of that.” Hashirama said, now trying not to laugh. “He’s her ex, they’ve known each other longer, they were in love, and they’ve probably had sex.” He pointed out, not bothered by Madara’s growl. 

“Four years.” Hashirama was shocked to hear this, letting out a long whistle. “They were together for four years. But she said they separated six years ago, surely he’s moved on. He needs to leave her alone.” 

“Love doesn’t just disappear like that Madara.” He said, snapping his fingers. “Plus Y/N is quite the catch, anyone would be sour to lose her. You got lucky my friend.” 

“THERE’S AN UCHIHA IN THE HOUSE!” Tobirama slammed Hashirama’s door open, kunai in hand.

“Gods damn it!” Both Hashirama and Madara jumped. “What the fuck? Is it drop in on Hashirama at all fuck in the morning.”

“Anija, such language is not necessary-Madara you are a terrible influence.” Tobirama said disappointed. “How did you even get in?”

“Through the window like any self respecting shinobi would.” He pointed out. “I’ve been here twenty minutes, you both are getting rusty. I could have killed Hashirama.” 

“Twenty-twenty minutes?! You just watched me sleep for twenty minutes? Divine, you can be such a creep.” Hashirama huffed, shoving Madara. “Out, out of my room and my house. We can talk when normal people are functioning.” 

“Fine.” Madara got up, heading back to the open window.

“Through the door, Madara. You can leave through the door.” Hashirama groaned watching the man pulling his leg back in.

“No- let me push him out.” Tobirama rushed towards Madara to push him out the window. 

“Children. I’m surrounded by children.” Hashirama groaned. “Hey! I don’t care how, just get out of my room so I can sleep. Now.” He growled, Madara was out the window before Tobirama could get to him, pouting as he left the room. “I’m sleeping in!” Hashirama called out before flopping back. “Gods help me.” 

—

Now that they had shared some steamy kisses, she let her touches linger, felt easy kissing his cheek-as much as she wanted to kiss his lips she couldn’t with people watching. She could feel her mother’s eyes on them that morning. Y/n knew her mother didn’t know about their hot and heavy kissing. But her mother could sense something was different, how comfortable they were with each other. 

“Lord Madara?” Ume cleared her throat as they all sat at the table eating breakfast. It was normally a quiet meal, so it set Y/N on edge with how her mother sounded. 

“Hm, yes?” 

“Tell me, if you were getting milk for free would you still purchase the cow?” Ume asked much to Y/N horror. She couldn’t believe her mother had practically came out and asked if they were having sex. At least that was what her mother was getting at. She had heard her mother rave about young women offering themselves to men but never getting the man to marry them. Stating, “why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free”. She was asking if Y/N was putting out before they were married. Before Madara “bought” her.

Madara set his chopsticks down and stared at Ume. Silence was beginning to feel heavy. “There is a lot to that loaded question and I’m unsure what part to answer first. Or if I should even dignify it with an answer.” 

“Seems pretty straightforward to me. Yes or no.” Ume pointed out setting her own utensils down.

“Mother.” Y/N hissed. “Is the table really the place for this conversation? We are all trying to enjoy our meal.”

“When would be a better place or time to ask? Hm?” She asked, looking at her daughter sitting next to Madara. “Before or after someone catches you two in bed?” 

“Not asking at all would have been preferable.” Madara stated, resting his chin in his hand. “But since you’re so curious.” He smiled wide-Y/N noticed he did this when he was mad. “Yes. I’m an honorable man, perhaps it’s something you’re unused to dealing with.” He pointed out. “Even when the milk is free, if he likes the cow he will buy it.” 

“I’m right here.” Y/N said, slamming her chopsticks on the table. Starting Ume and Madara out of their glaring match. “First of all I am not livestock. Nor am I something to be bought and sold.” She hissed, her e/c eyes glaring at them both. “Mother, How could you ask that? At the table of all places? If you’re so damn curious about my sex life just ask! In private!” She snapped before turning her eyes to Madara. “And you.” Madara was taken off guard to have earned her ire as well. “If he likes the cow, he’ll buy it?!” She mocked. “What bullshit is that? Instead of meeting her bait you could have just answered plainly. Since everyone wants to know so badly- NO we’re not having sex. There. Are we finished?” Y/N didn’t bother to wait, grabbed her bowl and left the room. 

“Y/N! Do not speak to me or your future husband like that!” Her mother called out.

“So, you’re allowed to veinly ask about our sex life but divine forbid she snaps back?” Madara asked, not bothered by her reaction. “The symbolism you used is demeaning towards her, of course she would be irate.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know her. I’m her mother, I’ve known her all her life, and raised her myself. You’ve been around her for what, six weeks tops? You didn’t even remember her name” Ume pointed out and Madara was shocked she knew that. Probably a maid told her that embarrassing tidbit. “And you used the same symbolism.”

“Well, I’m working on getting to know her. Clearly she’s grown up to someone you don’t know.” Madara said, by divine this felt like arguing with his father. “I used only the language you appear to understand.” He stood up. “Whether or not we decide to have sex-be it before or after our wedding is not your business. I kindly ask you not to push your nose where it doesn’t belong.” He said leaving the dining room in hopes of finding Y/N. He wasn’t exactly sorry for what he said, but did feel bad. For what he wasn’t entirely sure of.

It didn’t take long to find her- merely standing in one of the gardens. He was sure had he given her time she would have left the compound completely. Probably to Ellie and Evan’s home. 

“I-“ Madara didn’t think he’d ever really apologize before. Not for hurting someone’s feelings. “I’m not good at this, but I’m sorry.” He was still beside her.  “That we were talking about you without including you. It wasn’t right.” Madara took a look at her and felt a bit guilty for finding her anger attractive. Her cheeks were red, lips thinned, and eyes narrowed. She looked like she was ready for a fight and Madara liked the look. “I don’t think you’re livestock to be bought or sold. No one should be seen in that way … so I’m sorry if my words made you feel that. It was not my intention, but I understand that’s what I did.” 

“I think this is the most I’ve heard you say all at one time without being prompted.” Y/N exhaled a deep breath. 

“That’s it? That’s all you got from that?” Madara asked, frowning and crossed his arms. He had expected her to accept his apology, not just gloss over it completely. 

“Just let me process what you said .” She said softly, her arms were still crossed and she turned from him. As much as he didn’t like this, he wasn’t going to force his presence on her. 

“Shall I go?” 

“No. You don’t have to.” He was about to walk away before she answered. 

“I shall wait then.” Madara nodded and crossed his legs to sit. He could wait, he could be patient and as much as she needed. 

She soon followed after him, crossing her legs and sat down. “Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free. My mother told me that all the time as I was growing up. That I had to keep men wanting if I wanted one to marry me.”

“Why, you were already betrothed to me. You didn’t need to do anything to have a man marry you.” Madara asked. 

“Mother didn’t think you’d live to adulthood. I honestly don’t think she even wanted to marry me to a shinobi.�� Y/N explained with a shrug. “I think she personally hates shinobis, no fault of your own.”

“I can’t fault her for thinking I'd be dead. I lost all four of my siblings. Statistically, it is not good for marriage prospects.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing with his mother in law. He couldn’t say he hated her but they didn’t get along. “I can’t imagine how awful she reacted to your ex.”

“Um.. she actually liked Itsuki.” She said slowly, looking away. 

“Really?? I don’t see why she would. As she put it, he was getting the milk for free.” Madara mocked trying to make his voice like Ume’s, crossing his arms once more. God damn itsuki. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“He’s a simple man, who’s family runs a large farm.” She was trying to find a way to explain this. 

“And? I can list many things about myself that make me far superior.” Madara huffed. 

“Other than running a farm, crops and livestock, he had no other responsibilities. I would be easily available for her company. Likely live in a family home, away from a large population.” Y/N felt a bit bad to list any positives if she had stayed with Itsuki. “Other than me, she has no one. She talks highly of being a lady, of upholding Cayuga clan beliefs. But after fleeing into farmland, it’s all she’s known for the last twenty years. Coming back to a clan oriented village, having to step down as matriarch is not easy for her. I don’t think she realized how this would affect her.” 

Madara didn’t really want to feel bad for Ume. But hearing that Y/N was all she had and was losing her to marriage did make him feel a little sympathy. 

“But, she did chase him out of our house when she caught us together. He didn’t even have a chance to put clothes on, running from my mother-who was wielding a butcher's knife.” 

“Really? Can’t say I’ve ever been in that situation.” Madara chuckled at the idea of it. Picture a young man trying to preserve his dignity while running from a mother with a knife.

“Thank you. And I accept your apology.” Y/N finally said, leaning over to kiss him. Not on the cheek for once, instead pressing her lips to his. “Since we’ve announced we’re not having sex she can’t bitch about kissing.”

Madara couldn’t help but smile. “Come with me to the office today.” He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t want to go without her. And he couldn’t just take the day off. 

“And do what? Twiddle my thumbs?” She asked, chuckling. But had already decided on agreeing to go with him. “Of course I’ll go with you. I’m reading through some books and scrolls, I’ll bring those along.”

“Get to know Hashirama, and I suppose Tobirama by default.” Madara grimaced at the mention of the younger man. She’d noticed his annoyance to down right hatred of the man but wasn’t sure why. And she didn’t feel like it was right to ask. At least not yet. “Alright let’s go.” He offered her his hand as he stood. Madara pulled her into a kiss, arms wrapped around her. 

“Hm, Madara.” She sighed against his lips, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re going to end up being late.” Y/n smiled but didn’t really pull away.

“They can wait.” He huffed pulling her into another kiss. Y/N merely giggled and let Madara dominate the kiss.

—

“You're late.” Tobirama huffed as Madara entered their shared office. 

“Does it matter?” Madara said, grabbing a chair for Y/N to sit at his desk. 

“Why is she here?” 

“I do have a name, it’s Y/N. Not sure if you remembered.” Y/N pointed out, wondering why Tobirama seemed to dislike her. Was it because she was marrying Madara? 

“She’s here because I asked her to join me. I figured instead of doing nothing, like you said, she could see what work I do. Read over Uchiha history and traditions.” Madara added. 

“You really think I do nothing during the day?” Y/N understood they didn’t know each other but that was a pretty shitty thing to think of someone. “Are you and Hashirama really related because I swear you two are so different.” 

“What else would a woman like you do? You’re not a kunoichi so you’re not training or teaching. You’re not a mother so you’re not tending to children. I know you have a cook in the house. If your household has a cook it’s not a stretch to assume you have maids. So you’re not cooking or cleaning.” Tobirama pointed out.

“And you’re an asshole.” 

Madara choked on his own spit at Y/N response. Though, she briefly had gone over what her days are like he wasn’t there to see it. Y/N was not a woman to sit idly, looking pretty. Though she definitely could do just that.

“Hashirama needs to teach you some lessons on manners, I’m sure you’ve been too busy to learn them.” She began her rant. “I like to spend my time reading history, both specifically on the Uchiha clan but also other clans. I will be matriarch to the Uchiha clan- it’s only right that I should know as much as possible since I wasn’t born to it. Plus it’s good to know the clans that have already joined and may come to Konoha. The whole knowing your allies and enemies. I will be an example of the Uchiha clan and I need that example to be of an educated woman. For both the clan and the village I am a part of.” She pointed out lifting up one of the books she had brought with. “Although I really don’t have to explain myself to you, of all people. It’s clear you think little of me, without knowing me. As well as having poor opinions on Uchiha’s as a whole from what I’ve heard. So I have nothing to prove to you, I kindly ask you to refrain from going out of your way to belittle me. You only make yourself look like a pompous asshole.”

Tobirama’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t think of a time anyone verbally fought back against him. Most people were too nervous or scared. But this woman was neither of those things, at least not on the outside. 

Madara was equally shocked by her words. He had seen her fire around those she knew, those she was comfortable with. But never in a hostile setting, which really had Madara surprised. 

“I-“ 

“Where’s Hashirama?” Madara asked, not wanting this situation to get worse between the two. As much as he liked Y/N not liking Tobirama, he didn’t want it to be worse than it already was.

“Well! Someone broke into the house last night.” Tobirama huffed. 

“Oh my god! Is Hashirama okay? Who would be dumb enough to break into a house with the two of you in it?” Y/N was shocked. Was hashirama hurt? Or perhaps needed the day off after a fight?

“I don’t know, Madara! Who would be dumb enough to break into our house at night, Madara!” Tobirama asked, giving him a glare.

“No! No you did not.” She gasped looking at Madara, who looked unfazed. 

“It was an emergency. I needed to speak with Hashirama immediately.” Madara said with a shrug. “What I’m more concerned about, is the fact I was able to easily break in without waking either of you.” 

“Is this a man thing? Like breaking into your friend's home? Because this is not the first time I’ve heard of this happening.” Y/N thought back to waking up finding Itsuki’s friends relaxing in his living room in the middle of the night. It gave her quite a fright and had her barricading the doors closed for a while.

“I would never do such a thing, unless it was a real emergency.” Tobirama pointed out. “Regardless, since Madara woke Hashirama so early he decided he was going to take the day off. I tried to bring him in but he pulled the elder brother card on me.” 

“Ah yes, scary hashirama.” Madara nodded, having seen it himself during many of their battles. 

“Scary Hashirama?” She asked, trying to picture Hashirama as being frightening. 

“Yes. He didn’t get the title God of Shinobi by smiling at people.” Tobirama said, turning back to his work. 

Y/N rolled her eyes but decided not to comment. She wasn’t going to start something, especially over something so Insignificant. Better to just let it go. 

Madara was pleased to see she could back down from a situation if need be. While seeing her stand up for herself was pleasing, he didn’t want her to pick every fight she could. She would be a good example to other Uchiha’s. His father had made a good choice, without even truly knowing at the time.

—-

Lunch was certainly an awkward affair. Tobirama didn’t want to go, at first he was far too busy without Hashirama there to have lunch. And then his excuse was he didn’t want to interrupt their time as a couple- stating he didn’t want to be a third wheel. But Y/N was persistent in getting Tobirama to join them. 

“Fine. I'll pick the place then.” He huffed, nearly throwing his things down on his desk. 

Madara found watching his fiancé annoying the Senju into submission hilarious.  Such a strong warrior brought down by a woman’s nagging. He tried not to think about how her nagging might affect him in the future.

Lunches were typically filled with Hashirama talking about anything and everything under the sun. But with Y/N there and Hashirama not, it fell down mostly to her and Madara talking. Tobirama had a sour look on his face throughout the meal.

“I thought you said you liked this place? Did you get something new?” Y/N asked, a bit worried Tobirama wasn’t enjoying his food. At least the look on his face seemed to say that.

“No? Why do you ask?” Tobirama was confused why she asked.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying it.” She pointed out.

“Darling, that’s just the way his face is.” Madara said, not even looking up from his own plate.

“Madara! That’s not very nice.” Sue elbowed him. “I would apologize but I assume this behavior is normal.”

“Even on a good day, Madara and I don’t get along. It is just how it is.” Tobirama said with a shrug. “Thank you for asking … it’s good- the food is good, this is just awkward.” 

“Ah well, yes it is a bit. But I want to get to know Madara’s friends-“

“He’s not my friend.”

“I’m not his friend.” The two men said at the same time. Neither making eye contact.

“Okay? Ah get to know his work colleagues then.” The two clearly had a strange relationship, if it could be called that. “I’ll be part of his life from now on, so I just want to get to know everyone he interacts with.” 

“I suppose a wife would want to know those things.” Tobirama said with a shrug. “I Ah apologize for my earlier behavior.”

“Wait, I need to write this down. Today, at almost one o’clock, Tobirama Senju apologized.” Madara said, grinning widely.

“Madara, don’t be mean.” 

“I don’t have a problem apologizing to people when I’ve done wrong. It’s just you I don’t like apologizing to.” Tobirama pointed out. “Anyway, before he interrupted me. I’m sorry for my behavior earlier, you’re right I don’t know you and judged you before I gave you a chance.”

“I appreciate the apology and I accept.” Y/N smiled, she didn’t know if interacting with Tobirama would be as easy as it is with Hashirama but she’d be respectful as long as he was. 

“I’ll cover lunch today, if everyone is finished?” Madara asked pushing aside his empty plate.

“I’m ready to head back.” Y/N said, leaning in and kissing Madara’s cheek. “Thank you for lunch.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go back.” Tobirama said, looking between the two. “Thank you but don’t expect a kiss.” 

“I would not ever want a kiss from you. Even to save my life.”

“Well, I wouldn’t either.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh. The two were very similar despite how much they disliked each other.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 2

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

I was only supposed to do a part 2 but now I'm already working on part 3 so it's officially a series. Lmao.

CW: Smut adjacent, but nothing NSFW or explicit. Series does have smut (across multiple part).

TW: Mentions of past parental neglect and parental alcoholism.

Read Part 1 here.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

It’s settling--the hallways are clearing, the chatter quiets. The heels strike with thuds rather than clacks. The whole castle is exhaling. From the side gates, you can see lights turning off. Those are the levels where administrative tasks and meetings are held that are retiring for the night. You’ve slowly begun witnessing the castle with more life. Mere weeks--five if you could count them straight. It’s a bit hard with the interrupted sleep schedule. But you hope soon it levels out. In those five weeks though, you can see more of the castle growing quieter and quieter. 

The evenings are now spent coming up at eight. Most times when you come, most lights are off. You can see the sleeping quarters lit still. But the offices are already shut down by the time you arrive. Even when you arrive on time, you can still hear people leaving for the day. You can still catch the last bit of stragglers still lingering, but working towards an exit. You’re early today. It’s 7:50 and behind the setting sun you catch how the grounds feel like TV you leave on in the background after waking and catching the news. The noise is low. However, there’s still enough people leaving that you know you’re early. The lights that are normally off are on. But it’s clear--it is closing time. There is just enough noise. 

“You’re early.”

The voice isn’t one you’re shocked to hear--you’ve heard it plenty of times before. It’s deep, a rumble that’s comforting. But you are shocked to not be alone. When you spin, Calum’s seated, though pushing out off the bench. You still use the service entrance. Even when Calum’s requested you specifically to come early and through the front, your habits dictate you here--to the service entrance. He greets you here. As always. You know he knows you’ll not do it any other way.

Calum’s descent is graceful down the three concrete steps. “Was sure I’d have another five minutes of twiddling my thumbs,” he teases. 

“Do you sit out every day? Waiting for me?”

“Only days that end in ‘-Y’.” His lips are soft against your skin with his chaste greeting on your cheek. It’s lighthearted--or at least that’s the way Calum means it. But when your brows furrow and you start to glance around at all the life still around, Calum knows where this might go. “No one who matters is going to mind.”

“But the ones that don’t matter are going to speak the loudest,” you return. You take his hand gently just for a moment to give it a squeeze before nodding up towards the door. Calum concedes and directs the two of you inside. 

You’re glad Calum doesn’t mind. Though it was made obvious six weeks ago when you two first kissed. But you know the town’s gossip wheel is turning constantly. They only need crumbs. When it came back that Calum’s trip wasn’t about a bride--two weeks after his return to the general public thanks to the lack of a ball--speculation as to why a twenty-seven old prince wasn’t looking for marriage came the latest crumb. The rumor mill keeps grinding its gears: folks talk about speculations to sexuality to theories about a private wedding to conspiracies involving murder. You’re not sure how these stories come about. Though, it’s not all that important what stories came up. The truth remains: the people are talking and they only need a centimeter to make a mile. 

“Are you worried about something greater? Rumors come and go all the time,” Calum starts after the door shuts behind him. Was it more than just shyness? Sure rumors weren’t ideal but rumors churned all the time. Calum’s less worried about what others will think. 

You anticipated it mattered less to Calum what you were. He was already Prince. There’s nothing to be won or had for him. But still, you figure he had to have some concern about the optics, the politics of the world he was in that would surely throw a fit about you. “Tell me are you not worried about something greater?” you return. 

Calum shakes his head. Sure, he had worried--paste tense. But not enough worry--present tense-- to stop him. He had no reason to worry so much to stop himself. He’d worried enough that you wouldn’t want this. That he’d only ever be left with what if’s and one-sided memories.  Then he kissed you. And you kissed him back. And you made him promise that it wouldn’t happen only once when he gave into every earthly desire. Calum’s going to make good on that promise and so much more. Now that he had a taste of you, he couldn’t let go. 

“How? Of course you are,” you laugh. And the halls echo the sound for a moment and then the pull of Calum’s pouty full lips lets you know he’s serious. 

“My…my parents know. It’s not like I’d really hide much from them.”

“Oh, you have to censor some things.” You are praying to every god in existence that Calum has not quoted you in bed, begging him to beg you. 

Calum snorts at the implication and your wide eyes. “Yeah, no, some things they don’t know. But they know about you.”

You catch the click of keys on someone’s hip and the squeak of their shoes. From behind Calum you can see the last of the evening shift leaving the kitchen. You think it might be Janet. She had enough keys on her hip at any given moment that you occasionally dreamed of the sound. Calum turns to the sound and spots the body growing further and further from the two of you. Your conversation remains paused until the walls have no shadows. 

“What’s your worry?” Calum questions when your eyes return to his. There’s a respectable distance between the two of you--a solid five feet or so. It’s killing him though. Not when he knows what you smell like on his sheets, not when he knows how you fit against his chest. 

Your spine shivers at the graze of Calum’s fingers on your hand. It freezes you for a moment, like your body is still downloading that this touch is something that can exist outside of his bedroom or the dark kitchen. It’s bright out in this hallway. You watch Calum’s fingers, dance over the top of your hands to your palms. You turn your hand up to allow him access. Your feet are carrying you. You can tell by how the scent of Calum invades your nose that he’s gotten closer. That six feet you had is now inches and closing. Calum’s fingers thread through yours and he brings his second hands into your second empty one. 

“I’ll wait. Take your time,” Calum offers softly. 

His question has lingered too long without an answer. Calum’s not going to let it die without one. But he won’t push for a response either.  The thing is you’d never really met Calum’s parents on that level or anywhere close. They’d always been King and Queen. You’d always served them breakfast. You helped Calum present his mother’s birthday cake to her. You took their dishes to be cleaned. You asked for their opinion on menus for luncheons and banquets when Janet wasn’t in. You’d dropped off tea, soup, and medicine occasionally when they were sick. But you were just a cook--a servant role in their lives that had to be inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t matter if it was you fixing food. It was just something someone had to do. It just happened to be you. 

“When did you tell them about me?” you ask eventually, looking up from the floor. Your non-slip sneakers--black as always--are a stark contrast to the gray slippers Calum wears. 

“Couple weeks ago,” Calum offers easily. He shrugs a bit with the response.  “They’d asked if something had happened. Said I seemed happier.”

Weeks? Maybe it was still a good sign. But even his parents did know, it’s not like you’re looking for the news to land in the wrong hands and leak. Nothing had seemingly changed at breakfast when you served them either. Not that you can recall and you’re sure you would. “I still have a job at least so they took it well, I guess.”

Calum’s laughter is loud and deep. He tugs you in closer. You think it’s mostly out of reflex the way he holds you. With an ear to his chest, you burrow into the feeling  of your bones rumbling with his laughter. “They like you. Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“I didn’t think you knew I existed, let alone your parents did.” It’s quiet as it leaves your lips. But it’s true. Had you mattered at all in the gravity of their life? Your life is work, the low hum of TV as you attempt to paint the setting sun but always overmixing in the yellow. It’s a mess. It’s yours--quiet and messy and boring as it is--but it’s yours. “What happens if my life is no longer mine?”

Calum’s hand rests on your back, palm brushing up and down your spine. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

You're thinking too far. All you actually have is right here. All you have is your cheek pressed into Calum’s chest--you can hear the thump of his heart. You’re not going to last even if he has told his parents. “It’s stupid, really.”

“I’ll listen. No judgment.”

You shake your head, best as you can against the soft cotton muscle tank he’s adorned. It’s stupid you think to yourself. All worry does is steal from the moment. This is all you’re going to have and you won’t waste the time with senseless worry. “I feel silly.”

“Whatever it is--whatever you mean by that question--it’s not silly, I promise. And you can’t tell me I don’t know such things, I do. I know it’s not silly. But you tell me when you’re ready.”

What if you can never tell him? What if you’re never ready? “The only thing I can tell you right now is that I am hungry.”

“Okay,” Calum concedes with a kiss to your head. “I’ll take that too. Just--just know I don’t want to take this any faster than you do. It’s not my intention to scare you off with that. I-When they asked, I knew I had to come clean.”

You nod. “Sounds like you and your parents are close.”

“In many ways, yes. I’d say we are.” 

Your chest hurts. Maybe it’s a pang or an ache, but beyond it you’re glad he’s not afraid to admit such things. “Do you want a snack too?”

Calum’s hands slip from your back to your ass. They squeeze and just as quickly as they fall, he brings them back to your upper body. “Some might say I already have a snack.”

You snort, pushing away from his embrace. His giddy grin has brought the crinkles to his eyes. His cheeks are full and the snicker of his laugh is contagious. With a single digit in a disapproving wag, you manage a half serious tone,  “I’m not disagreeing with you, but you aren’t allowed to say that. Absolutely not.”

Calum watches you start down to the kitchen. His own laughter still makes his shoulders shake. Though he knows you’re trying to bite back a smile--and failing--the joke was still worth it. As Calum trails behind you, he thinks maybe now he has a little bit of worry. It’s early. He’s willing to admit that he thought this might have longevity. He’s in no rush that’s for sure. He could take the throne with a spouse or without it. A luxury he knows he only has because he’s a man. If he wanted to wait another five years before taking a spouse, he could. He could take another ten if he wanted. All Calum had at this point outside of his responsibilities was time. 

The sandwich bread hits the counter by the time Calum gets into the kitchen. On the island there’s already mayo, lunch meat, lettuce, red onion, and mustard laid out. “Did you eat before leaving?” Calum asks. You don’t normally mention being hungry. He knows you are eating, waiting for you to finish before he leaves the kitchen most days now in the morning. 

“Haven’t gotten out to the store. Someone might be pre-occupying my time.”

“Am I keeping you from properly feeding yourself? Are you allowing someone to actually interrupt your routine?”

You snort at Calum’s worry. “I keep your fridge well stocked. I’ll live.”

“I would hope so. But I’m sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t realize.” 

The extra time with you is nice. Some days the two of you just talk until he falls asleep and you leave for your shift. And it’s nice to have a space free from expectations. However, maybe there’s a lot Calum wasn’t realizing about you. As much as he thought he kept his own life private, he’s getting hit with the realization that you kept so much more even closer to the vest. He’d get pieces. Your mother seems to still be alive. He can’t account for the rest of your family. You’d made friends with other staff. There don’t seem to be any pets, or if there are any there’s no cats or dogs. He still has more gaps to fill than there are pictures to fill.  

But watching you now fills in some of those gaps. You pop two slices of bread into the toaster.  If you weren’t going to tell him, he’d be sure to watch for what could fill in the gaps. A plate clicks against the counter right as the slices pop out. Your bottom slice has mayo, then topped with five slices of meat. Your second slice has a spread of mustard, the onion is layered next with the lettuce in the middle. No tomato he notices. Calum can remember that. He can tuck that piece of you away for later. 

“Any particular reason why you showed up early?”

The knife clicks as it cuts through bread and hits the ceramic plate. You hadn’t even realized you were leaving early. Not consciously at least. The routine is easy. You wake by about 4 in the evening, clean up what’s left behind, grab what you need from the stores or do errands before 7. There’s at least one meal to get through the first half  of the day. And while the rest of the day might be lounging, you now head here early to spend more than just an hour or two with Calum. Today required an earlier start.  

“Honestly, I hadn't realized I was early,” you answer. “After I got finished with a return, I thought I was behind not realizing I was actually still ahead of schedule.”

