#also his right hand is in a different position and the angle of the mug etc etc

[me-sploh-rada-imas]

i have just realised that not only did jan post this three times but the two photos are different and neither are a still from the video... you're telling me he took a video and both portrait and landscape photos of this moment... just to bully nace on social media? jan why are you like this?

[aangelinakii]

aj!!! certified jason todd LOVER is back!!! basically my one of my fav tropes is miscommunication eek 🫣🫣🫣 so i’ve been thinking about civilian friend! reader hanging out with oracle one night but nobody knows and listening in to comms and babs steps out for a sec to pee or smth and that’s when dick asks jason if he’s thinks you’re PRETTY or smth and jason vehemently DENIES it bc he’s pissed or bc of boundaries or smth 😭😭😭 and you’re so shocked u stay silent and leave and text babs that smth came up 🥶🥶🥶 and you distance yourself from your CRUSH bc that really HURT and after a while jason figures it out and tries to win u back or smth 😩😩😩

POOR CONNECTION.

— who's gonna own up to the truth?

summary : a friend of barbara's, you've always had a little thing for one of her family members — jason todd. and you're pretty sure he shared the same sentiment, or at least a similar one, what, with the way he smiles at you when he thinks you're not looking. tonight, you get your answer.

note : ANONNNNN YOU ALWAYS COME THRUUUUUU GIRL KEEZZP COMING TRHUUU anf also i didn't read the last bit of your ask until right when i finished writing 😭😭😭 so sorry i forgot to add that xx

"—and they didn't know when to stop," barbara, your good friend, laughed, finalising the story she'd been telling you about a time her comms were malfunctioning and tim and dick were attempting a good-cop-bad-cop routine, but barb had realised they were interrogating the wrong people.

"oh, god," you chuckled from the seat beside her, still dazzled by the set-up she had at her desk. "so oracle's not always perfect, huh?"

at this, barb gave a comical grimace, and pushed softly against the table, her wheels backing away from the desk. "just between us two." and she offered a wink.

she reached out to pluck her batgirl-merchandised mug from the desk, her hand hovering over yours — a green lantern one. "i'm gonna top up. you want?"

you tugged your eyes away from the various screens ahead of you, each one focused on a different surveillance camera angle. in the top corner, you could make out a blue and black figure somersaulting through the air on a rooftop, and their slightly less limber companion in red. your gaze fell to the remnants of coffee at the bottom of your mug, and you carefully placed it in barbara's hand.

"if you could," you hummed. "i have a feeling i'm not as used to late nights as you are."

and barbara gave a nod, placed both empty cups in her lap, and pushed herself away for a coffee top-up.

after a good few years of friendship, barbara had trusted you with her most top secret; her position as oracle. only a few months ago she had revealed to you her family's secret, after you were round for dinner and tim came home dressed as robin. it was the middle of june; no halloween or costume parties about.

tonight, however, was your first in the clock tower barbara spent her own in, eyes glued to various monitors, various cameras. some nights were more laidback, like tonight, and she could offer to remove her focus for longer period of time. other nights were more hands-on, fast-paced, shooting words into a microphone for the rest of the vigilantes and heroes to hear.

once the door had closed behind, you shuffled your chair into the middle of the desk, so the monitors were all front and centre.

using the mouse, you clicked on the top right surveillance cam, making the view of nightwing and red hood full-screen.

the view of their rooftop perch was more clear now, just almost out of view, but you could make out nightwing — dick grayson — holding himself up on his hands on the edge, slowly but surely shifting his entire weight to one palm, and the broadly musclar form of red hood — jason todd — sat on the edge beside him, legs stretched over, boots prepared for a fall.

ever since barbara had introduced you to her family — not her biological family, like the commissioner, whom she'd introduced you to already by this time, but more of a found family — you'd had a major jones for jason peter todd.

what was not to love? he was funny, handsome, would always give you some of his dinner when no one was looking, and had great biceps.

for you, it was like a crush at first sight, and one that had not wavered over the years.

and part of you thought that perhaps it wasn't entirely unrequited.

apparently he didn't share his food with anyone at dinner. apparently he didn't let guests get to see his room on the mansion tours. apparently he wasn't one to get into passionate conversations about his favourite books; not with any of wayne manor's residents, at least.

all evidence pointed to reciprocation.

your eyes moved down to barbara's — oracle's — desk. she owned a couple framed photos, one of her with her father, the commissioner, from her childhood, and a photograph from what seemed to be a party with cassandra and stephanie. a wonder woman mug was the home to various pens; a few byros, a few glitter gel pens, a couple sharpies. a blank-fronted leather journal lay open on the tabletop, pages and pages of surveillance cam addresses. and a headset, with a microphone attached.

tinny from the earmuffs, you could just about make out a couple voices. and so you lifted up the headset, and brought it to your ears.

first, there was a lot of grunting, and when you looked back up at the monitor, you could make out the black and blue jumping and flipping along the roof, and then there was a sigh.

"you're such a try-hard," jason's deep voice came from one of the headphones. his voice owned something different when he was speaking just to his brother, something more boyish, which was inevitable.

dick stuck his landing, extending both arms out like an olympic gymnast, and you could even make out the glint of his smile in the grainy camera distance. "you try it, then."

a beat passed. "no."

the surveillance cam did dick's dramatic movements justice, and he looked just as animated on screen as he was in real life. "that's why (name) doesn't like you," he chuckled, coming to a stop behind jason's back, hands on his hips.

immediately, without even looking, jason wound an arm back, clubbing dick in the shin, and, as you heard the smack in your ear, you watched dick stumble back. god, this was fun; barb must have a field day in this job.

"i knew it!" dick chimed, completely unbothered by the injury he'd now sustained. "you're into (name)! you like (name)!"

in your ear, jason grumbled, and on screen he pulled one of his guns from its holster and examined it in his lap. "i don't."

at his words, sulky, the corners of your mouth slackened slowly. oh.

that's all you could think as you stared up at the screen, heart sinking in your chest. just oh.

you should have known better. truly.

jason was just being nice, making you feel at home when he shared his food, when he included his room in the mansion tour, all the times he talked with you about his and your favourite books.

"stop lying, i see the way you look at them," dick responded, pacing behind his brother, but you weren't processing his words, just wallowing in your own shame.

and then, in a moment, jason scoffed and turned to glare at dick from behind his red mask. "i don't look at them in any way. just stop, you're.." his harsh tone fell soft as he turned back to thumb the sight of his handgun. "you're being annoying."

but dick only chuckled, enjoying jason's reaction.

on the monitor, he opened his mouth to speak, but you'd already removed the headset from your ears, placing it back on the desk where you'd found it.

yikes.

suddenly rather glum, you felt as though you would rather be anywhere but here; your bed was calling your name, as well as a few snacks — the healthy nature of them dubious.

slowly, you pulled your chair back from the desk, lump growing in your throat. maybe you should go.

and so you stood from the chair and grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before turning to the door barbara had disappeared through.

just as you were about to pull it open, the lady herself appeared, door sliding open as she nursed the two warm cups.

"oh!" she squeaked, visibly surprised. "are you.. okay?" her eyes ran over your disheveled look, noting your bag and the tremble of your lips.

"yeah!" you answered much too quickly, and, although she didn't show it, you knew she was suspect. "i just don't think i can tough it as much as you can — the whole nocturnal thing."

and, hastily, you skirted around her seated form and began down to the exit.

nose creasing in suspicion, barbara wheeled herself back into her oracle office, noting how the monitor had focused in on the surveillance cam capturing jason and dick in the distance. you must've been talking to them, she assumed.

once she'd reached the desk, she placed both mugs aside, and fitted the headset atop her fiery locks. she pressed a button on the side of one of the earmuffs to unmute herself, and began to speak, trying to keep down her concern.

"did one of you say something?"

she watched how dick and jason straightened up, their absent-minded conversation of whatever coming to a close.

"uh– no? nothing bad," dick responded, glancing down at his brother, who shared his confusion, despite the mask. "why?"

"to (name), did you say anything?"

red hood flinched, but nightwing smiled and gave a chuckle. "i mean, we were talking about them, but nothing to them. why would we have said something to them?"

barbara's eyebrows knitted together. "they were staying with me for the night. are you sure you didn't say anything?"

even through the graininess, the fall of dick's smile could be made out, and he looked down at jason, as if piecing everything together.

"uh, well..." he began slowly. "we didn't realise they were listening, we were talking about 'em. jason — even though he does, so this is all his fault — said he didn't like them. i don't know. they must've heard, and i guess.. i don't know."

but he did know, and jason and barbara did, too.

a sigh sounded in barbara's headset, and she watched as jason's form deflated.

"fuuuck."

[something-tofightfor]

Life is Good - One

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 12,205

Rating: M - language, mentions of military service, drinking, talk about sex, an injury 

Summary: A weeklong vacation in Virginia Beach with your best friends - what could be better? The answer - finding out that the house next door was rented by 5 guys from Florida ... and that they’re more than friendly. 

Author’s note:

I didn’t even really intend to write this but here we are. This is going to be a lot different than my usual work - trying to be more lighthearted and fun. 

It does follow canon - to a point, but as you’ll very quickly see, some things have been changed in order to advance the plot. 

Some housekeeping: 

- The houses that the groups are staying in can be found on the Masterlist page; the links were messing up this post showing in the search results. 

- Typically on Sandbridge, the check-in is Saturday afternoon, check out is Saturday morning. I’ve included timestamps to help keep the week’s progress consistent. 

Sunday Morning - Sunrise. 

There was no one else awake and you were glad. 

As quietly as you could, you opened your bedroom door and padded into the kitchen area, not bothering to turn the lights on as you grabbed a K-cup and a coffee mug, setting the machine to brew while you grabbed the flavored creamer from the refrigerator. 

At home, you didn’t ever wake up early enough to watch the sun rise - because there was no reason to. But here? Covering your mouth to stifle a yawn, you leaned against the counter, waiting. Here, there’s a reason. Adding the cream and stirring, you left the kitchen and headed back for your bedroom, passing through it and then through the enclosed sunroom, sliding the heavy glass door that led to the balcony open. 

Immediately, you smelled the ocean air, the sound of the waves hitting your ears and calming you. By the time you’d settled into one of the deck chairs, coffee in hand, you were smiling. 

You still had a few minutes before the sun would peek over the horizon, and as your eyes adjusted to the predawn light, you focused on the water - small waves breaking against the sand, the gulls diving for the surface before lifting and spreading their wings again, soaring low over the dunes. There was part of a house in the way of your view, and for a few seconds, you frowned, wishing that you’d been able to secure one of the oceanfront rentals, but with another sip of coffee, that thought faded. All I have to do is turn a little to the right, and I can see through that space. 

Adjusting your position in the chair, you angled your body toward the beach access path, fingers wrapping around the mug as you yawned again. It was going to be a warm day - you could feel it in the air, and you wondered what your friends would suggest - heading to the beach or staying on the back patio, lounging around the pool. Doesn’t matter. The sun’s gonna be the same in both places. Swallowing another mouthful of coffee, you caught movement out of the corner of one eye, head turning to see what it was. 

There was a man standing on the balcony of the house next door, also holding a mug. His attention was focused on the ocean, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the railing, and you couldn’t help noticing the way the breeze moved through his hair and ruffled the material of the shirt he wore - loose cotton from the looks of it. He was relaxed, one leg crossed in front of the other, and even from the distance, you could tell that he was broad-shouldered, the set of them just as casual as the way he was standing. At least I’m not the only one that gets up early on vacation.

It was still somewhat dark out, but the sky lightened with each passing second. When you looked back at the water, you could see a faint glow on the horizon, pale pink beneath various shades of blue and gray, the light beginning to cut through the far-off clouds. 

Leaning forward, you took a long breath, fingers tightening on the mug, and over the next few minutes you were transfixed by the way the sky changed - pink turning to a golden that reflected off of the surface of the water, illuminating the waves for what had to be miles. 

Just before the sun peeked over the water’s edge, you watched as something leapt from the water - a dolphin, followed closely by three more. At that, you stood, taking the few steps necessary to reach the railing and mirrored the position of the man, elbows resting on the flat top as you stared at the waves. Won’t see that in Colorado. 

You followed them as they moved off to the right and disappeared behind another house, and when you looked back out and over the water, you couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your lips, reality settling in that for the next week, you’d be able to relax - and that this would be your view. It’s perfect. 

The sky continued to lighten, changing the dark blue to light, and as everything became clearer, more clouds were highlighted, the light illuminating them from behind and making them almost shimmer. You drank again, eyes scanning the sight in front of you and trying to commit it to memory - something to look back on when there were four feet of snow on the ground and gray clouds as far as the eye could see. And that’s only five months away, so… 

As the colors balanced out, bathing the sand in the early morning light, you straightened up, closing your eyes as you inhaled deeply. Alright. Back to bed for a couple hours. Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk over and sit on the sand for the sunrise. You knew that depended on how late you stayed up and what kind of night it was, but there was nothing wrong with planning. 

Movement caught your eye again, but that time when you looked over, the man’s attention was on you. He didn’t speak, but instead raised his own mug in salute, giving you a quick smile. He was attractive; you could see it because the lighting was better, though you couldn’t make out all of his features. Bet he’s just enjoying a few minutes before his kids wake up. I can’t blame him. You held up the mug in your hand, grinning back, but when he turned his attention toward the water, you only gave yourself a few seconds to keep watching him before you spun away and headed back inside, closing the door behind you. 

Setting the empty mug down on the low table in the sunroom, you also shut the blackout drapes between the sunroom door and your room and then climbed back into bed, closing your eyes as you rolled onto your side. I should set an alarm, that way I don’t sleep too late. But you didn’t, and only a few minutes later you were out, the quiet sound of your breathing the only noise in the room. 

— 

The sun was warm on your back, and you were drowsy because of it. I’m going to need to turn over in a little while. Sighing, you burrowed your face further into the towel you were using as a pillow. But not yet. 

Your friends were scattered on the sand nearby, the five of you taking up a good amount of prime waterfront property, and it was beginning to feel like an actual vacation. Paige and Jess were talking about one of Paige’s coworkers, the conversation focused on how much extra work the other girl created for the team. We’re on vacation, why are you talking about work? 

You rolled onto your back, turning your head toward where Jordan had set up the umbrella, the fabric casting a shadow that was keeping both your cooler and the Bluetooth speaker - along with your phones - covered. She was sitting beneath it, knees drawn up to her chest as she scrolled on the device. Taylor was nowhere to be found, and when you asked the others where she’d gone, Jordan gestured, one tanned arm extending toward the ocean. “She’s cooling off. I’m keeping an eye on her.” 

Grinning, you fluffed up the towel and then turned your face back up toward the sun, extending your arms downward and reaching out so that one of them was on the sand, your fingers digging into the grains. “You know you’re not on duty this week. You get to relax, too.” 

“Can’t help it.” Jordan sighed. “When you spend as many hours in a hospital as I do and see people coming in with all kinds of stupid injuries…” She laughed. “I’m sorry.  I just need a day or two.”

“We’ll get you really drunk tonight.” Paige cut in. “That’ll help.” 

“Yeah, we bought enough alcohol for this week to make that possible.” The sand was warm against your palm, and you felt tiny drops of sweat pooling in the hollow of your throat. Keeping your eyes closed, you stretched, back arching off the towel before you sat up, reaching for the jug of ice water that was next to your space. “It’s not like we have anywhere to be, right?” Your friends laughed, and you hummed as you took a long drink and then relaxed again, setting the water down and wiping your hand on the towel. “Except that hot tub.”

Keeping your eyes on the water, you debated joining Taylor, but before you made a decision, you heard a voice speak from on your right. “Switched from coffee to water, hmm?” Head whipping to the side, you squinted up, bringing a hand up to shade your eyes. It’s him. He was even better looking up close - a mustache and patchy beard covering the lower parts of his face, longer sideburns mostly hidden by the dark brown hair that curled over his ears thanks to the tattered hat that was perched atop his head. He was smiling, though, a dimple visible in one cheek, and though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored aviators he wore, you assumed that they were filled with amusement. “Probably a good idea, it’s pretty damn hot out today.” 

“It is.” Licking your lips, you huffed out a breath. “And I did. Figured it would be better to hydrate today instead of just drinking straight hot caffeine.” His grin widened, the man reaching up to swipe at the back of his neck. The movement caused the shirt he wore to pull tight over his chest, the hem rising just enough to expose a small expanse of skin at his waist, above the top band of the light colored swim trunks he wore. 

“Who’s this?” Your friends had stopped their conversation, all of them interested in what was going on with you. “We just got here yesterday, and you already made a friend?”

“No, I…” Glancing away from the man and back at your friends, you shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t -” I don’t know him at all.

“I’m staying in the house next to yours.” He placed a hand on his hip, shifting his weight so that it jutted out slightly. “My buddies and I are, actually, and I usually get up pretty early.” He paused, his eyes back on you. “Happened to see her this morning when we were both outside watching the sun come up, that’s all.” Someone hummed - you thought it was Jordan, but you didn’t avert your eyes to find out. I don’t want to. 

“We thought the house was empty.” That time, it was Jess that spoke up, her voice clear and ringing over the sound of the surf. “No one was there when we checked in yesterday, and we were a little late, too.”

“Our flight was delayed.” He sighed. “And then the rental cars weren’t ready, so by the time we got here it was pretty late.” Makes sense. We were probably grocery shopping. “I’m Frankie, by the way. Frankie Morales.” Automatically, you reached up and stuck your hand out to take his as you introduced yourself, your friends doing the same even though they didn’t move from their spots. He politely looked between them all as they spoke, the man pulling his hand from yours and letting it drop, the one that had been on his hip also hanging loosely by his side. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah, you too.” You were still staring up at the man, unsure of what else to say. He’s not wearing a ring. And he said he’s staying with his friends, not his family. “This might actually be a good thing, Frankie. Now that we know who you are, if you need to tell us to be quiet, you can just -”

You were cut off by the arrival of his friends, a group of four men making their way through the sand and to where all of you were. That drew your attention - and Frankie’s, too, both of you turning to watch them as they approached. Frankie carried nothing, but they had various items - towels and a small cooler, plus a bag that looked like it had some sunscreen and a soccer ball in it. “Forgot your towel, ‘Fish.” The one in the lead - a blonde man that was already shirtless called out, holding up a dark blue square of folded cloth. “Grabbed it for you.” 

“Thanks.” Fish? What … Frankie took a deep breath, waiting until his friends were closer to speak again. “Met our neighbors, Ironhead. They’re staying in the house with the basketball hoop.” The blonde - Ironhead - groaned, swiping over the lower half of his face with one hand. 

“We’ve got a ping pong table I’d gladly trade you -”

“We’ve got one of those, too. It’s in the garage.” Paige spoke then, Ironhead’s attention shifting to her. “Bunch of bikes, too. Some cornhole boards.” 

“What about a hot tub?” The blonde was completely focused on your friend, and with a quick glance at Frankie, you realized that his flirting probably wasn’t uncommon. He was good looking, too - and as Ironhead and Paige continued to talk, you let yourself look at the other men in Frankie’s group, taking them in one by one. They’re all good looking.

There was another blonde that looked slightly younger, his hair longer and slicked back from his face, along with a dark-haired man that seemed older than the others, hanging slightly back from the rest of them, a towel slung over one shoulder and the bag with the soccer ball over the other. The fifth man, though, was striking - his skin a deep olive tone and the stubble on his cheeks and chin dark, though peppered with gray. He was smiling broadly as he looked between you and your friends, stopping next to Frankie and then lifting an elbow to rest it on the other man’s shoulder. 

“You gonna introduce all of us, Frankie?” There was a pause, the final man locking eyes with you and winking. “Or are you just going to -”

“Gimme a second, Pope. Christ, you just walked up.” Do they all have weird nicknames? “You could introduce yourself, you know. Miller hasn’t had any issues.” 

The next few minutes were spent making more introductions, and when Taylor came back from the ocean at the tail end, it happened all over again, the men making small talk for a little while until the older one - Tom - cleared his throat. “We gonna stand here all day or are we going to actually go and -” The young one - Benny - swore and rolled his eyes, turning toward Tom. 

“Fuckin’ Redfly, always wanting to go go go.” Pope laughed, pulling the towel from over his arm before he turned to scan the rest of the beach, looking for open space. “Look, there’s a big ass open spot over there. We can put our shit down and still have plenty of room.” He pointed at a spot about thirty yards from you and a little closer to the ocean. “That good?” 

“It’s fine.” Redfly - Tom - pressed his lips together and then raised one hand in a quick, somewhat dismissive wave. “Nice to meet all of you.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned away from you and headed for the chosen spot. 

“Sorry about him.” Frankie spoke up again, talking to the entire group but focused on you, his shoulders rising and falling. “He can be kind of an asshole.” Why are you explaining? There’s no reason to. 

“It happens. And if you’re on a guys trip, it doesn’t surprise me.” Crossing your legs, you reached for your water bottle and for the first time were reminded that you were interacting with a group of men in a bathing suit, a great deal of your skin on display. For strangers. For… attractive strangers. Shit. “It’s nice to meet you, though. I’m sure we’ll see you throughout the week.” As you talked, the others began to drift away, Benny and Ironhead - also known as Will - saying goodbye and plodding through the sand after their friend. Pope was next to leave, adjusting the waistband of his swim trunks before heading in the opposite direction, the muscles in his bare back flexing. That left only Frankie with your group, the man shifting again as he took a breath. 

“Yeah, it is.”  He said your name, the sound of it rolling off of his tongue, and then continued. “And I hope so.” You … what? Frankie’s gaze wandered to your friends and he spoke once more, the corners of his lips lifting in a small smile. “Ladies.” Frankie looked at you one last time and gave you a single nod, the sunlight glinting off of his lenses, and then followed after Pope. 

You watched until he stopped, the man settling down onto a towel, and then you finally looked back at your friends, all of them staring at you with wide eyes. “What?”

Jess was the first to speak. “You weren’t going to tell any of us that our neighbors for the week are a bunch of -” 

“I didn’t know!” Holding your hands out in protest, you cut Jess off. “It was still kind of dark this morning when I saw Frankie on the balcony, and we didn’t say anything to each other.” And I figured he was there with his family. “I’m just as surprised as you are.” 

“None of them were wearing rings.” Jordan spoke up, sliding a hand through her hair. “The one… Tom? Had a tan line, though, so I don’t know if he’s trying to pretend he’s not, or -”

“I think Frankie likes you.” Paige’s attention was entirely on you, her smile growing. “He couldn’t stop staring.” 

“You couldn’t even see his eyes.” Trying to brush it off, you looked down at the sand. “You don’t know that he was -”

“He was.” Jordan reached for her own drink, taking a long pull from the straw. “I didn’t need to see his eyes to know.” You didn’t want to believe it, but if both of them were saying it, there had to be at least a little truth to the declaration. And he didn’t have to say anything, he could have just walked by. “You know how you were telling me that I needed to relax and stop thinking about work this week?” Nodding, you kept your eyes on your friend, waiting. “Pope would definitely help with that.” 

All five of you laughed at her words and when Jordan and Paige started talking to Taylor about a TV show that they watched, you laid back, adjusting the top of your bathing suit before rolling over, cheek pressed to the towel. Before you closed your eyes, you got a glimpse of Frankie pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the ground, though at the distance, you couldn’t make out too many details - but the sight of him still made you feel warm, the reaction having very little to do with the bright sun overhead. 

— 

An hour later, you woke to the sound of a man yelling and Jordan calling your name. What the fuck? Pushing to your feet, you swiped at your eyes as you ran across the sand, Jordan heading in the direction of the men that you’d spoken to earlier. 

Frankie and Will were helping Tom from the water, the third man hopping along on one foot, the other knee bent to keep his foot from the sand. What the fuck happened? 

It became apparent the closer you got to them, Tom’s face contorted into a grimace of pain as the other two assisted him into a sitting position on one of the blankets. There were bright red marks criss-crossing the skin of his leg from mid-calf to up and over his knee, some of them looking much angrier than others. “Oh, shit.” You swore just as Jordan stopped, dropping to a knee next to the man. “Is that from a jellyfish, Jordan?”

“It is.” She said Tom’s name, waiting until he was looking at her to continue. “I’m a nurse. I can help you, but you need to let me see.” Will grumbled about being a medic, but still backed off, and as soon as Tom gave your friend a nod, she reached out, gently prodding at the unblemished skin of his leg as she asked questions: how much did it hurt, was his breathing alright, did he feel faint, was he nauseous. “I’m going to lift your leg up and make sure there’s nothing still stuck to it, Tom.” 

The stung man winced in pain but agreed, and you looked away, catching Frankie’s eye, his sunglasses and hat discarded somewhere on the blankets. He was standing back from the two sitting down, both hands on his hips and a worried expression on his face as he looked at you. 

For the first time, you saw the entirety of him up close - deep brown eyes set above a strikingly strong nose, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the long, thin scar high on one cheek telling you that he was a little older than you’d initially thought and that he likely carried a lot on his shoulders. But he’s still the best looking of them all and it’s not even close. 

Pushing the thought away, you returned your attention to Jordan and Tom, the woman speaking to him but also to Will, the second man nodding at her words. “You’re a full grown man so it’s probably going to be less severe than if you got stung like this and were much smaller, but…” Jordan was on her knees, hands resting on the tops of her thighs. “It really depends on how you feel, Tom. You can try and treat it at home; vinegar will neutralize the sting, and you can slather your leg in hydrocortisone cream, but…”

“We don’t have any of that shit at the house.” Pope spoke up, both arms crossed over his chest. “And it’ll take at least an hour to get to the store and back with it. There’s gotta be an Urgent Care up by Target and Walmart, they can -”

“I don’t want to spend hours sitting in a waiting room, Pope.” Tom groaned. “Just for them to tell me to put some fucking cream on -”

“At least you’ll be in the right place if you have an allergic reaction to the sting.” You cut in, taking a long breath. “Better than being here and then needing to hobble out to the -” You heard Frankie snort at your interjection, the man turning it into a quiet cough. Why was that funny? 

“She’s right.” He spoke up, the man reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “We’ll take you to the Urgent Care, and one or two of us will stay with you and the others can go to the store - pick up groceries and shit since we didn’t really have time last night. Grab you some… what did you say, vinegar?” Jordan nodded, still on her knees next to the blanket where Tom was sitting. “Get this shit taken care of now so we can all enjoy the rest of our fucking vacation.” 

The other men agreed and after a few seconds, so did Tom, though you could tell that he hadn’t wanted to give in so easily. They helped him to his feet - the man leaning on Will and Benny that time, the two of them leading him away and exposing a large gaudy tattoo that covered his entire back. Pope and Frankie stayed behind, cleaning up the towels and the rest of their stuff. They worked in tandem, movements almost choreographed, and for the first time, you wondered how close they were - and how long they’d known each other to be so in sync. 

“Thank you.” His words reached your ears as you and Jordan began to follow the others back to your setup, and at the sound, you stopped, spinning back to face Frankie. There were towels hanging over his arm and the cooler dangling from between his fingers, the sunglasses once more settled on the bridge of his nose. “He’s stubborn as shit and probably wouldn’t have listened to us.” 

“He’s going to be alright. They’ll clean it, make sure nothing’s stuck in there, and give him the hydrocortisone, or tell him to go pick it up.” Jordan shrugged. “Gonna hurt like a bitch for a while, but -”

“He’s had worse.” Pope stood next to Frankie, more towels slung over his shoulder along with the bag that contained the ball. “We all have, actually. Perks of being in the service.” Military. That makes sense. “I’m sure we’ll see you again at some point this week. Don’t be strangers.” Pope grinned and then elbowed Frankie. “We should get back, get changed so we can head out. I’m not about to waste my entire afternoon being Redfly’s nurse.” Frankie’s lips twitched, but he nodded, and without saying anything else, the two of them set off across the sand and back toward the beach access path.

“Do you believe us now?” Jordan stepped next to you, the two of you watching as the men got further away. “That man was staring at you the whole goddamn time we were over here.” Turning your head toward her, your jaw dropped in surprise. “Don’t look at me like that, there’s no way you missed it because you were staring right -”

“With as much as you were paying attention to other things, are you even sure Tom got stung by a -” She laughed, reaching out to shove you, the two of you beginning the short trek back to where your friends were. Was I really staring? Teeth digging into your lower lip, you closed your eyes, letting yourself smile. Yeah, I was. 

— 

As the afternoon light faded into the beginning of evening darkness, you and your friends were relaxing in the large living room and finishing dinner. You’d stayed on the beach for another hour or so after the guys left, but the sun was hot, and you’d gotten hungry for actual food. A quick lunch, a shower to wash the remaining sand and sweat from your skin and a nap had given you a second wind, and you were ready for whatever the night brought. 

You’d gotten sun earlier in the day, despite the careful application of sunscreen, and your skin was still pleasantly warm in the cooler inside air, but you were comfortable, stretched out on one of the couches while Jess and Jordan sat in the covered sunroom next to the living room. Though you’d sipped a beer with dinner, it hadn’t gone further than that, and you didn’t want to be the first one to crack open another - or to mix yourself a drink from the liquor bottles on the counter. It’s still early. 

“They’re back.” Jordan poked her head through the doorway, smiling. “Tom’s got a big ass bandage on his leg, but they’re back.” You wondered how many of the hours that had passed had been spent in the waiting room of the medical facility, but until you saw one of the guys to ask, that question would go unanswered. Hell of a way to start the vacation. 

“Hopefully that’s the only shitty thing that happens to any of them this week.” Turning your head to look at your friend, you watched as she nodded in agreement. “Glad it wasn’t one of us.” 

“Same.” She stepped into the room, Jess close behind her. “We should stop over later. Give them a little while to get settled, and then maybe take them one of those bottles of whiskey we bought. They’re carrying groceries in now, but those five look like they can drink.” The idea appealed to you, but you still opened your mouth to argue as you sat up, adjusting the straps of the tank top you wore. 

