#VERSE. ( such things must happen; but the end is still to come. ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loki-cees-all · 8 months ago

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Space Oddity {Avengers!Loki x Female Reader One-shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : Avengers!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : While preparing for Stark Tower’s Halloween party, Loki misunderstands the point of a Halloween Costume. Luckily he has you to help him navigate such tricky waters.

W/c : 10k words

Content / Warnings : Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Loki being a little massive shit and also a silly goose.

Author's Note : Last year a certain LIFE-RUINER (affectionate) dressed up as Ziggy Stardust/David Bowie/Aladdin Sane for Halloween, and it permanently altered my brain chemistry. Because of (or in spite of?) the ensuing brain rot, it took 11 months of me staring at that picture to finally come up with an idea to include Loki in that delicious little mix.

P.S. I do recommend listening to Space Oddity by David Bowie while you read this. If you start the song at "Humanity’s wide variety of music..." then depending on your reading speed, the song's first Verse should start right at the big reveal 🤭

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

A crisp, hazy mist obscured your view of the ground from the 22nd floor of Stark Tower. Sunrise was yet to fully finish, and the Earth below was quiet, still adjusting to the uneasy transition from slumber to consciousness. Within that ambiguity, it was easy to believe that you’d somehow awoken on an entirely new planet.

You often wondered what that was like, to feel the soil from an uncharted world give way underneath your boots. To feel a breeze coming off an ocean no other human had ever seen before, or to look up into the night sky and see the stars of a brand new galaxy. How colossal, how surreal, how inferior it must make someone feel.

On lazy mornings such as this one, you’d often ask your partner what it was like to be an astronaut. He’d hand you a steaming cup of coffee as he rejoined you in bed, and with a contemplative expression, he’d always respond with a brand new answer.

You suspected the change in response was just due to him recalling his first trip to a different realm, and each time you always listened very carefully. You always closed your eyes and tried to lose yourself in the picturesque descriptions of fantasy worlds you’d probably never be able to see personally.

Sometimes, if you focused hard enough, you could almost smell the forests of a brand new planet. You could almost taste its fresh water and its different fruit, and feel the immaculate breezes of its unstudied seasons. But then you’d open your eyes again, and when you looked through the skyscraper’s window, the few dapples of orange and yellow leaves breaking through the dense fog would let you know this was still planet Earth.

But that wasn’t always so bad. Occasionally, there would be several weeks without a world-ending threat breathing down the Avenger’s necks, and that meant you could pretend you were all just regular people. You could sleep in or get up extra early to watch the world come to life, you could rush around and do any of the million things that needed to be done, or you could simply lay there and bask in that sweet silence.

Today, after having coffee in bed, your only concrete plan was a shopping trip in the West Village with Wanda and Nat. Your only solid goal was to finally settle on the perfect costumes for the Halloween party happening just a few days from now.

It was no secret that the Avengers had acquired a sizable contingency of cynics over the years, ones who weren’t shy about openly criticizing the entire team. From the collateral damage incurred during battle, to the individual actions of its members both on and off the team - anything they did was suspect, and absolutely nothing was beyond complaint. Thus, Pepper Potts had made it her personal mission to finally correct the planet’s opinions of its heroes.

In addition to the team’s assistance towards rebuilding efforts after their battles were won and having its members performing very public charity work, Stark Tower was starting to host more “fun” events in order to further boost the team’s positive image.

��To get your names in the papers without a rising death toll immediately afterwards,” was specifically how Pepper had explained her initiative. And naturally, that meant a Halloween Party was deemed absolutely necessary.

Anyone who was even tertiarily related to the Avengers was going to be there: from the low-level, but still notable, world government leaders, to the honorary members from all corners of the globe. And of course, plenty of reporters and photographers would be in attendance, all of them ready to document every single fun moment. It was set to become an impressive party, and knowing Pepper, a very classy event - so it shouldn’t have been at all surprising that most of the team had become hyper-focused on winning the party’s costume contest.

Initially, everyone kept their costumes a secret from one another, and the trash-talking was of a mostly friendly nature. But then rumors started flying around, and gradually, some members of the team started taking the competition far too seriously. Alliances were formed, and subsequently broken. The taunting soon became serious, and then reached devastating levels, which ultimately escalated into a four-day period where Tony and Steve couldn’t even be in the same room together without a physical fight breaking out.

Thankfully, the girls were far more casual about it, and that afternoon’s shopping trip was planned to be one of mutual support. Wanda was hoping to finalize her couple’s costume with Vision, and even though she hadn’t mentioned it directly, you knew that Nat was attempting a similar endeavor with Bruce, despite his timid insistence that he wasn’t a “costume guy”. It was so adorably endearing that it almost gave you a toothache.

Unfortunately, things were not so cut and dry with Loki.

He had yet to mention the Halloween party on his own, nor had he participated in any group discussions on the subject - he even ignored Tony's attempts to goad him into verbal sparring matches, something Loki ordinarily enjoyed. Not that anyone should be genuinely excited about performative media relations disguised as a fun party, but nonetheless, you were starting to become concerned about his lack of interest.

Private conversations with him about finding a costume had gone nowhere. He didn’t understand why he needed to dress up at all, or why you cared so much about it. And while he wasn’t saying it out loud, you didn’t need to be a genius to guess why he had reservations: everyone else already believed he was an actual monster, so shouldn’t he just be himself on Halloween?

Only a few weeks had passed since you’d moved in together, but it was going really well, all things considered. The otherworldly being you’d fallen in love with still didn’t understand most Earthly customs, and you very much enjoyed being his Midgardian teacher. But coming to terms with what he’d done while under the influence of the Mind Stone was still an ongoing struggle for him.

Loki had good days, but he also had very, very bad days. He still had nightmares about his past, and frequently his worries about the future kept him helplessly trapped in bed. It broke your heart to witness, and even though he’d probably never reveal the full details about his time with The Black Order and Thanos, he at least never stopped you from offering him comfort in the middle of the night.

Because he wasn’t the monster his critics or inner demons claimed he was, no matter how convincing they were. He deserved a good and peaceful life just as much as everyone else did, and you wanted nothing more than to help him finally have one.

When you’d left the apartment later that morning, Loki was lounging peacefully on the living room couch, his nose buried in the oldest book you’d ever seen. A gentle smile had tugged at his lips while you kissed his forehead on your way out, and with tremendous love in his eyes, he said that he’d miss you terribly while you were gone.

After an early lunch at The Coppola Cafe, the three of you spent the afternoon browsing what felt like every single vintage clothing shop in the West End. It didn’t take long for Wanda and Nat to finalize their costumes, and eventually you did manage to find something for yourself, but deciding on your partner’s costume was another story entirely. A terribly complicated task, one that was impossible to accomplish and rotten with trap doors and landmines hiding within the deceptive labyrinth that was Loki.

The girls did their best to make helpful suggestions during the shopping trip, offering such innocent and guiltless ideas like a mailman, or a stuffy professor - or perhaps he could dress up as Shakespeare so he could spend the entire party wandering around quoting Hamlet. Or maybe instead, he should just wear a Ghostface mask and a long black cloak, so he had a good excuse to stay concealed and silent all night long.

You appreciated their efforts, but none of those ideas were quite right for him. You couldn’t really explain why, but they just weren’t…Loki.

By late afternoon, your mind had turned into a jumbled mess. Unable to think clearly anymore, you resorted to aimless purchases of extra things neither of you probably wouldn’t ever use - cheap makeup sets, bottles of fake blood, a set of vampire fangs, a pair of cat ears. Several brightly colored wigs, a second-hand cape, and a large bag of Halloween candy to stress eat later finally completed your purchases for the day.

The group came back to the Tower just before dusk, and the living room of your apartment was quiet when you walked inside. A few lamps illuminated on the end tables gave the space a dark, brooding mood, which was greatly appreciated after such a busy and disappointing day. But unfortunately, Loki was no longer on the couch where you’d left him, and that old book was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey! I’m home!” you called out while setting your shopping bags down by the front door.

An odd silence was the only thing that greeted you.

Usually, Loki would be at the front door, ready to sweep you up in his arms whenever you returned home. But the apartment remained unmoving, even as you called out a second time. When he still didn’t appear, you poked your head into the kitchen while shrugging off your jacket and slipping off your shoes. But that room was also completely vacant, with no evidence of dinner being started or already had.

Loki preferred spending most of his time alone, but occasionally he’d allow an enticing bribe from Bruce or Thor to drag him out of the apartment; maybe he was just studying something interesting up in Bruce’s lab, or perhaps he’d agreed to help his brother play a prank on someone. Grateful for the opportunity to wallow in solitude for a bit, you pulled the giant bag of Halloween candy from a shopping bag and made your way towards the back of the apartment.

You padded down the empty hallway where there was still no sign of Loki. Everything in the entire apartment was clean, and in its place. There was absolutely nothing wrong, and yet it felt like the weight of the entire world was resting heavily on your shoulders. You tried to reassure yourself that it was nothing that a coma-inducing amount of candy couldn’t fix, but even that was becoming less believable with each step forward.

As you approached the bedroom, you thought you could hear the very faint sounds of guitar strumming through the closed door. That gave you pause; certain that you hadn’t left anything on before leaving that morning, you cautiously moved closer, until your ear was pressed against the door.

Yes, that was music you were hearing - familiar music, even though you couldn’t quite place it yet, and you couldn’t help but to smile to yourself. Loki was home after all, and he had been entertaining himself with music while you were out. It thoroughly warmed your heart with an unexplainable feeling of serenity, and pleased that he’d remembered how to use the record player on his own, you waited behind the door to listen for another moment.

Humanity’s wide variety of music was one of the few things about our culture that he’d expressed genuine interest in - which of course, you happily encouraged. It was so much fun introducing him to everything from the classic composers of the 18th and 19th centuries, to the psychedelic rockers of the 20th century. From the upbeat pop groups of your middle school years, to the angsty singers that made up the soundtrack of your early twenties.

You closed your eyes to focus solely on whatever he was listening to now. The music itself was playing low, the singer’s impassive voice just barely audible to you. But you couldn’t tell if it was a really old recording, or if the sound was just distorted after passing through the door.