Calum snorts, rounding the corner of the counter. “That internal clock’s a little fast, it seems.”

The first bite crunches even for you, but you’re thankful for the quick meal. Was just a few weeks enough time for anyone to notice a difference in anyone? There was no one for you. Your roommates were all on day shifts. Your paths normally pass briefly in the evening and if they get home early, they are respectful of your schedule. Now almost a year and eight months with the job you’ve long gotten accustomed to the noises in the kitchen, and the laughter that greets you when you wake up. The only thing you couldn’t sleep through were the smoke detectors if they went off. So far it’s only happened twice. You and your roommates were cordial most days and there when the other needed to vent. You’d listen to retellings of horrible dates and stress at work. But none of them seemed to notice anything different about you. Not even an off handed comment to set curiosity ablaze. Granted, you’d never name Calum, but not even in the exchanges had conversation come up about you seeming different. You felt it. Getting up feels easier. You’re noticing a smile on your face when you normally wouldn’t hold one.

Maybe it’s just parent’s intuition in Calum’s case. He was around them significantly more than you and your roommates hung out with each other. Was Calum changing? He smiled more, not even in your direction in the mornings, but just in general. You noticed it, but not enough to think it meant something. Not enough to think it was anything to do with you, you should say more specifically. Your parents aren’t in the picture for you. Your brother and sister only talked fleetingly with you--mostly on their birthdays and thank yous for the Christmas presents. Though you’d call on the first day of school for them too and when they wanted to talk, they’d call you. But it’s rare.  Not that you blame them. They’re young. Much too young to believe anything that you could have shared with them about what it was like before. 

“What are you thinking about?” His voice is closer. Body pressing into yours like a crackling fire along the expanse of your left arm and shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you told your parents.”

“It-it is earlier than I would’ve wanted to tell them. But they asked over dinner.”

“And you didn’t lie? Just outright told them?” 

Calum brushes a hand over your hip, taking in the feel of the rather stiff material adorning your body. “Is it so bad that I’m happy with you?”

The inhale--one planned for around the swallow of your bite--chokes you. “You’re-are you saying what I think you’re saying?” you squeak out around the pats of Calum’s hand on your back. 

“Breathe first for me please. I can’t have you dying.”

There’s no way Calum means it though, you figure. There’s absolutely no way that he means it. But you’re glad you’re not a betting person. 

Calum’s voice continues on through the ringing of your ears, “I’m happy with you. I’m saying that.” 

The plate’s your only barrier with all the crumbs left on it. You hadn’t realized how quickly you’d consumed the sandwich. Perhaps you were thinking for longer than you could be aware of. It’s not supposed to go like this. Calum’s not supposed to tell his parents about you. You’re supposed to be selfish, taking all that you can get and always hoping for more. You’re supposed to worry about if you could have more, but never feel like it could be so close. The plate can keep all that intact if you just keep it close to your chest. 

Calum’s gentle while pulling the plate from your hands. Your mouth gapes and closes, then gaps and closes again like you can’t get what you want to say over your lips and tongue. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” he coaxes. 

“You’re happy?” you finally exhale. 

Calum nods. 

“With me?”

Calum nods again. “Yeah, with you, sweetheart. Is that okay?”

This is not supposed to happen. But you don’t say any of that. It sounds much too harsh for what seems to be such a fragile thing between the two of you. Even Calum looks apprehensive now. You don’t want to ruin this. You don’t. And it’s that thought, that you don’t want to ruin what you have that gives you a tiny seed of hope. “I don’t know what to say. Of course I want you to be happy. But I just--I’m a cook.”

“And you do that very well. But you’re so much more.” Your fingers are tingling at the way Calum’s caressing your cheek. You want to give in. You want to close the gap between the two of you, take Calum’s plump lips to yours. He’s inching in closer too. You know, with the certainty only achieved with time, that he wants it too. “Can I show you? That you’re so much more?”

“I have onion breath,” you reply. 

Calum laughs, body shaking against yours. “So?”

“I hope you still have my spare toothbrush.”

“Of course I do.”

You know the kiss reeks of onion and mustard. You know that it’s absolute hell but that doesn’t seem to stop the sigh that escapes him. No rancid taste seems to be enough fuel to pause Calum as his hands slip lower and lower on your body. His grip is strong as he hoists you up onto the counter. You don’t want to gasp at the feat. But it escapes you, like a leak in a faucet. Calum swallows it down, a satisfied hum crawling up his chest and into yours. This part, hands searing flesh and kisses cauterizing open wounds is so utterly familiar. You can anticipate just a little where Calum’s going to touch you next. He knows where to go to get just the right reaction and never wastes too much time in getting there. It’s a tease and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Calum’s hair is bunched into your fists, tipping his head back. Back and back until he has no other option than to pull his lips from yours. Eyelashes impossibly long and fluttering against the apples of his flushed cheeks, you’ve never seen a man more drunk looking without actually having an ounce of alcohol in his system. “Tell me,” you whisper against his cheek. “Are you worried now?”

Just behind the closed kitchen door are people still. Though all the kitchen staff is gone, technically until you clock in for your shift,  there’s still plenty of bodies to filter into the kitchen at any moment. Their voices float in from the cracks in the doors. Their laughter is contagious and chipper. “No,” Calum whispers in response, voice thick. Even if he were on his knees right now, he wouldn’t care. 

You know he’s not getting what you’re asking. You know he’s not worried about getting caught, probably even less so now that his parents know. You mean to ask him if he’s worried now that he’s admitted what this means to him. Is Calum worried that you’ll be the one to fuck this all up? You won’t ruin the moment. Not now at least. You’re salivating for a taste of him. It’s an ache deep in your belly, crawling up and consuming. You can only think about him. The hold on his hair loosens, moving now to cup his cheeks and pull him back up into a kiss. 

If not so preoccupied with need, you might catch just how closer and closer the voices get. But it’s not until the light from the hallway bleeds in that you realize you’re going to get caught. You are going to get caught and though your heart is racing, body screaming to stay close to Calum and brain telling you you need to pull away, you do nothing but continue to kiss Calum. 

Perhaps, you needed to worry less. 

“Oh. My apologies.”

The voice freezes your blood. Perhaps, you worried the perfect amount. 

You immediately drop your hold on Calum’s face, hands recoiling to your chest. This cannot be happening. But yet, of course, it feels all too real.  “God,” you start, knowing that when you look up you’re going to face the Queen. “I-Your Highness, I swear-God, I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Mum,” Calum replies. His tone is even and voice clear. 

Down, you need to get down. But Calum’s body is in the way. He’s pressed into the counter still, arms draping loosely around the crease of your hips. The tiny shove at his shoulder doesn’t budge him. 

She’s smiling. Mischievous and amused, but a smile. Still you want to get down. You want to crawl into the trashcan you know is hidden in the bottom cabinet to Calum’s right. “I really just wanted an ice cream sandwich, but it appears I should come back a wee bit later.”

“I can get that, Your Highness,” you start, trying again to get Calum to take just a step back to let you down. 

“No, no. It’s quite alright. I’ll come back later.” She waves off any further rebuttal with a flick of her wrist and stepping backwards through the door. “Calum, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am?” he hums. 

“I always thought bedhead suited you,” she comments with a wink. The door shuts and the two of you are left in the dimmed kitchen thanks to the settled sun. 

“Why didn’t you let me down? That was your mother!” you huff. Calum finally takes a step back. You seize the moment to slip down off the counter and in doing so, your knee brushes over the front of Calum. The lounge pants truly leave little to be imagined. 

“That’s why I didn’t take a step back,” he laughs. 

Swatting at Calum’s chest, you can’t help but laugh. “I guess I’d rather she only think it’s just kissing than anything else.”

“And what else might it be? Hmm?” 

You want to wipe the smirk off his face. The embarrassment is still hot on your cheeks and you can still feel the sweat that pricked up under your arms. It doesn’t seem to matter though when Calum closes the distance for another kiss. It’s shorter, much more chaste. But you know what it means. What you want more than to curl in from embarrassment is the feeling of Calum between your thighs, the heat of his tongue licking at your skin. You want him. To forget the fear even if it’s only temporary. 

“Let me clean up my mess before we make another,” you pant against Calum’s lips. “And not kiss you with onion breath. You’ll probably find that more ideal.”

“You’d be surprised what I thought I’d be okay with.”

The dish soap bottle sputters, a couple soap bubbles floating up as you add them to the running water. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Calum’s arms encase your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Just don’t leave any visible bruises.”

“Like the hickey I left last week?”

“Specifically not like the hickey last week. I do have to meet with Prime Ministers. They do need to take me seriously.”

“You’re deathly serious about your business. I don’t think a hickey will change that.”

Calum hums--a sound clearly meant to indicate some sort of annoyance. “You say that until you know everyone in the room is viewing you like a wild teenager while you’re trying to negotiate greedy pigs from their slop.”

“How hard those must be,” you snort, placing the clean plate into the rack to dry. You find the plug on the sink and it takes down the sudsy water. 

“I’m not sweating over a stove, but it’s still work.” 

“I know when I’m too close to a fire.” You’re not looking for a fight. Surely, Calum was trying to negotiate something valuable. But political change is a slow machine. You’ve seen it in action and it’s cost you. How might your life look different if the system was faster for you. You’ve spent many nights imaging that life and it’s never come. “I’m sorry.”

It’s easy to tell you still believe in some form of truth about what you’ve said. Calum sees it in the way you don’t look at him, drying your hands on a cloth. “I’d like to hear more.” There’s no sense beating the bush about what he’s getting into. You surely had more perspective than he did. You were living a life that Calum only saw in pieces--when he talked to friends, when he turned on the news, when he read reports. But it’s all at a distance. Your perspective is all up close. 

“You know politics isn’t exactly what I’d call foreplay.”

“Consider me aroused,” Calum comments, reclining into the edge of the counter. 

“I was in foster care for four years before I turned 18.”

 Calum blinks, face opening in surprise at such a direct confession. It’s better to air it all out, you think. It’s either that or it ruins everything. Sooner might be better than later for the two of you--if you are going to ruin the thing you don’t want to ruin you’d like to do it as soon as possible. 

Realization dawns on Calum’s face, pulling his brows together. He pushes up to stand from the counter but says nothing. The moment surrenders between the two of you--a clear stalemated shock. Calum’s blinking, the furrow of his browline etching deeper into his skin. It’s the most you’ve ever given and there’s so much more behind it. How the shoes you had to return were for your brother, who’d outgrown the size you bought. Your sister is happy with her new Frozen backpack. Your parents appear to be sober, but you have nothing that truly confirms it. You only have hope. Maybe it started with them--your fixation on just the present and never thinking of the future. You didn’t have the luxury to hope your parents would change and drop their bottles. Fourteen years and nothing had changed. Not for you at least. But you do have hope for Charlie and Teagan. 

“I’m just glad Charlie and Teagan don’t have to go through it.”

“Char-charlie and Teagan--and they are your siblings?” Calum asks. He’s not sure if he should ask for specifics about your experience. But given the tug of your lip between your lips, he thinks maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe your siblings are a safe middle ground.

“Can I ask how they are? Your siblings?” Calum’s voice is timid, like he’s afraid to shatter the moment. He hopes you don’t run off, that you don’t back away from the question. 

“They’re good. As far as I can tell. Charlie’s outgrown his shoes though, even the new ones I bought.”

“Is that the return you had to make earlier?” You nod at the question, fingers trailing the edge of your coat, how thick it is now. You’re confessing. You’re confessing and hell hasn’t bust wide open to swallow you. There’s been no crack of thunder overhead. You haven’t combusted yourself. You haven’t imploded. You can do this. Even if it feels like picking at a raw scab, even if you feel like you’re oozing out of yourself, you can let him in.  

“Thank you, for telling me.”

It should be a sufficient statement. But so much more teases the tip of Calum’s tongue to ask more. What happened? He assumes it’s your parents. But surely you had other family to care for you even if your parents weren’t the best fit at the time. If you didn’t, which it doesn’t seem like you do, where were they? How’d your sister and brother manage to stay with your parents if you were placed out of their care? And yet, all Calum has is the one sentence: I was in foster care for four years before I turned 18. 

“My siblings are younger than me by a mile,” you offer. “He’s nine.”

“Twenty years?” Calum questions. You’re two years his senior. You nod again to the question. “That’s quite the gap.”

“Losing their first child seemed to do the trick.” You won’t offer more than needed. Not that it’s ever stopped Calum. But you like to know he’s curious. He’s willing to ask those questions even if you don’t always answer them. 

“So, you’re placed into foster care at 14, right?”

“Correct.”

“You finished out school, graduated, and then what? How do you know about your siblings?”

“Parents found me at 22. I dropped all contact with them. Got a new number, moved out of town to study culinary arts. Got my degree. Then bounced restaurants for a little bit. I say they found me, but it’s more like we bumped into each other. They were eating one day where I worked. I’d gone out for a smoke, noticed my dad standing there. He noticed me. I noticed a little kid with them. And then well, found out about Charlie and Teagan.”

“But you don’t talk to your parents?”

“Not more than merely necessary for Charlie’s and Teagan’s sake.”

Calum laughs for a moment, not out of amusement, purely out of fascination and a bit of frustration. “You--you do realize you are altering the fabric of my reality right now? I fantasized about your story. I thought maybe you were just always bored of your hometown. Maybe you were actually a spy planted here and I was surely going to be the reason for an international leak or something.”

You snort. “A vivid imagination, Calum.”

“Yeah, it’ll take me many places I’ve heard,” he teases, and then steps in closer to you. It’s slow. Like approaching a scared animal. He does not want to spook you. “But what I’m saying is that I’m amazed how much of that you keep tucked close.”

“I don’t need pity,” you counter. 

“No, no, you don’t. And I’d be a fool to insinuate as such. I just didn’t know. I’m seeing you…differently now.”

Different--that’s what you expected as a result of this conversation. Surely it was naive to think as such. You were stripping yourself, more so than you ever had in Calum’s presence. There’s nothing but everything to change in a situation like this. “That good or bad? Debating if I should actually brush my teeth or not.”

It’s too fragile a moment to ask what Calum’s actually thinking--if such confessions were a sign of truth. But he’ll take them as such. “It’s a good thing. Promise.” It goes quiet. He doesn’t know if he should pry. You don’t know if you can carry much conversation like normal. But Calum doesn’t want to lose you, so he diverts.  “Have you painted anything new?”

“You know I’m a terrible painter,” you laugh. 

“I’ve never seen such a painting to make a judgment.” He inches in again. Still with a foot between the two of you, he’s careful. He’s got to be careful. 

“And you never will,” you retort. 

“Not even one? I think I deserve it. Well, this is of course assuming, we don’t count you.”

“Count me? As what? A painting?” you whisper, as Calum closes in again. 

He tips your chin back, not that it’s too far up you have to look given the closeness of your heights. But still, the gesture sets your skin on fire. The pit of your stomach grows hot and it makes your toes curl in your shoes. “You are a work of art,” Calum whispers against your lips. 

It’s just a kiss--though you swear Calum’s swallowing you down with it. You’re sure right now you might kill to be consumed by Calum’s tongue. However, just as softly as the kiss comes, it goes. “I’m only going to allow so many cheesy lines per day,” you exhale. “You’re going to have a cap or a lot more is going to happen on one of these kitchen counters.”

Calum’s smile brushes over your mouth and like a warming sun you smile too at the feeling. “I’m not complaining.”

Draping arms around his neck, you kiss along his jaw. There’s no stubble, but you know soon it’ll show back up. You miss the light scratch and pray it returns faster than you think. “Care to direct me to your bedroom? I seem to have forgotten the way.”

“Most certainly, I can.” 

It should annoy you that such horrible and cheesy lines are working. But you can’t find the will to let the annoyance be anything more than a tease. It’s a game. You give, Calum takes. Calum gives, you take. There’s no fight, no moment when you’re locked into his grasp, his mouth hot against yours that you feel like there’s any sort of imbalance. The scales tip and fall, and tip and fall gracefully, as they should between the two of you. This is nothing more than a fantasy that’s become real. It’ll be fleeting in the big picture but you’ll take what you can. You’ll cherish this--the dangerous trail of Calum’s hands over the band of your jeans. His fingers are hot on your stomach. 

A sigh pushes up your throat, guided by the tip of Calum’s nose as he kisses up to your chin. The skin will be bruised. He’s kissing just hard enough. Payback undoubtedly for the stains you left last week. If not for the promise not to leave Calum marked again for his meetings, you’d push back, take his skin between your teeth and lips. Calum takes a particular hard nip at your skin and your fingers flex, forearm tensing. He laughs. “You promised,” he reminds you in a whisper. It paints your skin red hot you’re sure. 

“Why prod the bull?”

“You’re bewitching riled up. Besides,” Calum starts and interrupts himself with a sniff of your throat. Like your pulse thundering under your skin is calling to him. “Shouldn’t I also get the opportunity to mark up what’s mine? Lay claim to you.”

If not for Calum’s hands pinning your wrist to the sheets, you know that you’d melt. Either that or float away but the sentence makes your stomach jump, breath catching in your throat for a moment. “Didn’t think I was a prize to be won. Perhaps I’ve had the wrong idea about you all along. Just another notch on your belt.”

“How dare I insinuate such a thing?” Calum’s teeth graze over the shell of your ear. “You’re nothing I hunted. You’re not prey. There’s no harm here. But I want what’s mine.” His lips caress your cheek. “How can I describe it to you? It is a selfish desire that I have--to have you all to myself. I simply wish not to share. ”

“Then what? What am I if not prey?”

Calum’s tuft of laughter tickles your neck. His kisses now work down over your throat, pressing at the bottom of your throat and top of your chest. “You’re fishing.”

It’s easier now to slip your hands free, trail your nails over Calum’s ribs. He shivers just a hair above you but he’s watching. You see every breath he takes, the rise and fall of his chest. “I like to think it’s all a part of the game we’re playing. I tease, you tease.”

It’s hedging. Calum knows it, sees it in your darting gaze. It’s not just sex. It never was. Perhaps you’d always assumed so, but now is Calum’s opening. All he needs to do is give a tiny seed. “I’m much too old for games.”

“Then I must be ancient history for games,” you snort. 

Calum drops his head, weight settling into your body, between your legs. It’s easy, like this, to trail your nails up his back, over his shoulders and tease the hair at the nape of his neck. His face is buried in your shoulder, the exhale tickling your skin as he breathes. “No, you’re not ancient history.” 

The two of you are almost naked--undergarments being the only thing not discarded yet. Chest to chest now feels more intimate than any other kisses or touches you’ve shared. 

Calum’s voice interrupts the silence. “What do you want this to be?”

“As if I have a choice. You’re a Prince.” It should be so obvious. Yet he continues to treat it as it’s so much more. And perhaps, it had legs. Why else would Calum talk about you to his parents if not for the fact of what could be? 

“I’m a human. Much like you. A person with feelings, desires, and responsibilities. But always human.”

“How’d your parents react? When you told them it was me? Seriously. No bullshit. No sparing my feelings.” The question feels too big for the room you’re in, though you’re sure this room is bigger than the first floor of your shared apartment--kitchen, living room,and your bedroom combined. You don’t want this to implode on you yet. But the reality is that it shouldn’t have gotten here and it had. Now, you need to know what fallout awaits you. You could still have time to leave gracefully, or at least quietly, if need be. Banking on this only being casual is a naive wish now after hearing Calum’s persistence.

“Mum’s cool about it if that’s what you're asking.” It’s a nonanswer, attempting to starve a fire of its oxygen but not getting a full enough seal. You’ll hear what he’s not saying. The truth still leaks out even if it’s quietly. 

You urge Calum to sit up, face you. With your legs crossed under you, you watch over Calum’s face as you speak,“No, I’m asking for their reactions. When you said it was me, how did they react?”

“There was surprise, obviously. They’re happy. But initially, I saw worry. They think the same as you do about the situation. What will others say? Are you looking for money or status? But I know that it’s not that. I told them that.”

You snort. “Of course I want money. I’d like to not be poor forever. Your parents pay fairly. I don’t know about your economist on staff, but things are getting quite expensive.”

Calum sighs. It’s a fact he wishes he didn’t have to see. Yet he does. He rolls to the very edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor and back hunched as he presses the heels of his palms to his closed eyes. “Trust me. I know. Milk should not cost nearly as much as it does! It’s ridiculous!”

“You actually know the price of milk?”

Calum rolls his head up to look over his shoulder to you. A faint smile paints his face. “My economist on staff keeps me well informed.” He means it as a joke, but you hesitate for a moment before catching the sarcasm. “I ran a few errands for some folks I know. Meat’s expensive too.”

“It’s why I steal yours.”

There’s no reason to hide anything for too long. It always comes out when least expected. Calum sighs, before he speaks.“Dad’s…hesitant. I’m sure he’s happy that I’m happy. But he’s a tough nut to crack sometimes. They do like you. They really do. But they’re--they’re my parents. They’ll always worry.”

That’s the truth you needed. You don’t blame his parents. It does mean should you and Calum want more you’ll have to prove them wrong. But it’s what you expected. Pushing up to your knees, you walk yourself behind Calum, pressing your chest to his back. His skin is warm and the scent of his lotion still lingers as you press a kiss to his shoulder. “Good. I would hope one, if not both, of them to be worried.”

“You don’t have to worry though. I’ll keep talking to them.” 

He offers it swiftly, like he’ll be too slow to put out the fear. Of course, there is fear. No one is immune to the concern of parental approval. “I really don’t think that’s something you can talk them out of,” you offer softly. 

Calum finds your knee, fingers caressing over the textured spot. You’d be unsure if he was touching you if not for the occasional jolt of electricity up your spine. His voice is soft as he speaks, “I don’t want you to worry.”

“If I ever get served resignation papers, I’ll worry then. I’ll know I’ve fucked up.”

“Seriously, you’re not getting fired. Please--”

“Okay,” you concede interrupting Calum’s begging. His voice cracks and you know it’s a genuine plea. “I’ll quit the jokes.”

“Thank you,” he hums. “I don’t want them to scare you off.”

You know what he wants. It would be nice to assuage his fears and say that you’re not scared off easily. But the truth is: if his parents don’t scare you off, you worry the rumor mill might. Your world has been yours for years now. Since school, all you’ve ever had to do is worry about yourself. To think thousands of eyes could get into your business is terrifying. But that’s a little too far in advance. Even if this broke ground, would it ever have legs enough to stand on its own?

 “I’ve yet to run off at this news,” you settle for instead and press a kiss to Calum’s neck. 

“Good, because I like you here. With me.”

“Besides, I’m a rather cheap date,” you tease. “Quick sandwich, a serenade--easy peasy.”

Calum groans. It was a mistake to tell you about the song he’d been working on. Something he’d started really when he wanted to turn his brain off and unwind in the gaps during the day and in the evening. Though you hadn’t been pestering him about it, it’s clear you hadn’t forgotten about the mention of it either. “God, no. I don’t think I’ve played in front of anyone in ages.”

Your arms snake around Calum’s waist. “C’mon. I’ve not zero musical ability. I wouldn’t be able to judge even if I wanted to.”

“How about a deal? I’ll play you the song if you let me see a painting?”

“Calum, I’m literally awful at painting,” you laugh in return. Your cheeks warm at Calum’s insistence. You feel like a teenager again, when Calum turns just a little in your hold, arm slipping around your body. 

“It’s only fair. We can both be awful together. I promise I won’t judge. I’ve got no artistic ability to paint or draw. Wouldn’t be able to judge you even if I wanted to,” he hums. His voice is close, nose brushing along your warmed cheek. 

“I prefer to be thoroughly wined and dined if I’m going to embarrass myself this much,” you huff in return. “Treated properly.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Calum laughs. “Or is this your way of prompting me to ask you on a date?”

You huff, pulling away slightly from Calum. “Do you really think I need to wait for you to do anything?”

“If I do recall, I made the first move.”

“Oh, a kiss, please!” you scoff. “One single kiss. But I distinctly remember I was the one that made it plainly clear that we could take it further.”

His fingers curl, tips dancing over your ribs. Your body recoils, attempting to cut off the tickle. Though all you manage to do is trap Calum’s hand against your torso. Your shriek is abrupt, a huff of Calum’s name and a demand--that’s panted out--for him to stop. “Please!” you huff. “I swear!”

“Nope. You insult me. I tickle back. You’ll have to agree to those terms in order to get this to stop.”

You can only thrash for a moment, breath caught in your throat and the laughter preventing anything like a plea from coming out. When your breath comes back, you know you can’t survive this for long. “Okay, okay, okay!” You huff. “Fine!”

“Agree!” Calum laughs, kneeling over your curled up body. 

“I’ll show you a painting in exchange for a serenade!”  

Calum’s fingers stop dancing over your skin and you exhale, wiping the corners of your eyes. “Thank you. I’m quite interested in seeing what you’ve been up to.”

“You’re an evil man,” you huff out with a smile. “Pure evil.”

Calum’s nose brushes over yours. “Will that stop you from seeing me though? Knowing the horrors I’m capable of.”

“I like your horrors,” you whisper back, stretching up just a hair to seal Calum’s lips in a kiss. Hopefully, Calum likes yours. Though you’d peeled yourself back in ways you hadn’t done in a long time with anyone, Calum hadn’t run. You’re not sure if you’re hoping if this means he won’t run or if you’re hoping this is a sign that maybe you should be more forgiving with people.

___________________________________

Your phone beeps. Frustration bubbles over your throat and you push up from the mattress--still cool--to check on the noise. A text blares back at you in the faux dark of your room: Is there any way you can help? It’s a code red. You double check who the text is from and notice it’s Janet. Janet hardly texts you. You dear say she’s never once texted you. Though, you know that could very well be faulty recall. Maybe she texted you once before to help cover for a shift, but most often Janet spoke to you in the morning right around shift change about anything. 

You push the comforter back off your body and call Janet. The phone rings once before it connects. No doubt, she was waiting by the phone for your response. “I’m sorry to ask this,” Janet says before you can fully speak. 

“Ask away, Janet,” you hum. 

“There was a last minute change to the catering. We’ve got all the food assembled. But I’ve got very little hands at my disposal to set up. Could you come back? We’re down to the last hour and a half before their lunch break. Please. We weren’t supposed to be hosting. But the town hall had a plumbing issue. I should be okay to tear down but right now, we won’t be set up in time. I’ve tried everyone. No one else is answering.”

“Your timing is impeccable, Janet,” you sigh. It’s hardly been an hour of you being home. “I’ll be back there in half an hour. I will not be in the right uniform though.”

“You could show up in a potato sack and I’d be happy. Thank you, thank you so much. It’s overtime pay too. You can’t refute it.”

“Well, overtime pay does sound nice. Sure you have enough hands to tear down?”

“I-I think so. I’d hate to be a bother. You need rest. You work too hard as is,” she returns. 

“Just give me a quiet corner to nap and I’ll stay to tear down too. I don’t need to be tempted by a good paycheck.”

Janet laughs. “Okay. Half an hour. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

You’re not sure what you’ll find when you get there. You supposed you’ll find mayhem at the least and Janet in tears at the absolute worst. She doesn’t crack easily--a byproduct of her job, to be able to handle the curveballs with ease. It’s easy to tug yourself into a black t-shirt and black jeans though your limbs feel heavy with the sleep they haven’t gotten but desperately yearn for. The sun is bright and you nearly curse it as you climb back into your car. It’s good weather. You’re sure, if not for the pipes at the town hall, this would be the kind of weather that might assuage fears. You hope, as you wait at a red light, that the weather is a bright spot for Calum. 