“They’re on a guys trip, Jordan. I don’t want to bother them. They know we’re here, so if they want to come over, they -” Stopping in the middle of a sentence, you frowned. “No, you know what? Yeah. Let’s stop over. They aren’t going to turn down a bottle of liquor, and I know you’re dying to know what they did to treat that sting.” She laughed, reaching up to flip the hair over one shoulder. 

“Because I’m so predictable, right?” Sometimes. “Like I said, they’re carrying shit in, so we should give them some time before we go.” 

“Works for me.” You stood, heading for the kitchen. “Which bottle do we want to give them?” 

— 

An hour later, you and Jordan were standing at the front door of MerMajesty, the house that the guys were staying in. Who the fuck names these things? You held the bottle in one hand as Jordan knocked, and before too much time had passed, you saw someone moving toward the door, Benny pulling it open and greeting you. “Hey, neighbors.” He grinned. “Want to come in?” 

“Sure.” Jordan stepped through the door and you followed, eyeing the space. “We just wanted to check and see what they said about Tom’s leg.” Benny led you into the living room and you saw that the man in question was reclined on one couch, a dazed smile on his face, Will, Frankie and Pope nowhere to be seen. “Oh, you look like you feel -”

“They did exactly what you said they would.” Frankie appeared in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Cleaned it, put that lotion on it, wrapped it and told him that if he needed to, he could take some ibuprofen, and that it would probably hurt for a couple days.” 

“Still hurt like a bitch, though.” Tom spoke up and the three of you looked back at him. “Good thing Pope brought the shit they gave him after his surgery with him. I don’t feel a goddamn thing anymore.” 

“Pope gave him a leftover vicodin.” Frankie was grinning. “He’s on the fucking moon right now.” You laughed at that, lifting your hand and holding out the bottle toward the man. “What’s that?”

“Wanted to bring you a gift. We overdid it at the liquor store and figured you guys would appreciate an extra bottle.” He took it from you, scanning the label. 

“Thank you.” Frankie’s eyes locked with yours when he looked up again, a smile tugging at his lips. “We’ll definitely drink this.” 

“Good.” Jordan cleared her throat, nudging you. What? “Well, we won’t keep you, we just wanted to -”

“You should stay and have a drink.” Pope poked his head into the room, too. “I was going to grill tonight but it’s too late now, so that’s all there is to do.” He was focused on Jordan, the man’s eyes bright. “Get your friends and come back. There’s plenty of room. We have a game room downstairs and there’s a ton of chairs on the pool deck.” 

“Are you sure?” You were still looking at Frankie, the man’s expression neutral. “You said it was a guys trip, and Tom’s probably not -”

“Tom is going to be asleep in about twenty minutes.” Frankie rolled his eyes. “He’s not gonna hear a damn thing, so you guys are more than welcome to come back and hang out.” He sounded almost hopeful, and so you turned your attention back to Jordan, questioning her silently. Do you want to? 

“We’ll go and see if the others want to come over.” She looked away, nodding at Frankie and Pope. “Should we bring anything?” 

“Nope.” Pope winked at her, the man’s smile growing. “Just yourselves.” 

— 

By 11:30, it was apparent that the remainder of the week was going to be a great time. 

You’d spent the first hour getting to know the guys over drinks - all of you sitting around the glass table in the game room and talking. They were from the Tampa area and enjoying their first vacation since they’d all retired from the military for good and had settled back into civilian life. None of them had gone into detail about what they’d done while enlisted, but you knew that they were former Delta Force, and that Frankie had been a pilot. Which explains all the nicknames.

Once the basics were out of the way, the group had moved to the outdoor patio - some of you taking seats around the bar, the others at the table just behind it as the conversations continued. Pope and Jordan were visibly flirting with each other, while Frankie and the Miller brothers did their best to keep the rest of you entertained. 

It was the perfect summer night, and even though you had music playing, you were mindful of the houses around you, not wanting to bother anyone. Your friends and the guys had opened the bottle of whiskey, but you stuck to beer - not because you didn’t want to participate in taking shots, but because you wanted to wake up early the next day. Frankie stuck to beer, too, even when Pope called him out on it. “I’m not 21 anymore, Pope.” He shrugged. “And if I’m stuck inside with a hangover tomorrow, I’m not gonna want to entertain Redfly.” 

“Ah, shit.” Pope laughed loudly, throwing his head back along with a shot. “Didn’t even think of that.” You’d also learned that of the group, Tom was the oldest and had retired first, the man returning home to his wife and daughter a year or two before the others were out for good. That relationship hadn’t lasted, though, and despite the fact that there’d been a period of time where it looked like it might have been back on track, he was officially divorced as of a few months earlier - which was another reason for the trip. 

The whole group moved from one side of the pool deck to the other, Will and Pope facing off against Jess and Paige at cornhole, but instead of crowding up close to the boards, you and Frankie hung back, stretching out on the lounge chairs closest to the covered room. 

The two of you talked for a little while, Frankie asking about what you did for work (event planning) in more detail, but as the night wore on, your friends got a little more rowdy, which made having a conversation difficult. And I don’t want the night to end yet. “We could go back inside,” you suggested, finishing your beer and sighing as Jess and Allison cheered loudly, the guys groaning as they answered back. “Or sit on one of the front balconies. It doesn’t matter to me.” He stared at you, clearly deep in thought. 

“Downstairs chairs aren’t that comfortable, and sitting inside upstairs kind of defeats the purpose of being here. We could go sit on the beach.” We could. I didn’t know that that was an option. “It’d be quiet.” It would be. “I’ll go get a blanket, if you want to tell your friends we’re leaving. Meet me by the front door.” Agreeing, you both stood and moved in opposite directions - Frankie heading inside and you walking over to where Jordan was sitting, the woman cross-legged on a chaise lounge as she watched the game in front of her, her attention clearly on Pope. 

“Hey.” Keeping your voice low, you tapped her on the shoulder. “Frankie and I are going to the beach. Didn’t just want to disappear.” She turned her head slowly, a look of satisfaction in her eyes. “What?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Rolling your eyes as she laughed, the woman raised one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Go. Have fun. Don’t get stung by a jellyfish.” Assuring her you wouldn’t - and that you’d just go back to your place when you were done so you’d see her in the morning, you made your way back through the house and to the front door, waiting. 

Frankie showed up a couple minutes later, the man wearing a dark colored hoodie and with a bag containing a blanket slung over one shoulder. Ah, shit. “I should head back to our house. I didn’t even think about it being colder by the water, and if you put on a hoodie, I -” 

“You can wear one of mine.” He cut you off, sliding the strap down his arm to hand you the bag. “Give me a second.” He disappeared again, and even though your pulse quickened at the thought of wearing something of the man’s, you tried to convince yourself that it was just him being nice and wanting to cut down on stops between his door and the ocean. And they’ve all been nothing but nice, so - “Here. I hope it’s not too heavy. It’s the only other one that I brought.” 

The man handed you an olive green hoodie, the material well worn and faded in spots. “Thank you.” You traded the bag back to him and pulled the shirt on, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply as you settled it into place, pushing the sleeves up your arms. The cuffs were stretched - almost like he did the same thing and the size of his forearms was too large for the natural cut of fabric. It smells good too. Really good. “We ready?” He nodded, looking you over, and then the man opened the front door, leading you out onto the front porch - and across the street to the beach access path. 

He dug into the bag when you hit the sand, pulling out a flashlight and clicking it on after you’d both removed your shoes - flip flops for you and slip on Vans for him. “We don’t really need it, but I don’t want either of us to step on anything.” 

“Like the crabs?” Stepping closer to him, you laughed. “There were a ton of them out here last night. And a bunch of people out here with buckets trying to catch them.” 

“They call ‘em ghost crabs because they’re real pale. And people do that with their kids a lot, try and catch them?” He cleared his throat as the beam of light swept the open space in front of you, ensuring that it was clear. “In Florida, too.” Makes sense, and the water probably stays much warmer there all year. “I haven’t taken my son yet. He’s too young, but I’m looking forward to it.” He has a son? It changed things, but at the same time, it didn’t change anything. 

“How old is he, Frankie?” And what’s his name, if you don’t mind me asking?” He hummed, his light trained on the ground in front of you. You don’t need to tell me, I shouldn’t have asked. 

“He’s gonna be two.” Frankie stopped moving turning toward you. “This alright?” You could hear and smell the ocean, though the water was still about fifteen feet away - and you realized that he’d stopped you on the edge of the dry sand, moving as far forward as he could. Nodding in reply, he handed you the flashlight and the bag and then used both hands to fling the blanket open, letting it settle on the ground. “In September.” The man sat and you lowered yourself next to him, leaving a few inches of space between your bodies.  “And his name’s Elijah, after his grandfather.” He looked over at you. “On his mom’s side.” Ah. 

Fingers wrapped around the handle of the flashlight, you turned it off, setting it down next to you. It was dark, but in the moonlight, you could still make out the whitecaps on the waves as they broke against the shore, as well as the profile of the man sitting next to you. “I have to ask because I’d feel like shit if I didn’t, even if this is just two people talking on the beach. You’re not -”

“I’m not with her anymore.” He laughed, the sound loud before it was carried off by the ocean breeze. “It was over pretty much as soon as he was born, probably a little bit before. But a lot of that was my fault. I wasn’t….” He paused, eyes focused in the direction of the water. “I went through some shit trying to adjust to being home, and a lot of it wasn’t fair to her. I’m trying to do better now, though.” He didn’t have to tell me that. 

“I like the honesty.” He lowered his head, lips twisting into a brief smile. “And ok. I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes here, so it’s good to know that you’re single, so -”

“I never said I was single.” Turning his head toward you, the man raised an eyebrow. “Just that I’m not with…” He trailed off as your expression changed - relief turning to shock, eyes widening as your lips parted, your brain trying to come up with something to say. Ok, so maybe I was wrong about the honesty, he - “Hey.” He said your name, reaching out and putting a cautious hand on your knee. “I’m just fucking with you. I’m not with anyone, it was just supposed to be a joke.”

“Fucking Christ, Frankie. That’s mean.” You scrubbed a hand over your forehead, scoffing. “What about your friends? Pope and Jordan are hitting it off, and -”

“He’s single too. We all are. Pope was seeing someone for a while, actually living with her, but it didn’t work out, and they broke up… maybe seven months ago? Pope’s not like that.” He laughed again. “I don’t think he’s looking for something serious, but -”

“Neither is Jordan. She works like 65 hours a week at the hospital, she barely has time to eat let alone date. So if she can blow off some steam this week…” Good for her. “And believe me, some of the more recent guys she’s hooked up with are nowhere near as good looking as Pope, so this would be an upgrade.”

“Don’t tell him that.” Frankie leaned forward, digging through the bag and pulling out two beers, handing one over to you. “He’ll never let us hear the end of it.” I’m sure he won’t. Pulling the tab on the top of the can, you lifted it to your lips and took a long drink, staring out at the ocean. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Swallowing, you adjusted your position on the blanket so that you could look at him. “Frankie?”

“You seeing anybody? There some guy I should worry about trying to kick my ass for talking to you in the middle of the night like this?” 

“Nope.” You sipped again. “No guy. This is actually the first time all five of us are single, too.” 

“What are the odds?” He nudged you with his elbow. “Staying right next to each other, you guys were there on the beach earlier today when Tom needed some help, brought us a bottle of liquor…”

“Don’t forget, you and I watched the dolphins this morning.” Grinning, you took another swig of your beer. “That started all of this. The universe must have really wanted Jordan to get laid this week.” 

Frankie laughed then, the man tipping his head back and letting it loose - shoulders shaking, the hand holding his beer can lowering to set it in the sand before he reached up, swiping at the back of his neck and the hair curling over the skin there. He looked younger when he laughed - happier, the tension leaving his body. I like the way that sounds. A lot. You let him continue, nodding as you looked away. 

The sound of his laugh tapered off slowly, Frankie muttering under his breath about Pope and his fucking charm, and while the two of you finished your drinks in silence, it was comfortable between you. You were glad for the hoodie and almost wished that you had pants on instead of shorts, but there was no part of you that wanted to let the man know you were chilly. Because I don’t want to go back yet.  “There’s a cruise ship, look.” Raising one arm, Frankie pointed out over the water. “You can see the lights.” 

“Where?” Leaning forward, you squinted at the horizon, searching. “I don’t -” His arm went around your shoulders, one finger still extended to point, and you followed the direction of it, finally seeing what he was gesturing to a few seconds later. “How the hell… it’s so faint.” 

“Might not be in the same kinda shape I was in when I was enlisted, but my eyesight’s still perfect.” He was closer than he had been, the weight of the man’s arm over your back comforting, and you realized that if you turned your head toward him, you’d be close enough to kiss him. And I kind of want to. 

You watched the ship for a few seconds longer, Frankie’s arm remaining in place though he relaxed his hand, and it wasn’t until he moved to pull away from you that you replied, taking a deep breath. “I think you looked great on the beach earlier.” He froze at the words and you wondered if you’d overstepped. I hope not. “I don’t have a pilot’s eyesight or anything, but…” His hand was pressed to the center of your back, and you turned slowly toward him, finding his gaze locked on your face, both eyes wide. “...but I’m pretty sure I can pick out a hot -” 

“Stop me if you don’t want me to.” He wet his lips, the tip of his tongue dragging over the bottom one and your eyes dropped to follow the movement. “Tell me no.” You had no intention of doing so, and it was you that closed the distance, pressing your mouth to his. He urged you closer, the fingers of the hand on your back splayed to cover more of it, and you reached out with your left hand, settling it on his thigh to brace yourself as you leaned in. 

You’d initiated things, but Frankie took them further, the man parting his lips enough to lick at the seam of yours. You wasted no time in reacting, giving him what he wordlessly asked for - and what you wanted. When your tongue met his for the fist time, you sighed into the kiss, tightening your fingers against his leg in the same moments that he flexed his fingers against your back, the material of his hoodie bunching against his large palm. 

It ended much too soon, Frankie pulling back partially and then kissing you gently - both lips catching on your lower one, the man’s mustache tickling the skin between your mouth and nose. He was smiling when he straightened up, eyes still on you. “Wasn’t expecting that when we stopped over earlier.” You mumbled the words and then both of you were laughing, Frankie’s hand settling over yours where it still rested on his leg. Oops. “And I don’t want to be too forward, Frankie, but Pope’s not the only charming one in your group.” His grin widened, but yours did, too. “There’s something about Will that -” 

Even in the pale moonlight, you saw him roll his eyes as he leaned in again, raising a hand to touch your cheek and guide your mouth back to his. “Quiet.” Smiling into the kiss, you closed your eyes again, letting yourself relax under his touch. It wasn’t something that you typically did - kissing strange men after only knowing them for a few hours - but the idea of turning him down or pushing him away hadn’t ever crossed your mind. Who would? When he pulled back that time, you heard his quiet sigh, Frankie glancing up at the sky before returning his attention to you. “I should get you back home. It’s gotta be real late.” 

“It is.” You had no idea what time it was, but since it had been after midnight when you and Frankie headed to the beach, you knew he was right. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it for the sunrise tomorrow morning, even if the balcony is right off of my bedroom.” He stood, holding a hand out to you and you took it, letting the man help you to your feet. He didn’t release you immediately, instead pulling you a little closer to his body, briefly squeezing your hand “How about you?” 

“I’ve done more on less sleep.” He grinned, gesturing to the blanket and you moved off of it, reaching down to pick up your empty cans. “But you wouldn’t be able to see a sunrise tomorrow morning even if you were awake.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke, instead gathering up the blanket and shaking it out before he refolded it, stowing it in the bag. 

“Why?” Confused, you waited for his reply as he clicked the flashlight back on, a few of the crabs scattering outside of the projected circle of light. “Why wouldn’t I be able to see -”

“It’s supposed to rain most of the day.” You started walking back toward the access path, Frankie next to you - but much closer than he had been on the way over. “Didn’t you check the weather?” 

“No.” He turned the flashlight off again as you tossed the empty cans into a trash bin, the two of you continuing down the path until you reached the street. “I don’t think any of us did. But at least now I don’t have to worry about feeling guilty for missing out.” 

“You’re on vacation. You’re supposed to sleep in.” You’d stopped at the end of their driveway, turning to face each other. “With the way everyone was drinking tonight, I’m sure none of them will be awake either.” Same with my friends. “What a start to the trip, right?” 

“Yeah.” You looked over at your house, but it was almost completely dark - as was the one that Frankie’s group was staying in. “What are the odds that Pope and Jordan are - “

“Oh, I’d bet on it.” He held up a hand. “Nothing against Pope, and I’m not trying to throw your friend under the bus, but… we’re only here for a week, so why waste time?” For a few seconds, you wondered if Frankie was only referring to Pope with that, but instead of questioning it, you wrinkled your nose and agreed with him. 

“I’d give you my number, but I didn’t bring my phone over to your house, so I guess… I’ll see you around?” 

“Yeah. You will.” He inhaled, the wind still blowing through his hair, though the gusts seemed much stronger than they had earlier. It does feel like it’s going to rain. The breeze reminded you that you were still wearing his hoodie, but when you reached for the hem to pull it over your head, one of his hands shot out, stopping you. ”Keep it for now. No point in you taking it off just to go inside.” 

“Thank you.” You wet your lips, the realization that you were stalling hitting you hard. I need to let him get to sleep. “I’ll get it back to you the next time I see you.” He stepped closer, the streetlights illuminating his face as the two of you stood beneath them. “Have a good night, Frankie.” He nodded, ducking his head and kissing your cheek, the tip of his nose dragging over your skin briefly. You shivered, knowing that he felt the movement, but then he stepped back, barely concealing a smile. 

“You too. Try and be nice to Pope if you find him in your kitchen when you wake up. He’s not a morning person.” Good to know. 

Instead of saying anything in reply, you spun away, heading for your house. Glancing over your shoulder before you typed the code into the door lock, you saw that Frankie was still standing where you’d left him, eyes on you and both hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. Once the door opened, you kept one hand on the knob, raising the other in a silent wave that he returned, nodding twice before heading for his own house. 

The interior of yours was completely dark and silent as you made your way to your room, and when you looked at your phone, you realized why: it was almost 2 am. I didn’t realize we were out there that long. That’s nuts. The memory of the man’s kisses - and the feeling of his hands on you - lingered as you got ready for bed, and by the time you crawled between the blankets, turning your cheek toward your pillow, you’d almost convinced yourself that none of it had been real. This is the shit that happens in Hallmark movies, not … not real life. 

But the man’s hoodie draped over the arm of the chair next to your bed proved otherwise, even if you couldn’t see it clearly in the dark. 

— 

Monday Morning 

Frankie’s prediction of rain had come true, and when you woke up the following morning, the first thing you heard was the droplets hitting the windows of the sunroom - and the roof. That’s loud as hell. Groaning at the fact that you were still tired, you stretched, blinking the day into focus. 

Rain meant no beach, and it probably also meant that no one would want to leave the house to do anything, either. A quick look at the radar told you that it was probably going to stay stormy until early evening, meaning that there was nothing you could do except deal with it. 

The rumble of your stomach compelled you to get up, and when you entered  the kitchen a few minutes later, you were shocked to see Pope standing in it, the man wearing only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “‘Morning.” He grinned, holding up a cup of coffee. “Your friends are all still asleep.” 

“Even Jordan?” He winked at you and you waved a hand, groaning. “No, you know what? Don’t answer that.” 

“Hey, we were already all in bed by the time you got back.” Turning, he pulled another mug from the cupboard and poured you a cup, handing it over. “You and ‘Fish stayed on that beach late.” 

“We did.” Leaning against the counter once you’d prepared the coffee to your liking, you fixed your gaze on the man’s face. “He seems nice.” 

“He is nice.” Pope took a sip of coffee, briefly frowning. “Had a lot of shit happen in his life recently, but he’s gettin’ through it.” It matched the things that Frankie had told you, which was a relief - if Pope was as willing to confirm that the other man was attempting to turn things around with no prompting, you had to believe them. And I want to believe them. “By the way, I’m the only extra one here, unless you’re hiding someone in your room.” 

“I’m not.” Shaking your head, you set the mug down on the counter. “But since I didn’t bring my phone with me last night, if I give you my number can you get it to him? I would have walked over later today myself, but…” 

“Yep. He’s already awake and giving me shit.” Pope finished his coffee, turning and rinsing the mug in the sink. “Let me go and get my phone, we’ll figure this out.” Telling him to take his time, you headed for the living room, sinking down onto the couch in front of the windows and twisting your body to look through them. The ocean was angry - large waves crashing against the shore, and even though it meant that you had to stay inside, part of you hoped the storm continued all day because it was relaxing. “I’m back.” Pope appeared at the top of the stairs, phone in hand. “What’s your number?” 

You told him, the man reciting it back to you after he’d typed it in, and only a few seconds later, you heard his phone buzz, the screen lighting up. “He replied that fast? Damn.”

“Yeah, he probably had the phone in his hand. He usually calls his so-” Pope stopped, blinking like he’d said something wrong to you. “He calls -”

“He told me about Elijah, it’s alright.” Pope visibly relaxed, sinking onto the other couch. “It was actually the first thing he said when we got to the beach.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” He wet his lips, running a hand through his curly hair, bicep muscles flexing. “But he brought it up to see what your reaction was. You must have taken it well because the two of you were over there for a while. But you’d be surprised at how many people hear that he’s got a kid and suddenly find a reason to be somewhere else.” 

“That’s shitty.” Rolling your eyes, you tucked your feet under you. “But it’s definitely not what I did.” You drank from your mug, shaking your head. “And I mean, let’s be honest. I live in Colorado, and he lives in Florida. It’s not like I’m ever going to meet Elijah, or that anything that happens this week will have any sort of lasting impact.” You shrugged. “It tells me something new about Frankie, but -” 

“Aren’t you optimistic.” Pope leaned forward. “You’re probably not wrong, though. But I wasn’t just talking about women that he’s interested in, I meant people in general.” 

“Kids do tend to make it more difficult to make plans.” You jumped at a particularly loud crack of thunder, eyes going back to the window. “But from the way he made it sound, he shares custody, so -”

“He does. But you’d be surprised at how many people don’t even let him get to that part of it.” Pope sighed, standing up. “It’s too damn bad. If anyone deserves something good to happen to ‘em, it’s him.” His expression changed, turning into a smile. “I’m gonna go and see if Jordan’s awake and buy myself a couple more minutes before I have to walk back in this shit.” He rolled his eyes. “Reminds me of home.” 

He left the room a few seconds later and when you’d finished your coffee, you did, too, going back into your bedroom and closing the door behind you. There was a text from an unknown number on your phone that said simply It’s Frankie, this is my number and after you saved it, you sent back the waving emoji, letting him know that you’d gotten the message. 

As you changed clothes, you thought about Pope’s words - and his assessment of Frankie. It was clear that they were extremely close, and you sensed that the man’s words had been both a warning and an indication of a fiercely protective mindset about his friend. The same way I’d be with Jordan. Moving from your room to the sun porch, you cracked the windows and sliding glass door open, the sound of the storm growing louder as you took a seat on the wicker chair, feet propped up on the ottoman with a book in your hands. If I can’t read on the beach, at least I can look at it.

— 

You read for nearly three hours before Jess poked her head into the room and asked if you wanted something to eat. Shit, I didn’t realize it was already afternoon. The storm was still going - though the rain had slowed slightly, and after you closed your book and stood, you thumbed your phone unlocked, meaning to check the weather. But there was another message waiting from Frankie, and it made you stop in your tracks. Dinner tonight? Pope doesn’t mind cooking in the rain. It was from nearly an hour earlier, and you hurried to answer, telling him yes and asking what time. 6? 6:30? You can come over whenever though. 

That gave you plenty of time, and so you agreed, slipping your phone into your pocket before stepping into the kitchen, your friends all gathered there. “Must have been a good book.” Paige was seated at the center island, a sandwich on a plate in front of her. “You were in there for a long time.” 

“It was. I hope I have time to finish it.” You opened the refrigerator, rooting around until you found something that you wanted. “I would have taken the car to go do something, but no one was awake, and I didn’t want to strand any of you.”

“I actually wanted to bring that up.” Taylor was on her phone, eyes flicking up from the screen as she spoke. “Me and Jess were thinking about going to see a movie tonight since this rain doesn’t look like it’s going to stop. You wanna go? Anybody?” Paige asked what was playing and when, and even Jordan seemed interested, the woman looking over Taylor’s shoulder. So she’s not going to hang out with Pope? Interesting. 

“Actually, I got invited to dinner tonight.” You swallowed what you were chewing, rolling your eyes as everyone stared at you. “Frankie wants -”

“I was kind of surprised you didn’t bring him back here.” Jess grinned, waggling her eyebrows. “You hit it off with him.” 

“No, it didn’t … it would have felt rushed.” You shrugged, taking another bite. “To go straight from a kiss to -”

“Jordan had no problem with moving quick with Santi.” Paige nudged your friend with her elbow, the second woman scowling. “She damn near beat us all back here with him, and -”

“Hey, we’re only here for a week, and I hadn’t gotten laid in months.” Jordan shrugged, her lips curved up into a smile. “I wasn’t gonna waste an opportunity… especially with someone that looks like him.” All of you had to laugh at that, the woman shameless in her admission. “And now that we got the awkward first time out of the way, the rest of the week shouldn’t be -”

“Oh, it’s going to happen again?” You rested your chin on the palm of one hand, narrowing your eyes. “Good for you.” 

“I hope so. He’s very good with his hands.” Standing up straight, she turned her attention to Taylor, pointing at the phone. “But yeah, a movie sounds great tonight. What’s playing?” You tuned them out as they began to go over options, and for the first time, you questioned whether or not stopping at a kiss with Frankie had been the wrong call. But he wanted to see me again today, so it couldn’t have been. Maybe he’s just not as … open as Pope. 

“You’re welcome to come with us. Movie starts at 5, and we’ll stop and get food after.” Taylor said your name. “There’s a Mexican place right by the theater.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll stay here. You guys have fun.” They started making plans immediately, and you put your plate in the sink, halfway listening to them. To get to the theater on time, they’d need to leave a little after 4, which meant you’d have plenty of time to get ready between then and when you headed next door. And I still have a few hours, so… 

Five minutes later, you were back in your chair, nose buried in your book. 

— 

It was still raining when your friends piled into the car at 4:10, but unless you were mistaken, you could see a clearer sky through the window and to the north of you. Maybe it’ll clear up so Pope can grill. You moved through the empty house, enjoying the quiet, and were about to text Frankie when you heard the doorbell ring. There’s no one that would be here, unless… Hurrying from the rec room, you pulled the door open to find Frankie standing on the porch, hat pulled down low over his ears and his t-shirt splattered with raindrops. “Frankie? What -”

“Saw all your friends leave. Figured I’d come over and make sure we’re still -”

“They went out to a movie and dinner. Got sick of staying inside, I guess.” Stepping to the side, you gestured for him to come in. “I didn’t go because we made plans, so -”

“About that.” He removed his hat, twisting it between both hands before he tucked it into his back pocket. “Pope’s not home.” What? Where’d - “They all decided to go to Top Golf. Tonight was the only night they could get a reservation, and …” He trailed off. “I’ll still make you dinner,  but I’m nowhere near as good as Pope is when it comes to grilling.” He looked truly apologetic, but you were quick to reassure him. 

“If I hadn’t watched them make plans in real time, I’d think that my friends and your friends were conspiring to give us time alone.” He laughed, stepping further into the house. “But I also know how hard it is to get a reservation at Top Golf during good weather in a non-touristy area, so…” 

“Yeah, this is pure coincidence.” He wandered through the house, peering into the different rooms. “Sorry I’m bein’ nosy, but it’s always interesting to see how different these houses look.” Following close behind him, the two of you walked through the entire house, ending up in the living room. I should offer him something to drink, but I don’t know how long he’s going to stay. “You guys have two enclosed porches? Damn.” He stepped into the room that you’d spent the whole day in while you read. “Whoever’s got the room offa this one is lucky.” 

“That would be me.” He turned to face you and you held both hands out. “I booked the house, so I got first choice of rooms.” You beckoned him to follow you. “I didn’t pick it for the porch, though. I picked it so I didn’t have to share a bathroom.” He whistled when you stepped through the doorway, and you turned just in time to watch his eyes widen. “Yeah, exactly.” 

“A tub and a shower? Pope took the master bedroom in our house, so he got the nice bathroom. Mine’s private, but it still looks like it should belong in some 80’s motel.” He grinned, the dimple back. “It’s fine, though. I can deal with it for a week.” 

“I haven’t used the tub yet, but I probably will before we leave, just to say I did.” The two of you headed back into your bedroom, you moving to the chair and picking up his hoodie. “I didn’t wash it or anything, but if I don’t give this to you now, I’ll forget.” He took it from you, the ends of his fingers meeting yours as you transferred the fabric. “Thanks again for letting me borrow it.” 

“You said you have one of your own, right?” He tilted his head to one side. “It’s a little chilly in the rain out there.” Is he asking me to wear it again? “Might as well throw this one back on, that way you’re not getting yours dirty or wet.” It made sense, but at the same time, you felt warmth settle in your chest at the suggestion. 

“Are we going back to your place now? I didn’t know if you wanted to go early, or wait, or -”

“Can I be honest?” He wet his lips, stepping closer. “I really wanna kiss you again, but -” 

“You don’t have to ask to kiss me, Frankie.” Stepping closer, you bit down on one corner of your lower lip. “I get that you wanted to be sure, but I … I am very much up for that.” The look of relief that spread across his face at your admission made you wonder how often he got turned down, but you didn’t let the thought linger, instead flicking your gaze from his eyes to his mouth and then back.

He reached around you, tossing his sweatshirt back onto your bed, and then as he straightened up, his hand landed on your hip, pulling you toward him. “Well now that I know that…” He was smiling as his lips met yours, the man’s kiss gentler than it had been on the beach. But gentle with Frankie didn’t mean any less intense, the man’s fingers tightening at your hip, his other hand rising to the back of your head to guide it into place. 

