#mellow pumpkin

[linterteatime]

Merry halloween to y'all or something like that idk, Wish you all a spooky night🎃

[linterteatime]

Aaaa Tysm!!!💕❤️💕❤️ i really really appreciate this a lot!! o(>ω<)o

I saw these lovelies and just couldn’t help but draw them! Ocs belong to @linterteatime !!

[herefortarlos]

Did I go a little crazy seeing all the fun fall things?? No, absolutely not.

[leggerefiore]

Since autumn is returning, I should start doing cute date things for Halloween and it getting colder....

[thecrazyalchemist]

Send this to all your favourite moots and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃

<3 /p

[helianthologies]

would you still love me if i said candy corn was better than most chocolate

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / part one masterlist

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed. 

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing. 

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless. 

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones. 

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone. 

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday. 

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.” 

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin. 

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.” 

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.” 

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits. 

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.” 

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.” 

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.” 

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.” 

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own. 

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center. 

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk. 

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope. 

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off. 

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem. 

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse. 

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.” 

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips. 

“From The Wizard of Oz?” 

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth. 

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?” 

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.” 

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people. 

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.” 

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.” 

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.” 

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.” 

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one. 

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.  

“You did?” 

She nods, shining with pride. 

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world. 

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him. 

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.” 

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?” 

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?” 

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.” 

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.” 

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that. 

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back. 

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk. 

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.” 

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.” 

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly. 

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.” 

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.” 

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?” 

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too. 

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no. 

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm. 

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?” 

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run. 

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him. 

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.” 

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.” 

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back. 

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe. 

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.” 

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue. 

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off. 

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult. 

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?” 

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?” 

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin. 

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things. 

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.” 

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.” 

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?” 

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how. 

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.” 

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it. 

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.” 

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits. 

Her long lashes flutter questioningly. 

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?” 

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation. 

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely. 

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you. 

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline. 

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums. 

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup. 

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around. 

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new. 

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.  

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval. 

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking. 

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?” 

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve. 

“Where’s your dad?” 

“Umm. Cleaning?” 

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?” 

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in. 

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor. 

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.” 

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier. 

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips. 

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.” 

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand. 

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh. 

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.” 

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?” 

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be. 

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.” 

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell. 

“You kill someone?” 

He stiffens. “What?” 

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.” 

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.” 

You hum gaily. “I like your house.” 

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.” 

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve. 

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?” 

“I was but I had to find my costume first.” 

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing. 

“I’m not sneaky!” 

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.” 

“Then trick-or-treat?” 

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.” 

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes. 

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor. 

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors. 

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.” 

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another. 

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?” 

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face. 

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you. 

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on. 

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy. 

“They look stunning! You painted these?” 

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore. 

“You’re a talented artist.” 

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.” 

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.” 

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on. 

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy. 

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list. 

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!” 

“What?” Steve calls, muffled. 

“Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!” 

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail. 

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it. 

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines. 

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite. 

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.” 

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s. 

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection. 

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it. 

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail. 

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.” 

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror. 

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.” 

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently. 

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about. 

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention. 

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular. 

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.” 

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.” 

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?” 

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out. 

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger. 

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt. 

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing. 

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib. 

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask. 

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges. 

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch. 

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances. 

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all. 

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.  

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair. 

“Now it’s perfect.” 

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.” 

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about. 

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things. 

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks. 

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too. 

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak. 

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.” 

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time. 

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails. 

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.” 

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.” 

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.” 

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.” 

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured. 

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile. 

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct. 

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?” 

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer. 

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen. 

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared. 

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.” 

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.” 

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.” 

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?” 

“Go and look– get the treats.” 

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand. 

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things. 

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.” 

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.” 

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.” 

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.” 

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand. 

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.” 

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.” 

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?” 

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket. 

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?” 

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.” 

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his. 

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.” 

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces. 

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder. 

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice. 

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile. 

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?” 

She nods. 

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?” 

She nods again, equally jaded. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make. 

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you. 

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.   

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking. 

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies. 

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way. 

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?” 

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway. 

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?” 

“Ew! Daddy!” 

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing. 

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.” 

You gasp. “Penelope!” 

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!” 

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles. 

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!” 

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk. 

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer. 

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask. 

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.” 

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy. 

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says. 

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.” 

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day. 

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation. 

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!” 

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?” 

“I was?” 

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet. 

“Oh. Am I still little?” 

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.” 

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him. 

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around. 

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one. 

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction. 

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind. 

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house. 

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask. 

“She likes princesses’.” 

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.” 

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?” 

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?” 

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?” 

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.” 

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?” 

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share. 

“Daddy, how many houses are left?” 

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?” 

“No. Can I see? I want to count.” 

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six. 

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway. 

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints. 

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before. 

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.” 

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him. 

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides. 

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl. 

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?” 

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her. 

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert. 

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry. 

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home. 

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.” 

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass. 

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown. 

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them. 

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long. 

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car. 

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you. 

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house. 

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.” 

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.” 

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.” 

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.” 

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips. 

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow. 

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.” 

“That’s kind of you.” 

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home. 

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient. 

“You can have five more pieces tonight.” 

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?” 

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up. 

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart. 

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.” 

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.” 

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time. 

“No?” Penelope giggles. 

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines. 

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.” 

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet. 

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?” 

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too? 

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath. 

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway. 

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs. 

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.” 

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.” 

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go. 

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet. 

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?” 

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.” 

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest. 

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay. 

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything. 

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV. 

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open. 

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too. 

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face. 

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells. 

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?” 

“Is that when we got pizza?” 

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”  

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.  

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?” 

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.” 

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now. 

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake. 

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance. 

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t. 

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not. 

“Very much. You?” 

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep. 

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.” 

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.” 

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white. 

“Addams family?” 

“Who’s who?” 

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers. 

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.” 

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. 

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty. 

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.” 

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.” 

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”  

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.” 

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.” 

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.” 

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.” 

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.” 

“You held it?” 

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.” 

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.” 

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out. 

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest. 

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.” 

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.” 

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it. 

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.  

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you. 

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table. 

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma. 

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it. 

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.” 

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?” 

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car. 

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours? 

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same. 

“See you Friday?” He asks. 

“See you then.” 

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house. 

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out? 

[sweetdevil-sims]

Several items, repurposed into incense holders

For the newest iteration of "what can I repurpose these meshes into?", we have incense holders! They will give sims moodlets according to the WA incense holders they were cloned from.

"Neuronic Synergy" (Chinese): Illuminator of the Illuminati, Jack O', Tasty Fruit;

"Love is in the Air" (French): Bridal Bouquet, Le Petit Eiffel;

"Totally Mellow" (Egyptian): Triple Pumpkin, Tropical Water Lily;

can be found under Accents, Indoor Activities, and Misc Entertainment for $350;

most have 3 channels, some have different stencil variants;

they are smaller than the incense holders that come with WA;

they all require the World Adventures EP.

🔸 Download: SFS | Mega

Sources: Bridal Bouquet, Illuminator of the Illuminati, Jack O' Floor Lamp, Le Petit Eiffel, Tasty Fruit Sculpture, Thanksgiving Pumpkin Plant, Tropical Water Lily Light. Credits: 1, 2 (Drape Dress)

If you want the incense holders to give off different moodlets, you can change their script classes manually or using the Transmogrifier.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ On Colours

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them! Writing Resources PDFs

[fuckingrecipes]

got any hearty vegetarian, low spice, low citrus recipes for someone whose mouth is currently compromised? (i managed to somehow bite the back of my tongue pretty badly. sharp/intense flavours like onion, fresh garlic, vinegar, lime, etc make me gag, but i can handle a little bit, like apples or mild vinaigrettes. i love yoghurt and mashed potatoes but its hard to work an 11hr a day warehouse job on them)

Ouch! I hope it heals quickly!

As far as lasting you through an 11hr day & feeling satiated...

You want PROTEIN and FAT. Don't shy away from adding dairy products like cheese and butter.

Since you're VEGETARIAN and not VEGAN, the most efficient method is to load up on eggs. You can put eggs IN dishes, or hard-boil a bunch of them and eat them as snacks.

An Egg-Salad Sandwich would have loads of protein and fat to get you through the day. Quiche is primarily eggs, and you can add veggies instead of meat.

Pound for pound, the densest vegetable proteins are seeds, nuts, and beans. Oatmeal, peanut, tofu (soybeans!), lentils, chickpeas, cashews, almond, etc.

Roasted Chickpeas are an easy base for all sorts of foods. Lentils and split peas make a great soup.

Try other root vegetables, and gourds. Turnips, carrots, sweet potatoes, parsnips, and yams all roast into tasty, hearty food. Once cooked and put into a tupperware, they microwave very well.

Pumpkin, butternut squash - as long as you cut them thinly, they'll roast like a potato and become mellow and mildly sweet. Squash and Pumpkin also KICK ASS, as far as 'pounds of food per dollar'

Roasted pumpkin and apple taste great together tbh.

[linterteatime]

Worth it ( >᎑• )

[idiopathicsmile]

Autumn with Seasonal Affective Disorder

Festive Halloween decor Lattes flavored like a gourd Cozy sweaters, crunchy leaves The hanging sword of Damocles

Warming spices in our mugs Pile that duvet nice and snug Giant bright orange pumpkin moon The yawning void, it looms and looms

Charlie Brown and mellow tunes A day of thanks is coming soon Feel that nip that crisps the air Before you’re swallowed by despair

[silverzoomies]

Great Pumpkin

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, drunk sex, halloween party, porn with feelings, use of the speech quirk "yer"

word count: 7,878

a/n: meant to finish this one before halloween. whoops !! at least november is the spook before christmas !! or halloween 2, electric boogaloo !!

some notes about this one: i wanna apologize for the needless plot. i know it's unnecessary, but i got a little carried away. if anything feels awkward, out of place, or weird? that's my bad. sorry. i was havin' too much fun writing the less smutty stuff. some other notes - think of this as an au, i guess. where erik is hiding out at xavier's for...reasons? idfk. sitcom logic. everyone's living together !! but there's tension !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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All Hallows Eve.

Prior to the X-Family’s spooktacular bash, Hank whipped up a little something special. Using his Einstein brain - or wizard sorcery. Peter couldn’t be too sure - the beastly scientist conjured a powerful inebriant. He heard Peter joke one too many times about his inability to get drunk. Since the speedster’s body filtered through substances at break-neck speed. Leaving not a second’s worth of intoxication time.

No exaggeration there. Peter once tried chugging his mom’s entire stash of liquor, along with a bottle of Purple Toad wine. Some really fruity stuff. Such a mass of booze only left a burn in his throat, along with an onslaught of nausea. All of which lasted 0.2 seconds.

Hank wanted to do Peter a favor for all his hard work lately. And now, he could finally participate in what he missed out on. After all these years. As long as he didn’t use the substance for any nefarious purposes. Per Hank’s request. Whatever that meant. Not like Peter planned on playing pranks at this year’s party. C’mon…really? He’s a teacher, for Geddy’s sake! He's gotta set a good example.

Spoiler alert: he had planned on it. Keyword being had.

Until the inebriation actually kicked in. For the first time in his unconventional life, a warm buzz pooled through Peter’s bloodstream. One of the major side effects? Debuffs to superspeed. Which proved an otherworldly experience. If not a little uncomfortable. Still worth it, for a one-night-only lesson in drunkenness.

Peering lazily into his red solo cup, Peter blinked. His eyes followed swirls of neon cyan. Luminous in its irradiated glow. He couldn’t comprehend the science behind Hank’s glowstick booze. But he knew it filtered through his body at a much slower rate than other substances. The drink felt syrupy on his tongue, and tasted like - coincidentally enough - candy corn. Its effects proved weaker than Peter expected. 

Given his cells operated so incomprehensibly fast, Peter didn’t find this too surprising. So, what? He’d never get frat party wasted. Oh well. Peter came to accept that fact about himself forever ago. Still, fluorescent booze made him mellow enough to slow down a lot. Peter could totally vibe with mellow. No complaints there. Mellow’s copacetic. He definitely owed Beastie for his magic potion of slow-mo. Peter oscillated between a nice, tipsy balance. Muddled enough to let loose and enjoy himself. But conscious enough to avoid making any ultra stupid decisions.

Or, he thought so, anyway.

Hobbling around the mansion, Peter pushed through crowds of partygoers. All dressed in their spookiest, sexiest, or most low-effort costumes. Twinkles of orange and violet lights kept the mansion somewhat lit. With spoOoOoOoOoky decorations scattered amongst the school. A perfectly campy atmosphere for Halloween. Oh. And those decorations? All Peter’s doing. Of course, it’s no surprise the professor deemed him prime event decorator. He took mere microseconds to spice up an entire plot of land. Throwing forth all his effort, Peter dressed the building in balls-to-the-walls, haunting decor. 

Fake spiders with prickly fur lay strewn about in random places. Ghosts made of old, torn sheets swayed in the breeze. Skeletons hanged by the dozens. Streamers of orange and faded black dangled from the ceilings and doorways. String lights lined the mansion’s trim. Outside on the grounds, Peter even garnished the grass with inflatable Snoopys.

During his decorative escapades, he cracked jokes to the kids. Peter asked, “You guys think the Great Pumpkin’ll show up?”

They squealed with laughter, stomping their little feet. Candy buckets in hand, the kids yelled, “Mr. Maximoff, the Great Pumpkin’s not real!!”

In the midst of rearranging another Snoopy, he gasped, “WHAT?! He is too real!! Better not let him hear you say that!” 