 You hadn’t spent too much time with Calum over the last week given his prep for the meetings happening this week. You’d show up early to shifts and get an hour or two with Calum but you could tell he was antsy. So you’d excuse yourself from his room early and bring him tea or a snack for the late night work you knew he’d be up too. In the mornings, he’d escape a little earlier than usual but not before speaking with you for just a few minutes. There’s still a dance--having to keep appearances up around others, but you’re sure Calum’s interest in speaking with you so directly anyway is enough to raise some eyebrows. As much as you wanted to be discreet, you’re sure you’re not being as inconspicuous as you hope for. 

It’s not absolute mayhem when you walk inside through the service entrance. You can hear the clack of heels, voices echoing as the kitchen doors open and close. And just above it all, you can catch the clank of Janet’s keys. “We need tables up ASAP people,” Janet calls out, a tray on her shoulder. 

You carry on after her, calling her name, “Janet! I’m here.” 

She stops and turns. Some of the panic leaves her face at the sight of you. “An angel--that’s what you are. Can you please help with those tables?” 

“Aye, captain,” you call out and scurry on to the great hall. Only two serving tables are up, with three more waiting on the floor to be set up. You grab the first one off the top and take it to the end of--a guess of where the end will be anyway--and set it up. When the legs click into place you push it up and off its side. You know you need to wipe it down before you put the tablecloth on it, but you think it might be better to get them all up and then cleared off. Janet will still have space on table two to set her tray down on. One by one the tables click into their locks and you get them up straight. The cleaner sits the carrier in a corner and you whip out a clean rag to wipe them all down. The nozzles hisses and you wipe, thinking solely about spray, wipe, spray, wipe. 

“Do you need some help in here? Sounds like quite the commotion.”

“I believe we’re okay, Your Highness,” you answer, standing now stick straight. If your limbs were heavy before, they are now on full alert. Calum’s mother nods, but approaches all the same. “Have sessions ended already?”

She shakes her head, the click of her heels steady as she closes the gap. “God, no. I think they might be late. Had to step away for a moment. Get some air.”

You know sessions are on the third floor, but you don’t question why she’s stepped away. You’re not sure what to do with yourself. The tables still need to be assembled. Janet’s still counting on that. But you know in the back of your brain the only true introduction you’ve had to the Queen has been getting caught making out in the kitchen a week ago. Not the best impression to have either. 

“I didn’t know we were doing red tablecloths. I guess it’s fitting,” she comments, picking a cloth from the corner of the second table. She unfolds it and slides over to you. “Is this table clean?”

“Oh, uh, yes, it is.”

She nods, fanning out the material and then smooths it out over the table, ensuring there are no wrinkles. You force yourself down to table four. Janet still needs you.  Spray and wipe. You can’t let your only impression be that of what teenagers do. Spray and wipe. You go in silence for a minute longer and you realize you’ve got to say something. “Thank you,” you offer. “For helping, Your Highness.”

“Joy, please. And of course. I know the late minute change is probably not easy on Ms. Janet. Have to help where we can.” She seems so unphased, like she’d do this in a heartbeat. Like it’s nothing to think about. Maybe it’s where Calum gets it from. I ran a few errands for some folks. You hadn’t even questioned that. Maybe you should’ve. Who had Calum run errands for? Did he really see past status and class? 

“I-I’d like to apologize for last week and not properly introducing myself or anything. That won’t--”

“Sweetheart,” Joy laughs. “If you promise it won’t happen again, you’d be making yourself out to be a liar. That boy’s not smiled brighter since he was a child.”

You can’t tell if it’s the sleep that you keep wishing you were having or if the confession from his mother is doing it, but your cheeks warm and you don’t feel tethered. “Oh.”

Joy taps gently at the table beneath her hands. “If he’s happy, I’m happy. And I can’t say he’s made a bad choice.”

“I’d-I’d hope not. But I mean, it is me. Give it time.”

Joy’s snort is quick, but she shakes her head. “I meant that you’re not in uniform. And I know for a fact I saw you this morning. Means you came back here after someone called you.”

“Janet called,” you offer. You’d normally know your role in a situation like this. You’d know just how much of this conversation to have and how to gracefully exit without being rude. But now, you feel stuck, like you’ve been plucked out of one dream and into the next without context. The only thing you can think of right now is to apologize. Would she care that deeply about your clothes? You did stick with black to try and hide the error. “I hope my lack of dress isn’t counted against--”

Joy stops you before you can finish. “Hey, hey, whoa, you’re absolutely okay. If anyone has something to say about your clothes, send them to me. I just hope you get some rest in all this. You’re back again tonight, right?”

“I am now,” you nod. Your day off wasn’t until Friday--two days from now. 

“If you need, we’ve got rooms to spare. Sleep here and then head down at your shift. Don’t want you in any accidents getting back home if you’re too tired to drive.”

“Thank-thank you, Your--” Joy’s arched brow is fierce. “Joy. Thank you, Joy.”

Her smile is bright, causing creases by her eyes. That’s where Calum gets it from too. You see it--the toothy grin on her face mirrors the smile you’ve seen on Calum’s. “You catch on fast.”

The doors to the great hall creak open and you watch more morning staff coming in with trays. You look back and see there’s still one more table left to be wiped down and covered in the tablecloth. “I’m sorry to do this, but I should get back to work. Even if sessions are late, I’d rather not keep anyone waiting.”

Joy nods. “Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to take this much time up of course. Let’s get this last table ready to go.” 

She’s quick to grab the last cloth and you spray the top down. With it cleaned and the cloth on, you pick up the caddy with the cleaners. The dinning tables have been mostly assembled and you know it’s really a three person job to get them all set. You can at least get started until someone else becomes available. 

At the doors, you hold them open for Joy. She steps through with another smile and nod. “Would you like to have dinner together? I’d love to get to know you a bit better.”

“I-you want to get dinner with me?” You ask. 

Joy nods. “Yes, away from the boys. Though I’m sure David would like to speak with you too. Maybe we’ll get lunch and then dinner at some other point with all of us. When do you have another day off?”

“Oh-I-the schedule’s not up for the next two weeks, so I don’t know. I can talk to Janet. Is-is there a day that works best for you?”

“No worries. Right now Wednesdays are the best days for me for lunch. But I’ll make it work around your schedule. Just let me know. And promise me you’ll get some rest today?”

You nod. “Pr-promise.”

“Good.”

The halls echo with her heels and the clatter from the kitchen. As much as you watch the faded silhouette of Joy on the walls, you know you’ve still got work to do. Something about Joy’s presence makes you want more. You’d never really noticed it before, or maybe the lines surrounding you two were vastly different. But it’s not lost on you how much she’s insisted that you sleep, that she treated you first like a human. You’d even hazard a guess and say she treated you like you think a mother would treat a child. Is this what you’ve been missing? Is this what Calum does to you too in a way? Was this what love--platonic and romantic aside--was supposed to feel like?

“Are those tables up?” Janet asks. Her voice snapping you from the trance of Joy’s long gone shadow. 

“Oh, yeah-yeah. They are. I’m going to start getting tables set.”

Back in the kitchen, you dig out the plates needed to set the dining tables. It’s not until you’re halfway through getting plates on the table that you realize you have no real way to reach out to Joy. You don’t have her phone number. You know where the sleeping quarters are, but it would not be a good idea to show up to her bedroom door. Maybe you could try the offices once you got the schedule. No doubt Calum would know but maybe she’d respect you more for doing it directly. No reason not to continue to make good impressions with her.

Penelope joins you soon, the silverware clicking in the caddy she’s got on her hip. “You’re saving our asses,” she laughs, huffing a little to get the grown out pieces of her bangs out of her face. 

“It’s just what I do on a normal day,” you return with a smile. The two of you don’t share much else. But it’s a comfortable silence as you get the last of the plates out. When you turn you can see Yvonne and Declan already working to get the glasses out too.  Off their cart, you grab a caddy with the clean glasses, rims down and stems up. “Meet in the middle?”

“Is there any other way?” Declan teases. 

“Absolutely not.” You huff it out as you hoist up the container. 

It’s head down mode. Though you can feel the seconds ticking by, you keep focused on one task at a time. It’s the only way to survive in a position like this. But as you place down glasses, and return empty bins for full ones, you are listening.  Joy said they were running late and you pray for all your sakes they are. You don’t think it’s a lie. But you know that it will not be a great look for sessions to end and there still be a delay on getting to their lunches. 

There are three tables between you, Declan, and Yvonne. Each of you has broken off to tackle them and you keep listening, straining against the hum of the AC and the voices from the kitchen. Please be late. 

“Done,” Yvnonne calls out. 

“One more!” Declan returns. 

You sit the last glass down. It teeters for a moment. Your breath catches, praying it doesn’t fall into the plate and shatter. If you try and catch it you know you’ll knock it over, making a mess of the plate and silverware too. Years in this job have taught you sometimes taking a step back saves the day. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you whisper to the glass. It wobbles and then settles--still standing. “Done,” you call out. 

You are careful of your bin when you stand. You do not need to clean up glass in the middle of all this. The three of you are scurrying out of the great hall when you catch the sounds of dress shoes on the stairs. You risk a peek back--everything is settled. The servers past you, Yvonne, and Declan like ships in the night with nods and salutes. The kitchen is a disaster. Carts, caddies, bins, extra pieces of uniforms are scattered about. The containers are clear housing the extra of foods that can sit out and you're sure the fridge is still packed too. But you know the mess is better contained here than in the hall. 

Janet settles into the stools. “I swear this job’s going to make me go gray.”

“You’ll be hot when you go gray,” you tease, rubbing a hand over her shoulder. 

She snorts. “Apparently, still not hot enough to have caught the eye of the Prince.”

Your touch now feels like it stings, like Janet’s shoulder’s now a hot pan. You snatch it back from her. You knew it might be obvious, but not that obvious. “I-what are you talking about?”

“Oh, c’mon. I see the way that boy looks at you. And you’re just as bad.”

“Fuck. Is-I can’t-I can’t afford to lose this job. I swear-”

Janet squeezes your hand. “As long as you can still chop an onion and show up on time, I don’t truly care. I also can’t afford to fire you. You easily do three people’s jobs and no one’s really fond of the early call time.”

“I mean, the biscuits are good company though.”

Janet laughs. “I’ve heard. Also, if I fired you I think the King would throw a fit. He tells me all the time that the breakfast biscuits are to die for and wants the recipe. I try to tell him every time that I don’t have it because you won’t give it up.”

“It’s a family recipe.” Not that you’d tell Janet that you picked it up while still in culinary school taking shifts occasionally at a homeless shelter to cook breakfast. There Ms. Shirley taught you her famous biscuit recipe. There in the wee hours of the morning with her staticky radio playing you helped her knead dough until you were sure your fingers might fall off. You still hum now--to yourself--What’s Love Got to Do with It by Tina Turner under your breath as you work.

“And it better not die with you either. Because they are delicious.”

“Marry me,” you tease, “and I’ll give it to you.”

Janet can only shake her head while laughing. This is the most of a conversation she’s had with you in a while. But she’s not mad about it. In fact, she adores seeing this side of you--quick witted and fearless. However, just as quickly as you’ve cracked the joke, you push away from her. Another side to you: studious and dedicated. It’s clear as you gather the uniform pieces that you’ll be staying for a while. But Janet hadn’t meant to make you sacrifice this much of your time. “I know you’re tired,” she tries. 

“I’ll pop into your office and take a nap when it gets bad, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Janet nods. 

You continue on gathering ties, gloves, and getting them back into the garment bag they came from. It’s busy work and you know it is. You’re not really sure why you’re lingering. You should go get some sleep. If you stay to tear down, you’ll need all your mental facilities. Just as much as you didn’t want to drop a glass setting up, you really didn’t want to drop one in the clean up either.  Just as soon as you get the clothes up, you settle down on the bench. The tables in here are long, sitting about eight people comfortably with bench seating. Maybe you won’t even need to go as far as Janet’s office. 

The doors to the kitchen open swiftly, knocking any idea of napping in the kitchen out of your head. You catch how the hinges squeak a little and the door stops thuds with the weight of the door. “Glass! On all days, it has to be today.”

You spin and spot Declan huffing. “Someone dropped a glass?” you ask. 

He nods at the question, already moving to grab a new glass. You push up and grab the broom alongside a trash bag. You know you should grab gloves to avoid cutting yourself, but you’ll worry later about that. 

“Thanks,” Declan offers, holding the kitchen door open for you. 

“Of course.”

At the doors of the great hall, Declan pushes open the door again for you. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed many times before. Stuffy navy and black suits. Gray hairs sprinkled in through the tops of everyone’s head in the room. A clear and awkward diversion of attention away from the help even as their plates are filled. You’re used to being invisible in a room like this. 

“Oh, Calum, you could cut yourself.” You turn to the sound of Joy’s voice to spot her standing over a crouched figure--Calum you assume at the scene of the crime. Your feet are swift as you start out in the direction of them. Declan’s right behind you. 

“We’ve got a new glass for you,” Declan states, as you two close the gap. “Let us take care of this.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Calum huffs. 

You crouch down next to him, taking in the navy tie dangling from his neck. His suit is a dark gray, but it’s a nice balance and a contrast to everyone in the room. “Let us clean this up, alright?” you offer--part of it a tease, part of it serious. 

His head snaps up, brows pulled together, “I though-shit!” Calum drops the glass immediately into the waiting bag, before shaking out his left hand. Trickles of blood fall into the clear plastic too. You hiss, a little knowing it’s got to sting. Before you can stop yourself, you catch your hand drifting upwards, wanting to cradle the injured digits to get a better inspection. 

“Oh, did you cut yourself?” Joy questions, crouching down. Her involvement makes you draw back and work to get the glass up. There’s not seemingly a lot of glass left but you wait for Joy and Calum to step out of the way before you start sweeping the area just to be sure. 

“It’s alright, Mum. I’ll be okay,” Calum returns. 

“Yeah, you will be. But still,” she tsks. A  cloth napkin is pressed tightly into Calum’s palm. 

“We-we’ve got first aid in the kitchen,” you offer, standing to your full height. “If that’s not too terribly far.”

Calum’s smile is soft, a lifted corner of his mouth as he exhales a small tuft of laughter. “No, I don’t think the kitchen’s too far actually. Care to lead the way?”

You only nod, mindful of who’s around. The tug of your smile is winning against your better judgment though. You carry the broom and the bag of collected broken glass in one hand, ensuring to hold the door open for Calum. He slips through and takes only a couple steps ahead before pausing. You carry on ahead and let him into the kitchen first. He heads to the sink first. You drop off the broom and glass before sliding up next to him. Janet’s gone but clearly coming back. A glass of water sits on the island counter in the same spot she was before.

Calum’s already in the midst of washing his hands, under the sink’s running faucet. The water drops into the basin with hardly a twinge of red to it, but you watch carefully to make sure it’s not a deep gash.

“How’d you cut yourself?” you ask.  

“You. You shocked me and I forgot I was holding glass.” A sigh interrupts whatever word his mouth was working on next. “Thought you would’ve been long gone by now--sleeping until your morning.”

Straightening from the crouch you lowered into to grab the first aid kit, you pop it open. “You say it like something is wrong.”

“No, no, I’m actually really glad to see you. I just-” The words trail off as Calum continues to apply pressure to the cut with a piece of paper towel now. You reach over to give your hands a good scrub and in all the time it takes to clean your hands, including your wrists out of habit, Calum’s still hasn’t gotten the words worked out right over his tongue. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask instead. It would be too easy to press for clarification so you start through a slant. Maybe you can work backwards towards the true problem. 

Calum gives in easily when you gingerly take the paper towel away from his palm. You can see better the cuts along the lines of his four fingers, under the second knuckles. His palm looks cut the worst so you start there, dabbing with clean gauze. You work without hesitation, cleaning up the blood that still seeps out. Calum wonders if maybe you’ve gotten used to the sight with your siblings, if you’ve cleaned up scraped knees and elbows. He doesn’t let the thought distract him for long. You squeeze gently at his hand and he comes back to reality. 

“This is all going to shit if I’m honest,” Calum finally answers. 

“The PM of Education I’ve heard is quite the prick, so when you’re dealing with folks like that it’s bound to happen,” you laugh. “Alcohol’s gonna burn--want something to squeeze?”

Calum’s brow quirks. “I mean.”

“Besides me,” you amend quickly. 

“I’ll be okay,” Calum states with a nod. You take it as a sign to take the wipe and clean the area once more. His fingers flex for a moment but then the tension leaves and he relaxes in the hold. 

“So they’re being pricks. But you’re well aware of that. So what else? Are they still treating you bad?” you ask. 

It’s how you ask, and while bad feels too simple of a word for what Calum feels, it makes his chest lighten. Someone gets it. Or at the very least is listening. Of course, you may not understand all the specifics, but you were listening. He’d take being heard any day of the week at this point.  “They’re not blatant with it. But I keep getting interrupted and they’re all just…it’s a giant circle jerk and if I’m honest I’d like to replace them all.”

“Your people decided on the term system,” you offer with a taunt, peeling back the edge of one side of the bandage. 

“Do not remind me.”

“Four seats are up in the new year, right? Give ‘em hell and make them retire early.” You reach back for another alcohol wipe, peering up at Calum with an apology dripping off your gaze. “I could forgo it, if you prefer. You did wash your hands.”

“Go for it, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Your funeral,” you shrug and tear into the packet. You take Calum’s hand again once the square wipe is unwrapped. It’s one arched brow from you and a nod from Calum that signals for you to wipe over the tiny cuts on the digits. You assume by the way he was gripping the glass shards, he closed his fist around them not thinking and the pressure was just enough to break skin. He tenses once again for a second, maybe two, and then relaxes. “Bandage or no? They look pretty shallow but your palm got the worst of it.”

“I think I’ll be okay, doc.”

You nod, tossing the used wipes, paper towels, and gauze into the trash. “But seriously, I am sorry that it’s not going well.”

Calum nods. “I appreciate that. I don’t think Dad loves my ideas either. He sees the merit in them, but given how close he’s coming to stepping down, he doesn’t want to ruffle feathers. It’ll look better for him to have a united front than to have a divided one.”

You hum, a little unnerved by the news. “But that means more work for you? And that doesn’t seem fair either.”

“Is anything about this really fair? As much as we make it out to be, let’s face it. It’s not,” Calum returns. He falls back into the kitchen island, arms folding over his chest. You have half a mind to tell him to be careful of the cuts, but let it go for the moment. Perhaps, Calum just needs the space to vent. 

“That’s my line.” You tap the toe of his shoe with your sneaker. 

“Are you here for the day? Have you actually slept?”

“You know this isn’t about me right? You’re the one fighting old greedy men. That’s bound to be more riveting.”

“I take that as you have not slept,” Calum remarks. 

“I’m here until lunch ends at the very least. But you don’t have to worry about me. Not right now at least.”

Calum taps the toe of your sneaker with his dress shoe. It hardly feels like a tap and more like a brush, a caress, if shoes could sense such a thing. “I’ll always worry about you. No need to tell me otherwise.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

“If-If you’re going to be here the whole day, my room’s up for use. Promise it’s not a mess.”

With a shake of your head, you smile. “I only said until the end of lunch. What are you insinuating, sir? Hmm? Who do you take me for?”

Calum’s survey of the room is quick, watching mostly for the door before pushing off the counter and standing toe-to-toe with you. He sweeps the pads of his fingers on the uninjured hand under your jaw. “I take you as mine,” he whispers. He could kiss you. He wants to. God, does Calum want to, but he knows that you’re not fond of the idea so he lets it go for now, lets the pads of his fingers soak up the warmth of your skin. “I don’t want you driving tired.”

It’s not lost on you how long the two of you have been back here, in the kitchen. The seconds feel long but you know that you shouldn’t push it too far. “I told Janet I’d nap in her office. But should I find myself here by the time sessions end, I might wander around a little.”

“Wandering feels fitting for a soul like yours.”

“You could call it a hobby.” Just over your sentence, the clack of keys grows louder. It’s really now or never if you’re going to do it, steal the kiss you want. You push in closer, lips just brushing over Calum’s in a whisper of a kiss. “Wreck havoc out there,” you command, nodding over your shoulder to the door. But you really mean through that door into the great hall and even beyond that to the rooms above. 

Calum holds the air that once held you, frozen but electric. His skin tingles with the taste of your lips. You’re moving on now, putting the first aid kit back up and grabbing cleaner. Calum doesn’t see what kind before the kitchen doors open. He drops his hand, pressing down over the bandage to attempt to act natural--as if he was smoothing out the edges of wrapping. 

“Oh, are you okay?” Janet asks, pausing just a few steps shy of Calum. “Is that from the glass?”

“Yeah,” it comes out thick and Calum clears his throat for a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. Found the first aid kit with some help.”

“Please let us clean it up next time, alright. Hate to see you get hurt over a little glass,” Janet coos. 

“Yeah, next time, Ms. Janet.” With a call of your name, Calum bids goodbye with a thank you. You nod in return. You can read what his eyes are saying: Will you actually stay? Will I catch you actually wandering the halls of the fourth floor? All you can do is stare in return though, hoping your graze says what you want it to say in reply: I’ll still be here.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Janet asks. “If it was staff, that’ll be an incident report.”

“No,” you reply. “No one else was hurt. I’m sure your ink pens will be glad to hear it.” Janet snorts a little at the joke.  “Lunch is over in another 40-ish minutes, right?”

She nods. “Yeah, sounds about right. Office is unlocked if you want to sleep a little.”

“We still get dibs at left overs?” You ask, placing the rag into the pile for cleaning to get. You do drop the ruined cloth napkin into the biohazard bin. Surely it could be washed out but protocol is protocol so you don’t raise a scene.

 Janet’s glass clicks as she sets it back down on the counter. “I’d never send you all home hungry after something like this.” 

“Perfect. I’ll see you in 30.”

“35!” Janet counters as you start for the door. 

“32!” you retort, letting the door close behind you. 

The great hall falls more and more behind you as you walk towards the service doors. Janet’s office is just off to the left of the hallway’s fork. But you imagine the scene you’re walking away from: stuffy and ill fitted black and navy suits, salt and pepper hair thinning, the awkward eye dance, the tight lipped smiles. No one wants to address just how much their lives might fall apart if not for staff and yet the policies and theories they debate all impact the very lives of the ones that serve them. How awful it must be to have to look a reminder in the eye and tell them, please and thank you.  You really hope Calum is able to create catastrophe for them. The cogs of political machines are slow. However, at the very least you can hope that change crashes over them well before they see it coming. 

The couch in Janet’s office is small, but soft. Its brown cloth is worn with time and accepts you with ease as you curl up on it. Your phone’s timer counts down from 30 minutes and behind closed eyelids you can see the orange seconds ticking away. Thankfully though, the orange fades leaving you to happily fade into the nothingness sleep promises. You don’t even think that this position might leave a neck ache for your waking self. The cushions are much too soft as they hold your heavy limbs to think about what anything truly waits for your awake self. 

The blare of your alarm comes much too soon though. The incessant honking striking against your consciousness aches. You push up anyway. Janet’s computer stares back at you, blank but you know it’s waiting by the orange light on the bottom of the monitor. Her desk feels buried in files and boxes. You don’t envy her position. You’re just thankful you do not have to deal with paperwork and schedules. You grab your phone, tap to turn the alarm off and stand. There’s only a tiny ache in your shoulder, but you carry on. It’s just how life goes. Carrying on and on and on when one desires nothing more than to give it all up. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Janet greets you. 

“Begrudgingly.” 

Tear down is thankfully easy. Though you know folks on dish duties are going to have a hell of a time. Dishes are collected first. Tablecloths follow and are placed into the bin for cleaning to grab. Tables are broken down in phases and carried back to storage. But you think of the plate to be made for yourself at the end of it. The nap you can get again in Janet’s office, or if you manage to time things right, curling into Calum’s sheets. Whatever you all don’t eat will be taken personally to a shelter and divided out there. You’re grateful the food’s not wasted though you’re mindful to take only what you really need. A plate of leftovers would be nice for dinner too. Janet encourages the lot of you all the same to take all that you want and need. 

The plus as you watch the room gather around the counters and plating to their hearts desires is that you can slip out. After grabbing a plate to eat and setting your dinner plate in the fridge, it’s easy to slip away. With your food label no one’s going to take it. Even if it does go missing, you don’t think you have too much room to complain. You ease your way closer and closer to the door. There’s laughter bouncing around your skull. You want to laugh too, but the longer you stand the more you can feel the sleep you didn’t get pressing against your eyelids. You just want to sleep--may it be for a few hours or a few years you will not voice a single complaint. 

A large bout of laughter swirls and you crack open the door. The hallways are eerily quiet. Perhaps, you should be used to the silence, considering it greets you in the dead of the night when you’re working. You would’ve thought more life happened during the day. Maybe just as quiet as it is during your shifts it’s quiet during most of the day here too. Perhaps the times you catch the bustling in the evenings ventures to the castle or just the flukes. But you let the silence fall over you and are thankful that your sneakers don’t squeak. You opt not to take the elevator and instead climb the backstairs. It’ll take longer but it feels safer. 

Your lungs ache just a hair when you finally reach the correct floor. It’s only at the hallways opening that you realize where you’re carrying yourself. Janet’s office was closer. Only a few feet down from the kitchen. And yet, you’ve carried yourself up the stairs, several flights to peer down the sleeping quarters. It’d be easy to say that Calum’s bed is more comfortable than the couch in Janet’s office. Of course, coming here can be reasoned away by saying that if you sleep you can most likely get more decent sleep. There’s less threat of Janet coming back with jingling keys that could wake you. 

But you know it’s more than that, even if you can’t bring yourself to admit it to yourself. There’s a deeper drive to take you up here. “Oh, but you’re not going to unearth that right now,” you mutter to yourself, carrying on to Calum’s bedroom door. 

The door opens with ease, unveiling that the lights are off. A tiny bit of sun peeks out from the curtains that are clearly ruffled from constant opening and closing. You use the light of the sun to slide out of the shirt, jeans, and shoes. Calum’s sheets are cool when you settle into them but his scent invades your nose as you pull the comforter up. You can feel your body sink. This feeling, the warm hum you feel in the back of your brain, is more than any logic or reason. But you don’t care right now. A yawn escapes you and you tuck the comforter to your chin, curling into yourself. 

Calum tugs at the tie around his neck, jacket draped over his arm.  Wreak havoc out there--the words swirled long after he went back to lunch. It would be stupid. Calum knows that. If he started stirring the pot, the first thing his father would do is blame you. The second  thing his father would do is chew him out. But Calum’s sick of fighting fair, especially when he’s getting the bucket of shit at the end of the day. He’d held his tongue through lunch and even through the second part of sessions. But when his words were swallowed down by some other voice for the seemingly thousandth time, Calum snapped. 

“Is this actually a meeting or have we all decided to waste time and endanger lives for selfish gain? I’m here to do work, find ways to get money back into citizens pockets and keep food on their tables. If that’s not your objective, I highly suggest we cut today short then.”

“That was so stupid,” he whispers to himself. It’d done the job though. It’d gotten everyone to sit and at least listen. He’s sure that when votes come, there will be none. His father’s hot stare still raises the hair on the back of Calum’s neck. 

“You’re a brilliant man with a lot of  ideas. But do not let that ambition get you burned,” his father warned outside of the elevators. Maybe a burn or two would actually get something done. But Calum knows in order to make any substantial change, he needs folks on his side. By god, it feels like he’s always on the short end of the stick. 

Lifting his head from the door, Calum finds himself only staring. He hopes he finds you. Curled up on his sheets. He hopes he can curl up next to you as well. He can hide away until dinner, maybe even skip it and worry later when he’s got less chance of dealing with his father. The thought alone of you actually sleeping in his bed is enough to propel Calum forward. He’s gentle as he turns the knob and pushes into the door. The door’s thankfully not sticky nor does it creak. When he peers inside, there’s an extra lump in the bed, on the far side of the bed, closest to the wall. 

So much for wandering, he thinks and then slips inside. He uses his body to block out as much light from the hallway as possible.