Off in the distance, a punctuated drum stroke marked the countdown to some inconceivable event, and adrenaline suddenly filled your bloodstream. A low hum vibrated underneath the drum, steady until it wasn’t, and then gradually it shifted into a cosmic wail that seemed to be transmitting itself across all of time and space. A cacophony of instruments, from both the planet Earth and of the stars themselves, finally crescendoed together in a powerful array of astronomical declaration.

A declaration that something was happening at that very moment. Breathed into life with a static kiss, that something was so astonishingly important, and it vehemently demanded immediate witness.

Your curiosity, overwhelming to the point that you couldn’t take it any longer, forced you to carefully reach for the door handle. Its metal, both warm and cold simultaneously, felt like home. It felt unreal.

This felt like opening the hatch to an ancient spacecraft.

This is Ground Control to Major Tom…

You pushed open the door, and immediately let out a startled laugh. Standing in front of the bedroom mirror was a tall and lanky figure, turning himself back and forth while carefully examining his reflection. That part wasn’t surprising; but rather, it was the way he’d dressed himself that was completely unexpected.

You’ve really made the grade…

Bright red and blue stripes lined the figure’s jumpsuit from shoulder to toe, each one evenly separated by thin lines of white. Familiar dark curls cascaded and twisted down past a pair of golden, glittering shoulder pads that only amplified his already impressive stature. Across his right eye, stretching from well below his cheekbone up to meet with his natural hairline, was a crimson lightning bolt. Its perfectly jagged edges were outlined in shimmering blue, and the leather platform boots on his feet were a brilliant, shining red.

And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear…

You knew it wasn’t actually Ziggy Stardust standing there; logically, you knew that much to be true. David Bowie had died several years ago, and while you now believed in alien life on other planets, and magic, and superheroes - you still knew the matter of ghosts to be entirely science fiction.

Rational thought, if you had been capable of it in that moment, would have told you that this was just your celestial partner practicing another one of his illusions. But this mirage was so much more powerful than reason, or fact, or reality could have ever hoped to be. While shoulder-strung spectral harps blared from the record player and the harmonized magnetism of flesh and blood and God stood before you, the only conclusion to be reached was that you’d finally lost your entire mind.

Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare…

Other than his hair, his illusion was categorically perfect: the only hint of Loki underneath this glamour was the flicker of mischievous green hiding behind heterochromatic eyes. But those weren’t Loki’s cheekbones, or his lips, or his nose.

They were David fucking Bowie’s.

This is Major Tom to Ground Control…

Your jaw dropped even further when he finally noticed you. He turned someone else’s body, and he lifted someone else’s chin. The illustrious and supernal smile he flashed in your direction tugged at someone else’s lips. But the confidence that radiated out of him, like the infernal rays of an ever-bursting star, belonged to Loki, and Loki alone.

It was different from Bowie’s, but still somehow the same; despite the oddity of both their ensembles, neither outfit had worn either man. And similar to that ethereal mortal from over 50 years ago, Loki’s aura overrode any bewildered question of why, and instead begged the eternal question of how?

I’m stepping through the door…

How was he making this look work for him? Just like Bowie, Loki was equal parts striking and ridiculous. He was magnetic and breathtaking, he was pulling you in while simultaneously stunning the oxygen from your lungs. No thoughts, no words, no sounds could ever truly capture the true essence of this scene, and all you could manage was another stunned laugh as you looked him up and down.

His lips finally moved, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. A symphony of guitars and keyboards and organs and stringed instruments all crescendoed together to effectively pay tribute to the creation of this universe and drown out his voice. The sound, dizzying and disorienting, overpowered the feel of the floor beneath your feet until gravity was no longer enough to keep you tethered to the Earth.

And I’m floating in the most peculiar way…

Your mind, completely overwhelmed by the glowing specter just ten feet away, had become entirely blank. You were rendered so totally speechless that you forgot every single detail about your past. You simply weren’t you anymore; you were an astronaut from a distant planet on the other side of the universe, and you always had been.

You weren’t standing on the 22nd floor of Stark Tower, you were opening the hatch of an imaginary spacecraft, you were taking that first step out onto an unexplored moon. You were leaving the very first footprints upon its previously untouched surface, and you were carving your name into its virgin moondust. You were leaving your mark for future generations to someday gaze upon, in sheer awe of the audacity to wonder what else could be out there.

And the stars look very different today…

Without even noticing, you let go of the bag of Halloween candy; whether it also began floating or if it crashed to your bedroom floor was no longer any of your concern. All you could think about was if it felt this surreal, this mind-blowing to look upon the real David Bowie. How did anybody manage to not spontaneously combust in his presence?

All sense of relative dimensions lost their meaning. Space was completely irrelevant, time was a fictional construct. The universe was never going to stop expanding, so would anyone ever be able to see it all? How could a numerical value ever be assigned to the entire concept of time? Why were any of us here?

For here, am I sitting in a tin can?

You had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but at some point, Loki must have realized that he’d broken you. Without losing his proud smile, he waved a hand in the direction of your record player. Its needle lifted, and an eerie silence immediately descended over the room.

As soon as the music stopped, part of the spell clouding your mind vanished. A rush of oxygen suddenly filled your lungs, and your heart finally returned to its beating. Blood resumed its journey through your veins, and the floor became substantial underneath your feet again. You blinked once, twice, three times and shook your head, trying to clear it so that you might be able to ask just one of the million questions that all popped up at the exact same time.

“Something the matter, dear?”

Your eyes flew back open. Unfortunately, his glamour was still in place, and it was Ziggy Stardust that gingerly approached your position by the door. And when he’d spoken, it wasn’t Loki’s voice you’d heard - it was the voice of David Bowie.

Unsure of what to do with yourself, inundated and engulfed in sensations of the most flustered manner, you squeezed your eyes shut again. Your arms crossed and uncrossed, your knees locked and unlocked as your weight shifted back and forth. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head again.

“Loki, um…What the…” You had to pause to let out a deep, shaky breath, to run your hands up and down your face in a desperate attempt to wake from this very confusing dream. “What, um - are you doing, exactly?”

The air around you warmed considerably as he stopped in front of you, and the amusement in Bowie’s voice, so smooth and so sure of himself, was more than palpable as he spoke.

“Preparing for the masquerade, my dear. The same thing you were doing all afternoon.”

A gentle finger tilted your chin upwards, silently requesting that your eyes open again. When you did, it was Ziggy Stardust staring down at you from his impressive height, his expression curious and the unnecessarily tall boots he stood upon just making everything worse for you.

You gasped breathlessly. Your brain almost melted entirely. The massive crush you’d had on David Bowie when you were 13 years old suddenly roared to life once more. You’d never told anyone about it, because everyone else your age was in love with the much more socially acceptable choices of Nick Carter or Justin Timberlake. Back then, admitting to a near-fatal attraction on an androgynous, bisexual and eccentric musician from the 1970s would have been akin to signing your own death warrant.

Nowadays, such a crush was far more acceptable to have, but you thought those feelings had faded away with adolescence. There’d been no reason to bring it up, not even when you’d first introduced Loki to Bowie’s music. And now you were standing face-to-chest with the physical embodiment of your lie by omission.

Overwhelmed once more, you backed away from him and covered your eyes. “Okay, can you - take those boots off, please? You’re already ridiculously taller than me, so you don’t need them…”

“As you wish, darling.”

His voice, though sincere, was still someone else’s. Admittedly, it was intoxicating to hear Bowie’s voice addressing you in such a loving, familiar tone - but it was also incredibly intimidating. You were already on the verge of collapse as it was; you didn’t need yet another reason to make a very rapid crash landing to the floor.

Carefully, you let out a very slow breath to steady yourself. “And - can you also go back to using your voice, please?”

There was a brief moment of silence, and a part of you wished you could see the enchanting smirk he almost certainly wore at that very moment. When he finally answered, it was in his own voice again, but it was just as amused as Bowie’s voice had been.

“As you wish, darling.”

You let out a shuddered sigh of relief, and your body relaxed somewhat. When you cracked open your eyelids from behind your fingers, he was still Ziggy, but the sight was a little easier to deal with now that he stood at his normal height and spoke with his actual voice.

Now that he was closer, you took in the comforting notes of citrus and cedarwood on his skin, scents you knew to be Loki’s. You swallowed hard, your pupils dilated wildly as you finally allowed yourself to look him over.

“You did this for the Halloween party?” you asked softly.

Loki’s expression was much more reserved now, and he nodded earnestly. “Yes, I thought you would enjoy it. Is that not the case?”

Your breath hitched as you reached out to touch him. Your fingertips brushed along the golden collar around his neck. The material was soft and pliable, not like the polyester you’d find on a cheap costume from a pop-up Halloween store. No, the fabric Loki wore was both real, and it wasn’t. It was the truth, but it was also a lie. He was both mortal and ethereal simultaneously.

“And what made you choose this version of David Bowie to imitate?”

The reimagined figure of Ziggy Stardust shrugged nonchalantly. His gaze, as intent and dedicated as ever, remained locked on your expression while your fingers drifted over to his shoulder pads, and then back down to the center of his chest.

“Well, the other night you remarked on how much I supposedly resembled this particular mortal…”

A shy smile pulled at your lips. “Okay, go on…”

He reached out to caress your cheek, his thumb soft and solid against your skin. “And I was thinking about that film you showed me. The one that used music to tell its story…”

You stifled another giggle by pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Both of your hands found their way to his chest, one of them pulling the zipper of his jumpsuit until you could see just the barest hint of his chest hair.

“A music video. The Space Oddity music video, specifically…”

Ziggy, or Loki - whomever it was - donned a playful grin. “Yes, of course. With the oscillating, dark-green lines. I quite enjoyed that one…”

You nodded absentmindedly. Your fingers, like they had a mind of their own, tugged the zipper down just a little bit further. Its metal teeth, crafted with the utmost precision possible, gave way and unlocked so easily to reveal even more of his skin, and your heart hammered inside your chest.

It was impossible that Loki couldn’t see right through your expression, that he didn’t know about the salacious thoughts swirling around in your head. Like he’d expected you to have this very reaction, he gently slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, until you were pressed all the way against him.