A haunted trail veered off into the woods surrounding the mansion. It led to an old barn, stocked full of hay and populated with jack-o-lanterns. All carved by the mutant kiddos themselves. Another set of glittering lights decorated the barn, creating an autumn glow. A pair of giant speakers - Peter paid for them, mind you - roared Halloween tunes over the entire property.

Cool stuff. Talk about a hell of a set-up. Peter couldn’t help but be proud of himself. Such a slew of decorations might put even Scrooge Mcduck himself in holiday spirits.

Wait. No. What? Scrooge Mcduck? Wasn’t he more of a Christmas thing? Fuck. Peter might be more mixed up than he thought. He gazed absentmindedly into his red solo cup again. Blinking slowly, he wondered…what the hell did Hank put in this disco concoction anyway?

Whatever. By the end of the night, Peter hoped the kids got a kick out of his hard work. Not that he broke a sweat putting it all together or anything. But he wanted to live up to his awesome teacher reputation. The highest of honors, really. No way he’d let anyone else trump him on that front.

Then again… Peter nibbled his lip, grinning to himself like a huge doofus. He took another long swig of his drink. Candy corn sweetness tickled his taste buds.

Okay. So, he might’ve had someone else in mind while he decorated. Somebody he desperately wanted to impress. A lot. Or, just a little bit, actually. Like, on a microscopic level. Maybe.

That somebody? You. Except, not really. No way.

Pffffttt…he definitely didn’t do it for you. C’mon! Why would he? Think of the kids! Those precious, lil demon spawn! They practically worshiped him. They’re what it’s all about, right? Riiiight.

Peter’s holiday decorations tempted any passing trick-or-treaters to drop by. And the professor prepared quite the spectacle of treats for them too. King sized, candy bars and all. Hank and Raven - showing off their mutant glory without an ounce of shame - passed the candy out to children. 

Human children.

Magneto - still unaware he had a son sprinting around the mansion on any given day - dubbed the gesture hopeless naivety. Or something along those lines. Inviting humans to join in on a night of mutant fun? Totally bogus. Which…yeah. From Erik’s perspective? Fair enough.

“You think they’ll learn to accept you through meaningless, holiday gestures?” Erik griped, arms crossed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Raven merely rolled her eyes. She made a comment about the inherent innocence of children. Erik didn’t appear to care. He groused some more after that. But Peter didn’t hear much of it. Nor did he imagine he even wanted to. At least, not tonight. Maybe once Peter sobered up a bit, he wouldn’t mind lending an ear. If his father ever felt the need to open up about his woeful turmoil.

But Erik disappeared upstairs. Out of sight. Still in hiding, all alone. Poor dude.

Unlike his misguided papa, Peter didn’t mind human inclusion so much. One: because he considered himself a pretty open minded guy. Easy to say, since he didn’t harbor anything remotely comparable to his father’s trauma. 

And two, on a less serious note: Human girls. They gravitated towards Peter like moths to a flame.

Throughout the mansion, the theme to Killer Klowns from Outer Space rang. Conversations buzzed around Peter like radio static. Candy corn booze made it impossible for him to comprehend them. Some partygoers played wallflower. Idling by snack tables, feasting on as much junk food as their stomachs could handle. It took every ounce of restraint Peter had, not to raid those tables himself.

Peter’s Terminator costume wasn’t much of a costume at all, really. It left most of the ladies confused. He didn’t recognize half the costumed cuties who pulled him in for dances. But they sure as hell recognized him. When another pretty girl pressed herself against him - tits bouncing, and bare thighs rubbing his pants - she’d ask the dreaded words, “What’re youuuu supposed to be?” Twirling her hair and giving Peter fluttery bedroom eyes.

Peter gave the same responses every time. Covered head to toe in black clothing, wearing a pair of sunglasses; he raised a prop shotgun from his back, responding with his best Arnold impression.

“I’ll be back.” Right on the money, Peter thought in his buzzed haze. Totally accurate. One to one.

If the girlies didn’t get the reference? So be it. Peter ultimately felt like a massive dork. But he got some sexually charged groovin’ out of it. A bit of groping here or there. He didn’t mind taking the L, if it meant grabbing some ass in the process.

But as the party clamored on, Peter knew he wanted only one thing.

To find you. Just to hang out, catch up, and have an innocent time. No other reason. Seriously. Honest. Why else would he wanna find you? To mess around a little bit? Nahhh. Why would he wanna fool around with you? And risk a long term friendship? He couldn't have that.

Not when you carried enough patience to put up with his day-to-day bullshit. Always listening to his senseless ramblings. Even if he spoke too fast for you to keep up.

During his lunch breaks on school days, Peter usually spent time with you. The two of you talked in the kitchen, or chillaxed in the lounge. Those chats? The highlight of his day. As corny as it seemed. He just couldn’t resist you and your kindly wiles. The wiles of his colleague. His…very pretty colleague. His…very pretty… platonic colleague.

Someone please end his misery now.

Peter wandered aimlessly. He danced his heart out and chatted up some more cute gals. Soon enough, he found you. Leaned over a set of snack tables, you picked through sugary sweet treats. Peter noticed the way you swayed in place. A little heavy footed like him, eh? He snickered to himself, sneaking up behind you. 

Lacking any filter or restraint, Peter blatantly gawked at your ass. A fitted, white gown draped your body. Flowing in an angelic fashion, it harmonized with your every curve. Even tipsy, Peter recognized your costume the microsecond he saw it. Princess Leia. Star Wars. Episode IV. Very sexy. Beyond sexy, even.

A flirtatious whistle caught you by surprise. You whirled around with a doe eyed look on your face. A kind of gaze that made his brain turn to mush. As if the alcohol hadn’t already. You licked the frosting off a funky colored cupcake, as Peter’s gaze flitted down your body. His eyes followed the smooth creases of your gown. A tasteful peek of your thigh kept his attention locked. Until the perky tease of your nipples captivated him instead.

Awesome. Amazing. 11/10. Best night ever.

“Ohmygosh!” You laughed, reaching out to touch Peter’s chest for whatever reason. Not that he minded one bit, “Peeeter, I’m sooooo sorry! I’m a little tipsy right now! It’s really unprofessional!”

Scarlet bloomed in his cheeks, burning hot enough to make him dizzier. Peter ogled you like the last Twinkie on the planet. A dollop of frosting caught the plush of your lip. You swirled it away with your tongue. Drawing in a hitched breath, Peter blinked.

Focus. He needed to focus on anything else. Not the parts of you he wanted to be on, inside of, and all other configurations of carnality.

“And?? You wanna hear somethin’ cray-crayyy?” Peter asked, lamely slurring his words. He raised his red solo cup, waving it in a clumsy motion, “So am I, princess! I’m totally hammered. And I looooove it!” He threw his head back, belting a loud, “WHOOOOO!!” Feeling more like a free spirit than he had in years.

Moving closer, you couldn't control your laughs. You shushed Peter, keeping your hand on his chest. Patting you on the shoulder, Peter chuckled. He feigned offense, but his sizeable hand lingered on you. A thumb grazed the soft cloth of your dress. For a beat, he wondered what you looked like under it.

“Whyyyy?? Why should I keep it down, huh?? It’s a party, baby! Everybody’s yellin’!” He shrugged. Peter smirked, throwing his head back again. He shouted another, “WHOOOOO!!”

A crowd of partygoers kept their eyes on the two of you. Their gazes lingering for a little longer than necessary. You snickered again. So tipsy, you could hardly get a word in through your giggling.

“You really are drunk, oh my gosh. You’re crazy, Peter! I can’t even-” Dropping your head into his chest, you erupted in woozy huffs of laughter. Great. He loved the closeness, “Peter, sorry, I’m sooooooo-”

“Mind-blowingly hot?” Peter lazily blinked, “Because yer-...you-ohhhh, man. You look really hot. Like-” He made a meaningless gesture with his hands, shaking his head, “Like, WOW! Have you seen yourself? Someone tell ‘Ro to make it rain. ‘Cuz yer on fiiiiiiire!” He joked. Cheesy and lame, but too smashed to even care.

You scoffed, cheeks set ablaze, “Oh, please! Give me a break! Mister Terminator casanova over here. Are you trying to butter me up like you did all those other ladies?” Playfully, you pushed off his chest. Peter mourned the loss of your touch, “I saw you! Getting all handsy out there!” You said, your tone lighthearted. Still accusatory.

Somehow, you recognized his costume. That caught him a little off guard. Peter’s heart did some kinda funny, fluttery thing. Jumpy, warm, and beating beating beating in his chest. But…nah. Couldn’t be because of you. Could it? Maybe the booze did it. Yeah. Irradiated Beast hooch must’ve give him palpitations. He’d tell Hank about this side effect later.

Peter arched a silver brow, “Oh, yeah? Mmmhm. Sounds like yer just jealous. ‘Cuz the ladies find my inner Schwarzenegger, action hero totally irresistible.” Bullshit. Most of them thought he dressed as Neo from the Matrix. Wrong action movie. Peter kept talking out his ass, “I bet it drives you up a wall to see ‘em all over me like that.”

“Oh, you think? Suuure. Like Leia would ever have the hots for some dollar store Terminator.” You teased affectionately, “Likely story, Quickie.” Fuck. Quickie. He loved when you called him that. You deceived your own protests, pressing your body against Peter's.

Your nails dug into his shirt as you palmed his chest. So…you wanted to play this little game now, huh? Alright. Fine. Peter bickered back and forth with you for an indiscernible amount of time. Standing in a corner by the snack tables, away from the noisy, party bustle. Unbalanced and wobbly, Peter leaned in. Keeping you both pressed together in a way too intimate for wandering eyes.

He almost spilled his neon concoction on your dress. Exchanging giggles again, Peter lingered even closer. His lips on the cusp of reaching out for yours. But in a clouded moment of self awareness, he stopped himself short.

“D-Do you…uhhhh-” He swallowed dryly. His nerves buzzed all through his body, “Y’wanna…get outta here? Maybe go do somethin’ reallllyyyy dumb? Like-uh…maybe make a mistake you’ll regret in the morning?” Peter suggested, wiggling his brows.

You gave him another lidded look, igniting a blistering fire deep in his bones. With your body still pressed to his - bodacious and oh-so-tempting - you brought a hand up. A beat of silence passed, as you moved his sunglasses up over his hair. Silver strands fell loose. You gazed into his puppy dog eyes directly. 

“And what makes you think I’d regret it?” You asked, your voice smooth and somewhat slurred. Oh...were you being real with him right now?

Your fingers traced flirty circles over his chest. Scorching flames in Peter’s heart burned warmth through his veins. Heat gathered in his groin. Peter’s eyes widened to a planetary degree. Clutching his solo cup a little too tight, he brushed your ass with his other hand. By accident. He only intended to pull you closer. You held his intoxicated gaze. 

Peter let his lips ghost yours again, without any direct connection.

“See, that’s-uhhh…hah…that’s just the booze talkin’.” He whispered with a soft chuckle. Steadily, he pulled himself from you, “Wanna know what it’s tellin’ me?” Peter gave you another lazy grin, nibbling his lip, “Youuuuuu and meee…” He sluggishly said. He dragged you along with him. Stumbling backwards, “...should-uh…gooooo have some…adult fun, yeah? A little romp in the hay?”

Did you know he meant that verbatim? Probably not.

Moments later, Peter clumsily navigated through the party. He made a beeline for the entrance hall, holding your hand the entire way. Floundering with every step, he traversed the crowded halls. Through each doorway the two of you passed, fluttering streamers dangled above. Soft tissue brushed across your face, tickling your nose.

The streamers proved more unkind to Peter. Staggering through the last doorway, he became tangled in them. Peter tried to shake the tissue off, twisting around and flailing his arms. He cursed aloud, making a spectacle of his embarrassing predicament. Caught in a web of orange and black, he looked like a Halloween decoration all his own. The streamers wrapped around his body and arms, even covering his head.

“MOTHER FU-” He cursed, jerking the tissue down with a rough tug. Peter tripped forward in the process. But he caught himself just in time. Compensating for his humiliation, he laughed, “I’m okay! I’m okay! Allllll good, guys. I’m good. Totally good! Meant to do that, actually.” Peter cleared his throat. He averted his glassy gaze from any partygoers nearby.

One of them being Hank, who stood alongside Raven. The two shared a few drinks and quietly chatted. The big, beast of man wore torn, red flannel. His blue fur peeked out from the undone buttons, appearing frayed. His costume? A smurf werewolf. A smurfwolf. Or something. Peter couldn't tell. And Raven? She hadn’t dressed up at all. Labeling Halloween: The one time of year she chose not to disguise herself. Why? Because, in her words, "It's funnier that way."

Raven stifled a laugh at Peter’s expense. But Hank didn’t hold himself back. He roared a rumbling chuckle, “I see the serum’s treating you well, Peter!” Hank teased, cradling a drink in his fluffy paw, “Why, it certainly looks that way. You seem to be having-uhm…fun? Yes! Fun. I'm delighted to see it!"

Peter idled in the middle of the doorway, swaying a little on his feet. Forgoing the streamers, he left them tangled around his limbs. Fuck it. His costume could use some added flair.

“I’m havin’ a-uhhhhh…a total blast, Beast my mannn!” Peter slurred. He passed Hank on his way out the mansion’s entrance. And roughly patted the scientist on the shoulder, “Thanks again, buddy ol’ pal! I owe you one!”

You giggled, beaming an elated smile as Peter dragged you out the door. Once you flew ungracefully by, Hank and Raven both did double takes. They gave you cautious looks, as if to say - uh, do you think this is a good idea? A little too sloshed, you failed to register their concern. Following Peter out the door with an inelegant skip in your step, you waved the pair goodbye.