You don’t stir. Face pressed into the pillow, curled up and almost hidden. Just your nose and above stick out from the comforter. Your face looks soft like this, in sleep. There’s no pensiveness to your gaze. Not that it makes you fully unapproachable, but it always makes you like if anyone is to approach you it ought to be worth your time. Calum knows it now as a defense mechanism. It keeps everyone away, but should one take the leap you’re quite warm. Attentive in a way that makes someone else feel seen. Like you care. And you do--or at least that’s the way it seems in those moments when it’s just you too first talked. 

Calum peels out of the dress shirt and pants easily. The belt clicks and clacks but not enough that it disturbs you. As he gets the clothes into the appropriate hampers, he spots your phone. He checks for the battery and then plugs it into a spare charger. It lights up and lets him know it’s charging. Still in the undershirt and boxers, Calum is careful as he climbs into the bed. He’s careful not to climb in behind you but instead crawls up from the end of the bed. Only at the shift in the mattress due to Calum’s weight seems to startle you. You push up, eyes hardly open but body clearly taking note of alarm. 

“Hey, whoa, it’s just me,” Calum starts softly, pushing back a hair. 

A soft groan leaves you. “I literally forgot where I was for half a second,” you mutter. 

“Okay if I join?”

“It’s your bed.” You drop back into the pillow but nod at the question regardless. “Please?”

“You must be utterly exhausted. Pleading with me for a nap together? Who even are you?” Calum teases, sliding in on top of the sheets. You slide over, meeting almost in the middle of the bed. The two of you lay on your side facing each other, but you tuck your head into Calum’s chest. 

“I am exhausted,” you mumble into his pecs. 

Calum’s arm winds around your middle, pressing you in even closer. “Rest then.”

“My alarm’s set for 6? I think? Can’t remember if I set it honestly.”

“I’ll make sure you’re up by then. Do you need anything?”

You shake your head. “I want to hear about the meetings, when I’m alert. If I’m allowed.”

“Oh they’re boring.”

You bring your face out of the burrow and raise a brow. “That sounds like something bad happened.”

Calum sighs. Of course you’d see through it. “I’ll tell you, when you’re alert.”

It’s a half nod before you settle back down. Calum kisses your temple. He’s not sure if sleep will actually find him. Worry has swallowed him, but it feels a little better when you near. It’s not that Calum thinks you can fix it. Not that he even wants you to fix it. But you’ll listen. When Calum tells you, you will lock in like you always do with care. That’s what he needs more than anything right now is just to know someone cares. 

Calum’s not sure how long he’s slept, if it really is sleep at all. But he hears the buzz of a phone and peers up over your head. Your phone is not lit up. He looks over his shoulder and finds his phone to the culprit. He’s careful as he slides out from you and notices 6:23 PM above the notification. A text sits from the group chat--one with his friends from his soccer days and a few friends from outside of the teams too. Nothing of importance, but clearly a lot of activity from the day that he’s missed. He expects that much given how much he’s had his head buried in the sands of litigation. 

Calum sets the phone back down and sighs. Dinner’s served at 6PM sharp. No exceptions. Calum has missed dinner occasionally over the years--plans with friends, losing track of time to work. But he knows his lack of presence will be sourly noted after his outburst today. The only saving grace is how he approaches his father and maybe distance will give him clarity. He’s not sure, but the thought of having to sit through dinner right now across from his parents is not appealing. The bed shifts and Calum looks over to his right. You’re splayed out now, a bit diagonal on the bed but still deep in sleep. He knows he promised to wake you at 6, but he wonders if he can squeeze out the extra seven minutes without consequence. 

As his mental debate runs on, you shift again, head lifting. You’re facing away from Calum now. He watches your hand fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and illuminates your figure. “It’s 6:24 and I was not awoken.”

“To be fair, I only woke up because of a text on my phone,” Calum answers. His voice sounds gruff even to his own ears and he thinks maybe he got more sleep than he thought in the hour and a half gap. He’s not sure if you knew he was awake or not, but he’ll fess up now. 

Your phone clatters back to the bedside table--the signal before your flop back onto the bed. “The biscuits might be dry at breakfast,” you laugh. “Apologies in advance.”

“You can always rest longer. I’ve got no plans.”

You shake your head, the cotton pillowcase rustling with the action. “You do have plans. To tell me how the meetings went.”

Calum sighs, gazing up towards his ceiling. It’s white now, like the rest of the walls. Though if he were to chip away at the layers, he knows he’d find the green he had for a while. “I used to have stars on my ceiling, like, until very recently. I bought paint and covered them up myself.”

The sheets rustle again and just out of his periphery, Calum catches your figure. You’re resting on your elbow to look down at him. He turns his head just enough to gaze up at you directly. “Do you miss them? Those stars?” you ask. Maybe it’s not just about stars, but you’ll start with the easy question. 

“No, not the stars.”

“Then what do you miss?”

“I miss how easy it was when I wanted them on my ceilings. How my parents drove me to the store. How I got to pick out the color. How they let me cut out stencils. I miss when my biggest concern was not getting paint on my face or hiding grassed stained pants.”

You hum, trailing a finger over his jaw. “I thought I told you to wreak havoc.”

Calum’s laughter is soft, a wistful smile lifting his lips. “I almost started a fire.”

“Almost?”

“I might’ve started a fire,” Calum corrects. It’s not that he didn’t try. He meant to push some buttons but he has no idea if the fire’s going to take like he wants or if it’ll burn him. But either way, the match is struck. It’s sitting on dry land now primed for blazing. 

“What happened?” you ask in a whisper. 

Calum pulls himself up, sitting crossed leg next to you. Your gaze seeps into his skin. He feels you watching him even if he’s not watching you. “I just--I’m tired. They never want to make actual change. And I reminded them what we’re actually supposed to be working for. We’re not here just for games. We have a job, to take care of others. I might not have said it in words or ways that others like, but it’s true. It’s not our job to keep ourselves out of trouble. It’s our job to help those that are in trouble.”

“It’s a romantic notion to miss those stars,” you start. “But the truth is they’re still there. Just hidden. And when this room becomes someone else’s room, the stars will still technically be there, even if the other person does not know. And when that person outgrows this room, the stars will still be there. But all those people won't know where to look for those stars. Unless they’re told of course.” You sit up, resting your head into Calum’s shoulder. “Why did you tell them off like that?”

“I wouldn’t say I told them off,” Calum returns. That’s far from what really happened. 

You hum at the correction. “Okay. Well, when you said what you said, why did you do it?”

The question brings about pause. And the seconds fall like sand, slowly and then in a rush. “Because I wanted to do what we were supposed to do. Because I refuse to take on a cabinet of folks that don’t want to do the actual work.”

“I know he’s still your father. I know that you recognize how much better it looks for him to leave on a good note, but perhaps you have a conversation with him. Every action has a reaction. Every choice has a consequence. If he’s going to be chummy with politics that screw you over, I think it’s only fair to voice that.”

“Maybe they’re all right about me.” Having a conversation is the best thing to do, but it feels like he’s begging. Nearly six years in cabinet and it should be obvious that Calum is more than capable. Yet, it’d proven nothing more than a checkmark on his record. It all feels like motions and no real action. 

“Right about what?” 

“That I’m still just a child in this whole game.”

“How long as your father been doing this?” You know the answer, but you still ask the question. 

“Twenty odd years,” Calum answers. 

“How many years has this cabinet been active?”

“Twenty odd years,” Calum laughs. 

“How long have you been doing this?” you return. 

“Four years shy of a decade.”

“You’re not a baby. You’re not a child. You’re just not as experienced. Your roots aren’t as deep. Would you tell someone just picking up the guitar to compare themselves to rockstars with twenty odd years of experience in the game?”

“No, it’d be a terrible idea,” Calum states. “The thing that’s different is that I’m expected to be on the same level. It’s expected of me to know how to play the field.”

“How do you think they play the field? Do they hash it all out in sessions?”

Calum turns into you. You push away from his shoulder to accommodate the change. “No, it’s clear they don’t.”

“Then why are you playing fair with cheaters?”

“I don’t want to become a cheater. If I play their game their way, I’m just as bad.”

You only shrug in response. But Calum doesn’t want to let the thought go. He takes your hands into his. “What-What are you saying?” he asks. 

“I am no politician. But I know a dirty game when I see one. I know a losing game when I see one. You know it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not fair. Doesn't mean I don’t want it to be fair.”

“And wanting something is not the same as it being that thing. You want a fair game. It is not a fair game--objectively so it’s not. Would you rather spin out your wheels or do the actual work? You don’t have to be slimy. Don’t ruin your good name over the likes of this cabinet. But I don’t think I want you stuck in their mud either trying to clean up a mess that doesn't want to be cleaned.”

“So you are worried about me.” It’s a tease, a way to break the tension and Calum relishes in the sound of your snort. You fall into his shoulder, the comforter falling away from your body just a little. 

“Maybe more so than I’ve ever considered. But the point,” you huff, poking at his chest, “is that you get smarter than them. You don’t have to get into the mud. There’s no stick or shovel strong enough for that.”

Calum presses into your neck. His words are soft, like too much volume could shatter them. “What if there’s no way around? What if I just get dirty?”

“What do you think will happen if you get dirty?”

“I think I’ve failed, if I’m frank. That seems like the worst possible outcome. There are some messes you can’t clean up.”

You squeeze at Calum’s hands, careful of the injured palm. “Then, I guess you make a mess. And if it’s not one that can be cleaned,then it’ll just stain. But I like to think the world keeps spinning. What happens any time you make a mess, hmm? When you spill a little bit of milk or you drop a glass, what happens?”

“I do what I can to make it right. But the world does keep spinning.”

“Well then,” you whisper into his neck. It makes his spine shiver--the caress of your breath over his neck, how low your voice sounds from your chest. “If you make a mess that can’t be cleaned up fully, you’ll do what you can to make it better. And the world will keep spinning and we’ll both know you tried your best.”

“I like the sound of that. ‘We’ sounds nice.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease.

“Only for you.” Calum pauses. There’s more on his tongue but he’s waiting. Surely you’ll have a retort, but all that you do is stay. You stay pressed into his body. Actions confess so much more than words with you. Calum savors that. That you’ve stayed. “Thank you. For listening.”

“I’m happy too.”

“Any news from Charlie or Teagan?” You’d mentioned briefly having to meet up with them, but hadn’t said how it went. Calum thinks it was supposed to be a couple days ago, but he’s lost track of days. He hates to think this might be just how he lives his life. He doesn’t want you to feel secondary.

“I meet with them next week.” It’s a soft assurance. Not an ounce of maliciousness in your voice but still Calum’s chest deflates. He could’ve sworn it was this week. 

“Oh, have I lost track of days that poorly? I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“Still, I’m sorry,” Calum returns. “Remind me again. When do you meet with them?”

“Thursday.”

Calum nods. “Tell me how it goes?” He wants it to be a full sentence, a single yet gentle demand. But fear devours his confidence. 

“It’ll be boring,” you counter. 

“I love boring. I crave it.” He craves you-- in the fullest meaning of the phrase. “Can you tell me about today? I know I might’ve witnessed most of it, but I’d still like to hear.”

Your soft tuft of laughter floats over his skin like a breeze. “Sure, since you love boring.” Calum grins, mostly to himself as you recount the details, trailing his fingers up and down your spine.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 5

Episode 10: Knight & Danger (SMUT)

*smutlet wasn't planned but I had encouragement and then I was inspired and then this sinfest was born. Nothing extreme (lies), just a light sprinkling of filth to get us started. SKIP IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE BEAST WITH TWO BACKS, THE HOKEY POKEY, THE TERRIBLE TANGO, THE—you get the picture*

~Junk-N-Stuff~

Novelty lamps? Check. Assorted ping pong balls? Check. Hula skirts in various sizes? Check. Creepy clapping monkeys with cymbals? Check. New shipment of fifty glow-in-the-dark lightbulbs? Ten, fifteen, twenty—wait... Ten, fifteen, twenty... Twenty?

"Doofus, I'm trying to do something here!" (y/n) whined as she tried to count what the store above her home did and didn't have, but her attempts were thwarted by someone trying their best to distract her. 

It had been a late start to the morning and she had a lot to do because of said late start; the shop floor needed to be swept, the displays needed to be adjusted and fixed but most importantly, she needed to check her list of items in the storeroom around the back to see what they had plenty of and whether they needed to place an order. 

But that was hard when a strong pair of hands were wandering from her waist to her tummy to her hips and...elsewhere.

"It's a fake store, sweetheart. You don't need to worry so much...I don't," Ray replied, kissing down his sweet girl's neck as her shaking hands wandered through the shelves. She was trying to keep counting, hoping to come up with a figure so she could finish up and give him the attention he was so desperately craving but her brain couldn't grasp any numbers right now, even though they were her speciality. He was too good at distracting her. 

"Yeah, I know you don't, Raymond. But fake store or not, our customers are going to get suspicious when they come in to buy some junk and find that we have nothing to sell. So, that means I have to take stock, which is easier said than done when you've got hands...there," she scolded him, rolling her eyes when she felt his smirk grow against her skin and she knew that he'd never feel any shame for what he was doing, not when she showed that she loved it just as much as he did. 

His fingers were playing with the button and zipper on her jeans, flicking the metal slider and circling his finger around the cold stud, taunting that he might or might not pop it open and slide it down.

"But baby, it's been so long since this morning—since I last had you..." Now, he was the one whining, a high-pitched lilt in the back of his throat that told her that he wanted something and wasn't going to stop until he got it or got pushed away. But his statement was ridiculous; after all, there was a reason why she'd started so late, much later than she normally would on a Saturday morning when the teens were due to come in for work.

"It was an hour ago! And I've been trying to catch up on work ever since, so go...do it yourself," (y/n) muttered, feeling her cheeks heat up at the thought but she didn't have time for "action", not the sort he was after anyway. Henry, Charlotte and Jasper would be in the store any minute and she'd melt into a puddle should they see or hear or sense something that didn't involve them. 

Seriously, Henry's poop jokes would end and in the ashes would rise the endless teasing of how they did it in the back room. Nuh-uh, no way, Pedro, no thanks and goodnight. Besides, he'd loved her for years before they'd gotten together, so surely, one more round going solo wouldn't hurt.

"Hour's too long and anyway, I can't fuck my hand, sweet girl."

"And why's that?" She looked over her shoulder, inhaling sharply at how the air in the room had seemingly gone from frigid to suffocatingly hot in point five seconds. 

Only he could beat her argument of staying focused by being so crude, only he could say one thing and have her full attention, despite all her big talk about focusing on the task at hand and how he was the culprit who delayed her in the first place. She was intrigued, though. Most guys would happily take self-pleasure over no pleasure at all and they'd also probably think that they'd get lucky next time but not her doofus. He wasn't like most guys.

"I'm not interested in myself...I'm just after this," Ray whispered hotly and nipped at the skin under her ear as his fingers expertly worked the button on her jeans, poking it through the hole in the denim until it was open and then it was just a matter of slowly sliding down the zipper. 

Show off; he only had one hand but that was all he needed, just four fingers and a thumb to open her pants and pull them down by just a fraction. Not much, no more than an inch, just enough to loosen them so his fingers could dip past her waistband and into her cotton panties. Okay, so, that was his plan all along.

"Shouldn't have worn these jeans, pretty girl. Shouldn't have reached for the top shelf either," he growled, the throaty noise reverberating in her ear and causing the woman to release a soft, barely audible moan. 

Honest, he hadn't come upstairs looking for trouble, he'd actually ventured into his store to see what she was up to and if she needed help since she was on the shorter side when it came to stacking shelves but then, when he'd stepped out of the elevator, all he'd been able to see as she reached for a pink flamingo garden piece was denim pulled tight and smoothed across her ass, which was perfectly on display as her shirt rode up. 

"I walk in and I see this," the hand that had been holding her hip came back around to squeeze and knead her flesh briefly, "--this perfect ass practically presented to me," a rough slap to her left cheek and his hand left the part that had made him spiral into temptation in the first place, leaving the handprint there to sting numbly under the jean material. 

At this point, (y/n) was breathless, her breathing coming into soft pants as his digits danced and stroked around her mound, pulling back and then returning in a torturous rhythm that left her wanting what she'd originally avoided, but not on the verge of being incoherent. Not yet anyway. 

"I was—am working, d—doofus. I needed to s-stretch to get to the—the lightbulbs," the heroine argued, her voice breaking every time a fingertip dipped into her slit and brushed against her clit. There was nearly no pressure, he wouldn't allow her that luxury yet, no, Ray was going at a leisurely pace that suited nine AM and he found the way she jolted in his arms with each touch too hot to stop. A strong arm had curled around her upper body, leaving her torso immobile against his so all she could do was squirm in his hold and take what he gave her. And he had a lot to give.

"Oh, you're working? My sweet, little girl is working? Does that mean she doesn't want my hand down her pants, playing with her little pussy and the mess she made after I fucked her this morning?" He asked in a light, mocking tone, not enough to frustrate her but enough to make her wriggle when he pretended as though he was about to leave her alone. 

He would never be that cruel, not when he'd been the one to seek her out in the first place to pull more sweet moans from her lips. 

The previous hour hadn't been enough, not when she'd only come once and for a guy like him, who thrived off the pleasure of his partner, it didn't sit right. He wasn't looking for another fuck, that would take time and it would be messy and as much as he wanted to, they couldn't spend the entire day like animals, but he was looking to set the ratio right; three to one, that's how he normally played it. One had been given, two to go, but the lightbulbs still needed counting, even if the idea of a glow-in-the-dark lightbulb was ridiculous. 

Running his fingers lightly through her lips once, not enough for a lot of stimulation, but enough to explore, he could feel the wetness that had gathered there earlier and dare he say the cum he'd pumped into her, slowly leaking out, even though it belonged in her pussy and nowhere else. 

He groaned gutturally, harshly panting into her ears as she whimpered, bucking her hips into his hand when he returned to her clit, circling it once to smear the pearly stickiness that he'd left behind. Shit, did she know how hot she was?

"No—no, I'm your good g-girl. Please, s-sir—" a harsh tap landed on her clit, causing her whole body to tense and jerk at the rippling pleasure that seized her every nerve. It would've been a harder hit if he'd had the space to pull back his hand properly, but it was enough of a warning to make her bite her lips and be quiet, his good girl. But—good girls know what to call the ones giving them such pleasure.

"What do you call me, little one?"

"Captain!—I-I'm your good girl. Please, Captain, keep playing my pussy. Please, I need it." Had (y/n) not felt the pulsating need in her core, she would've been embarrassed by how needy she was, and even more embarrassed by how slick her blazing cunt was. 

It was their dirty, little secret that she sometimes walked around filled with his cum and then when he finally had another chance to get her alone, Ray took great delight in peeling her underwear down her legs and seeing what had stained the fabric. But for now, he also loved how he could switch between rubbing tight, fast circles and doing nothing.

"Precious girl, I know you need it. This cunt is insatiable," Ray murmured, savouring the sensation of silky, velvety slick coating his digits as he ran his fingers back and forth, stopping once to curl his fingertip into her clenching hole just once so he could push his seed into her again, but being filled was what so sorely craved; a fingertip wasn't enough. "But it's like you said. You have work to do."

"Wha—? Noooo, no work now. It's not important—just a—I'll just do it in a minute," the girl whimpered, fighting relentlessly against his iron grip to no avail because the minute she started whining, he began retreating. 

It was all part of Ray's game; turn her from a normal, functioning human being to a dripping mess in under five minutes and then refuse to go any further once she was aching with desire and then, he could tease her, taunt her, her until she went crazy...or at least until he decided that teetering on the brink of pleasure wasn't enough to satisfy his need to have her in his arms. 

The bulbs needed counting, it was unavoidable and his sweet girl had often said that she was the queen of multitasking.

"Count them." "W-what?" She blinked in surprise at his sudden command, having no idea what he was talking about since she couldn't think through the haze that clouded her mind. 

Count what? The number of orgasms he was going to rip from her body? The number of minutes he'd tease her for? The number of fingers he'd be able to fit inside her? The number of seconds they had left until someone came into the shop, whether they be a friend or stranger? 

She didn't know what he wanted, apart from that he wanted her like putty in his hands and wouldn't stop until she was twitching and oversensitive.

"I said, count the fucking lightbulbs, sweet girl. Do your job and I'll do mine," he ordered her, his voice deep and rough yet gentle in his command as his thumb kept its circling pace on her throbbing clit. "I'll push my cum back into your perfect, little pussy and while I do that, you can do the last job on your list. Seems fair, right?"

"No. No, I can't—Ray—I-I can't think or c-count—" (y/n) begged for mercy, knowing that focusing on anything but what he was doing to her was going to be near impossible. The pressure of her clit was heavenly, and so was the occasional finger that slid in to stroke her walls, it was too much...and yet he wanted her to do math at the same time. It couldn't be done, surely. Speech was difficult at that moment, let alone keeping track of what she'd looked at and what still needed attention.

"Yes, you fucking can, smart little girl. You can see if there's fifty bulbs here or not—and you'll take whatever I give you in the meantime," Ray snarled against her neck, dragging his canine down to her pulse point until she gasped at the sensation. 

Fuck, he could feel how her cunt clenched around nothing when he did and he suddenly became very aware of how hard he'd grown in his jeans. Rock-solid, twitching, ready to just slide into her pussy—it would take it, he could feel how wet she was—and if he wasn't trained in rarely practised patience, would've pulled her jeans over her ass and fucked her hard against the shelf, game or not.

But, where was the fun in that? He much preferred to see her cum than himself and giving in now would leave a disappointing anticlimax as if he wolfed down what he should've played with first. This was about his darling fiancée, he'd been allowed to make her orgasm more than just the meagre one she'd experienced earlier and he was gonna take that chance. Anything to hear her moans and sighs of pleasure, his be damned. 

"Come on. Count." Swallowing harshly, (y/n) looked into the crate of stock that she'd pulled from the top shelf—the action that had caught his attention. There were so many and they all looked the same, how the hell was she supposed to do this properly? 

An estimate wasn't allowed, it had to be accurate for the books and giving up would result in her being left to finish herself off and then would be downright abysmal in comparison to what her doofus could give her. His fingers were longer, thicker, faster, leagues in front of hers, so she just had to go for it, and that was precisely Ray decided to plunge into her heat.

"O-one—fuck—two—three—three—four—f-five..." It was a shaky start, but then again, she was shaking quite badly herself. Her knees felt like jelly and her core was pulled tight as one finger curled in and out of her pussy, palm brushing her clit every time it did, making it torture to keep going. Her eyes wanted to snap shut and work on grinding her hips into Ray's hand, anything to chase the climax that was on the horizon, building up in the pit of her stomach, but she knew that he wouldn't like that. 

But she was trying her best and that was what he liked, especially when he saw what he was doing to the woman who could do her sixteen times tables in her sleep.

"Good girl, keep going. This cunt is so tight, so needy, it's practically sucking my hand in—you wouldn't think it was fucked an hour ago," the man rambled, spilling whatever filth came to mind because he thrived off it as much as she did. She was so sweet when she whined for him, so sweet when he bit and suckled on her neck to leave fleeting bruises that never lasted long enough for him to admire. It was one downside to her superpower, but not one to dwell on, not when she was piecing her mind together to get the job done.

"Five—t-ten—fifteen—twen—twenty—twenty-five—thirty" her hand brushed over each bulb as she counted, ticking off clouded boxes in her head as the other gripped the metal shelves for dear life and slowly but surely, she started racking up the tally to the rhythm of his pumping finger. She could handle one, one wasn't bad, it wasn't what she needed but it was a start and not too distracting as she counted, so she was grateful. But Ray wasn't feeling merciful and it wasn't meant as a favour either. One was just the beginning.

"Thir—oh, fuck, yes..." her counting was thrown off when a second digit prodded at her entrance before sliding in to join the other, generating a delicious burn at the new thickness. Again, it wasn't enough, nothing would be unless it was his perfect cock but being filled more ever so slightly was enough to short circuit her brain and stop her fingers from tapping each lightbulb as she went. 

For a moment, numeracy was out of the window and she lost herself in the one thrust backwards she allowed herself, moaning when the fingers entered her more roughly and his palm gave hard pressure to her bud. She needed more and she found it, but as quickly as it came, Ray caught her and took it away.

"No—no. Don't test me, sweet girl. This pussy is mine to fuck or not fuck, so don't be getting ahead of yourself. Stop pouting, that mouth is better off finishing what you started before I leave you here to make yourself come on the dirty floor of the back room."

"Thirty," she knew he wasn't joking, he could easily step away and leave her a twitching mess on the floor and the idea of losing the fullness of his fingers made her break into reality again with enough clarity to finish what she started, "—thirty-five—forty—forty-f-five."

"That's it, so close, my love. So nearly there and I just know that you're almost ready to cum, aren't you?" He asked gently, kissing her cheek when she gave him a quick succession of nods. Fuck yes, she wanted to cum and there were only five left to count, not long to bring her to the die, so Ray upped the ante and slid a third finger into her hole. 

She was filled fully now, too shaky to try and add a fourth, that only happened on rare occasions when he wanted to keep her up all night, but three were satisfying enough. He pumped them slowly, wanting his girl to get used to them before he broke her into pieces and put her back together again, but for (y/n), even the slow pace was enough to drag her to the edge and hold her there.

"Yes. Yes, please, I want to cum so bad."

"Finish your job then, sweet girl. Finishing counting and you can cream this little pussy for me," he smirked, increasing the pace a little bit to make her walls tighten but not enough to push her over. He knew the signs, he knew when to stop and back off, he knew how to get her right back there because this was his game—and she was determined to finish it.

"O—kay...forty-five. One—two...three—f-four—five—fifty!" The quivering woman gasped, immediately rocking her hips into him when the winning number fell from her lips and she'd never felt relief like it. "Fifty—they're all here! Please, Captain—please, can I cum now?"

"Fuck, of course, you can. You're my good girl, aren't you? Cum on my fingers—that's it—fuck..." Ray groaned as his fingers pumped into her at a lightning speed, rubbing her clit furiously as his crotch met her ass and the ensuing hardness that ground against her taut flesh was enough to shove her across the line. 

White, hot light seemed to stab through her body as she came—hard—instinctively pressing her ass further into his hips as if she was trying to pull his cock into her further, only it was his fingers that she was clamping down on. A broken moan fell from her lips as she was crowded against the shelves, completely at his mercy as Ray got off on the sight of her facial expressions, right up until the waves of pleasure started to dissipate.

"Shit—shit, you're so hot, sweet girl, so fucking hot when you cum for me," he panted, feeling an all-to-familiar feeling creeping up his spine as his hips kept gyrating against her plump ass, his cock falling against his zipper perfectly like it was looking to slot in between her cheeks. Fuck, he couldn't take it, not when he felt her twitch again at the feeling of his hardness. Insatiable. "Fuck, pull these jeans down for me. Hurry up, need to see it—need to see your pussy before I—"

Even though the world seemed to be spinning after cumming so hard, (y/n) didn't need to be told twice, not when he practically barked the order at her. Upon hearing the sound of Ray's zipper going down and the rustling of fabric, her thumbs hooked her waistband and shoved her pants down over her ass, not to the floor, just enough to expose her glistening lips as she leaned on the shelves and presented to him. Just because she'd come ten seconds ago didn't mean she wasn't up to take him any time, any place.

"Show me—fuck—I can see my cum oozing out of you, sweet girl—" Ray's eyes darkened to the point of nearly swallowing the brilliant blue of his irises entirely when he saw the creamy mess of her puffy cunt. Dripping, clenching, vulnerable and for his eyes only as she wiggled it at him for a split second and it was enough to cement the idea in his head. He'd wanted this to be about her, he'd wanted to give her more orgasms since they'd woken up late and only had time for one each, which wasn't the usual agenda, but he couldn't ignore his throbbing hard-on any longer. 

