#and a dark wood front door. denver

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 3 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY:  A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 3: “Elkwood, TN”

WORD COUNT: 4059

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader 

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Drugs, death, and mentions of suicide. Foul language, mentions of sex, or sexual innuendos. Slow burn starts now. (Sorry)

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns. 

Masterlist | Taglist

When Vought had relocated me to Appalachian West Virginia, I didn’t know anyone. I was moved into a wooded mountain home, and watched over by two local park rangers. Both men, both never had been married. They had no idea how to take care of a young girl. But, from fourteen to eighteen, I struck up a bond with both of them that I had never experienced with another human being. 

Jim was an older white man, maybe in his late fifties. He’d take me out on his gator and drive me all around the national park. He’d play me John Denver, as he’d smoke a pack of camel crush. He always told me never to smoke. That it was an awful habit he had formed. I told him he wouldn’t ever have to worry about that. I could always taste the pesticides. 

I always swore Jim had been gay. He had the quintessential straight man behavior. He shot guns, smoked, watched sports, and enjoyed shitty, cheap beer. But, he was handsome. He was over fifty and had never been married. He isolated himself in the embrace of the forest. He would sit outside on the back porch, and paint the sunset. On holidays I’d ask him why he wasn’t with his family, he told me his job was to watch me, so he couldn’t be. But that wasn’t true. He never liked talking about home. He had no photos up from his childhood. And he never, ever reminisced on simpler times. 

Wahkan was cherokee. He was from one of the reservations in East Tennessee. He moved up to West Virginia after getting offered more money to watch the lands up there. He accepted, of course, and funneled most, if not all of his money back to his family. Hell, the only reason he took on the challenge of raising me was so he could take the money from Vought, and send it back over to the res. 

I’m always fortunate I was able to go with him to the reservation. I used to sit in the long grass with the other girls my age, and make jewelry from creek rocks, and turkey feathers. The sun would set in the distance, and a crackling fire would billow up into the sky. They’d have buffalo roasting over it. Its hide laid out, and drying in preparation for a warm winter coat. 

When I decided to move back to the city after I had turned eighteen, it was a hard goodbye with the both of them. They watched as I got loaded back up into the same black Escalade that dropped me off all those years ago. I had waved goodbye with misty tears in my eyes. I wasn’t much of a crier, but watching them become smaller as the car drove away changed that. 

A few months after I had gotten settled, things felt uneasy. I would communicate with some of the girls from the res on Facebook. Wahkan, and John hadn’t been answering me. They said they hadn’t heard from them either. That day I sat outside of Vought tower on a bench, and listened in on crisis management. From the sounds of it, there had been a data leak that was traced back to somewhere a few miles away from the town I used to stay in. 

I hopped in my car and drove straight to West Virgina, only stopping for gas. I got there around nightfall. The cabin was dark, and quiet. That wasn’t normal, I had thought. I listened in, hearing one slow heartbeat. Thank god. He must’ve been sleeping.  I let out a sigh of relief, and started back to my car— until I smelled it. Fresh, hot blood. My face went white, and my heart sank. I sprinted up to the front of the house, and noticed the door had been left cracked open, a trail of red footprints staining the wood. 

I kicked the door open, screaming, seeing if I’d get any response. I flipped the lights to the house on, and looked around until I saw John’s body laying at the start of the kitchen. He was lifeless, and had been for an hour or so. They were just here. I searched frantically for Wahkan, trying to locate the sound of the slowing heartbeat I had heard earlier. My eyes landed on him. He was on the floor next to the couch. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “It’s not safe, if they find you, they’ll kill you.”

I fell to my knees, rushing to his side. I placed my hand over the wound on his stomach, firmly pressing down to stop the bleeding. 

“I don’t understand,” I cried. “Where’s the phone? I need to call an ambulance.”

“Too late,” He added, his voice barely above a whisper. “They cut the lines before they left.”

I reached into my pocket, going to pull out my own phone, but he placed his hands on mine, and stopped me. 

“No,” he shook his head. “This is my time. It’s alright.”

“This is all my fault.” I said, as I felt hot tears streaming down my face, and neck. 

“Don’t make this about you.” He laughed, soft and weak, putting a bloody hand against the side of my face. 

“They’ll never get away with this.” I demanded. 

He just shook his head, taking a deep breath. His eyelids were getting heavy. He didn’t have much time left. 

“Just be…gentle,” He said. “And if you ever need a place to stay…a place that’s safe…a place where you can think of home…the reservation will welcome you with open arms.”

He wiped a tear away with his thumb, as he took his last breath. His body going limp. At least he was at peace. 

Driving down the interstate with Uncle Sam by my side, I knew exactly where we would settle ourselves at. Elkwood is a tiny town a little ways from Gatlinburg, nestled at the bed of a beautiful valley. It’s quiet, and everyone knows each other. Like, if someone was throwing a small get together, you best believe the whole town was showing up. Whether it be the people who lived on the res, or  just plain mountain folk.

I looked to my side, he was hunched over, my registration from the glove compartment settled in his lap. He’s snorting from a small pile of benzos he made me stop for earlier. He catches my gaze.

“Want some?”

“No thanks.” I chuckle.

“Suit yourself.” He says before diving back into the freshly crushed powder.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as I speed quickly down the highway. His hair, and beard are wild, and disheveled. He looks close to normal though in the sweat suit I gave him. I smile to myself, picturing him in that campy army green uniform. What a fraud, I think. The man was never a real soldier, they might as well have him look like one. 

“You’re a pretty good driver for a woman.” He states, wiping off his nose, scooping his powder back into a ziplock bag.

“Thanks…” I say, rolling my eyes. He was much nicer when he wasn’t talking.

“So what's your thing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your thing, like, your power, I guess. I don’t fuckin’ know. You said you were a supe, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately? You must have some shitty power then.”

Some shitty power, I think. Rolling my eyes again. 

“I get it,” He says smiling, leaning into me. “They forced it on ya while you were just a baby, huh?”

He reaches down, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He puts one up to his lips and lights it, inhaling deeply. He blows the air out through parted lips as he continues his conversation.

“Seems like you bastards that had baby V are all just a bunch of freaks.”

I look over at him, raising an eyebrow. Now I know why they wanted to keep this guy fucking sedated. 

“Say, what's your name anyway? Can’t go around just calling you a freak bastard.” He chuckles smugly.

“Actually,” I grin. “That is my name.”

He squints his eyes at me, pulling his cigarette away from his lips. He leans back, taking me in.

“Some parents you have calling you Freak Bastard, huh?”

“No,” I say, laughing now. “Just Freak, short for Frequency.” 

He holds a finger up, tipping it at me. “Ah, but that's your Supe name, what's your real name?”

My real name. I go to change the subject. 

“So, do you want to know my plan? The reason why I’ve rescued you? What I need your help with?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you sweetheart, I don’t usually go by a plan. I just wing it, and it happens to work out in my favor.”

“Right,” I nod. “That's why you ended up back in the ice again, huh?”

He glares at me, I beam right back at him. 

“So,” I start. “Over the Summer Vought is throwing this huge party in celebration of Temp V.”

“What the fuck is Temp V?” He asks.

“...Temporary Compound V.” I say blankly. 

“Right, I remember the cock sucker talking about that. Wait…When the fucks the Summer? And what the fuck year is it?”

“It's April. And it’s only been a year since they put you back in that chamber.”

He stares off into the distance, a solemn look on his face. I couldn’t even imagine having missed thirty years of life. Being put to sleep at the birth of the computer, and waking back up at the dawn of AI.

My empathy for him is short lived.

“Wait, you’re tellin’ me I got to wait,” He counts on his fingers. “Three fuckin’ months before we do this?”

“That's three months of freedom to you.”

“It's not fuckin' freedom if I’m gonna be on the run from these people finding me for Christs sake! Also, last time I fuckin’ checked, you’re practically holding me hostage!”

I scoff at him. “Oh please, you said earlier you could kill me, then leave at any time.”

“Yeah, well, that’s before you brought up family.”

Fuck. I think. I forgot about that. 