“Well, now…that’s certainly going to be awkward for him tomorrow morning.” Hank joked, looking down at his drink. He swirled the beverage, the cup appearing itty bitty in his clutch. Showing off a crowd of snaggle teeth, he yawned.

Raven shook her head, scoffing, “Oh, it’ll bite him in the ass later. That’s for sure.” She added, sipping her own drink, “You proud of yourself?” Raven quipped, arching an orange brow. Hank held up a single claw, playful in his self defense.

“Not my fault! I gave him that serum because I thought he could have fun with it! And he is! Didn’t you see him? What he does under its influence is completely out of my jurisdiction!” Hank shrugged, stating in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ll have you know, I did try to warn him!”

In hindsight, Peter should have heeded Hank’s warnings. What he did under the effects of disco liquor proved supremely stupid. The nanosecond your feet hit the grass outside, he lost any restraint he had left. Peter kissed you full on. Ushering your sweet lips into an alcohol induced session of heavy smooching. Tongues interweaving, lackadaisical and reckless, the two of you shared careless kisses. Under decorative spider webs and amongst inflatable Snoopys.

But no Great Pumpkin in sight.

You slung your arms over Peter’s broad shoulders, letting him devour you. His sizable hands slid over your hips. He pulled you closer as he stumbled like a complete klutz. Thick fingers curled into the cloth of your dress. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Peter didn’t dare consider any consequences. With no filter to hold him back, one of his palms felt for your breast. He copped a handful, before you stopped him in his tracks. You tore your lips from his candy corn kisses.

“Heyyyy! Hey, hey, hey! Not here! What are you even doing??” You laughed, giving his nose an affectionate nuzzle, “Someone might see us, doofus!”

Peter hummed, pulling you against him in a more firm grip. He stole frantic kisses, heated and mouthy. Squeezing your hips, his nails scratched across your gown to your ass. Kneading your plush cheeks with little shame.

“So what? Let ‘em enjoy the show!” Peter snickered, diving in for yet another kiss, “I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to touch you like this. Now that I finally got you…”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t seem to take him seriously. In an attempt to pull yourself away again, you stumbled backwards in the grass. Even with his reaction time outta wack, Peter managed to catch you before you fell. In one awkward motion, he scooped you up bridal style and carried you into the woods. The streamers coiled around his limbs came loose, at long last. Flitting away behind him in the wind.

He held you in his strong arms, following the mansion’s haunted, Halloween trail. The hayride already closed down for the night, leaving the trail - and the barn - open for some private necking.

Finding his way to the barn, Peter wobbled, slowing his stride. In his arms, you took a moment to admire the decorations he put so much effort into. Orange, twinkling lights lined the barn’s entryway. Vibrant in late night darkness. Magical, and kinda romantic. Through the trees in the distance, the garnished mansion appeared visible. A Halloweeny spectacle, engulfed in simulated fog.

Party music echoed from afar, faint, but clear enough he could hear. Peter perked up, overhearing a classic, Hallow’s eve tune.

“‘CUZ THIS IS THRILLLAHHHH!” Peter shouted off key, moving backwards into the barn. His steps were careless, “THRILLAH NIIIIGHT!” He sang, falling into a bed of cool hay. Strands of straw bounced in the air. You came down with him, and he kept singing, “AND NO ONE’S GONNA SAVE YA-” He cut himself off, leaning in to feast on your lips. Peter cradled you in his arms, humming Thriller amidst awkward kisses.

You laid bridal style over his legs, dipping your head back. Inviting Peter to devour your neck like a thirsty vampire. Without all the grace of Bela Lugosi. More like a hammered Nosferatu. If either of you had second thoughts, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. He left that baggage behind. In the morning, sober Peter could unpack it all. Right now, he wanted his hands on your body, under your dress.

“Ohhhh~! Oh my-” You moaned, tacking on an erotic squeal of his name. Giggling in a kittenish tone. The sound made him wanna bite you harder, “W-Wait-...Peter, maybe we shouldn’t-oooooh~! Maybe we shouldn’t be-”

His sloppy kisses cut your hesitance short. Peter nodded his head in a lazy, loose motion. Bringing more dizziness upon himself.

“Mmmm? What? No-...” He hummed, “Baby, we should. We definitely should. Don’t even worry-” Peter paused for an abrupt beat. Holding you tight, he adjusted in the hay. Uncomfortable, Peter knitted his brows, “Wait-...this hay’s so-...why’s this hay so fuckin’ itchy, man?”

At the chime of your silly snorts and giggles, Peter’s words became lost on him. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t think clearly enough to recall them. Instead, he drew his attention back to you. Peter’s lips found your neck once more. Your floral scent replenished his lungs, a lifesource he desperately needed. Hot kisses peppered down your chest. In his clouded stupor, Peter buried his face between your breasts.

He loved the flustered squeal you made in response. Enough that he couldn’t help but do it again.

“Ohhhhh…hot damn, baby.” Peter groaned into your chest, motorboating your knockers. A graceless gesture. Lifting his face, his hair appeared a disheveled mess, “Yer so awesome, y’know that? Liiiike…yer really great. I know I’m pretty drunk right now, but-uhhhh…” He slurred, sneaking thick fingers under your dress, “I do mean it. No joke. I think yer really cool. Cool and-uhm…and-uh…hahaaa….I really like you.”

You erupted in more buzzed giggles, parting your lips to protest his drunken confession. But Peter silenced you with shushes, “Shhhhhhhh! Shhhhh, don’t-” He hiccuped. Your laughs were so contagious, he couldn’t help but giggle as well, “Shhhh! Don’t tell anybody!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” You chuckled, gently holding his cheeks. You pulled him down for more smooches, lips meeting in a slower embrace, “I like you too, Peter…but shhhhhh…keep it a secret.”

His fingertips danced along your inner thigh, clumsy and unsteady. Peter’s hand disappeared between your legs and under your gown. Hot digits grazed your panties. A flimsy, soaked piece of fabric awaited those digits. Breathing a low huff, Peter whispered, “Fuck.” into your neck. The steamy word tickled your skin, giving you chills.

Blindly, he wormed his fingers into your panties. Peter dipped his digits into your honeyed heat. Thick, syrupy cushions sealed around him. He focused on parting your tight walls. A little too uncoordinated to pleasure you in a more ideal way. Rough, repetitive motions curled at an awkward angle. Digging so deep, Peter could hear the squishy call of your insides - leaking wet, all for him. 

Your body tensed, knees spreading on instinct. Cool air caressed your thighs. Peering down into your lidded, baby doll eyes, he held your gaze. As your cunt pulsed around his digits, soft and constricting, he knitted his brows. Humming another groan, Peter dove down for your neck. He sucked mouthy, wet hickies into your skin. Leaving gifts for sober you to discover later tomorrow.

Speaking of sober.

Sober Peter never had trouble keeping up with anybody. Moreover, everyone else found it impossible to keep up with him. But in his buzzed daze, he could barely follow your lead. One blink, and his fingers buried themselves to the knuckle in your cunt. The next blink, you took initiative. Throwing him for a loop, you changed positions. You pushed Peter further back into the hay, straddling his lap.

As you fumbled for his jeans and pulled them open, more giggling ensued. Heated tension hung over the two of you like those glimmering, barn lights. You felt around, guiding your hand to a hot thickness in his pants. It rested in a curly bed of silver hairs, limp and untouched. Your giggles ceased, and your expression shifted.

“Peter, you’re not even-” You started, squeezing the softness of him in your hand. You gave him a few loose tugs, your voice teeming with hesitance, “Are you…are you sure you want-”

“Yeaaaahhhhh. Yeah. Yanno, it’s just-...I never thought I’d be the one gettin’ whiskey dick. Haha.” Peter joked, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. Buzzed and uncoordinated, Peter harbored little patience for foreplay. His fingers sought for your weeping heat again. He pushed them through your soft, supple pussy lips, “Sucks a lot. I was really hopin’ I’d get to-uhmmm…ahahaaaa…” He bit his tongue, laughing, “Really wanted to show you a good fuckin’ time. But this shit feels like rocket science right now, sorry…”

Eventually, through sheer determination, you worked up enough sorcery to liven him up. Waking his cock from its soft slumber. Peter fumbled, clumsily guiding his dick to your flowery mound. It took some serious concentration on his part to do so. His tongue poked between his lips, brows furrowed tight. He leered between your sweltering bodies. Humid air clung to his skin, contrasting the sharp coolness of an October’s night. The smell of booze permeated in your sweat, mingling with the scent of your perfume. 

You sank over his cock, taking the now raging length of him fluidly. He bottomed out in a single intake of breath. Peter moaned, rolling his hips upward. Your fluttery walls stretched, cozy and soft around his dick. He dropped his head back into the hay, howling a goofy shout. It echoed through the trees, catching autumn wind.

"OHHHHHHH~! THAT'S IT! WHOOOOOO~!" He yelled. Peter chewed his lip hard, meeting your bounces with sluggish thrusts, "That's it. That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about. Hoh-fuck..."

His rhythm was a little off beat, but he blamed the booze. Clenching the fabric of your dress in his fingers, he bunched it up tight. As if to hold you by horse’s reins, arduously guiding you on your ride.

Far in the back of his mind. Like, so far, Peter may as well have been on another planet. He had his first conflicting thought. Screwing you for the first time like this - hammered and careless - struck him as kind of…wrong. Really, he should have waited it out, and done this sober. But Peter couldn’t deny himself either.

"Peter, ohhh~! Feels really good~!" Your squeals of erotic, but sluggish pleasure sounded too much like music. Now cemented as one of his all time favorite songs, "Sooo good, I-aaahhh~!"

The bubbly feeling brought upon by Beast liquor made his body burn with ecstasy. His cock throbbed inside you, loving the tight embrace of your walls. Pleasure burned to an incomprehensible level of intensity. 

Even your dress felt unreasonably soft on his skin. Peter moaned again, drilling your cunt in unsteady surges of carnal bliss. He breathed thickly, the air between the two of you now sweltering. Choking on air, he kept his slow pace. His cock dug tunnels through your walls at a slacking speed. Completely unnatural for him. But overflowing with intoxication, he thrived in it.

“N-Not gonna-” Peter laughed. His voice a rough, breathless mess of incoherency. Sticky heat flushed his cheeks, and his tone wavered, “‘M not-...god…not gonna last. Fuck. Oh my fucking-” He swallowed another groan, suffocating on it. Peter’s hips rolled, their movement leisurely, “Sooooo tight. Feels like yer tryna-...like yer gonna-...aaaahaaaaafuck.”

Playing with your pearly clit, you squealed. The swollen nub burned, tingling as you circled it. With difficulty focusing, Peter brought his head up. He watched your little fingers while you pleasured yourself. His lidded, dark eyes stared, so spacy, so clouded. A growl caught in the back of his throat. You toyed with yourself a little longer, spreading glossy slickness under your fingers.

Your whines stayed at a respectable volume. Quiet enough, no one outside the barn could hear. But Peter refused to keep his enthusiastic voice down. He dug his big hands into your hips, fingernails clenching your dress. Scratching rough lines into the white cloth.

"Fuck, you gonna-...you gonna keep touchin' yourself like that? Gonna cum for me?" His words slurred. Peter used his immeasurable strength to hold you in place. Stuffing his cock through your pussy’s luscious, spongy grip. He fucked you in lethargic, but needy ruts, "P-Please-ohmygod-...please cum for me, baby. Lemme hear it, please?"

"Noooo~! Pe-ahhhh~! Peter, I cannnn't! Someone might-...Peter I can't-" You whimpered. Swirling your clit, you pushed yourself even further towards climax. A delightful, oncoming wave of scorching pleasure surged in your body. Sizzling through your veins, "OH, FUCK, QUICKIE~!" A sharp squeal bounced from your throat, as Peter surprised you.

"FUCK!! Yeah? You sound so fuckin'-Ah-...Yer so fuckin' good for me. Don't hold back, baby. Wanna-ohhhh~! Wanna hear you scream. Don't you fuckin' hold back-" Moving suddenly fast, he slammed his cock in deeper. His cherry red dick shattered your poor cervix. Burying himself to the brim, he slapped your mound hard with sharp pounds of his pelvis, "Mmmmmmfucking-...gonna fuckin'....aaaahhaha..."

Peter’s body tensed. His heels scuffed along the ground, crushing hay under his boots as he braced his feet. More loose strands tickled his skin where his shirt bunched up. Making him itchy again. But his intoxicated rutting never dwindled. He whined again, his voice cracking. Ruthless, quickening grinds of his cock knocked you hard. Sending you straight into a dimension of overwhelming, euphoric pleasure.

As tremors hummed across your sweaty skin, bliss ruptured deep in your core. At that moment, Peter forgot to consider any further risks. He burst with a hot, white pop of gluey heat. Rocking your sore cunt in sloppy, shallow thrusts. Peter soaked his dick in your sweet, inebriated love. The scent of booze and sex simmered in his nostrils. Lifting his hips, he met you in one or two more reckless, offbeat bounces.

Barely conscious of reality, Peter panted. Lying with you in a clumsy heap, he shared lazy kisses and steamy breaths with you. Had he been anymore sober, Peter would’ve rushed you off to the nearest bathroom. In dire need of a minute’s recovery, he laid there. Splayed out, Peter’s limbs rested loose and flimsy. The seconds passed, and he sobered up quickly. Post-orgasmic haziness began to clear.

You snuggled up next to him, grazing his cheek with your nose. The scent of alcohol lingered on your breath. Remind Peter that, unlike him, you were probably still a little drunk.