He used the tip of his tongue to urge your lips apart and you let him, leaning into the kiss as his tongue met yours, your quiet sigh at the feeling swallowed easily by the man holding you. Without pausing to think it through, you raised a hand to the back of his head, letting your fingers card through the curls there - the ends of them damp from the rain. One finger snagged, resulting in a tug on the locks, but Frankie seemed to like it, the man groaning as he pulled away enough to bite your lower lip, trapping it between his teeth. “That’s not fair.” He murmured the words after releasing you, the look in his eyes warm and full of amusement. “You -”

“That was an accident. But now that I know you don’t mind…” You tugged again, arching a brow. “Game on.”

“It’s gonna be an interesting week, isn’t it.” It is. “Let’s go back to my place, I’ll get the grill going.” You weren’t about to tell him no, so you turned away, reaching for the sweatshirt and pulling it back on. “Bring your phone. I don’t want your friends to think that anything happened to you.” Good point. Grabbing it along with your bag, you headed back into the living room, Frankie close behind. 

“Do I need to bring anything? We have a ton of food, and I don’t want you to -”

“Nope. That’s the thing about a house full of guys, we bought a lot.” He took your hand as you stepped outside, Frankie pulling the hat from his back pocket and putting it back on his head, dragging the brim low as you pulled the hood up to cover your own head. It was still raining - and actually seemed to be coming down somewhat harder than it had been, so the two of you hurried down the driveway and into the street, another crack of thunder sounding as you scurried up his driveway, around the car parked there, and under the cover of the second story balcony. “Shit, that rain is cold.” 

He laughed with you as you both dashed the few feet between the cover and the front steps, Frankie typing in the code to unlock the door. “You don’t have to grill, Frankie. It’s still pouring outside, and there’s no cover for that damn thing. He waved you off, still holding your hand as he led you deeper into the house and up the stairs. 

“We dragged the grill closer to the house, so it’s partly covered. It’s fine.” Not wanting to argue, you asked him if he needed help, and when he pointed out things for you to grab from the fridge, you did, loading up a tray with condiments, buns and silverware. “When I invited you over earlier, I didn’t think it would just be the two of us,” he admitted as you headed back down the stairs and into the room that your group had started the night in. “I’m sorry if it’s a little awkward.”

“It isn’t.” You set the tray down on the long table, eyeing the grill - which was pulled partway beneath the open doorway that led from the covered area to the pool deck. “But wait, you said it’s just the two of us, does that mean even Tom went to Top Golf?”

“He did.” Frankie lit the grill, twisting the knobs into place to heat the grates before he re-closed the lid and turned to look at you. “He was walking around this morning. Says it still hurts, but he isn’t going to let it ruin his whole trip.” Yeah, I wouldn’t want to either. “He’ll probably regret it, but at least it’s not like real golf, he can sit whenever he needs to.” Frankie took his hat off briefly and then resituated it on his head, wetting his lips. “Before I start cooking, I’m gonna warn you - I’m making extra so that when everyone else gets back, they’ve got shit for later.” 

“Definitely a good idea. Even if they get dinner, it’s always nice to have leftover burgers and hotdogs to heat up.” Frankie nodded in agreement, turning back to the grill. 

“I’m making chicken, too.” You settled back in your chair, keeping your eyes on the man’s back - broad shoulders moving beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt as he busied himself. “Partially because it’s for them, but also because I wasn’t sure what you liked.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Frankie.” Chewing on the edge of your thumb, you tried to keep the tightness in your chest to a minimum. This isn’t going to be anything more than this week. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. “Really thoughtful.” 

—

Tag list coming separately!

[ahatintimepieces]

WHY HELLOOOOOOOOO THERE!!! It’s been awhile and I’ve been pretty quiet because I’ve been working on other projects. BUT I have been splitting some time working on the Fey prince!au you might be familiar with thanks to the amazing work by @smieska-draws. I’m not ready to officially start posting/or to keep a schedule, but I *do* have a lot of work for it and have been wanting to share sneak peeks. So like... here’s all of chapter 7? lol

Context! Luka is a human painter who stumbles into the fey world and meets the lovely Queen of the fey, who he only knows as his princess. His princess only knows him as her painter as they must carefully guard their names from even each other for, in the fey world, to give someone your name is to give them power over you. Luka must also be careful not to eat the food of the fey or he’ll be trapped in the fey world forever. In chapter 7, he discusses his and the queen’s relationship with Mari, his best friend, and meanwhile the queen is pressured by the Shapeshifter to tie down her human while she can... And, oh! Of course, there’s a kid with a hat to meet~

About 4K words~

Cupping the ceramic dish in his palm, Luka took his index finger and mixed the mound of ground pigment with the binding solution. While he made the paint, he glanced towards the sketch on the right, and narrowed his gaze.

The commission for the mayor was nearly finished and set out on the table in the middle of his workshop behind him. He had just a few more touches to go that he planned to wrap up in the morning with a quick run to the glade. The oil paints were all packed in his satchel that lay by the canvas. He had initially thought that that would be it for the festival, but then the mayor reminded him that he would have a booth to sell his other paintings. While he had some already finished works on hand, he realized he didn’t have nearly the selection he should and was scrambling to have more fall scenes at the ready. Watercolor felt like a good place to start.  

Set out on his worktable, where the surrounding shelves and drawers overflowed with spare pigments and his paints and brushes, he had two sketches laid out and taped down on an angled board. One was a simple scene of aspens with piles of leaves and the other was of the crumbling well in the fey world, surrounded by the sea of moonflowers. While he was going to have to paint the latter by relying on memory and brief doodles from his sketchbook, he was eager to try out the glowing paint for the moonflowers.

Once he finished mixing the brown, he set the dish down beside others, also filled with mixed pigments and colors. His tin case full of watercolor pans stood at the ready with his mug of water and brushes. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his largest brush, and dipped it into a dish with a pale cream color and started coating the page with the aspens.

He worked in silence all through the afternoon, shifting between the paintings when he needed to give one the chance to dry a bit. His brows furrowed in concentration as he gathered paint from a saturated orange pan in his tin and combined it with a touch of red in a dish. The further he immersed into his paintings, the harder his features became as his thoughts zeroed in on every stroke and the shades of the colors. It was only when the sun fully set that his strained eyes protested the lack of light.

He blinked, reeling back from his hunched position as his eyeballs burned and snapped him out of his focus. Groaning from the interruption, he carefully placed the brush down and wiped his hands on his apron. Even in the dark, he moved around his workshop with ease, thankfully sparing all his paintings and organized mess. But he stumbled over his wrinkled carpet back in his living room, where he fumbled for a lantern. Once it was lit, he returned to his workshop and reassessed his paintings, standing back and holding out the lantern at different angles for different perspectives.

The short break revealed a few spots that needed touching up before he could move on and he re-rolled back his sleeves, slipping back into focus.

Eventually, a knock came at his door, but he didn’t hear it as he knelt over the moonflower painting, working on getting the minute curls of the petals captured by the blue paint that emanated a gentle glow.

“Luka?” Mari called, pushing open the door with a creak.

He remained securely lost in his task, carefully unfurling the painted blossoms.

Mari stepped closer, leaning her hip against the table. She watched quietly until he finished the last petal and pulled the brush away from the paper. As he stepped back and assessed the glowing flowers around the weathered well, she cleared her throat and he jumped.

“Mari!” He slapped his hand against his chest as his heart pounded against his ribs. “How long have you been there?”

“Maybe a minute?” She shrugged. “How about you?”

“What about me?” He arched his brows, but before she could answer, he turned back towards his paintings.

The aspen painting was done, he thought, but might need a check in the morning. And while the moonflowers were just about finished, he wanted to add a few more details to give the forest behind the clearing a little more dimension.

A tricky task now that all he had was the flickering lantern light and glow of the paint to work by.

“How long have you been here?” Mari asked with a wry grin.

“Since lunch?” he offered. He blinked again, glancing out towards the window, where night had overrun the world with shadows.

“Did you eat dinner?” From her tone, she already knew the answer.

“Let me just finish this painting.” He whirled around, dipping his brush back into the dish with the glowing blue paint.

While he hurried to finish, she stepped closer to get a better look.

“Is that the wishing well you told me about?” she gasped, leaning over his shoulder.

“Where I met my princess,” he confirmed with a smile.

“I can see why you love it,” she admitted, giving him space as he turned away to rinse out the paint in his brush.

“It’s an incredible place,” he sighed with a twinge of lovesickness.

After placing his brush down on his cloth stained with smears of paint, he grabbed the tiniest brush for fine details and collected the gilded gold hue created from the moonflower pollen and began adding small accents in the sea of moons. He held his wrist underneath his painting hand to help keep himself steady as he leaned in towards the paper.

“Makes me almost wish I could see it for myself,” she said.

Despite his focus, he glanced towards her with his furrowed brows softening from his smile.

“You could! You could join me sometime.” He shifted his gaze back to the painting. “I think my princess would like that too!”

“When everything calms down, I think I’d be up for a little adventure,” her voice softened.

“It’s so beautiful there,” he hummed absentmindedly before he drifted back into silence. After a few moments more, he finished adding the accents and swished the paintbrush around the water with a sigh. “Done!”

His stomach growled as he rightened himself. He ducked his head sheepishly.

“Time for dinner,” she snickered. “I brought over Cat’s fish pie! It’s in your kitchen.”

"Really?” He snapped to attention, already edging away from the worktable as he stretched his arm to finish flicking off the excess water. He dropped the brush onto the cloth and retrieved the lantern. “You should have said so sooner!”

“You would have still waited to finish your work.” Mari rolled her eyes, leading the way back to his small cottage.

“Maybe, but I would have worked faster if I knew pie was waiting!” he teased.

After Luka lit the gas lamp in the kitchen with Mari holding the lantern for him, he eagerly got out plates for the both of them. The crust crumbled with a crunch and the fragrance of the roasted pumpkin and salty fish expanded with the steam. With his mouth watering, Luka scooped servings of the oozing filling and pastry onto their plates. He joined Mari at the table and handed over her share as he dropped down into his seat.

He hummed as soon as he took his first bite, melting from the creamy sauce and letting the salt from the fish and olives bring out the best of the flavors, like rich pigments heightened the vibrancy of the hues. The steaming warmth of the fresh dish only soothed and energized him after a long afternoon of work.

“Thank you,” he garbled while holding his hand over his mouth. He swallowed and gathered another forkful. “This is just what I needed.”

“I thought you might be needing a warm meal.” Mari nodded with her bite hovering as she blew on the wafting steam. “Your face this morning when the mayor reminded you that you have an actual booth at the festival was priceless.”

“I might have forgotten that to make money, I need pieces to sell.” He propped his elbow on the table as he leaned over his plate. While he took another bite, his gaze traced the steam and flakes of crust sliding down the sauce.

“What’s wrong?” Mari prompted after a moment of watching his expression.

“Just thinking,” he muttered, moving a chunk of fish around a piece of pumpkin. He caught her knitted brows and heaved out an exhale. “My princess and I were talking about the future a bit.”

Mari nodded, encouraging him to keep going.

“We’re getting to the point where we’re discussing moving in with each other. Mostly hypotheticals,” he explained, idly tapping his fork against the plate as he held Mari’s warm brown gaze. “If I move to the fey world, I have to decide if I want to keep avoiding the food there, which would pose some challenges, or if I… well…” he trailed off, frowning.

“What happens if we eat fey food again?” Mari asked uncertainly.

“My princess says that from the moment we just taste the food of the fey, all human food will turn to ash on our tongues.” He glanced back down at the pie, prodding it with his fork. “So, I would never get to have Cat’s cooking again.”

“What do fey eat?” she asked. “Is it just berries and fruit?”

“No,” he snorted despite his heavy pondering. “There’s all kinds of food. There are farming communities near the village and even the ocean is just a half-day’s journey from the castle so there’s fish. The meals that my princess has on our picnics always look fancy.”

“So, you can still have hot meals, at least,” she offered.

“But then,” his frown deepened as his shoulders slouched, “there’s another problem. Humans, once they eat fey food, will become like shadows in this world.”

“Shadows?” she repeated.

“I don’t quite understand it,” he admitted with a wince. “But it sounds like it’s more that the person wouldn’t be able to interact with anyone. They wouldn’t be seen or heard no matter what. And I think staying in this world as a shadow for too long would make a person sick.”

Silence passed between them.

“I wouldn’t be able to see you?” she broke the silence with caution in her voice.

“You could always visit me in the fey world,” he said quickly, though his dismay was apparent as he sighed. “But it’s not ideal. It would make interacting with everyone here a challenge and… I know I’m safe with my princess, but the other fey still swarm me if we get too close to the town and I wouldn’t want to subject others to that.”

“I’d be willing to visit, at least,” she said gently. “But yeah, no one in town even knows that you’ve been in the fey world yet, I don’t know how they would feel about any of this.”

“I don’t want to eat the fey food, I know that much.” He tapped the pie, feeling more certain as he talked it out with Mari. “It just means packing enough food for longer trips will be challenging.”

“Can’t she move here?” Mari asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s the queen and all. I can’t keep her from being there when her subjects need her.”

“Right.” Mari nodded thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, maybe I don’t have to move either,” he said with a shrug. “I do miss her though. Spending days apart seems too much sometimes, and I feel like I’m just waiting for the next moment I can be with her.”

“Is there a way you could research options you both haven’t thought of?” she suggested. “Maybe an older fey or something knows a way around the rules?”

“My princess has told me about some trees that have all the answers.” He collected more food onto his fork. “I could ask one of them.”

“Tell me what they say,” she snorted.

“And who knows,” Luka added. “Maybe once the festival is over and things quiet down, I can spend more time there and coming home each time won’t feel as heartbreaking.”

He popped the forkful into his mouth.

“That bad, huh?” Mari prompted sympathetically.

“I know it sounds silly.” He covered his mouth as he spoke around his food. “I just love every moment with her.” He swallowed and continued with a brighter smile. “I could listen to her voice all day, and even just sitting in silence, watching the stars is sweeter with her. I hate having to leave.”

“It’s not silly,” she chuckled. “It’s sweet.” She paused before adding gently, “I’m sure that you two can figure out a way around the rules that works for you.”

“I’m already thinking about how I can work on painting there in addition to planning how to better pack meals. For now, I have to wait though.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “I have so much to do before the festival.”

“Whether you’re ready or not, it is coming up,” she offered between bites. “You don’t have to wait much longer.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better,” he drawled out sarcastically, but gave her a genuine smile. She preened, earning a snort from him before he lifted another chunk of pumpkin to his mouth. Shaking his head, he let himself relax as the warm meal melted on his tongue.

Between conversation with Mari and planning more paintings to work on, his thoughts lingered with his princess. He’d have to leave a note for her at the glade to tell her something came up and he was swamped with work, but he hoped they could work around it. In the meantime, he settled his lovesick heart by wondering what she was doing just a world away, under her night sky.

He hoped that she could somehow feel how pieces of his heart remained with her. But mostly, he just hoped that she was happy.

*

The queen ambled through the night market, golden crown perched on her head as she tended to official duties. While her painter and his fellow humans celebrated the end of autumn, shortly after, she and hers would celebrate the beginning of winter. Preparations for the first star shower viewing were well on their way as she guided the hanging of lanterns and planned where to place telescopes. She also met with guards and other volunteers who would track the descent of the stars to go out and harvest any stray dust and star fragments that they could, discussing what they would need for their journeys.

Hiding a yawn behind her gloved hand, she intended to return to the castle when a voice called her over to a stall.

“There’s darling Queen Ven in all her excellence,” Shapeshifter cooed in a layered voice.

The queen turned, meeting a multi-eyed gaze of the shopkeeper selling many odd items and wares. No matter how brightly the glowing mushrooms strung from their stall awning and flanking the sides of the counter shone in the whites of their eyes, their features remained encased in inky shadows under their hood. They motioned her over with a floppy sleeve, poorly patched.

“What is it?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Can’t a fey greet their queen?” Shapeshifter pursed their voice into a pout.

“Not this fey.” She gave a wry smile. “You always want something.”

“Guilty as charged, I suppose,” they twittered as they lowered their elbows onto the counter and rested their chin on their sleeves. “I just wanted the juicy gossip about that little human you’ve been avoiding your responsibilities with.”

Their eyes squinted as if they were smiling, and the queen looked around.

Luckily, there weren’t many fey out at the moment, just one fey with moth wings speaking with young Hat who borrowed Friend’s stall at night and the birch tree in the center of the plaza. None of them seemed to be listening.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t joke about me neglecting my duties.” She scowled, turning back to Shapeshifter. “I work tirelessly for you all.”

“I meant no offense,” they promised, their smile curling in their voice. “But I know you’ve been sneaking away more and more and that can only mean one thing.” They jumped up and gestured towards their shelves. “You’ll be needing my assistance.”

“I don’t require anything you want to offer.” She began to turn.

“You do if you want to keep him tethered here,” Shapeshifter insisted. “A spell to turn him into a tree, or perhaps you’d prefer he was a flower? I have those potions too. You have to get his name for it to work, of course.”

She knew she should have just walked away, but at that point, she felt rather insulted, and it was going to bother her if she didn’t.

“I’m perfectly capable of turning whoever I wish into foliage without the use of a potion,” she held out her hand and summoned a spark of pale blue light to her gloved fingertips. “Care to see?”

“No, no.” Shapeshifter waved their sleeves back and forth. “And of course. You deserve something much stronger.” They glided over to a collection of curios, pointing to each item as they explained their purpose. “You could trap him in a music box, forever posed in a dance for you. Or making him into an enchanted mirror would allow him to always bask in your beauty. The bonus is he would be able to reflect whatever you commanded him to.”

“I’m not doing any of those,” the queen deadpanned. “You fail to understand the nature of our relationship.”

“Do tell,” they insisted, tilting their head.

“You couldn’t possibly understand it.”

She also wasn’t going to admit any snow-soft musings meant for her painter’s ears alone.

“Let me guess,” Shapeshifter chuckled. “You love him, and he loves you? No matter how much you love each other, you know he’ll never leave the human world behind, right? There will always be others in his heart.”

“Goodbye, Shapeshifter.” She waved as she turned. “You’ll have to try harder to sell me something.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” they called.

She ignored their final attempts to convince her that she needed their aid. Even if she ever did feel her painter’s affections were split, she had her own ways of ensuring he would stay in the fey world, all while keeping him content and with those golden eyes and dazzling smile intact. But she didn’t need to fret over any of that, not when they had discussed their future at length together and he knew he could easily remain with her always if he tasted any of their food. Certainly, he loved her enough that he would choose her world over any other.  

Still, after such an encounter with Shapeshifter, she didn’t particularly want to return to the castle and her lonely room.

Not that she doubted her painter, but, well, it was harder to remember how much he cared in his absence.

While she thought about consulting the birch tree, holding the shining lanterns on stiff branches, she noticed that young Hat had finished with her customer and was idly kicking her legs as she perched on the stool.

“Hat,” the queen greeted as she stepped over, her slippers tapping against the cold stone.

“I wasn’t anywhere near your garden today!” she announced, crossing her arms and furrowing her brows.

“I know, dear,” the queen dismissed, pausing in front of the table that boasted an array of headwear. Her gaze landed on a blue knitted cap with bear ears. “Oh! How cute!”

“Did you want to buy it?” Hat dropped her guard. In an instant, her already large blue eyes grew to the side of saucers with awe and hope.

As sharp as a snowflake nipping at her nose, the queen felt a pinch in her chest.

“I do not believe I could pull off bear ears but,” she quickly scanned the table for something else to purchase, “that ribbon is lovely.”

“It can make you go super fast!” Hat collected the bright yellow bow and held it out. “I used a secret ingredient to enchant it!”

“What’s the ingredient?” the queen asked, cracking a smile as she accepted the ribbon.

The bow was tied securely around a bit of elastic that would make tying hair back a breeze. The yellow wouldn’t show well in her flaxen hair, but the hue reminded her of her painter. And that was enough for her.

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret!” Hat pouted. She leaned over the table and motioned for the queen to lower her ear. Once she complied, Hat pointed towards Shapeshifter’s booth and whispered with urgency, “they’re always trying to steal my secrets, so I have to be extra careful!”

“I see,” the queen nodded seriously. “Then I shall not ask again and instead marvel at your craftmanship. How much?”

Hat beamed, bouncing back and naming her price. The queen paid for the ribbon and while she tucked it into her pouch, Hat kicked her legs on the stool, scanning the plaza for other customers. After spotting no one else, she sighed and retrieved a half-finished purple and yellow striped cap which was tethered to a crochet hook. While pulling it out, knitted, black triangles tumbled down and she bent over to grab them, placing them by the cap.

After a second of appraisal, the queen realized the triangles looked like cat ears that would probably be attached to the cap at a later date.

“Slow night?” she wondered.

“Yeah, but Friend said I could use the stall during the festival, so I’m stocking up!” Hat lifted her work pointedly.

“Saving for anything in particular?” she prompted. It never occurred to her before, but despite her childish shenanigans during the day, Hat was always working tirelessly when the queen caught her at night.

“I’m going to travel the world one day!” Hat momentarily puffed out her chest between her crocheting. “I’ll be a great adventurer with only my hats. No stinky Shapeshifter to try and steal my stuff, and no rules to keep me down.”

“That eager to leave?” The queen’s thoughts drifted. “I like to think this darling kingdom has everything we need.”

“Not for me,” Hat muttered. But she paused, remembering who she was talking with. She winced and gave the queen a forced smile. “But it’s great for you, and everyone.”

“I’m sure your parents will miss you,” the queen tried to dismiss her heavy thoughts and focus on Hat. “Or do you plan to travel with them?”

Hat glanced away for a split second before summoning a brighter smile.

“They won’t mind,” she reassured. “W-want to buy another hat? You have a boyfriend, right? You can give one as a gift.”

The abrupt subject change did not go unnoticed, but the queen let the conversation lie.

“Maybe another night,” she offered. “He seems perfectly happy with his current beret.”

“A beret?” Hat’s smile seemed more genuine as it reached her eyes. “If he ever needs it patched or wants me to add a little magic, I can do that too!” She glanced down at her kitty cap and arched her brows pensively. “I wonder if I could start making berets.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to let him know he has one more reason to stay in the kingdom,” the queen chuckled. “We have Hat: Milliner Extraordinaire.”

Hat preened with a mischievous smirk before returning her focus to her work.

“You should tell that to everyone else,” she insisted.

“I’ll drum up business when I can if you stay out of my garden.” The queen rose a challenging brow.

Hat avoided her gaze.

“Pleasure doing business! Enjoy the bow!” She beamed instead.

The queen shook her head but continued on her way towards the castle, feeling slightly refreshed after a long day.

What kept her spirits up was the promise that in less than a couple days, she would meet her painter again. And the next night before their scheduled meeting, her spirits soared even higher when a sparrow messenger brought a note from him shortly after twilight.

They were swiftly dashed, as she read that their meeting in the morning would have to be postponed. While his message pleaded for forgiveness and promised he could be ready the day after, it was hard not to wonder why his work was more important than her.

She folded the message and tucked it away in her dresser with other notes or sketches he had given her within the past season. She reminded herself to just be patient. Soon enough, he would choose to remain by her side.

She was sure of it.

[doctenwho]

Hangovers, Love and Space Vodka (PE Pt. 2)

Hello! Requests are definitely open, even if I’m awfully slow! I feel bad at how slow these are coming out especially since there’s so many in waiting, but writing just hasn’t been on the table recently. Apologies for that!

But I’ve found the time and the motivation, so I decided to get this done! Thank you for your patience! This is such a cute idea, and it always makes me happy that people like the first parts enough to request a continuation. I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you readers like it too! 

So, please enjoy the continuation of Purest Expression (also, you should probably read that one if you haven’t already, this fic heavily references it!) Also, I just thought the name was funny and I was in desperate need for one, so feel free to suggest others if you’ve got one!

Warnings: Talk of alcohol, but no drinking!

Word Count: 4,050

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the talented creator!)

You didn’t really remember a lot when you woke up. All you really knew was you'd drank far too much of that delicious cocktail, and that your brain was pounding in your head. This was quite possibly one of the worst hangovers you’d had, but honestly, you’d do it all over again to have another one of those space cocktails.

You rolled onto your back, lifting your hands to cover your eyes in an attempt to block out what little light managed to stream into the room. Your stomach churned at the movement, but it settled out easily enough after you didn’t move a muscle for a few minutes following your roll.  

You relaxed back into the bed when your stomach settled down, and finally uncovered your eyes, staring up at the ceiling with a bleary gaze.  

As you laid there, you tried to piece together the evening. The bits and pieces between arriving and having enough to drink that you could no longer walk a straight line.  

You knew you’d gone out on the town with the Doctor—he'd been excited to show you things. He'd raved enthusiastically about the planet, and you’d listened along as your own excitement grew too. Then, you remember finally stepping out of the TARDIS and being completely astounded by this new planet, with all its colours, music and general liveliness.  

The cute little bar wedged between two buildings; you remember that too. And of course, you remember the cocktail—you'd had two, or three, or... had it been four? You couldn’t really pinpoint it. The Doctor had said it was weaker than earth vodka, and maybe it was, but the after effects were definitely more intense to a human that human vodka was. That said you’d still be down for another drink or two before you left.  

It was well worth the pain of a hangover to taste that drink again. Just the thought of it made your tastebuds tingle.  

You let out a light laugh before rolling back over onto you side, but this time following it up with pulling yourself to a sitting position. The nausea was still there, but hardly noticeable; just a subtle warning to keep your movements slow and steady lest you start gagging.  

Your head was still pounding, but you knew that wasn’t going to go away without pain killers, so you stumbled to your feet to go find the Doctor. He’d have something that could help, and at this point, you didn’t care what planet it came from, so long as it killed the raging headache and... well, didn’t kill you.  

You found the Doctor in the kitchen of all places.  

He was perched at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of him, as well as a book. He startled when you stepped into the room, breathing a light, “oh, (Y/N),” as a greeting.

You continued into the room, wobbling on your feet for just a second, “good morning,” you greeted in return, forcing a smile onto your lips despite the headache, “you don’t happen to have any pain killers do you?”

The Doctor frowned, “are you unwell?”

“Just a bit of a hangover,” you promised with a wave of your hand, “a little worse than an earth alcohol hangover, but it’s manageable. I’ll be fine, my head just really hurts.”

“Right, of course,” the Doctor nodded, pushing himself up and moving towards the cupboards. He rifled around the cabinets, reading labels of things and putting them back before he finally found what he was looking for, “these aren’t of your earth, but they are basically the same thing as your planet’s Advils. I’m sorry I don’t have anything that’ll help from your earth, I should really invest in some if I’m going to keep soliciting companions from earth.”

“Soliciting?” You snorted a laugh, which made you wince lightly, “really?”

“Well, I do tempt you humans away with the offer of the entirety of the universe, now, don’t I?” You smiled at the Doctor’s cheeky grin as he joined you at your side, setting the pill bottle in front of you to do with as you pleased, whether that was to ignore it, or take a couple, before he carried on to the counter. “No different really, I offer the universe in exchange for companionship, and I’m proud to say very few have ever declined. Now, would you like a tea, or coffee?”

“Jokes on the ones who declined, they’re really missing out,” you huffed out as you picked up the pill bottle, surveying over the list of ingredients. None looked too out of the world, but honestly, you’d do anything at this point to ease the thrum of your headache, so you uncapped the bottle, “surprise me.”

The Doctor turned back to flash you a grin from where he’d busied himself at the counter, “will do, my Dear.”

You shook a few pills into your hand from the bottle, eyeing them as if they were about to change colours or something similarly alien-like, but when none of that happened, you frowned, “how many do I take?”

“Well...” the Doctor turned thoughtfully to lean against the counter, “I’d say to start off with one and see if it does anything for you. There will be small differences from planet to planet, and we wouldn’t want you to overdose. After a half an hour you can try taking another pill if one doesn’t help.”

“Sounds good,” you popped a single pill into your mouth before you could hesitate. As if the Doctor was magic, he slid a mug of you go-to morning beverage towards you, and you washed the pill down with a sip of the perfectly prepared drink.  

You savored the taste of your drink, sighing into the warmth. When you’d had a couple sips, you put the cap back on the pill bottle and slid the bottle to the center of the table. You watched the Doctor move around the small kitchen as he made himself another coffee before joining you at the table.  

The two of you settled into a silence, thankfully. You hunched over the table, your elbows on the surface and your cheeks cupped in your palms, as the Doctor continued reading, but he looked like he was lost in his thoughts instead of actually reading.  

“How long have you been up?” you asked slowly, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking them open again to see the Doctor’s gaze on you. “You’re kinda spacing out.”

“I’ve just... some things on my mind,” the Doctor admits with a tiny curl upwards of his lips. It didn’t really answer the question, but at the same time it did. You didn’t think the Doctor had even gone to sleep. “Has the headache eased at all?”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape noticing suddenly that the headache was in fact almost gone. You hadn’t even realized, “yeah,” you informed with a laugh, “almost gone. I didn’t even notice—space things are so much better than earth things; the drugs and alcohol.”

“That would be a very worrying observation if I didn’t know exactly what you were talking about,” the Doctor snorted a laugh. You laughed along too, even if the statement was completely true—it had only been about ten minutes and the space Advil was already working wonders, where as the earth stuff could take anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes to actually kick in.  

“So,” you drawled after another string of comfortable silence between the two of you, “what’s been on you mind then?”

The Doctor eyed you up and down briefly before sighing, running his fingers through his hair and making his already untamed locks stand up at odder angles, “I was just thinking about yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” you parroted under your breath. You’d been thinking about yesterday too. How could you not be? There were still gaps in time where you don’t really remember what happened. “What happened yesterday?”

“You don’t remember?” The Doctor blinked.

“No, I do,” you leaned back in your chair with a sigh, “well, most of it, I think. But some of it... I don’t know? It’s kind of a blur. I guess the cocktails started hitting me towards the end of the evening, I barely remember coming back.”