I don’t say much else as I stare out at the road ahead of me. I feel my blood pressure going up, my arteries tightening at just the mention of my shitty lie. I’d make a horrible villain, I think. I feel guilty for everything, and everyone. I sigh, reaching down to the radio. I fiddle with it until it reaches a mixed station, classic hits from then and now. 

“Well,” I say, pressing my foot harder onto the accelerator. “We can try and catch you up on everything you missed over the past thirty years.”

I turn up the dial as “Wonderwall” sings through the speakers.

We are about two hours from Tennessee now, he's fast asleep in the passenger seat. I got him a cheeseburger earlier, and picked up some hair shears from a dollar store on the same exit. I think he had worn himself out trying to trim his own hair and beard. He gets frustrated easily. I had offered to help, but he insisted on doing it himself. 

As the gas pumps in my car, I look down at my phone. There had been no news alerts about a break in, or that Soldier Boy was missing. Vought must be doing a good job with crisis management. Or the CIA simply never let them know. I had no texts from anyone either. See, it isn’t out of the ordinary for me to disappear into the middle of nowhere. In fact, even the likes of Butcher knew I often found myself back home in the South to escape the sounds of the city. 

Before I left I remembered to leave my debit and credit cards at home so I wouldn't be tempted to use them. I always kept a significant amount of cash in the safe anyway after years of training. I had turned on auto-payments for my rent, and obviously didn’t cancel any sort of subscription service like Netflix or Spotify. I thought if someone had been on my trail, the first thing they'd check would be my bank records. I made sure to turn off all location tracking on my phone, and decided to keep my VPN on 24/7. That wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to anyone either, again, considering my past in security. 

The pump thuds, signifying it's filled up. I grab the handle, and pull the nozzle out. I always have to make sure to cover my nose with my sleeve in these instances. The fumes have made me pass out in the past. Benzene is so pungent that a normal human nose can even smell it if there's just 1 part per million in the surrounding air. I get dizzy just thinking about it. 

We get close to Elkwood now, maybe twenty minutes out. I look over to him as he puffs little snores out into the air. His heartbeat is steady, his blood pressure normal in comparison to when I woke him up earlier.

Ever since he trimmed his hair, made himself look more presentable, I found myself not blaming women for being so attracted to him. I mean, he really was a beautiful man…As long as he kept that fuckin’ mouth shut. He has a light dusting of freckles across his nose, which is a stark contrast to his hard exterior. His eyes are a sweet shade of green, one that matches that awful uniform of his. 

I pull up to the outskirts of the res, some of the younger kids had ended up building their own homes around this area. I walk up to Ama’s trailer, leaving him back in the car asleep to avoid any unwanted interactions. Before I can knock on the door, she goes to open it. Ama beams at me, as beautiful as ever, pulling me into a tight hug. She's the one I had been keeping in touch with on facebook after all these years. 

“Welcome home.” She says smiling.

I smile back. Looking down I notice a small child wrapped around her legs, and a man standing up from the couch. 

“You’ve been busy!” I exclaim, waving at the little boy hiding his face behind his mother, giggling. 

“I have been,” She gestures to the man behind her. “This is my boyfriend, Asher.”

I put my hand out for a shake. A white guy, I think. I give her a look as he grips onto my hand. She looks back at me, beginning to laugh. I remember all of them always making fun of the Wasichu. Something catches her gaze in the distance. I turn around to see Soldier Boy leaning against the door of my car, lighting a cigarette. 

“Who is this?” She asks, walking over to my car to inevitably meet the man I so desperately need to hide. Fuck, I think. What am I going to say about this?

He turns to her as she walks towards him. He puts on a big smile. She opens her arms wide for a hug. 

“I’m Ben,” He beams. Ben. I swear his teeth glimmer in the light for a second. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Bastard. I think. He knows what he's doing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ben,” Ama wraps her arm around my shoulder as I walk over to the both of them, grinning awkwardly. “She never told me she had a man back home.”

I flush at this. Damn it. He looks down at his feet kicking at a little rock. He acts bashful, like he's been caught doing something naughty. 

“What, she didn’t mention little ol’ me?” He asks.

“Nope, not even a peep.” She elbows me in the side. 

I scoff at her, gesturing down to the little boy who had followed us over to the car.

“I’m sorry, last time I checked you have a fucking child!”

She leans into my neck, whispering to me through gritted teeth.

“The elders don’t want others to know…” She raises her eyebrows.

Ah. I nod. At least she has an excuse. 

“Well,” She says, clapping her hands together. “Let's get you two home!” 

She still has her hands wrapped around my shoulders, walking us towards my new abode for the next few months. 

“He’s so hot. I didn’t know you were into older guys.” She whispers under her breath.

I elbow her in the side, my face heating up with some color. I could hear him smiling behind me. I wasn’t the only one around here with good hearing anymore. 

The trailer is cute, small but cute. It’s painted a gentle powder blue, and the shutters contrast a pale yellow. It has a little porch with two adirondack chairs outfront, as well as a little bench swing hanging questionably from the wooden awning. Ama had made a note to put a bunch of potted flowers on the outside, knowing how much I like the smell of them. It also may have added to the overall aesthetic of the home. 

She unlocked the front door for me, and then handed me the key. SB and Asher were behind us talking about something to do with the house. This is dangerous. He knew nothing about anything these days, let alone how to even have a conversation with a modern man. If you were to ask him who the current president was, he wouldn't have an answer. If you were to tell him we have had a black president, he’d probably pass out on the floor. 

“Alright,” She says, showing off the place. “This is it.”

It's cute, small, but cute. I can't help but worry about the fact that neither of us will probably be able to stand each other at the end of this, but hey, let's think positively. 

“This is the living room, which is obviously attached to the kitchen.” She goes over to the couch, gesturing to it. “Pull out if he ever ends up in the dog house.” She clicks her tongue, winking at him. 

The living area has a floral print sectional, and a leather recliner. In the center is an old wooden coffee table, and a big ass TV across from it, mounted to the wall. 

“Cable, Netflix, ESPN, you name it.” She adds. 

The kitchen has smaller versions of standard appliances, and every sort of pot and pan or baking dish we may need. 

“The second eye on that stove doesn't work, so don't even try it. Oh, and unfortunately it is gas. If it really starts to bother you we can get you an electric.”

“Dont worry about it,” I wave my hand to her, brushing it off. “A little methane never hurt anybody.” 

She laughs, turning to Asher. “No need for a carbon monoxide detector with this one in the area.”

I look over at SB, he looks thoroughly confused. Standing here now I realize I still never told him the gift compound v gave me. I’m sure he's just utterly bewildered by this point. He looks between Ama and I like we’re fucking crazy. 

“Shower, bath, toilet. Don’t flush, and run laundry or do dishes at the same time.”

Bathroom, much like the rest of the house, is small. But again, it has everything we may need, so I can't complain. Also we lucked out with having a washer and dryer on site. The last thing I want is having to drag him to a laundromat. 

“And the best part, the bedroom!” She kicks the door open, displaying a very comfortable queen size bed. Only one. I think. Thank god for the pull out couch. 

“Drawers line the walls over here under the TV, and there are some more underneath the mattress.” 

“Awesome,” I beam. “Really Ama, I can't begin to thank you enough.”

She smiles, pulling me into a big hug.

“We’re so happy you're here.”

She goes up to SB, resting a careful hand on his shoulder, smiling at him tenderly. He nods to her, thanking her as well.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and text me if you need me.”

“Will do.” I say, following her over to the front door, and closing it behind them. 

I take a deep breath, pushing my back against the door, sliding down onto the floor. I jolt my head up, pointing at him.

“He didn’t say anything you didn’t know, did he?”

He shrugs, moving over to the sectional and plopping himself down on it.

“So you're telling me I have to stay in this shack with you for three months?” He ignores my question.

I narrow my eyes on him.

“You got anything better to do?”

“Yeah, fleeing the country to sunny Costa Rica.” He counters.

I scoff, standing up, and walking over to the sink. I grab a cup from the cupboard, and pour myself a glass of water from the tap. 