“Darling, I know that the stress of preparing for this particular soiree has been weighing heavily on your mind as of late…” he continued with a soft murmur as he delicately spun you both around and guided you back towards the bed. “And I wanted to do something to help alleviate that burden for you…”

Your heart leapt violently into your throat. At first, it was the surprise that he’d noticed your inner turmoil that did you in, but then it shifted towards dismay over you apparently not hiding it as well as you thought you were.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied with an innocent smile as he slowly lowered you both down to the mattress.

But yes, of course you’d been feeling tons of pressure lately about the party. The Avengers had all known about your relationship with Loki for a while, but the rest of the Tower still didn’t - and neither did the rest of the world. They were all going to find out at the Halloween party.

Loki chuckled and allowed his weight to fully settle on top of yours. “What have I told you about good girls who like to lie, my love?” he murmured softly, his lips brushing teasingly against yours.

While you didn’t really care what everyone else thought about you, what they thought about Loki was many magnitudes of greater importance. He was already in a very precarious situation as it was; depending on the pundit or publication, his every scowl was interpreted as one of disdain for the human race, his every word a threat that he was just moments away from leading another alien invasion.

They already hated him, and they’d never forgive him for New York, no matter how well he’d behaved since.

Your breath shuddered, and your fingers couldn’t help but tangle between the dark curls that were so effortlessly Loki’s. “That they should…do it more, probably?”

Any mistake he made in the field was grounds for his dismissal, anytime he drank a glass of wine instead of a beer was his blatant attempt to dismantle democracy itself. His every move was overanalyzed and deciphered by a bunch of people who had never even met him, who never even cared to know what he was like behind closed doors or in private, when he actually felt safe to be himself.

They didn’t even care that he’d been corrupted by measures of torture they’d never have been able to survive themselves. Or that it had been entirely against his will, or that even while his invasion was taking place, he was subtly laying the groundwork for the Avengers to be able to stop him in the first place.

“A valiant attempt, darling, but we both know that wasn’t what I meant…” he whispered hotly, nippling at your jaw. He adjusted the angle of his hips, and he began to roll them against yours.

You moaned softly in response. Your mind began to melt, this time in pleasure instead of shock. The juxtaposition of Loki and Bowie and Ziggy, though confusing at first, started to make sense. It scratched an itch you couldn’t possibly have guessed that you had, and it created an intense need deep within your soul.

Unable to resist him any further, you captured his lips in a fiery kiss, and he eagerly returned it. His mouth worked hard and fast against yours, in a brand new style of coruscating and devastating passion. Hot and heavy, the kiss tasted just like Loki’s always had, but now it contained an extra dose of stardust.

Loki's hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, his hips again rolling against yours. His breath was quick against your skin, his needy groans like music to your ears. This transcendental combination of the past and present, of both the mortal plane and of the stars themselves, somehow craved you this badly and he wasn’t even afraid to show it.

It was so strange; Loki may have come from the stars, but somehow, he was still beholden to you here on Earth.

Within moments your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. Your tongue swiped at his bottom lip, requesting entry, and he granted it. Your hands drifted to his neck, his drifted to your thighs, and your bodies writhed together, eagerly, desperately, hungrily.

The heat between you escalated even further - the kind of heat that usually precipitated the creation of a new star in the sky. Just as you began to yank the jumpsuit’s zipper down further, a shimmer of emerald washed down your bodies, effortlessly and fully undressing the both of you.

You fucking loved it when he did that.

Loki could use his magic to do anything he wanted; he could, and had already, used it to destroy, and to maim, and to control. But now he only used it to protect the ones he’d previously tried to conquer. Now he just used it to love - or when he couldn’t handle not being inside you for another second.

His skin was hot against yours, his hands worshiped your curves. Your body stretched and arched underneath his, taking him in, making love to him like it was the very first time. It always felt that way, like you were floating one hundred thousand miles above the Earth, like the stars were finally within reach and only now could you actually reach them.

Your fingernails dug into his hips. The sound of the creaking bed was soon drowned out by breathless moans against your ear, of prayers and curses and promises. Your toes curled, your eyelids fluttered shut. Wild movements crescendoed into the purest form of what you knew to be the truth: the Earth was blue, the moon was silver, and Loki’s love would always be with you no matter where he went.

The orgasm ripped through you like a gravitational force collapsing the entire universe. Your muscles tensed, your body trembled underneath him. Pleasure seeped out of your pores and you cried out for him, incoherent and delirious. It felt like you had left your body entirely - remarkably disconnected from reality, but still safely anchored to him.

Loki fell off the edge just after you did. His muscles contracted as he clung to you, his voice nothing but shameless groans and heated gasps. With parted lips and a heavy breath, he intertwined his fingers with yours, he buried his face into your neck, and together your bodies finally collapsed within that mutual satisfaction.

An immeasurable length of time passed during the quiet contentment that followed, and by now, the sun had fully set. Unsure of whether you were just dozing or if you’d actually joined the astral plane, you allowed yourself to remain limp and boneless in his arms. Once again, gravity had no authority here, and you found peace just drifting aimlessly through the ever-growing expansion of outer space.

“You never answered my earlier question, darling….”

Loki’s demulcent voice gently pulled you back down to Earth. Your eyelids struggled to open underneath the pressure of the planet’s immense gravity, and suddenly you couldn’t remember anything that had transpired beforehand.

“No, I’m...pretty sure I answered it already,” you replied with a false confidence, stretching your body against his in an obvious attempt to distract him.

He chuckled and shifted with you, propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand traced a swirling pattern along your hip. “And I’m quite certain that you didn’t, love…”

For someone called the God of Mischief, he was surely determined to never let you get away with anything. You let out a laughing groan of frustration, and as your eyes opened, as you looked up into his, your breath vanished from your lungs.

The stars looked so different now. They weren’t Ziggy’s, nor Bowie’s, anymore - they were Loki’s. His glamour had started to fail while you were making love, and now the large constellations of the deepest greens and blues, of Loki himself, were all that stared lovingly back at you.

Loki grinned when he noticed the awe in your expression. His brow arched in a curious and teasing fashion when you couldn’t answer him.

“My goodness, she’s turned into a cosmonaut and floated away, hasn’t she…?” he murmured softly, pretending to talk to himself. He took his fingers and made them dance against the sensitive skin of your neck to get your attention. “Hello, darling? Are you still there?”

Almost immediately you were drowning in a fit of giggles. You scrunched up your shoulders and tried to squirm away, laughing and cursing at him while Loki continued his teasing. But his fingers, tender yet relentless on your sensitive skin, made it impossible to keep your eyes open or coordinate your muscles enough to put a stop to his attack.

“Yes, hello? I was wondering if you’ve seen a beautiful girl in there?” he continued in that same vexatious tone, his hold on you tightening as he nuzzled his face to yours. “She’s my darling companion, and I’ve been missing her terribly. Can you tell her to come back to me, please?”

You let out more breathless laughs, you made more desperate wriggles in his grasp. If you’d been able to see anything, you would have seen his cheeky grin and sparkling eyes, all lit up with mirth and devilry. There was absolutely nothing Loki loved more than play, and perhaps that was the true meaning of life anyway.

But when you finally cried out for mercy, he instantly relented, granting you more benevolence within a single moment of play than he’d ever been given in centuries. And all things considered, Loki was still quite delicate in his handling of you. After all, he had gentleness woven deep within him - the kind that had developed out of defiance, not because it was taught, and that just made him all the more genuine.

Dutifully, like it was an honor, he shifted your bodies so that he was on his back and you were nestled safely to his chest. Your leg curled around his, and after his fingers completed their soothing motions over the skin he’d just attacked, they moved in wide swoops along your back.

“I suppose I should repeat my question then?” he murmured softly after kissing your temple.

His skin, soft and smooth and pale, now smelled like an ancient fire that could burn his way through anything, if he’d wanted it to. It was intoxicating. You wondered if that was the same scent that had once filled the air of Asgard, if you’d ever get to experience it yourself someday.

“Mmm, yeah. I think you should…”

Loki cleared his throat, hesitating. His fingertips drifted up to the divot of your shoulder. “Did you truly not enjoy the costume I chose?”

His voice was so quiet, so tender that it made your heart ache a little bit. You shifted on the bed, leaning up to look him in the eyes.

“No, I did love it, Loki! It was really thoughtful of you, and for a second, I…” You smiled fondly, recalling the moment you first saw him, while one of your favorite songs ever blasted from your record player. “I really thought it was actually David Bowie, back from the dead…”

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “And so naturally, your first reaction was to…laugh at it?”

Your lips pursed together, trying to suppress another one. “Okay, I’m sorry about that. But I wasn’t laughing at the costume, it was honestly just…really overwhelming to walk in and see so unexpectedly…”

“Oh, you found it to be overwhelming, did you?” Loki grinned again, apparently possessing an infinite supply of them. “My poor little dearest, I’m afraid you only have yourself to blame for that.”

“Me?!” you laughed incredulously. “But I’m the victim here!”

So sure of himself, Loki gave a teasing nod. “Yes, you see, darling - I was in the process of choosing the appropriate level of detail for the illusion when you so rudely interrupted me…”

You maintained a playful, sarcastic expression as he explained himself. “Sure, sure. Or you could have just, you know…locked the bedroom door if you didn’t want to be interrupted…”

Loki chucked and playfully swatted at your hip. “So then tell me, what about it was too much for you? I had already decided that the red hair was a bit excessive, but should I alter the clothing as well? The voice?” he asked, his hand now softly soothing the skin he’d just swatted.

You silently thanked whatever it was other there that Loki had decided to keep his actual hair; it was one of his best features. Almost automatically, your fingers drifted through those gorgeous strands of caliginous curls, relishing in their strength and fluidity. He let out a tranquil hum when your touch grazed his scalp, and the sound was so effortless, so real, that nothing else could ever compare.

Unfortunately, your thoughts then drifted towards far less pleasant topics.

No one in their right mind could ever bring Loki’s capabilities as a sorcerer into question, especially not during battle. In fact, Wanda had previously expressed feelings of inadequacy when comparing her talents to his. But he had spent entire centuries perfecting his craft, he’d dedicated entire human lifetimes to his studies - to the point where most people remained completely unaware of its full extent once an illusion had been cast.