“You were a bit out of it,” the Doctor admits sheepishly, “glad I cut you off at three drinks then.”

“I could’ve handled more,” you scoffed, smiling widely in a teasing way.  

The Doctor rolled his eyes, leaning forwards, closer to you as his voice dropped, “I do believe three is probably your limit, Love.”

You let out a bout of bright laughter and the Doctor smiled softly. You loved how easy it was to banter with the man—how the two of you were so comfortable with the other that you could tease back and forth like this.  

As if to prove his point, your head gave a warning thrum of pain that drew a shallow breath from you, “yeah,” you shook the pain off, “you’re probably right about three being my space-cocktail limit.”

The Doctor shook his head fondly at you as he settled back in his chair, “so, anything you’d like to know about yesterday? I did promise I’d tell you anything you’d like to know?”

You thought back to what you remembered about yesterday: the walk from the TARDIS to the bar, the ideal seating at the bar, those amazing rainbow cocktails that tasted like dreams. Drinking and chatting and laughing with the Doctor—splitting a plate of chips that were unbelievably delicious... and then... well, the space English the TARDIS didn’t bother translating for you.  

“What was the bartender saying to you?”

The Doctor drew in a breath as his cheeks dusted the faintest pink, “nothing important, I assure.”

“C’mon,” you pouted, cradling your half drank, significantly cooled drink between your hands as you leaned towards the Doctor this time, “you said you promised to tell me about yesterday, right?”

The man chewed at his lip, subdued, but clearly trying to figure out the best course of action, “alright, well, we... I suppose we were acting a tad bit... involved? And... some assumptions were made about us by the barkeep.”

“Involved how?” you raised a questioning eyebrow. “And... what kind of assumptions?”

“Involved involved,” the Doctor cleared his throat, eyeing your level of understanding before rubbing his forehead and adding, “uhm, romantically involved. Those were, well, the main assumptions made as well.”

You gaped for a second before a thought came back to you suddenly, “he kept calling us lovers.”

“Yes,” the Doctor managed a light, fond smile, “I did try to explain it to him: us, our companionship—but, well, he... he didn’t believe me.”

“He didn’t believe you?” You repeated back, surprised.  

“No,” the Doctor laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “he made some pretty solid points in favor of us being romantically involved too, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, “and what points might those be?”

“Well, we were sitting fairly close--”

“As friends do,” the excuse came easily. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but continued on like you hadn’t spoken.

“--I was hovering close to you, I suppose... A bit at least--”

“You were worried about me,” you interjected with a fond eyeroll at how wrong the bartender had been. Lovers? Come on, no way. You guys were... you were friends. Obviously. Though the thought of the Doctor hovering over you, making sure you were okay warmed your heart.  

“--we leaned into each other’s sides, uhm, multiple times throughout the evening--”

You struggled for an excuse for that one, you did tend to lean into his space, not that the Doctor ever seemed to mind. And he liked to press into your personal space as well—neither of you really cared about proximity, so you managed a one shouldered shrug, “it was just loud in the bar, hard to hear each other.”

“--and, well, he pointed out I was staring at you occasionally; odd for him to have noticed, when I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

You couldn’t come up with an excuse for that one, eyebrows furrowing in confusion that made your breath catch in the weirdest way. He’d been staring at you? Why did that make you feel so happy?

“And then the fact that you returned the stare when I wasn’t looking. Honestly, that barkeep spent more time watching us than he did working last night, I’m sure.” The Doctor let out a playful scoff, genuinely amused that the bartender had put more time into them than his job.  

You however, were suddenly caught up in the information.  

He’d been staring at you when you weren’t looking—fondly, you were sure, if it had caught the bartender’s attention and led him to believe the two of you were in a relationship. Then there was the fact that you were staring at him in return? You’d been caught by someone staring at the Doctor? You knew you did it sometimes, how could you not? He was a good-looking, kind, compassionate man who liked your company. Just being with him made your heart speed up.

“That doesn’t mean we’re a couple,” you forced yourself to say, even if... well, you were questioning it just slightly. You knew, of course, that the two of you weren’t a couple but... “That bartender was just bored and looking too far into us, I’m sure he was doing it to everyone...”

“Of course not, surely we’d know if we were, right?” the Doctor agreed with a light grin. The grin only lingered for a second before it faltered and he chewed at his bottom lip. You were about to question it, but he spoke again before you could, “but, well, I suppose there is the song he had to go off of as well.”

“The song?” You questioned before it all flooded back—well, most of it, at least, “we were on a stage. We... we sang together. Was that a karaoke bar or something?”

“We were,” the Doctor ducked his head in a nod, “we... did. And it, well, it was kind of like your earth karaoke bar. Do you remember anything about it?”

You tried to remember, you know the Doctor explained it last night after he’d gotten the information from the barkeeper, but you still don’t really know. And you’re sure there were bits and pieces that he didn’t tell you last night as well. So, you shook your head.

“Right,” the man nodded, settling his elbows on the tabletop as he held his chin up, “well, the concept of the song ritual we were roped into performing is that you sing whatever song best corresponds to what you think about your peer. I’m not exactly sure how it works to be honest, the expression through song is just strong.”

“So, whatever I felt about you would be... conveyed through a song?”

“Yes.” The Doctor gives a light nod.

“And whatever you felt about me would... would also be?”

“Indeed,” his head tilts as he surveys you, trying to piece together where you were going with this string of questions.  

“But... we sang a duet, didn’t we?” You furrowed your eyebrows, running a finger along the rim of your mug. You faintly remembered chiming in with the Doctor’s song, instantly knowing the new lines to his song despite not knowing his lines, or the actual song. “Does that happen? What... what does it mean?”

“Well,” the Doctor cleared his throat, looking nervous. “It does happen, it’s just, well, it’s rare? I suppose. The barkeeper, just before we left, told me that the last time he saw a duet happen during the expression through song ceremony was when he was a child.”

“Wow, okay,” you bit the inside of your cheek. You had a feeling you knew what it meant, and the thought made your cheeks heat up, but you asked anyways, “what does a duet mean?”

“Well, generally speaking...” the Doctor shot you a small, crooked smile, “it means that we feel exactly the same way about each other. Exactly the same to the point that our expression would be through the same song, at the same time.”

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but repeat, “that’s... wow. So it really is unusual then? Why did it happen to us? Was it a fluke?”

“No, don’t think so,” the Doctor shakes his head, a blush rising to his cheeks as his fingers tap against the table, “something like that would be hard to fake, so I doubt it was a fluke. We chose the song—deep in our subconscious when thinking of the other... I mean... I didn’t know the lyrics beforehand, did you?”

“No,” you breathed out, fingers fiddling with your empty mug, “I don’t even think I remember the lyrics now. They were just... in my head when they needed to be. I didn’t even know your lines of the song. It’s weird that we were the people that got the duet—random visitors.”

“It was the same for me,” the Doctor sends you a small smile, “I think few people view their... companion the same way their companion views them. It seems highly unlikely that any two people can feel the exact same way...”

You’re not sure why, but there’s something different about the way the Doctor says companion this time around. Maybe he holds a different fondness than you’re used to, or perhaps some other reason, but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in the word.  

“But we did,” you whisper, looking up momentarily and catching the Doctor’s eyes before dropping your gaze back to your cup.

“But we did,” the Doctor repeats, just slightly louder than you. Like he too can’t wrap his brain around it. There’s a pause before the Doctor’s clearing his throat, forcing a crooked smile onto his lips. “Well, I promised you we head to the shops for some alcohol and other treats, didn’t I?”

The Doctor stands, moving swiftly towards the door without looking back.

“I meant it, you know?” You speak before you even realize you’re speaking. You don’t see the Doctor stop, since you’re facing the other direction, but you hear his steps come to a halt, feet planting in spot.  

He doesn’t say anything for a second, which prompts you on, “I do need you.”

He still doesn’t say anything, or move, so you stand and gather both your mug and his own, walking in the opposite direction from him towards the sink. You set the mugs in but don’t touch the faucet, instead mumbling a soft, “I want you.”

You’re not even sure if he’d still there anymore, or if he’d taken you moving as his cue to escape. You don’t turn to look, afraid to not find him there, so instead you whisper what little of your lyrics from yesterday that you remember, “come on back to me.”

Another moment of silence drags in before you hear the Doctor moving. His steps are quick, and you think he’s leaving out the door when suddenly hands are on your waist and he’s swiftly turning you around and gently pushing you against the edge of the counter beside the sink.  

You manage to muffle your surprise as his lips press against yours, soft but urgently all the same.  

You melt into his lips, eyes slipping shut as his hands leave your waist, one wrapping around your middle, as the other rises to cup at your jaw. It spurs you on too, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him just slightest bit close, to which he blindly follows your lead.  

You don’t pull away until the need to breath outweighs how good it feels to be kissing him.

You both gasp for breath, but neither of you pull away, lips still touching the faintest bit, “I didn’t think you even remembered the lyrics... how... intimate the duet was...” It’s the first thing the Doctor’s said since trying to flee the room.

You slowly open your eyes, catching his eyes waiting to make contact and a smile pulls at your lips. You pull away a bit, pushing your forehead against his, “I didn’t really remember the lyrics until just now, but I never forgot the feeling of singing them to you, and hearing you singing them back to me.”

The arm around your waist tightens around you, “I didn’t know you felt the same way,” the Doctor whispers. “I didn’t want to... make you uncomfortable, or chase you away. And then you woke up this morning, and didn’t remember anything with the hangover, so I... was going to let it go.”

You’re sure you make a noise of protest, maybe even disappointment, but you only assume because the Doctor lets out a chuckle before stealing another kiss that you’re more than happy to give.  

When he goes to pull back, you snake your hand up to hold him in place, mumbling softly against his lips the last of your lyrics, a message he’d sure to understand, “I love you sundown.”

The Doctor freezes against you pulling back just enough to look into your eyes before a smile creeps onto his face. You smile at his smile, watching him fondly as his head tilts in that adorable way, affection bright in his eyes, “and I, you, my Love.”

You melt at the words leaning into him and pressing your head against his chest, fitted perfectly under his chin like a puzzle piece. Your arms wrap around him, and his move to hold you against himself just as you had done to him seconds earlier.  

You stay like that for a while—you're not sure how long. You feel protected tucked against the Doctor, and it’s a feeling you’re never going to forget.  

“How’s your head?” he asks softly above you, the voice after so long of nothing by his steady heart beats startles you. The Doctor presses an apologetic kiss to the top of your head.

“Better,” you decide, nuzzling closer to him, “why?”

“Well, I did promise we’d check out the shops, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I almost forgot about that,” you laugh, finally pulling away. The Doctor unwraps his hand begrudgingly, frowning as he does so. You let out a laugh, slipping your hand into his. “I wanna see the shops before we leave this evening. We’ve gotta get some of that vodka.”

“I see more hangovers in your near future,” the Doctor snorts as he leads you along by the hand.  

“Oh, and, we should definitely pick up a gift for the bartender from last night,” you add, ignoring the Doctor’s teasing jab at your weak human alcohol tolerance.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, without his instance that we sing, and his instance that we were a couple, none of this,” you gesture down to your interlocked hands as the two of you step out of the TARDIS and onto the busy, colourful streets, “would’ve happened.”

The Doctor’s quiet for a second as the two of you fall into step. “There’s nothing in the universe that can ever thank him enough for what he’s done,” the man softly admits, giving your hand an adoring squeeze that drives his words home.  

Your cheeks heat up as you tuck yourself in his side. He moves easily to accommodate you, releasing your hand to wrap his arm over your shoulders instead. You move your hand to squeeze around his waist, grinning as you respond cheekily, “I don’t know, Doctor, the space vodka is pretty good...”  

The man sputters at your response, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow, “I was being all cute and you’re comparing the gift of our newfound relationship to vodka?” the man questions, genuinely dumbfounded.  

You give a one shouldered shrug at his side, giggling at his reaction. It wasn’t long until the man was letting out a fond sigh, thumb stroking against your collarbone, “what am I going to do with you?”  

The tease in his words has you smiling. There really is nothing in the universe that seems equivalent to the gift the bartender bestowed to you, but... yeah, a bottle of space vodka was a nice start.  

<><><><>

Hello again! Hopefully you liked this continuation. Not sure if it kept to the prompt exactly, I got a bit carried away writing it, but nonetheless, I hope it was good! Feel free to prompt again if it wasn’t what you were looking for, as always!

I’ll try to keep up with the prompts but idk how well I’ll be able to manage between life and the other works in other fandoms. Anyways, hope you have a great morning/day/night!

[angryinternetduck]

Lucky

hello hello and welcome to halloween !!!! in august!!!! i know it's weird haha but here's about 6.7k words of harry styles x reader during halloween. featuring a "haunted house" and a cute cat with two names. also caramel apples. enjoy!

masterlist | ask

The house was haunted.

You were sure of it.

And yeah, you thought, looking up at the ginormous mansion looming above you, you were incredibly grateful that the house had fallen to you, but the whole thing was starting to feel like the beginning of a bad horror movie.

Some old relative had died - you weren’t close with them at all, and you felt a bit bad that the only feelings associated with their death were happiness at getting their property - and left you their estates. You’d moved in a few weeks ago, and now you were hearing things.

Things like scratching in the vents, and howling in the wind, and glasses mysteriously crashing to the floor of their own accord in other rooms. The floors always creaked at night, and so did the doors, which randomly swung open and closed.

You hadn’t really wanted to tell anybody about all of this or your suspicions, fearing you’d come off as a bit crazy. Of course, the few people you had told had just laughed and given you the It’s an old house - it’s settling bullshit.

Which you didn’t believe. At all.

What did that even mean, “the house is settling”? Settling for what? Settling down, like it was some middle aged guy who was about to have kids with his wife in the fifties? Or maybe it was settling down like it was angry, and had had a tantrum, and was just settling down into a calmer state. Not that that was any more comforting.

Now, as you struggled to get your key to turn in the lock, you wondered if you could sell the house or something. Everybody you’d asked for advice had told you to wait and fix it up, that you’d regret giving it up when you had four kids and a husband and needed space.

They’d also said it looked like shit so you’d get a crappy deal unless you fixed it up.

Then again, those were the same it’s settling people, so what did they know?

You sighed, finally getting the key to turn, and shoved your shoulder into the door. Making a mental note to oil the door - again - as it creaked, you shut it behind you with your foot before stepping into the living room and collapsing onto the couch.

The couch matched the house: gray, run down, and creaky. There were patches sewn in every so often, and it smelled like old lady perfume. It did the job, though, which was very convenient in the moment but didn’t exactly motivate you to buy a new one very quickly.

You’d turn on the TV, but there wasn’t one. Instead, you stared at the empty, ashy fireplace while you gathered the gumption to get up and off the couch. After a few seconds, you heard something - a little skittering sound in the walls - and frowned, pulling yourself up and towards the stairs.

It was probably just mice, but accompanied with everything else, you weren’t about to take any chances. The stairs, like every other part of the house, creaked as you walked upstairs. You’d almost gotten used to the floorboards around the corner creaking before you got to them, but it still spooked you a bit. When you glanced around the wall and there wasn’t anyone there, as usual, you got changed into comfortable clothes as quickly as you could.

Then you collapsed into the bed. After washing the sheets a few (ten) times, you’d gotten rid of the musty smell, and the huge victorian frame and feathery mattress had become your safe haven. The whole room had become your safe place, really - you’d cleaned and swept until it had somewhat resembled a nice bedroom and not a dusty old crypt.

Once you were there, safe in your room with your headphones on, the house didn’t seem all that bad. A huge window covered the wall right next to your bed, looking out onto rolling grassy fields like something out of a Jane Austen novel.

So you listened to music, imagining a dashing stranger saving you from a twisted angle.

Soon, you were asleep.

***

“Nobody will deliver this far!” you exclaimed, talking into your cell phone as you rooted through the drawers in front of you. “I’ve tried, like, six different places, and they all said it’s too far!” Your friend on the line sighed, and you heard her slurp noodles from the Chinese take out she was eating.

“Well,” she said, “that sucks.”

“Oh, gee, helpful,” you deadpanned.

“Listen, there has got to be someplace you can go,” she told you matter of factly. You frowned, digging through a cabinet. “Yeah, well” - you gasped, jumping a foot into the air as something brushed against your leg - “shit!”

You whipped around, brandishing the pan you’d just grabbed as a weapon. “What the -”

A cat.

There was a black cat, with the brightest green eyes you’d ever seen, looking up at you innocently. It meowed loudly, looping through your legs, and you sighed. “It’s a cat,” you explained to your friend.

“You got a cat?”

You scoffed, looking at it as it jumped up onto the counter. “No!” you replied. “No, I - Jesus, of course I didn’t get a fucking cat, I just… I just moved in!” There was a beat of silence, and then your friend said, “So… there’s a strange cat… in your house.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, hesitantly reaching out. It leaned into you, purring loudly, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” you said again, laughing a bit. “Listen, listen,” you added, and you put the phone up to the cat.

“That’s cute,” your friend said when you brought the phone back to your ear, sounding a bit worried, “but, uh… does it have a tag, or something?” You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, and felt around the cat’s neck. Just fur. “Nope,” you replied.

“Are you gonna… keep it?”

You grinned, scratching its ears, and shrugged. “I dunno.”

***

You wanted to name the cat Lucky.

That night, as the crisp October wind howled outside, you didn’t hear any creaks. The house was practically silent, and you slept like a baby with the little creature curled at your feet. Plus, she - as you’d determined earlier - was black, and with the whole Unlucky Black Cats thing, “Lucky” seemed like a nice little joke.

She was gone the next morning, but you figured she was just somewhere around the house, so you went around calling, “Lucky!” as if she’d respond. It was almost two hours before you gave up, and convinced yourself it was just a fluke and you’d never see her again.

“She’s gone,” you said mournfully by way of greeting your friend as you made breakfast.

“Who?”

“Lucky!”

“Who?”

“The cat,” you sighed. “She’s gone. Wasn’t here this morning.”

“Oh,” your friend replied. “Well, maybe she found her owner!”

You pouted, sliding butter around your pan. “I thought I was her owner…”

“You cannot possibly be so attached to that thing after one night.”

“She’s lucky, though! I swear, the ghosts are afraid of her or something - I didn’t hear a single sound all night!” You could practically hear your friend roll her eyes. “A fluke. Or maybe - yeah, maybe luck. I’m sure you’ll be alright without her.”

“Maybe I should get a cat,” you mused.

Your friend sighed. “Oh, boy.”

***

She was lucky.

Lucky was lucky.

One hundred percent.

There was no doubt about it.

The floors creaked like crazy that night. After hearing it for the first time, peering fearfully into the pitch black hallway, you shut the door tight and huddled underneath the blankets. A terrifying cry accompanied the wind, one that gave you nightmares of women in long white dresses stumbling over the moor, and you woke up in a panic in the middle of the night when you heard something shatter downstairs.

It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment, but you stayed in bed, watching the clock and keeping under the covers and deciding you’d deal with it in the morning. It took forever for you to fall asleep, but once you did, thankfully, you were out until the morning.

Half asleep, you stumbled down the stairs at almost noon.

And there, Lucky was waiting for you.

She meowed at you indignantly, as if you were late, and you gasped, crouching down and scrunching her face between your hands. “Lucky!” you exclaimed. She meowed, and wiggled out of your grasp, and walked in circles around you, keeping her tail against your leg.

You were so relieved that you only got partially annoyed when she made you trip over yourself every two seconds while you cleaned up the broken mug and made breakfast. She was very talented at getting in the way, sitting in the perfect position to be as inconvenient as possible.

She wandered around when you started work, getting bored after twenty minutes of jumping onto your laptop and being pushed off, only to do it again, and again, and again. You lost sight of her but somehow weren’t too worried - if she came back the first time, she’d probably come back again, you reasoned.

Which she did!

Sometimes.

She became your companion as the weeks went on, coming every so often to bother you as adorably as possible before disappearing for a few hours again. Sometimes she’d come during the day, but you were always relieved when she came at night because, for some inexplicable reason, she really made the house quiet and let you sleep.

Sometimes you’d give her a little bit of milk, or whatever you had on you (after properly researching what was okay for cats, of course), but she never seemed very hungry, so you’d never really thought about buying actual cat food for her.

You thought about getting her a collar every so often, but between working on the house, normal work, and just… life, you never really got around to it. Plus, she always seemed to come back, so you didn’t think it was super necessary.

So Lucky hung around, and you got some work done, and everything was good.

***

You’d heard creaking. Lots of creaking. And the occasional mysteriously shattered glass. And the howling in the wind, and skittering in the walls, and the weird drafts, and the unexplained cat - all sorts of weird things.

But this was the first time you heard a voice.

A real, live, human voice.

Well, maybe not live.

You’d been cooking when you first heard it, and, in a panic, you’d grabbed a frying pan. Maybe frying pans were lucky, too; after all, one had been your “weapon” when Lucky had sneaked up on you. She was notably absent, Lucky, by the way, and you wished you had your good luck charm with you as you made your way to the basement, feeling only slightly like an idiot.

Maybe a very scared idiot.

The voice was coming from the basement, which you hadn’t exactly ventured into yet. The whole house had a bit of a creepy-basement vibe, so you weren’t quite enthusiastic to go into the actual basement, where you’d imagine the creepiness would be increased exponentially.

The voice sounded male. And British.

You pictured a British ghost - something old and ancient, judging by the rasp of the voice, although it did sound on the younger side… Maybe it had some sort of paranormal ancient youth. Maybe a sailor, who lived in the house hundreds of years ago, and died at sea… And now, he was back, to haunt you, because you’d… offended him… with your… redecorating?

The stairs were actually pretty quiet, you realized, creeping down them as quietly as you could with your frying pan and marveling at the lack of creaks. You stepped onto the floor, peering around the corner, and realized the ghost - or whatever - must have been outside since the back door was slightly ajar, blowing cool air onto your legs.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t even known that that door existed. A mini lightbulb went off in your head as you realized that was probably where Lucky had been getting in, and you wondered absently if you should get a lock or something for it.

Then your brows furrowed as you got closer and the voice became coherent.

“... you been? ‘ve been looking all over for you… Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Disturbing our nice neighbor like this… Got them to talk to you, did you? Oh, I’m sure, you charmer…” You heaved a breath, kicking open the door -

You brandished the frying pan, yelling, “Who -?!”

“Bloody hell!”

So, you realized then, it was a guy.

And not a ghost.

Very decidedly a guy, actually, from the way the pan hadn’t gone right through him but had rather clanged against his forearm as he threw it up to defend himself. His other hand, it should be noted, was holding a cat.

Specifically, Lucky.

You gasped, lowering your pan. “Oh, my god,” you breathed. “Oh, my god, I am so sorry - I thought you were -” You stopped as Lucky slipped out of the guy’s arms and weaved around your legs, purring louder than a motorboat.

“Hello, there,” the guy said, incredibly pleasant for someone who’d just gotten attacked with a frying pan. “Um - hi,” you replied hesitantly, holding the pan behind your back as if he’d forget about the whole thing if he couldn’t see it. “Hi, I’m - um, I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Sorry,” the guy joked, holding out his non-injured hand, “I’m Harry Styles. Your neighbor.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, shaking his hand as you corrected him with your name.

He repeated your name, smiling as it rolled off his tongue, and despite yourself, you felt a shiver running down your spine. He was good looking, this Harry guy. His eyes rivaled Lucky’s, bright green as he grinned at you. His hair looked a bit grown out, chestnut brown and curling slightly at his temples.

And he had dimples.

Very cute dimples.

And muscles, and -

There was a beat of silence, and you realized you were not so subtly checking him out, and even though you kind of realized he was doing the same to you, you felt your cheeks heat again. Harry cleared his throat, crouching down to pet Lucky as he said, “So, erm - I haven’t seen you around a lot.”

“Yeah,” you replied, laughing a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been… busy.”

Harry nodded, his gaze drifting around you to the messy basement. “I’m sure,” he said. “This place seems like a lot of work.” You shrugged, following his eyes and inspecting the dust and various junk cluttered throughout the room.

“Well, I have time…”

“But not for neighbors, hm?” Harry asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I’m… sorry,” you said again, putting your head in your hands for a second before looking back up. “I hadn’t even thought… I can’t even see your… Do you live, uh - close?” Harry nodded, gesturing vaguely out the back door. “Relatively, I suppose, although - you’re right, you can’t quite… see it… from here.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” you said impulsively, and Harry glanced at you, dimpling again. “Yeah,” he agreed, “reckon I will.” You smiled, suddenly unable to keep eye contact, and then let your gaze dart away after a second.

“And the, erm - the market,” Harry went on. “Haven’t seen you around there. Have you been?”

You shook your head, murmuring, “No,” and Harry tsked, shaking his head back at you, oozing disappointment. “Right, well, that’s just not right,” he said. “That we’ll have to go to sometime. ‘specially now that it’s autumn.” You nodded, and he stood up, dusting off his hands as Lucky came over to you for cuddles.

You expected him to say he was going to go, that he had work to do, or something, but instead, he asked, “Doing anything now?” and grinned, glancing down at the pan, still in your hand. “Besides attacking perfect strangers, of course.”

“I am… so sorry about that,” you said, again, laughing sheepishly, again.

“I’d say it’s fine,” Harry replied, “but, erm… It’s not.”

You felt your eyes widen. “What?”

“I think you’ll have to make it up to me, love,” he told you. You just raised a brow, and he grinned. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me a ride to the market,” he said, and then you smiled. “Easy enough,” you replied, grabbing your keys from your pocket.

Harry dimpled and looked down at Lucky. “Right, then, Dee, let’s go, shall we?”

You frowned. “Dee?”

“Oh, right!” Harry exclaimed, bending down to scoop Lucky into his arms. “I think you’ve met, but this here is Demon. Dee for short.” You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Demon?” you echoed incredulously.

Harry nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, look at this menace! What else would we call her?”

“You’re her owner?”

“Yup. Found her a few months ago, and she just… stuck.”

“Good at that, isn’t she?” you murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ear.

“Has she bothered you?” Harry asked, looking sympathetic, and you nodded. “Oh, yes, all the time. In the most pleasant way possible, though, so I’m not too mad.” Harry laughed, letting her slip out of his arms and onto the ground.

She ambled out of the basement and into the grass, and, after exchanging a glance with Harry, you both followed her. “I’ve been calling her Lucky,” you told him, closing the door behind you. Harry glanced at you, hands in his pockets, and smiled. “Lucky?”

“Yeah. See, the house is -” You stopped, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “The house is what?” You laughed, a bit embarrassed, and then mumbled, “I think it’s haunted.” Harry nodded, understanding on his face. “Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” he agreed.

You laughed again. “That sure of it, are you?”

Harry rolled his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips, and nodded at Lucky. “That’s your ghost.”

“Lucky? How -?”

“She’s the one howling, and walking everywhere to make the floors creak, and knocking glasses off the tables,” Harry explained, and your jaw dropped, just a bit. “Oh, my god,” you said, as it all clicked into place. “That’s why - Well, see, I called her Lucky because the” - you put up air quotes - “‘ghost’ never seemed to be around when she was with me. Which I guess makes sense, since if she was with me, she wasn’t… anywhere else…”

“Yup.”

You frowned, glancing over at him. “So, wait - how did you know?”

“Same thing happened to me,” he replied with a shrug. “Was right convinced the place was haunted when I first moved in - was about to sell and everything. Couldn’t take replacing half the cupboard every two weeks. Then I caught her shattering one of my mugs. Then, I got a night light, and saw her lurking around and making a ruckus with the floorboards.”

“A night light,” you repeated, lightly smacking your forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Took me a few weeks, too,” Harry laughed. “You’d’ve gotten there eventually, don’t worry.”

“Sure hope so,” you murmured, smiling as Lucky jumped up onto your car and started to stretch out on the hood. You opened the driver’s side door and leaned against it as Harry gave Lucky a scratch behind her ears.

“Pesky little thing, she is,” Harry said. “Always does the same on my car, and I’m always tempted to just drive with her on top and see what happens.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “How could you?” Harry shrugged, grinning at you. “I’m sure she’d land on her feet.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that now,” you replied, gently scooping Lucky up and placing her on the grass, where she started to daintily lick a paw. Harry got into the passenger seat, and you asked him, “Where’s this market of yours?”

“Up the road,” Harry said vaguely.

You raised a brow, but he didn’t offer any more information.

So you just drove.

***

“Halloween,” Harry said, “is not fun.”

You gasped, scandalized, and exclaimed, “What?”

“It’s too stressful!” Harry groaned. “I never know what to wear! Especially to parties, bloody hell! Like, do you go for it? Full makeup, tons of tulle, a wig? Or don’t go for it? And if it’s really go for it, and you don’t go for it, it’s like, oh, well, too bad. Or if it’s a party, and you’re invited, like, the day of, and everybody’s going for it, and you’re like, oh, I can’t, can’t go, because I don’t have time to plan it, and -” He stopped, sighing, and shook his head. “It’s a whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you replied, biting back a grin.

You were pulling into a parking lot, and you could already see the hustle and bustle of the market. There were booths set up all along the street and around a little courtyard. People talked and chattered, exchanging money and trinkets and smiles and waves.

You both got out of the car and met at the front, taking a moment to admire the view.

“The caramel apples are the best,” Harry told you with a smile.

“Guess we’ll have to go there first.”

Harry nodded, and you started walking. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a bit cold in the autumn wind, as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. It was only a few seconds before you were stopped, though, when an old man behind a table covered in small wooden carvings called, “Harry!”

“George!” Harry exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” George said cheerily, his gaze darting to you and back to Harry inquisitively. Harry smiled, introducing you as his neighbor. George grinned, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” you replied.

“You must be pretty special,” George said. “Don’t think I’ve ever met any other neighbors.”

“We share a cat,” Harry explained, and George’s brow raised.

Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and then said, “Nice talking with you, George. We should catch up later - we’re headed for Mara.” George nodded. “Good boy. You know what they say! The way to a woman’s heart is her stomach, eh?”