“You okay?” You asked out of the blue, tickling his neck with a giggle, “What are you thinking about? You’re not second guessing yourself already, are you?” Your fingers toyed with the zipper of his jacket. Which he gave you to wear in the cold, shortly after fucking you senseless.

In the distance, the faint roar of the party continued on. Rustling from inside the mansion and seemingly endless. Peter stayed silent, before snickering. He turned his head to the side, returning your nuzzles with a kiss. His lips met your hair. The smell of your conditioner made his heart skip a beat for some reason.

“Nothin’. It’s not-” He shrugged, turning his head again. Peter stared up at the glittering string lights hanging in the barn. His coffee bean eyes jumped from twinkle to twinkle, “It’s not super important. Kinda weird to be thinkin’ about it after-uh…” His voice trailed off again. Peter cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush, “Seriously, no big deal.”

You rolled onto your back, watching the lights sway in a cool breeze, “You sure?” You laughed, humming an, “Uh ohhh!” Before you continued, “Did somebody sober up and realize he made a dumb mistake? Hehe…” You teased, though he could hear the sliver of hesitance in your tone. A beat of silence passed, and you hugged his jacket closer.

“Regret wh-...huh? Nahhh, baby. You kiddin’? That was awesome.” He snickered awkwardly. Peter brought his hands to his face. He sighed, “I-uh…I was just thinkin’ about how…I could be spendin’ this holiday with my dad. I mean, shit…maybe he wouldn’t wanna spend it with me, but-”

He assumed you might take offense to this. Wouldn't it come off as a little inconsiderate? To think about his dad right now. After such an intimate moment between the two of you. But being the understanding person you were, you rolled over to face him. Drawing gentle lines into his shirt, you snuggled up close to him again.

“Is that where you wanna be right now? With your dad?” You asked, your tone gentle.

Peter swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A pounding headache swarmed him from nowhere. The repercussions of Beast hooch. Hopefully, such ailments would pass just as quickly as he sobered up.

“I-...yeah? I guess? But…it’s not like I can just-...like, I can’t go see him. Since he still doesn’t know about me, y’know? It’d be weird if I just showed up on Halloween. Like, hey, man, wanna hang out? Goddammit.” Peter shook his head, sitting up fully in the hay. Straw-like strands stuck to his clothes. He brushed them away.

“Well…hey, I got an idea, yeah?” You tried to follow his lead, sitting upward. Swaying a little as you did, Peter could tell you were still on the edge of tipsy. You giggled, “Let’s go inside. And I’ll…try to get everyone together for a movie. Maybe a horror? And you can run off! Go find him. Use the movie as an excuse. Offer him the opportunity to come down and watch. Sound good?”

It didn’t. Erik wasn’t the type to indulge in such activities. Still, Peter smiled fondly at your consideration. Nodding, he stood to his feet in a flash. You blinked, finding yourself lying bridal style in his arms again. With a hand to his chin, you tilted his head down. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks…” He hummed, his half lidded eyes gazing down into yours, “I really did have…such an awesome time with you. I haven't done that kinda thing with anybody in a while. But lemme-uh…” Peter bashfully chuckled, “Lemme get you to a bathroom so you can clean up, 'kay? ”

After the surprisingly deep chat he shared with you, Peter rushed you off to a mansion bathroom. Leaning against a wall, he waited outside the door. As the party settled and people filed out into the streets, he became more nervous. The two of you spent the rest of the night together, by the other’s side. Treating each other as normally as you would any other day. Soon, you sobered up enough to gather the X-family for a late night movie.

Peter took your advice, despite expecting the worst. Zipping upstairs and all through the mansion, he searched for his estranged father. To Peter’s surprise, Erik caught him off guard with a yes. But before he made his way downstairs, Peter took a moment to chat with him. He asked Erik how he was doing, and what he’d been up to. Ever since he chose the mansion for a temporary hideout (an arrangement most everybody felt uncomfortable with).

Erik - for good reason - wasn’t the most emotionally open. He kept their conversation short, before dismissing Peter. They both caught up with everyone else in the living room. The X-family sat together with snacks and drinks, joined for a movie. Erik chose a spot next to Peter on one of the sofas. Something he hadn’t anticipated at all. Since he didn’t get much out of the guy too often, he felt he could settle for his company, at least.

Sitting at Peter's other side, you eventually passed out. You rested your head on his lap, and he raked his fingers through your hair. By the time the movie ended, everyone veered off for bed. At last, calling Hallow’s eve quits. But Erik remained. He spoke to Peter a little while longer. Chatting about nothing at all, and everything at once.

Come next morning, Peter stood tiredly in the mansion kitchen. It was an unreasonably cold Monday in November. Freezing weather seemed to hit Westchester out of nowhere. He held a mug full of coffee, milky white and loaded with enough sugar to send anyone else to the hospital. Scratching his head over a mess of silver hair, Peter yawned. Even though he had more important things to worry about, he couldn't stop thinking about last night. For several reasons.

The impromptu bonding time he spent with his father lingered in his mind. Even if said father didn’t know what their interactions meant to Peter. It happened all thanks to your tipsy encouragement. Peter knew, even sober, you would’ve pushed him to do the same. Because you cared about him that much. Always inspiring him to step out of his comfort zone.

Aside from the estranged dad stuff, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more…steamy moments the two of you shared. Intimate interactions he still hadn’t sat down and discussed with you. Peter didn't have a clue what that little fling meant to you. Or if it meant anything at all. Distracting himself, he focused his attention elsewhere. Like the Halloween decorations littered about the mansion. He planned to take them down today after classes.

You came padding downstairs and into the kitchen not even five minutes later.

“Gooooood morning!” You cheerily said, blinking your sleepy eyes. Groaning, you brought a hand to your head. Your fingers touched your temple, “You know what’s surprising? I actually don’t have that bad of a hangover!”

Peter’s heart did flips, and he felt his stomach tangle in knots. Humming into his coffee, he threw you a casual nod of his head. Play it cool, “Mmmm. That’s good, though, right?”

You headed straight for the cabinets, standing on your toes to reach the highest one. You flailed around for the near-empty tub of coffee grounds. He left it up there without any consideration for short, mansion inhabitants like you. Totally absent-minded. Peter almost felt thankful he did. As you reached, the itty bitty, sleep shorts you wore rose by a touch. The cheeks of your ass caught his eye. Your bottom appeared etched in faint scratches, painted with red splotches. Damn…what the hell did he do to you last night?

Sipping his coffee with a groggy look on his face, Peter grinned.

Man alive, he wanted to screw you sober. Doing it drunk really wasn’t enough. Quickly, he dismissed that thought. Filing it away in his scatterbrained memory for later.

“Did you talk to Erik last night?” You asked, pulling Peter from his not-so-safe-for-work thoughts. You stretched a little further up, really reaching for that tin tub of Folgers.

Peter blinked, “Sorry, what?”

“Erik. I asked if you talked to him last night? Because I kinda remember you two having a chat. But then again, I was pretty out of it!” Your shorts hugged the shape of your cunt as you stood on your toes. An ache stirred in his groin, but he shook it off. Holy shit. What were you trying to accomplish here?

Peter’s heart skipped twenty beats. Sifting through the disorganized cabinets in his brain, he retrieved his previous thought. Ah, yeah. Screwing you sober? Not a want, but a need at this point. Focus, Quickie. He needed to focus. Especially if you planned on talking about something as important as his father.

“Uhhhh…” He ran a hand through his messy locks, taking a moment to process his racing thoughts, “Yeah, we talked. Not a lot, though. I meant to say thanks for that, by the way. Since I didn’t get to last night…” Peter brought his mug to his lips, averting his gaze, “Really. Thanks a lot. Don’t think we woulda had that time together, if you hadn’t pushed me to ask him 'n stuff.”

Still struggling to reach for that tin, you sighed. Your heels hit the floor, as you lowered your arm and turned to meet Peter’s eyes. Your sweet voice brought him an unexpected feeling of comfort. 

“Hey, anytime, Peter! I know it’s been really hard for you. Seeing him around here lately. And you don’t need me to tell you the obvious. But-” You timidly gazed down at your toes, shrugging. Peter knew exactly what you were about to say, before you parted your lips to say it.

Something along the lines of: Maybe it’s finally time you told him the truth. Or whatever.

It was too early for this kinda deep, introspective talk. Peter didn’t give you the chance to continue. Setting aside his mug on a countertop, he appeared by your side in a fwip. The breeze from his abrupt movement tickled your cheeks. He reached into the cabinet for the tub of coffee grounds. Handing it off to you with a tired, hooded expression. He sluggishly grinned.

“We got class in, like, twenty minutes.” Peter interrupted, and you took the bait. Whether you knew of his intent to dissuade the previous conversation, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh! Yeah! Shit!” You slapped a hand over your forehead. Peter gazed down at you, admiring your early morning features, “I’m so screwed!” Not yet you’re not, “I totally forgot to put together a lesson plan! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do today!” Well…you could always do him. Again.

Jeez. Dude. No. The hell’s wrong with him?? Be reasonable, guy! At least take your buddy out to dinner first. Which...yeah. Might be time to think about asking you on a real date.

“Yeahhh. I kinda forgot too. Had a bunch of other stuff on my mind, yanno?” Peter said, completely lethargic. He shrugged, “I’m so bad at my job, man.” He kept his eyes on you, as you threw together your own pot of coffee.

“Actually, that’s bullshit. And I think you know it too. You’re amazing at it. That’s why all the kids love you so much.” You replied. Smiling like you meant every word. Because you did. Man, why'd you have to be so freakin' sweet?

Early morning sunlight beamed through the windows. It bathed your hair and face in sparkling gold. Peter wanted to kick himself for swooning. He opted to change subjects.

“I gotta take these decorations down eventually.” He said, gesturing to the streamers hanging from the kitchen ceiling. For an instant, he remembered tangling himself in them last night, “I keep puttin’ it off. But it’s gotta happen sooner ‘er later.” Taking initiative, he reached up to tear some of them down. Balling them up in his hands.

“I could help you! If you need an extra hand!” You offered, innocently sipping your coffee. Peter took in the curl of your lips as you smiled. He cleared his throat, chuckling.

“Y’know you don’t have to, babe. It’ll literally only take me a second. I just gotta stop sittin’ on my ass.” Peter said. He tossed the balled streamers with a failed, Michael Jordan-style execution. They landed in a nearby trashcan, “Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to put Christmas decorations up too. Might get started on 'em as soon as these ‘re down.” He smirked, “I’m thinkin’ I get everyone some seriously ugly sweaters. Even Mags, if he's still around by then. Oh, and I'll need more Snoopys. The crotch goblins love Snoopy.” Peter paused for a beat, his dark eyes drifting down your body. A subconscious instinct, “And-uhhhh…gonna need lots of tinsel…uh…”

Peter reached for his coffee mug. What was he talking about again?

“Oh? That all sounds nice!” You tilted your head to the side, flirtatiously grinning at Peter. As if you could tell how distracted he was by your body. Heat set aflame in his cheeks, as he glanced up into your eyes. Noticing the way they seemed to twinkle, “Think you’ll decorate the barn again too?” You asked, a flirtatious tease pouring through your tone.

He choked on his coffee mid-sip.

[pupsmailbox]

AUTUMN ID PACK

NAMES︰ acer. acorn. acre. amber. apple. archer. arden. ash. asher. aspen. aster. auburn. august. augusta. augustus. autumn. autumna. autumnal. autumnelle. autumnessa. autumnette. autumni. autumnine. autumnus. bean. birch. blaire. bonfire. bramble. branch. briar. carmel. casper. cassia. cassiah. cedar. cerridwen. chai. chestnut. cider. cinna. clara. cocoa. cora. corn. cornucopia. cozy. crimson. crisp. crow. ellis. ember. equinox. eve. fall. fallelle. fallen. fallette. falline. fallon. faye. finn. flannel. foggy. forest. forrest. ginger. glenna. goldie. halloween. harper. harvest. harveste. harvester. hawk. hay. hazel. hollis. hunter. jora. juniper. kaziah. keziah. latte. leaf. libra. lief. lilith. linden. luna. maize. maple. marigold. marley. marlow. maze. melanie. mocha. moss. november. nutmeg. oak. oakley. october. opal. orchard. orla. pansy. pie. pine. piper. poe. pumpkin. raine. raven. redd. rory. roslyn. rowan. russet. ruston. sabrina. saffron. scarecrow. september. sienna. sorrel. sullivan. sylvia. tamsin. teresa. tessa. wesley. willow.

PRONOUNS︰ amber/amber. apple/apple. au/autumn. aug/august. august/august. autumn/autumn. branch/branch. brew/brew. cider/cider. cloud/cloud. co/cozy. cocoa/cocoa. cof/coffee. corn/corn. cot/cottage. cozy/cozy. crow/crow. drift/drift. drizzle/drizzle. fa/fall. fall/fall. flannel/flannel. glisten/glisten. glow/glow. gold/gold. hallo/ween. hallow/halloween. halloween/halloween. haze/haze. hazel/hazel. hug/hug. jacko/lantern. lea/leaf. leaf/leaf. maple/maple. maze/maze. mellow/mellow. moss/moss. oct/october. october/october. orange/orange. pie/pie. plush/plush. pump/kin. pump/pumpkin. pumpkin/pie. pumpkin/pumpkin. rain/rain. raven/raven. red/red. sca/scarf. sept/september. september/september. sip/sip. snug/snug. snuggle/snuggle. soft/soft. soothe/soothe. spice/spice. sweater/sweater. swirl/swirl. syrup/syrup. thanks/giving. tick/treat. treat/treat. trick/trick. tuck/tuck. wa/warm. warm/warm. whiff/whiff. whisk/whisk. wrap/wrap. yellow/yellow. 🌽. 🍁. 🍂. 🍄. 🍎. 🎃. 🕯️. 🥧. 🧣. 🧶.