A large part of that was because he preferred to remain an unanswerable question to everyone else, especially after the attack on New York. He’d rather they looked at his daggers instead of at his soul, or at the black heart he worried was the true source of his seidr. He didn’t want anyone to know what he was truly capable of, lest they fear him even more - or try to use his own knowledge against him.

But if he wore the illusion of one of Bowie’s personas to the party - not dressed as, but if he actually was the physical embodiment of Ziggy Stardust come back to life - then everyone would know just how afraid of him they should be. You could see the fear-mongering op-ed headlines already - Former Alien Invader Transforms Himself into a Dead Rocker. What’s to Stop Him from Imitating the President Next?

And the critics who didn’t make that massive jump towards an impossible conclusion? You already knew that if he wore the wrong costume to the party, they’d have even more reason to pick him apart; if they secretly loved his costume, they’d simply accuse him of pandering. There was literally no direction for him to go that wouldn’t result in more needless hatred being spewed at him.

Even more pressing than all of that, what if they accused him of corrupting an innocent human when they learned about your relationship? You desperately didn’t want to make his life harder than it needed to be, but neither could you face bringing that concern up to him; what if he secretly agreed with them? What if he decided he was defiling your entire life just by existing within it?

What if he decided to leave you, in order to correct that grievous mistake?

Your fingertips gently traced the angle of his jaw. His eyes drifted closed as he clearly savored your touch, and his expression was just so serene, so peaceful. You couldn’t let him sacrifice that tranquility for the sake of a party; Loki may not have needed your protection on the battlefield, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him wander into danger back at home.

“Well, maybe the issue is that you were using an illusion, instead of a costume…”

His eyes fluttered open beneath a furrowed brow. His pupils widened before fixating on you. “I don’t understand. The goal is to become the subject in question, is it not?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again; sometimes he surprised you with how human he was, and other times it was because of how alien he was. Letting out a slow breath, you pushed yourself up to sitting next to him. Your legs curled over to the side, and you draped yourself across his chest.

“I think the real issue is that you might be slightly misunderstanding the point of a costume contest,” you began with a gentle smile. “Using magic to alter your appearance for a contest could be considered…cheating, by some people.”

His expression was tender, but unrelenting. “I’m still not seeing the problem, darling. If I’m to become someone else in order to participate, then I’m going to become someone else…”

“But the whole point is how much effort you put into the costume,” you explained with a gentle head tilt. “It’s about how creative you can be with either a limited skill set, or a small budget, or shortened time constraints…”

You paused for a moment to let your words sink in before continuing.

“And I’m so sorry, but using magic just…isn’t that much effort for you. No matter how amazing or lifelike the illusion is.”

He nodded, and his eyes flickered with understanding. For a very brief moment, he seemed to be taking your words to heart. But when his lips curved into a cheeky grin, you knew he was about to make another snarky comment.

“You’re saying Stark will have a conniption if I win the costume contest at his own party? Is that it?”

You sighed and rolled your eyes while matching his smile. It was actually incredible that he still had this much energy to devote towards acting like a total menace. “Yes, if it helps you to think about it like that, then that is exactly what I’m trying to say…”

Loki continued thinking about your explanation for another moment, his gaze distant while his hand ran along the length of your arm. Eventually, the grin on his face slowly shifted towards one of true sincerity.

“Alright then. What would you suggest I do instead?”

You met his gaze with an even bigger smile of your own. All that remained of his illusion was a jagged, crimson lightning bolt stretching down his cheek, and you brought your fingertips down to gently trace along the bolt’s edges. His skin was so very soft, the transition between alabaster and crimson so seamless. It was only then that you remembered one of the purchases made earlier that day with Wanda and Nat.

“Well, for starters…I think we ought to actually paint this design on your face.”

Before he could even respond, you had already hopped out of bed - not that you would have responded to him anyway. And while wearing nothing but a scheming grin, you practically soared across the room, stopping just long enough to grab a few clothes from the bedroom floor on your way to the living room.

“We ought to do what, darling?” Loki’s incredulous voice called out after you disappeared through the doorway.

As you hurried into the living room, you bounced on one foot, and then the other, while pulling the pair of panties up to your hips. After clumsily slipping the t-shirt over your head and guiding your arms through its sleeves, you lowered down to your knees next to the shopping bags left by the front door.

Did you have any experience with painting faces? None whatsoever.

Was that going to stop you now? Absolutely not. His illusion may have been overwhelming, but Loki’s inspiration of picking a David Bowie character for his Halloween costume was beyond perfect, and you were going to do whatever it took to make that idea a more feasible reality.

Rummaging past the bright pink wig and the fringed flapper dress and the vampire fangs purchased earlier that day, you finally found it: a palette of Halloween make-up. The flat, rectangular box contained a few small brushes and a row of circular discs, each one filled with a different and very bright shade of creamy, metallic make-up.

It was definitely a very cheap make-up set, and probably had way too many questionable ingredients that you’d never be able to fully investigate, but it should work just fine for this little trial - as long as Loki let you anywhere near him with it. You were sure that he would after batting your pretty little eyelashes at him.

Back in the bedroom, you could hear him shifting on the bed. You shot back up to your feet. “Don’t get up! Just stay right there, Loki, I’m coming back!”

You carefully ripped into the package as you padded across the living room. Not only was this your first time painting someone’s face, but it might be the first time Loki’d ever had his face painted as well. A twinge of excitement, laced with a hint of unease, swam freely inside your veins; there was a good reason why your skillset had led you towards a career of getting beat up on a professional level, instead of towards a quieter, peaceful career of make-up artistry or hair-styling.

Complicating matters even more was the fact that Loki was quite particular about his appearance. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin this newfound interest in the Halloween party.

When you returned to the doorway of your bedroom, Loki was seated on the edge of your shared bed. His long legs were spread wide, with delicious expanses of thigh peeking out between the tousled sheets. His expression was dreamy and brooding as he ran a large hand through his midnight curls, like his thoughts were a hundred thousand miles away while he smoothed and detangled.

His face lit up when he finally noticed you, but then it dropped when he saw what you were holding. “Please tell me that’s a joke. You’re joking with that, yes?”

You grinned and shook your head like you were trying to fling your nervous energy into a nearby galaxy. “Not a chance. Scoot!” you laughed, waving your hand to get him to make room for you.

He complied, but still let out a frustrated groan as he shifted to the middle of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. “Darling, be reasonable. I’m already getting a rash just looking at that preposterous concoction…”

“Oh, come on! ” you whined, fluttering your eyelashes in a way you know he both loved and hated. “I know it’s not Armani, but you’ll survive a test run with it, right?”

Loki sighed, and then he softly patted the mattress next to him. “You’re lucky you’re so damn adorable…”

“I know. It’s a blessing and a curse for you, isn’t it?”

Having won the first battle, you settled next to him on the bed. Your legs curled up underneath you, and with an innocent smile, you blinked at him once more, a silent request that he drop the final remainder of his illusion. The lightning bolt on his face disappeared with an emerald glimmer, and a playful smirk replaced it.

“Yes, it is. And you’re going to be so very embarrassed if this folderol does actually kill me…”

You carefully pried open the palette and dragged a brush through the creamy, red substance on the palette. “Oh, please. Of all the things that could kill you, it’s not going to be drug-store brand holiday make-up…”

Starting at his forehead, you made gentle strokes against his skin, testing to see how well it absorbed the cream. As expected, it didn’t smear very well, the edges were smudged and uneven. But there was no need to panic just yet - it was still completely fixable. That is, as long as you avoided direct eye contact with him, or else you might become even more flustered than you already were.

Loki’s gaze shifted as you worked, watching either your hands or your face depending on whether you were gathering color or painting his skin. His features were soft, his eyes still dreamy as he watched you work, but you carefully kept your attention towards the task at hand; his attention was like a black hole of colossal proportions, and once you were caught in it, the only thing keeping you from splitting into a million different strands of yourself was Loki himself.

When he realized his alluring good-looks weren’t enough to distract you this time, he switched to a different tactic.

“Darling, do you really expect me to believe that Stark is allowing Miss Potts to paint his face for the party?”

You snorted, expecting nothing less from someone called the God of Mischief. “If Tony knows what’s good for him, he is.”

As you pulled the brush across the bridge of his nose, Loki let out a chuckle and titled his head. “Is that some sort of veiled threat, darling? What happens if I refuse to cooperate with you?”

That little movement was just enough to ruin what might have been a decent brush stroke, and it made you smear crimson down the length of his nose instead of diagonally across his cheek.

“Hey, stop moving!” you gasped and laughed at the same time. “Or you’re gonna wind up looking even more ridiculous!”

“Would it be rude to say that I find that difficult to believe, my love?”

Ignoring his comment, you licked the tips of your finger and swiped it along the edges of the lightning bolt, trying to smooth it out. When the makeup just smeared instead of erasing neatly, a new rush of panic settled in your chest. You licked your finger again and rubbed it harder over his skin, and then you tried using your other, untainted fingers - but all that resulted in was the tips of those digits, and now your tongue, turning the brightest red to have ever existed.

“Something the matter, darling?” Loki asked knowingly, repeating his earlier question. He pursed his lips together, just barely attempting to suppress a vindicated smile as he watched you struggle. “Is the inferior product you insisted upon ruining the homemade look you’d imagined for me?”

Forcing your expression into one of neutrality required a tremendous amount of effort. “Nope. Everything’s going perfectly, my love,” you lied, switching the makeup palette to your other hand. Within seconds, the fingertips of both hands were traitorously stained with the truth.

“Really? You’re absolutely sure about that, darling?” Loki asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he glanced at the make-up palette. “Please correct me if I’m mistaken, but there seems to be more tint on your fingers than what’s left in the container…”

Your face scrunched up in amused frustration, and the unpleasant taste of chemicals and oils now completely coated your tongue. “Mmhmm, this is a…totally normal part of the process.”

His comments were just making everything worse, but you were still determined to see this attempt through to the end. At that point, the makeup palette was discarded entirely and soon became lost within the bed sheets as you pushed yourself up to your knees and shifted closer to him. You took the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it up in a desperate attempt to finally fix the bolt’s outline and salvage your work.