“Alrighty, then,” Harry said, gently leading you away. “Bye, George!”

“Bye, Harry! And nice to meet you, neighbor!”

You smiled, waving at him over your shoulder. “You too, George!”

“Swear he’s been running that booth since about 1804,” Harry murmured as you walked away. “‘ve known him all my life, and he’s always looked the same. Beginning to think he’s a vampire.” You grinned, nudging his shoulder. “He seems nice.”

“He is!” Harry agreed. “He is. Like a second father. Hey, here’s Mara.”

You came up to a cluster of booths that steamed and bubbled and swirled together to smell of a blend of spices, sugar, and caramel. One of the booths proudly proclaimed Mara’s Caramel Apples, and shiny golden apples dotted the table.

The woman behind the table - Mara, presumably - lit up when she caught sight of Harry. “Harry, darling!” she cooed, coming around her table to press kisses against each of Harry’s cheeks. “Hullo, Mara,” Harry replied.

“It’s so good to see you!” Mara exclaimed, pinching his cheeks. “You should come around more often, love, you need some meat on these bones of yours.” Harry nodded, gingerly pulling her hand off of him. “I’ll work on that,” he replied, glancing at you and looking amused, if not a bit embarrassed.

“You do that, Harry,” Mara said, stealing one more pinch and making Harry wince before she turned to you. “And who is this, then?” Mara tutted, shaking her head. “Haven’t forgotten your manners, have you?”

“Never, Mara,” Harry assured her, and introduced you.

“Lovely to meet you!” Mara said cheerfully, wrapping you in a hug.

“You too,” you responded.

“How long have you been together, then?” Mara asked, making your face heat as she walked back around the table and started stirring a pot of caramel. “Haven’t seen you around, dear.” Harry coughed, shaking his head, looking as embarrassed as you felt. “Nope, no, we’re not together,” he corrected her. “Just - erm, we’re neighbors.”

“Ah, neighbors,” Mara hummed.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, she moved in where the Carlsons were.”

“Oh, the Carlsons!” Mara said. “A tricky bunch, they were - I’m glad you’re there now.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, smiling slightly at Harry.

Mara wiped her hands off on a cloth and tucked it on a rack before carefully grabbing two pristine caramel apples. “Well,” she said, handing you both a stick, “here you are, dears. Enjoy, now! And come back soon, the both of you!”

Harry pulled out cash, but Mara waved him off. “Oh, nonsense, Harry, you know better than that,” Mara told him. “I’ll give you the family discount, as long as you both promise to come back on your next date.”

“Not a date, Mara,” Harry mumbled, flushing red, and Mara grinned. “Of course. My mistake. Your first date, then.” Your face felt about on fire, and Harry’s was red as a beet as he said, “Right, then, nice talking to you, Mara! Bye, now.” He walked away as she waved cheerily, and you followed him.

Harry looked at you apologetically. “She’s a bit, erm - concerned, as it were,” he said sheepishly. “Haven’t exactly…” He cleared his throat. “She thinks I’m a bit lacking in the romance department.” You raised a brow, and he somehow managed to get even redder.

“I mean! I mean, I’m - I’m not,” he added hurriedly, “I’m really not, ‘f course - but, erm - she thinks…” He sighed, stopping, and shrugged at you helplessly. “So you’re not?” you said, and Harry’s brows furrowed, confused.

“You’re not lacking in the romance department?” you clarified.

Harry frowned. “... No?”

“So… Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

A bit of the red faded from his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “Well, then, yes. I suppose I’m lacking in the romance department right now. ‘s unusual, though, I’ll have you know. But, erm - how about you?” You shook your head, glancing away from him and around the fair. “Single as a Pringle,” you told him, and you liked to imagine seeing the hint of a smile on his face out of the corner of your eye.

“Gotcha,” Harry hummed. “Right, well, how’s the apple, then?”

You took a bite, savoring it as you crunched on it, and then nodded your approval. “Superb,” you said, and Harry grinned brightly. “Wonderful,” he replied. “‘m glad you like it. Might’ve been a deal breaker if not.”

“That important, huh?”

“Oh, the most important,” Harry said seriously.

You grinned, and Harry dimpled back.

There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Right, then. Tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged, licking caramel off his lips. “Anything. Hopes, dreams, fears, favorite color…”

You hummed as you thought, and then told him the first thing that came to mind. He listened as you talked, looking genuinely interested in what you were saying. Butterflies erupted in your stomach every time you made him laugh, and when you flipped the spotlight to him, you found yourself completely lost in his words.

Something about his voice, and his humor, and the way he giggled everytime he made a stupid joke, made the butterflies linger. It was pleasant, though. It wasn’t alarming, or nerve wracking, or even remotely uncomfortable. You weren’t self conscious, or scared to mess up, or worried you’d say the wrong thing.

You were just… happy.

The fair, you realized, wasn’t nearly big enough.

You’d walk the whole world just to keep talking with him.

***

“That was a date,” your friend declared as soon as you finished telling her what had happened. You balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder and blew softly on your hot tea. “No,” you replied, “it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was!” she squealed. “I can’t believe he didn’t kiss you!” She huffed. “I can’t believe you didn’t kiss him!” You rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself, and insisted, “It really wasn’t a date. I was just… making up for slamming a metal pan into his arm.”

You heard her wince. “Yikes.”

You sighed, again, and took a sip of your tea. “He probably has a bruise.”

“Yeah, probably,” she snickered.

“Hey!”

She laughed, sounding way too amused at your misery. “Talk about a meet cute!”

“You are not helping,” you groaned, feeling yourself starting to laugh too anyway.

“Don’t worry,” she giggled, “he’ll think of you everytime he accidently puts pressure on it and screams in pain.” You scoffed indignantly and argued, “He will not scream in pain - it wasn’t that bad.” Your friend hummed skeptically. “I dunno about that… It was a pan, right?”

You took a sip of your tea, sighing heavily. “A tiny pan,” you mumbled into the lip of your mug, and then laughed when your friend started cracking up. “You gotta text me a picture of the bruise,” she gasped through her laughter.

“Okay, there’s no bruise.”

“Dude, it was a pan.”

“A tiny pan!”

That just set off another round of giggles, before finally, your friend relented. “Fine,” she said, “send me a picture of him, and the bruise will just be a bonus.” You agreed, and then said goodnight, and fell asleep with a smile on your face.

***

Your fingers did a dance over the screen of your phone, your lip between your teeth as you debated whether or not to send the text. Harry had given you his number the other day at the market, but you were getting a bit anxious about what to send.

The door really did need to be fixed, you told yourself, glancing down at your flirtatious-if-you-squinted text asking if he’d help you fix your basement door. Especially now, since it wouldn’t stay closed at all; you’d had to put a brick behind it to keep it shut, and even that kept sliding around. It was where Lucky had kept slipping in, you’d figured, and even though she was a pleasant enough intruder, you didn’t really want other less adorable trespassers coming through.

Finally, you took a breath, and sent it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds as if he’d reply within the minute, and then threw your phone across your bed. Heaving a sigh, you pulled yourself away from your bed and towards the window, fidgeting with your fingers.

You lasted about ten seconds, and then grabbed your phone, and checked.

Nothing, of course, because you sent the text thirty seconds ago.

You groaned and belly flopped onto your bed.

***

Lucky came first.

She jumped up onto your bed and butted against you until you sat up and started petting her.

You pouted at her, smoothing your hand over her head. “Maybe I should’ve waited a few more days,” you murmured to her. “Maybe I made it obvious how desp- or, like, made it seem like I was too desperate.” You raised a brow, gazing down at her. “What about you, huh? Are you too desperate?”

Lucky purred and rolled over, stretching languidly.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you laughed, sliding off your bed and heading for the kitchen.

You paused when you heard the doorbell ring, glancing at Lucky inquisitively like she’d tell you who it was. She gave you a slow blink, and then jumped up, and stretched, and meandered down the hallway. You followed her, almost tripping over her when she stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase to lick a paw, and opened the door.

“So I sort of forgot any tools,” Harry greeted you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Your brows jumped. “I - of course it’s not a - I just thought -” You stopped, glancing down at your phone, which showed no new notifications, and no new texts. “Sorry,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting you so, um - soon.”

Harry laughed, a bit sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. I was… on the way. I mean, not on the way here, but, like - driving past. Well, not driving past, but sort of - you know, in, erm - in the area. Sort of. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” You stepped back to let him in. “I think it’s open right now, the door - there’s kind of a draft,” you lied. Harry nodded, glancing around the house. “Place looks nice,” he said, and you smiled again, following his gaze.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Was a bit dreary before,” Harry said softly, letting his hand lightly skim the bright throw blanket you’d put on the sofa as he passed. “Downright dull,” you agreed, and he glanced at you, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “Where’s this door, then?”

“Downstairs,” you answered, stepping forward to lead him around the corner and down the steps. “The basement’s a bit creepy,” you warned him, tugging on the light. “Haven’t quite gotten down here yet.”

“Noted,” Harry murmured.

“It’s back here,” you said, weaving around a few cardboard boxes to get to the door.

It was, in fact, open, which was purely coincidental but pretty convenient. “Cold,” you said simply, shrugging at him. “Yeah,” Harry replied, “cold.” You smiled, not sure why, and then stepped outside, inspecting it without a real purpose in mind.

He stepped out too, and you gently pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then it swung open with a creak.

“Might be the lock,” Harry said, bending down to look at the little bit of metal against the side.

Lucky appeared as he fiddled with the mechanism, weaving through his legs, and he gave her scritches as he pushed the lock in and out a few times. “Looks fine,” he started, and then stopped when Lucky plopped down on top of his foot.

“Don’t know how she expects us to do any work like this,” Harry said with a grin, and you laughed, crouching next to him to pet her too. “She’s moral support,” you replied, and Harry raised a brow. “The most bothersome moral support ever.”

You shrugged. “The cutest most bothersome moral support ever.”

“If you say so,” Harry said, gently sliding her off his foot. He slid his hand over the door to its other side, where the hinges were, and then his face lit up. “Right, I have an idea.” He turned to you, looking excited, and asked, “Have a hammer?”

“Uhhh… probably?” You looked around the basement, then pushed open a closet door where a tool box poked out, and handed him a hammer. He nodded, glancing at the hinge again. “Er - how about a screwdriver?”

You gave it to him, and then watched over his shoulder as he gently tapped the pin out of the hinge in the middle of the door. He put it on the floor, raising the hammer over it, and you raised a brow at him. He looked up at you, grinning, and you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop. “I have a plan,” he told you.

“Sure, Styles.”

He scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “You know, your lack of faith is a bit disheartening.”

“I think you’re just stalling because you have no idea what you’re doing.”

He smiled, a challenge in his eyes, and then sat forward and hammered the pin, right in the middle. It bent, just slightly, and then he held it up, looking satisfied. He slid it back into the hinge, tapped it down, and worked on getting the other one out.

Once he’d gotten a curve in that one, he put it back and got the next. You watched in skeptical silence as he put that one back… and then stood up and dusted off his hands. “There you have it,” he announced.

“There’s no way that’s gonna work,” you said.

Harry just stepped back and pushed the door shut.

The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then -

It stuck.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, pulling it out to close it again. It stuck, again, and you looked up at him happily. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe that worked! How did you even know how to do that?” Harry shrugged, fiddling with the door. “These old houses are practically identical. My bedroom door had the same problem.”

“Well, lucky me.”

He glanced at you, and held your gaze, just for a second, with a smile on his lips, and then his cheeks dusted pink. You felt heat rise on your own cheeks, realizing in the back of your mind that the whole door endeavor took a lot less time than you’d expected and now he’d probably leave.

He walked inside, making a grand gesture of holding the door open for you. “C’mon, then,” he said as you walked through and wracked your brain for ideas on how to keep him with you, “I need a tour.” You grinned, wondering if he could read your mind, and then nodded. You paused at the edge of the basement door and turned around.

“So,” you said, “this is the basement.”

“Enlightening.”

“The land of boxes,” you told him, and he smiled before following you out and up the steps to the living room. This was where you’d done the most work, clearing out the old grey furniture and replacing it with bright new pieces.

You put your arm out, gesturing widely to the room and spinning around. “And here’s the living room.” Harry followed you, making a slow circle and inspecting it. “I like the art,” he said, his eyes on the paintings you’d put on the wall.

“Thanks,” you said. “Me too.”

“Have you seen the gallery in town?” Harry asked as he followed you towards the kitchen. You shook your head, leaning against the counter. “No, I haven’t,” you answered, giving him a smile. “You’ll have to take me.”

Then, ignoring the butterflies his returning smile gave you, you went on, “And here’s the kitchen.” Lucky jumped up onto the counter next to you, and you grinned, petting her. “It’s her favorite room in the house.”

“I’m sure,” Harry laughed. He scratched her behind her ears, then walked around the room, his fingers tracing lightly on the white wooden table you’d chosen for the center of the room. “I like this better,” he said. “The Carlsons’ made the room look a lot smaller than it was.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I agree… Was too big. Made it cramped.” Harry’s gaze went out the back windows, which were floor to ceiling and looked out on the small woods in the backyard. There was a beat of silence, and then you walked over to stand next to him. “Were you… in here a lot?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I think they invited me when I first moved in… but that’s sort of it.” You hummed in response, and then asked, “Were you close with, uh - with the Carlsons?” Harry shrugged. “Eh. Not really. Y’know. Neighbor stuff.”

You bit your lip, smiling slightly. “Didja take them to the fair?” Your smile widened as Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But we didn’t share a cat, so I think the rules are a bit different.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, looking back outside. “Yeah, there’s a bit more…” He tilted his head back and forth, searching for the right word. “Intimacy,” he finally seemed to decide, giving you a smile that tugged his lips into an almost-smirk. “We’re co-parenting a little one, after all. There’s got to be some… dinners involved.”

“Ah, yes, dinners,” you echoed solemnly. “To discuss parenting techniques.”

Harry nodded. “You get it.”

“She’s a bit spoiled, you know,” you said, watching her jump from the counter onto the table and sprawl out on the wood. “So we should probably get on those dinners.” Harry grinned. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. Like, as soon as possible.”

His face lit up. “As soon as possible? As in, tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a slow smile growing on your face. “As in tonight.”

Harry grinned back at you. “It’s a date.”

***

okay i KNOW this is weird sldkfj but it'll all make sense soon <333 hope you enjoyed !!!!!

and if you're liking this whole wrong-season-for-the-holiday thing, have no fear because there's a christmas fic coming soon!!!

masterlist | ask

[otptings]

Missed You

☼Idol; Woozi

☼Genre; Reunion (full fluff)

☼Synopsis; A drabble of reuniting with Woozi

☼A/n; this is being inspired by the fact I cannot stop watching Adore U and Woozi is just so fucking cute in I love it so much. if you enjoyed reading this like, reblog or donate to my Ko-Fi anything is greatly appreciated. requests are also open for any idol from Enhypen, SVT, and NCT.

Mid-comeback season was absolutely horrible.

It would probably take legitimate hours for you to map out your hatred for it. Simply put despair always pulsed through your veins whenever Jihoon would give you a heads up that it was coming. Only a week before it was going to start. Not enough time for either of you to prepare or plan to be separated for weeks to months.

You just had to deal with the grim reality that your boyfriend would not be coming home, forced to stay at the dorms due to the complicated schedules. It always hit you hard while watching him pack, making sure that he had everything he could potentially need. Practically leaving your shared apartment devoid of him. He’d make sure to leave a few hoodies for you, along with his half empty bottle of cologne, to help make up for his absence a little bit. You’d stay glued to each other, until the dreaded text came that his manager was outside. Tears would be shed - mostly on your side - as you shared one last kiss before he left, the door closing behind him with such finality.

You’ve been doing this dance for two years, and the first night is always the worst. Curling up on his side of the bed, face buried into his pillow as you tried to ignore the ache in your chest. Shedding stray tears as you watched random videos you’ve taken of him, listening to his voice and laughter knowing it’d be a while before you saw him again.

By 10 weeks all of the heartache was gone. Sadness being replaced with a steady feeling of restlessness. Excitedly waiting for Jihoon to come home. Sitting on the couch clutching a warm cup of tea, watching the door carefully. You knew that Jihoon felt the same way, whispering into the phone late at night - as to not wake Mingyu - about how he wanted you to be back at home with.

Now you could only wait for Jihoon to arrive. He had texted you half an hour ago that he was close, but the company building was only 15 minutes away. Your nerves were making way for anxiety to stew, sipping on your tea in an attempt to keep them at bay. You refused to let your mind delve into the negative, knowing that Jihoon would be home any minute and you could curl up into his arms, making up for all of the last time.

While mid-sip the door handle started to jiggle causing you to put your mug down quickly, some of the tea splashing over the sides onto the coffee table. You stood up right as the door opened.

“Hi baby.” A smile spread over his lips, despite the look of exhaustion. His hair was stuffed into a hat, from the tendrils curling around his forehead you saw that it was still blond. He hastily kicked off his shoes, and you ran to close the door behind him. He placed a kiss on your cheek, mumbling a ‘missed you’ before heading to the bedroom. You quickly followed him, making it just in time to see him flop onto the bed, duffle bags placed in front of the dresser.

“Come here.” When you got close enough Woozi pulled you down on top of him, a squeal leaving your mouth as you met his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, as you got comfortable on top of him, angling your head so you could look up at him.

“How were the shows Hoonie?” A long sigh left his mouth.

“They weren’t bad. I’m just grateful to be back with you.” You couldn’t help the fact that the corners of your lips curled up, heart skipping a beat at Jihoon’s simple words.

“I missed you so much. But come onnn. I don’t wait almost 2 months just for you to say ‘not bad’.” Jihoon flicked your nose lightly at you mocking him, another giggle leaving your mouth.

“If you want to know so badly, I’ll tell you.” You curled up into his chest, listening to his stories about the many different shows that they performed for. How grateful he was to be able to perform in front of a crowd again, despite their lack of size. Even mentioning how Hoshi decided to put sneezing powder all over Seungkwan’s pillow when they stayed in a hotel, a plan that quickly backfired as they shared one bed. You laughed hearing the boys' antics, feeling a slight twang since it’s been so long since you’ve seen them too.

“It never gets easier to leave you.” Woozi’s voice broke the silence, and you realized you both had dozed off. The room was much darker, the setting sun casting an orange glow across everything.

“It never gets easier to have you leave.” Woozi only hummed, his hand rubbing soothing circles over your hip.

“One day I’m going to marry you. Wanna know why?”

“Hm.”

“You’re always here, no matter how long I’m gone.” You hmphed again, tilting your head up to see Woozi already staring at you.

“I’ll always wait for you. You know that I love you.” Woozi was the one hmphed, leaning down to place a kiss on your temple.

“You know what you haven’t done since you’ve been home?” Another hum. “You haven’t kissed me properly.”

Woozi let out a loud laugh, but quickly obliged, changing your positions so that he was sitting up with you straddling him.

“Do you deserve a kiss?” You poked out your lips in a pout, knowing that he couldn’t resist you.

“You’re the one who was gone for 2 months. Do you deserve a kiss?” Instead of answering Jihoon leaned in, swiftly connecting your lips while his hands moved to cup your cheeks. You grabbed his shirt, keeping him close to you while he pressed more into the kiss. Satisfaction flooded through you, warmth running all the way down to your toes. Kissing Jihoon was your greatest form of comfort. It was the equivalent of drinking a nice cup of cocoa during a snowy day, cuddling up underneath a blanket in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Once you ran out of air you both pulled away, keeping your foreheads together. So close that all you had to do was tilt your head up to kiss him again.

“I don’t care where work forces me to go. It doesn’t matter as long as I can come back to you. Just knowing that I have you here is enough.” You felt heat rushing to your face, fighting the urge to smile at his cheesiness.

“I really love you. You know that?”

“Of course I do, baby.” Lips meeting yours again, a giggle leaving your mouth.

[heyhihellowhatsup0]

Tangled Webs - Chapter Seven (Dark! Peter Parker x Reader)

Dark Webs Masterlist | Tangled Webs Masterlist

Warnings:   Angst, language, Topics of death and depression, PTSD, more angst, violence, a bit more fluff and smut than the last series (but not in this chapter)? Somewhat ignoring the MCU timeline due to mature content

Word Count: 4825

Summary: After doing your best to walk on eggshells around Peter, you finally reach the boiling point as you and him face (most) of your drama head on…

A/N: It’s been a hot minute but I’m back with an update. Hope ya’ll didn’t forget about this series like I did lmao. I hope you like this chapter and give me some sweet words because I missed it so much! DM me to be tagged and I hope you guys like it!! Please like and share if you can! (Also I found this .gif on google, so if you made it, or know who did, let me know and I will credit!) Thank you xx -N

You barely slept the last few days as you trapped yourself in your apartment in Stark Tower since the incident. You were sick, with no possible form of treatment and to boot, you almost were found out by Peter about what you were doing. Two things you weren’t sure how to deal with just yet. But you knew one thing for sure, you couldn’t take much more of these secrets.

    Not being able to see Peter or talk to him was killing you. And with you and him broken up, it only made it harder. You were always independent, especially when Peter and you stopped being friends. You made your own money, solved your own problems, you even saved Peter a handful of times. So it wasn’t so much that you were one of those girls who needed Peter to constantly save you; but you were a team. And everything you did together made the both of you even stronger. That was one of the reasons why Peter and you worked so well.

    But with Peter gone, and you struggling with your own issues; you could feel yourself getting weaker and weaker. The lethal combination with Octavious and your disorder mixed along with probably the worst of it all; you were missing Peter and heartbroken over him being gone. And the worst part was that you didn’t even blame him for pulling away. You definitely deserved it after hiding everything from him. You just wished that even if you did tell him the truth, that it would be enough.

    But how could it be enough?

    Pushing yourself out of bed, you used whatever strength you could muster up so early in the morning. You needed to conserve that and your energy for when Octavious called on you these days, which would only make you even weaker in the process. You would laugh at the irony, but you were too tired to.

    You didn’t want to think about your death but given recent events; it popped up in your mind pretty frequently these days. You didn’t want to think so morbidly and always tried to remain positive but how could you not when your body was literally at war and the venom that saved your life was also potentially killing you? Death was inevitable for you now, and you were looking at it right in its eye.

    Of course, Peter was always one of your first concerns. You saw how when you started spiraling out of control affected him; how upset he would be, or how Peter would blame himself for his actions. It killed you to think what he would say or do when you weren’t there to keep him grounded and remind him that there was nothing he could have done. That it wasn’t his fault and he shouldn’t blame or punish himself; and that finding somebody responsible was a waste of time.

    You wanted to tell Peter to prepare him, to get the grieving out of the way if he could and enjoy whatever time you had left with Peter. But now, you weren’t even sure if you and Peter were going to make amends, and that scared you more. Would he even care about your health now? As much as you wanted him to, you knew Peter should focus on himself anyway. So you couldn’t help but think that maybe if he didn’t know, it would be best for everyone.

    Snapping yourself out of your dark thoughts for a moment, you heard your coffeemaker go off. Grabbing your mug and bringing it to your lips, you stopped as you felt something run through your body as you stared at the front door. Somebody was coming to the door. Morgan had school and no way was Agent Kent knocking on your door after you made him look like an idiot in front of half of S.H.I.E.L.D.

    You hurried to the door, hearing the door handle begin to jiggle and opened it. Your eyes widened as you looked at Peter standing in the doorway wearing a navy blue hoodie and jeans. His soft brown curls tousled and all over the place as his tired and now bloodshot eyes were staring back you bewilderedly.

    “Hi,” you spoke out in a tired voice. Clearing your throat as you opened the door. The first time you actually saw Peter. The last time you saw him was at the ATM, unbeknownst to Peter that you were the one who knocked him into the window, leaving him to explain that to S.H.I.E.LD and Kent how he still hadn’t caught you. Again.

    “I...uh...how did you know I was here? I didn’t knock?” Peter questioned as he looked at you. He knew exactly how long it had been since he saw you last. Nine days and eleven hours, Peter was counting his days a lot lately. It had been nine days and eleven hours, but it felt like it had been years dragged out of him. And now, he didn’t know what to say.

    You looked different to him for some reason, and he couldn’t figure out why. He used to love seeing you in the morning with a fresh face as you made coffee wearing one of his old school hoodies. But this morning, you looked like a different person to him. Tired, pale, almost like you were getting sick.

    Letting Peter in, you cleared your throat again, “I heard footsteps,” you answered to try and tip toe around the subject. You looked at the coffee on the counter as you ran your fingers nervously through your hair, “Coffee?” you offered him, not sure what to say to him. You never thought you’d see the day where you and Peter had nothing to say to one another.

    Peter shook his head, “No, thank you. I just came to pick up some things,” he admitted, pressing his lips into a line as he showed you the duffel bag in his hand. Was he really about to pack his belongings and move out? Granted, it was just a few floors up; but how long was he planning on staying up there? Another week? A month? Forever? He didn’t like any of those options at all. But he knew he had to do it for now to protect you and most importantly; to protect you from finding out that Peter started drinking again. He knew if you found out, it would only trigger you more. And it was just the two times, he was hoping he could get himself to a meeting before anybody else found out.

    He headed into the bedroom towards the closet, placing his bag on the chair nearby and unzipping it. He wasn’t really even looking at what he was taking, just grabbing whatever he could and began stuffing it into his bag. It felt like he was almost saying goodbye, and it wasn’t what he wanted to do at all.

    Peter had been dreading coming here for days but he needed fresh clothes and truth be told, he wanted to check in on you. He had missed you these last few days and you always calmed him down no matter what you were going through. But he was worried about you too. And as much as he wanted to be there for you while you dealt with your demons, he also knew his demons were at bay and he couldn’t be around so much chaos right now. For his own sake.

    “So...” you started to say a bit awkwardly, leaning up against the door frame as you stared downward towards the ends of your hair, “I think I may have a name for the guy you put away from the ATM. I was going to try and research a bit today,” you offered him what little intel you had. Especially since you couldn’t say much without mentioning Dr. Octavious, that would only connect Quentin Beck to you and you knew Peter would get killed if he knew too much.

    Licking his lips as he jammed some sweatshirts into his bag, Peter nodded slowly, “Just be careful, okay?” he finally said as he kept his eyes on his bags, almost as if he was afraid to look at you otherwise he didn’t know what he would do. If he did, he’d probably stay longer, “Can’t trust many people right now,” he said a bit lower.

    Yeah, like me, you thought to yourself, swallowing thickly. All you could do was nod your head as you tucked your hair behind your hair nervously. You couldn’t do this anymore. The hiding and lying. You were building so much inside of you and it was only making you feel worse, mentally and physically. You couldn’t afford to lose Peter, not now.

    Moving a bit closer to him, you placed your hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “P-Peter, I-I have to tell you something,” you stammered, feeling your voice grow weaker as you felt the lump grow swollen in your throat. You were terrified of this moment, and you were more afraid because Octavious was listening in, as always. And if he was, then you didn’t have much time at all to tell him.

    Peter’s brow furrowed as he turned his head to face you. He saw the distraught expression on your face and knew something was wrong. He knew you were hiding something from him and it was literally tearing the both of you apart, “Okay, what’s going on?” he asked you as calmly and rationally as he could.

    You sucked in a sharp breath as tears began to prick your eyes. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like your legs were about to collapse at any moment. Your bottom lip quivered the more you stared into Peter’s big eyes, trying to find your voice in the silence that was deafening between you both.

    “I really fucked up. I…” you trailed off as you began to cry, the tears streaming down your cheeks more now, “I was so stupid and now it’s worse. So much worse, Peter,” you told him through your sobs.

    “What? What’s worse, Y/N?” Peter asked as he raised his eyebrow. He was afraid of what you were hiding, but he hated the fact that you were hiding it more than anything. Whatever it was, it was big enough for you to decide that it would freak Peter out; and that bothered him the most. That you thought he couldn’t handle whatever it was you were going through.

    You sniffled as you stared down at the floor, unable to even look at Peter right now as you tried to relax your breath, “Last summer...when I…” you could barely get a word out between your sobs, “At the game,” you finally got out.

    “The game?” Peter questioned, his eyebrow quirking up as you looked at you suspiciously, “The Yankee game? With the elemental?” he asked for clarification.

    Shaking your head frantically, you grabbed Peter’s arms to pull him closer, “That’s just it, Peter. It wasn’t an elemental! Don’t you find it strange you didn’t find anything that night? You came home empty handed,” you explained, your voice becoming more and more hysterical.

    “Y/N, what are you saying?” Peter asked again, trying to figure out what it was you were trying to tell him. You had so many secrets these days, Peter knew that. And he couldn’t tell if this was a secret, or was it a bender? “Do you know what was responsible for it?” he tried again, trying his best to keep his tone level. He hated seeing you so upset and he didn’t want to make you any more upset than you clearly already were.

    You nodded your head, “Okay, I know I sound absolutely crazy right now but I-”

    You felt a pull on your throat, making you gasp. It felt as if your breath was taken away, like somebody just punched you right in your windpipe, preventing you from speaking. Wheezing out your breath, you saw Peter’s face waiting for you to answer. But you couldn’t utter a word.

    Octavious, you thought to yourself.

    He was listening in now, and controlling you. Preventing you from telling Peter the truth about what was wrong with you. Octavious wanted Peter dead and risking this conversation was enough, but you really needed to tell Peter what was going on. In hopes that maybe it wasn’t too late, for you or him; and some of these horrific events could be prevented.

    And once again, you were frozen now. Blocked from telling Peter the truth and unable to help him find Octavious and get to him before he got to Peter. Or before you got to Peter. You were capable of so much these days, it frightened you to no end. And without Peter helping you control it, you were damned.

    “What do you know?” Peter asked again, getting a little bit closer. He tried taking a whiff of your breath, but he couldn’t smell anything. His senses weren’t triggered, but he knew what a bender looked like. He’d hit bottom before. Granted his bottom looked a lot worse, he could still sense it from a mile away.