[fudgechocolatepuff]

a lovebirds bloom! (lets live in a christmas tree) pt.iii ☃️🎄

keigo t. x fem. reader | vryvery sweet sweeter than candy

pt.i of a lovebirds bloom , pt.ii of a lovebirds bloom

sneak peek ➸ in the midst of winter, a particular hero is feeling quite frosty this season from the absence your warmth, let’s see if you can fix that.

word count : whole ass book grab a cup of coffee to indulge in ts

As much as the flurries of winter trickling through the bustling cities with its angelic flakes were enchanting to see, it was hell to travel in. 

Every time your found your car’s battery to be frozen and glistening with ice, the walk to your flower shop almost always ended with you limping through the doors, a new bruise decorating your skin. 

Whatever lunatic conjured up the idea to attach the outside of your shop with a little set of stairs must’ve not been hugged as a child, you thought as you gripped onto the railing. 

After a particularly rough 6 a.m hike to the shop, you plopped your bag onto the counter, too exhausted to move it elsewhere. Instead, you opened your phone to say goodbye to your silly reels and tweets. 

But when you swiped your screen down to do a final time check, your eyes met with the text notification: 

hawks

6:14 A.M.

Hey. You at work? Picked up some hot coffee and wanted to see if I could share with another early bird. :-)

Your eyes stuck on the message like a sticker, and you couldn’t find yourself to rip them off your screen. It felt almost.. nice to be almostkindoffriendsbutkindofstrangers with Hawks, yet unreal. 

Ever since that night in the cafe, you thought back to it like a dream, a blur of warm glances and candles mixed with wafts of pumpkin. 

One thing you remembered from the little date was the exchanging of your numbers.. which was just a folded up post-it that Hawks had managed to stick in your coat pocket at the last second, freaking sneak, with little doodles dancing around the boldened digits.

After said date, the two of you would text consistently for a few days. Getting to know each other, sending each other relatable posts, y’know, the usual spiel of a talking stage.

The strange thing however—is after a week, you hadn’t come across the man for nearly two months. 

You understood fully though, of course! Work constantly pulled him away all the time. He was needed to serve, to help people continue their domestic routines. 

His missing presence just felt so unnatural, didn’t it? But perhaps his swarms of admirers were enough to keep him occupied.

How was he able to do it? You’d never know. Even a trip to unload the flowers from the wholesalers’ truck back and forth made you cry from the soreness you’d get in your legs, and he’s out here fighting damn kratos on the daily? Yikes.

But thinking about it, It stung a little to think about how empty he would feel after all those hours.

At times, you’d come home to your apartment, everything still left eerily the same as it was earlier—but a bittersweet lone feeling loomed over you. 

You didn’t want to picture how it’d feel for him. 

Especially in the mellow season, so close to Christmas. 

Reluctantly, you tapped the keys on your phone, quick to send out brief ‘yes, of course!!’ to his proposal, thumb shaking while it hovered over the ‘send’ button.

As you set your phone down, your heart undeniably throbbed to the thought of him walking through those doors, his warm presence lighting up the gloomy unlit store. 

It must’ve just been the mixture of sweet aromas making you feel that way. 

The ‘thump!’ of your head against the counter echoed embarrassingly through the room as your nerves began to jitter about. 

 ⋆⁺₊❅. 

Something that always struck out to you during wintertime was no matter what time of day it was, most other businesses in the vicinity had their christmas lights flickered on in the early morning, and in the dusk of night. 

Yourself and your coworkers didn’t skip this tradition, taking the opportunity as soon as you guys could to hang the golden twinkle string along the roofline.

Ever since, you kept the brightness of each bulb inside to a minimum as to not overwhelm your clients at the crack of dawn.

From the inside, the silhouettes that passed by were usually the ones on their way to the offices and occasional joggers. All too well accustomed to the ‘early bird’ lifestyle like yourself.

Speaking of early birds.

The subtle ‘whoosh’ that you only guessed were the wings of a certain hero faintly brushed the chill air.

You decided not to look up at the door yet, as you anticipated his arrival and wanted to capture the perfect best view of him walking in.

Absentmindedly staring at your nailbeds, the catchy chime jingled against the doorframe, a creak escaping from the door that was being pushed upon.

Finally looking up (pretending you didn’t notice him in the first place), Hawks’ clothed elbow pressed the black bar of the door, his signature black gloves carrying two coffee cups and a little frost glistened on the tips of his wings.

He huffed out as he entered, frigid vapor leaving his mouth as he was met with the relieving warm temperatures. His golden-amber eyes crossed to meet yours, his lower lids creasing upwards to the sight of you, a nervous smile rested upon his face.

“ ‘M telling ya, the universe was just waiting to pelt me in the face with all this wind. Nipping at my face ‘till it turned all red.”

If the pinkish-red spread across his sharp features didn’t stick out enough, the poor excuse he used was a bit obvious. Hawks really hoped you wouldn’t notice just how desperate he was to see you again.

You wondered if his wings were subtly trembling from the cold or his nerves.

He didn’t really expect you to text him back, in fact, he spent the last 2 months drifting off while on his shifts, thinking and thinking how to impress you but in a casual way.

Not desperate and too wanting, but at the same time reciprocating his feelings for you—

“Yeah, right? Nearly falling on my ass every time I come into work. Not much of an issue for you though, hm?”

Hawks let out a low chuckle, sniffling and bringing his hand to lightly rub his reddened nose.

“Fortunately not. But— anyway, sorry for just asking to come in on such short notice. I just wanted to .. talk to ‘ya.”

The faint scratch of raspiness in his voice indicated that he must’ve caught a small cold, presumably from the strengthening winter, but at the same time he sounded almost ashamed.

You shrugged, curving your lips into a dimpled smile, “No worries! Really, I actually need help with something, but we can come back to that after breakfast.”

A quirk of his eyebrow accompanied his half-hidden shock, a cute little expression of bewilderment.

“Oh? Are you sure? I know I’m the one usually expected to nag at my colleagues, but I really don’t want to drag you out from work.”

“Of course, don’t worry. I don’t actually have to start working until like 8.” You assured him sweetly, gesturing him forward with the hot drinks.

He nodded silently as he placed the cups down on the counter, pulling up a stool opposite from you. Additionally, he grabbed out a brown crumply bag that had been tucked under his arm.

Your eyes lit up when you read the imprinted, « 2 CHOC CROISSANT » on the sticker.

As you took your first few sips and bites, the silence only grew and resided in the air. You cleared your throat.

“Hey, I know we aren’t, y’know, that close, but if there’s something bothering you, I’m here to listen. You seem to be a little quiet.”

Black pupils flickered up to your face as he was mid-bite into his pastry. “Mm-h.. I kno. Is jsst.. ‘m nat mch ‘ff a mrng… “ he then swallowed rather hard, “I’m not much of a morning person.”

You laughed at his muffled response, sparking an adoring glint in Hawks’ eyes. He’d humiliate himself a thousand times more if it meant he could hear your laugh again.

He continued, setting down his croissant on his napkin below, “Honestly, I came here initially to see you, but I feel like I gotta apologize for leaving you with nothing from me the past months.”

You kept quiet, intrigued in what he wanted to say and let him continue.

“I haven’t.. I’ve never had this sort of frien—connection before. And, hah— it’s quite ironic how everyone describes me to be such a smooth-talker, but here I am, suddenly not knowing how to form a coherent sentence.”

He averted his gaze from your own, his leg bouncing nonstop.

“You’re just.. simply a fresh breath of air from the world i’m caged in. I.. can’t really explain it.”

“You don’t have to,” you comforted, “i find myself thinking about you too,” you confessed into your croissant, hesitant to let your voice exceed from your low volume.

Hawks’ breath hitched when he heard those words. He hadn’t felt this tense before, a foreign feeling churning in his stomach.

It wasn’t helping that you looked so alluring under the warm light. So sweet, so consoling. Although it was still dark out, your eyes managed to have that shiny gloss from the soft lights.

“I promise, if we had met under different circumstances, I wouldn’t be such a mess right now. ‘S not like my character,” he grinned with a hint of more confidence, tinkering with the golden ring on his middle finger.

“To me, it doesn’t matter what the rest of the world thinks of your character, I think your own sweet self is enough.”

Owlishly, he stared at you, speechless to your statement, as if you spoke a different language to him. He chewed at the last piece of his morning dessert, lost in thought (planning your future wedding).

“Guess theres some truth in there.”

You continued munching at your breakfast, your winged visitor patiently waiting until nothing but crumbs were left on the table.

 ⋆⁺₊❅. 

The consistent ticks of the antique rose-patterned clock hung on the wall became subtle background noise, a nice drumming in stark contrast to the awkward silence.

Swiping your palms against eachother, making sure your hands smeared off any stubborn crumbs in the crevices of your hand, you took note of the time displayed on the clock’s hands. 7:25

Your head turned anxiously back to Hawks, him peering towards you as you opened your mouth to say something, but nothing coming out.

“What’s going on in that peculiar little mind of yours?” asked the hero, propping his arms flat against his table to rest his head on them.

You hated the amount of questions he asked, it was practically violating—literally intentional to spill every secret out of you. He wanted to listen to every inconvenience you had.

Mumbling, you started, “It’s just that.. I feel a little guilty that I’m going to ask you for a favor like this when you could be out there, saving the day instead of being cooped up in here.”

Perking his head up in surprise, he argued without hesitation, “No no, I’d rather be held as hostage here for the rest of the day if it were up ‘ta me. There can’t be anything in this shop too rough for me.”

A godsend he was. Really, if he could choose, he’d spend the rest of his life in this wonderland of a shop you’ve decorated.

“Okay,” you breathed out, “I need help putting up the Christmas tree.”

“So that’s what was missing in this place, ‘swear it was on the tip of my tongue,” his smooth tone shifted quickly to be teasingly warm, drawing a smile out of you, “Let’s do it then.”

 ⋆⁺₊❅. 

Attaching all the hooks that resembled tree branches into the base and circling behind each other around the tree, twirling incandescent lights that swirled from top to bottom, the two of you stepped back to admire your hard work.

A delicate tree, but simple in all the right ways. It wouldn’t be too distracting yet would get the “Christmas” point across to all the customers.

Hawks nudged at your arm with his shoulder, a proud grin presented on his face, “This completes the holly and jollyness in this store. Feels like im in santa’s workshop now.”

His now vibrant and eager energy lifted the concerns pressing on your chest about him.

A tingling thought in the back of your head suspected he wasn’t grumbly only because he hates waking up so early.

Preciously gazing at the tree, you smiled shyly, “I know. I feel like this time of year goes by too fast, but it’s so beautiful.”

“Mhm,” the winged hero hummed out, his eyes lingering upon your figure as you went to adjust some of the crooked ornaments, “Very beautiful.”

Was there any reason why he suddenly felt so warm in his sweater? The heater couldn’t have been blasting that badly, right?

It’s not like he could have controlled the way he darted between each feature of your face, your hands, your style of apparel that just matched your personality perfectly.

He even worried that if he got too lost in your presence, his wings would begin to curl around you, cradling you into a soft cocoon-like embrace.

Yeah, he did not want to picture your weirded-out reaction—

His ringtone began beeping erratically from his pant pocket sending a walloping dread in his stomach, cursing under his breath.

Whipping your head back from the abrupt noise, you sighed, a reminder for you as well that your dozen hundred chores were about to commence.

Fumbling for his phone in a hurry to turn off the annoying sound, his other hand covered his lower-face, visibly cringing at the fact he had to actually clock in today.

He almost flinched when he felt your hands rubbing circles against his shoulder, consoling him, “Should’ve expected it sooner or later.”

“Hate that. All this, ‘have to move it later,’ ‘it’s getting late,’ ‘should’a known it had ‘ta end.’ I don’t think ‘s fair.”

“Me either, it really isn’t.”

Hawks’ hand slowly traced down to your wrist before gently grasping your fingers as his thumb reassuringly rubbed against your knuckles.

Widened eyes focused onto your face, his expression more serious and determined, “There’s no way I’m leaving making the same mistake as before, i can’t,” he paused, “promise I’ll respond to your texts and take you out on a proper date, with a whole bouquet of roses and everything.”

You smiled back up at him sweetly, awestruck at his commitment, almost like you were in a dream, “I think that sounds lovely. I can take care of the flowers, though.”

Shaking his head, he grinned back, “Maybe, but I wanna do this the right way. No more coming and going every season.” You nodded your head at that, completely giving in.

 ⋆⁺₊❅. 

The two of you made your way to the main doors, just a few minutes to 8:30. All bundled up, Hawks held a small wrapped bouquet of camellias, his large hands crumpling the wrapping paper.

“Bye, [name]. You’re a real sweet girl for putting up with my ridiculous antics.”

“Bye, Hawks, I try. Be safe! Don’t slip on your way out!” He rolled your eyes at you sheepishly as he was halfway out the door, when you stopped him, tugging at his arm.

“Ah. . . Wait,” you uttered, holding the material of his jacket with uncertainty in your body language. He hummed in confusion and faced you.

Stepping closer, a quick tilt of your head leaned toward his face, surprising him before you pecked his warm cheek and pushed him out the store, rushing into the back room.

Looking back, astonished, his rough fingers hovered over the spot where you kissed him, a blush fading onto his already hot cheeks.