You swiped the soft fabric down the length of his nose, but the make-up must have believed your t-shirt to be a brush, and all you did was push the red deeper into his skin. Silently cursing yourself, you pulled your t-shirt up further and tried to focus on gathering as much color as possible. Secretly though, you prayed that effectively flashing him like this would distract him from making more teasing comments at your expense.

But that didn’t quite work either, and Loki’s chuckle from behind your t-shirt was both leery and leering.

“And now you’ve resorted to seduction as a means of distraction from your lies…” he purred, the sound almost a growl as he brought his hands to your waist. “I’d say our relationship might be having a negative effect on your morality, darling, but you’d be much better at this if it was…”

You were still determined not to let him win, even as a shuddered breath tumbled from your lips. Your heart beat faster in your chest as the entire front of your t-shirt became tinted with red, and your face warmed from the feel of his hands gliding down to your hips.

“It’s fine! It’s fine, Loki. Trust me, I’ve done this a million - ”

“Sweetheart.”

Loki’s voice was kind but firm when he interrupted. He leaned back as he pulled your shirt down, revealing the devastation on his face that your attempts to fix had caused. “Please just admit that you’re not very good at this…”

You gasped and clamped a hand over your mouth. There was red everywhere - in his eyebrows and his eyelashes, across his right cheek and somehow, underneath his chin. The combination of mess on his both serious and amused expression was a horrifying, delightful sight, and you only barely managed to swallow the giggle bubbling in your throat.

Loki arched a suspicious eyebrow. He flicked his wrist and produced a small, handheld mirror with his seidr, and he stared at you expectantly - granting you one final opportunity to come clean, as it were.

“Come on, darling. I will love you no less if you just admit it.”

But you couldn’t; all you could manage was to laugh, cover your eyes and brace for the inevitable as he finally looked at his reflection.

“This is absolutely marvelous, darling,” he finally replied in a wry tone of voice.

You shook while trying to suppress another laugh, but it was all over now. He’d seen the abominable, unskilled attempt at facial decoration you’d left on his skin, and you knew he was never going to let you hear the end of it despite the fact that he was laughing too.

“And you were absolutely right, this is so much better than using magic. Perhaps I should go into battle like this. I could simply frighten our enemies to death…”

You let out a heavy laugh of defeat and let your hands fall to your thighs. You were sure there was probably red make-up smudged all over your own face as well now, but you didn’t care anymore. “Alright, so. Maybe I’m not that great at painting faces…”

“Oh, on the contrary, sweet girl…” Loki chuckled as he tossed the mirror away and pulled you closer, settling you over his lap. He leaned up and nuzzled his nose to yours. “This is impeccable work. Stunning, even…”

“No, stop it! You’re making a mess!” you laughed and tried to look away, but his face followed yours, no doubt just smearing even more make-up all over each other. “Loki! You’re ruining all of my hard work!”

His arms tightened around you. He began to kiss and nip at your jaw, your nose, your neck. “Or am I making it more authentic? Did you ever think about that, darling?”

Resigning yourself to retaliation at Loki’s level, you matched his every kiss and nip with another to his jaw, his nose, his neck. He let out an encouraging chuckle and cupped your jaw with his hands, angling your face properly to his. When your lips finally met, he let out a soft hum, and then his kiss shifted into one of reassurance.

Your arms slid around his neck as he leaned back against the headboard. His lips moved slowly and tenderly as he held you close to his chest, and they said everything that you needed to know. This was okay, he was okay. Aside from a few errant, washable streaks of crimson on his face, nothing real was actually amiss here.

He may have been teasing you before, but he was also loving you. The experiment had yielded far less than stellar results, but that was still okay. A suitable ensemble for the party would be found eventually - or perhaps just better make-up products - and the two of you were still going to have as much fun as someone could have at a corporate holiday party, even if there were a few extra pairs of wandering eyes there.

After another moment or two, the kiss broke naturally. You let out a slow breath and pressed your forehead to his. “Alright, I fully admit that I completely suck at face-painting. We don’t have to go down that route…”

Loki smiled and nodded. A glimmering wash of emerald erased any evidence of red from all skin and clothing. “Yes, I’m quite certain that we can come up with something else…”

By revealing his mortal partner to the world, you’d hoped it would soften the rough edges of Loki that his detractors wanted to keep illuminated underneath a hateful microscope. You’d wanted to protect him, to make his life simpler, to possibly ease his troubled integration on the planet he’d once tried to subjugate.

But the relaxed smile on his lips told you that he didn’t need you to do any of those things. Loki was from the stars, yes, but he only ever clung to one specific thing. He may have come from on high, his perspective and past experiences originating from a millennia away from yours, but he was still here, looking at you. Loving only you.

You were his, and he was yours. No amount of criticism, or any blades held to his throat, or cruel darts thrown at his loving eyes were ever going to avert his gaze. They could make him climb mountains on mountains to get to you, but as long as there were sunbirds to soar back down with, then it was all worth it, wasn’t it?

Your hands slid into his hair, gently tangling themselves within his dark curls. Your eyes roamed slowly over his angular features and icy blue eyes, admiring the planes of his cheekbones and the true depth of his gaze that simultaneously showcased both the wide expanse of outer space and your own reflection within his irises.

Loki was timeless. He was broken and hopeful, grateful and almost too intelligent to not know better. He was pensive, and he understood light and dark better than anyone else you’d ever met. The noir shadows of his heart were what had initially drawn you in, but the hidden brilliance of his glowing soul was what had made you stay.

A new idea coalesced inside your heart, and you settled your hips to his with a sly grin. “Are you by any chance familiar with my favorite David Bowie persona?”

Loki smiled again, but this time he shook his head. “Are you really only telling me now that the Space Oddity himself is not your favorite persona of his?” he murmured curiously.

You bit your lip and reached for your laptop on the nightstand, eager to introduce him to something brand new once more.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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sleepy-grav3 · 7 months ago

Text

The End of Legacies

DCxDP

A/n: Random idea that passed through my mind. It's not good in my opinion, but only because I wanted it to be more dramatic but didn't have the motivation to.

Summary: Danny made Bruce keep his no-killing rule until he's done preparing for Joker's ghost. The day he was ready finally came.

Tw: Murder, swears, canonical death and torture, maybe more.

Ghost King Danny; Danny and Bruce think of each other as brothers; Danny also has an adoption habit; Danny is also Hourglass (Clockwork's apprentice)

Bruce loves his kids. And The Joker is the biggest risk to them. The monster was the reason for their fragile bond.

He's tried to kill him before. He's revived him before. He's treated him before.

He hates it. And he hates that he can't tell his children why at the risk of prolonging this horrendous creature that was no longer human.

And he'd known this would happen. He's been told it long ago by a ghost who had made him swear that the Joker will live until he gives the word.

It's been 2 decades since then and Bruce almost wishes that he was selfish enough to risk the multi-verse for the sake of his children's peace of mind and even soul.

Bruce knew that Jason's Pit Rage wouldn't be fully gone until he killed the Joker. That's what Revenants need to live a peaceful undead life.

Bruce knew that Dick and Damian would never trust him unless he broke his rule for the family. Until then, Batman was above them in his list of priorities. He hates that it's somewhat true.

Bruce knew that none of them would ever feel even the slightest bit safe with that fucking thing alive.

But he couldn't end it. Not yet.

And he remembered that day where his rule became an obligation and not a personal mercy.

It was a random day. Gray sky, just a bit darker than usual. Batman was out as normal, still at the start of his nightly career, when a light came towards him. He recognized that light.

Phantom.

He went to WE's rooftop and stood there, waiting for Phantom. It wasn't long until the half-ghost joined him.

"Phantom. What are you doing here?"

If it were any other hero, he'd be more assertive, more territorial. But this was Phantom. A 17 year old boy who acted as a diplomat due to his kingly status and was planning on going to college rather than spend his time as a vigilante.

He was a kid and he knew better than to mess with Gotham without insider knowledge and experience.

Phantom gave a smile that came off more as a grimace. It made Batman tense.

"I don't come to you as Phantom, but as Hourglass, the apprentice of the Master of Time. And I must have you swear an oath to follow your rule until the time comes."

"Can you expand on that?"

Pha- Hourglass nodded.

"As of now, an actual joke. As of later, a monster unnamed. The Joker will grow to become so malicious that I as King must make preparations for his arrival to the Realms. Ending him now will not stop the travesties from occurring. Waiting will at least allow for all of Gotham to renew."

Danny pursed his lips.

"I could give you the prophecy and the only warning I am allowed to give if you wish. But know this, Detective. In hearing, you will become Odysseus, Cassandra, and Zeus. Only later will you understand. Do you still wish for me to relay it?"

[ Bruce remembered this moment. He remembered his answer and how much pain it brought upon realization. He wished he refused. He wished he wasn't so prideful to think that he could've prevented it all from happening. ]

"Yes."

Hourglass nodded.

"The first will oversee."

Dick was the first Robin. He was the only one who made it but wasn't unscathed. He regretted allowing Robin to be a curse.

"The second shall fall."

Jason was the second Robin and died because of it.

"The third shall become the first and the who knows will be the next."

Tim was the third Robin. He was the first to survive Joker's torture from the family's victims. Bruce didn't realize that Tim knew he'd be the next Joker until he had an intense relapse where his contingencies for JJ came to light.

"The fourth shall fall."

Steph was the fourth Robin. She had died, but not by The Joker's hands.

"The fifth shall mourn and chase."

Tim was technically also the fifth when he returned. He lost so many people in such a short amount of time before going on a chase after Bruce.

"The honorary sixth will rule until the day gains the sun."

Duke was the honorary sixth along with many others through the We Are Robin movement.

"The seventh bathed in blood."

Damian was the seventh Robin. He's his biological son from an assassin family. He's plagued by his mother's side of his family, chased after and forever fearing the end of normalcy.

"The eighth shall meet the stars that burn and freeze."

Jarro was technically the eighth Robin. He had seen many things out in space and Bruce knows that he didn't share it all when he visits.

Hourglass finished off and Danny looked at him with sadness in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

"None of it will be your fault. Let me handle things here. He's my responsibility."