    You tried to open your mouth but nothing came out. Tell him about the venom, you shouted at yourself. Tell him about Octavious, and the robberies. Tell him it was killing you and destroying you from the inside out. Tell Peter you needed his help.

    With tears streaming down your cheeks, you shook your head at him as you tried to speak; but nothing came out once more. You hated this. You were so close to being free just to be silenced once again. You didn’t know how much more of this you could take. It was becoming more and more obvious how much you needed Peter’s help, and he couldn’t give you anything if you were being controlled by Ock.

    “I will have you rip out his throat if you so much as whimper in his direction right now, Y/N,” Octavious’ voice threatened you inside of your head, and you felt your stomach beginning to churn once more. You always tried to fight back, but in this moment, you were truly terrified of something happening to Peter. So you didn’t.

    Looking down at the floor, you focused on Peter’s sneakers as you shook your head at him. Biting your lip to restrain yourself from saying anything further so Peter wouldn’t get hurt. You could tell he was disappointed in you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

    Peter sighed, running a hand over his face as he licked his lips, “Y/N, I know you’re going through a bad time right now. I’ve been there, and it kills me seeing you going down this path that I never wanted you to go down,” he had to stop himself for a minute, saying it out loud to you hurt him even more. He hated that this was the reality of your relationship, “I am so worried about you, I am. And you know I want to be there for you, and I’m trying to be. But you have to tell me what you need first,” his voice became rugged and raspy the longer he spoke, knowing he couldn’t say much else at that point.

    He leaned forward, bringing his lips to the top of your head before he reached down and grabbed his bag on the floor. Taking a few steps towards the door before he looked at you one last time standing in the doorway, still staring down at the floor holding back your tears. And Peter was trying to do the same.

    “I’ll be training all day and then I’m crashing with Kent if you need me for anything,” he finally told you, seeing you nod your head slightly before he turned and walked out of the front door.

    The door shut behind Peter, and you collapsed to the floor. Sobbing to yourself as you grabbed a hold of the necklace Peter had given you, clutching onto the spiderweb pendant for dear life. You always told Peter everything. And now you didn’t even know who this person was anymore.

    “We’re striking big tonight, Y/N,” Octavious’ voice ran through your mind as you tightened your grip on your necklace, “Rest up for it…”

--------

    No matter what Peter did, he couldn’t shake the look you had on your face as he geared himself for his night. The look of pure terror on your face replayed over and over again in his mind as he got his suit on. His speech still fresh on his tongue while he pulled his mask over his head; wishing maybe he hadn’t been so harsh. The sound of your cries he overhead from the other side of the door when he left repeated while Peter initiated KAREN. He wished he hadn’t heard it, it nearly made him crumble, but he did.

    Peter was in no condition to go out tonight. He had a lot on his mind with you, and the robberies, and how so many people were depending on him and he couldn’t deliver what they needed. And with the pressure coming from Agent Kent, Peter was really beginning to feel all the weight on his shoulders. And it was taking everything in him not to take another drink.

    “I’ve got a good feeling we’ll get her tonight,” Kent said enthusiastically as he entered the room. He took a seat behind a computer chair as he gave Peter an all knowing smile, “She seems to be favoring the downtown area, and so far the museums are the only places she hasn’t hit yet. The Air and Space Museum is the only one that would have tech she may be after.”

    “What makes you think she’s after tech? So far she’s only stolen money from bodegas or ATMs,” Peter gave Kent a puzzled face, did he know something that Peter didn’t? And if so, why wasn’t Kent giving him this information that was important?

    Kent shrugged his shoulders as he adjusted his glasses on his face while focusing on the computer screen, “They’re always after more than just money, Peter. You of all people should know that,” he reminded Peter as he continued to pull some maps up on the screen.

    “If you say so,” Peter said as he adjusted his web mode, making sure everything was working properly. You were usually the one who made sure his suit was updated, fixing Dark Web mode, and even making sure KAREN was properly synched up. There was always something calming about having you by his side before he went out as Spider-Man; even if it was just a basic patrol. You always calmed him down and made him feel like he was doing the right thing. Now, he was beginning to doubt all of that lately.

    Peter’s eyes flickered to the counter top, focusing in on the bottle of Jack Daniels that was left behind from the other night. When he was planning on dumping the remaining liquid down the drain this morning before he went to see you. But now, he wasn’t so sure. He needed something to numb the pain, at least for the moment.

    Without Kent noticing, Peter took a few swigs of the whiskey as he felt the warmth slide down his throat. It felt so wrong, and he knew it. And now, he felt absolutely disgusted with himself. Months of hard work and strength just flushed down the drain for a few sips to only make him feel more miserable for it. And now he had to find this robber half sober, half buzzed.

    Peter went over to the window, staring down at all of the city lights as the lump in his throat grew bigger. The city suddenly looked smaller to him, as his eyes grew bigger through the mask. Your face coming back to his mind as he tried to shake it off once more, but he was beginning to find it nearly impossible.

    “Don’t be afraid to use your advanced modes on her, Pete,” Kent said from the computer before he swung away, “That’s why you have them, to get rid of people like her,” he narrowed his eyes on Peter knowingly.

    So, Kent wanted Peter to kill this masked woman, essentially. Although Peter wasn’t exactly new to that idea, he had his history of killing and it got him here. He knew there were other ways to get justice, even if it took longer. But Kent was messing with his mind, and he was beginning to think he may not have any other option.

    Nodding his head, Peter aimed his web shooter for the nearby lamppost down below as he swung out of Stark Tower. The moment he left, he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved to get out of there. Even if it was to keep vigil.

    Peter swung his way in no time to the museum. Everything seemed quiet in the city streets, making him feel a bit more at ease. He scanned the entrance, noticing no security to be found; which was oddly peculiar for a museum. Lights were on throughout the exhibits, and as Peter glanced up towards the camera, he noticed they were destroyed.

    “Someone is here,” Peter said into his microphone, knowing Kent was listening in. He moved in towards the nearby exhibit for space missile technology, “Karen, activate Dark Web mode,” he whispered slowly as he felt the black webbing beginning to coat his suit before he went into the illuminated room to investigate. It was a little dramatic to go dark to see, but based on how strong this new rival was, Peter wasn’t about to take any chances with them.

    Peter tiptoed his way towards the doorway, knowing he was invisible, but he still needed to proceed with caution. He peered into the doorway, frozen in the moment as he watched meticulously. Unbeknownst to his new friend that he was watching her every move. Making sure this time he would be ready to take her down.

    The alcohol was swirling around Peter’s brain as he continued to concentrate. He hadn’t drank in so long, those few swigs that he had already affected him.

    “Don’t overthink this, Peter,” Kent’s voice came through, “Remember what I told you, don’t be afraid to fully attack with this one.”

    Peter had no idea why Agent Kent was so adamant about him being so cut throat. He knew the rules, and if Peter had to get more aggressive, he would. But right now, there was no reason to go the extreme. Especially since he knew how he felt towards getting his hand bloody. It led him down dark paths that he knew he didn’t want to go down again.

    Feeling a bit dizzy, Peter pulled himself together as he took a few more steps forward. Watching her try and disconnect what seemed to be a missile on display from the exhibit area. What the hell was she trying to do with a missile, Peter thought to himself.

    He got his web shooter ready, prepared to stun her for a moment with his taser web. Before he could aim in her direction, he felt a force punch him directly in his chest. His back hitting the wall with a thud as he whimpered. Opening his eyes as he saw her turning her head back to the missile, moving her hands even faster.

    How did she even know he was there? There was no way she would have been able to even hear him unless…

    ...Unless if she had a spider sense too.

    “Alright, that does it,” Peter huffed out as he picked himself up. He kept the Dark Web mode on as he whipped around so he was directly behind her, “I’ve just about had it with you and I’m done being nice about it,” he announced as he kicked the inside of her knee, buckling her to the ground.

    Grabbing her by the arm, he heard her yelp as he twisted it a bit, “Deactivate Dark Web mode and turn off all communication,” he told Karen as he picked her up and shoved her against the wall as his suit came into vision once again. He didn’t need Kent in his ear right now. Not when he was this close to bringing her in and being done with this bullshit.

    With her chest against the wall, he swiveled around. Looking into her eyes through her black mask as he raised her arm over her head. She had no weapons. And her eyes looked almost terrified. Her breathing was heavy as she kept her eyes on Peter warily.

    “Who do you work for?” he tried to ask, leaning forward. His body pushed flush against hers as he had her literally backed into a corner with nowhere to go. His hand began to slide around her neck, squeezing in a little bit to threaten her in order to start talking, “You better start talking otherwise I will not hesitate right now,” he threatened through his teeth.

    Peter squeezed a little more, hearing her groan as he waited for her to answer. He blinked as something bright glimmered along her neck, getting his attention. Adjusting his eyes, he glanced down at the necklace and squinted at her collar. The pendant staring back at him as his eyes rapidly fluttered back to her intense masked eyes; feeling his stomach drop.

    “No,” Peter said in a low voice as he grabbed the pendant, “Y/N?” he asked.

    And in that weak moment, you kicked Peter in the chest to break free. Sending him backwards and completely bewildered by what the fuck was happening…

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[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 6

The madness continues as the Reader wakes up Sunday morning, ready to figure out how to find balance in the new facts of her love life!

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 (you can also find the whole thing on ao3)

Words: 4974 and most of them explicit

Would it really be like Ivar said? Now that the thrall game is in full effect, will these boys really be giving it to you at all hours of the day? A montage of images flash through your mind: you’re sweeping the floor until Ubbe drags you to the couch. You’ve just gotten back up on shaky legs when Ivar appears, handcuffs dangling from his finger. Ubbe soothing your wrists later while slipping himself inside one more time. The chores keep getting done, barely, but your clothes are never fully on anymore.

Just thinking about it, the warmth between your legs makes you shift positions. How can you be this wet again already? In the past two days, you’ve gotten more action than you’d had in . . . well . . . longer than you want to say. Your pussy shouldn’t be throbbing with need like this. It’s not neglected at all. You should be overwhelmed, really, given everything that’s happened. Instead, here you are, like a sailor on shore leave, horny as fuck at nine in the morning just dreaming of which of these two Lothbroks is going to put their hands on you next.

You’ve always been the first one up in the morning, at least on weekends. Especially since you’ve got brunch with your family today. You slipped out from under Ivar’s arm when your alarm went off, not wanting to disturb him by hitting the snooze. Your morning routine starts with a cup of coffee on the couch while you finish waking up. You’ve got your knees curled up under a blanket, phone in hand, although you’re mostly just daydreaming. You’ve probably already sat here just a little bit too long. You’re trying to make yourself get up and get ready for the day when Ubbe lumbers into the room.

“Morning, beautiful.” Sporting an adorable bedhead and a sleepy grin when he sees you curled up against the arm of the couch, Ubbe makes himself right at home under the other end of your blanket. You’re about to move your legs and give him room, but he spoons himself around your hip and stops your retreat with a strong hand on your thigh. “Is that coffee?” He wraps his fingers around the mug in your hand.

“There’s more in the pot.”

“But this is right here.” He takes a long sip from your mug, with your fingers trapped underneath his. Icy blue eyes sparkle at you from behind the rim. He makes a satisfied sound when he releases it.

You huff and pull it away from him. Ivar is hard to talk back to; you feel more of an urge for it with Ubbe. “This one’s mine, get your own!”

Ubbe just smiles and scoots in closer. “Fine by me. I like a different kind of pick-me-up in the morning, anyway.” He drops his head and nuzzles into your neck, his close-cropped beard tickling pleasantly as he mouths over your skin.

Oh. His body scoops even closer around the back of yours, his hands running up and down your pajama-clad form. You set the coffee cup down.

This may have started out with a lazy Sunday vibe, but Ubbe’s stroking hands find their way quite quickly underneath your clothing. With one hand scooping around your breast and the other diving between your thighs, he his not wasting time this morning. When you part your legs his finger slides so, so easily through your swollen folds. You’re so wet it’s almost embarrassing. “You needed me, didn’t you,” he murmurs in your ear. “You’ve got a pussy that always wants to be filled.”

He plunges in, finding his way so fast and slick that he immediately switches to two fingers, pressing as deep as he can before pulling out more slowly, teasing at your g-spot while you writhe back against him.

There’s mischief in his eyes when you look up. He’s still in control of himself, while you are devolving into a panting mess already. He stares down at you while his fingers piston and you squirm underneath him.

“How much trouble would you be in if he came out right now.”

Your eyes roll over to the dim hallway. As far as you know, Ivar’s not awake yet.

Ubbe twists his fingers, hitting you deeper, more deliciously. “Hm?”

“I—I don’t know,” you gasp, closing your eyes and focusing on cumming before you have to find out.

“Think he’d mark you up again?” Something in Ubbe’s voice makes you look up; his gaze is heated, blazing with that icy fire only his pale eyes can get. “I like thinking about that. More welts in your perfect skin because of me.”

“You want to put some there yourself?” You can barely believe you said it, but you’re just dying to know how kinky Ubbe can really get.

His fingers slow. His other hand curls into your hair. “How much time before you have to go to that brunch?”

“Shit.”

His chuckle is deep and rich. “Is being late an option?”

Disappointment loosens the coil that’s been winding up at your center. “Not really.”

His heavenly fingers retreat. Your pussy is still as needy as ever. “Then you’d better get that sweet ass up. We keep going right now, I’m gonna make your legs stop working.” He gives your butt a lazy, dismissive slap. “But I’m coming for this thing as soon as you get back. I hope you don’t have any plans the rest of the day.”

* * *

You fumble the keys a little on your way back into the apartment. Ubbe’s more than likely to follow through on his promise, and you’ve got the distinct feeling of entering a predator’s lair now, rather than your own apartment. The only thing that might stop him would be if Ivar were also in there, but then he’d probably be the one taking you back to his room to do something even more intense. It’s enough to soak a girl’s panties before anyone’s even touched her.

Everything looks normal when you open the door. No one in sight. You laugh at yourself a little for the apprehension. What, did you think that Ubbe was waiting in the living room to pounce on you? You set your purse down and grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Is that you, Y/N?” Ubbe calls from his bedroom.

“Yeah, hey.”

“Hey,” he says back, matching your casual tone. “Bring me a beer when you get a chance?”

You grab two. The first room down the hallway is Ivar’s. A little thrill creeps up the back of your neck as you pass his open door, but he doesn’t seem to be inside. While you love the ways he’s been claiming you, it’s equally exciting to think that he won’t be stopping you from going to Ubbe this time. On a sudden impulse, you duck into your own room before making it all the way to the last door. From the look of the flickering lights reflecting through the Ubbe’s doorway, he’s playing a video game in there. You decide there’s no rush to join him, and maybe you want to be wearing something a little sexier when you do.

You’ve got this red bra with a matching thong. Satin, with lacy edgings. Not really something you’d want to wear all day, but perfect to slip into now, when there’s basically a 99.9% possibility that they’re going to be peeled off your body within a few minutes. You consider strutting into Ubbe’s room wearing nothing but that, see what kind of cartoon wolf face he makes, but ultimately decide that you’re not going to make this so easy on him. You’ll go in casual, in your regular t-shirt and shorts, and let him make the first move.

When you open your door, Ubbe’s already looming in his, one arm up against the doorframe like he was prepared to be waiting a long time for you. His eyes are wolfish indeed, even without any lingerie to look at. He reaches out one hand. “That mine?”

You’re still carrying two beers. You hand him one, and he brings it to his lips without moving from the doorway.

He looks you up and down. “I thought you were changing in there.”

You shift your weight. “I did.”

“Isn’t that what you were wearing when you left?”

You just nod.

His eyes flick down your body again. He steps forward, reaches his hand up to your shoulder. You stay still, watching his face as he hooks one finger in your collar and pulls the shirt to the side until he can see the bright red, lacy strap hiding underneath. He smiles. “Alright, Little Red.”

You cock an eyebrow. “What does that make you, the Big Bad Wolf?”

Ubbe’s smile is dark. “Oh, Ubbe. What a big dick you have.”

You suppress a giggle. Definitely can’t argue with that. You look back down the hallway. “Ivar’s not here?”

He shakes his head. “Shopping. Said he’d be gone for a while.”

“Oh.”

Ubbe angles his body a little further into the room. “Wanna come in?”

“What happens if I do?”

His smile is dark and full of promises. “I’ll show you what I can do when I actually have room to work.”

The assault you had been expecting earlier comes just about as soon as you set foot across his threshold. You get a brief glimpse of rumpled bed, soda cans stacked around a glowing monitor on a racing game’s menu screen, and clothes littering the floor before Ubbe grasps you by the back of the neck, slams the door shut behind you, and presses your back into it.

“What is it about you,” he murmurs between kisses. “Last night was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done.” His teeth scrape against the bottom of your jaw. “And yet here I am, still as fucking hot for you as if I hadn’t been laid in months.”

He’s tugging your shirt off already. Your heart is racing like crazy; you let him take the bottle out of your hands, lift your arms, and give into it. So much for making him work for anything.

A guttural sound comes out of his throat when he sees the way your tits are served up in red lace. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up against the wall.

You squeeze your legs around him tight as he hitches you up high enough to balance that way for a while. He buries his face in your chest. Lips drag across skin and lace, sloppy and wild. He shifts the angle of his hips and something hard is digging right into the center of your needy pussy. It might just be his belt buckle but whatever it is feels fucking good. You buck your hips against it, clutching at the back of his neck, scraping your fingers through his close-cropped hair.

With another rich, low groan, Ubbe pulls you tight against him and rotates away from the wall, carrying you several steps to his bed before throwing you down. He’s definitely intent on showing off. His knees press between your legs as you recline back and envelop yourself in the scent of his sheets.

One arm flexing quickly behind his head snaps his t-shirt off, revealing the broad chest he works so hard on at the gym. A light dusting of hair adds interest to his chiseled pecs. The action has pulled a fringe of his perpetually messy, dirty blonde hair down toward his eyes as he takes a half a second just to gaze at you on your back beneath him in his bed. His smile is proud and hungry, and then he drops down to cover you.

Not that the car sex wasn’t hot. Or the wild makeout sesh up against the brick wall outside that party. But there’s really nothing better than being able to stretch out and entwine your limbs like this, to feel the weight of his body on top of yours as he embraces you in devouring need.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket with a text message notification. Your first thought is Ivar, and you wriggle under Ubbe to get it out before you’ve even fully made the decision to do so. You break your lips away from his face just far enough to check out the screen.

It’s a message from Lauren. I can’t believe you haven’t called me yet. Ubbe?! You owe me the tea!

Your lips quirk in a quick smile.

“Who’s that,” Ubbe asks.

“Just my friend Lauren.” Pushing the button to turn the screen off, you twist up to set the phone on the nightstand.

“From last night?”

“Yeah. She wants to know what happened after I went home with you.”

Ubbe smirks. “Not going to be able to explain that in a text message.”

“No.”

“Well,” he says, running one hand up your thigh, heading for the waistband of your shorts, “since you haven’t released any reviews on me yet, how about I give you a little bit more to talk about.” He slides down your body, taking your shorts down with him.

You take a deep breath as he strips your legs bare and settles in between them. His fingers curl around the straps of the red thong, his breath hot against your lower belly as he teases the top of your panty line.

“Can’t do this in a car,” he murmurs, and rubs his nose along the crease of your thigh, nudging your legs wider apart for him. His fingers dance along the satin, tracing over your mound and following the strip of fabric as it narrows down and down between your thighs. “You put this on just for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he loops a finger under the side strap and snaps it.

“Did you soak the first pair through just thinking about what I was going to do to you when you got home?”

You say yes, of course you do.

Ubbe’s fingertip sneaks under the elastic hem right at your center, dragging moisture up from your core and around your swollen clit. “Now where did I leave off this morning…?”

“Two fingers in,” you recall helpfully.

Ubbe obliges. You weren’t quite as wet as you thought, but the friction feels good, the slight forcing of his way erotic as you give yourself over to this beast for the fourth time in . . . fuck, less than 24 hours. How is it that you still don’t feel like you’ve had enough? He drags in and out slowly, then uses his other hand to pull the fabric of the panties as far to the side as they’ll go. His warm breath hits your exposed clit as he repositions his body, then his lips close over you and everything is hot and slick and entirely his.

Ubbe clearly loves the pussy. He licks you broad and firm and thoroughly, and when you look down his eyes are closed like he’s savoring his favorite meal. Two fingers are still inside you and he works them in perfect tandem with his tongue. His pace is unhurried, somehow exuding a confidence that’s tightening the coil inside you faster than if he had actually been trying to get you off quickly. He makes happy little sounds as he eats you, and pushes his fingers in deeper.

You clutch at his hair, your legs twitching and writhing oddly as you try and control the uncontrollable. His tongue settles into a steady rhythm, batting across your clit in time with the curling of his fingers from the inside.

“Ubbe,” you wail, voice tight with the coming storm.

“Already?” he laughs, but his fingers don’t miss a beat. “I love it, princess, don’t hold back. I’m gonna make you cum so many times that you can’t think straight anymore.”

Then he latches back onto your clit and sends you spiraling up to the heavens. You can actually feel your body clenching and pulsing around his fingers as you come wailing through clenched teeth. His rhythm slows to gentle rocking as your consciousness floats back down, but he never entirely stops. Dreamy, you chase aftershock after aftershock, fucking yourself softly over his hand, until you realize you’re actually revving up to come a second time.

This seems to be his plan. “You close enough to cum again now,” he lifts his head from your clit to ask softly, “or do I have time to get in there first?”

Fuck. The very idea of Ubbe’s big dick pressing in between your still-shuddering walls is almost enough to make you blow again right now, but you manage to breathe out a quick “give it to me” as you try to hold on for him.

He climbs up the bed to the nightstand, fishing for a condom. You scoot yourself up a little higher too, getting comfy against the pillows and slipping off the twisted thong with shaky limbs. He tears the wrapper with his teeth and smooths the rubber down over his bobbing erection.

Your phone starts to ring. Ivar’s face appears on the glowing screen, and you both just stare at it for a moment.

Ubbe reaches out.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes are sparkling as he scoops up your phone. “If Ivar needs something, you should answer him.” He drags his thumb across the green icon to accept the call.

You suppress an outraged gasp as the naked, condomed Ubbe kneels between your legs while reaching up to press the phone against your ear. “H-hey Ivar.” You hold it up with both hands and do your best to sound completely normal.

“I was thinking of picking up Thai food on my way home,” Ivar says without preamble. Ubbe wraps one big hand under each of your thighs, spreading you wider. “Do you want me to get something for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, realizing too late that you’d probably have to talk less if you had said no.

Ubbe’s got one hand on his dick, and you watch almost in horror as he lines that thing up to slide into your soaked and throbbing pussy right the fuck now.

No way in hell you’re stopping him, though. Walking the line like this is turning you on as much as him.

“Whaaat do you want me to get you?” Ivar asks, dragging out the first syllable in unspoken query about your prolonged silence.

You desperately try and remember the name of any dish they might serve at a Thai restaurant as you feel Ubbe’s blunt head prodding against your entrance. “Pad—pad see… the one with the thin little noodles.”

“Pad Wun Sen,” Ivar corrects you, right as Ubbe presses on home.

It wouldn’t be so difficult to sound normal if Ubbe just weren’t so damned thick. The stretch of him all at once takes the breath out of you, so as you try to answer Ivar in the affirmative you end up sounding way too much like a porn actress with the high-pitched “yeah!” that squeals out of your lungs. You fake a cough to cover it, also an unconvincing sound as Ubbe grinds his hips tightly against yours, and try again. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He slides out slowly. The thick, dark, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face is making Ubbe Lothbrok look like evil incarnate above you as he shoves himself back in with a second merciless thrust. At least you kept your mouth closed for that one, only trying to speak once he’s sunken in to the hilt. “I never seem to remember that name.” The deep, aching stretch of him makes it so hard not to moan, but you think your voice sounds more normal that time.

“What are you doing right now, pet?” You wish you could see Ivar’s face, because he sounds like he’s laughing at you while trying to pretend that he’s not.

“Um, nothing. I just slipped a little.”

Ubbe slips himself out of you, chuckling silently.

“Slipped how?”

You try to close your legs before he can slam into you again, but Ubbe catches your knee and you can’t quite lock him out. “I’m, uh,” you grunt at the struggle, “just mopping the floor.”

“Ah. Yes. You must have found something absolutely filthy, I can hear how hard you’re working. Did you get a little bit too wet?”

You don’t fight Ubbe very hard, but it’s fun to make him pry your legs apart before he can sink himself in again. Besides, feeling the strength of his arms is turning you on, and you’ll take any excuse to get it a little rough. “Yeah, think so.” Ubbe’s cock proves unescapable, jamming back into you again before you can think of anything more clever to say back to Ivar. With that many puns, he has to know exactly what’s going on. And teasing you mercilessly. But if you drop the façade, does it count as Ivar “catching you?” You’d better play it safe and keep pretending, no matter how poor a job you’re doing of it.

“Meat?” Ivar says.

“What?” You feel like you’re really starting to lose the battle as Ubbe pulls your legs up around his hips and starts fucking you deep, with a steady, sensuous rhythm.

“What’s your choice of meat.”

“Oh, uh, chicken.” Each one of those breathy words was punctuated by a thrust that fills you achingly to the brim.

“Alright.” Is that rich, thick amusement you’re hearing in Ivar’s voice? You hold your breath and try to listen. “Anything else? Maybe something for Ubbe?”

You meet those icy blue eyes, helplessly torn between your need to get this conversation over with, and the submissive desire to make sure your man isn’t left without any dinner. What would a good little thrall do? “Hey Ubbe,” you say, trying to make it sound like you’re talking to someone across the room and not inches away from your face. “Want something from the Thai restaurant?”

Ubbe shakes his head, grinning before he bites his lip and thrusts into you deeper.

“Nope,” you chirp to Ivar. You think about the heavenly treatment your pussy got so recently and add: “He already ate.” You feel yourself clench around him as another wave of arousal hits you at the memory.

“Ah,” Ivar says. “Enjoy the rest of your cleaning, then. Make sure you do it nice and deep, for me. And I expect you to be finished by the time I return. I’m ordering now, and I’ll be home with hot food as soon as it’s ready.”

Ubbe’s stuffing you so good you want to screech through your teeth, but you manage to keep your voice sounding human enough to end the call. “Thanks!”

You turn off the phone and resist the urge to throw it across the room. You let yourself have one long, loud, lusty groan to blow off the tension, then you start slapping at Ubbe with both hands. “Bastard! What the fuck was that?”

His cock slides out of you in the struggle, but he catches your arms quickly enough, grinning down into your face. “Super fucking hot, is what it was.”

You just might happen to agree, but you still want to fight. You shove him away from you, getting up onto your knees for more leverage to slap at him some more.

Ubbe detects the playfulness in your aggression and meets it with a growl and a grappler’s grip on your upper arms. You wiggle and struggle and even pretend to bite him until he’s had enough. Suddenly he’s got you flipped around on your stomach, face pressing into the mattress as he climbs onto your back. “Biting me? You think you can get away with that?” His jaws close over the fleshy part of your shoulder.

It’s a love bite, really, not anything meant to hurt, but the savage edge to his voice really sold it and you squirm in excitement underneath him.

“Like that, do you? Dirty girl.” He keeps you held down with one hand in the center of your back and slides down to close his teeth over your flank. Much harder this time. “You’re too fucking wild.” He growls like a beast when you try to squirm away. “Oh no I’m not done with you.” His lips travel to the swell of your ass, where he bites down so hard that you squeal.

When he releases his jaws you almost get away from him. He has to swing most of his body back over yours to ride you back down to the mattress.

He nips at your ear in a primal signal to stay still. “You want it rough, I can give you rough.” You feel his erection against the back of your thigh, waiting, and you realize that was actually a consent question.

“Fuck, yeah,” you say eagerly. “If you think you can claim me, then claim me.”

He prods at you from behind; it’s a little hard to find his mark when you’re not making it easy for him. With a swipe of his knee he opens your legs wider, and then fuck, he pushes right in. It feels impossibly deep from this angle, like he’s about to come out through your bellybutton. You were joking about the claiming thing, it just seemed to fit the animalistic vibe, but it sure is a hot fucking thought as he slams into your helpless, immobilized hips.

You can’t do much besides arch your back and take it. Every thrust has him grinding against your g-spot from this angle; heat builds quickly behind it until you’re keening, wild sounds that fill the room.

The filthy words keep spilling out between Ubbe’s gritted teeth. “Take it – you fucking glorious – ah – so fucking good – take it just like that.” He takes a fistful of hair to pull your face up from the mattress. “I wanna see, how you –”

There’s probably more coming out of his mouth but you can’t hear it anymore as another orgasm rips through your body, the pressure on your g-spot hitting just right at the new angle that Ubbe forced into your back.

Once you’re conscious of anything besides the roaring pleasure inside your own body, Ubbe’s not capable of words anymore. He’s fucking into you hard and fast and with a long, guttural groan that has to mean he’s coming too. His pace sputters, then he buries himself to the hilt and just stays there, holding his breath for a bliss-filled moment. He exhales with everything he has left and then collapses on top of you.

You make a happy little sound. You don’t mind his weight. It’s cozy, and somehow flattering to feel so thoroughly and freely used for his comfort. He shifts just enough to wrap an arm around your shoulder, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. He doesn’t move again until he’s caught his breath.

When he finally pulls his softening cock out of you, he sighs a little at his own sensitivity. He rolls back on his hip to strip the condom off and flings it across his room. “Wow,” he says, voice light and giddy. “That was—wow.” He settles back down beside you, making sure you’re facing him. “Um, was all that ok?”

You smile. “What do you mean?”

His eyebrows go up. “That got pretty wild by the end there. I hope I didn’t, like, hurt you.”

Stroking your fingers down the side of his face, you try not to look like you’re laughing at him. Boy really is a total newbie to kinks like yours. Although he certainly seems to share them. “I’m fine. Loved every minute of it. If it wasn’t working for me, really, I’d have stopped you.”