He turned to the road, beginning to walk down until he reached the end of the sidewalk to take off to his agency, prying at his phone to pin your contact at the top of his messages.

a.n: keigo is so shy when hes flustered canon horikoshi told me so. i hope you guys liked this lmk what i should write nexttt have a lovely holiday y’all :33 🌷🎄

[dilutedconfusion]

A Moth to a Flame

Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 5)

Summary: It’s the morning after. Not the kind of morning where you wake up in somebody else’s bed but the kind where you’re wounded and in a cot. Kid is feeling bad. You’re feeling bad. Let’s see how the two of you handle the wretched ‘what happened last night’ conversation.

Warnings: Mentions of blood & broken bones

Word Count: a blasphemous 9k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tags: @st4rfevrr @archangelshavethetardis @likeeliterallywtf @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @tulipps-maehem @thesnailus @shamblespirate @gabi-moureira @ferretsqueen

A kaleidoscope of colors took up your worldview.

Swirling in an endless grace of sweet blues, deep rich greens, and soft mellow browns. None of them were very recognizable shape-wise. Each was holding something akin to maybe a building floating on its axis or a flower harshly bent at the stem. Either way, you didn’t care.

Eyes heavy with every tear you had ever cried in your lifetime somehow pressed against your pupil. The world cast ripples in your vision until they slowly turned into something more recognizable. Something that felt like home.

Or at least a very small portion of it.

“Just stay here. Don’t make a sound no matter what you hear okay?”

Your Dad's voice floated towards you warm and reassuringly like it always was. Soft eyes followed by his large hand reaching out to hold yours. Your round eyes blinked trying to see him. See him past the water ripples clouding your vision. You felt a warm liquid slide softly down your cheeks before the rippling water gave way.

“Pumpkin, it's okay. We’ve practiced this, remember? Nothing to be worried about, I'll come get you when it’s over.”

You were somewhere mostly dark. The walls were tight and small around you. Your father bent down on one knee, looking into the small wooden cave you reside in. A bright light behind him filtered through his hair softly. Looking down you felt his big hand tighten around your rather small one. Small and soft like it was new to the world. You squeezed his hand back with what little strength you had, urging him not to leave you alone again for just this once.

“D-Dad don’t leave me.” With each word that slipped past your tongue, it sputtered out messily. Your voice was high-pitched and whiny. Desperately wanting to just claw onto the man in front of you so he wouldn’t have the chance to leave. But you also supposed that he was holding onto your hand so tight so that you couldn’t move. So you couldn’t fight to stay with him.

“Baby we’ve been through this I can’t-” a loud rousing of yells erupted from nearby. The piercing sounds of gunfire broke any sense of peace. Each shattering echo made you flinch violently with every draw. Your father turned his head off to the left, eyes trained carefully at something in the room before he looked back at you. All that reassuring love once smeared on his face was gone. Instead that dreaded worry had replaced it.

He let go of your hand quickly. Bringing his hand closer to his torso so you didn’t have a chance to grip him. “I need to go. Stay here. Be silent. Don’t come out unless you hear our secret knock.”

You barely even heard him when he spoke. Barely even processed anything that was happening. All you could hear was your heartbeat twitching in your ears and the sounds of yelling outside.

It made a lump form in your throat. Lunging to either wail or scream or do something. To just do anything but you remained silent. That look in your father's eyes wouldn’t allow anything but silence and you knew that.

So he quickly grabbed something off the wall, using it to close the gap between you and the rest of the world. Between you and him.

Darkness slowly seeped into your space until nothing but a slit of light was fluttering through. Your Dads face peeking in one last time.“I love you Y/N.” He whispered, his voice soft and delicate against your ears like a stray feather floating in the wind.

But before you could even manage to speak he shut the door completely. Leaving you alone with the silence and the screams once again.

__________

Unlike all your other dreams this one didn’t cause you to wake up in a panic. Covered in sweat, your eyes groggily peeled themselves open. Met with just an average wooden ceiling in your view.

Your head was light as if it was full of helium. The corners of your vision were covered in a soft vignette just daring you to fall back asleep. Daring you to slip back into the comfortable numbness. To go back into the hiding place you had so long ago.

That is until you felt a sharp pain erupt in your chest when you breathed in a little too deep. In a rush, you tried to sit up. Contracting your muscles as always but instead of a smooth arising, a sharp pain stabbed at the center of your chest. A yelp escaped your lips and your back immediately stiffened against the cot once more. Jaw clenched in pain as you felt the raw flesh of your throat and lungs. It was like a cat had crawled inside you and scratched down your throat making you regret having made a single noise.

With your head propped up on a thin pillow, you manage to crane your neck to look at the rest of the room.

Am I in a med bay?

It was a small space and there was only one other cot on the other side of the room. The walls only held a whiteboard with some kind of tally marks and a covered window. A couple of counters and cabinets lined tightly right next to you. A mess of what looked like gauze, bandages, and tubs of what you supposed were ointment splayed out. Other than that you were left wishing for more discernible features about where in the hell you are.

Someone had been in here. Someone helped me. Where the hell are they now and what happened?

Being weak and vulnerable in a place you didn’t recognize wasn’t your ideal wake-up situation. But you also supposed whoever brought you here had helped you out. However, that didn’t make the sense of unease in your gut settle down much.

Fingers and palms splaying against the canvas of the cot you tried to ease yourself up yet again. Going at it a bit slower this time yet the second you applied some pressure you hissed in pain. Your hands stinging like sharp needles were tracing each fine line.

Taking your hands off the cot in a swift motion you stared at them now hovering gently above your face. They were both laced tightly with soft yet slightly scratchy bandages. An inkblot test of what you could only assume was blood seeping through parts of them.

I got injured on my literal fucking hands. My stupid hands of all places. What the hell did I do? Fight a raccoon or something?

Rolling your eyes you decided to trace your body for injuries before you tried to sit up again. Hands tracing over your shirt as you looked down at your body.

Wait a minute. Your hands paused, picking up the fabric of your shirt and lifting it closer to your face. This is not my shirt.

Eyes widening to panic you quickly let go of your shirt and felt down your hips to meet the hem of your pants. And these are not my pants.

You were in what seemed to be some spare clothes. Your underwear was still gratefully intact but the rest was just a pair of loose pants and a T-shirt one size too small.

Mouth agape and staring at the ceiling a warm wave of embarrassment washed over you. The apples of your cheeks and the nausea in your gut only getting worse.

Rubbing your hands over your face you tried to hold back any and all complaints. Your voice was fried and no matter how much you wanted to kick yourself and cry about it you just couldn’t.

As you shifted on the cot your hair hit the side of your face. A strong scent that you instantly noticed was the sea lapping at your nose. Your nose scrunched up as you paused your pity fest to sniff at it more tentatively. Not only did your hair smell like seawater, but so did your skin itself. Like you’d been sleeping in a bed of seaweed all night and hadn’t noticed.

Did I go for a swim or something? Gosh did I drown? Even thinking that made you swallow hard. Shame and dread at the fact that you might've done something unwise yet again. But drowning.

The undertones of that world sunk and swallowed your gut hole. Leaving you breathless in the worst of ways as a downpour of shame filled the dips and hills of your mind.

I remember being cold last night. I remember going to that bar. I remember walking home but then I must’ve done something. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Avoiding the imminent doom looming around you, you slipped your hand under your shirt. Immediately feeling the same tight bandage on your side and the center of your chest.

Great so I either have one or two broken bones. You softly rubbed the bandage on your side. Feeling the stark marks of what felt like torn flesh underneath. It wasn’t aching that badly but you knew if you tried to get up again it would.

Bracing yourself for the waves of pain pinching at your flesh you sat up finally. Eyeing the door across the room with small tears pricking your eyes. Your legs surprisingly didn’t hurt at all. They felt tired and worn out as you slung them over the edge of the cot. Yet when you stood up not a shot of pain erupted from anywhere.

Well, that’s good. Just upper body stuff then. You thought, holding onto the cot to try and find your balance. You could feel your body heaving a bit. Which finally let you take notice of the slight sway your body held. However, you couldn’t tell if it was just you being uneasy or the rest of the room swaying along with you.

This…feels familiar. A wave of nostalgia washed over you. Something so distant in your memory yet so raw with emotion. Looking at the window across the room a thought came to mind.

Am I on a boat?

It was a porthole with a blind shut over it. You were almost a bit afraid to go to that window. To open that stupid shade blocking out the warm light of day just to see something maybe you didn’t want to see.

No no no…I’m not on a boat. Why would I be on a boat? This person just likes porthole windows. Weird decorative choice but I’m not one to judge.

Your body crept towards it. A funny yet scared-looking smile tugging at the corners of your lips. If you didn’t see land on the other side of the window something in you was going to snap.

If I just see nothing but ocean on the other side of that window and not even a speck of island then…

You pinched the blind between your pointer and thumb. Lightly tugging on it until it naturally sprung upwards. A wave of light hitting your eyes as you licked your dry lips nervously.

Oh, thank the fucking lord. The docks of your home island were off to your left. The village was out of your line of sight but there was no mistaking the woods and shoreline you’d come to know as home.

Yet this sense of relief didn’t last long. The swaying of your body wasn’t all you then. Nearly pressing your nose to the glass you saw the soft churn of waves hit the hull below you.

So I’m on someone’s boat. A big boat clearly. A stranger's boat. You couldn’t see anything to identify whose boat you were on from this point of view. The window wasn’t the kind that opened so you were stuck just knowing the bare minimum of your situation.

I haven’t been on a ship in…

A growing wave of nausea hit your stomach again. Pitching forward as an unreasonable wave of panic stretches across you.

Walking staggerly to the door you reached out to open it. Giving only a moment's notice to listen quietly for any sound on the other side before quietly turning the knob and peering out.

It was a hallway that stretched out to your left and right. Even if you hadn’t seen the ocean on the other side of that window you still would’ve been able to tell this was a boat from the hallway.

The slightly lower ceilings, the wood paneling making every surface, the lanterns hung up periodically, and the few dozen scratches or patched-up holes from fights. It was tight and it smelled of the sea through faint drafts.

It's as if it had been ripped straight out of your childhood. Taunting you in an eerie reminder of what you were and somehow still suffocating as always.

I have to get out of here.

Without a thought you headed towards your left, closing the med bay door softly behind you. You needed to find a way onto the main deck and though you didn’t know your way around all you needed to find was a set of stairs.

If I’m on the lower side of the hull I gotta be at least one level down. Maybe one or two sets of stairs and I’m out of here.

With panic lacing your heels you noticed an open section of wall lining your right. You hurried towards it as fast as your weak body could manage before turning to see a beloved stairwell leading up. With bated breath, you started to climb it. Your side and chest aching from each little movement. The stairs creaking in some spots which only built upon the nerves ailing you.

When you finally breached onto the upper level you found nothing but another hallway to scour. Though you noticed this hallway was lined with windows unlike the last. Like a projector slide flashing between images, you saw those same windows filled with nothing but the sky and sea. Blurry silhouettes of men much taller than you walking past. Their rough visages and kind smiles just after visions in the blinding light. You blinked in a rush, rubbing over the space of your eyes and fumbling along the hallway.

It was like all the blood had been drained from your body. Weak and lightheaded you swayed with each step. Daring to pass out as another strong wave of nausea wrestled with your gut. It swelled into a deep ache that had you nearly hunched over. Grabbing your stomach tightly and using the wall for support as you shuffled along.

You couldn’t tell why this was happening. Well, you had a good guess but this sudden enveloping feeling constricting your throat was one you’ve had before. Another set of flash card images blurring your vision in memory of your father's much younger face, kneeled to look at you. Looking down the hallway you saw a door at its end. A bright light seeped through the slits and cast warm dusty rays across the floor.

I just need some fresh air. Some fresh air will fix this. I’ll be fine.

Yet this excruciating hallway seemed to be getting tighter and tighter with each step. You watched as the wall groaned as it crept closer toward your hobbled figure. Breath gasping in succession as fear arrogates your veins.

I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. This thought was a sledgehammer driving into the front of your brain. Forcing you closer and closer to the door until that 30 feet became one and you were a step away from some sense of freedom. With a sweat-covered brow and a shaky hand, you pushed the door open with a loud creak.

Like a flash bomb, the sun hit your face and you could breathe once more.

__________

Kid hadn’t woken up feeling fresh and relieved. He hadn’t woken up with his body feeling in the best shape it's ever been. No aching, no crawling nerve pain, no head thumping like a toddler slapping the shit out of a drum. If he would just lie to himself a little then all of that could be true.

The fact that he had gotten around maybe 5 hours of sleep because he had to stay up in the med bay getting all his bandages replaced wasn’t real. The fact that Killer had to wake up Hip, the only semi-medic on their ship, to clean his stitches wasn’t real. The fact that instead of the screaming fight Kid was expecting from Killer, he was met with silence. Silence that spoke a thousand words of disappointment and shame. Leaving Kid wishing they would’ve just punched it out like they always did.

But what Kid didn’t want to think was real. The thing that absolutely could not be real under any circumstances was the fact that he had brought a girl home. Not the kind of girl wanting cheap sex and some fake affection for just one night. Now that would’ve been normal. If anything maybe that's what he needed on his little break.

Yet instead of a girl dressed in lust, it was the kind that he was forced to stare at for an hour on the other side of the room. The kind that had burned into his retinas so he could see his mistake even when he closed his eyes. A big human-sized mistake just laying there like a corpse daring him to think she was real.

Because the second he reached his ship with you in tow he was hit over the head with a reality anvil. One that broke through the layer of alcohol, delusion, and sadness wrapped around his skull.

They didn’t know whether to treat their captain or the barely alive girl first. Why waste medical supplies on a stranger? So when he had watched Hip look her over he had barely paid attention to her words. Asking him what had happened and why he had brought her back. Though when Kid was finally excused, his body two steps away from slamming against the ground, he gave the fake girl one last look. Hips back to him as her hands traced over the figment of his imagination to check if she was even alive. She had been breathing softly the whole time Kid was forced to get fixed up but she was still dead asleep.