He opened his fly, popped his jean button and pulled down his underwear, freeing himself in time to position the tip at her molten opening and push in. (y/n) had no time to react as his length slipped in with no resistance, aided by her slick-coated walls and the embarrassing amount of pre-cum that had built up as he watched her fall apart. The sudden thickness made her clench harshly and Ray couldn't stop himself from cumming; it shot up his spine and took them both by surprise the second he bottomed out, tip pressed deep inside of her as he shot his load and painted her walls white. 

"Shit, Ray—cum-cumming—again," she gasped when the hot, sticky substance filled her—the oddest sensation that she loved but never got used to—and it was enough to make her quivering walls convulse again. As if it was commanded of her, (y/n) came again, this time being wrung out dry by the perfect cock that she could clench around. 

All they could hear were ragged pants and the ticking sound of the wacky clocks on the shop floor as Ray held her to his chest like his life depended on it, pelvis not leaving her ass cheeks until his heart rate had slowed considerably. It was true, he'd cum like a teenager, one second of having her walls around him and he was a goner but to be fair to him, he did get off on her orgasms and any man would ruin themselves if they had her on their dick—not that they'd ever get the chance.

"That was unexpected," (y/n) was the first to speak, gulping with a rather dry mouth after all of her ragged breathing and moans. Ray shuffled behind her so she turned her head to find his lips, sharing a gentle kiss after an intense session to round it off sweetly and she could feel his smile against her cheek when he pulled away to kiss that too, and then her jaw, temple and the top of her head. He got soppy after sex and a quickie in the storeroom was no different, even if the aftercare couldn't be as good.

"Can't help it, sometimes. But I remembered I only made you cum once earlier and then, I definitely couldn't help it," Ray replied goofily, his need to be a dominant sex god draining away and leaving the same old, lovable idiot he was before and she shook her head at his logic. Right, he'd made it his mission and whilst she'd been fine with just one session that morning, considering they were behind in starting the day, it had not sat right with him.

"Whatever you say, doofus. Just warn me next time you want to fuck me upstairs. Y'know, anyone could walk in—"

"Nah, nah, nah, bro, I swear, Club Soda was bought by some rich kid last month."

"Henry, I know what I'm talking about! Trust me, when I went on Friday, the same old guy was still behind the bar!"

"Jasper, aren't you a little old for Club Soda? I mean, did you do your weird dance moves with a bunch of twelve-year-olds?"

"Hey, the J-man Shuffle is not weird! My mom likes it..." they couldn't make it up; they were still catching their breath as the signature sound of the T-Rex breathing fire and three voices entered the store, and they weren't customers. 

Ray didn't need to feel his girl tense and wriggle in his arms to know that play time was over and he hastily let her out of his embrace and gently pulled his softening cock from her slick, swollen pussy. A quiet grumble left his lips when he saw the mess he'd left behind; pearly white leaking through soft lips and down to her clit. The sight was glorious but if he stared any longer, he'd find himself running back down to Man Cave for a cold shower and leaving her to give his excuses. No, they were satiated...for now.

"Keep my cum inside you, sweet girl, where it belongs... That's my good girl," he grinned when she pushed her ass towards him even more when he pulled her panties back up, hiding his favourite sight from view until later that night. It was a shame but a man could daydream and they needed to straighten themselves out quickly so normality could resume. 

He tucked himself away and buttoned his jeans again as she tugged hers up and did the same, allowing him one last look at how they smoothed and shaped her ass perfectly. It made for a pretty picture, one that he could help but fondle gently one last time.

"You're such an ass man. You never leave it alone."

"I think you mean I'm a you man, babe. I can't leave you alone," he replied smugly, enjoying his dumb little joke when it tugged a smile on her lips that she couldn't smother. That was more accurate; he loved her ass, hips, tummy, thighs, boobs, face, hair, legs, feet, ears, nose, mouth, everything about her. And he didn't love them on anyone else, just her because he was what Henry would call "whipped".

"Okay, scratch that. You're such a dork, Raymond," she smiled and lifted the lightbulb tray back onto the high shelf, only to be helped by him when she couldn't quite stretch. She patted him on his pec as a small thanks and headed for the beaded curtain so they could make an appearance in the store before suspicion could be aroused and of course, Ray followed her heels like a love-sick puppy. Anything to stare at her butt as she walked away.

*AND WE ARE SAFE. Thank you for "coming", the ride is now over, please pick up your tongues and exit the smut with caution. We thank you for choosing Ruth's abomination that has landed us all in hell as we are now all filthy sinners. Bye-bye and have a lovely day.*

"Why's Ray a dork?" Henry's head picked at the noise of the infamous couple coming from the back. The three teens had perfectly clueless faces as they smiled at their boss and his fiancée, appearing like the ideal, idyllic couple as they floated into the store, him trailing after her with droll practically running down the sides of his mouth. They were so in love, it was cute, but what could he have possibly done or said to make him more of a dork than usual?

"Uh—well—he—we—"

"I told (y/n) a really funny story!" Ray quickly lied, seeing how his sweet girl was struggling to come up with something believable to tell their innocent faces. She couldn't tell them that they'd been having a steamy rendezvous in the storeroom, they would never go in there again unless it was hosed down and sterilised. 

And of course, being the funny man he was, he had material to back up his claim, so there was no need to worry her pretty little head about anything. All she needed to do was stand there, look gorgeous and admire him in his hot, blue shirt.

"Oh, right...let's hear it then," Charlotte smiled, eager to hear this story that had amused (y/n) and that would hopefully amuse them. She was all for funny stories and even if it was a little corny, enough to label him a dork, they'd never satisfy their curiosity until he spilt the beans.

"Okay, so there's this bowling alley downtown, right? Well, it used to be downtown, it got demolished a few years ago, but it was super popular back in the day, y'know when I was in my...early twenties. Anyray, I was there with a gir—a person once—" he started, plucking the most random funny story he could from his memory. It wasn't the best story, it was long and rambling, old and irrelevant but he was sticking with it. He had to, although some details were rather unfortunate. 

"Ray, I don't care if you went on a date with a girl when you were younger. I went on dates with guys too, you can say it," (y/n) told him gently, not missing how he avoided so the g-word with her around. It was silly really, unnecessary; she knew that he'd done some normal things just as she had, dates, sneaking out, making out, driving out, everything that a boy could get up to as he progressed into manhood and through his hero training, she couldn't be mad at him for that. 

Hell, he'd once taken three separate girls on three separate dates in the early days of their friendship and they'd still found their way into each other's arms. It was okay, it was normal, not some big secret.

"...Thanks, sweet girl," the hero smiled at her softly and curled an arm around her waist as they stood before the curious kids, who were hanging onto his every word, "—So, the guy that owns the bowling alley, he comes out from the back and he says to me this guy, he says, I got a hundred bucks here for anybody willing to box this kangaroo."

"You mean like...put him in a box?"  "Why would you put a kangaroo in a box?" "You should not cage animals," the teens told him, finding the tale weird from the get-go. First of all, it had been so long since Ray had confessed to (y/n)—or it felt like it anyway—so it was weird to imagine the man with anyone else. Second of all, they'd never heard of there being a bowling alley downtown, old or not. And third of all, what were these people doing to the kangaroo? They couldn't tell if this was a nice story or not, or more likely, a shaggy dog story that was a figment of Ray's imagination. 

"No, box, like boxing. Like, put on boxing gloves and fight," the large man clarified, wanting to make clear that he didn't lock up some poor kangaroo, he intended to fight it instead. Which, of course, was so much better.

"You should not fight animals." "Yeah, doofus," oh, (y/n) was loving this. Ray gave her a dry look as she smirked up at him, loving how he was forced to tell this story with no prior rehearsal. No frills, no lies, just the truth as he remembered it and as the teens found it hard to believe him, she studied his every facial twitch. A peck on her forehead kept her quiet, but not for long. If he loved to tease then so did she.

"Well, darlin', I didn't. As I put on my boxing gloves, my cousin's car comes smashing through a wall!" Ray exclaimed, letting go of his sweet girl as he got more and more animated and into the story. He could recall the thrill, the adrenaline, the craziness of the story, he almost didn't believe it himself, but he'd been there. They just had to take his word for it...with a pinch of salt.

"So, I dive out of the way before my cousin could run me over with his car, and naturally, the kangaroo, he jumps straight up into the air and he lands right—" "Uh, do you guys hear that?" Charlotte asked, butting into Ray's big climax with little animosity, merely a curiosity for what the hell was going on outside. Now that she said that, there was an awful racket going on past the glass, not that they could see anything happening on the road. It sounded like screams and crashes? Eh? Should they be concerned or had the circus arrived in town early?

"It's just a bunch of people screaming. Now, the kangaroo lands right on top of the clown! Now, we don't know if the clown is okay at this point—we don't know if he's dead, we don't know if he's alive..." Ray moved on, ignoring whatever was going on because he had started so he'd finish. He even tried to get (y/n) to stay with him, clawing for her waist absentmindedly when she wandered over to the door to see if she could find something out. Who cares? He looked good today, he had one of his best shirts on, and his biceps were out, why would she want to look at anything else as he told the best story ever?

"Uh, those screams are getting louder," Henry pointed out, feeling like the people in trouble were getting closer, not that it made a slight bit of difference.

"Then so am I. My aunt was an amateur lion tamer!" The man shouted at the top of his voice, earning him a pointed look from his sweet girl as she gave up trying to see. The view was too narrow and clearly, he needed supervision, judging by how he wasn't using his inside voice. With her back by his side, or rather, with her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek smushed against his back in a hug from behind, the hero calmed down and returned to his story. 

"Now, everybody thought, hey, she can tame lions, she can probably tame tigers, right? As it turns out...not the case at all," the more random his story got, the worse the situation got outside, up until the point where it was turning into a Captain Man and co sitch. Come on, people were running past, screaming at the top of their voices, clearly terrified of something and trying to get away from it, how could he ignore that? Oh, right, he could ignore anything with the love of his life by his side and an amusing story to tell.

"Ray, sweetheart, those people look scared," (y/n) said to him softly, pulling away from his back so he lost the warmth she gave him and it sucked. Five minutes, that's all he needed. Five short minutes to wrap up his story, kiss her senseless and then go out to see what was going down. Was that too much to ask for? Captain Man waited for Swellview, couldn't they do the same for once?

"You wanna know who was scared? My aunt in a circus tent surrounded by tigers! Now, my cousin comes out of the back, right? And he's like, we gotta go to Florida real quick." "I think that guy's on fire," Jasper pointed out and everyone turned around to see the horror on some poor man, whose sleeve was ablaze. He was understandably panicking, waving his arm around in an attempt to smother or blow out the flames but nothing was working. All he could do was scream and pray that it didn't spread. So, it was left to the Man Cave team to wonder what the hell was out there that could set something on fire like that.

"Great! We will call the fire department after my story!" Ray told him firmly, growing frustrated at how close to ten minutes had elapsed and he still wasn't near the end. And he would've been able to finish it, probably, had a weirdo not burst through the door, shocking them all to the core. What the—? 

"What is this land? Where is Astoria?" The stranger demanded to know, which would've been rude and odd enough had he not been dressed in a full suit of armour. Not like swat team armour, no, proper solid steel, shiny, medieval, knight saves the princess armour, the kind that you'd see in an old castle full of treasures. And not only that, his entire vibe screamed weirdo, plus, he also screamed literally. He spoke with a powerful, commanding tone that held an archaic lilt as if he was from five centuries prior. All around, his sudden presence was a shock but as the teens froze and (y/n) instinctively glued herself to Ray's side, the man knew how to deal with him perfectly.

"Uh, I'll be with you in a second, pal! I'm telling a-storia right here," he replied calmly, keeping her noise down and not rising to the man's challenge. How dare he come into his store and start mouthing off. This asshat could wait patiently like all of his other customers did and maybe if he was lucky and if he didn't scare his precious girl again, he'd be served with a polite smile.

"I need a sword!" The knight demanded and to their surprise, began pushing over displays and rooting through the fallen junk to see if he could find a suitable weapon. It was like he had no etiquette at all, but Ray wasn't diverting from his zero-tolerance policy. Junk-N-Stuff was a front anyway, he didn't care if some of the items broke, as long as he got to speak before this guy did.

"Dude, that guy's breaking a bunch of stuff," Henry pointed to the man, who was seriously testing (y/n)'s patience as he knocked over piles and piles of stuff that she'd straightened out earlier that morning. Hang on, who was this dick? This was her home, her store that she ran and he was tearing everything apart—if it wasn't for the hand suddenly placed on her shoulder, she'd have stormed over there and scratched those stupid face tattoos right off his stupid cheeks. Her doofus needed to do something, use those big muscles, that big mouth, anything before she blew a casket.

"Who cares? It's a fake store." "Raymond, we went through this earlier. Fake store or not—" "Now, I don't know if the clown and my aunt were dating or not...I didn't ask any questions," Ray brushed past anyone's concerns and slung an arm around (y/n)'s shoulders as if that would be enough to keep her calm. The woman huffed in frustration, eager to rip that guy's head off if she was given the chance. It was like she'd said earlier; a fake store didn't give the knight a free pass to be a bully and neither did it mean that she wanted to piss away money on the ruined stock, something she wished she could get into her doofus' head.

"Where's the nearest castle?" The intimidating man demanded to know, no manners about him at all. He was used to getting his own way, whether that be in whatever play he was starring in or whether he genuinely had minions to order about, but now, Ray too was getting annoyed. He was the alpha around these parts, when he wanted silence, he generally got it and no one challenged his position as the leader of the team, so he wasn't going to let some asshole with ideas above his station change that.

"Hey, guy. You are interrupting my story!" He growled, but even his authority didn't do much.

"There's a Burger Castle about a mile that way." "Yeah, turn left when you walk out and keep going until you get hit by the smell of French fries," Jasper and (y/n) told him, not thinking much of it because that was the nearest thing Swellview had to a castle. A medieval-themed fast food restaurant down the road that served normal, cheap food, paper crowns and foam swords, nothing special. But it was the best thing they had to offer and maybe it would please the rude man into leaving them in peace—and apparently, a "castle of burger" was what he was looking for now that he'd found a novelty sword amongst the junk.

"Your loyalty will be rewarded when I am king. I shall consider you as queen consort," The knight pointed his stolen sword at Jasper and bowed his head at (y/n). His reply was shocking but also kinda...satisfying as he turned and stomped through the door with the same pomp that he'd entered with, leaving Ray to silently clench his jaw at how he'd mentioned taking his sweet girl as his queen. He'd quickly that she was already his queen, his love and next he'd find a boot up his ass if he dared to steal her away. Still, he was gone, nothing to worry about...story time?

"Nice!"  "No, not nice!" For Jasper, the idea of a reward sounded quite nice, but (y/n) felt a shiver run down her spine. Queen? She didn't want to be queen, not with someone like that, the worst example of a future king she'd ever seen. She wanted to be a sweet girl to a superhero doofus, nothing more, and so, she labelled the retreating weirdo as a madman.

"Dude, I think we have a bit of a situation here we need to deal with," Henry turned to his boss, deeply perturbed by what had just transpired in the small junk shop. First, he hadn't been filled with confidence by the hoarders of screaming people, then there was the man on fire and now, the storm in a teacup that was the knight was just the cherry on top of a rather worrying cake. Definitely a situation, one that needed three superheroes to swoop in and save the day. Hint-hint, wink-wink. 

"You want to talk about a situation, try driving up a mountain with your cousin, your aunt, a clown, a kangaroo—" "Hey, Ray!" and the story would have to wait yet again. As Ray tried to get it going again, y'know, inspire a bit of enthusiasm in the teens or even his sweet girl who were no longer interested, but it was useless, especially when Schwoz came barrelling onto the shop floor. He rarely came up this far, preferring to hide down in the Man Cave with his gadgets, tools and projects like Gollum, but this looked like an emergency. Why else would he be holding the emergency phone line that was weirdly stretching a hell of a long way? How did he do that?

"What?! What?! What?! Schwoz, I'm trying to tell a story here!" The hero exclaimed, frustration coating his every word. This story was meant to be a cover-up for what had occurred in the storeroom and now it was turning into a nightmare, but one he was going to finish even if it killed him. His sweet girl would listen, right? He listened to all of his stories, even if she'd heard them before and sometimes, even when it wasn't for her benefit—the benefit of being her beloved idiot.

"Emergency call from Bill Evil," Schwoz explained and held the phone out with his hand covering the receiver. Lord forbid that the most irresponsible scientist in Swellview heard someone's name or a scrap of revealing information. However, it had been so long since the portal to another dimension incident that Jasper had forgotten about it completely, including the man responsible for kidnapping Piper, and the trouble his boss and his friends had gone to save her from a really nice alien monster man.

"Who?" "Bill Evil!" "Oh, right, he's the Chairman of Evil Science Corp," (y/n) recalled the stress they'd gone through to find Piper after thinking she was being murdered. She also remembered the purple goo that she'd been covered in after going through the portal and how it made her hair smell like candy floss and boot polish for two weeks. And finally, she shivered when the memory of how Ray intimidated the man into confessing everything, using his tall stature and deepest growling voice to make a mouse out of him so he'd cop to being a massive idiot. Come on, who names their company "Evil Science Corp" and not expect to be found out?

"He opened the door to another dimension on Halloween..." Charlotte added, jogging the boy's memory. Right, that's what he split his lip open and talked funny. Fun times. But, more seriously, if the guy was calling, it had to be important, right? No bad guy phoned unless something really bad was happening. Ever. 

"I think we should take the call, dude," said Henry, who thought that they should do the sensible thing and at least hear the guy out.

"Fine! We'll take it in the Man Cave," Ray conceded, hearing their arguments and deciding that yes, it might be a good idea to take the emergency call. Something about promising his girl that he'd be a little less selfish and a little more self-aware. But, he did use his head for once though, in the form of agreeing to answer the call but only when he was in his headquarters and his uniform. That way at least, no one would see or hear anything that wasn't meant for them, even if Schwoz had gone to the trouble of coming half a mile up.

"But I brought the phone all the way up here with this hilarious long phone cord," the genius pouted, having thought that his idea was courteous, funny and cool. When was he gonna get another chance to use the mile-long cord again? Probably never.

"I said we'll take it in the Man Cave!!" One snap from Ray and he clammed up. 

"You know it's best not to argue with him Schwoz, it makes him moody. Let's go, Hen," (y/n) sighed, throwing the repairman a sympathetic look as she followed after her man-child so she, Miss Danger, could see what Bill had to say. Henry was quick to follow too, looking at his friends one last time before they disappeared through the beaded curtain and into the storeroom. Hopefully, the kid wouldn't pick up on any "vibes".

"Yeah, coming, (y/n/n)—All right, see ya! That guy's still on fire," Henry waved to Jasper and Charlotte, knowing that the time to socialise was over and that he had to do some actual hero work. And so could they if they were feeling humane, after all, the same guy from before came running into the ship with his arm still flaming and smouldering. 

Hopefully, they'd find where (y/n) kept the fire extinguisher, something Jasper should've known, because, at the end of the day, they all took an oath to help the citizens of Swellview, even if the action did seem far away sometimes. 

~Downstairs~

Having put Bill Evil on hold for a few minutes, Ray, Henry and (y/n) quickly blew their bubbles and changed into their uniforms. They preferred speaking to the man on the computer's monitor rather than crawling on top of each other to hear through one itty-bitty phone; this way, they could read his facial expressions and ensure that he wasn't bullshitting them.

So, as Schwoz sat on the floor with his legs spread out like a teddy bear, reeling in metres upon metres of red cord that had carried across the tiles, up the elevator shaft and into Junk-N-Stuff, they were content to get on with it. After all, no one could see or would pay attention to a little weirdo sitting on his lonesome.

"Okay, Bill, let's make this fast. You kinda caught me in the middle of a story and I got a lot of people who wanna hear the end, including my incredibly hot fiancée," Ray started as he meant to go on - sharp, snappy and to the point. He hadn't let the story idea go, not yet anyway, and neither did he love the idea of talking to this dick when he could be enjoying the company of his lover without the need to act professionally.

"I thought that was the end," Henry frowned, wondering how his tale could still be going when it was already so long and complex and...odd. Far-fetched is how he'd described it, certainly not one of his boss' best stories and honestly, he knew that even (y/n) had struggled to pay attention when he got onto the bit about his aunt. Where did that leave him on the boredom spectrum?

"No! Why would you think that's the end?" "Probably because you were talking for ages, doo—" the woman tried to comfort him quietly as he gave Henry a semi-betrayed look as if he couldn't believe that he'd just said that. Okay, she knew that it wasn't over but she understood why the boy was reluctant to hear anymore. 

She loved Ray, more than anything and she'd pull the stars from the sky if he asked her to, but dear god in heaven, she didn't want to hear any more about his weird cousin whom she'd been introduced to at a family wedding. The guy had suspiciously clammy hands when she went to exchange a handshake but was goofy just like Ray, so it was no wonder that they were like two peas in a pod whoever they were together.

"I just have a question..." Bill piped up, not wanting to interrupt the little domestic they had going on here because it wasn't his place to come between hero and sidekick, man and lover, but he had called for a reason. It would be nice if he got to share that reason.

"What?!" "If a scientist—not me, but a totally different scientist—were to open an inter-dimensional portal..." he started, his tone cautious as if he could predict their rightly outraged reactions. It was obvious that he was referring to himself, no other scientist would be so reckless, and the fact that he hadn't learnt his lesson from last time got their blood boiling, especially (y/n)'s, given her keen interest in the area. Bad things happen when people stick their noses where they don't belong, why didn't he understand that?

"Aw, come on, Bill! What is wrong with you?! Why?!" Ray growled as Henry and (y/n) pinched their eyes and noses in agitation. The poor computer chair took the brunt of his anger as he pulled and pushed it, back and forth, until it started creaking and then, he finally let go to snarl at the idiotic CEO. This was his life and sometimes, he loved it, but other times, he hated it; someone made a mess, he cleaned it up—all well and good—but then, not five minutes later, it was back to being ruined. 

"...And a scary-looking knight with a face tattoo jumped out and punched the scientist right in the face, and then, the scary-looking knight ran off into Swellview..." Evil carried on, sounding more like he was confessing to a massive fuck-up than asking the heroes' advice. Now that they looked closer, they could see that the entirety of his right eye was bruised quite badly, nasty violet patches swelling up to make tender skin painful. Scary-looking knight—what had he done now?

"What's your question, Bill? Enough messing around..." (y/n) asked tightly, trying to keep her calm as he danced around spilling the beans. Ray's hand slipped into hers and squeezed, the gesture small yet reassuring enough to cause her to take a deep breath and let go of the emotions bottled up inside of her.

"Would that scientist be in trouble?"

"Yes!" "No shit, Sherlock. Of course, you would be!" The sidekicks replied immediately, seeing through his bullshit despite his rubbish attempts to make his question hypothetical and light. His attempts to reflect the blame on himself were poor; they knew that he'd done something, it was obvious, just like it had been obvious on Halloween that his company was evil because it was literally in their job name and description.

"Yes, just like you were in trouble the last time you opened an inter-dimensional portal!" Ray scolded him, a stern finger pointing at the monitor to try and make the man feel bad, but for some reason, he didn't look intimidated by the hero. Maybe it was because they were separated by a virtual barrier and he wasn't in danger of getting beaten up this time, or maybe it was because he didn't fear any repercussions at all.

"Actually, I didn't get in trouble. You three just walked away, covered in goo, Captain Man flirted with Miss Danger, and left me alone, unpunished and free to open up as many portals as I want," the scientist replied nonchalantly and for once, the trio didn't have a smart answer. 

Right... After the whole Piper, monster, kidnapping thing, they'd just sort of gone home straight away and left Bill to continue his tricks—having forgotten to punish him for what he'd done because they were tired, fed up and in need of a good shower. 

Plus, once Captain Man started flirting with Miss Danger and vice versa, it was hard to get them to focus on anything else anyway, particularly when Henry was distracted and throwing up at their mushy words and kisses. 

"He's right, we did that," Henry whispered to the adults, who had gone quiet when they thought about the past and realised that he was right. Their bad.

"Yeah, well, we flirt all of the time! It doesn't mean that he should be opening portals willy-nilly! Come on, Evil, man up, take responsibility!"

"Yeah! Dang it, Bill, why do you keep opening inter-dimensional doors?" Ray agreed with his sweet girl, thinking that whilst it had been their duty to bring him to justice, and fair enough, they'd slipped up on that one, the man still should've taken responsibility to not let another disaster happen. Surely, he should've learnt his lesson after the first incident, y'know, shut the program down and locked the technology away forever.

"It's just so much fun!" Or not. Turns out, Bill Evil was a bigger kid than he was and didn't care what happened to the world as long as he got to play god with the fabric of time and reality. 

"You never know who's gonna jump out!"

"Well, starting now, you're not allowed you're not allowed to open any more portals!" Kid Danger told him firmly like he was laying down the law for an unruly child.

"Yeah!"

"What if it's my birthday?" Bill pouted, accepting the general rule, but he also wanted to see if he could push his luck just a little bit. Captain Man was a pushover with Miss Danger, maybe he could tweak the same nerve, not that he was anything like the well-loved heroine.

"Well, I mean, if it's your birthday—"

"No, doofus, no! No more portals, no more messing with stuff that doesn't concern him! Nothing!" (y/n) quickly interrupted her fiancé as he began to debate whether Bill could have birthday privileges, which couldn't be tolerated. 

"Yeah! No more portals, Bill!" That was more like it.

"Fiiine," Bill Evil rolled his eyes at their refusal to budge and ended the call a disappointed and morose man. Well, that told him, no more causing unnecessary problems, Captain Man already had enough to deal with and perhaps, next time he wouldn't be around to save the day when an alien what tearing its way through the factory. But, all in all, that went well and the trio turned away from the screen feeling relaxed and good about what they'd just achieved.

"Pfft—that guy..."

"Pffft, yeah...let's go," Henry jerked his head from his boss to the tubes. He hadn't missed the memo in Evil's story about the scary-looking knight, which he had no doubt was the asshole who'd stormed into Junk-N-Stuff earlier, so he figured that they were about to head out to catch the guy and find out why he was terrorising the city. But to his shock—well, not shock, not at this point—Ray wasn't interested, he was too busy trying to touch the back of (y/n)'s throat with his tongue. Jeez, man, they'd been off the video call for, like, three seconds.

"Hmmm? To where?" The hero pulled away from his sweet girl, who pouted at losing contact with his lips so soon. His tongue in her throat was a bit extreme and an overstatement, she wished that they'd had enough time and privacy to go that far but as always, there was an interruption and because they'd been so preoccupied, neither recalled what Bill had said, just the taste of honey clashing with bubblegum.

To stop the scary-looking knight guy, who Jasper and (y/n) just sent to Burger Castle."

"Oh, right. Him," (y/n) didn't need telling twice, getting her head back in the game as soon as Henry looked at her with raised eyebrows and said her name. 

"What scary-looking knight guy?" He asked, head titled and arms holding her tight to his chest as he looked between sidekicks. Who were they on about?

"What? The—the face tattoo? That just came into Junk-N-Stuff?" Henry said, not believing that his boss couldn't remember the events of the past hour.

"Was this today?"

"He interrupted your story...and said he'd consider making (y/n) his queen for her loyalty." Dirty tactics were never Henry's favourite method of getting a rise out of his boss, but he felt that on this occasion, they were necessary.

"Oh, that guy! I hate that guy!" Ray's hissed instantly, his arms tensing into his biceps that were rock-solid and his fists were clenched, ready to punch the guy like he was in front of his face.

"Let's go punch his interrupting, fiancée-stealing face right off his face!"