His brows furrow down, listening carefully.

“I’ll say ‘red light’ if I ever need you to stop what you’re doing.”

Ubbe nods.

“But I love it rough like that. That was hot as hell.” You rub your palm over the places where he bit you. The one on your ass is still sensitive.

“It was, wasn’t it.” Ubbe looks like a kid who’s discovered a new candy store has opened right on his street. “Fuck. I just like . . . you seemed like you were into it and I just went for it. It was just . . .” he closes his eyes, trailing off with an adorable crease between his brows as he remembers some tantalizing detail. “You like it like that all the time?”

You nod, shyly, but a nervous laugh slips out too. “I mean, I’d probably get sore after a while but, yeah. Fuckin’ throw me around.” Your eyes trail down to his chest, unable to be quite this honest under full eye contact. “Chase me, push me, pull me… I like to be forced to submit.”

An entirely pleased sound rumbles in his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He pulls you in close, tucking your head under his chin. “You’re not like any of the girls I’ve known,” he sighs.

You kind of want to say maybe you’ve been dating the wrong girls. But then the uncomfortable topic of dating would be hanging between the two of you, and you don’t want to talk about that until things are more clear with Ivar. He’s the one you always saw yourself getting serious with. Ubbe’s just, well, fun. Although he’s been surprising you lately. Like right now. You know you can’t stay long, you have to be dressed and out of this bed before Ivar gets home as per his instructions, but for just a few more minutes, you snuggle deeper into Ubbe’s arms.

A/N: I know Ubbe’s been getting a lot of spotlight lately, but Ivar’s back with a vengeance next!!! Read On

Taglist is open: @walkxthexmoon   @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @youbloodymadgenius​ @walkxthexmoon​@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog​ @earl-aive​ @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​ @ceridwenofwales​ @grungyblonde​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @hvittysmutanon​ @honestsycrets​ @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @writingfromasgard​ @tootie-fruity​ @lordsexmachine @ uncomfortable-writers @sadbutatleastsassy​ @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme​ @likealostkiss @thehangedmanandthehoneybee

[mannien]

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k 

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.  

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”          

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

           Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

           She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

           (Tom) I got you something today

           After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood.  She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

           (Me) You were in Disneyland????

           (Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today 

           (Me) I’m so jealous rn

           (Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!  

           (Tom) it’s alright

           (Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

           (Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

           (Me) I bet you loved this feeling

           (Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

           (Tom) Don’t tell anyone

           (Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

           (Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

           Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

           Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

           The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

           “I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

           “That’s exciting, right?”

           “Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

           “That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

           “I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

           “No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

           “Yeah? How was work?”

           “Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

           “Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

           Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

           “Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

           “You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

           “Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

           “I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

           “Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

           “You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

           “I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

           “Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

           “Oh, for sure.”

           “Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

           “I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

           “You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

                                                          *  *  *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

           “How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

           “Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

           “It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

           “Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

           It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.  

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

[tmntgirlie]

Ok, first- I love? Your scenarios and stories, I always get excited when you post something new!! And PLEASE do a scenario with universe reader x Leo where u know.... they talk about the kissing, maybe reader gets shy and questions why he didn’t do it wit tongue? Did Leo actually wanted to kiss them? ( like reader just overthinking and being anxious in general and Leo having to *AHEM* confirm... in a very special way.... that he ///// really//// wanted to kiss them, if you know what I mean ☺️) not nsfw scenario but I think everyone in the tmnt x reader tag would be up for some oh a little kiss here and there then BOOM escalated to passionate makeout 😅😂😂 Eitherway thank you so much!

Hope you like it <3

-

It was the morning after the party. You woke up alone in your makeshift bedroom, only a little confused. You swore you remembered Leo bringing you to bed last night-

Or was that just a dream? Didn’t you just kiss, nothing more?

Oh, yeah. You remembered now. Spin the bottle.

You remembered going to bed after far too many drinks, and Leo walking you there. He had told you goodnight. He kissed your cheek.

Man, that felt good.

You finally made your way out of your room and straight to the kitchen. You knew tea was the usual go-to drink in this family, but damn it, you needed coffee and Tylenol.

“Morning.”

You jumped at the voice. “What the- Oh! Leonardo. You’re awake.”

The blue-masked terrapin smiled at you, gesturing to two mugs on the counter. “I made you some coffee. I didn’t know how many creams or sugars you like, so it’s just black. Hope that’s okay.”

He made you coffee?

You felt like you could melt.

You walked towards him and slowly added as much sugar and cream as you liked. “So… That party last night, huh?”

“That sure was somethin’,” he said with a nod, not looking at you.

“Sure was.” You slowly brought the coffee to your lips.

“We’ve never thrown a party like that before,” he said after a silence. “It was really fun.”

You cleared your throat. “Oh, yeah? What was your favorite part?”

You were positively dying to know. You had basically planned that entire party around the whole point of kissing him. You were just so drawn to him, drawn to who he stood for and what he stood for. Not to mention his looks.

Yeah, sure, he was a turtle. But it wasn’t like he was an ordinary turtle. Belle fell for the Beast when he wasn’t human.

Not that you wanted to turn him human, you were sure he was just fine-

You could feel your cheeks getting hotter.

Stop overthinking.

“The games were pretty fun,” he said carefully. “Good food, good drinks, fun games, good company.”

“I hope I didn’t go too far,” you said softly.

Leonardo looked at you with a frown. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “You know. The games. Specifically that last one. Hope I didn’t push any… Boundaries.”

“You’re specifically referring to Spin the Bottle, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He hummed, looking into his mug of coffee. “I thought it was fun.”

You were both dancing around the topic you both knew you wanted to talk about. One of you had to break eventually.

“Was there anybody you were hoping to land on?” you asked finally, internally crossing your fingers. Me, me, me, say me.

“Considering my options? I’d say I landed on who I had hoped for.”

He wasn’t going to admit it easily. You told yourself it didn’t sting, but damn. It kind of did.

“Your options, besides your brothers, were April, Casey, Vern, or me.”

“Yup. I’d say the bottle chose well.”

Okay, he was giving a little now.

You set the coffee mug down on the table and turned to face him. “Two can play at this game, boy.”

“Another game?” the terrapin smirked, but judging from his eyes, he wasn’t being sarcastic. He was being… Playful?

“Another game,” you confirmed, but then you sighed. “The only reason you hoped for me wasn’t because I was the only girl option that wasn’t taken, right?” You spoke softly now.

He followed your lead, setting his coffee down and turning to face you, hands crossed over his chest. “I can’t say that was the only reason, Y/N.”

“Did you want to kiss me?”

“Maybe.”

You groaned in frustration. “Why are guys like this? Dodging around questions, never giving a straight answer- men are so-”

You stopped when you felt his lips against yours. It was a familiar feeling, but also different. You were both sober now. You could really take in the moment.

It was over too soon.

He pulled away. “Is it so bad that I wanted to kiss you just because I wanted to?”

“No,” you said. “It’s bad that last night’s kiss lasted longer than that one.”

“Who am I to deny you?” he gave you a half smile before pulling you against him, wrapping his arms around you.

It took you by surprise, definitely, but it wasn’t an unwanted advance. You were just surprised he was doing this so easily.

Oh, God. He wasn’t still drunk, was he?

It felt like an eternity before he pulled away, but it still didn’t feel like enough. It was like a drug, and now that you had a taste, you wanted more.

“There’s just… Something about you that draws me to you,” he told you quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

Words, Y/N. Use words. You can do it. It’s word time.

But you couldn’t find any.

“Uh…”

Leonardo took a step back. “I was being too forward, wasn’t I?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no! I just… I’m surprised is all. You’re really drawn to me?”

“A girl from a different dimension comes into our lives, is accepted by our father, throws a party just for me and my family? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, look at you.”

You frowned. “Besides being from a different dimension, I’m really nothing special. Believe that. I’m not. I’m just a girl who somehow ended up here.” You considered saying ‘the wrong place’, but it didn’t feel right to say that. It didn’t feel wrong for you to be here.

Was that so bad?

Maybe it was selfish of you.

“I feel like I have an unfair advantage here,” you said.

Leonardo snorted. “Really? How so?”

“I came into this universe already knowing who you were. I know how you act, how you think kind of, how you grew up. Who you know. What you’ve done. It’s like you’re dating your stalker.”

“Dating?”

Oh, shit. Did you just say that? 

“Um…” Come on, Y/N. Remember those words? Use those words!

“In my opinion, it makes things just a little bit easier. I don’t have to explain myself to you, why I am who I am,” he told you, placing a three-fingered hand on your shoulder gently. “Trust me, Y/N, I don’t think of you like our stalker. Maybe an admirer.”

“It doesn’t weird you out?” You looked up at him.

“Not really.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t think you were like a stalker.

“I did not mean to insinuate that we’re dating,” you said quickly. “It just kind of slipped out.”

He smiled at you. “I’m sure.”

You squinted at him. “Right. Where were we?”

For a terrapin who had never had a kiss before the night before, Leonardo sure knew how to lift you onto the counter (and not knock down those precious coffees) to give you a better angle to, you know, kiss him.

You hoped nobody walked in. This was not how you wanted Master Splinter to see you with his beloved eldest son.

[shiversdownyerspine]

8. Warm

BEHOLD.

18+...kinda?

The last twinkles of dawn have faded as morning balances on a pin, almost ready to fall into day. It is at this edge that you finally rise and shine.

Except there is no rising and shining, no. There is no wakey wakey eggs and bakey. Why?

Because you are stuck. Stuck between slipping into the waking world or letting yourself drift back into blessed sleep. It's the strangest thing, you can't quite decide what you want so...you'll just have to float among the cozy clouds of indecision for the time being. 

At least for five more minutes.

You're not the only one having trouble. Otto is still stretched out on the sofa with you on top of him, holding him captive. Not that that's what he'd consider to be the problem, however.

As it just so happens, after he had updated his brothers about your condition, he had shifted his position a little. Nothing much, just slipped a leg from its resting place on the cushions and the sofa arm to the floor below. Your furniture was just a little too short for a man of his height to stretch out properly on without his feet dangling off the edge.

This is when his little problem popped up; after he moved, you adjusted your position as well. Still settled between his legs and on his chest, you subconsciously decided to slide your leg up and over his thigh. Settling the pressure of your pelvis right into his.

Thank goodness his brothers were preoccupied; Axel was still in the kitchen cleaning up breakfast, and Oscar was distracted with the kittens on the other side of the coffee table. The cover that the thick quilt provided was also much appreciated.

He tried a couple times to shift his hips away, but you would follow him with every movement. Or more accurately, you had no choice but to follow with your leg hooked over his like this. The gentle rub and slide of your lower body against his was starting to become...distracting. 

On his third valiant attempt you let out a soft sweet little sound into his chest, forcing the poor man motionless under you. While another part of him stirred.

That's it.

Determined, Otto grips the back of your bent knee with one hand while the other dips to grab the back of your thigh just under your rear. With a firm pull, he drags you further up his chest, away from his hips.

Your lungs fill with a deep breath as the abrupt movement has you tensing, your hand sliding up over his collarbone and back down to his chest as sleep pulls away from you.

Otto grunts, "Awake now?"

Groggy, your head lifts sluggishly from your living pillow, eyes half-lidded and hair fittingly tousled. 

Your nose crinkles cutely, "...somethin' like that.

Large fingers brush some errant locks of your hair from your face before the man asks, "Still tired? Better?"

Pushing yourself up a bit on your forearms, you take a moment to hide a yawn in your shoulder before returning your attention to Otto, "...Both. It's expected; it usually takes a day...maybe?...for my sleep schedule to go back to normal."

The heel of your palm rubs carefully at your eye, "Bad cold spells aren't very common, but they pop up more around winter. Last longer too."

Otto's brow furrows as Axel interjects, "Still had weeks of cold, but it's different?"

Peering sleepily around the living room for the surly man with the slicked-back hair, you realize his voice drifted in from the kitchen.

"Well..during these weeks the cold spell was inconsistent. Most are. What's the phrase thing...like a roller coaster? Boat on the waves?"

The tallest brother nods his understanding, "Up and down."

"Mhm. Some nights I'm warmer and get more sleep, it's more manageable. Winter spells are more...constant. Less changing..."

Your head droops, "..and a lot more aggravating for it."

Somewhere during the conversation, Axel finishes up in the kitchen and takes a seat in the armchair next to the sofa. Meanwhile Otto's arms have returned to rest lightly on your back. Warm for the first time in weeks, your body refuses to even consider the thought of slipping away from the man. You're staying right where you are. 

The fear prickles in the back of your mind that if you do move away, you'll find the cold waiting to cut right through the warmth and pick up where it left off. Of course you know it doesn't work like that, but the thought stubbornly lingers.

From across the coffee table, lying sprawled on the carpet with napping kittens, a hidden Oscar asks, "You deal with winter how? 

With a jolt you glance around the room, fingers curling in the warm material of Otto's long johns while the man himself gives an amused huff.

"...Uh..It's..pretty much the same with the cold spells...but I wear more layers during the day and..and lots of blankets at night."

Still not able to see the youngest despite your efforts, you have to ask, "Oscar what are you doing down there?"

Silence.

As you lift yourself up more to see past the coffee table, you're greeted with nothing but carpet. 

"...Well that's spook-" 

Before you have a chance to finish your sentence, dastardly digits slip into your hair from behind and wiggle against your nape feathers, courtesy of a certain sneaky bastard. It's been a while since Oscar's last sneak attack, but this one takes the proverbial cake.

With a muffled squeal you duck back down to Otto to escape his mischievous brother, yanking the quilt up to buffer the back of your neck. Oscar smirks and leans back up, steadying the kitten that was slipping off his shoulder. Axel side-eyes him but pays little mind to his antics, his focus is mainly on the conundrum that is his empty mug.

The youngest grunts, "Revenge, du liten retas."

A single word in Oscar's declaration catches your indignant attention, "Revenge? For what you fiend?"

Axel stands to stroll to the kitchen to rectify his coffeeless issue, reminding you on the way. 

"Babysitter."

Otto lightly rubs your back, nodding as if it was a necessary evil.

You grumble, "...Ah. Right. Well I hope everyone's thirst for vengeance has been sated."

With your righteous fury briefly mollified, you pout up at Oscar and his little accomplice. Thing 1 wobbles a bit, clinging to the fabric of his shoulder. 

You allow yourself a moment to admire the man's slim turtleneck sweater paired with his button suspenders. The long-sleeved garment appears to be on the older side, as much of their apparel seems to be, but the deep pewter color doesn't appear to have faded yet. The form fitting material molds quite nicely to the brawn of his arms, showing off muscles earned from a life of hard work. 

Really all three men can boast of possessing a certain physical prowess, of which Otto himself had demonstrated for you last night. You're not sure what had made your heart pound more, being carried by the man or being snuggled up against him to sleep.

With these thoughts rattling around in your head, you become slightly more conscious of the situation; of the feel of his body pressed to yours, of his hands at your back. That's one way to wake yourself up.

The tiny precariously perched feline serves a decent distraction from the attractiveness of these men. You sit up, rear hovering over Otto's lap to give some attention to Thing 1. Steadying yourself with a hand on the top of the sofa, you reach up to the kitten to give its tiny forehead a rub as Oscar leans down a bit to accommodate you.

"I don't think the kittens are quite ready to become official shoulder cats. They're not the most coordinated yet."

You can't help but be a worry wart with such itty bitty animals in your care.

Oscar broods, tilting his head to observe his cargo, "..Too small?"

With your little roller coaster metaphor still on the brain, you reply without thinking, "You must be this tall to ride the Oscar."

You hear a slight clattering in the kitchen as Oscar's eyes widen in surprise and naughty delight. Otto's hands twitch as he swallows thickly. Both brother's eyes trail the slope of your body from different angles.

The larger man's drifting thoughts backstab his good intentions and leave them to die in the gutter; admiring your legs spread either side of his hips, his gaze rests on a certain part of your anatomy that is hovering above a certain part of his anatomy, taunting him with possibilities...

One such possibility being you bare and ready, perched astride him just like this but waiting to be guided down to swallow up every inch-

The snicker from Oscar thankfully breaks the spell Otto is under, the big man scowling as he watches the smaller lean slightly towards your arm. He wouldn't...

Oscar dips his head, lips brushing your skin as his eyes flick to Otto before settling back on you. After finding the two of you cuddled up together and his brother getting handsy? Oh, he absolutely would.

He grins, "Warning, will get wet."

With that, his teeth press gently to the inside of your wrist in a loose open mouthed bite as something wet and warm flicks over your skin.

You pull your arm away from his mouth with a yelp, face resembling a tomato as you stutter, "Oscar! That's-I...W-what, do I need a spray bottle for you?!?"

The man's face is radiating satisfaction and a playfulness that has your stomach somersaulting. You've never sprayed your animals, finding other methods more beneficial for behavior correction, but at least it could have offered you some form of retribution in this unexpected scenario.

You squeak when Otto grasps your waist to remove you from his person and settle you on the cushions and quilt. His feet plop down on the carpet as he stands at his full intimidating height, glaring down at his brother from where he stands behind the sofa.

Eyes locked on his aggressively posturing brother, Oscar slowly removes the kitten from his shoulder and offers him to you to take. Which you do, gaze flicking between the two men as tension builds.

Oscar snaps that tension with ease, growling, "Hon smakar söt, som honung."

And with that mysterious sentence, the youngest brother's instigation is successful. He bee-lines for the kitchen in a sprint, presumably to escape out the back door to the garden as Otto's heavy gait follows close behind.

Taking a moment to calm your racing heart, you juggle your choices of getting dressed or grabbing some food and coffee. Your rumbling stomach and lingering sleepiness makes the decision for you. Forming a makeshift nest with the quilt, you plop Thing 1 down, smiling as he settles in contentedly. You don't even need to look for Thing 2 as the kitten quickly scrambles up the side of the sofa to join his sibling for more naptime.

Tiptoeing to the kitchen, you peep in to find Axel standing at the screen door, sipping his mug of coffee. Watching his brothers' antics no doubt. Not wanting to startle the man, however unlikely given his occupation, you murmur, "Axel? Please tell me there's more coffee."

The man looks over his shoulder, nodding and gesturing to the table where a full steaming mug waits just for you. A hearty plate of some sort of breakfast scramble consisting of eggs, tomatoes, sausage, potatoes, cheese, and herbs sits beside your drink. Touched by his consideration, you shyly express your gratitude and take a seat.

Before you dig in, something itches at your senses and you peer up to see the man still watching you with a small smirk. Your eyes narrow, looking down at the offering and back up as a feeling of familiarity pokes your brain.

Waaaiiit a minute...

"...I'm being bribed aren't I."

The smirk that spreads on his face is all the answer you need. You cover your mouth as giggles struggle to break out. It takes a second or two to compose yourself...at least to some degree.

"I'm guessing you have some questions for me?"

Probably some harder questions, given the new information you've revealed. You stubbornly hold on to your good mood, not wanting to let it spoil.

At the sound of Oscar's hollering, Axel returns his attention back to whatever unfortunate fate has befallen his kin. 

He suggests you finish breakfast first. You don't need him to tell you twice.

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

Revenge, du liten retas- Revenge, you little tease. Hon smakar söt, som honung- She tastes sweet, like honey.

[loopstagirl]

A Cup of Comfort

For @tsarinatorment and your hot chocolate prompt. It’s more TOS than TAG, but hopefully it’s okay.

In pain and bored, Virgil gives up trying to sleep. But someone else knows exactly what he needs.

There were no interesting patterns on his ceiling.

No intriguing shadows as the moonlight spilled through the open balcony door.

The breeze wasn't refreshing.

The night wasn't quiet.

Virgil groaned. He scrunched the pillow, trying to force some volume back into it before shoving it behind his head.

It didn't help. He was still uncomfortable. No amount of pillow fluffing was going to make a difference.

He'd been too hot, and the blankets were pushed to the end of the bed in a pile. Of course, now he'd cooled down, he couldn't reach them to pull them back up again. For a few moments, he lay there, eyes closed, counting his breaths as he tried to will himself to relax.

All it did was focus his attention on the reason why he wasn't asleep. The throbbing, itching weight of his left leg. His knee still felt hot – not just to touch – and his ankle ached from where he'd struggled to compensate.

It wasn't even the wrenched knee that was keeping him awake. Brains had given him enough painkillers that it had settled to a soft pulse rather than the hammer-hard pounding it had been earlier in the evening.

No. His current discomfort was the weight of the brace strapped around his leg. It was heavy and restrictive, and made sleeping curled up nigh-on-impossible. Virgil didn't sleep on his back, never had. He curled into the smallest ball he could and buried away from the world and all its problems, even when living on a tropical island. Now, though, he could barely roll over.

He also, it seemed, couldn't sleep. No amount of meditation was going to disguise the fact that he was cold, in pain, and irritable right now. He checked his watch: 2am. Even John wouldn't still be awake for a chat at this time, and Virgil huffed, feeling despondent more than tired.

There was no point lying there grumbling to himself. Pressing his palms against the mattress, he forced himself upright, scooting back until he could lean against the wall. He twisted half his body, then gripped his leg and swung it off the bed. It was a strange lurch to get himself to his feet, and it was only the hand on the wall that stopped him from falling flat on his face. It felt like a victory given his latest streak of bad luck, and Virgil took a breath, gaze fixed with determination on his bedroom door.

He'd had worse than a wrenched knee. He'd seen worse on his brothers and always come up with reasons why they were lucky the damage hadn't been more severe. A Tracy didn't let something like a strained…

Ow.

Pep talks only got so far. Even with the brace, shifting his weight hurt. By the time he reached his bedroom door, he certainly wasn't cold any longer.

When he got to the kitchen, he was breathless, sweating, and in more pain than he wanted to admit. He paused in the doorway, staring into the room, and wondering what exactly he was supposed to do next.

Hobbling across, he perched on one of the bar stools. But the angle was too severe for his knee, and he couldn't elevate it. Huffing, Virgil slid off again, leaning against the wall and looking around for ideas, but nothing came to mind.

Rather than face the trek back to his room, he let the wall take his weight and slipped down to the floor. It took some awkward manoeuvring to lower himself while keeping his leg straight, but he got there.

Resting back, Virgil stared across the kitchen blankly. He didn't know what he'd come down for, but now he was here, it all seemed pointless. He told himself it was better than staring at his ceiling, but had to admit the view hadn't improved that much.

He hadn't been there long when he heard footsteps. Virgil stayed quiet, hoping to pass unnoticed. When the light flicked on, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his watery eyes.

"Come on." The tone was a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

Virgil was out of sight: he was sitting on the floor, wedged into a corner on the opposite side to either the fridge or the cupboards. There was no reason for anyone to look this way. He somehow wasn't surprised when he looked up to find Scott standing over him, hand outstretched.

Virgil took it. His brother gripped his forearm, steadying him with the other hand as he pulled him upright. Hooking a chair with his foot, Scott spun it around and Virgil lowered himself into it. But like the bar stool, the angle was wrong, and he grimaced, making to rise.

"Wait."

He didn't have time to ask before Scott had pulled over another chair, found a cushion from who-knew-where, and helped Virgil rest his leg on it.

Virgil sagged. He suddenly felt it was two in the morning, and he was in the kitchen rather than bed.

"What're you doing up?" He asked his brother. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Scott moved. For a man completely out of his comfort zone, his movements were assured, soothing, and Virgil relaxed back.

Scott shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered, opening the fridge.

"Why?"

It wasn't uncommon for previous rescues to play on their minds, and the fact Virgil's leg was in a brace gave away the latest hadn't been a straight forward one.

"I was just restless," Scott said, "couldn't switch off."

He gave Virgil a pointed look, who flushed. It was hardly the first time Scott hadn't been able to sleep, only to find a brother was also awake for one reason or another.

"Freak," Virgil muttered.

Scott ignored the insult. "Do you need more meds?"

Virgil shook his head. "It's not the pain," he said, "it's just…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

"Can't get comfy?"

Virgil grimaced. "I know I'm the first to tell you guys rest is the best thing, but…" His flush deepened as he forced himself to meet his brother's eyes. "I got bored staring at the ceiling. We'd need a bigger island for the number of sheep I tried counting."

Scott's mouth twitched in a quick smile, but he didn't say anything. Instead, Virgil watched, intrigued, as he pulled down a couple of mugs.

It only took a few seconds before Virgil realised what Scott was doing.

"For a man whose main culinary skill is not burning the pizza, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Scott gave him a scathing look as he heated the milk and started measuring out chocolate powder.

"All those afternoons sitting at the kitchen table with Grandma," he reminisced, "this is the one thing I know how to do. Don't you remember who used to make it for you guys when you got home from school in winter?"

Virgil smiled. He remembered their grandmother bustling around. But it was only now that he recalled Scott in the background, carefully measuring quantities and stirring hot milk while they demanded sprinkles, cream, marshmallows and various combinations of the above. Their grandmother handled the flourishes, but Scott made the drinks.

"Cream and marshmallows, right?" Scott said.

Virgil's smile was fond as he nodded, touched that Scott remembered his preferred mix. He was soon cradling a hot chocolate, swiping his finger through the cream before his brother handed him a spoon.

Scott had gone for the same, minus cream, and they both spent a few moments chasing gooey lumps around their drinks.

"D'you ever miss Kansas?" Virgil said.

Scott's eyes widened as he slurped some of his drink.

"Why?"

Virgil shrugged. "Dunno. Just having this-," he gestured at the mug -, "made me start thinking about it."

Scott sat down opposite him, drawing his knees to his chest. He looked young like that – the same way he'd sat as a boy, even if Virgil was impressed that he could fold his long limbs into the chair and hold the position.

"Sometimes," Scott admitted, surprising his brother. Virgil's eyebrows raised.

"You do?"

Scott nodded. "I'd never go back if that's what you're mean. What we do, who we are… it's in our blood."

Virgil agreed. Their father had done so much before starting International Rescue, and it wasn't only Scott and John who had followed his path. They all longed for something more.

Being out in the field, being active, making a difference… Scott was right: it was in their DNA, and none of them would give it up. Even when a bad rescue meant he couldn't sleep.

"But…" Scott took a deep breath. "I wonder who we could've been."

"Come again?" Virgil didn't follow, and the blank look on his face told his brother as much. Scott shrugged.

"Normal lives, day jobs, marriage, heck, even kids. Don't you ever think about who you'd be if it wasn't for IR?"

"No," Virgil said honestly. "We've got everything I ever dreamed of."

"Everything?" Scott's words were soft, but Virgil knew what he was asking this time. The whole operation had been set up because their father had been broken by the loss of their mother. Moving to the island, being part of a secret organisation, meant none of them had experienced falling in love.

"There's still a chance," Virgil said, "look at Alan."

It was different, and they knew it.

"And your degree? Everything you worked for?"

"Why do you think I chose engineering?" Virgil shrugged. It had been a tough call between that and art, but once his father had announced what he was working on, the decision had been easy.

"Maybe it's different for me because I never got a job," he mused. "You had your career, John his-,"

"No."

Virgil looked at his brother, astonished.

"No?"

"I had a job, not a career. I never would've got promoted."

"Scott-,"

"I would have turned them down. Could you ever imagine me with a desk job? I have to fly. That was why I joined, and how long would it have taken before I got annoyed with those who just sat behind a desk, risking lives?"

"And John?"

Scott's smile was small, but genuine. "For someone who is rarely on Earth," he said softly, "John's a home-boy. The lack of contact with the rest of us would have eventually driven him to some office somewhere where the only way he'd see his beloved stars was through his telescope."

"Gordon had already been discharged," Virgil said, thoughtfully. "If you don't dream about a decorated career, what do you think about?"

Scott shrugged. "You guys being safe."

"Urgh," Virgil pulled a face. "Do you really think I would have been safe fixing monorail lines or something just as boring? I'd be going out of my mind!"

Scott chuckled. "I know," he said. "None of us were ever meant for the quiet life, and heck knows where Gords would've ended up. IR gave him his purpose back."

"It gave us all our purpose."

"Even when things like that happen?" Scott asked, nodding towards his leg.

Virgil scowled – he'd managed not to think about it while they were talking, but drawing attention made him conscious of how much it still hurt.

"Even that," he said. "If that's the only way we get to have conversations like this."

He laughed at the expression on Scott's face.

"You can just tell me if you want to talk, you know," his big brother said. "Skidding down a mountain isn't the best way to get my attention."

Virgil managed a smile. The rockslide had caught him unaware; there had been no warning, and the only hint he'd got was John yelling in his ear that he needed to move. He hadn't made it very far before the debris overtook him. All it had taken was a stray boulder smashing into his leg and he'd gone down.

"Did I say thanks?" he muttered. Scott had been forced to pull him out, get him off the mountain, while Virgil had tried not to pass out.

"You don't have to," Scott said, then held up a hand, "but yes, you did. Numerous times. And in quite creative ways once the morphine had kicked in."

Virgil grinned. "What can I say? I'm a creative kind of guy."

"Like I said: there're other ways."

The two brothers smiled at each other. Virgil finished his drink and glanced at the kitchen door. Scott saw his look.

"Time for bed?" he asked. Virgil sighed.

"Can't I stay here?"

"You know what Grandma would say to that," Scott countered. He took Virgil's empty mug and put it in the sink along with his own before holding out his hand again.

Knowing Scott wasn't going to let him get away with it, Virgil huffed another sigh and once again let his brother draw him upright.

The journey back upstairs was far less effort when there was a big brother to lean on. It didn't take long before Scott had navigated him onto the bed. To his surprise, Virgil yawned even as Scott slipped a pillow under his leg and drew the covers over him.

The drink had warmed him through, comforted him in a way he hadn't realised he'd needed. Talking to Scott had reminded him that however much he wanted to grumble that he was sore and uncomfortable, he'd do it again. This was their life; he wouldn't go back, and he wouldn't change anything.

"Thanks," he murmured. The light dimmed, but Scott paused in the doorway.

"Anytime," he said. "Get some rest, Virg."

Even as Scott pulled his door closed on his way out, Virgil let his eyes shut.