“They make it pretty hard these days. Y’know, crossing the border.” I add.

He smiles, a weak, weary expression on his face. He looks down at his hands.

“For the time being, I don’t mind being here. As long as you promise no one is gonna find me.”

“They won’t, and they never will. I told you, once you help me with this, you are free to go. I will get you out of here, family in hand, no problem.”

He stares at me for a moment. It’s silent. He watches me with squinted eyes.

“What's all this about gas stoves? You pyrokinetic?” 

I start laughing, in fact, I start laughing really hard. So hard I have to bring a finger up to my eyes to wipe.

He chuckles now too, watching me.

“What?” He says.

“No, I’m sorry. It was just funny, the way that you said it, I mean.”

“So, you are?”

“What?”

“A pyrokinetic.”

“Oh, God no.”

“Then what the fuck is your deal with gas stoves, little girl?” He grills, concerned.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not a little girl. I am an adult.” I gesture down to my obvious adult body. 

“Yeah, whatever. You’re at least a hundred years younger than me, so.”

There is silence, until.

“It’s my senses, by the way. Since you’re curious, I mean.” I say suddenly.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“My five senses, they are all heightened.”

“What, like taste and shit?”

“Yes, taste and shit.” I snort.

“You smell colors or something?” He jokes.

“Sometimes.” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I begin to walk off into the bedroom.

“Wait, what?” He glares at me questionably.

“I’m going to sleep.” I ignore him.

“I’m sorry, did you say you could smell colors?”

“Goodnight, Ben.” I put emphasis on his name, knowing he never told it to me. He grins. I start to close the door, he shouts to me from his spot on the couch.

“Leave the door unlocked, I’ll be in there in a few.”

“Nice try.” I say.

“A queen is plenty big for two!”

“So is that pullout couch.”

He groans as I close the door behind me. 

As I fall asleep, I can only hope for the best. As God as my witness, I would never mean to lie about something as big as family. Especially since I don’t even have one to enjoy. I’d do anything for that. At this point though, my game plan would be; get revenge on Vought, face the consequences from him, and inevitably die. That sounds like a dream. I’d go out with a smile knowing my success in Vought slaughter. May he blow me up into a million little pieces. 

Masterlist | Episode 4 | Taglist

Taglist:

@Sl33pylilbunny @Lanassmarty @Sydneyyyya @1-800shootmeplease @muhahaha303 @nancymcl @speedyrebelfan @ghh05ttt @agentorange9595 @let-me-luve-you @peachytits @darkdahl @deans-spinster-witch @soggybasementfries @ladysparkles78 @madamthemoo

[whiteravengreywolf]

The Goddamn Fight of My Life - a Cindy/Alice fanfiction

A/N: Hello everyone! It has been a long time since I've written anything Fear Street! I found this story almost finished in my vault a few weeks ago and I thought it deserved to be completed and shared! Here is the beginning of the first chapter and if you want to read the whole chapter, the link will be at the end! Enjoy!

The trees bent so hard over the path they threatened to topple at the first strong gust of wind, Cindy thought as she drove past them. She even held her breath. It would be terrible if she ended up trapped in the woods, worse if the car was wrecked by a falling tree. She was supposed to be gone only for the weekend.

The cabin she had rented for them was a small, isolated lakeside cabin. There were, in fact, a dozen or so cabins of various sizes around the lake, with just enough trees between them that they were considered isolated. There was a town twenty minutes away, and a much bigger resort on the other side of the lake. She had thought about renting two rooms at the resort, so they could have gone to the spa all weekend long, but she wanted peace and quiet. No one but Alice.

She was glad her friend had agreed to come with her. They hadn’t had the opportunity to spend some time together since life had gotten in the way. This would be good, she thought. A chance to relax and to think.

Cindy made it through the tree-shadowed path and reached the cabin. It was a bit bigger than she’d imagined, made of dark wood with a moss-covered shingled roof. A motorbike was parked up front, and Alice was standing beside it, smoking. Cindy parked beside her. Tobacco smoke overtook the fresh, humid smell of the lake. The combination reminded Cindy of that fateful summer.

“You know, the point of coming here is to enjoy the fresh air,” Cindy said as she stepped out of the car.

“You should know by now I don’t like the smell of fresh air.”

Alice crushed her cigarette beneath her heel and picked her bag off the back of her bike. Cindy wondered how she’d managed to drive up the gravel path.

“Plus, I was just waiting for your slow ass to catch up.”

Cindy picked her suitcase out of the trunk of her brand-new Chevrolet Citation. Technically it was their car – Tommy and hers – but he had no use for it this weekend, as he was at a conference in Denver. Plus, she was a much better driver than him, and they both knew it.

“You could have just gone with me, you know? Plenty of space in my car.”

Alice, who had already walked up the creaky stairs to the front door, gave one disgusted look at the hatchback.

“I think I’d rather spend another summer at Camp Nightwing than set foot in your family car.”

[infinitvstones]

Mudroom Denver

Image of a mid-sized mountain-style entryway with a dark wood front door, a brown floor, and beige walls.

[becomingathena]

Mudroom in Denver With beige walls and a dark wood front door, this spacious mountain-style entryway has a gray floor and a limestone floor.

[wtfjosie]

Mudroom Denver Inspiration for a sizable rustic entryway renovation featuring beige walls and a front door made of dark wood

[images2keep]

Mudroom Front Door in Denver Mid-sized transitional dark wood floor and brown floor entryway photo with beige walls and a brown front door

[sushiprincessgame]

Mudroom Foyer Denver Ideas for remodeling a mid-sized craftsman foyer with a medium-tone wood floor, gray walls, and a dark wood front door.

[bryancailyn]

Mediterranean Entry Denver Inspiration for a large, modern Mediterranean entryway with a dark wood floor, white walls, and a brown front door.

[radleyarts]

Denver Rustic Entry Huge rustic entryway with a dark wood front door and a dark wood floor.

[rolandsbeanies]

Mudroom Front Door in Denver Inspiration for a large, updated transitional entryway with a brown floor, beige walls, and a dark wood front door.

[shyniisparkles]

Transitional Entry Denver Example of a mid-sized transitional dark wood floor and brown floor entryway design with beige walls and a brown front door

[httyd-mc-pl-twilight]

Mudroom Front Door in Denver Ideas for a large, classic entryway renovation with a dark wood front door

[dailypolnareff]

Denver Contemporary Entry Huge trendy porcelain tile, beige floor and vaulted ceiling entryway photo with white walls and a dark wood front door

[wasntallbad]

Mudroom Denver Huge elegant concrete floor entryway photo with beige walls and a dark wood front door

[horsesandhockeyplayers]

When Life Gives You Lemons-- Part 12

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 6570

Word Count Total: 53,604

Author’s Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with Clementine. THERE BE SMUT (kinda).

Part Twelve*

I was sucking down a latte at a speed that was going to give me a stomach ache while Daze peed on every single patch of dirt we came across. Barbs had a small Americano he was nursing with a look of amusement on his face, and the fingers of his free hand were twisted into my belt loop, keeping me tucked into his side as we meandered in the sunshine.

We wandered along the river contentedly until the temps seemed to rocket into the 80s. The elevation in Denver always made it feel at least 10 degrees hotter than it was, and by the time we made it back to Mark's apartment, I was pretty sure the smell invading my nostrils wasn’t coming from Barbs or Daze.

The bottom layer of my hair was soaked with sweat and I was sure there was a pool in my underwear, which may-- or may not have been heat-related. As further proof life is entirely unfair, Mark was barely glistening and looked handsome as ever, but, to his credit, he was a professional athlete and that walk probably didn’t even register on his exercise-o-meter.

As we made our way through the front door and back to the blissful existence that is climate control, I asked him, “Is there a place where I could shower, maybe?”

He was unclipping Daze’s leash and hung it on a hook by the door, “Yeah,” he confirmed, “there’s a guest room with an ensuite through the door at the end of the kitchen.”