"Yeah, love the energy, doofus, but let's take it down a notch. I wasn't going to accept his offer anyway!" She winced at the snarl lodged in his throat; it was lovely that he was protective, it made her feel safe and warm on the inside when he took care of her and made sure she had everything she wanted, of which violence wasn't present. 

Without hesitation, and even if she was offered the world and all its riches, she'd decline his proposal and the knight would never win her hand. It was already promised to someone else; a grumpy, childlike idiot, whose emotions had a habit of running away from him. 

"You wouldn't?" Ray murmured questioningly as she and Henry bounced up to the tube pads where he stood, him having crossed the room in record time thanks to his angry stomping. A quick slap of Henry's belt and the tubes fell around them as he didn't want to waste any time when that psycho could be burning the Burger Castle to the ground, and for a brief moment, the world was silent before the rush. 

"I mean, he did offer you the chance to be a real-life queen...y'know, jewels, treasure, castles. You'd be marrying a king, sweetheart."

"Raymond, I know you think that what makes a king is gold, a palace and diamond rings, but I don't want any of that. I just want you. Only you," (y/n) whispered to him as her arms slid around his neck and they pressed against each other as the suction pulled them up and out of the building.

She knew he had some ever-lasting doubts floating around in that silly, old head of his but the truth of the matter was that all the kings in the world couldn't give her what she'd been looking for all these years. She wasn't one for people who tried to rule others, after landing with someone like that she'd played her cards close to her foolproof vest, only to find true love with a joker — her beloved doofus.

~The Burger Castle~

This place hadn't changed.

(y/n) had fond memories of Burger Castles, not specifically that one, but the one in her hometown. 

Every kid had their birthday party at the fake castles at least once during their childhood; they got to be the king or queen and sit at the head of the table with all of their friends as they ate their food and played with the little free plastic toys that broke two seconds later. 

Then, when everything was coming to a close, they got a crown and everyone sang happy birthday to their "ruler" as a bored employee brought out the cheapest, shittiest sheet cake in the world. Ah, good times.

But, this time, there was no cake. No laughter. No room for fun as the three heroes stepped out of the Man Van, much to the awe of the odd passerby on the street, and marched towards the restaurant with taut frowns on their faces. They meant business and that meant using their angry faces, especially when they approached the automatic doors and looked through the glass and saw their culprit borderline threatening the poor people trying to eat. 

Hell, even Piper and her dad were in there, although the former looked rather embarrassed to be out with a man who still looked for the crappy toys in the kid's meals. But they were shaking after the knight unsheathed his sword and started brandishing it about the place, demanding that they all kneel before him like the puny peasants they were.

"Okay, tin man, you're coming with us," Captain Man announced in a deep growl as he strode through the door to the thankful applause of the crowd, ignoring how his tummy rumbled when met with the heavenly scent of fried food. No, focus, he had to look tough, he had his sidekicks with him, walking like they had potatoes under their arms, acting like him as they faced the knight. Sure, he had a sword, but they had lasers. Who was gonna win?

"Thanks. Thanks, everybody," he nodded to the wide-eyed citizens, who seemed shocked at their sudden appearance, but the three assumed that it was because they were surprised that they'd swooped in so promptly to save the day. 

"I didn't know you guys were part of the show!" Piper exclaimed, standing up from the table she'd plonked at after getting fed up with her humiliating excuse for a father. Her brother and the adults accompanying him gave her a few funny looks, wondering what she was going on about because they weren't there for anyone's entertainment and neither was the psycho with the razor-sharp weapon. 

"I'm sorry, let's start again. What show?" (y/n) smiled at her kindly since in her civilian life, she got on with the girl so well. But as she looked from them to the knight, there wasn't a trace of fear on her face, rather, she seemed in wonder about what was going to happen next, something she may have inherited from her dad.

"Piper, be quiet! Let them say their lines," Mr Hart scolded his daughter, childlike excitement in his eyes as he watched the tension rise between the competing sides. Like his daughter, he thought that this was just some medieval-meets-modern-era performance, good vs evil, maybe even a promo for the heroes so they could appeal to the public. After all, there was a knight at a Burger castle, how on-brand could you get?

"Who dares challenge King Ryder?" The knight asked in a booming voice that entertained the crowd to no end.

He looked at the heroes—or intruders—with fury ripped across his harsh features and he clearly didn't understand that a king was made by the opinion of his subjects—not that any Swellviewian was his subject.

"Seriously, what is going on here?" Henry asked (y/n) and Ray quietly, the woman giving him a shrug since she was none the wiser and just as confused as him. However, her doofus didn't look perplexed, instead, all of the fighting talk seemed to excite him and he looked ready to step up to the plate because Ray Manchester could never ignore a challenge, not one that felt like the WWE moment he'd been dreaming of all of his life. And it would give him the chance to superman-punch and clothesline the guy who disrespected him and hit on his girl. Win-win.

"I'll tell you what's going on here, Kid Danger..."

"Oh, dear god..." (y/n) rubbed her temples, massaging away in advance the migraine she knew she was going to have by the end of this as she watched her doofus strut around the room like a peacock ready to brawl. Two egos, locking heads, what could go wrong?

"This guy's comin' onto our turf, trying to take on the undefeated champions of Swellview!" Ray exclaimed, his voice blending into a stereotypical wrestler's tone, and "Ryker" looked around in confusion when the crowd applauded the puny man. Baffled, he looked at their pleased expressions and wondered why they were excited by the man, who was muscular but still smaller than him, and why he felt the need to climb onto a chair.

"Actually, we got defeated last month? Remember, doof? The kid lost his powers?" (y/n) contradicted him, unable to hold her tongue since it was the truth.

"You're goin' down, brother!" Ray declared, patting her hand a few times before she dropped it in defeat. Nothing she said would tempt him away unless she wore a see-through shirt and nothing else, so if he wanted a fight, she'd stand back until he needed back up. It could be fun, to watch him in action and see the way his body used its power so carefully and with such accuracy. Yeah, fun...The crowd certainly thought so.

"I will destroy you!" Ryker bit back, looking down his nose at the hero, which drew many boos from the crowd. Okay, scratch what (y/n) previously thought, she'd take him herself if she had to, this guy was too cocky. Ray didn't seem phased, though, he was loving the fight-talk, sticking his thumbs downwards to taunt his opponent as his people backed him up. Yeah, that's right, his people.

The knight responded in turn and he must've been from out of town because had he been aware that Captain Man was indestructible, y'know, the thing that everyone knew because that was his power, he probably wouldn't have been so calm. Arrogance was thick in the air as Ryker sliced his sword through the air like a madman in danger of taking someone's eye out or cutting a limb off, but it wasn't particularly scary, more like all bark and no bite. A show that impressed the spectators but bored the heroes who didn't flinch at theatrics.

"Yawn." "Okay, bored now," Henry and (y/n) muttered and rather than engaging with the man and risk losing a few fingers or a head, they simply whipped the laser controllers from their belts and fired two green lasers into his face since it was the only patch of skin not covered by iron. He might have thought he was a tough guy, acting all big with his mean words, weapon and affinity for domination, but like any other man, he stumbled back and clutched his nose in pain as the laser stung just enough to make him drop the steel and teach him a lesson.

If that pleased the crowd then they'd love part two; in perfect synch with his sidekicks, Ray kicked out at the knight, striking him in the chest so he hit the ground like a sack of spuds with a clanging screech. The following applause was breathtaking and the trio were happy to soak it up as the nutter stayed down, although Ray was still weary for his next move and ensured that his precious girl and ward stayed behind him as he approached to place his heavy boot on the metal chest piece. The legendary alpha had retained his throne and the loyalty of his followers.

"M'lord!... Oh, and m'lady!" Mr Hart said rather embarrassingly as he appeared in front of the heroic couple when Ray took up (y/n)'s hand to press a rather sweet kiss to her knuckles, and they blushed awkwardly when he dropped to his knee in a very respectful but unnecessary courtesy. The man was just trying to bring his lover into his victory because if he fought for anyone, it was for her, there was no need to express any devotion to him, hers was enough. And (y/n) didn't agree with towering above someone else, it made her feel...icky.

"I am so sorry about him," Piper interjected shakily, swooping in quickly to drag her father away when she spotted the slightest hint of discomfort on her idols' faces. Talk about an embarrassment; she'd seen him pull some stunts in her lifetime but nothing felt this mortifying, she couldn't believe that he'd done that when Captain Man was having a moment with Miss Danger. Now, all the papers would be talking about was how some weirdo, identified as Jake Hart, was the biggest loser about, not their cute interaction, so now, the poor girl just felt awful.

"Oh, it's fine, no worries. I know what it's like to care for a man-child," (y/n) told the tween kindly, giving her the warmest smile she could before turning to Ray with her most teasing. He was looking at her with raised eyebrows, a faux-offended expression on his face as if he'd taken her joking to heart. A giggle left her lips, finding herself funny more than him and it broke through his annoyed façade, leaving Ray powerless to stop his next actions. 

His head dipped and their lips pressed together as the world disappeared around them until nothing but the kiss existed. The crowd cooed, Henry shuffled awkwardly on his feet to mask how he too was silently shipping them and everyone agreed on one thing. 

The papers would have something to write about and the photo snapped of them as they smiled and smooched would without a doubt make the front page.

~

There was one thing to say about this Ryker guy; he was a damn difficult man to haul onto a chair.

The Burger Castle goers had calmed down eventually and returned to their tables and food to gossip about how Captain Man seemed to follow Miss Danger around like a lovesick puppy, how Miss Danger was the luckiest girl in the world, and how Kid Danger was so adorably awkward around the two when they teased him for his aversion to PDA. Well, some of them gossiped, and some man-children argued about who had the best toys in the toy box, which was especially difficult for their children trying to maintain control.

With no eyes on them, the heroes were left to sort the situation out without hindrance; the staff didn't care, they were just teenagers who were longing to sneak five minutes of their PearPhones anyway. So since the knight was still dopey from the effects of the laser, Ray, (y/n) and Henry wasted no time in stripping him of his protective armour, starting with the helmet and then working on removing the shoulder plates and chest piece so he wasn't so invincible. 

Now, it would be easier for them to take him down should he get rowdy again but interestingly, he seemed placid now, non-threatening, kinda like he knew he'd been placed on the naughty step and needed to think about what he'd done.

"Get up, you weirdo. Let's go, come on. Easy."

"Haul ass, knight-man."

"There you go..." The heroes' pulled Ryker to his feet after removing the last of his armour, tossing the shin plates to the side as he staggered due to the laser's effects. He was just a man now, no metal and no threat, with just his leather under-armour left and that wouldn't protect him that much. 

Still, regardless of his weaker state, they were wary of him, well aware that he was still a large, powerful man with the stature and muscle to hurt them or someone else should he want to. Never trust a bad guy, they'd learnt that the hard way, but strangely, he was so...polite now.

"Thank you for helping me—You fools!" Or not. After taking a few steps, the knight spun around and bared his teeth at them as he raised his open palm at them, his hand high-fiving the air whilst Ray instinctively put an arm in front of (y/n), ready to shield her from danger should he need to, but the danger never came. Ryker screwed his face up with the effort of whatever his hand was supposed to do, but he did nothing more than confuse the three, who wondered what the hell he was doing.

"Is something supposed to happen?" (y/n) asked in a mocking tone that showed no trace of fear. He'd expected something awful to happen but had fallen at the last hurdle so he was as harmless as ever, lacking both his offence and defence. It was rather amusing since he'd tried to trick them, playing dead only to attack again and upon realising he was powerless, the knight deflated in defeat, downhearted at being a laughingstock in front of the lady.

"Yes, fair maiden. Usually, smoke comes out of my hand and then, you bear the Mark of Ryker and I can control your mind!" He replied, looking genuinely frustrated at his lack of power, which was probably used to having. Henry turned to Ray, who seemed a tad grumpier at the man's mention of (y/n) as a fair maiden because yes, she was fair, the fairest of them all, but he didn't like how he seemed to notice that.

"Is he controlling your mind, dude?"

"Nah, I'm thinkin' about cheese fries...and Miss Danger," he replied truthfully, looking wistfully into the distance as he daydreamed about food and his sweet girl. Or, better still, sitting in the Man Cave with his sweet girl as they watched a crappy movie and fed each other fried potatoes loaded with mozzarella. Yeah, that sounded nice.

"Now, I'm thinkin' about cheese fries...but not Miss Danger," Henry replied, liking the sound of getting a small snack after they were done here. The only thing he didn't imagine was (y/n) in any capacity similar to what his boss was thinking of. That was just...ew.

"Whoa! I'm controlling your mind!" "Whaaaat?" "You two are so weird..." (y/n) rolled her mind as they bantered back and forth about nothing special at all. It was kinda cute, though, the rapport that they had and breaking the tension was nice after being so serious - seriousness didn't come naturally to Ray, not at all.

"The cheese fries in your mind are now covered in chilli!" "Now, they are!"

"You mock me..." Ryker stated, a melancholy tone in his voice as he recognised that they were taking the piss. Where he came from, no man, woman or boy dared to make fun of him, so it was a blow to see them having fun when they should've been bowing at his feet and begging for mercy. God, he was up his own butt...

"Yeah, we definitely mock you," (y/n) nodded, shrugging nonchalantly since he seemed to get so touchy about people disrespecting him. She'd met plenty of assholes in her time and he was one of them, so she wasn't going to be intimidated because it was clear that too many people had been frightened and it had inflated his ego until he deemed himself a god amongst men. However, her bluntness was not welcome and his fury returned when she dared to speak so freely in his presence.

"Then, taste my steel, wench!" The knight shouted and plucked his sword from the ground in preparation for a second bout against the heroes. But, as before, the lasers were mightier than the sword and within a blink of an eye, Henry and Ray had pulled their controllers from their belts again and blasted him in the face for raising the weapon against Miss Danger when she'd done nothing wrong. 

A cry left his mouth as the sting bloomed across his eyes and nose, the sword clattering to the floor when his knees crumpled under the strain. Ray's eyes worriedly scanned (y/n)'s face, looking for any sign that she was scared or upset from the failed attack and he let a breath go that he didn't know he was holding.

"He said taste my steel, doofus. He's a bigger doofus than you!" The heroine giggled, melting his worry since she wasn't threatened at all, more like amused that he thought she'd cower in fear when facing a sword. It was funny; she was standing next to the biggest lump of power and punches she'd ever met and that lump would lay down his life to keep her safe—Ray had never given her a reason to fear for her life and Ryker hadn't changed that one bit. 

But, even though she was okay and laughing, a kiss placed between her eyebrows, he was still angry, furious even, because no one, not future kings or the lowest man in the land, got to terrify her.

"Hey, what's your dill, pickle? Why're you so mad?" Ray growled with a pointed stare.

"You'd be mad too if someone stole your kingdom," Ryker replied with a sadness in his eyes that disarmed the heroes, who weren't expecting an answer like that. They were still cautious, highly aware that he'd tricked them before and could do it again just as easily, but they still showed a sliver of concern. Losing an entire kingdom sounded so tragic, like something out of a fantasy film where the burning down of the village is the hero's character-defining moment. It sounded like he'd lost everything and the trio couldn't help but feel a tad sorry for him.

"Huh?" "How do you lose an entire kingdom?" "What's up, big dog?"

"I am the rightful ruler of Astoria. But my throne was taken away from me," the knight explained, eyes downcast and staring solemnly at the floor. Well, that tugged at their heartstrings; if it was his right to rule, then it must've been hard to watch the fair land, "Astoria", be lost. Maybe they'd judged him too quickly, maybe his scary look was just that—a look—and he was just a stranded soul in an unfamiliar place.

"Aw, buddy..." "That's actually pretty sad..." "That's not goooood." They gave him some very sympathetic looks and Ray pushed away his old anger so he could place a comforting hand on the man's shoulder since he looked like he was on the verge of tears. He'd hate it if he lost his home, followers and lover, he wouldn't know what to do, so as a fellow leader, he kind of empathised with what the man was going through.

"I almost got it back, but I was defeated by a squad of knights. And a wizard banished me from my realm, and suddenly, I was, well, here..." he went on, illustrating a picture and narrative in their heads that were almost heartbreaking. Who were these asshole knights who'd hurt such a...gentle man? He wasn't so bad now that he'd calmed down and although (y/n) was still a bit skittish, which was understandable given that he was, like, double her size, the boys connected with him. 

"Ah, I get it. He's not a bad guy, he's just scared." "Yeah, he's just a lost lil' puppy from another dimension...right, precious girl?" Ray nudged his fiancée as he and the kid softened their looks, but (y/n) was still unsure. Puppy wasn't the term she'd used; Ray was a puppy, adorable and goofy, clumsy and soft but this guy, looked mean and vicious, tough and bitey.

"Yeah...with a very sharp sword, scary face tattoos and a Jackanory story that has me crying my eyes out," she whispered, angling her body so half of it was hidden behind Ray. Could that be classed as cowering? Perhaps. She didn't like to look so weak, not against her possible enemies but she felt nervous and naturally when feeling nervous, she got mouthy to ward off predators.

"You are right to fear me, fair maiden. I am a stranger in your land, but I swear, I mean you nor your companions no harm," Ryker bowed his head and curled his fist to her chest in a respectful gesture and made her slouch slightly, but there was still the feeling that she was the lamb looking at a wolf in sheep's clothing. 

"Are we supposed to take your word for that? You tried to cut my head off."

"And I apologise most deeply, to you and the one who came to your defence so valiantly. He must be very fond of you," he also bowed his head towards Ray, who practically purred at the respect he was being shown, going from the snarling alpha to a pacified leader in one sentence since his target was now toeing the line perfectly, acknowledging their connection and keeping his distance. Damn right, he was fond of her, more than that.

"Well, pal, she is my beautiful fiancée," Ray replied, looked at the woman dreamily and slung his arm around her shoulders, causing (y/n) to blush since they were still in public. The contact was heavenly and being able to smell his cologne made her feel safe, especially since the display showed the knight who he'd be messing with if he tried something—the prancing hero in his red and blue spandex. 

"She is your betrothed? Then you, sir, are a lucky man indeed," it was almost as if Ryker knew every method for stroking his ego, pandering to Ray's every love; being admired for his prowess and being able to bask in the knowledge that he had the most gorgeous woman in the world as his future wife. There was no doubt in his mind now that this knight was a stand-up guy and he needed to get back to his kingdom so he could reclaim his throne, something they could certainly help him with. It was the least they could do.

"We'll get you home, little fella," he smiled and put his arm around his shoulders so they could escort him to the Man Van. Henry looked at (y/n), (y/n) looked at Henry and neither knew why his tune had changed so dramatically but the woman went along with it when the kid gave her a reassuring smile. She had nerve flare-ups sometimes, they came and went with the full moon or something, so she wrote off the uneasiness in her stomach as inter-dimensional waves or particles or something like that. It would be fine, right?

"I'm bigger than you are." "Sure you are, little buddy!" Ray laughed at the man's analysis, not realising that he was telling the truth. Ryker stood a couple of inches above Ray and whilst the hero could probably take him in a fight, there was no getting away from the fact that on this rare occasion, he wasn't the giant in the room. Well, he still had the biggest head.

"You know...in a way, I'm kinda the king in this town and I suppose that kinda makes Miss Danger my queen..." "Oh, god..." Henry groaned when the cringiest sentence he'd ever heard came from his boss's lips. Bigheaded, much?  No, he was not the king, he was just the guy who donated all of his time to save the city, he did not rule the place, no matter how much he liked to think that. But in one respect, he was right about something; (y/n) was his queen and he was the lowly joker, basking in her majesty.

~The Man Cave~

It was difficult explaining to a man from an ancient world was technology was. The most advanced kit he knew was a spell book and catapults, so seeing him freak out in the Man Van was an odd experience until they realised that the "metal horse" was frightening him. Of course, they'd never thought about it like that but eventually, he sat comfortably, listening to Ray bragging about their many adventures, which meant they had a plethora of weapons that he could borrow in his bid to regain the throne - it was no biggie, an honour, in fact. 

Maybe he'd even reward them for their service once he was crowned king.

"Help meeeeeeeee!" Ryker screamed as he went down a tube, which was a bit embarrassing for him since he was supposed to be this big, strong, emotionally unmovable knight. But the weightless feeling made his tummy flutter like it always did on the first trip and he squeezed his eyes shut, prayed for it to be over and cursed the couple in the next tube who said it would be fun. Filthy liars.

"Hey, man, it's just the tubes." "Yeah, you don't have to be so scared, they're very safe," Ray and (y/n) comforted him, quickly untangling themselves from each other's arms since he was having a mini breakdown. Whilst they understood why he was scared, it was necessary since Schwoz maintained the tubes like nothing else and if he couldn't handle them, he wasn't going to find his bravery against these enemy knights. Where was his courage?

"I wasn't scared! That was, um...brave screaming," the knight lied, trying to save face as the brave superheroes mollycoddled him. Yeah, because he looked so brave when he was near tears refusing to step into the tube opening and here came Henry, ready to pull that lie apart.

"Dude, you were so scared! I could hear you screaming the whole way down!" The boy laughed, teasing the man for how he'd betrayed his tough-guy persona so utterly. He could lie all he wanted, it was plain that he was shitting himself down and there was no shame in that; it happened to everyone when they first experienced the zero-gravity effect, although, the resident couple were certain that they'd never seen anyone react like that before.

"That was brave screaming!" "Yeah, I also scream help me when I'm being brave..." Henry rolled his eyes and brushed off the pathetic excuse, shaking his head at the banter. He didn't mean it, it was just some harmful teasing, but either way, Ryker wasn't in the Man Cave to have fun. Get the weapons, get home, get the throne, that was his plan, among friends with these people in court jester's clothes were not.

"I would like to go home now and fight for my throne!"

"Yeah, sure, braveheart, where are we on that, Schwoz?" (y/n) was best pleased with his curt tone but turned to the genius who'd been working away like a busy little bee for the past hour, trying to locate an inter-dimensional chatter on this Astoria place that Ryker was from. 

As per Ray's instructions, Charlotte, Jasper and he had gone to Evil Science Corp to confiscate the machine that Bill Evil and his team used to play with portals, so he was using that technology to listen between worlds...freaky. The hat and headphones helmet he'd created was weird but so far, he'd been able to find a few signals, just not the ones he was looking for. 

"I'm still working on it," he replied, flicking switches and adjusting his knobs so the search could continue. Now, Schwoz was a wonderful man, very kind, very gentle, very helpful and his family loved him, but none of them could deny that he was weird—both in looks and personality. So, it was no surprise that when the knight took notice of him, he thought he was a creature from his world - an odd, little, scurrying, pitiful slave with a piggy face and smooth head.

"Oh...nice troll slave. How much do you want for him?" "What?! I'm not a troll!" Schwoz protested, taking great offence that someone would deem him a slimy, grunting, tucked animal that lived under bridges or scratched a living slaving in a grubby kitchen. He was a person, he deserved some respect, which Ray sometimes forgot and took advantage of his skills.

"Quiet down, troll!" "Ra—Captain Man! Naughty!" (y/n) thumped her lover's shoulder lightly for being so mean to a key member of their team and the hero gave her a slight pout and a small yet genuinely remorseful look as she admonished him. But as he thought about his actions, a brilliant idea came to mind. "Hey, hey, hey!"

"What, what, what?!" "Let's give this dude some of our sweet weapons to take home with him so he can get his kingdom back!" Ray suggested, pulling his sidekicks close so they could huddle up and whisper, but as ever, Ray's whispering was more like shouting and Ryker perked up when he heard everything. 

For Ray, it made sense; Schwoz was forever inventing and discarding older prototypes of blasters and bombs in the Man Cave, so they had plenty to spare and this guy needed some help. Look at his little face, he was giving them puppy-dog eyes and it felt cruel to send him off into the unknown to fend for himself.

"I love that idea and I would like to do that right now," Henry stated seriously, agreeing with everything his boss said because he viewed the knight in the same way - a lost soul in need of guidance onto the right path again. 

"I don't know, guys, is this really a good idea? I mean, some of the weapons we have are kinda dangerous and we hardly know this guy," (y/n) argued uneasily, not wanting to be mean or a stick in the mud, but rationality won with her as always. 

A part of her wanted to give Ryker the benefit of the doubt and admit that she'd made a judgement of his character but also, there was a tugging on her heart, one that said that giving him proton blasters, molecular shifters or flamethrowers was foolish. This wasn't the first time she and Ray had butted heads on a problem, one thinking against the other but they always worked it out, so this time, she'd trust his judgment...and pray it wasn't misplaced.

"You have weapons here?" Ryker questioned and stepped in, butting in before the couple could debate the suggestion.

"So many weapons!" "Yeah." "Maybe..." the heroes replied, ranging from enthusiastic to a little reluctant to divulge what they kept in storage. Henry was excited, Ray was proud and (y/n), well, she was trying to stay on the fence. That way, she could see what was growing in both gardens.

"What, like swords and axes?" He asked, assuming that they'd have weapons like he was used to, basics that cut and chopped rather than blasted and burnt. That drew a few smiles because swords and the like were so five centuries ago, practically Neanderthal to the modern fighter and it was cute how he thought combat was still so brutish.

"Yeah, yeah, swords!" "Yeah, we got axes!" Ray and Henry laughed, causing (y/n) to roll her eyes as Ryker gave them a confused look. He didn't know what was so funny but Ray was about to wipe that expression clean off and replace it with wonder. Curling an arm around his shoulders, he turned the man towards the tube pads and the rooms that lay beyond them, where they kept some of the older weapons that were no longer regularly used.

"Hey, uh, let me tell you called a thermonuclear hand cannon. And after that, I'm gonna tell you a hilarious story about my cousin, a kangaroo..."

"Doofus, don't touch or give away anything before I look at it! Are you even listening to me?" And off they went. Ray was determined to find a friend in the knight, and so was Henry, whilst he was more interested in this fancy cannon thing they spoke of. That's what worried (y/n), did she need to explain how dangerous they were? Sure, Schwoz had built better things since but that didn't make it deadly, so she stormed after the giggling pack as they stumbled away, leaving the genius to scan the multiverse for an answer that came sooner than expected.

"I found it! I found someone saying Astoria!" Schwoz cried in delight as his boomerang-shaped scanner picked up a frequency of voices. Astoria, Astoria, Astoria...they kept repeating over and over, and he knew that he'd discovered what he was looking for. Sadly, it was a massive shame that there was no one around to pat him on the back for it. "I found someone saying Astori—ahhhh, I'm talking to myself!"

He sighed and continued listening to the distorted voices. A boy and a girl he was sure, they sounded quite nice, not at all evil like he'd been predicting and he figured that he'd just have to report his findings to his boss or (y/n) once the scary man was kitted out with some hand-me-downs. 

But, as he stood there, minding his own business, reality seemed to bend and before his very eyes, a blazing portal opened in front of him, revealing two people whose voices were the ones he'd been hearing through the signal. They were in a halo of swirling amber and electric pink, seemingly lost in their conversation until the door closed on their old world and left them in the new one—the Man Cave to be exact.

"Stromboli, Stromboli, strombo—oh my god, where are we?" A tall, blond, good-looking boy screamed as Schwoz turned the machine off, deeming its purpose fulfilled now that he'd found someone to take their guest home. They were an odd-looking pair, that was for certain, although he could say much about that. The boy was wearing what looked like spares from Robin Hood's wardrobe and was accompanied by a pretty, young girl with bouncy curls and a Middle Ages-themed blouse. She had a sword on her hip and Schwoz knew that he'd have to be delicate with the situation, after all, they were bound to be like cornered animals now that he'd pulled them from Astoria.