That sounded like the best idea he'd heard all day.

Also available here >>

[sunflowers-heart]

October 31st – Ghost Stories

13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word count: 2,379

Warnings: None

Author’s note: Modern!AU. My last story for the event is also the longest, I hope you enjoy it! Participating was a lot of fun, thank you so much for running it, Jessica, I look forward doing more events in the future! <3

You were never particularly fond of the centuries-old manor you used to live in with your fiancé. No amount of splendid decorations nor modern architectural solutions could stop the overwhelming feeling of being constantly watched, of every single of your steps being followed, of the shadows disappearing in the corner of your eyes whenever you were trying to catch them.

It was odd, considering the fact that Thranduil seemed to not notice any of those things, no ill energy, no suspicious rustles in the middle of the night coming from the floor below your bedroom, nothing strange. He was never the man you would consider as insensitive, on the contrary, under the cold mask of calculation there was a compassionate soul, the one you fell in love in many years ago. It did not took a lot of time for him to ask you to live in his house together—the great, luxurious mansion appearing to you like some kind of untouchable dream. And yet, there you were, sleeping in the soft embrace of the man you loved, in the place people could only dream of.

With the invisible eyes watching your every step.

“Is something bothering you, my love?” Thranduil asked one day, stroking your hair in a caring manner as your cheek rested upon his chest, the book still open in his hand. “You seem tense.”

At first you said nothing. It was the beginning of a wonderful, sunny day, the leaves of a maple tree behind your bedroom’s window shining brightly in gold and orange, the smell of tea and coffee prepared by the cook downstairs reaching your senses and causing your stomach to grumble in need. It was supposed to be your Saturday, the day where none of you were supposed to work and simply enjoy your time together.

If only not for the dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered and played with a long strand of his platinum hair, twirling it over your finger. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“I understand.” You felt his chest throb when he spoke and then the Adam’s apple to move when he swallowed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Bad feeling rather.”

“About?”

You frowned. Clarification of your worries was way harder than it seemed and immediately you thought that maybe getting into this subject was not the wisest idea. Supporting your weight on one elbow, you rose up and looked him in the eyes. There was a genuine concern, a will to help, and you wondered how people around you could be so blind to still consider him as ruthless.

“It’s just a stress,” you explained vaguely and kissed the corner of his lips. “No need to worry about, let’s go get breakfast, shall we?”

Whether he did not want to push you or respected your opinion, Thranduil did not ask any more questions. Still, he managed to successfully occupy your mind with kisses and delicious breakfast.

Walking up the stairs, you greeted the maid and headed forward to the dressing room to grab a coat before joining Thranduil on a stroll through the gardens. Although the weather seemed appealing from behind the windows, you quickly found out that it was rather cold once you stepped outside. Blowing wind tossed the fallen leaves all over the estate, giving the gardener a plenty of additional job.

Thankfully, spending the peaceful, completely normal morning with your fiancé was enough to make you lighten up a little, forgetting about the unpleasant incident. Perhaps you truly were overreacting; it was not the first time when your empathy gave you a wrong impression of what was going on around you and if you could only focus on something else, you could quickly realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. You were safe and there was a bright future ahead of you, full of wonderful surprises, marvellous adventures and never-ending love.

Smiling to yourself, you turned right on the first floor and went through the corridor, taking a mental note to take a pair of gloves and a scarf for Thranduil also, before you stopped abruptly and held your breath.

Cold sweat rolled down your spine as your mind was desperately trying to understand what you have just witnessed—to no avail. Frozen in place, you could only stare blankly at the portrait hanging on the wall, the one which has been there since the times of Thranduil’s grandparents. It was all the same as you remembered it; golden frame, heavy movements of brush against the canvas, mostly brown and copper colours used, green armchair appearing as soft and comfortable, roses blooming from the corners, however, now there was one detail missing.

The armchair was now empty.

“I swear to you, I’ve seen it,” you confessed, your trembling hand hidden in Thranduil’s, warmed up by his natural heat, as you led him to the first floor. “She was not there, the lady from the portrait disappeared as if she just casually stood up and went out of her painting. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true.”

Thranduil remained quiet, following you with the long steps until you finally reached the said portrait. Unexpectedly, you felt a wave of relief washing down on you as you realized that the lady was still not present, since you were afraid that once you will go and get your fiancé here, she might come back and therefore make you appear as a lunatic. You were not convinced if he would believe you in the story only.

His answer, however, was as stoic as he always was.

“I see…”

For a long moment, you were staring at the painting. With him by your side, there was new courage in your heart and eventually, you took a step forward, looking at the canvas from a different angle, hoping to maybe see her hiding behind the painted armchair. Naturally, she was not there and the painting was as flat as you could expect.

You peeked over the shoulder when you heard Thranduil walking away and quickly followed him.

“What are we going to do about it?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” You blinked in confusion. “There’s a living portrait in the house and we’re supposed to just ignore it?”

“What else should we do?” He raised an eyebrow and this question shushed you successfully.

Indeed, what should you do? Look for her? Where, on the on the other paintings, like in Harry Potter? Put the portrait down, so she would not have a place to come back to? Burn it? Every idea seemed to be more ridiculous than the previous one so you only shook your head in resignation.

You would gladly take a walk in the garden now, but first, you had to add few drops of bourbon to your coffee.

The lady came back on her painting next morning. She was sitting on her armchair in the same position, with the same, soft smile on her lips and you started to wonder whether yesterday happened at all. Thranduil confirmed your inquires to be true and although you still felt like in a dream, the life was going on. This time, however, everytime you passed the painting by, you were eyeing the portrait carefully, looking for any signs of movement, any proof that you were not crazy.

You and your fiancé equally.

She did not move for the next week but it was getting harder and harder to be glad about it, since various objects from the home started to disappear and appear in the same places some time later. First, your favourite mug, then Thranduil’s tie, a shoe, a key to the basement, porcelain figurine, 5th volume of the book series, a vinyl record and a single candle from the candelabra. None of the staff knew what happened and surprisingly, they were as shocked to discover the things reappearing as you were previously.

“Did that happen before?” you asked Thranduil one evening, while sitting by his side in the enormous living room by the fireplace. “Before I moved in, I mean.”

You did not have to explain the details to him, so he would know what were you talking about in an instant.

“Sometimes,” he sighed, still looking at the screen but now paying no attention to the film’s plot.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Why should I?” Corners of his lips turned up in a weak smile. “To scare you off with the ghost stories about my house being haunted?”

Fair point.

“Have you ever tried to… talk to it?”

He sent you a curious gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean trying to communicate. I’m no expert but things like that usually happen when they want something. When they’re lost or scared or lonely. Maybe that’s the way of getting our attention so we can do something about it, while we’re still here.”

Thranduil did not answer for a long time, staring blankly at the screen, completely lost in his own thoughts. When you started to wonder whether he will talk about it with you anymore tonight, he finally spoke again, his voice slow and quiet, barely a tone above a whisper.

“My wife died many years ago. This place changed so much since she left, no current staff remember her and with every passing year, I’m remembering her less and less myself.” Rising a glass, Thranduil took a big sip of the wine but you decided to not interrupt him. It was the first time he has ever started to speak about her so elaborately.

You were aware that he was a widower, he has informed you about that at the beginning of your relationship, just in case you had anything against it. Still, he never spoke about her again as if he was avoiding this topic as much as possible, and you knew better than to start it. She was the love of his life and although at first it unsettled you, seeing the painful, tired expression on his face when he finally brought the subject proved you that there was nothing to be afraid of. His love for her was eternal but it did not lessen the depth of affection he had toward you.

Love was not a pool to divide between the people in certain parts, it was always different and always whole to give.

“She loved this house,” he continued. “She loved her son and she loved me. This place was filled with her love, completely. And truth be told, once she was gone, the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced was waking up one day and realizing that she’s not here anymore. As if she never existed, as if she was just a projection, a fleeting dream, a whisper on the wind… I could no longer touch her, feel her, hear her voice. She was as far away as the stars upon the sky, unreachable, unimaginable.

Then, things like that started to happen, sudden disappearances but nothing harmful, just a simple jokes. Silly games. At first I couldn’t believe my own sight either but it was true and it was not evil. Moreover, it was as if she was still there, a soft reminder that I wasn’t mad, dreaming about her love, and the memories we shared were real.

I missed her every day and please, don’t hate me for that, but I believe I’ll miss her forever, too.”

It was rare to see the tears in his eyes and the sight was enough to make you feel your eyes burning also. Gently, you hugged him, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and stroking his hair, the bittersweet grief squeezing your heart harder than ever before. You loved him more than anything; you were willing to leave your homeland for him, to withstand his difficult, distant personality and eccentric behaviour and to devote the rest of your life for him knowing, that he will never be truly yours.

Holding him in your arms, weeping the tears of sorrow, you loved him more than ever before.

The last thing which mysteriously disappeared in the house was never found.

You were sitting with Thranduil by the long table and enjoying the delicious dinner, listening to the music playing and making plans about your upcoming wedding. Before the meal, you were looking through the album featuring variations of cakes, the one which included so many propositions that it was hard to pick at least five better than the others. You had a feeling that the preparations will take much longer than you previously thought, but the vision of marrying your fiancé was more than appealing.

“I’m afraid to even start a conversation about the decorations,” Thranduil added. “Perhaps it’d be wiser to simply hire someone to take care of it.”

“We’ll see. I don’t want anything to be missing on our special day.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll personally supervise the preparations.”

“That’s a relief.” You sighed dramatically. “Speaking of which, I have some good news for you. The earring, the one I was supposed to wear on the wedding, was found.”

Thranduil tilted his head to the side.

“Was it?”

“Yes. It was in the casket, just where I left it.”

“I’m glad then.” He smiled genuinely. “It would be a shame if I had to buy you multiple new pairs, just in case they got lost also.”

You giggled at that statement, knowing that he was capable of doing this just to make sure that nothing could interrupt your special day. Sometimes, you were starting to think that it was him who was more nervous about the whole act than you, even though he managed to hide it well most of the time.

Taking a sip of your tea, you eventually decided to not tell him about the last thing which seemed to be missing. There was no need to worry him, especially since you were certain that this one will not be found anytime soon. Your insecurity was, after all, the last thing which you wanted back, and the gentle smile of the lady in portrait ensured you that there was nothing to be uncertain about, not in the house, nor about the love of your future husband.

[f-o-r-g-e-t-m-e-n-0-t]

Axel was not okay.

Sure, he wore the skin of a man keeping it together. They’d ask “how are you doing?” and he’d say he’s “doing just fine” when in reality he was a man held together by duct tape and chewing gum and a rediscovered smoking habit.

623 days.

Six hundred and twenty three days.

Axel kept count.

His friends told him he looked well, lately. That he stood a little taller. That he looked grounded. They purposefully didn’t look at the gold band still on his finger. They didn’t ask about his work.

Axel had quit the Institute. He was being rash, he was having a breakdown, he’d regret it once the world settled around him. That’s what they all told him. It was such a great honor to work there, according to everyone else. Axel had thought that way too, once upon a time.

Six hundred and twenty three days ago.

Axel didn’t trust the Institute anymore. The name tasted like bile on his tongue, it’s pristine halls were glorified prisons. Eyes watched him, he was sure. They wouldn’t tell him anything. He had a right to know and they wouldn’t tell him anything! They just filled him with empty platitudes about how sorry they were for his loss...

His loss.

How patronizing.

Everyone ignored it. People went missing all the time now, each a mini tragedy that was chalked up to natural reasons and forgotten by the world at large.

Deja vu was a daily occurrence for everyone. No one talked about it. Nor did they talk about the things only seen from the corner of your eye, or how you would be so sure some everyday object was... different. Exactly the same, yet not. Replaced, somehow, by a perfect replica that could fool the eye, but you knew. You always knew. But you didn’t mention it.

People ignored the way the sky would sometimes shift and bend, like cellophane pulled and twisted by greedy hands. Axel wondered when it would break – he was sure it eventually would – and what would come pouring into their world that had previously been kept just behind the blue.

623 days.

Everything was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

An no one mentioned it. Pretended not to see. The same way they pretended not to see the way Axel still kept two pairs of shoes by the door. Two coffee mugs on the kitchen counter. Two toothbrushes in the bathroom.

A wedding ring on his left hand.

Six hundred and twenty three days. That’s how long he’d been alone. That’s when his world had fallen apart.

That’s when-

“Hey, Axel.” A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, pulling Axel from his thoughts.

Axel blinked rapidly and pulled his eyes away from his computer screen. “Morning, boss.”

Barret was a mountain of a man. Tall, imposing, and built like a brick house. He could easily snap Axel’s skinny body in half, if Barret weren’t, in reality, such a softie. The man had taken Axel into when he needed it most. Practically grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled his drunken ass in to the little group he’d formed.

“Heard ya used to work for the Institute. We could use a brain like yours. Now, don’t lookit’ me that way, I – we – understand. We know what you’re goin’ through, kid. It’s hard. You ain’t obligated to do anything, but at the very least, come see what we’re about.”

Axel had done just that, and accepted his position on the spot.

Their team was small. Underground and secretive in their work. They didn’t even have a name, just a common goal.

Axel found he fit in with the band of misfits. They were all like him, eyes opened to the world around him, and disillusioned to its lies.

He was grateful to the team. After departing the Institute, he’d spent his time alone, isolated, running himself thin. When he wasn’t working, he was drinking into oblivion. When he wasn’t drinking into oblivion, he was working. He often had more cigarette smoke in his system than food.

The team gave him some stability. A sense that he belonged. That he wasn’t alone. That he wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t say he was terribly close with any of them — though some were certainly more friendly than others — but their presence was grounding and reassuring all the same.

And they were all looking for something. Someone.

Yuna’s boyfriend had gone missing two years prior. Lightning’s sister just a little longer than that. Prompto was looking for his best friend – a senator’s son, shockingly enough. Balthier was looking for his ‘partner in crime’, though Axel suspected there was more to the relationship than the man let on.

Barret probably had it the hardest. His young daughter had been missing for four years. It had been the driving force behind him starting up his little venture in the first place.

And Axel? Well...

“I’m sending you, Lightning, and Prompto out to the Western Wilds today,” Barret said. “Big energy flux out there.

With a nod and no questions asked, Axel grabbed his things and prepared to depart.

The Western Wilds had been beautiful once. Rolling green hills interspersed with the occasional grove of lush green trees. Blue skies that stretched on for miles. It had been left largely uncultivated, and instead acted as a nature preserve and wildlife park. There’d been a time when Axel, like many others, enjoyed weekend getaways there to camp or hike and simply ‘be one with nature.’

Now, it felt broken. Damaged. Strange rifts had opened up there, distorting the once beautiful and safe landscape. People couldn’t ignore the rifts as much as they did everything else, so they opted to abandon the place altogether. Retreat to the cities and their illusion of safety. Axel supposed be couldn’t blame them, there. Even much of the wildlife had fled.

It had become a routine place for the team to investigate because of the strange rifts. Surely it held answers for them. Surely it was connected to everything else so broken and wrong with their reality.

It’s distorted landscape was familiar enough, but as Axel and his companions hiked out onto the rolling fields, it felt... different. The air felt sharp, and something hummed in Axel’s veins.

Next to him, even the usually chatty Prompto had fallen quiet, camera gripped tightly in his hands, a thumb playing nervously with a dial. Lightning was never chatty, but there was a sharpness in her gaze. A tenseness in her shoulders. Something was different today.

It didn’t take them long to find their target, the cause of the energy flux. Cresting over a hill, the team spotted it immediately.

What had once been a small grove of trees, mercifully untouched by the schisms, was now a rats’ nest of distortions. Axel could hardly focus his eyes on the place. It was a smeared painting of what had once been trees. Leaves vibrated to the point of blurring, or seemed to flicker in and out of existence entirely. The very air around it warped and bent, like heat rising off asphalt. A strange black substance, so dark it absorbed light, oozed from bark like poisoned sap.

It was unlike any distortion they’d seen before.

Next to him, in a hushed voice, Prompto asked, “What on Earth is that?”

No one answered him. They had no answer to give.

Slowly, cautiously, they carried their equipment down the hill and approached the rift-torn-grove. The air buzzed as they picked their way between trees, closer and closer to the source of the distortion.

They knew it when they saw it, as it was unlike anything Axel had seen before. The very space seemed cracked, like a broken mirror, and reality sat disjointed and askew. A deep void in the center of the breakage, swirling black, and Axel felt the very blood in his veins pulled towards it.

The rifts of the Western Wilds often distorted and broke the landscape. None had such a... hole in them.

They stopped a few feet away, not daring to move any closer, and unloaded their equipment.

Every member on the team had their own theory to the distortions. A rift in time, from the future or the past. A tie to another reality altogether. Even a sentient being, or collection of beings caught in space time. No one theory prevailed above the others, but neither had any been ruled out.

Attempting communication with them or whatever was on the other side was one of their key goals, and since Axel had been working on doing just that before joining the team, he was in charge of continuing that work.

His equipment worked to record any transmission received from the rifts, where Axel would take them back to the lab to decipher what – if anything — they relayed.

He also sent his own messages out to the rifts, hoping something — someone — might pick it up.

His messages were wide and varied. Greetings in numerous languages. Speeches, Morse code, music. One song in particular was his favorite. It had been their song. Axel hoped that maybe it would reach, well...

It was one of multiple messages he’d use today. His teammates had their work as well. Prompto snapped photos and recorded video of the odd new rift, documenting it from every angle he could safely reach. Lightning surveyed the surrounding area, made notes of the trees, the plants, the soil, the wildlife – or lack thereof.

Axel’s first transmission went out, the sound oddly muffled and muted in the warped air around them. If Axel didn’t know better — and maybe he didn’t — he could have sworn the very sound and frequency was pulled into the void itself. He sent it out a second time, but his machines recorded no response.

A second, a third, a fourth, and a fifth all went out the same way, and all were greeted with silence from the other side. Axel couldn’t say he was surprised. Disappointed maybe, but this had long since become routine. He’d become used to the lack of a breakthrough.

He was nothing on his own. A bitter thought really, one that burned like bile. Smart? Capable? Hard working? Yes. But brilliant? No. Brilliant had been... brilliant was when they were together. Two minds working as one, filling in for and lifting up the other. Brilliant was-

With a sigh, Axel prepped the last message to be sent off to the void. His song — their song. The soft melody drifted up and out, bittersweet these days but no less lovely to Axel’s ears. He had almost let himself drift away with the music, when a loud ringing echoed through the grove. A sharp ping, like a glass being struck, so clear and loud compared to all other muted and warped sound.

All three members of the group stopped and, after a moment’s pause Lightning and Prompto rejoined Axel’s side. He could practically feel the questions on their tongues, but neither spoke, as all three simply waited with baited breath.

As they hoped, there was another loud ring. It came from the void and Axel’s equipment at once, as though the two were linked and communicating somehow. His heart stuttered in his chest at the revelation. Something had made contact! Something had made contact!

The next ring that came stretched into a long note, and Axel realized it was in tune with the music. A little warbly and distorted, but sure enough, there was a second song playing along with his own.

Axel didn’t have time to process that thought before the music began to get louder, and louder. Shrill and ringing it sliced through the crackling air, and sent the three team members to their knees. They covered their ears as the whole world vibrated around them, like a struck tuning fork. Cracks in the sky and the air splintered out, slicing reality like so much broken glass. Just when Axel thought they couldn’t take much more, it stopped.

The air went quiet and still.

Looking up, Axel saw the void had changed. The hole, the rift, had gotten wider. The dark expanse beyond it now seeped out, rolling like fog and dripping like oil. Where once the world had bent and pulled in towards toward the rift, now whatever was on the other side seemed to bulge and push back out.

The three held their breath as they watched, as silent and still as the air around them.

Movement. A shape, dark and cloaked in shadows, or rather, dripping with them. Inky black and moving oddly as it emerged from the void. It took a moment for Axel realize there was solid form at all beneath the darkness.

It shambled, staggered, then righted itself, moving like something injured or exhausted beyond reason. Perhaps both. All the while, the black substance sloughed off it like so much rotten skin. As more fell, the shape beneath was revealed.

They were human, or at least, human-esque.

Another stagger, and an arm raised to wipe away more of the inky black substance. It fell away with ease, leaving the person beneath it clean where Axel would have assumed them stained in black.

Each bit that fell away revealed more of the person beneath. Tanned skin, muscular arms. A tattered top, and dark, worn-in boots. Blond hair.

Axel tried to swallow the odd lump that had formed in his throat as his own heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He was standing, equipment dropped and forgotten on the grassy earth. Next to him, his team members called his name, but they sounded so far away. So unimportant. All Axel could focus on was the figure before him.

623 days.

Another step, and the man faltered, exhaustion finally taking its toll. He fell, one leg giving way, then two, before he slumped to the ground entirely.

Axel was running before he knew it, the frantic calls of Lightning and Prompto far, far behind him. He skidded to the ground next to the fallen, unconscious man.

With shaking hands and held breath, Axel brushed blond hair aside to behold the familiar face. Tanned skin. Freckles. Hidden eyes that Axel knew to be blue. A wedding ring on one finger.

Six hundred and twenty three days since he’d gone missing, disappeared like so many others. Six hundred and twenty three days that Axel had waited, and hoped, and searched, and now...

Axel’s husband was home.

Roxas was home.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Halloween prompt: Alfred is getting increasingly annoyed at whoever is eating the halloween candy. No one will confess. (Bruce is sitting in a corner somewhere with a bag of... [insert Batfamily appropriate candy here])

Three Musketeers

Rating: G 1,844 words Gen AO3

Bristol was technically in Gotham City limits. Though the gilted mansions and private woods with pastures and stables seemed like a whole other world in comparison. The residents liked to think so too, especially because – despite Gotham’s robust public transportation system – it was almost impossible to reach the rich suburb from the city proper. It was because they lived in this separate world that Bristol’s wealthy residents often fought to receive special treatment or even secede from the city all together.

Except when it came to Halloween.

The residents of Bristol were more than happy to hold their trick-or-treat night during the same time as the rest of Gotham. Mostly, because it discouraged the city’s poorer residents from coming out to ask for literal handouts from them. The time it would take to sit in train stations and bus stops to get there ate up a large chunk of trick-or-treat’s two-hour window. And the walk from the last stop and between the houses took up the rest.

Despite all this, many made the trek out to Wayne Manor and its residents always made it well worth the work.

It was known that the Manor didn’t simply give out full-sized candy bars, no, they gave a whole bag of king’s sized bars. And from the entrance way to the ballroom off to the side were decked out and fitted to be a haunted house with games and entertainment and even more snacks. There was no reason to go anywhere else when you went to Wayne Manor.

Except, this year the seemingly endless supply of candy was mysteriously missing in the week leading up to the big night. Which was ironic considering the Manor was populated by detectives.

Alfred was suspicious. And annoyed. But mostly suspicious. He had raised the world’s greatest detective and then helped raise the current world’s greatest detective. In addition to the other seven vigilantes he’d actively cared for over the years. And countless others who hadn’t lived under his roof. Which meant that he was extremely hard to pull something over on. Extremely.

Yet, his stockpile of trick-or-treat candy was gone. Completely. And his list of suspects was long and skilled.

First, was Barbara because he loved the young woman dearly but she was a bit of a chocolate fiend. Also, if he could rule her out then he could enlist her assistance. It was easy enough to make her coffee just the way she liked and message her to come to the kitchen when she was working in the Cave one evening. She was happy enough to come up, thinking it was just for a chat but knowing something was up when Alfred passed her the mug.

They studied each other from across the long wooden table that took up the far side of the kitchen. Alfred sipped his tea from the good china that after the last family debacle was his alone to use. Barbara narrowed her eyes as her glasses slipped down her nose. They were playing a high stakes game of chicken and they both knew it.

Barbara broke first. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, Alfred?” she asked sweetly, setting her coffee down and pushing her glasses back up in the same movement.

“Now that you mention it, yes. I was wondering if you happened to know where my trick-or-treat supply is disappearing to?” Alfred’s lips turned up in kindness, but his eyes were hard and steady as he held her gaze.

An adult, a seasoned crimefighter, an honest to god superhero and yet Barbara wanted to wriggle in her chair, knot her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt, under that look. Pure willpower was the only thing that stopped her. Though it didn’t extend to her mouth. “No, I’ve been out of town most of the week.”

This was true, Alfred knew, but not necessarily an airtight alibi.

“Besides,” Barbara continued, “I have a Costco card. The Birds and I split it. If I wanted to eat a whole bag of candy, I’d just buy my own.”

Alfred nodded, lifting his tea to take another sip. He accepted that answer, she knew better than to lie to him. “In that case, might I enlist your skills to uncover the real culprit?”

This was what Alfred had truly wanted to ask, they both knew, and Barbara smiled in delight at the prospect. “I’d love to.”

The next suspect was Tim. He knew exactly how to cover his tracks and misdirect their attention. Tim was sly, smart, and still technically a teenaged boy so sugar was irresistible. Barbara set the trap, crashing the Batcomputer one afternoon when everyone else was out. This forced Tim up, out of the Cave and to Alfred lying in wait in the kitchen.

Tim had climbed up onto a kitchen chair to get at the stash of poptarts on the top shelf of the cabinet above the stove. Proving that he had means, motive, and a record.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred drawled as he stepped out of the shadows. Bruce had to learn the skill from somewhere.

Startling, Tim whirled around and nearly fell from the chair. Dropping the silver packet in the process. It landed on the tile with a crunch. “Look I need the brain power to get the computer back up,” he said hastily, glancing guiltily between Alfred and the fallen junk food.

“I am not here to reprimand you about the poptarts,” Alfred said and Tim immediately relaxed, shooting him a relieved little grin. “But I may have to reprimand you for sneaking something else,” Alfred continued, causing Tim’s face to fall.

“I swear, I only had the one Monster the other week. And I split it with Kon ‘cause we were trying to keep Bart from drinking it. Me and him on an energy drink bouncing round the Tower is way better than a speedster on an energy drink.” Tim’s eyes were wide and the blood that had drained from his face made the boy almost impossibly paler.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow at the confession. Not what he was looking for but good to know all the same. “And what of the candy for trick-or-treat?”

Tim’s brows drew together in confusion. “Uh, I don’t know? I suggested we get milkyways but if you got snickers again then I’m not going to complain.”

“So, you did not eat the supply?” Alfred confirmed, though the fact that Tim was already feeling guilty and hesitant to lie on top of the fact that he had no idea Alfred had purchased boxes of three musketeers cleared him of the crime.

“No?” Tim shook his head as he shrugged.

Satisfied, Alfred nodded. “Enjoy your poptarts, Master Timothy. I shall be moving them shortly.”

“It wasn’t Jason,” Barbara said over the phone. “I have a couple different angles of him being in Paraguay all last week.”

“I never suspected him to begin with,” Alfred admitted as he pushed the shopping cart, restocking for the big night tomorrow. “He never liked three musketeers. Dark chocolate kit-kats are a separate story.” He smiled at the memory of a young Jason carrying a huge box of the candy bars to drop in the cart during his first Halloween with them.

“Cass and Dick are out too,” she continued. “Cass laughed at me when I even suggested it and then confirmed Dick was telling the truth when I questioned him.”

Alfred hummed. Richard had been his next guess, though he was more likely to take them to hand out while on patrol or pass on to his friends’ children than to eat himself. “Master Damian is innocent as well. He scoffed at the implication he would, quote, ‘stoop so low as to steal candy from children.’ He also vouched for Master Duke and neither were anywhere near the spare pantry recently to begin with.”

“Security cameras confirm that.”

“That leaves Miss Stephanie,” Alfred frowned. Stephanie tended to decline any offers of assistance from the Manor’s residents that weren’t directly related to masked vigilantism. Though she recently had allowed Alfred to slip her gas money when she visited during daylight hours. The thought of her taking the Halloween candy just did not sit right with him. It was almost as impossible to imagine as Damian taking it. Cassandra was more likely to be playing a trick on them all, having hidden it for some soon to be revealed reason. “Are you positive Miss Cassandra is not the culprit?”

Barbara chuckled. “I mean, not really. But at the same time why would she? Though why would Steph either? I don’t think it was either of them but I can vouch for Steph. She hasn’t been anywhere near the Cave or the Manor since last month. What with school she’s been staying close.”

“Which leaves us back to the beginning,” Alfred sighed and got in line. “We could create a sting operation though I’d loathe to lose this supply as well. There’s nearly no candy left in the entire state.”

“That I believe. Alright, I’ve got the feed from the events kitchen running on one of my screens. I’ll keep an eye on it for the rest of the night, see if anyone stupid enough to try it again.”

“Thank you, Miss Barbara. I really appreciate your assistance in this matter,” Alfred told her before exchanging their goodbyes. He had plans for a little stakeout of his own.

Placing the boxes in the spare pantry, Alfred settled himself on a stool next to the industrial fridge in the dark. He typed out a careful message in the family’s groupchat informing them all that the missing candy had been replaced and politely asking that it not disappear again before the next night. They would all be getting ready to go out for the night so there is no doubt they would see it. And he would have plenty of time to wait for them to strike.

Hours later, the family was returning and Alfred was still lying in wait. A creak echoed in from the ballroom where decorations were mostly in place. The light padding of rubber soles on the marble tile came closer and closer. Alfred leant further back into the shadows as the door swung open. He held his breath, waiting as the guilty party walked into the kitchen proper, headed directly towards the pantry. Alfred slipped from his hiding spot, keeping low as he crept around the island to come up behind the culprit.

Alfred contained his gasp of shock and annoyance as he flipped on the light. Forcing the candy thief to whirl on him. “Master Bruce!” Alfred scolded. He hadn’t thought his first charge would do such a thing and hadn’t even considered him as a suspect.

Having the good sense to look ashamed and like a ten-year-old boy again, Bruce offered a wavering grin in apology. “You bought three musketeers,” he said as his only defense.

Alfred frowned as he crossed his arms. “And your penance will be handing them out tomorrow night.”