Danny nodded and then smiled softly.

"On another note. When you see the girl, come visit me. You'll know which one later on."

Bruce would visit Danny, especially on the days the realization sank in and all was done.

Danny had made a life since then. He remains a last resort for the Justice League, a counselor of the dead side of things, the official King of the Realms, and a father of 3 children: Billy Batson, Ace, and Kon.

Bruce considers him a brother due to their close enough age, ignoring the 8 year gap. So he was also an uncle and a son. He was oh so thankful to be privy to Alfred's immortality due to an apparent adventure that nobody knew about because no time had passed while he was on it.

But he still waited for the day Danny would visit. The day he could introduce him to his children as their uncle. To have a full family dinner. To have the nightmare end.

It yet another random day that Phantom had come to him. He was in his office in the manor, doing some paperwork for WE for Tim due to him having an intense migraine.

It was out of nowhere when the ghost literally tumbled in. He flew through the door but flew back in the room during Bruce's moment of shock.

"I finished! The preparations for the bastard is done!"

Bruce rapidly blinked, trying to process it. He could hardly believe it. This wasn't some sick joke, Danny would never do that to him. He wasn't mind controlled either, his eyes would give it away no matter what method was used.

Bruce couldn't hold back the tears or the loud sobs. Danny detransformed and hugged him tightly, letting Bruce cry his heart out on Danny's chest as he remained in his seat.

Alfred came to check on them and upon seeing Danny, he sheds a few tears.

That night, Bruce had gathered everyone. They were shocked to see Raven, Supernova (Kon), Captain Marvel, and Phantom there.

"What threat is there that we need even Captain Marvel and Phantom's assistance, Father?"

"And why isn't this a League meeting? I mean sure, the bats and birds are definitely better than them, but still." Steph questioned.

"I'd also like to know that." Helena and Jason both huffed/scoffed.

Bruce took a breath.

"Tonight, there will be another breakout. However, this one will be different. Tonight, The Joker will die by my hands."

"WHOA!"

"WHAT?!"

"BRUCE?????"

"Holy shit-"

"He's a clone-"

"Imposter!"

The guests only glanced at each other before focusing back on the chaos. Captain Marvel was the one to silence them by stepping forward with a raised hand.

"So, you guys must all be confused. Before we explain, I'll have you all know that Batman is the real Batman. None of us have been influence by anything either. Phantom?"

"Right." Phantom flew over to sit on Batman's shoulder, there was no weight for him to be concerned about Batman complaining to him later. "20 years ago, I came to Batman and told him that the Joker would become so evil that I had to make preparations for his death. And until then, The Joker shouldn't be killed. Otherwise, he'd reek terror upon the multi-verse."

Phantom smiled sympathetically down at Batman.

"I'm sure he hasn't told any of you this to not have you pressure me into hurrying what was already being hurried, in which, would only prolong the time to Joker's End. Please don't blame Bruce and understand that he truly does love you all and suffered knowing that if he killed or irreversibly harmed the rogue early, you would all still suffer the same fates but without any kind of avenging. In addition to that, many people would've not had the opportunity to be redeemed, created, and more."

Silence. The cave was silent at what Phantom had admitted. Jason was ready to just leave, Dick was ready to explode with betrayal, Babs was in shock, Tim and Damian understood fully, Cass also understood but was still hurt, Helena muttered an 'of course he did', and Duke was more than heartbroken.

Phantom eventually sighed and got off of Bruce's shoulder.

"We have 15 minutes until the breakout happens. Batman?"

Plans were made that night.

The night that Phantom, Captain Marvel, Raven, and Supernova had gathered in Gotham to handle Joker's ghost on the mortal Realm. On the other side, Phantasm (Dani), Wraith (Dan), Ace, Zatanna, and Constantine waited for the monster to come and dealt with him accordingly.

The Joker went out with a blast by Batman's hands, just like he wanted.

But he will not know eternity in peace. He will be tortured by the victims he killed and the ones he didn't for all of time until they got bored of him. And on that day, Danny will end him forever.

This is the end of The Joker. He will not rise again.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #the joker isn't human anymore #he's an acclimation of curses and malicious energy #people fear him so much that his ghost will be on par with an Ancient #danny made bruce keep his rule because Joker will be too strong otherwise #bruce loves his kids #ace is a girl joker tortured and bruce had stayed with her until she died #ace is a canonical character search her up #Danny adopts billy ace and kon

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padfootagain · 7 months ago

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Love in Verses (XXXIV)

Chapter 34 : ‘One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! I would advise you all to read this while being seated, and preferably when you can freely scream like a banshee :)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2015

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

Vincent Van Gogh

You stared at your reflection in the mirror.

What were you doing with your life?

The wedding was in 24 hours. There was a rehearsal, some of the guests were invited, including you, of course. Andrew was coming too. You hadn’t talked that much about today, about what would happen tomorrow, about Sam and Frank getting married.

You didn’t want to think about it too much. You wanted to forget it all. You wanted…

What did you want?

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, at how you looked in your sundress, at how hard you had tried to look pretty. What was the point?

When you closed your eyes, imagined the man you wanted, there were two faces appearing before you. Frank and Andrew.

But then again, it wasn’t Frank. It was a wedding dress you had seen in a shop once that you dreamt of wearing. It was your apartment filled with his belongings. It was the ring he had put on your finger. It was the home you had imagined to build with him one day.

Andrew was there though. His hazel eyes, his long curls falling all the way to his shoulders, his sharp jaw and cheekbones, the beard that coloured his face. His hands. His voice. His mouth. His lips. Him…

You opened your eyes, walked out of your bedroom, of your hallway, into the living room. You were pacing, thinking hard…

Andrew… Frank…

Frank was with Samantha. He didn’t even want you. But you could tell him how you felt and have no regrets. Even if he pushed you away, you would have no regrets, you would have told him the truth that you still…

… Was it the truth that you still loved him?

Andrew was falling for another woman. He didn’t even want you either! But you could tell him how you felt too. You could tell him that you dreamt of his kisses, of his lips on you, that you never felt safer than whenever he was near, that you cared so much about him… You could tell him the truth…

… Was it the truth that you liked him?

You stopped your pacing as your eyes landed on two books sitting side by side on your coffee table.

The Divine Comedy.

Death of a Naturalist.

Frank held the life you had dreamt of for years.

Andrew was the only one who could understand you so deeply.

What would you do?

What would you do…?

Sam and Frank were glowing with happiness.

They seemed so happy, so perfect.

You took your place in the church, right behind Frank’s family. Andrew was sitting on the other side of the aisle, looking dashing. Grey suit. White shirt. Hair only partially tied. He wore his glasses, looked so soft like this. You wanted to cross the distance between the two of you, hold him in your arms, never let go…

“Y/N!”

Frank grinned while Sam was getting ready to rehearse her entrance, and he hurried towards you.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

You smiled up at him.

“I’m glad too. You look so happy.”

“I’m terrified. But you… you’re gorgeous today.”

You glanced at your sundress, the one you had chosen for today. And then you thought back about your green dress, the one you had bought to impress him, that you had worn at the party, the one you claimed was for Frank. You knew the second you tried those dresses on that Frank would like the black one better…

… but Andrew preferred green.

“Thank you.”

What were you doing? What would you do after the ceremony tomorrow?

“Alright, let’s start!” Frank grinned, taking his place by the altar.

You weren’t sure whether it was common to rehearse in the very church where you would be married, but then you weren’t certain whether it was common to rehearse at all. You knew it was possible, but nothing beyond that. Frank had pushed back the wedding, you had never reached that stage of being engaged: the actual planning of it, the bickering over cakes and caterers and flowers, renting a venue…

You had been engaged, but beyond a ring and a promise rendered empty by its breaking, what did you have?

And if you loved someone else, if you chose to move on, would all promises be broken again? Was your heart truly condemned to being forever shattered?

You felt someone’s stare on you, turned your head in that direction. Andrew’s eyes were more brownish in this dimly lit church. You couldn’t read through him. He was staring, but you didn’t know what that stare meant.

Every breath had an echo in a church like this, high vaulting and thick stony walls. You could feel the weight of it on your shoulders, of the paintings of crucifixion on the walls, of the large cross hanging above the altar, of the very pillars of stone. When she walked inside, Sam’s steps echoed so loudly, the rhythm of her high heels was painful, like daggers piercing your heart.

You watched her, looking away from Andrew, and he did the same, like everyone else in the room. She was dressed casually, and was obviously nervous but still, she was smiling, her steps unwavering. She was staring at Frank, like he was the only person in the building, in the world even.

It should have been you. Looking at him like that. Walking towards him this way. It should have been you…

You couldn’t do it.

Before you could think, your feet were carrying you outside the church. You didn’t pay attention to anyone, so you didn’t realise that the only people who noticed your quiet movements were Frank and Andrew. You didn’t know either that Sam watched as Andrew left.

Outside, the sky was menacing, all dark greys and rolls of an upcoming storm. You didn’t notice that either. You merely walked out of the church, crossed a square of grass, aiming for your car. But then your brain kicked in again.

It could still be you. In that church, taking back your life… if you talked to Frank, if you confessed everything, if you…

“Y/N?”

You spun around. Andrew was standing there, right behind you. You wanted to cry.

“You’re okay?” he asked, voice soft and tender.

You wanted to cry at the sound. At how deep his voice was, at how soothing it sounded, at how safe it made you feel…

“I should tell him everything,” you answered.

“What?”

“Frank. I should tell him everything, try to convince him to be with me.”

Andrew clenched his jaw, closed his fists. There was so much pain in his gaze now.

“Y/N… don’t. There’s no use…”

“But if I talk to him, maybe I can convince him…”

“Why convince him? He’s… he doesn’t care. Y/N, neither of them truly cares about us. They wouldn’t have done any of this if they cared.”

“But…”

“They broke our hearts,” Andrew argued, his voice shaking. “They dumbed us in the cruellest way possible, Sam cheated on me, and then they kept us around, and asked for us to remain friends… Y/N… they don’t care about us. They’re just being selfish.”

“But I want my life back!”

“You have one! You have one, already! And it can be without Frank!”