I looked at my bag, torn. What started as a casual conversation about a shower (if there was such a thing), seemed to have evolved into a bigger discussion, which, it occured to me, had been entirely avoided by my ability to fall asleep on the couch. “Do you want me to stay there?” I ventured.

He arched a brow; I could sense that he and I were on the same page and again, I was both irritated and impressed by his perceptiveness. But he remained unfazed as he told me coolly, “The master is down the hall, and you’re welcome to as well.”

I looked down at the weekender bag, which was still sitting by the door, and shifted my weight on my feet in an effort to buy myself some time. Maybe the silence would drive him crazy and he’d cave first and just tell me what to do. Instead, Mark trailed his hand across my back and pulled me into him, kissing the top of my head, before he headed to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water. “I’m not making the decision for you, Lemon,” he informed me, “you’ve had enough of that.”

“But…”

He smirked, though his lips were wrapped around the mouth of the water bottle. With his head tilted back, he downed all 16oz in a single drink; watching his throat move as he swallowed almost gave me heatstroke. At least, that’s what I’m saying it was, if anyone were to ask. The self-loathing I felt creeping through me was, I realized, entirely unrelated to all of my usual neuroses but instead, likely triggered by the level of “thirsty fangirl” I was feeling about the handsome man standing in front of me. It was then that clairity dawned on me: I didn’t know what was going to happen if I put my bag in his bedroom, but I knew what wouldn’t happen if I went to the guest room. Thus, I snatched the bag from the floor and disappeared down the hall toward the master, making a sincere attempt to look cool, unhurried and 0% desperate, though I probably failed on all three accounts.

His bedroom, like the rest of his house, was masculine yet warm and comfortable. A huge bed with a heavy looking dark wood frame fit the large space well, and I didn’t know what size it was, but it seemed larger than a King. I’m sure there was some super special athlete sized bed only professional athletes could buy. The sheets were dark gray and crisp, and his bed was made. He didn’t seem like the type to make his bed in the morning so I assumed the cleaning service had changed the sheets and made the bed.

The bathroom was also huge; the shower and tub were enclosed in the same glass room and it honestly just looked like a bitch to clean, although I suppose one could just spray the entire thing with windex and use a squeegee. And yes, this was the first thing I thought about upon entering it, despite all of the lust and hormones swirling around in my brain. You can take the housewife out of the house, but short of a lobotomy, I was still wired to think about cleaning and cooking, it seemed. With gratitude, I gleefully realized that cleaning the bathroom was entirely not my problem and I set my bag on the bed. Daze hopped up, circling three times before curling into a ball, right in the middle of the huge monstrosity, her keen eyes studying me carefully.

True to form, Nora had packed my half my bathroom and exactly one change of clothes, I loved her optimism that I wouldn’t *need* clothes, but I did like having the option of wearing them, which was the main reason I had run home the day before and now the bag was straining at the seams.

In the bathroom, there was a set of lush towels hanging on the towel bars and an entire additional set folded and set on the counter. The ones on the bars near the shower room were obviously the ones Barbs used, and therefore, I presumed the ones on the counter were for me. Suddenly furious, I narrowed my eyes; that assuming, idiotic moron man. He obviously assumed I’d be sleeping in his bed and using his shower. Despite my rage, a little voice in the back of my head, which sounded most concerningly like Nora, immediately wondered if there was an identical pile of towels in the guestroom.

Answering that question at once preempted all other activities, sweaty hair be damned. So, I marched down the hall and into the kitchen, prepared to give Mark the what-for, and much to my surprise, I was hit with the smell of onions and garlic sauteeing in olive oil. Mark was in the kitchen, tea towel thrown over his shoulder, the spitting image of, like, all of the hottest fantasies I’d ever had of him. My eyes widened and, distracted by the vision in front of me, my stare was fixated on him instead of where I was going, meaning, I hit the back of the couch with quite a bit of momentum from my march of irritation. Unceremoniously, I flew over the back of it in the most ungraceful somersault that had ever been done by a human and smacked my head on the coffee table. The resulting “thwack,” which echoed loudly through the space, functioned as an entirely too perfect soundtrack accompaniment to reality’s literal smack in the face. I sat on the ground, waiting for the rest of the life’s laugh track to kick in. I was only 50 percent positive the tweeting cartoon birds were my imagination.

“Holy shit! Clementine!!” I heard Mark yelp.

Unlike the birds, I was sure I hallucinated Mark vaulting over the back of the love seat that sat perpendicular to the couch to get to me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

If getting to Tine just then depended on my sinking the winning puck in the Stanley Cup final, I know I could do it with one arm tied behind my back and my eyes closed. By the time I vaulted over the couch like Simone Biles, she was already sitting up, hand on her head as I knelt down.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m totally fine,” she shushed me, before I could even say anything. “The good news about being crazy is I can’t possibly get MORE fucked up due to trauma to the head, so it’s fine.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, sounding a little more exasperated than I intended, “Shut up and lay down on the couch.” As I picked her up under her armpits and deposited her there, I realized she didn’t really have a choice. I was considering plopping down on top of her to make her stay put, but that seemed a little excessive. Instead, I directed her firmly, “Stay there.”

Clumsiness and head trauma apparently didn’t fall under Daze’s duties, because it was a few minutes before she wandered in from the bedroom, mostly seeming curious as to what all the commotion was about. After retrieving a flexible ice pack from the freezer, I yanked the towel off of my shoulder over and wrapped the ice pack in it, making my way back to Clementine. I was half-surprised that she was actually laying down where I left her; leaning over the arm of the couch, I moved her hand from her head and put the ice pack on it. Curiosity got the better of me and I found myself asking, “What were you even doing out here? I thought you were taking a shower.”

She had hit her head over her right eye and sure enough, there was a big bump quickly forming there. She looked a little like a lopsided unicorn when she pulled the pack away, checking to see if there was any blood. She sighed, “It’s dumb.”

Once again, I was thankful for my taste in big furniture, because I stepped over the side table and settled onto the couch next to her, trapping her against the back, and held the ice pack to her head for her. “Try me.” I deadpanned.

She mumbled, words falling out of her mouth in one fell swoop. Were I not more well-versed in mumbling as a language (thank you to so many of my teammates for this unforeseen boon), I might not have followed her, but sure enough, when she uttered “Iwantedtoseeifthereweretowelsintheguestroom,” I knew exactly what she meant.

“I had towels set out for you, babe.”

She rolled the one eye I could see— well, I assume she rolled both, but I just saw the one not obscured by the ice pack, as she grumbled, “I KNOW. In your bathroom. I wanted to see if there were towels in the OTHER bathroom too.”

I cocked my head to the side, half-concerned I was following her inane “logic” and half-grateful I was able to as I clarified, “So you came out here all stomping mad because I laid towels out for you? And actually, let me note, that I personally didn't; I had the service do it yesterday. And you’re mad?”

“IN YOUR BATHROOM, BARBS,” she maintained shrilly.

“No,” I corrected her, “In both bathrooms. I wanted the place to be prepared for you to stay, in whichever way you felt comfortable.”

Her voice was small as she replied, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” I couldn’t fight the smile on my face if I wanted to, and frankly, I didn’t want to. “Now who’s the idiot?” I teased her.

She traced her fingers across the portion of my chest revealed by the several open buttons at the top of my shirt and innocently, played with the hair that peeked out. She always seemed to be touching the hair on my arms or, in this case, my chest and oddly, I liked it. “I mean,” she feigned consideration, “Probably still you. As a rule.”

I lifted the ice and gently kissed her new horn as I agreed, “Probably, but also you a little bit.” She smiled at me and it was so sincere and beautiful that I almost got lost in it.

We sat quietly for a few moments and she intertwined the fingers of her free hand in mine. Replaying the events of the minutes prior in my head, I realized I was missing a piece and as evenly and straight-faced as I could manage I asked her, “But how did you go from mad to tripping over the couch? It’s huge and kind of hard to miss.”

She squirmed away from me slightly, which was a feat, since there really was nowhere for her to go. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said breezily and I grinned, there was definitely something.

“Lemon,” I insisted, my smile practically reaching my ears.