A part of him hoped she wouldn't wake up just so he wouldn’t have to deal with it in the morning.

But of course, morning had come to Kids begrudging dismay. Tossing around in sheets that now reeked of the sea because he hadn’t bothered to take a shower. He smelled, looked, and felt horrible.

I’d rather get beat by a bat than deal with this.

So little to say he started his day in a slump. The late morning did little to motivate him as he washed himself clean and then went to the kitchen to down a jug's worth of water. Dribbles of it spilled down his chin and onto the black tank top he wore. The loose swaying of shorts at his hips and the soft meandering steps of some flip flops gracing the halls.

Thankfully everyone else on the crew had started the day off by going into town to get the shopping done and over with. Kid could nearly see the stacked-up crates lining the dock outside in his near future. Yet he knew if he tried to help he’d get shooed away like some sort of child.

If they want me to be lazy I’ll be fucking lazy. I’m tired of trying.

With black coffee steaming gently out of the cup in his hand he sat down at one of the many tables in the mess hall. Trying to avoid the still very apparent problem that was probably still dead asleep just a floor below him.

He didn’t know what to make of last night. To him, it almost seemed like he was an entirely different person. One that wanted to wallow instead of rise to the challenge. One that wanted to give up instead of fight. One that wanted to save some girl because he could.

What the fuck is wrong with me? He rubbed over his face and brushed back his still slightly damp hair. No goggles to hold it up so it hung a tad bit looser around his face.

I saved one stranger and for what? For her to wake up and give me her thanks? I don’t give a shit about her. I don’t even know that bitches name.

There was no weaseling his way out of knowing why he had saved you. His choice to do it was entirely emotions-based instead of logic. There was no gain, no plan, no need for him to do anything when you fell into the sea.

I just...I just...Kid could barely think the words into existence let alone say it out loud. It’s one of the many reasons Killer had gone silent last night. Because no matter how many times he asked Kid why he did it, Kid couldn’t find an answer.

Kid’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft thudding of shoes walking down the hall. His body naturally froze as he heard the all too familiar footstep pattern of his first mate.

Why isn’t he out there with the rest of the crew? Shouldn’t he have left?

A sky blue and cream-colored mask came into sight as Killer rounded through the doorway. Taking a second to look Kid over but otherwise disregarding him as he turned sharply towards the open doorway of the kitchen. Not a single word leaving his lips.

Great. Now he's going to give me the cold shoulder then huh?

“So what? You’re just not going to talk to me?” Kid questioned demeaningly, a lick of vulnerability swirling underneath the thin surface of his tone.

Killer slowed to a stop, turning his head to gander once more at the redhead's large body filling up a small portion of the mess hall. “No. I just wanted coffee.” His voice was smooth and simple but Kid could still hear the underlying sarcasm he was barely holding back.

Kid clicked his tongue softly. Hardballing Killer as if he had said the most idiotic thing in the world. “So you decided to stay on the boat for some coffee? Shouldn’t you be out there? You’re the one in charge of the restock anyways.”

Killer’s voice punched out a little more than before. As if he was just now fully waking up. “I am but I thought you’d need me here. Can’t leave you alone with our little...problem.”

Is he tired? This thought floated in and out of Kids' brain immediately. Killer was always an early bird compared to him. But he knew if he could see past that mask of his, he might see the unusual purple hue sagging below Killer's eyes.

“I can handle it just fine. I’m going to give it a bit. Drink my goddamn coffee and then go down there and throw our problem out. Simple.” Kid’s voice didn’t sound as resolute as he hoped it would. He didn’t have a plan on how to handle this. He barely wanted to speak to the woman let alone throw her overboard, especially with all the injuries she held.

Injuries and death that me and my crew saved her from. Kid swiped his fingers over his eyes. Rubbing them to let the darkness behind his eyelids swirl.

Killer let out a low grumble and scratched the back of his head. Tufts of blonde hair getting frizzy as his voice became even more fatigued. “Is that right? Well, I think you’ll need me. If only to make sure you two don’t argue and she hopefully just leaves.”

Kid just stared blankly at Killer. Using the small amount of brain power he had left to look him over. He is tired. He only stayed up for an hour to watch me when I was getting patched up. Why the hell does he sound like that?

“Whatever. You don't think I can handle one girl so don’t fucking give me that.�� Kid picked up his coffee mug. Taking a slow sip as he tentatively eyed his first mate.

Killer paused before he spoke. Chewing his lips a bit and turning back towards the kitchen doorway. Walking over to it and still talking to Kid despite the distance. “You can handle one girl but I don’t think you can handle one girl that you saved. She’s going to ask questions about what happened and why you did it. I’m going to be there to give answers when you inevitably fuck up and don’t say anything.”

Kids' eyes widened at that. A rush of embarrassment and a bit of anger rose to his cheeks. Taking another quick gulp of his coffee before cocking his head to the side. “You don’t know what I’m going to do. She doesn’t deserve any fucking answers so what does it matter anyways? You don’t have to be her shrink and tell her it's going to be alright.”

Killer's body slipped past the doorway and out of Kid's sight. Letting him only faintly listen to the sounds of him grabbing a mug and picking up the coffee jug. “Well if she was persistent about speaking to us last night then I doubt she won’t be this morning. You’re giving a psychotic fangirl a chance at being on our ship. Better yet the guy she wanted to talk to saved her. She’s going to ask questions. Questions I know you don’t want to answer.”

Killer spoke just loud enough for Kid to hear him. Kids face contorting more and more into pure and utter annoyance at the obvious facts that Killer was spilling. “She’s not a fangirl. We don’t have fans Killer were fucking pirates for Christ's sake.” Kid protested, his voice barely audible to Killer's ears.

“Yes, she is. She followed us last night. I know she messed with you or whatever. But love can often get mistaken for hatred. She probably just lied to herself for an excuse to be around us.”

Kid's eyes nearly popped out of his skull hearing that. The grip against his mug becoming firmer and firmer as he watched Killer stride back into sight. Now holding a steaming cup of coffee and heading over towards him.

“Don’t fucking say that to me.” That was all Kid could manage. If he said anything more than that a blood vessel might pop and he’d be left with the bloodshot eyes of an insane man.

Love can get mistaken for hatred? What the fuck is Killer on right now?

Killer eased down into the chair across from Kid. His mug thudding softly against the wooden table and a low grunt of discomfort rolling off his tongue.“What? Don’t you think that girl was flirting with you? I thought about it last night and it seemed weird. Like she had some sort of other agenda about why she was talking to you besides the whole ‘her being worried about you pillaging the town’ or whatever.”

As Killer settled in with his hand holding up his head by the soft fur of his chin, Kid was tensing up. His jaw stretched and snapped tight like he had to pry it open with a crowbar before speaking. His cheeks turning that uncharacteristically shy shade of red. “I don’t know why the fuck you’re telling me this. She can have whatever agenda she wants. I just don’t ever want to deal with her or see her ever again.”

Killer couldn’t help but find Kid's reaction a bit amusing even if it was surprising. Kid wasn’t one for affection and Killer knew that. That’s why seeing Kid turn red at the thought of this girl's supposed crush was extra funny. So much so that he couldn’t help but make it a little worse. “Then why are you getting red in the face? You’ve had girls swoon over you before. Is it just the fact that this one might want to get into your pants that bothers you?”

“Killer I’m going to reach over this table and rip your head off if you keep this up.”

Killer's tired demeanor became much more mischievous. A wry smile tugged at his lips and he leaned forward to speak in a sarcastic yet smooth and romantic way. “I bet it was amazing for her last night though. A big strong man comes to save her just at the right time-”

“Kil I swear to god-”

“Both of you were drenched and grasping onto one another. Looking into each other's eyes and whispering sweet nothings in the moonlight-”

“Killer shut the fuck up-”

“That girl was probably so turned on she was rubbing her thighs together. Wishing you’d just take her-”

“KILLER!” Killer got fully cut off when Kid lunged at him. Standing up and taking his first mate by the collar to tug him forward. Nearly knocking over his coffee in the process as Kid snarled at him.

Killer could barely hold back a laugh. Smiling wildly underneath his mask he softly patted Kid's arm to ease him off him. “Ah okay okay sorry. Couldn’t help myself. It’s payback for last night anyways.”

Kid's hand slowly loosened up. His cheeks burned a bright fiery red as he sat back down in his seat. Steam nearly puffed out of his nose as he took a deep breath. “Yeah? Well, it's a stupid fucking way to get your payback. It wasn’t like that. Quit making me out to be some kind of hero, asshole.”

Killer eyed his captain in a attentive yet loving way. He loved whenever he got a chance to get under his skin like this.

And maybe this does make up for last night. We don’t have to focus on our fight. Just the girl.

“Well, I’m not letting it go. You saved some girl and brought her home. That’s hero behavior for sure.” Kid looked at Killer dead on, his face going slack with annoyance again. It made Killer pause for a moment feeling just a tad bit guilty, “But maybe it wasn’t romantic at all for her. Forget all that shit I said about love or whatever. I was just spitballing ideas anyway.”

“Well, I could tell. Saying that shit like you had any idea what you were talking about.” Kid rolled his eyes and finished off the last of his coffee. Letting the smooth and bitter liquid roll down into his stomach to gain an ounce of motivation for the day ahead.

Killer took a smooth sip of his coffee through the little bendy straw he brought along. Just nodding his head like he agreed though he was still pretty sure something more was going on with you.

Or maybe all that blushing means something more is going on with Kid.

A sudden loud noise erupted down the hall. It sounded close but at the same time echoed through the small enclosure and into the ears of the two men sitting idly together. Kid's body perked up, looking over at the doorway out into the hall expectantly.

“Is there anyone else on the ship right now?” Kid mumbled, looking over at Killer who had put his mug down almost instantly. Staring at the doorway more hesitantly than Kid.

“No. Just us. Everyone already left. I made sure of it.” They both looked over at each other. Their shared brain cells functioned at a slower rate before they both came to the same conclusion.

“It’s the girl.” Kid whispered, Killer's head nodded in agreement as they both started to stand up and head out into the hall. Kids empty mug and Killers half full one long forgotten as they walked towards the source of the sound.

“Goddamn, I was hoping she’d just stay asleep.” Kid mumbled to himself more than anything. Picking up the pace a bit as two sets of heels rampantly thudded against the wood below.

“I think it came from on deck.” Killer's voice was quiet. Mimicking the hesitation Kid's voice held. If they thought about it enough, they should be making their presence known. Yelling so she didn’t think she could run off with one of their possessions if that's what she wanted. But if they didn’t make their presence known, then maybe they wouldn’t have to deal with her. She could slink away on he own accord without talking to them.

It was a juxtaposition between hesitation and necessity as they reached a door. Pushing it open and stepping out together to scan the deck. A chill ran down Kid's spine as he felt the brisk wind hit his bare legs. Within an instant, he saw you but of course, you had a habit of surprising him at this point.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath. Panting softly as you clenched tightly onto the banister of the stairs leading down to the lowest part of the deck. Your face was a shade paler than usual. The blood ran cold inside of you as you desperately tried to pretend you hadn’t slipped on the stairs not a minute ago.

“H-Hey guys. What’s up?” Kid could instantly tell by your voice that you were hanging on by a thread.

Well, I think anyone with eyes could tell she’s a fucking mess.

“What are you doing?” Left Kid's lips before he could even really contemplate what was happening. Walking closer to the upper edge of the stairs to look down at you. Killer in tow with his hands crossed over his wide chest.

You looked between the two large men like you had done the first time you met them. The blondie is still quiet and reserved. The redhead, or Kid you supposed, is demeaning and talkative.

They’re already tall enough. They didn’t have to take the high ground for Christ's sake.

“Nothing.” Kids' eyebrows of course rose at that. Leaving you stuttering to come up with something that didn’t sound stupid. “I mean not nothing but definitely something. I don’t know.” Your body swayed a bit as you gripped the banister even tighter. You’re fingertips turned a shade whiter as you swallowed down what felt like oncoming nausea.

Did they kidnap me? Is that the only reason why they decided to patch me up was to sell me off? I can’t just tell them I’m leaving if that's the case.

“Well, you falling on the stairs doesn’t seem like nothing.” When the blondie spoke it partly startled you, it was the first time you heard his voice. It was similar to Kids as if they were from the same area. But it was slightly higher and more raspy in tone. It almost made you forget what the man had even said. A blush rose to your cheeks as you shook your head defensively.

“Well, I’d like to see you try to walk down some stairs with wounds and nausea asshole.” That slipped past your tongue before you could even reel it back in. Still holding on for dear life as the panic seemingly never wanted to settle in your veins. “I feel like I got gutted. What the hell happened to me?”

Killer didn’t mind being called an asshole, he's been called much worse. But watching you spit that out with such a raw look of utter exhaustion and frustration on your face was a bit much. You seemed to be falling apart right in front of him for some reason.

Was she hurt that bad?

“What the fuck is with you? Are you about to keel over right now?” Kid took Killer's thoughts right out of his mind. The girl had barely walked that far from the med bay but she seemed to be sweating and breathing heavily like she had run a mile.

You frowned at the two men, taking a deep and shaky breath before you spoke. “I don’t like it on this ship. I want off and I want to know what happened.”

Whilst Kid's eyebrows furrowed, Killers raised. Confusion struck both of them at the mere fact that you didn’t seem to remember the events of last night. “So you don’t remember?” Killer asked calmly, taking a hesitant step down the stairs towards you. You’re shaky pupils locking onto him in fear.