“It’s the only thing we haven’t tried to break them up… to get the wedding cancelled…”

“Y/N… I’m sorry, but this is becoming ridiculous.”

“It was your idea.”

“I know. I know that. And it was a stupid idea! I was lonely, I was hurt, I was not over Samantha… But they’re in love. It’s crazy, but they’re in love and they seem happy together, and… and I don’t love her. I don’t love her anymore. I don’t want her anymore…”

“Well, good for you if you’ve moved on, but I haven’t!”

Andrew stared at you, blinking behind his glasses. You were surprised to find pain in his hazel eyes. He was opening and closing his fists repeatedly, and then his hand moved up to rub at his collarbone too hard, until his skin was a bright shade of red.

“Y/N… we need to move on. We need to move on, and let them be. I know this is hard, but…”

“You don’t understand, Andy! We were supposed to get married! I am the one who should be rehearsing for my ceremony right now!”

“I know…”

“This should be my life!”

“It doesn’t mean that your life is not going to be just as happy as Sam’s! You’ll get over him. You’ll suffer, and you’ll hate him, and perhaps you’ll forgive him at one point, but in the end you’ll move on. You need to move on…”

“I can’t believe you are the one telling me this. Since when have you moved on, huh?”

Andrew remained silent, while you were raising your voice more and more with every word that passed the barrier of your lips.

“You claim that you don’t love her anymore! That you’re fine! That you’re over her! That you want someone else…”

“I do want someone else.”

“Yeah? And who is the mysterious girl then? Cause you’ve been talking about her for weeks, and I don’t see anyone with you now! You’re not bringing a plus one either! So where is this woman you want to take on a date?!”

You were surprised when he remained silent, when he didn’t defend himself. Instead, he took a step closer.

He was staring at you with so much intensity that you found yourself slightly trembling. You couldn’t look away, found yourself trapped in the hazel of his eyes. It wasn’t raining, but the sky was grey, and under this light, his irises looked almost entirely brown, like earth right after the rain.

He took a trembling intake of breath, before finally offering an answer; one that you weren’t expecting, that knocked all the air out of your lungs. His voice was fragile, made deeper than usual by emotions.

“She’s standing right in front of me.”

Your lips parted in shock, and you couldn’t understand, couldn’t register in your brain what he meant…

“I… I understand that you’re not over your ex. It’s alright. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll wait until you feel ready to date someone else. But I did move on, Y/N. I’ve moved on thanks to you. I’ve moved on for you.”

He shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets. A rather long silence followed, perhaps because he was waiting for you to speak, but you were too stunned to summon any logical thought, let alone a coherent sentence.

“You can’t be with Frank, Y/N,” he said at long last, voice still calm and soft. “He’s in love with someone else. And… maybe that’s alright. Maybe it’s for the best. You just need some time, and I’m willing to wait. I’ll wait for as long as you need. But don’t doubt me when I say that I’ve moved on, that I would turn Samantha down even if I could get her back. You’re the one I want to kiss right now, not her.”

He took one of his hands out of his pocket, and slowly moved to brush his fingers against yours. He didn’t take your hand, and you didn’t hold his either. You let him brush his knuckles against yours, though.

“It’s over, Y/N. They’re getting married, and I won’t try to stop them. I don’t want to stop them. I want you.”

All you could do was blink up at him. He gave you a strange smile, one that withheld both sadness and hope.

“I hope one day, when you’re ready, you can want me too.”

You were trying to put your brain back to work, but then Andrew was turning around, and walking away, back to the church you had left.

You watched him walk until he opened the door and disappeared inside. And you kept on staring when there was nothing left to see but the tired paint of the wooden door.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #hozier fic #hozier x fem!reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #writing

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yasuumiu · 2 months ago

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𝑶𝑵𝑪𝑬, his heart whole; ᘓ ݂ ໋ . 🍎

SYNOPSIS. his entire life, he’s never looked away from you. how do you not see this; how can you not know? what must he do to make you see?

WORD COUNT. 3.2k | WARNINGS. cunnilingus, use of pet names, angst.

𓏲 .⋆ﾟ. ͘ ࣭⠀⸰ absolutely devastated by this pixelated man, and cannot form any coherent thoughts except this. enjoy 🤍

This is what it will be like from now on, he thinks. Me here, and her over there, far away from me, a place I can never reach. Two lines parallel to each other, where before was one.

Fine by him. If he gets to look over you, after you, the separation is bearable. Distinguishable, like an arm losing feeling over time when all its life it’s known otherwise, like his arm—the hand relaxes the unconscious fist, its fingers flexing once, his jaw clenching at the numbness of the movement; he clearly remembers, not too long ago—he wants to remember, he wants—but bearable.

Your necklace scrapes against his chest, the constant reminder, the gift that haunts, the promise he can never break. And still, you—you, you, you—beyond the glass, laughing away with these so-called friends you haven’t seen in a while, not a care in the world about what time it is, about the unanswered calls on your phone, about Caleb—

(He does not let this thought fester like all the others, he will keep this to himself, he will do this for you.) (One of them is a man, don’t move, stay, she’ll get mad, she’ll demand fucking space again—how do you know him, where did you meet, who is he, what does he want—well, what every man wants, what everyone will want if he’s not there to keep you safe—how can you be so naive, so blind—and you dare order him away?)

You’re all grown up now, and so sure of everything, aren’t you, pip-squeak?

He’s sick to his stomach. Even after all these years, the countless sleepless nights tossing and turning, insomnia beating on his skull like a well versed drum, the relentless self-training; teaching himself how to physically turn away from you, all the appropriate responses, but forbidden to cross the Invisible Line, the line that was kept in place for your sake, your selfish convenience; how to keep himself stock-still, to pretend to be normal for you, to not reply instinctually to what he feels for you, how he feels—it all threatens to obliterate him as soon as he loses even an ounce of control.

Shove it down. Shove.It.Down. You’re used to it. You cannot fail now. You cannot fail.

Caleb straightens, his resolve absolute, his purpose unshaken. It’s pitiful, he’s well aware, but it’s all he has left. You’re all he has left. The body holding together knows.

He scorched the earth to find all your missing pieces, slowly reassembling how he knew you before, without thinking you might’ve changed in the time between then and after. And it doesn’t matter. He never once looks away from you. He does it all very, very diligently. And if something is wrong, if he did do something wrong—will you please consider forgiving him? You see, he’s tired. He’s been doing this for a really long time. Over and over with no end in sight.

I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.

Never faltering.

It’s okay if you’ve forgotten. I’ll remind you. I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.

You won’t be alone anymore. I’ll always be by your side.

It’s okay if you’ve forgotten . . . It’s okay.

I’m Caleb.

I forget things too. Everything, sometimes.

You’re the only thing that brings him back. The anchor that pulls him in. His very own navigation system. He doesn’t go anywhere without you. He can’t.

He hides, instead. Watches from afar. That way, you never part from him, and he can keep an eye on you, just how it’s always been. He keeps his hands very close to himself, and he doesn’t dare want any more than he’s allowed to. What happened a few minutes ago—it’s erased, discarded somewhere deep within him, somewhere he’d have to die to reach.

The coffee shop’s door opens, and the sun comes out, burning. You don’t notice him, not at first. This way, he gets to see you happy a little while longer. The friendly way you say your goodbyes, the soft wave of your hand, your mouth, how it pulls at the corners, how the clouds have moved, how concepts like redemption and salvation become a little more real, a little more possible for someone like him.

Do you know—the Heavens come down for you? And him, forever the snake, forever the apple given, slithering towards the Garden of Eden, condemned to entice but never taste, the original sin, punished to come close but not close enough, exiled, accursed.

He fills with desire, he prays. He speaks your name very quietly, and he hopes, and he waits.

When your eyes meet his own, it’s the Chronorift Catastrophe all over again. Massive stars die, their cores collapsing, the gravity immense, the density so high not even light can escape it. Black holes are born out of his Evol—the world caves in on itself. You blink and it happens again. Caleb has no control over it. Over himself, over this unspoken thing between you that’s been happening ever since creation.

Reprogram. Reprogram.

The man hugs you, unaware. Caleb can’t fault him, funnily enough, though it takes everything he fucking has not to answer to the nasty tightening of familiar jealousy inside his chest. Lightning courses through his veins, fingers begging to destroy, to bleed, to make an even bigger mess of things.

No.

He refuses adamantly, and moves his head to the side, severing all contact with you and your dangerous gaze, choosing to bite his tongue until he tastes copper, and ground himself to the cement underneath his boots.

He wants to grab you and shake you and demand. He doesn’t suppose you know what that means. He doesn’t know either. He knows so little about you these days, it seems. Much less about himself, and all this distance you’ve put between you. The unfairness isn’t lost on him. What is he doing here, waiting like this, when you’ve so easily moved on? If he had never glimpsed into that little window of your life today, would he have even known?

That there’s no value to his life anymore? That he signed it all away for the safety of a girl that puts her life in danger so easily, so recklessly, at every possible turn? What will it take to make you realize the evil lurking two steps behind at all times, and what if he’s not there when it decides— What does he have to do?

What more? What else?

Anger. Tap into it. It’s safer. It’s what you have. Copious fucking amounts of it.

He doesn’t see the way you don’t react to the man’s advances. How you hesitate after that. How sorry you are.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Caleb deflects. Puts on that see-through smile you hate the most, his amethyst eyes glinting with secrets and artificial sweetness. It’s getting harder to pretend, much harder to play the convincing role and keep the circus going. He attempts it anyway, even with the look you’re giving him. Against it.

“Not long,” he lies, and motions for you to follow. “It’s late. Did your phone die, or something?”

You lie too. “Yeah, sorry, were you calling? Forgot to charge it, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

Then, “How’d you know where I was, anyway?”

He doesn’t reply. You huff and slow down your steps. Caleb shuts his eyes tight for a second, breathing deeply, fighting multiple urges. This is already going terribly. He was only supposed to pick you up and bring you home. Ask if you had fun and deliver you to your room, where you were to stay for the rest of the night. It’s never easy with you. It will never be.

“Caleb.”

“Pip-squeak.”

“Answer me.”