“Barbs.” her tone was the one she frequently used when she was tired of my antics.

“Clementine.” I wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

“Mark,” she declared, almost petulantly.

I stuck out my bottom lip and gave her the sad eyes. It always seemed to work for Mikko. “Please?” I asked, with as much earnestness as I could muster.

A faint smile appeared on her face as she acquiesced, albeit resignedly as she griped, “Okayyyyyyyyyyy.” She looked me dead in the eyes, quirking an eyebrow at me as she added the disclaimer, “But you can’t make fun of me.”

“Ok.” I nodded, “I promise.”

She sighed again, pausing before she spoke, “I just… you’ve been bringing me food “from your mom” and I know she’s not sending a bunch of meals to you from Montreal, so I just figured you’ve actually been cooking them yourself this whole time and I have this fantasy of you with a towel tossed over your shoulder cooking dinner for me and I was, for once in my life, NOT the one cooking dinner and instead, I was drinking wine watching you cook and…..and that’s like, exactly what you were doing except it was breakfast not dinner and it’s all very hot.”

If I were a better man, I would’ve wiped the smirk off of my face. But I’m not. So I didn’t. “Do I fuck you on the counter?” I suggested. “Is that where it gets hot?”

“No,” she answered, “The whole fantasy is just you cooking.”

“That’s it? That’s what made you trip over the entire fucking couch?” This information was not what I was expecting and as much as I wanted to tease the shit out of her about it, it was so sweet and pure and genuine, I couldn’t find it in myself to do it. Plus, I’d promised.

She squirmed away from me again, frowning as she reminded me, “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

I pulled the ice off of her head and set it on the coffee table. Gently, I took her chin between my fingers, turning her head toward mine so I could give her a soft kiss. “Baby…” I whispered, “I’m about to blow your mind.”

I kissed her again, sloppy and fast and stood up, scooping her up too.

“Ohmigod, BARBS!!” She shrieked, “Put me down!! I am NOT telling Bednar I’m the reason you can’t start the season.”

I ignored her and instead, deposited her on a bar stool, skirting the island and making way to the fridge to grab a bottle of prosecco and a carton of orange juice. “I know you said wine,” I remarked, “but it’s not even noon yet. SO, if you take sparkling wine and mix it with orange juice and call it a Mimosa, you’re allowed to drink before noon. I learned that from Landy.”

The look on her face said she was not at all surprised that Landy drank mimosas and was the party who had clued me in to this novel fact.

I set the champagne flute in front of her, filled with the boozy mixture of sparkling wine and Vitamin C. She fingered the stem absently, looking like she was approaching, though not necessarily imminently, a panic attack.

I lit the burner and put the pan back on it, grabbing another towel and throwing it over my shoulder before I added more olive oil to the onions and garlic.

Tine took a sip from the flute and after a moment, followed it up with a much larger sip. “Lemon,” I looked at her plainly, “Just down it if you want, zero judgment from me. I will pour you another.”

She eyed me over the top of the glass before taking another sip. I took my glass and raised it toward her, then downed the whole thing in a single gulp. It was about four seconds before my face contorted into a grimace and I choked out, “Oh bubbles, that was a bad choice.” I screwed my eyes shut as the carbonation tickled my sinuses. Maybe she was onto something, sipping on her mimosa. I was gonna have to serve myself a side of humble pie along with this omelet.

My eyes watered a bit which, I’m sure, did nothing to bolster my reputation in that moment. I raised my eyebrows to stretch out my face and hopefully, make the sensation go away as well as perhaps be so adorable that she wouldn’t totally roast my ass for my terrible and frattish suggestion.

I pushed the onions and garlic around the pan to make sure they caramelized evenly and turned to pull some veggies out of the fridge. When I set them on the island, I caught Clementine’s gaze and she was looking at me like a timbits player looks at the Stanley Cup: with awe, adoration, and a lot of hope.

“What’s on your mind, Clementine?” I prodded.

She took another lazy sip of the mimosa and rolled the drink around in her mouth before swallowing. “This is a good Prosecco,” she complimented, “Did you choose it?”

I was quartering a zucchini before slicing it as I responded, “I think we both know Gabe brought that over once and it’s been in my fridge ever since. And that can’t be why you’re looking at me like a cop looks at a donut.” The words were barely out of my mouth before I realized what I said. Hurriedly, I tried to backpedal, “Fuck, shit. I’m sorry, Lemon. I didn’t mean…”

Her face didn’t change much, but nonetheless, her expression solidified just a bit and her expression became more wooden. She traced one of the veins in the quartz countertop as she said slowly, “You can make jokes, Barbs. It’s ok. Cops do love donuts.”

I sighed and put down the knife, bracing my hands on the counter and berating myself inwardly as I grumbled, “And now I’ve ruined the moment.”

She drained her glass and set it down on the bar, filling it with Prosecco and adding just a dash of orange juice before taking another swig. I arched a brow at her, intrigued.

She jutted her chin in the direction of the clock on the microwave behind me, and said, almost daringly, “What? It’s 12:01. Don’t judge me.”

I resumed chopping, and we sat quietly for a bit while she watched me, the only sound in the kitchen coming from the vegetables sizzling away in the skillet. Finally, I had to fill the silence and I asked, “So, why the cooking fantasy?”

She took another sip of her mimosa, if you could even call it that now, and shrugged, responding with an offhanded “I don’t know.”

I scoffed, not even half surprised with her answer and refusing to settle for it. “That’s such a crock of horseshit.”

She looked around, almost like she was looking for something to throw at me and took another sip of her drink instead. “Excuse your language,” she admonished me.

I scoffed again and suddenly, I realized how much time we spent rolling our eyes around each other and trying to figure out if that was a bad thing or a good thing. “Oh, please” I huffed, “You can ‘shit, fuck, damn’ with the best of us, honey. Don’t think I don’t hear you when you miss a good shot of me.”

“It’s because I have to work harder to make you look good,” she threw back easily.

A bark of laughter escaped my mouth and it sounded a little bit deranged but hopefully still manly. “I own a mirror,” I informed her, rejecting her chirp, “So that ain’t flying.” I gave it a minute, sensing that this could be a bit of a loaded issue and wanting to allow her a little bit of time and space. Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and I didn’t want to push her so hard that she was uncomfortable. I turned to look at her and my eyes met hers.

Softly, I asked again, “Seriously, Clementine.”

She sighed and took a deep breath before she explained, “I don’t think I’m comfortable going into the details, but Bill really wanted to be born in the 30’s so he could have a 1950s housewife instead of me. So, dinner was always at a certain time and I always made it, regardless of anything— even if I was sick, I made dinner. He insisted on approving any activities I might want to do at night, and if I wanted to join a book club that started before his dinner time, it was a no go. So, I …..I don’t cook anymore.”

I had a feeling my penalty minutes were going to skyrocket this year as I listened, letting everything she told me flow into a box labeled “Discuss with therapist later.”

She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me and I started breaking some eggs into a bowl as I replied, “That sounds like it would suck any joy of cooking. So, it’s a good thing I love how you pause when you eat the first forkful of something you didn’t have to make and savor it, because, that moment right there? Because of that moment, I’ll cook for you anytime.”

The little wrinkle appeared between her brows and the sight of it made me smile. She eyed me over the top of her glass again and smiled at me in return as she chuckled, “That was a surprisingly insightful answer, and it is appreciated on many levels, Mr. Barberio.”

I continued cracking eggs, congratulating myself inwardly. “Weren’t you going to take a shower?” I wondered outloud.

She lifted her arm and took a whiff of her armpit, which made me smile again because she made a disgusted face, which was actually quite adorable. “Ugh, yes,” she sighed.

“Can you do it in 15?” I countered, “Brunch is almost ready.”

“Just for that, I can do it in 15. I don’t need to wash my hair today anyway, just get the sweat out.”

I continued chopping vegetables for the omelets while she climbed off the barstool. “I’m going to make you work out with me soon.”

She blanched and I laughed, “What? it’s good for you and it makes sex better.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I was certain she could see through the back of her skull, and wandered down the hall without a word. Daze stopped and looked at me, the giver of treats and back down the hall the way Clementine went. “You should probably follow the walking accident waiting to happen, Dog.”