"Welcome to the Man Cave!" He greeted them warmly, throwing his arms out to show that he carried no weapons and was trying to be non-threatening but of course, most heads-of-house are normally easy on the eye. Schwoz's funny looks did him no favours as the unknown teens took him in with shock in their eyes and as Ryker had, they didn't see that he was a human like them, more like a stubby, mythical slave that was a spawn of evil.

"Oh, it's an evil troll!" The boy exclaimed, looking like he was ready for a fight in his leather armour and fighting stance, no matter how innocent and placid the genius tried to appear.

"I am Schwoz..." "It's an evil troll named Schwoz!" The girl cried, clearly panicking as Schwoz shuffled closer and her fingers twitched to draw her sword. Anything to save herself and her friend from his filthy, clawed clutches. 

"Okay, why don't you just relax and let me explain how—oh, good, you have weapons!" The small man gulped when they took their swords by the ears and yanked them from their sheaths, which meant that quickly, he was facing down two very pointy ends. His heart was hammering in his ears as they charged forward, causing him to back up quickly to avoid being skewered since any time he tried to reason with them led to him taking another step back. And another. And another until he couldn't go any further and found his back pressed to the secret door in between the auto-snacker and supercomputer. 

"Let us out of this cave!" "Why did you bring us here?!" "You best send us home right now!" They snapped at him and Schwoz found himself losing his grip on his nerve as the metal wavered under his nose. He couldn't answer them all at once but he figured that even if he could, they'd probably cut out his tongue for some misunderstanding because trying to talk with them was futile. They thought he was evil and they were the ones with razor-sharp, folded steel, it was best not to provoke them.

"This is my personal space!" He hissed back, unable to control himself any longer because there was no escape for him. He wanted them to back off or at least drop the swords and for a moment, he thought he'd gotten through to them as the boy's frown cracked, only for him to say something ridiculous.

"Wait! I'm pretty sure that if you tickle trolls, they puke gold," he smirked at the girl, whose eyes lit up at the thought of getting rich quick. Her friend was a bit far-fetched at times, but the troll was right there and it couldn't hurt to try, so she was all up for it, whether the creature agreed or not.

"No, we don't—I mean, no, they don't!" Schwoz tried to brush over his slip of the tongue, wanting to disassociate himself from any connotations of being a troll because it was so damn demeaning. And ridiculous. Very ridiculous, not that the mischievous teens seemed to care; they were willing to try anything once.

"I'll grab him." "I'll get the treasure. I am great at tickling!" Partners in crime was how Schwoz would describe them and whilst they were smirking at each other, he saw his chance and made a break for it. He didn't like tickling at the best of times, he certainly didn't want it done by two teen strangers with that cunning twinkle in their eyes. Their swords were abandoned to the tiles as they chased after him and predictably, their agility and speed far outshone his, meaning he was their prisoner, not a second later, trapped in the girl's arms as the boy got to dancing his fingers along his ribs.

His laughs filled the room as Ray sauntered back into the main room with (y/n) hot on his heels, totally unaware of what had been going down whilst they and Henry had been enjoying a little weapon fashion show with their new friend—well, his and Henry's friend. It had been great; he now had ample gear to take back his kingdom, including blasters, the cannon, grenades, electrocuting prods, the works and he looked very happy with himself, so it was time to send the knight on his merry way.

"Don't go there, dude. Don't go there!" "Anyway, my sweet girl designed these and they're sick! You pull the pin, you throw it at your enemy...boom!" Ray explained to Ryker with a huge smile on his face, failing to see what was happening to Schwoz since they were having a great conversation about how a problem could be solved with no more than a classic grenade. One that (y/n) thought up when she was still but an employee with a lot of long, lonely nights and a curious mind. That meant Ray was very fond of them and not shy to show them off to the knight, who was now armed to the teeth with guns strapped to his back and bombs pinned to his chest, all courtesy of Captain Man and Co.

"Yes, doofus, they're great but be careful how you use them. I can't tell you how many walls we've had to hose down because of splattered—what the actual fuck?!" The woman bashfully advised the man, flustered by the praise but also concerned that a grenade used in the wrong place could leave an unfortunate mess. And Ryker seemed to be taking her worries on board, listening carefully until she just so happened to look across the room after hearing a peculiar noise, only to see Schwoz being attacked by two strangers that he knew very well indeed.

"Hey!" "Whoa!" "Who are you?! What are you doing with my troll?!" If Henry and (y/n) were shocked, then Ray was infuriated, demanding to know who these strangers in his hideout were. 

Nothing happened in those four walls that he didn't know about and the fact that they'd managed to sneak in troubled him deeply, especially since these two looked like Camelot rejects. Well, one of them also bore a striking resemblance to Henry with his fair hair and fine features but that wasn't important. What was essential was finding out why they were in his home and tickling his repairman, torture that only he was allowed to inflict when Schwoz annoyed him. 

"Nugget-head, we've been through this. Schwoz is not a troll!" (y/n) snapped her head to her lovable idiot and gave him a pointed stare as his remained on the kids, who looked rather pale-faced as they looked over to see not only some strangers in funny outfits but also, the cruellest, evilest, most brutal man their land had ever known; Ryker, enemy of Astoria. The one who'd laid waste to the kingdom once before and had been trying to do so again for years—looks like he'd found a new land to purge, new people to terrorise and force into his army.

"Arc!" "Ryker! "Ciara!" They addressed each other, seemingly shocked to see each other, which was then replaced with a determined fury to claw at each other's throats. 

"Schwoz?" "Hi!" Okay, this was getting a bit weird for Ray, (y/n) and Henry, who found themselves in the middle of a standoff that they didn't understand, merely that Schwoz seemed to be okay now that he had been left alone and that if these kids, Arc and Ciara, were enemies of Ryker, then they had to be their enemies too. Because they were friends now, right?

"And Captain Man as the hero, set to save his pretty girl from the clutches of ev..." Ray joked, turning to (y/n) with a smouldering smirk on his face like he was trying out for the lead role in an action film where a sweaty, muscly underdog defies all the odds to save the sweet chick from a gang of ruffians, only to ride off on his motorcycle into the sunset together. Y'know, that kind of movie. But, as she rolled her eyes and cupped his cheek to accept the kiss he so desperately wanted to share with her, things got heated rather quickly. 

Ryker drew the blasters they'd given him and not just any old blasters, some of the most powerful, heavy-duty ones they had, which had been retired due to their tendency to work a little too well. The kids stood steadfast against him, trying not to look afraid and helpless as he pointed the weapons they'd never seen before straight at them. Hang on a second, there seemed to be a little history here and whatever had gone off, it had left some real beef.

"Hang on a second, do you know these guys?" Henry asked, eyeing the boy and the...surprisingly hot girl with a curious eye. Surely, someone as pretty as her couldn't be bad, she looked like perfect girlfriend material—not that he wanted her to be his girlfriend. Yuck, she was bad. He'd had enough date disasters. Ew. Not that he thought she was pretty in the first place, no way. 

"Yes! They took my kingdom from me!" Ryker replied and took a few steps towards the unarmed teens and something felt off to (y/n). Their swords were on the ground, not that they'd help against the modern tech, but still, they had no way of defending themselves...and her heart lurched when she looked at the boy. For a second, she could swear that it was her Henry standing there petrified.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't sound very nice but let's not be hasty. Come on, Ryker, let's put the blasters down and—"

"How dare you do that to this sweet man?!" Ray dragged her away from the children, worried about what filthy tricks were up their sleeves because if they could hurt his new friend like that, what could they do to his sweet girl? It wasn't her fault that she was the kindest, gentlest, sweetest soul on Earth and a little too trusting of young faces, those qualities endeared her to him, but so help him god, he was going to teach these punks a lesson. Anything for the man who'd laughed at the story he'd told him like it was the funniest thing in the world, which was more than Henry did.

"Sweet? He enslaved everyone in the kingdom!' 'Then, he used mind control to turn my own sister against me," Arc and Ciara argued, painting Ryker as an awful character, one that (y/n) suddenly found herself backing away from. She knew that he was more than he said he was and despite not knowing anything about them, she found herself siding with the teens, who knew more about this man than they did. Judging by their outfits, they came from the sale oldy-worldy land, so they had to know something and whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"They're making you sound pretty baaaad, dude," Henry whispered in the knight's ear, thinking, or rather, praying that what they were saying wasn't true because he'd been such a nice guy whilst he'd been with them. Kind, courteous, a little blunt after the bad start but capable of great banter as they showed him their stuff. The hot girl and her...friend that was a boy had to be lying, they just had to be.

"Oh, I am bad." "Ooooh...wait, what?" The heroes recoiled from him slightly, not liking how cool he was with that admission. It was like it didn't phase him at all and (y/n) looked at Ray with fear in her eyes for what they'd done to help this evil man. But he wasn't giving up hope yet and reasoned that maybe Ryker was just a bad boy, kinda like he was a baaaad boy when he pinched her butt when no one was looking.

"Wait, hold on. Bad, like bad bad? Or bad like I'm a bad mamma-jamma?"

"Whatever bad means evil," Ryker, the villainous coward shrugged and instantly, the trio gasped in horror and took a step back. Brutus, is that you? Why didn't he just stab in the heart as well as the back? Ray hoped (y/n) behind him and shared a wide-eyed, disgusted look with Henry as they gave the knight an appalled glare because what the hell? They'd given him their weapons, their time, their help, their everything and now, he was a bad guy. Talk about not knowing a guy.

"What?!" "You're evil?! "I told you so, doofus! I told you so! I said to be careful and you ignore my tummy again!" (y/n) facepalmed, practically shaking Ray by the shoulders as he tried to sound out a desperate apology to her but all he could do was open and close his mouth like a goldfish - his shock had stolen his voice. Whatever, she'd deal with him and his too-trusting nature later, right now she had a villain in her home, one that had more weapons than her.

"Oh, yeah...wait, aren't you guys evil? I mean, I thought the girl was a bit soft and flowery but you guys..." Ryker frowned, making them scoff at such a rude presumption. First of all, (y/n) wasn't some dainty mascot that they brought along for the fun, she was a fighter and a good one at that. And secondly, they were as pure as they came, fighting for the light or whatever and it was offensive that he thought otherwise. Captain Man, Miss Danger and Kid Danger bad? He should've washed his mouth out with soap.

"No!" "We're good guys!" "I'm not soft, okay?! And why would you think we're evil?"

"Uh, 'cause you've got this underground lair, tons of weapons, a troll slave and he threatens to break the arm of any man who disrespects his queen?" "I am not a troll!" The villain did make a fair point, some things did look a little shady in the wrong light but that was just semantics and didn't mean that they were plotting the enslavement of humanity. Ray had dedicated his entire life to the city of Swellview and its people, and so had his future wife and if he was overprotective of her then that was that, it didn't make him evil. And neither did Schwoz's coconut head make him a troll, not that anyone was listening.

"...I see what happened here. Classic misunderstanding," Ray chuckled dryly and put his arm around Ryker just as he'd done earlier as he tried to mop up his mistakes, "Sooooo...gonna need those weapons back real quick." He grabbed the end of one blaster as Henry and (y/n) took the other, and together, they pulled with all their might, only to discover that the man's grip was like iron; relentless and unbreakable. He refused to return the weapons because they'd given him a chance of stealing back the kingdom that had managed to slip the reigns of his tyranny once and he sure as hell wasn't going to let this chance go—or those blasters.

"Pretty firm grip, dude," Henry nodded to Ray, who gestured for them to relinquish the guns. Time for a change of tactics.

"Tell you what, on the count of three, you're just gonna let go and give those—" Ray smiled at his former acquaintance, doing the decent thing and giving him a chance to give up the blaster before things turned ugly. But, unlike the adored Captain Man, Ryker wasn't known as a decent or kindhearted man, hell, even his mercy was as icy as his frozen heart. So he didn't bat an eyelid when he squeezed the trigger as Miss Danger had demonstrated, sending Ray flying backwards onto the floor with burning pain in his chest, much to his sidekicks' horror. Thank god for his indestructibility.

"Shit, shit—back, everybody, back!" (y/n) shouted to Schwoz, Henry and the two kids from Astoria the moment the plasma was released from the chamber, fearful of what might happen should one of them get hit. She'd be fine, they wouldn't and since Ray was now officially preoccupied, she got to pull rank and make the decisions. So, they took covered behind the couch, ducking so the foam would take the blasts and not their bodies, but when they were safe, she made another decision, one that was rather reckless.

"That means you too, (y/n)!" Henry hissed when she dashed to run to her fiancé's side, thinking that she'd be able to help him in some way, even though no ideas were springing to mind. His harm seized her forearm, keeping her by his side, kneeling on the ground and not charging off into the fray when she'd get blown to bits. If she got squashed into jelly, would her super-regeneration be able to de-jellify itself? Now there was a question, one he didn't want to find the answer to.

"But Ray needs help! I can't just leave him with—with him!" She cried, feeling her heart break as her doofus clawed at the ground whilst fighting through the pain. And to make matters worse, the look on Ryker's face was murderous as if he enjoyed the pain he'd inflicted on his opponent, who might not have splattered on the walls like he'd been told, but then again, he had always enjoyed toying with his prey before the killing blow. 

That alone made her want to rip his head off or at the very least rush to soothe any of her doofus' hurts and it was only because Henry refused to let her go that she wasn't facing the mouth of the gun herself.

"He'll be fine, you know that! Look at him, he can take Ryker!" The boy reassured her, aware of how worried she became when her lover was in danger because on countless occasions they'd both made no secret of the fact that they couldn't live without the other. But Ray had super density on his side and that would protect him no matter what that bastard threw his way, so it was safer and wiser for her to stay leading the group. After all, the man was already getting to his feet, looking for round two.

"Get ready to suffer," Ray spat, standing to his full height so he and Ryker could begin to circle. Those blasters didn't scare him, he'd faced much, much, much darker forces and won, so this would be like a light workout, an opportunity to beat this guy up for tricking him so well.

"How? You gonna finish telling me that boring story about your mom and that clown she was dating?"  "It was my aunt and I'm not sure if they were dating!" Oooh, now that was a low blow, one that had Henry and (y/n)'s jaws on the floor because they didn't know how their boss was gonna react. He loved that story and he'd loved how much Ryker had seemed to enjoy it, which was now just another lie, one that fuelled his rage enough for him to pull the laser controller from his belt. 

However, the traitorous knight was quicker and before the hero could fire, it was shot from his hand and a piece of melted garbage before it even hit the floor. Then, there was another blast, which this time hit his arm...and another and another, so he had no choice but to duck, weave and roll his way across the Man Cave as Ryker became a madman, intent on destroying this man or causing him agony at the very least. 

Most shots missed since his aim wasn't good with the newfangled tech but occasionally, Ray took one to the back or leg and had to limp away the pain just to stay on his feet. This fight wasn't fair and it showed.

"What are you doing? We should help him!" Ciara bent down to address the boy and woman as Ray hid behind an electricity pillar, but they seemed to be reluctant to help their companion. She didn't understand, wasn't the older man his master and her lover? Why would they not want to help? If he was her friend, she wouldn't hesitate to swoop in to save him from the enemy and yet they were buying their time.

"Uh, trust me, sweetie, he insulted Captain Man's story. Now it's personal," (y/n) soothed her concerns, understanding that it looked a bit mean and mutinous to not step in but it was like Henry had said. Ray could take care of himself, as per his reputation as the greatest fighter ever and the fury fuelling his movements—she knew that better than anyone. She knew him.

So, they settled down to watch the fight, rooting for Ray since she spoke so highly of him. However, all of the prowess in the world wouldn't help Ray right now; he was seriously outgunned and unable to get even a single punch as he worked more on his defence than an offence. Another plasma bolt to the back had him yelling in pain, enough to make the spectators cringe as he started to slow down, no doubt a side effect of his body trying to recover from the excessive amounts of pain.

"So, uh, you and your boyfriend go into different dimensions a lot, or...?" Henry asked the pretty girl and the annoyingly handsome guy next to her, thinking that despite the drama going on, he could at least make some small talk and perhaps, maybe, possibly get cosy with this girl. Given that she wasn't already taken, of course, and it didn't take long for (y/n) to see what he was doing. She'd given him all the training she could give in terms of wooing girls, it was time for the student to become the master, but boy, was he bad at it.

"Uh, we're not—" "He's not my boyfriend," the girl laughed off his assumption and the boy crawled off to go and talk to Schwoz or something. Great, now he was alone with her and single which meant he was free to turn up the charm, even though he was setting himself up for heartbreak since she was from another dimension and everything.

"Nice," he whispered and made a mental note for his later flirting when (y/n) jerked her head towards the fight and gave him a knowing smirk. Right, pay attention, Hart. Ray was doing better; he'd managed to land a kick on Ryker's chest, although it was merely a way of getting him to back off for a moment to allow him to retreat and the firing didn't stop. A well-executed shot landed square on his back, causing the hero to stumble mid-leap as he hopped from the back of the room to the couch. Okay, this wasn't going so well.

"I don't know if they have music in your dimension, but I'm in a band." "Bullshit," (y/n) coughed into her hand to hide the cackle that threaten to break through her lips when she heard the outrageous lie. Rule number one when flirting; be yourself and don't make stuff up. She'd taught him that and yet he was saying ridiculous things to get some girl he'd know for five minutes to fancy him, even when Ray was getting his ass handed to him. And then, he had the gall to give her a sharp glare. Ugh, teenagers.

"You know your friend's husband is getting beat up pretty bad, right?" Ciara asked, wondering why he was acting calm enough to flirt at a time like this, and why the lady's cheeks seemed to match her satin skirt when she said that. This dimension was weird.

"Oh, uh, they're not married—not yet, and they get touchy when people mention it. And you got me, I'm not in a band—but I'm thinking about joining one...as the star," the boy deflected her question, picking out bits that he felt comfortable talking about and leaving the part about Ray sucking against Ryker. (y/n) had her eye on him, it was fine, even if she did look like she was having a breakdown every time he got hit. He was trying to impress the hot girl and those were few and far between in his life. A few fibs couldn't hurt...

"Hey..." Arc whispered, crawling back to their huddle after interacting with Schwoz. And that wasn't the only thing he'd been doing. " Check it out! I just stole the troll's wallet!" He grinned and held up the leather item that Schwoz angrily snatched back when he saw that it was missing. He had no idea how he'd been able to steal it from under his nose but he wasn't going to let those sticky fingers near him again. Jerk. 

"Arc, can you stop stealing for one second?" His friend asked tiredly. Obviously, this kinda thing happened a lot with him.

"I can't help it. It's my thing!" He replied, giving the curious sidekicks a small smirk. That was his skill set, a lowly thief training to be a knight, although he was pretty damn good at the first. But, the joking mood turned sour as Ryker tired of his puny, pathetic blasters, which had probably overheated after so much use, so he switched to the handheld cannons that had been strapped to his back. Oh, god, if Ray thought the old ones hurt, he was in for a nasty shock, one that could take him down if he wasn't careful.

"Getting tired?" The villain taunted. "I'm just getting started," he replied, staggering to his feet like a drunkard and raising his shaking fists to his chest. He wasn't fooling anyone, the man was on his last legs, barely able to stand up, let alone fight but being the most stubborn on Earth, Ray didn't surrender, merely carried on lamely dodging when Ryker ploughed on. Oh, he did love it when they fought to the bitter, bitter end.

"Uh-oh...he always says I'm just getting started right before he's about to collapse, the silly doofus!" (y/n) murmured, knowing that hardheaded comment from anywhere, as well as the sway in his step and the slur in his speech. He'd be no good to them if he fainted or strained himself and what would they do once Ryker turned on them? Henry would be squished, Arc and Ciara would be squashed and Schwoz really would be taken a troll slave, perhaps even Ryker would make good on his word and steal (y/n) to be his evil queen. 

"We have to go!" Henry told his fellow teens and nodded at (y/n) so they could charge in together. Teamwork was the only way they'd managed to get to this guy if they distracted him whilst one of them hit him.

"Let us help!" "Yeah, we're knights!...in training." However, they weren't gonna have to do it alone. Ciara and Arc offered because they knew Ryker better than anyone and were certain that they could help take him down. After all, that was in their future job descriptions and even though, the hero man was able to land one punch on the villain's face, he looked like he needed all the help he could get. Three were on-target shots as he ran away and he was back on the floor, ready to give up as his body felt numb from soothing pain only for it to rush in again. He hadn't had a beating like this in ages, so his sidekicks scrambled for an idea.

"You're a thief, right?" Henry asked his double, a plan forming in his head that might just work if they were sneaky, clever and very, very lucky.

"Okay, you got me. I stole your wallet too..." Arc confessed, holding up the Man Cave-issued wallet that Henry had for whatever Kid Danger needed to purchase on the company card. Ray and (y/n) trusted him with it, how did that guy manage to take it? Why? Was it because he flirted with the girl? She said she was single...

"What?! No!" "Oh..." "Yeah, no, give me back my wallet. Never steal from me again," Henry said sharply, snatching back his wallet quickly since he was well aware that they didn't have time to stand around chatting when Ray needed help. (y/n) was the verge of charging in headfirst and then all hell would break loose, right before he got to divulge his plan.

"I just told you, it's kinda my thing—" "Listen, I got an idea!" He cut him off, pulling everyone in close so he could whisper about what they were gonna do. Meanwhile, Ray truly was on the verge of collapsing, having resorted to pulling a drawer from a cabinet to use a shield, anything to slow the onslaught of plasma coming his way. He saved himself from a few, but lifting the heavy metal was difficult for his exhausted muscles, which begged for him to put it back down the second he pulled it over his face. He couldn't go on...

"Wait...wait, did you just say time out? I mean, I don't need one myself but if you want to take five, I'll let ya," he panted, staring at the bad guy with blurry vision, praying that he took the bait. Of course, Ryker was still at one hundred per cent, ready to finish the fight and claim victory but the small conversation had been enough to distract him from the group hiding behind the couch and Ray couldn't believe his eyes. 

Henry and those strangers had climbed onto the sofa and were diving onto Ryker, piling on him together so he fell to the floor from their combined weight and velocity. That gave (y/n) the opportunity to slide across the floor and kneel by his side, her arms rushing to wrap around and support him when he practically fell into her. Her embrace had never been softer, her words had never been gentler and her kiss had never been sweeter to his tired soul as he bathed in her care, leaving the kids to resume the fighting for him.

"Oh, wait, wait! I don't need help!" He slurred, his stubbornness rearing its ugly head again since he saw this as his responsibility, his problem, his fight, therefore, he should've been the one to finish it. His body was screaming yes, let them get on with it so he could lay and regain his strength with his sweet girl but his head was ordering him to suck it up and fight like a man. He couldn't choose, both sounded like the better option so when he moved to stand up, someone else decided for him.

"Yes, you do, Raymond. Let us help you," (y/n) whispered hotly in his ear, dragging her lips over the shell and that made his mind up then and there. He slumped into her hold again, arms loosely around her waist so he could get closer and he accepted that they knew what they were doing. Fighting would be good, but the medicine she dished out was better.

"Well, if you want to help me, darlin' I'll let ya..." he murmured back and for a moment, she thought that he was going to try and doze on her shoulder - Lord knows he needed the rest. But, in true Ray fashion, as his head dipped, it turned to the right and his lips found their place against hers, the honey taste invigorating him more than sleep ever could. It was brief, too brief to be satisfying but he still wanted to watch the fight and just having her holding him was enough.

Henry groaned as he was tossed from Ryker's back with one throw, landing awkwardly as Arc and Ciara had but he hoped that the brief pileup had been enough for the boy to work his magic in the chaos. He owed him his life too; as Ryker went to blast his new ally, Arc moved quicker and kicked the cannon from his head, meaning Henry was free to wriggle away as man and boy engaged in hand-to-hand combat. He blocked whatever punched came his way and managed to triumph against his opponent, holding back his arm as he sucker-punched him in the nose. 

Ryker stumbled backwards, towards Henry, and the kid was able to react in time to try and kick him, but not fast enough to stop him from grabbing his foot. As he was hit down, Ciara came from behind, ducking when the evil man tried to swipe at her and kicked him from the chin harshly. In a flurry of punches, she pushed toward Arc and Henry once more, who was able to land a blow on his face and then a swipe to the back of his legs, meaning he fell to the floor when she dealt the final kick.

"Schwoz, get the elevator button!" Henry cried to the genius, who scurried out from his hiding place near the controls for the portal machine as Ray found it in himself to finish the fight. Peeling himself from his sweet girl's arms, he took up his drawer again and glared at Ryker woozily, striking him on the fore hump with a satisfying thump. He was down, for now, disoriented from their attacks and they were ready to shove him in the elevator as per Henry's plan but poor Charlotte and Jasper had made an innocent trip down, unaware of the carnage.

"Oh my god!" Jasper shouted, looking at the scene with fear and confusion. Wasn't that the scary knight who'd promised to reward him? And who were these people? Why did one look exactly like his best friend? Why were they fighting? No one questioned by they were wearing the Task Bunny uniform, all pink and cute and fluffy, it was adamant that they remove the self from the danger before they seriously hurt themselves.

"Get out of the elevator, you two!" (y/n) yelled, beckoning the kids into the room as Ryker stood up like a newborn foal, wobbly and unsure. They scattered, diving to the side as Henry and Ciara came charging forward, kicking the villain hard in the chest so he stumbled backwards into the open elevator.

"Did you get the pin?" Henry asked Arc, hoping that his part of his idea had gone smoothly. Ryker was covered in so many grenades, all it would take was one to defeat him. Not necessarily blow him up, god, they weren't sick, and the teen knights promised him that his armour would keep him alive so that he'd just feel the immense pain of the blast. Hopefully, that would then be enough to subdue him, if not, they were all out of ideas.

"Oh, I got all ten!" Arc replied cheerfully and held up his fingers so they could all see that he had a small key of metal hanging off every finger. Okay, ten grenades going off at once would be a bit of an overkill but whatever. It paid to be thorough.

"I said just get one!" "No, I know, I really hate Ryker. Plus, it looks neat with one on each finger," he smiled at Henry's concern for the asshole who'd attacked his home and jingled the pins a little bit. It was less than he deserved, only a fraction of the pain he'd caused to others, so Ryker had it coming and the boy was not one bit sorry.

"Hey, Ryker..." Ray suddenly piped up, having fallen silent and back into (y/n)'s arm after smacking the villain on the head. He was exhausted, lounging in her lap but dear god, he was the king of having the last word and he wasn't going to let this fool burn without saying something cool to round off the fight. Or something stupid, his head wasn't in the best place right now. "Your story's boring!"

'What? I wasn't telling a story," he replied with a perplexed look on his face because this weirdo was talking nonsense. Charlotte closed the elevator door, which was blast-resistant so it would contain the explosion from all of those flickering grenades going off and now that he was safe in the knowledge that he'd said something vaguely witty, Ray was free to drop his head onto his girl's shoulder. She giggled at her dumb he was, but said well done all the same and rewarded him with a kiss on his damp forehead, which had him smiling more dopily than any comeback could.

And as Ray let himself be carried off into relaxation, Ryker's time was up. The explosion rocked the Man Cave but still, the elevator held up, releasing nothing but vibrations and a little smoke as ten bombs went off all at once. Some did cringe at the agony the guy was no doubt feeling, it was hard not to and the minute the dust settled, Charlotte tentatively pressed the button again, eager to see if she needed to get the hosepipe for this intimidating man.

They gathered around, seeing nothing through the thick smoke, only hearing the coughs and splutters of Ryker as (y/n) helped Ray to his feet and slung one of his arms around her shoulder. Preferably, he'd be sat down right now as she got him a hot drink and a snack but he was insistent, eager to see what had become of his enemy, even if he couldn't see properly.