“No, I don't remember. I don’t remember anything past…the walk home I think. What the fuck did you people do? Beat me and dunk me in water?”

The instant you said that Kids' anger rose from about an average 5 to an 8 out of 10. His one good hand clenched into a white line of knuckles as he stepped down the stairs in a stomping motion towards you. “We didn’t fucking beat you dumbass! We helped you. If I wanted to beat you I’d do a much better job than the fucking ocean did.”

The second Kid started stomping down the stairs towards you, you turned around. Finishing off the last couple of steps with trembling knees and scurrying out into the middle of the deck a good distance away from him. “Stay the fuck away from me!” You yelled putting your hands up defensively even though you felt like a pile of Play-Doh.

Kid paused when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Clicking his tongue and watching you with predator-like precision. “That’s not a nice way to say thank you.”

If your frown couldn’t get any deeper then somehow it found a way. Your throat tightening up like his huge fist was somehow already around you. “What do you mean the ocean? I..drowned didn’t I?” You ignored his other comments. This man didn’t deserve a thank you until you knew what had happened.

“Yes, you fucking did brat. Your fatass fell into the ocean. You ended up here with a fresh set of bandages.”

You barely even registered the insults he was throwing your way. Just swallowing hard as he called you a fatass before wearily speaking once more.“But…how…how did I end up falling into the ocean?” Your voice became a hint softer, frustration bleeding into sadness and maybe even regret.

“Because you’re an idiot that's why. You thought the jetty was a walkway and got swallowed up. It's all your fault so don’t blame me.”

Kids' harsh words hit you hard. Eyes daring to prick with tears as you took a minute to just settle into what you had learned. A weak and bandaged hand raked through your hair as you stared at the ground below you. “Shit.”

The two men just watched you work through it. Both of them having a hard time trying to understand why the hell you seemed so sad about it.

What the hell is wrong with this girl?

“Quit being a brat and dwelling in it. You survived and because you survived you get the honor of personally walking off my ship all by yourself like a big girl.” No matter how hard Kid tried he couldn’t strain himself to be any more reassuring than that. It's not like he wanted to be reassuring but you seemed to be an absolute mess in need of a push. A push off his ship that is.

And though Kid was taking a more aggressive approach Killer couldn’t help but notice the turmoil you were in. Walking past Kid and slowly approaching you with as much benign energy as he could. “Are you okay?”

You looked horrible. Face still a shade paler and your eyes glossed over somewhat. The clothes they had given you stuck to your skin with sweat. Your body swayed even more as if you were caught in a much stronger current than the one currently rocking at the boat.

His voice barely reached your ears. Those same memories, visions, and blood-curdling screams drowning you out. The warm fire on your skin. The ice-cold water in your blood. You tried not to pay attention to it. Eyelashes fluttered closed as you rubbed over your eyes. The darkness did little to help you as you stumbled backward.

Something took hold of Kid's heels as he walked closer to you. Stepping past Killer to land just a few feet in front of you. His chin tilted down to leer at you though his eyes couldn’t help but wander. Trying to pierce through the strange weak form of a woman you had become.

“What’s wrong? You’re fine. It can’t hurt that bad if you’re walking.” He spoke, his voice a bit quieter yet still just as harsh.

What the hell is she doing? Faking this shit for sympathy? Nothing bad is happening.

Hearing Kids' deep voice so close startled you out of your stupor. Your shoulders twitching as you finally slip your hands off your face to look up at him.

Kids eyes widened seeing wet crystal-like tears on the ridges of your eyes. Mouth going slightly agape and eyebrows raising in what you assumed was disgust.

“I’m fine. I can handle the pain. Just get me off this ship.”

Kid was confused to say the least.

Is she crying because she got hurt or because…she doesn’t want to be near me? Because she wishes it wasn’t me that saved her? For some reason that thought made his mind blare red. You’re once helpless figure now cast in something weak and greedy in his mind. A leech on the stray strands of his kindness that he felt like plucking and squishing to death between his fingers.

“Are a few screws loose up there or something? Why the hell are you crying? I let you on my ship that you were drooling over. I used my supplies to bandage you up. I gave you my precious and invaluable attention for more than a few minutes. I even risked my life to save your ass. You should be fucking thankful not crying.”

Killer's mask glided between the two of you. Your face scrunched up in confusion as your lips parted to speak. But before you could utter a single word he piped up. “Kid, what are you doing? I told you I could handle this.” Both you and Kid looked over at him like you had forgotten he was even there. A deep scowl turning more rich with wrath as Kid eyed Killer.

“I’m doing what I fucking want to. I told you I didn’t need your help.” Kid stormed closer, forehead laced with lines as he kept breaching the gap between you and him.

You couldn’t help but look at Kid with even more confusion. Phasing past his words speaking of your ungrateful self to focus on one part that didn’t quite make sense. “Wait did you just say you...saved me? Were you the one that found me?” Wiping your tears with the back of your hand in a quick motion you took a tiny step closer to the man. Not at all afraid of that look of wrath he seemed to be fostering in his eyes.

It was Kid's turn to feel a spike of panic as his cheeks daringly went a shade red. “N-No I didn’t save you! You’re a fucking idiot to assume I’d save someone as worthless as you. I would let you drown without a thought so don’t get me wrong and quit avoiding the question. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Despite the obvious turmoil you were feeling, another round of anger splashed into the cesspool of your mind. “Nothing is wrong with me! I’m fine. I just don’t like being on ships. I need to get the fuck off this thing like right now.” You looked away from Kid, shuffling towards the nearest banister parallel to the dock.

With one brutal step Kid bounded towards you once again. Spit flying past his red-painted lips as he spoke. “What do you mean you don’t like being on ships? Are you seasick or something? My boat is barely swaying ya baby.”

“It’s not sea sickness. I just don’t like it okay? Can you quit asking me why and just help me?” You kept just trying to walk away from Kid. Eyes scanning the deck trying to figure out where they kept that plank to walk down on.

Kid paused as he watched you. Your short fluffy head whisked in the wind as you helplessly looked around for a way off.

Is this girl always a helpless little puppy?

“Well, I’m not helping you until you thank me. So get off this boat yourself or fucking fall off I don’t care.”

“Kid don’t you want her gone?” Killer whispered huskily. Of course, it caught your ears though. Turning your head briskly to look between the two men as they exchanged sideways glances.

“What I want is a thank you from her but she’s too much of a brat to cough it up.” Kid laid it on real thick as he spoke. Taking the time to pronounce brat harshly as if his tongue was dripping with venom.

You swiveled your head back towards Kids. Sharp teeth coming into sight as you snarled at him. “Can you stop patronizing me? Quit acting like you're the better person here or that I owe you anything.”

“You do owe me something! A goddamn thank you and maybe an apology while you’re at it. Do you think you deserve to be on my ship? Do you think I wanted to deal with you? I’ve been putting up with you the moment I came ashore instead of fucking relaxing like I was supposed to!”

“How is that my fault?! You never had to talk to me at the bar. You never had to save me or whatever you and your crew did. I was just there doing what I wanted to and you made it your problem. So boo-hoo bitch you fucked up your vacation!” You flung your arms in the air and brashly pointed at him. Quickly turning around and stomping towards the banister in a rush. You gripped its wooden edge, leaning down to look at the fear-inducing height between you and the dock.

Kid couldn't believe what he had heard. Well, he could believe the name-calling and the crass tone in your voice. And though those things made him want to boil over it also made him want to disappear. You were right. He did inherently inject himself into all of your problems. He put himself into the line of fire that was you. And though he knew this deep down it wasn’t going to stop him from telling himself that it was a lie. That you were the villain plotting nefarious plans to make his life a living hell. That the moment you were finally gone maybe things would start going his way. Even so, he didn’t exactly understand why he wasn’t just escorting you off his ship if that was the case.

My life would be easier with her gone. So why do I need this? Why am I keeping her here? She means nothing to me.

That thought crossed his mind just to turn his cheeks red. His knuckles were white as he wiped off the small layer of sweat across his brow. He could feel his stump twitching with a pulse. The new bandages doing little to hide the fiery sensation pinching at his nerves.

That’s it. I’m ripping her fucking head off. He watched you with keen eyes. Not willing to speak in case he let something slip that was beyond him. Beyond what he was willing to admit.

Killer cautiously stepped closer to Kid with pleading yet gentle steps. “Hey, I can handle this. Go inside. She’s being a bitch I realize but you're in no shape to-”

“To do what? Kill this bitch? Let me handle it Kil. She’s my problem.” Kid roared, your head jerking backward to watch the two men. With yet another string of panicked actions, you tried to sling your foot over the banister. A ripping pain snapping through you as it pinched the injury on your side.

If there is a God can they just give me a break and let me get off this damn thing!

With quick succession, you tried to jump onto the banister once more. Hooking one foot over quickly and bouncing up to sit on the carved railing. Your ass slammed against the ridged wood making you grunt and lean over in pain. Hanging one leg off the side of the boat as you looked down to sea the line between dock and saltwater below you.

“What the fuck are you doing? Do you want to fall off?” Kid couldn't believe how stupid you were. Your round body hanging off the edge into what could be yet another nose dive into the ocean. “Are you trying to drown again because believe me sweetheart I can make that happen.” He growled walking towards you.

That look on his face spoke a million words and all of them screamed murder. But in the other direction was of course a one-story drop that made piss nearly trickle down your legs.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

“Okay okay! I’m sorry! I said I’m fucking sorry so stop!”

This wasn’t your proudest moment but it was one you hoped to walk away from with all your limbs intact. Despite your pleas, Kid didn’t come to a stop. Still barreling towards you as if he hadn’t heard a thing. You tried to shuffle off the banister but he was already right up on you. Watching with shadowed eyes as he leaned uncomfortably close. His face was a mere foot away as his one arm grabbed onto the railing to close you in.

“I don’t know. That didn’t sound very genuine to me. How about you try again?” The intensity of his voice was suffocating you. His mountain of a body caging you in and his face far too close for comfort.

You could nearly feel his breath fan across you as your cheeks slowly blossomed a deep red. Trembling lips followed by a quiet voice to match your submission. “I’m sorry for bothering you and being a nuisance.” You swallowed hard, dryness tearing at your already sore throat. If your blood was cold before it had gone even colder.

Kid's eyes flickered between yours. Soaking in that look of fear and desperation running across your face. It was palpable to the point where he could taste it on his tongue. Sweet and sour like the softness of your voice but the bitterness in your eyes.

Finally, the kind of reaction I deserve. He thought without a word. The silence between the two of you was so raw with tension. Egging on your fear even more. “And what else do we say? Don’t make me push you off so be a good girl and just say it.”

Confusion flashed through you. Blinking back and forth between his amber orbs. “What?” Your voice was so soft Kid could barely hear it. Cheeks going aflame as you leaned off to one side trying to get away from him. But as soon as you did that the boat tipped. A wave rocking along with you and your pants providing little friction to keep you upright. You tried to squeeze with your thighs but they slipped along with your hands. “K-Kid help!” You yelped, your body slipping right off the banister towards the waters below.

Kids eyes widened watching this all unfold right in front of him. He didn’t make a move to help you right away but as soon as your body dipped too far off and your legs unhooked from the banister he reached out. Taking hold of your forearm with a vice-like grip. “F-Fucking hell.” He let out a deep grunt. Abs leaning over and onto the railing to reach you. Your once-falling body now slack against the side of the hull. A wretched yell of pain escaped you as your injuries spasmed.

“Ahh fuckin shit K-Kid help me up!” Your other hand grasped onto Kid's forearm. Feet trying to kick upwards to propel you more.

“You’re not fucking light ya know!” He inhaled deeply through his teeth. His jaw clenched tight as he struggled to keep ahold of you. You’re soft arm slipping in his sweaty hand.

“Captain?”

Kids' eyes break away from your lingering stare up at him. Finally noticing the contents of the dock below. A line of his crewmates were standing idly watching the two of you. A few baskets and crates in hand as if they had paused mid-step to spot the two of you.

Kid didn’t know what to say. Almost forsaking you as his arm naturally went limp. “Kid!!” His body flinched back into life when he heard your voice again. Muscles contracting once more to reapply pressure before you slipped out of his grasp.

You didn’t dare look down at the crowd below you. Eyes focused on Kid and the fast approaching footsteps of what you assumed was Killer not too far behind. But Kid's eyes weren’t on you. Dare say they had paused in one particular spot further down the dock towards the island. Once wide and glossy with embarrassment now honed and focused on something else.

“Who is that?” Kids voice was low and quiet. Pulling you up towards him with a breathy grunt. Killer finally took up the space beside Kid. Grabbing onto your other arm and effectively sliding you over the banister like a towel.

Sliding onto the deck your head almost slammed right into Kid's chest. Killer quickly let go of your arm. Grabbing you by the shoulder to steady you until you stayed upright.

“Y/N?” a voice called. With wobbly knees and blushing cheeks, you held tightly onto Kid's arm for support. Your breath hitching in the realization of who Kid was asking about. Slowly and unsurely you turned your head towards the source of the voice, only to find the worst-case scenario just standing there.

“H-Hi Dad.”

A/N: Okay okay okay I realize that I’m making Y/N like EXTREMELY clumsy for no reason. It’s apart of her character yes but I promise she isn’t always the classic clumsy girl in need of saving trope!! Things will change. She will get better. She’s just GOING THROUGH IT right now. I mean like drowning, then on boat you don’t know, to fear for lore reasons, to angry man threatening you, to almost dying again!! Like it’s BAD BAD for her rn. ALSO I hope ya’ll are concocting some sweet ideas y/ns past lol. I feel like I’m making it too apparent but I’m also not sure??? There’s a lot to unpack there.