Daze let out a huff in what I assumed was agreement and followed her charge down the hall.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daze wandered in and I closed the door to the master bedroom behind her, since the bathroom didn’t HAVE a door, per se; the toilet was in its own little closet, but the rest of the bathroom had an open doorway and a half wall of glass bricks to let the light shine in.

I looked at the tub— it was wide, long, and deep, and for a brief moment, fantasized about filling it with gallons of steaming hot water and hopping in and sinking up to my chin in bubbles, but I knew that was going to take longer than 15 minutes. However, Mark’s shower looked equally luxurious and, from even a cursory inspection, seemed to have enough showerheads to ensure that no portion of your body would go untouched.

Turning on the shower, I was proven correct; Water streamed out from what seemed like an uncountable array of showerheads (Spoiler alert, it was actually 3), including a giant rain one that hung down in the middle of the space. I had died and gone to heaven and heaven was Mark Barberio’s bathroom -- who knew. I had to pause for a moment and I leaned heavily on the counter while the water warmed. I was about to take a shower in God’s bathroom, while a man--scratch that, while a stupidly hot man-- made me brunch. It was a lot to absorb, and there was a definite tingle between my legs that, honestly, had been there since our makeout session on the balcony.

I just wanted to attach my face to his and put him inside me and that was how we were now. Freaky siamese twins attached at the mouth and genitals. In the sexiest and most not insane way possible. I didn’t think that was normal, but considering Bill was my ONLY relationship, I didn’t know what normal was. So maybe it was normal, because I had certainly NEVER felt that way about Bill.

I shrugged out of the clothes I had been wearing, which I realized had been marinating on my body for over 24 hours. The crotch of my panties was totally soaked, and even though I was alone, I made a face as I shoved all my dirty clothes into a small pile in the corner of the bathroom.

By this time, the glass shower enclosure had filled with steam and I swear, the minute I stepped in, I could feel my pores open up. All of the stress just leaked out of my body and into the swirling mist, and I realized that the only thing that could possibly improve this moment would be if the shower included some sort of eucalyptus oil diffuser to imbue the steam with all of its relaxing goodness. If Mark managed to figure that one out, he could probably charge admission fees for a visit to his shower.

The spray hitting me from 400 different angles felt amazing and I seriously wondered how Barbs didn’t fucking live in this shower and become some kind of landlocked merman.

I twirled my wet hair and plopped it on top of my head and, after doing so, realized too late I had left all my shower paraphernalia on the counter; however, I was so zen at that moment that I said fuck it, whatever, (three words I was pretty sure I’d never uttered in my life). Barbs had to have something in here, I figured, and I’d just use that. I saw something sitting on a small built-in ledge and I grabbed it: it was one of those homemade soaps with the loofah molded right in, which would suit me just fine. I was familiar with that type of item, as I had one just like it, and it was actually one of my favorite instruments of torture when I was trying to cleanse myself of the voices. I lathered it between my hands and realized that whatever this soap was, it was definitely one element of the fundamental smells that combined to make Barbs’ unique sexy manly smell - as I continued to lather, I detected hints of sandalwood and pine.

I ran the bar over my body and let the suds cover me before I flipped it to the other side, letting the water-softened loofah scrape against my skin in the way I would imagine rough but gentle hands would feel. I dipped the bar across my hips and then, between my legs and the rough edge of the loofah dipped between my lips, just catching my clit.

The sensation made me gasp. I had obviously tried to masturbate over the past years-post Bill, and considering the last time I was successful was pre Bill, my therapist and I speculated it was because of the trauma I suffered. But maybe, I didn’t need to ‘get over’ my trauma or learn to work with it, I just needed to be...turned on? What an entirely insane concept. That intense need I had felt that morning with Mark, I had never felt with Bill, even before the abuse started.

I made the same motion with the loofah again, and my hips twitched. I did it again and again and I could feel the euphoria building in my body. Eventually, I traded the loofah for my fingers and I swirled circles around my clit until I had to brace my free hand against the glass wall to keep my legs from going out from under me, hips twitching as the wave crested.

Mark’s name may have been on my lips and a pleasant roaring muted the rest of the world and I thought I heard my own name but I wasn’t sure.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The omelets were done, and I debated with myself about whether or not to set the table in the dining area, or if we should eat on the bar side of the island. I set the table, but it looked too formal and maybe too reminiscent of Tine’s old life, so I took the placemats and put them on the bar. In the end, it looked like a planned but informal meal and I was wondering what was taking Tine so long.

I knocked on the door to the bedroom, but didn’t get an answer. So, I knocked again, opening the door a little as I said her name.

“Lemon?” I spoke softly, words softly echoing through the mist rolling out of the bathroom.

Her hand against the glass was the only clear thing I could see, but it didn’t take a genius to see the shadow of her other hand between her legs, body bent as she came and I heard her say my name.

I closed the door quietly and leaned my head back against it. Holy fucking shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I was aching behind the zipper of my jeans, dick bent at an awkward angle and stuck my hand down there to straighten him out. I had no idea how I was going to function for the rest of the day without bending her over the back of the couch and fucking her until my balls were empty. I don’t think I had ever been so hard or turned on in my life, and as a professional athlete I felt like that was significant.

It took more than a few moments for me to compose myself but when I did, I knocked on the door again, this time being sure to stay on the outside of it. “Lemon?” I forced out, casually, “Food is ready.”

After a moment, she opened the door and smiled at me as she padded back into the bedroom. Her hair was still wet, held on top of her head with a clip, and she was in simple leggings and an oversized Avs shirt. Its neck was so stretched that it was hanging off of one shoulder and I could see the strap of her tank top or bra or whatever. Her cheeks were flushed, skin still dewey from the shower.

“That shower is amazing,” she sighed, “I might just live there.”

I didn’t know what to say since “I want to cum on your chest” was probably inappropriate. So I settled for nothing, raising my brows and nodding slowly in acknowledgment of the shower’s awesomeness which had been raised to another level since I was never ever ever going to be able to take a shower without thinking of that moment.

Her nose crinkled and I could tell she was on to me. Fuck. As she made her way through the bedroom, she looked at me over her shoulder and asked, “Lunch ready?”

I nodded, that seemed safe, and watched as she made her way down the hall, her gait a lot more relaxed than I had ever seen it. Daze followed behind her, avoiding my gaze.

I honestly had no idea what to do; she seemed unaware I had seen something so intimate and HOT and I didn’t know how to bring it up and explain WHY my horniness went from a normal 100 to a supercharged 1000 and I was acting like a totally awkward and lovestruck teenage boy. Or, more like one than usual.

She stopped short of the kitchen and looked at the island, where our places were set and the food was waiting for her. Daze whined and shoved her nose into Tine’s hand. When Tine turned her head and looked down at the dog, it seemed like she was trying to blink back tears. I cleared my throat and she looked over her shoulder at me again, a small smile on her lips.

“What are we eating, Chef Barberio?” She took the seat she’d occupied earlier, setting the napkin in her lap and leaning forward toward her plate, wafting the smell of the omelet toward her face with her hand.

“It’s just an omelet, Lemon.” I said modestly.

She snorted. “It’s about to be the best omelet I’ve ever eaten.”

I slid into the chair next to her and she lifted her glass, which I had refilled while she was in the shower. “To hockey players slash chefs slash playboys who turn out to be actually decent guys,” she toasted.

She took a sip from her glass and I followed suit; then, she dug into the omelet and let out a moan that made the situation in my pants a lot more dire than it had been and I didn’t think that was possible.

I shifted uncomfortably, she noticed but seemed to mistake why as she said quickly, “I’m sorry, it’s just really good, Barbs. I’m not exaggerating.”

I sighed, about to reinforce the playboy image and not the actual decent guy part. With my arm settled around the back of her chair, I confessed, “Lemon, it’s not that. Your moan gave me a hard on.”