"Ohhhhh..." "Yeah...." "That does not look right." "Burned mamma jamma," they winced at how crispy the man looked and boy, were they glad that that was not them. But for Ray, it was a job well done, after all, there was no way he'd have ever been able to take him down himself, so he was thankful to his fiancée for taking care of him and proud of his sidekick for saving the day. However, a slight problem came about when he stood next to Arc and patted him on the shoulder instead because both boys looked identical through a sober man's eyes, let alone ones that had been beaten up. 

"Nice job, Henry..." "Doofus, what are you tal—oh, no, no, no!—Too late..." (y/n) flinched as he smiled at the wrong kid and then felt his body slump next to hers. She was holding him up, sure, but her small frame could never hold up his six-foot body unaided, so she had no choice but to let go and regretfully watch him fall, lest he drag her down and hurt her too. He'd be fine, a little nap would probably do him good and besides, it's not like face planting the floor could ruin his perfect face.

"Who's Henry?" All's well that ends well, but the thing was, it wasn't over yet.

~

Half an hour later and Ray was back to his normal self in every sense. He'd been a little too handsy and kissy with (y/n) as per usual, which led to some awkward explanations to Arc and Ciara, he'd been as bigheaded as ever, bragging about the fight and now, with his sweet girl curled into his side, he was retelling his lame story to Schwoz. 

No one cared, no one wanted to listen to something with a non-existent plot line, so the genius just nodded and smiled occasionally as he scanned the multiverse to send the knights home, leaving (y/n) to make her doofus feel like he wasn't talking to a brick wall. She'd rather talk about something else, but as ever, she listened patiently like it was the most interesting tale in the world.

"So, now I'm in the truck with the clown, my aunt, the kangaroo and my cousin!" He exclaimed happily to the confused group. His team were used to it but the Astorians were wondering what the hell was wrong with this man as he kept rambling. Ryker had been peeled from the elevator wall too, just so he could sit and be tortured by the hero and his sucky story and his neck brace and head wrap for the burns didn't do much in blocking out the racket.

"And we're on our way back to the bowling alley when we realise—" "The portal's about to open!" Schwoz suddenly exclaimed, interrupting the story, much to everyone's relief.

"Yes!"  "Oh, thank god...." For Arc and Ciara, it was time to say goodbye and whilst the new world had been fun and slightly terrifying, they couldn't wait to get home...and away from the man who wouldn't shut up. The same violet and pink portal opened as before, showing the gateway back to Astoria and they quickly rushed towards it. It could close again at any moment and they weren't going to live the rest of their lives here, although one of them was...

"Wait, aren't you taking this guy with you?" Jasper called after them and pointed at Ryker, who they'd naughtily left behind as they strode towards the inter-dimensional door. Hang on, they didn't want to have him living with them but to the knights, it made sense that the villain stayed with them.

"Uh, no." "No way!" They chuckled, knowing that if Ryker returned to their kingdom then he'd regain his powers and try to invade again. No, it was much safer that he stay here, in the realm of twinkling lights and shiny screens and they didn't care what happened to him, not one bit as long as he stayed away from Astoria.

"Well, what should we do with him?" Charlotte asked, shocked that they were having some evil guy dumped on them by two mischievous knights.

"Anything." "Don't care. Your dimension is weird!" Arc replied, thinking that he much preferred the simple life he had back home, where normal things happened like magic and sword fights. He understood that stuff, not the strange weapons and clothes they had here, so he was more than happy to leave Ryker where he was in over his head. He was their problem now, he was glad to say.

"Good luck with your band!" Ciara, however, said kindly to Henry. She wasn't sure exactly why he'd been so weird but he was quite cute at the end of the day. Not cute enough for her to want to stay behind, no way, and cross-dimensional relationships weren't her thing but a parting smile couldn't hurt anything...except for Henry's lonely heart.

"Hey! I never got your number!" Henry jumped up from the couch and stared longingly at Ciara, hoping by some miracle that Schwoz could create a phone strong enough to send signals to her world. But, there was one small issue; Astoria was a medieval world and in olden times, people didn't use phones, so it made sense that the pretty girl had no idea what he was talking about.

"Uh, four?" She offered, thinking that he was after her lucky number or something. And just like that, before he could explain or find an answer, the portal closed forever, leaving Henry loveless once again as he would never see Ciara or Arc ever again. Passing faces in his life and for a moment, he allowed himself to be sad at the thought of another girl who'd gotten away, but as ever, he had his wingman to boost his confidence.

"That number does not help me!" "Still got it, though," Jasper commented, causing Henry to smirk and high-five him. Yeah, it was a small success on his part and he didn't let it trouble him, well aware that there were plenty more girls out there and they wouldn't be from a different dimension. They'd be perfect.

"So! I was in high school, yeah?" Ray clapped his hands, smiling that all-too-familiar smile and instantly, the teens knew that he was back on story patrol. Right, yeah, they wanted no part of that and even though it seemed cruel to leave (y/n) with him to listen to it alone, they figured that she secretly enjoyed it. After all, she got to spend time with her doofus, her most favourite thing in the world, what was not for her to love?

"Hey, you guys want to go upstairs and do anything else?" "Yes!" "Absolutely!" "Yeah, I love anything else!" Charlotte, Jasper and Schwoz quickly agreed with him and they speedily walked towards the elevator, intent on going up to Junk-N-Stuff to "work" and gossip about what had happened that day. That caused (y/n) to give them a raised-eyebrow look, but her telling smile told them that it was fine for them to go off and have fun, no matter how offended Ray looked. She got it, no one else could listen to his stories as she could and that was okay, it just left her with more time to admire everything about him.

"Hey! Who's gonna hear my story?!" Ray asked with a pout, not liking how everyone, bar his sweet girl, was walking out on him.

"Uhhhh, (y/n), obviously, she always listens to your stories, anddddd...him! Byeeeeeee!" Henry smiled happily, a glint of cunning in his eye when he saw how Ryker tensed at the thought of being alone with the loved-up couple. He'd seen how they acted, they were handsy and sickeningly cute to the point where he wanted to vomit. No, no, no, they couldn't leave him like this, it was inhumane and god, that story. That story would end him, but for Ray and (y/n), it was a perfect idea. 

So, slowly, the hero guided his lover over to the couch, slightly unsure of where to start since the villain had already said he hated it earlier. The best place to start was probably getting comfortable, so Ray sat on the end of the cushion and brought (y/n) into his lap, allowing her to snuggle in for the very long haul. She sat with her legs thrown across his, her arms around his neck with one of his around her back as she rubbed her nose into his neck and relaxed. Ryker was tugging at his chains for dear life, wishing that he'd taken a better path in life as the story/torture began.

"So, I was in high school, right? And my aunt, she met this clown. Now, I don't know if they were dating or not, I didn't ask questions. But something was definitely going on 'cause they had...a connection—" Ray started, remembering how weirdly his auntie used to look at this clown and now, that he looked back, it was pretty similar to how he looked at his beloved girl. She was drawing circles on his neck, enjoying his voice in her ears more than what he was saying, but for the dark knight, he didn't enjoy any of it. He flopped backwards in frustration and prayed for it to end soon, even though they were only getting started.

"You mean like how we have a connection, doofus?" (y/n) asked teasingly, her fingers sliding up Ray's neck, leaving shivers where they went as they moved over his jaw. She was being deliberately annoying and flirtatious, having a little fun since she saw how much their enemy hated anything fun or loving, plus, it had been a long day and Ray seemed to feed off of her smirk to fuel his own steadily growing, internal blaze.

"Yeah, sweet girl, just like that..." the man smiled and Ryker felt like puking as he saw their lips connect for the fiftieth time that day out of the corner of his eye. The ensuing smacking noises made his stomach feel queasy and he wondered how their friends put up with their constant need for affection. 

Seriously, he didn't know what was worse, the lame-ass story or this joker and his queen.

[aguamarinee]

➪ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Taki × reader

➪ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

➪ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Taki is in a good mood this morning, but he needs his kisses to get ready. He's getting impatient because reader can't give him a peck right now, so he has to take matters into his own hands.

➪ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: ,,You're being so tacky, Taki."

➪ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1,2k

Waking Taki up was equal to a thirty-minute sweaty exercise.

He was a real pain in the ass if you had to go somewhere and had to arrive sharply.

Throughout the months of dating him, getting out of his suffocating — but loving — hold the first thing in the morning became a well-known routine by now.

But it would always put a sleepy smile on your face, no matter the position and time, glancing at his tired baby face as he was still in his land of dreams.

Sometimes he would pout or let out a silent groan, maybe yawn, but he would never wake up instantly.

...That would be way too easy of a method to wake him up.

The next level was fifteen minutes after your awakening.

At that point, he seemed to overcome his discomfort of you not being near him, and he remained in his bed, the blanket almost fully covering him.

It didn't matter to him if the curtains on the windows were left open and the early crimson and orange sunshine bathed his face in a strong glow, he was still able to sleep like a baby.

He looked way too peaceful for someone who should be up for ten minutes at least.

But he always did, and after a while, you gained resistance to his soft state.

Now comes the third level; waking him up for real.

At first, without words.

Patting his arm lightly, or maybe his head or cheeks?

Or once you tried to block his nose, but that wasn't so successful... Taki started choking and coughing. And he woke up with a dolphin scream.

Yeah, maybe next time.

After the touching phase you would try to call his name softly, then on normal volume, and then slightly screaming.

Good luck, because he hardly rolled over to his other side to block his ears.

So now is the time to combine the two.

"Okay, okay, I'm up! No need to shout..." With one hand he held his ear and sat up in bed, his eyes fluttering open finally.

You rolled your eyes but a small smile was inevitable to appear on your features, nonetheless, you still tried to look stern.

"It was about time, Taki." You said softly but kept your strict gaze on him, so he starts to move out of the comfortable mattress a bit more quickly.

You already drank a big glass of water, started to prepare breakfast, and have been to the bathroom as well.

But you preferred eating together with Taki, so you always tried to wake him up before breakfast was ready.

You knew that it still needed about ten minutes to be done so you didn't worry much.

You just wanted Taki out of bed early.

While he struggled, you sat on the end of the bed and watched him, so he doesn't go back to sleep.

In a moment of boredom, you remembered the gum in your mouth and started to chew on it again.

It was a peculiar habit that you picked up not long ago; chewing on gum first thing in the morning, before eating any sort of food.

Why? You didn't know, but it was relaxing... In a weird way.

You preferred mint, or some stronger flavor because it felt extra refreshing in the morning.

Usually, it was just one piece of gum from a pack of ten, you were trying to control the temptation to chew on more than one because it was really a waste at that point.

It was a maximum of twenty minutes when you chewed on them before eating breakfast, so you didn't want to waste more.

"Do you have gum in your mouth again?" Taki asked still sleepy, but he remained seated on the bed and lightly combed his fingers through his bed hair.

He didn't exactly hate this habit, he mostly just found it weird, but sometimes he did make a comment in displeasure.

"Yup, there's still ten minutes left until breakfast is done, so I'm chewing on it as long as I can." You answered nonchalantly, not even looking him in the eyes, but rather staring out the window.

Taki didn't respond immediately, so you tore your gaze from the outside world, but when you focused on him again suddenly he was sitting in front of you, close, centimeters away from your face.

"Are you fully awake now?" You asked, relaxed, but weirdly his eyes didn't focus on you, they focused on the lower part of your face.

"You know I can't wake up completely without one thing. And you haven't given it to me yet." He said in a playful tone, but you had to notice how his voice was still a bit hoarse and slightly lower than his natural speaking voice.

And as he spoke, his face remained serious, eyes a bit unclear, sleepiness still present in them.

You had an inkling what was the thing he implied with his previous words, but you wanted to play hard to get.

"Taki, I'm chewing on gum. Come on, you're already up! Get out of bed so we can eat breakfast." You replied in a soft, friendly tone, beginning to stand up and motivate him to do the same.

That's when he looked up into your eyes while holding one of your hands down, flat onto the mattress.

"Pleeease?" He stretched out his sentence and tried to use his puppy eyes.

"Taki, c'mon! I promise I'll give it to you after breakfast." You grabbed ahold of his hand and kept it in your embrace, trying to convince him.

But as you made eye contact with him, he pushed down the blanket from his body and kneeled on the bed out of the blue, so his face was at the same height as yours.

You couldn't mutter a single word before he pressed his soft, smiling lips to yours.

But as you were about to open your mouth the gum got stuck between your lips, and when Taki tried to end the short, sweet kiss his lips remained on yours because of the gum.

Neither of you minded, to be honest, but it was a weird experience...

He started giggling right away, his hands sneaking up to your cheeks, and even your noses touched for a second.

Eventually, you forced your hand through his embrace, and manually removed the small piece of gum that connected you two longer than you had planned.

There were still some leftovers on both of your lips, a bit of sticky feeling and residue, but you successfully disconnected the two of you in the end.

"Now that's why I don't give you your morning kisses with gum in my mouth." You sighed quietly, but on the contrary, he was grinning in a silly way, chuckling while holding your cheeks.

"Why? I enjoyed it." He laughed and planted a kiss on your forehead while getting down from the bed and standing at his full height. "So? Breakfast?" He questioned as he headed towards the door, while you were still fiddling with the sticky gum in your hands.

"Yeah, I think it's about done by now." You followed him, and on the way to the kitchen you disposed of your used gum, a slight frown present on your face as your first thought was to wash your hands in the sink after this small accident.

But at least you managed to wake up Taki, right?

➪ 𝐀/𝐍.: I don't know, this is a bit of a weird scenario, but I thought it fits Taki, so I wrote it anyway lol.

➪ 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 【𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓】 !

[lmelodie]

Familiar Territory

BlackIce for Valentines Day!!! LET'S GOOO! A few years after Chance and Choice, BlackIce being back together for a hot second by this point.

I'm gonna be so fr, this little one shot has made me realize that I maybe don't know how to write fluff for these bitches?? It was harder than I thought it would be! There are other more fluffy concepts in my wips but this one has a lot more substance.

Oh, also y'all remember Ryder from this little doodle dump? The Mermaid? His character got overhauled and his name is Rowan now lol.

Bonus doodle at the very end, ENJOY!

Anyone from the magical realms will tell you, with varying levels of jealousy, that there are plenty of places that a magical being can roam about freely amongst human kind with minimal or even no cloaking involved. One of these being New York City, wherein everyone seems at least a little bit off kilter or odd in a way that blends everyone together in their strangeness. So realistically in the height of the Christmas season, no one would ever notice, or at least look twice at a very seasonally appropriate man in a blue suit in the midst of an otherwise normal group of friends. 

"Join us! Join us! JOIN US!" Lucy’s chants fade into and then quickly out of earshot to Killian as her and Jack skate by yet another time on their route around the rink. She turns around on her skates and holds onto Jack’s shoulder so he can keep pulling her along as she waves down her fellow redhead as they go for another lap around. 

She shouted the same thing to him for the last five laps and just like those other times he paid her no mind, glued to his chain smoking spot leaning against a nearby column.

The ambience of the Winter Village rink during Christmas on the edge of dusk was the pinnacle of experiencing the Christmas spirit that particular day. Even in her early twenties her enthusiasm for such things has never wavered, bouncing off the walls all day and Jack, Killian and Rowan were all subject to her special brand of holiday energy. Which includes her insisting that Killian should get out on the ice with them. 

He only showed up maybe an hour ago, knowing that Jack was somewhere in the city, but he overlooked the inevitable presence of his emotional support dormouse and her new squeeze. So the boogeyman patiently waits for them to finish off on the side of the rink, watching her spin back around to take Jack’s arm for the casual stroll. His presence unassumingly creates a breach of space in the crowd of civilians around him who fear to approach him any further for reasons they themselves cannot articulate.  

“Behind you!” Rowan shouts out to the pair as he quickly catches up to them on their rotation.

A curiously out of sorts human pyromancer that swept the young woman off her feet about 6 months ago. The whole met in college love story between a wizard and a sorceress with the stack of dropped books that he offered to help her with and everything. A rigamarole of horrible cliches that they've been enjoying to no end. 

He quickly catches up to the pair and crashes into Lucy from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing her forward and away from Jack as they slow to a stop further ahead. She chuckles in good spirits with him all the same.

“How'd I do?” Rowan asks through gasps of air as he brushes back the brown shaggy hair from his face.

Lucy rolls up the sleeve on her overcoat to check her watch, “Fifteen laps around in…forty five minutes.”

"What!? Oh come on! I was really pushing it too,” he chuckles breathlessly.

“That's not a bad time at all! I don't think.”

"Eh. I've seen faster," Jack interjects as he quickly passes them by.

“Nobody asked you,” she shouts after him, quickly tilting her head up to Rowan. “Don't listen to him, your time was fine. If it's any consolation you were fast in my heart.”

Rowan snickers, “That doesn't even make sense.”

“It does so! Physics works differently in my heart. And what makes even more sense is getting a cocoa break,” she can feel her date dropping his arms from her waist as she takes his hand and pulls him along. “Keeping warm is important when someone likes to bite peoples fingers!”

Jack turns over his shoulder at the call out as they catch back up to him, “Excuse me? You've got the wrong guy here. I've worked hard to scrub that reputation clean ya know, and you're over here dragging my name back through the mud again. If you're looking for a finger biter, look at him.”

He vaguely gestures to Killian on the sidelines as the three of them complete the last lap and skate back up to the gate they entered at. Jack watches Lucy and Rowan exit the rink while he lingers behind on the ice and throws his elbows on the ledge. On cue, Killian throws the half burnt cigarette onto the floor and snuffs it out with boot, throwing his hands into his pockets to stroll over to where Jack has stopped.

“Your turn,” he says with a smug grin.

He rolls his eyes, “Absolutely not.”

“Why? Because you know you can't do it?”

“Yeah, actually. So what,” Killian shifts his weight slightly over to stand a fraction closer to the open gateway to the rink, the throngs of people moving about around him also move accordingly.

“So, I've been trying to teach you how for sky knows how long. It's your own fault you don't know.”

“None of that has been teaching, it was sabotaging,” he provides a ghost of a smile, “It's not a skill I need to know. There has never been a time where skating on the ice has ever been useful to me.”

“Says who?” Jack replies, “Who's to say it won't come in handy in the knick of time one of these days?”

“Me. That's never gonna happen so I don't need to learn.”

Jack gets an idea. Well, Jack had the idea ever since Killian showed up and has been simmering this entire time. It's the same idea he always has in locations and circumstances like these. 

“Mhm, right. So why are you here exactly?” he asks with an air of feigned innocence. 

Killian sighs, “Because I actually wanna do something fun for a change.”

“What, you're telling me that small children face planting onto the ice isn't fun?”

Killian looks out onto the ice with a small chuckle to see if any such occurrences would make themselves loudly known, “Oh don't get me wrong, that's always funny. Especially if you get a few right after the other in a stupid little domino effect. Or if all of them go down at once at the same time.”

Jack snorts in choking back a laugh, “Exactly. And I'm sure it would be a lot funnier from a better vantage point,” He says, motioning to the open gate.

Kills shakes his head, “Hah, nice try, but not in your immortal life. Now let's blow this ice cube stand and go west, I want a front row seat when the 405 gets backed up and wrecked from a freak blizzard.” 

The marginally threatening tone and that one specific look was practically designed to catch a Yes as an answer, as the prospect was something they did often in the last couple years. Jack makes it seem he’s got him hook, line and sinker. 

“Fine. I guess I can squeeze that into my very busy schedule—,” Jack pauses as he takes one foot off the ice, looking around the immediate vicinity before grabbing Killians arm with both hands, “—later!”

In one fell swoop Jack pulls Killian out onto the ice with subtle wisps of blue magic forming under his boots with each step to make blades of ice. A couple of sharp swears are heard as he clumsily stumbles into the rink, nearly slipping and falling at least twenty times in quick succession, forced to grab onto Jack as his only form of stability. He quickly comes to an unsteady stop, far enough away from the gate so he can't backtrack too easily and practically clings to Jack out of necessity, holding his breath.

Jack on the other hand keeps both of their weight steady by holding onto his upper arms with the biggest, shit eating smirk on his face. He lets him adjust his balance slightly as he lets the moment simmer for half a second, savoring it.

“Need help?” he finally says.

Killian's face uncharacteristically flushes, “No...! And fuck you!”

Jack can’t help but snicker while trying to help him stand up straighter and actually get moving somewhat, which his body language vehemently disagrees with and actively fights him against, “I just can't believe that after nearly two thousand years you still fall for it. Everytime. Truly amazing, have I ever told you how incredible you are?”

“Shut up! I’ll fucking kill you,” Killian grumbles, nearly sputters, tightening his grip on arms when his feet wobble a bit, “You are going to pay for this later, I swear to god.”

“Hm, promise?”

This actually earns a tiny laugh from him, but also gains a more menacing look, “You’d like that wouldn't you. Your just so fucking lucky that there’s so many people hERE—!”

Lucy and Rowan seated themselves on a nearby bench to watch Killian nearly fall again, each having their own cup of fresh cocoa. Lucy stretches and waves one of her arms in the air to catch their attention, “You're doing great Kills!”

“Lucy, I will break BOTH of your legs!”

Killian doesn't turn back but Jack looks directly at her with that same smug grin and a casual two finger salute to her as Killlian tries to steady himself again, clearly enjoying every precious second, knowing that it is a passing moment of superiority.

Lucy pays his threat no mind, Rowan beside her giving the two a more worried look for her safety as they survey the pair on the ice, their relative peace quickly devolves into their usual petty arguing about how Killian was only making things worse and Jack telling him to stop moving so much. This, turning a few heads of the other skaters that stay far, far away from the duo.  

Rowan turns back to Lucy, giving a quick glance to her mug before pulling out his wand from an inside coat pocket. He brings the amber tip to trace the rim of the cup with a very soft glow, summoning trails of golden magic to follow its path and dip into the hot chocolate with fading sparkle and seeping the enchantment into the drink, making sure it stays at a perfectly hot temperature. 

“You're almost as bad as him,” she softly smiles and brings the cup to her mouth, “you're not supposed to use magic out and about ya know.”

“It's not magic, it's…a prop,” he casually tries to excuse. “There's a Harry Potter store like, an hour away, it's fine. I just hate that the drinks get cold so fast.”

“Thanks,” her posture relaxes when taking another sip and leaning her head on his shoulder. 

Rowan, while getting more used to it, still blushes slightly when she leans against him. He intuitively puts his free arm around her shoulder as they watch Killian struggle on the ice, with Jack trying not to laugh too hard at him. Lucy continues to egg him on from the sidelines with returned threats on her life, both her and Jack taking varying levels of enjoyment in his struggle for very different reasons.

[ratcatcher0325]

Hey Alexander it your partner in crime again. The one who told you to rickroll Natalie. You have made it clear that you wake up before Natalie. 😏

When Natalie is asleep connect the phone to the Bluetooth speaker and play the song 'baby shark' ON FULL BLAST.

Trust me it's worth it

Your partner I'm crime ,

Anon

My god, you devilish trickster of an Anon, you!

I think we are becoming thick as thieves! I would delight in nothing more than to startle my human counterpart awake. Do you have any idea how many times I've been awoken during a peaceful midday slumber by her clumsy fingers knocking something over or simply stomping around the room like some irritated elephant?? Humans have no idea just how unbearably LOUD they are. If you could all just speak at about half your normal volume, it would do much to cure the almost constant ringing in my ears.

Okay, Baby... Shark, you say? I'm not sure what sounds infantile sharks even make, but perhaps that's not relevant here? Why a shark? Why not a traditionally cute animal? Don't you dare even THINK I'm cute, I WILL KILL YOU. Ahem, sorry, now that we've got that important message out of the way... Okay, this dumb looking video with children in pajamas dancing in front of a green screen? What is this? Why do you suggest the strangest human music? Oh well, if it will annoy Natalie to no end, then I'm on board. I hope it's not to catchy though, I'd hate to have it stuck in my head all day long as some sort of karmic payback for what I'm about to do.

You see, I waited to respond to this ask until she was asleep and I was nearby the desk where I had access to the devices I needed, and, here we are. She's been getting very little sleep between classes and exams, so she just flopped on the bed about twenty minutes ago and immediately passed out. She didn't even bother taking her shoes off... which, I find rather reprehensible. Do you humans just think you're too big to be susceptible to germs?? Don't you know it's bad hygiene to rub your dirty soles all over your bedsheets? Disgusting. Anyway.... I'm going to hit play now, let's see just what happens...

My god, Anon! She hated that more than the Rick... (Riding?? Roving? Some sort of R gerund, I know!) thing! She immediately bolted upright and just started grimacing, "FUCK! NO! NOOOO! WHO KEEPS TELLING YOU THESE INTERNET SECRETS? NO! WE ARE NOT GETTING EAR MURDERED BY BABY SHARK TODAY. GODDAMMIT, ALEXANDER!" Oh, oh she's crawled over the bed and is headed straight for the desk, I have a feeling I'm about to be plucked up and given a stern talking to....

Hi, hello, it's been several hours since the previous events transpired. I'm still chuckling to myself at the image of her absolutely wild mane of bed-tangled hair as she woke up shouting obscenities at me. That was delightful. It's evening here, now, and I'm supposed to be asleep but I've unlocked her phone just sitting there on her nightstand beside my bed. If she didn't want me to use it why would she put it so nearby, hm? Hopefully the light from the device won't wake her. In any case, yes, she snatched my up in a fist and tapped the pause button perhaps a bit too aggressively. But I think her utter exhaustion made her more loopy than truly upset, because she just held me and started to laugh and shake her head muttering under her breath "Why, little nightmare, why do you love torturing me? I am so tired, my dude. Stop taking advice from the internet. I love you, but you're gonna be the death of me, especially with people egging you on. You're too powerful now...." Why did she call me dude? I am not, nor will I ever be a dude. How grossly informal.

Well, anyway, that was delightfully fun, even though I absolutely have that egregiously repetitive tune now bouncing around inside my skull, so thanks for that. I think, in spite of herself, Natalie got a good laugh out of it too. Here's to arming me with wonderful human insider knowledge to baffle this poor woman beside me.

Yours truly,

Alexander

[alifeincoffeespoons]

i started rereading normal people and it drove me crazy so i'm writing a wolfstar sally rooney-inspired au

Sirius is late. Sirius is late and he was supposed to be back with the groceries nearly an hour ago, and Harry has been crying for the better part of twenty minutes because it’s far past his dinnertime. Remus checks his watch again, just to be certain, but Sirius is still late. 

It’s a very Sirius thing to do. Never one for punctuality, he used to show up to morning lessons nearly half an hour in. At some point, once they realized Sirius didn’t care one whit about house points, most professors waved off his tardiness and simply issued detention after detention. 

He tells himself that there isn’t anything to do about it, so there isn’t any use getting worked up about it either. He’s too tired to get worked up about much of anything, these days. When he’s feeling maudlin he tells himself that it at least matches the weather, all the grayness and dampness of December outside. He usually lets himself wallow in that self-imposed dreariness until Harry needs attending to, or until he decides the wallowing is more embarrassing than productive.

It’s twenty-five more minutes before the apartment door finally swings open. 

Sorry, Sirius says, kicking off his shoes. His hair is damp.  Got accosted by Mrs. Hampshire next door. 

Right. He turns away from Sirius. He can’t bear to look at him too much right now. It will make Remus start to feel sorry for him, and a secret part of him wants to hold onto the simmering anger in his stomach instead. 

She wants to set me up with her granddaughter, can you believe that. Sirius’s laugh is hollow.

What, that someone might think you’re straight?

Well, yes, that, but—

Do you have the groceries? He knows what Sirius wants to say. But they aren’t even together, not really. They don’t tell each other "I love you," at least not in that way. They’ve fucked, but that’s because they’ve both got needs, right, and Remus isn’t exactly going to meet someone new when he lives in a shoebox apartment that’s warded to all hell and leaves the building maybe once a week. They share a bed, but that’s because the apartment only has enough space to fit one rickety king-size bed. Sirius just holds onto hope like that.