She tried not to smile, holding her hand in front of her full mouth. She chewed several times before swallowing and apologizing, “Sorry. I’ll do my best to keep my pornagraphic food noises to myself.”

“God, no, don’t do that,” I objected. It was my turn to take a bite of my creation and I let out an exaggerated moan of my own; two can play at that game. As I chewed and swallowed, I smiled at her as I agreed, “But you’re right, I’m good.”

She smacked my arm lightly and admonished, “Stop making fun of me, it’s not nice.”

I stood up and cupped her head in my hands, pressing a kiss to her temple, and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Eat up, Lemon,” I encouraged. “Trying to make sure you eat enough is a full time job.”

She frowned, pushing a mushroom around on her plate absently. “But what if I get fat,” she retorted.

Oh my god, that fucking ex-husband of hers. I leaned down on my forearms and stared at her over the island, resisting the urge to verbally rip him to shreds and ruin our brunch. “Babe,” I chose my words carefully, “You’re not thin now, and I like you a lot. I care more about your health than your size. You wanna be fat, get fat. But healthy, so you gotta be like one of those chubby instagram workout girls.”

She glowered. “Your sentiment is nice,” she acknowledged sarcastically, “But your execution leaves much to be desired.”

I didn’t choose carefully enough, it seemed. But even so, I grinned. “There’s my girl,” I teased.

We finished our meal in comfortable silence, with maybe some juvenile knee shoving under the countertop. Which was maybe started by me.

When she finished, she sat back in her chair, looking like she was contemplating licking the plate. I stood, grabbing her head and pressing a kiss to her temple again, which was starting to become a habit and I found that I couldn’t care less. I started clearing the plates.

She grabbed my forearm and rose from her own chair, saying “No, Mark, stop. I’ll clean up.”

I pried her fingers off of my arm with my free hand, and gently pushed her hand away. “No, Lemon,” I insisted, “Just go watch TV or something. I got it. I made you a meal and I intend to finish making that meal by cleaning up.”

“Mark, please.”

I gave her a pointed look, “Lemon, no.”

She practically pouted, “Fine, but I’m going to sit here and keep you company.”

I scraped crumbs off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, having cleaned up the rest of the dishes while she was in the shower. The petulant silenced stretch uncomfortably, “Lemon,” I asked, “Can you see if there’s anything good on the Food Network?”

It was a small manipulation, just a small one. But it got her on the couch, trying to bring up the TV while I finished cleaning.

By the time I was done, her head was back against the cushions and she was snoring softly. She was almost too predictable, and it pissed me off to no end that some asshole managed to use that against her for who knows how long. Daze accompanied her sleeping human on the couch and was keeping a weather eye on her, like she knew something about Clementine I didn’t know. Which, to be fair, she probably did.

I took the mean looking torture device out of her hair, laid her down on a pillow, picked her feet up and sett them on the couch before I pulled the blanket off the back of it and covered her with it.

I’d probably get so much shit if the guys knew most of my second stay over date was Tine catching up on a decade of sleep, but if I was honest, I didn’t mind. Partly because I felt some pride in the fact that part of her subconscious had decided I was safe and honestly, partly because of how intense it was being with her. I never knew when she would casually drop a small bomb of information on me, because her experiences were normal for her though they were absolutely not normal for me. I tried to be conscious of the language I used and the words I chose, but it occurred to me that maybe that was one thing I shouldn’t worry about doing. Like Stephanie said, maybe that was my burden and I didn’t need to watch myself that carefully, because that was work she needed to do and not work I needed to take on for her. It was a bonus that while she was here she was out of reach of her awful awful parents.

I kissed her forehead and decided to work off the sexual frustration in the building gym instead of utilizing Rosie Palm and her five sisters.. I left a post-it on her phone, knowing she would check it immediately when she woke, mostly, I assumed, to appease Nora, who had been texting Tine every hour on the hour, it seemed.

After changing clothes, I headed for the door, going to utilize the basement gym in my building.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Room For Two | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  After a long weekend at the Denver Comic-Con, you were just looking for a quiet evening. That plan is out the window when all the planes are grounded at the airport and Tom arrives at your door. With no other rooms available in the city, Tom asks to share your room for the night. Just one problem, there is only a king bed in the room.

Warnings: fluff

-

“Finally.“

The hotel door slammed behind you as you let a sigh go. The past three days had been a whirlwind of panels, interviews, and autographs. It was only through multiple cups of coffee you were still standing. The Denver Comic-Con was the latest stop in the unending promotional tour.

You throw your shoes off and flopped onto the king bed in your room. You contemplate what to do first, a hot shower or order food as you massage your sore feet. The growl from your stomach decided for you and you lean towards the nightstand to pick up the phone.

“Room Service,” a cheery male voice answered as you hit the auto dial button.

“Hi, can I get the grass-fed burger, Caesar salad, and the Caprese pizza, please?”

“Charged to Room 1415?”

“Yes, please.”

“It will be 30 to 40 minutes.”

“Thank you.”

You hung up the phone and allow your head to sink into the pillows. You seriously contemplated falling asleep right now and hope you wake up when room service knocks. But you decided to wash the layer of the day off your body.

As you head to the bathroom, you shed your clothes piece by piece, tossing them on the floor along your way. You make a mental note to make sure you pick it up before room service gets there. You flicked the shower water on and turned it up as hot as tolerable. Once the water warmed up, you stepped in and let the near scalding water pour over your body. The tension left your shoulders and neck and the grime of the day, both literal and figurative, washed away. You wanted to stay under that hot water for an eternity but after about ten minutes you turned the water off and stepped into a fluffy bathrobe. As you exited the bathroom, you got an insistent knock on the door.

“That can’t possible be room service,” you muttered as you look through the peephole.

Instead of your food, you see a lanky ginger-haired gentleman rocking from side to side in front of your door.

“Tom?” you questioned as you open the door.

Tom turned on that smile.

“I hope I am not interrupting your evening. Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

“Yes, come on in,” you stepped aside to allow him entry to the room. You noticed he was carrying a small duffel bag with him. “I thought you were flying out tonight.”

He pivoted around to face you.

“Funny thing. They grounded the flights. Someone thought flying drones in the air space was a good idea. After four hours, they sent everyone away.”

“Didn’t that same thing happen at Heathrow in December?”

“The same thing. They are calling it a copycat.”

“I am so sorry. If I can help, just say the word,” you commented as you turn to let him out the door. Tom does not follow.

“Well, that is the other funny thing. Because of the comic-con and the big education convention, there is not a spare room in the entire city.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“I am serious. Not even my original room was available. I thought about sleeping at the airport when I remembered you were staying a few days…”

Your eyes widened, realizing what Tom was asking.

“You want to stay… HERE?!”

Tom looked at the ground, scuffling his feet on the carpet.

“If you don’t mind.”

You looked to the single king bed in the room. Tom followed your gaze and then both of your faces reddened.

“I could sleep in the chair.” Tom gestured towards the armchair in the corner.

It was at least half his size and looked uncomfortable.

“No, that is not fair… We can…”

A knock interrupted your thought.

“SHIT!” you hissed as you pulled the bathrobe around your body, “that is room service.”

Tom held up his hands.

“I will handle it. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and make yourself decent?”

He made the last remark with a slight smirk on his face as his eyes raked over your still robed body. You throw him a dirty look as you grabbed your pajamas and shut the bathroom door.

Tom thanked the person who brought the food as you pulled a comic book t-shirt and well-worn pajama pants.

“Were you expecting company?” Tom yelled through the bathroom door.

You remembered your hunger induced over ordering.

“Are you judging me?” you retorted as you opened the door, smiling.

“Nope. I have always appreciated people with a healthy appetite. I must admit I am famished myself. Airport food is not my favorite.”

You suppressed a giggle as Tom eyed the burger. You gestured for him to dig in. Tom dug into the burger without a second thought and moans of satisfaction escaped his lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” you mumbled as you shove a forkful of salad in your own mouth, “I also appreciate a man with a joy for food, even such a high esteemed actor as yourself.”

Tom rolled his eyes. This was an ongoing joke between you two throughout filming. You mention his fame and him shutting you down every time.

“Please. None of that tonight. I am far too hungry and weary to fight you off.”

“Fair enough.”

***

The two of you eat the rest of the food in relative silence. Tom regal the tale of his ill-fated trip to the Denver airport and you shared crazy fan stories from the con. After every morsel and you bellies were full, the matter of sleeping arrangements came up once.

“So…” Tom started, looking once again towards the bed. “I am taking the chair.”

Your face once again reddened. You screwed up your courage to be an adult rather a hormone raging teenager.

“No, that is silly. You are like twice the size of that chair and it looks uncomfortable,” you wrinkled your nose, “Plus it is not like you and I have never shared a bed before.”

Tom had been a perfect gentleman and did everything in his power to make you comfortable during your first ever love scene. At the end of the day, the scene had made the film a hit. After that, you harbored a crush on the dashing Tom Hiddleston.

“True. So sharing the bed.”

You swallowed and nodded your head as if solidify your decision.

“Yep,” you get up and move the empty dishes to the door, “do you need to use the shower? You are more than welcome to use any of my toiletries. I promise there is nothing too girly smelling in there.”

“Thank you.”

Tom headed into the bathroom, taking his bag with him and the shower started soon after. You attempted to contain the mess of clothes on the bed. Not that it mattered.

You shoved all the clothes into the drawers and when the water stopped, you jumped underneath the covers. Tom strolled out. His shaggy locks were wet, and he was wearing pajama bottoms with a plain white tee. You could smell your soap wafting off of him. It was intoxicating.

“I took the right side. Is okay?” you commented, while playing with the edge of the sheet.

Tom laughed. “It’s fine, it is your room and I am the interloper.”

Tom slid into the bed on the left side and adjusted the pillows behind him.

“Would you like to watch a movie or something?” you picked up the remote.

“No thanks, darling. I am tired from the day. I bet you must be too. This is your first comic-con circuit, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I am tired too,” you lied.

You leaned over and switched off the light and plunged the room into darkness. You settled yourself into a night of sleeping. You arranged the pillows behind your head and then took one of the extra pillows and tucked off to one side to lie on. You turned towards Tom’s side to see him propped up on an elbow, taking in your sleep ritual.

“What in earth are you doing, Y/N?”

“I am getting ready for bed. What are you doing?”

“Watching you getting ready for bed. Do you always hug a pillow while sleeping?”

You made out a hint of a smile on his face.

“It is not hugging, it is for support,” you huffed down and wrap your arms around the pillow.

“For emotional support?” Tom countered.

“No.” you said, “I thought you were tired.”

“I am. But I am not too tired to watch this ritual. It is adorable. If you need to snuggle something, I am available.”

You reached over and smacked Tom in the chest.

“You are incorrigible. I’m fine. Go.. to.. sleep, Tom.”

“Suit yourself.”

Your sleep was fitful that night, tossing and turning all night. Around midnight, you threw the pillow to the ground and the comforter off your feet. Tom breathed heavy next to you. Tempted to elbow him in the ribs and wake him,  you decided against it.

***

You woke the next morning to something warm and solid pressed up against the entire back side of your body. You attempted to roll over, but you realized something pinned your legs to the mattress. Craning your neck around, you see Tom pressed up against your back and his legs intertwined with yours.

Tom’s body was radiating heat, and you snuggled close to his body. You could feel his breath on your neck and you sighed to yourself.

If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.

As you continued to sink into his body, you inadvertently ground your ass into Tom’s crotch. You feel his erection through his thin pajama pants. Not even the great Tom Hiddleston was immune to morning wood. A soft moan escaped Tom’s lips, and he reached around your waist, pulling you in closer. Tom’s chin nuzzled into the crook on your neck and his hot breath tickled your skin.

You tried to extract yourself from his grip but only turned yourself around and now you were face to face with a sleeping Tom. His long lashes threatened to touch his cheeks and you let a sigh out at the sight of him.

Damn, why does he have to be so handsome!

The change of position caused Tom to stir and you see his eyes flutter open. With sleepy eyes, Tom noticed the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you and smirked.

“Morning, darling.”

“Morning, Tom.”

“I see you abandoned your pillow and went for something more satisfying.”

You scoffed, attempting to pull away from his grip but not trying too hard.

“I woke up with you wrapped around me. Perhaps you have a crush on me,” you joked.

Tom looked you dead in the eye.

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I have been hiding away a secret torch for you since you first walked onto set. And perhaps I fear you would not reciprocate my feelings.”

You lied there in disbelief. Was Tom confessing his affections towards you? You didn’t know how to react.

“Perhaps you are wrong.” you parroted him, “Perhaps I would reciprocate your feelings. Perhaps I have been hiding a secret crush for you since the day of that bedroom scene.”

You looked up at him, again attempting to wriggle away. This time with more effort. Tom yanked you forward until the two of you were chest to chest.

“Perhaps I will just kiss you and see what happens.”

You opened your mouth to come back with a snappy comment but Tom leaned in and his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you had imagined, but better. A warmth flowed through your body and you snaked your arms around Tom’s neck and pulled him closer.  The two of you parted, breathing heavy.

“Wow,” Tom smiled with pride, “your breath smells.”

Both of you burst out into laughing.

“Your breath isn’t minty fresh either, darling,” Tom placed a quick peck on your lips. “Let’s get up, get dressed, and head downstairs for breakfast, Y/N.”

“Okay but you get ready first. I am not ready to get up.”

“Fair enough.”

Tom bounded out of bed and rustled through his bag before finding clean clothes. Just as he reached the bathroom door, his phone buzzed.

“Do you mind checking that, darling?”

You nodded, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

You picked up the phone and saw a text from Luke.

Tom?! Where are you? You didn’t answer your phone last night. It took some persuading, but I got your suite back at the Hyatt. Please call me back. I hope you didn’t end up sleeping in the airport.

That little liar! Tom had manipulated you to spend the night. What a sneak! Your initial anger gave way to mischief and joy. If not for Tom’s little subterfuge, the two of you may have never gotten together. Still, you couldn’t let him get away with his little scheme scot-free.

You seated yourself at the edge of the bed, legs crossed and his phone in your hand. Tom came out in jeans and a shirt, a toothbrush in his mouth. He looked at you confused.

“Who was it?” he questioned, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth.

You smirked, “Oh just Luke.”

“What did he want, love,” he came over and placed a minty kiss on your forehead, “everything all right?”

“Yeah,” you wiped the remnants of toothpaste off your face, “he was just worried you slept in the airport, instead of your old suite in the hotel.”

Tom’s smile fell from his face.

“I can explain…”

You stood up and walked until you were toe to toe.

“Oh? And what is your explanation for lying about your sleeping arrangements?”

You suppressed a smirk and giggle and you can see Tom scrambling to come up with the right words.

“Well..” Tom held his hands up in defense and then sighed, shoulders slumping, “I couldn’t think of any other way to get you into bed with me.”

His blue eyes sparkled back you, hopeful. You let a Cheshire cat grin spread across your face and you pulled up onto your toes to place a kiss on his lips.

“You are lucky you are so charming, otherwise I might be more mad. Besides, we need to discuss this.” you waved your hands between the two of you.

“We are?”

“Yes. Now excuse me but I have to get dressed…”

Tom settled onto the bed as though you would strip off your pajamas right in front of him.

“… in the bathroom.”

Tom’s face fell.

“You wound me.”

“You lied.” “I promise I will never make that mistake again, darling.”

“Good, now call Luke back while I get dressed.”

You closed the door and got ready. Tom dialed in Luke’s number.

“I’m fine, Luke. I promise. No, I didn’t end sleeping in the airport; I stayed with a friend. No, a female friend. Yes it is her, if you must know. Yes, Luke. I understand. Oh by the way, I will spend a few days in Denver, clear my schedule.”

Tom could hear Luke grumbling through the conversation. He couldn’t resist send him into a tailspin before re-engaging in radio silence.

“Oh and Luke, if you hear any rumors about me, they are true. The photos too.”

With that, he turned his phone off. The next few days were for you and you alone.