He swallows with difficulty and resumes walking, fists at his sides. He doesn’t hear your footsteps trailing, but he does not stop. You’ve been stubborn all your life, but so has he. There is nothing wrong with having a way to know where you are. It is his job. His top priority. You can’t possibly be mad, especially with the way you’ve been acting. He can’t have you venture too far off by yourself. Not when he’s so close . . .

“Get in the car,” he says firmly, opening the door for you.

There’s fire crackling in your eyes. He’s seen it a million times. He’s wished to light himself on it, hand outstretched, a willing sacrifice for you. What will you say now, if he offered that same hand? Would you recognize the wrongness of it? Would you stomp your foot how you did when you were little, the whole world at your beck and call because he made it be so? Would you carry him back like he did?

“Is that the Colonel’s order?” your voice is full of the same emotion that governs him. It pierces through all defenses and lands straight through his heart. A clean shot.

He finds the damn thing still beating.

Caleb sighs and leans against the door of his vehicle, arms crossing one over the other. You mimic his stance. He smirks at you, feigning amusement, terrified inside.

“You already know the answer, sweetheart.”

“I want to hear you say it,” you retort, and he can’t stand the disappointment in your voice.

He ignores the very prominent tug of pure shame, and puts the fleet’s officer cap of indifference on for a little longer. “What do you want me to say?”

“That this is insane! That it cannot possibly go on.” You move faster than he anticipates, your small hands shoving at him with all your might yet failing to move even an inch of him. You try anyway. Again and again, until your eyes are wet, and your cheeks red with fury. He lets you, does nothing to stop you.

Not even when there’s people passing by, their accusatory glances messing with his already quickening temper. You can do whatever you want to him, but he cannot let you tarnish your reputation as a hunter for something as trivial as this. He won’t accept it.

“I’m taking you home. You can be mad all you want there.”

The silence that ensues makes him wish for a second death. A slow, painful one. One he can never come back from.

Because he’s responsible for this mistrust, this suspicion you won’t seem to shake off. He caused it, it’s his fault, his fault, his fault—

No matter how hard he tries to fix it. It’s beyond repair.

You’re leaving.

First thing in the morning. This was clearly a mistake, you tell him while slamming your suitcase open on his floor. He watches you do so, disgusted with despair. I’m not sure what I was thinking, clothes on his bed, shoes by his front entrance, your brush on his sink, your hand tearing apart whatever semblance of a man he scrambled to come up with to appease you.

My Caleb is gone.

He lunges towards you, your gasp the only indication of fear; he knew, of course he knew. You were afraid of this new version of him. The version that somehow commands an entire fleet, goes on classified missions that go against everything you’ve worked for as a Hunter, and keeps secrets from the same someone he used to sing lullabies to during bad summer storms. The version that would lock her inside a stranger’s room, inside a stranger’s house.

But really, wasn’t he always like this? The signs were there all along. He’d locked you in the attic before. He’d kept you there all day, knowing very well how you’d react, how you’d run to him after the coincidental rescue, declare him the hero. This darkness has been inside him for a long time. You’ve just been very good at looking the other way, very good at taking, not so very good at giving. Are you, pip-squeak?

When I don’t fit your definition of who ‘Caleb’ is, you simply shun me away and wipe your hands clean of me. I’m the one stuck here. Astute. Unable to move. Unable to let you go.

It ends here.

Your wrist is impossibly small as his fingers wrap around it, yanking, pulling you against his feverish body. You fight but only for a moment, his other hand coming to rest right above your mouth, rendering you mute, eyes wide, expecting, calculating.

“Will I do it?” He muses, violet eyes boring into yours, his desire palpable, his want a thousand knives, all double sided, honed for the perfect kill. You breathe deeply, trying to calm down that beating heart he so envies. Caleb leans further, hovering over you like a nightmare. “Will you let me, (Y/N)?”

You shake your head slightly, your brows furrowing with poignant emotion. Sadness. Towards what? Him? He can’t help but chuckle at the clueless girl in front of him. How he fought to stay the kindhearted boy from your childhood, at least in your eyes. He would’ve kept with the facade all his years, if it meant you’d always look at him with that proud expression he remembers from his college days. If it was truly up to him, you would’ve never seen him like this.

Alas, it was never up to him. Not once. Not ever.

“I must be pretty fucking pathetic to you, isn’t that right?”

Your gaze shatters and drops. Caleb presses on, fed up with himself, the self-loathing successfully managing to escape that dark pit at the bottom of his soul.

“What game are we playing now, pip-squeak? How do I win it?” He tilts your chin up, forcing your attention back on him. “Hmm?”

Seeing you cry will never get easier for him. It will always stab at him from the inside out, memories cataclysmic, and him, defenseless, useless, responsible, because—because—

“There was never any game, Caleb,” you breathe out, shakily. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Amethyst eyes lose the eternal fight, fall closed. His hands move, over your neck, hesitating there, tightening on your shoulders, bringing you close, holding you to him. Even like this. At least you’re here. Even like this.

“Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“My name. Say it again.”

He feels your ribs, their inhale, then the defeat—your head against his uniform-clad chest, your ear pressing closer, trying to listen for something that hasn’t worked right in a long time.

“Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb . . .” In the dead of night, he’s resurrected. “Come back to me,” a whisper of singular light that pierces through him, pierces through him, pierces through him.

It hurts. His love is not a good love, it is a violent one. A miserable existence, created from pain, from insatiable greed, from gut-wrenching need.

He kisses you. Grabs your face and walks you backwards to the nearest wall, his fingers buried deep in your hair, clenching, his mouth over yours, claiming, searching, your breath his own, your voice his own, your body, your body—

“You’re mine,” he rasps, drowning in you, lips trailing a path down, down, to your throat, where he sucks, where he marks. “You’ve always been, you’ll always be.”

“I don’t need you to—”

Caleb chuckles darkly. “You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” His feeling hand crawls over your flaming skin, reaching between you, under your skirt, your thigh, the inside of it, the place he’s been dreaming about, touching there. You cry out, surprised, aroused. “Tell me exactly what you don’t need, honey. Don’t leave nothing out.”

You say nothing, embarrassment flushing your pretty face in pinks. He wipes your tears very patiently, and slowly gets on one knee, then the other, until he’s kneeling in front of you, and isn’t that a sort of christening as well?

A man demolished, over six feet who-the-fuck-cares, commanding officer of nothing, exiled from his land, turned away from his home. He lost you, and then found you, and now again, this impossible story of repetition that shall never end, like the nightmares, like the torment.

He hugs your legs and rests his forehead on your soft mound. You stand very still, he doesn’t even think you’re breathing. This makes no sense to you. But to him—to him—

You’re sacred. You’re the war that’s raging on. The war he’s fighting for. The country he protects, the nation he serves.

“We’re too old for games, pip-squeak,” he ignores the ball forming in his throat, his burning eyes. “I’m tired.”

Caleb feels your digits digging into his scalp, running through his ragged hair, pulling at the ends, alleviating the pain. He swallows as to not cry out his hunger. The ache, though, it persists, and what to do with it?

It gnaws at him, little by little, every single day.

“It’s different now,” you say. “We’re different.”

He sinks his nose into your warm cunt, and inhales. Your knees buckle, but he holds you, he steadies you against the wall, he’s got you. You try to push, but he grabs your hand, interlocks your fingers with his. You try to speak, but he’s already pushing your underwear to the side, tongue daring to taste.

“Caleb.”

Moaning his name, he’s never heard of anything more beautiful. He wishes you never stop, wishes it more than anything. He almost breaks down right there. This is never going to happen again.

Is he dreaming? Is this a dream?

If it is—

“Don’t leave me,” he guides your leg over his shoulder, and doesn’t dare look up to see your face. You’re willing in his hands and you’re muttering his name. It’s more than enough. It’s everything. “My God, I’ll never forget this—”

You’re so compliant, he could do anything he wanted with you. All the fight had left your body. Was it even there to begin with? He knew you felt it too, he knew—then why condemn you both? Then why deny it?

Caleb didn’t stop believing once. There was no doubt in his mind.

“Please, I can’t,” you sigh, your words jumbled, blurring into one another, while his tongue sucks your clit into his mouth. The reaction he elicits out of you has him rock hard and leaking instantly. “Please, please, please, please. Caleb, I—oh my God—”

He works you up until the edge, feels your thighs shaking, feels the urgency of your fingers pulling. When you’re almost there, he moves away—your slick dripping, his chin glistening—and gets up, in all his height, gaze locking into yours.

You haven’t let go of his hand. He can’t feel a fucking thing.

A new wave of anger suddenly washing over him, he leans down and bites your lip. Your yelp gratifies the hankering inside him. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he only means for you to experience an ounce of what he does every time his body denies him your delicate touch.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he whispers into the dark. “I never thought it possible, only a dream,” he brings you closer once again, hugging you to him as if he could somehow absorb you in on himself.

He senses the change in your demeanor immediately. This shy girl standing in front of him is nothing like the tough Hunter he witnessed infiltrating his fleet single-handedly. For you to be different with him, alone—he feels normal again, if just for a second.

“Have you . . . done this before?” You ask.

Caleb can’t help but laugh. “How could I?” He replies, incredulous. “There’s never been anyone else for me.

“You occupy every single fucking part of me, sweetheart.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads #lads caleb #lnds caleb #lads boys #caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #caleb lads smut #caleb x you #lads mc #lads smut #caleb xia smut

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wheels-of-despair · 6 months ago

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Home Alone Together Pairing: Ralph Penbury x You Summary: When Ralph's family left to spend Christmas in Paris, they forgot one thing: Ralph! Good thing you're there to take care of him! Words: 12k

Note: As you probably suspected from the title and ripped off tagline, this is inspired by Home Alone. It is a one-shot, and not connected to my Worth It-verse. The reader is an adventurous young lady who happens to be the caretaker's daughter. Don't think too deeply on it. Just have a fun Christmas adventure alone in a big house with a pretty boy and a pair of uninvited guests who deserve what's coming to them.

The Penburys are spending Christmas in Paris.

Once upon a time, the entire family would gather at their country estate for the holidays. Penbury Manor was always beautifully decorated, with red and green and gold and ribbons and bows and countless Christmas trees all throughout the house.

Ralph Penbury quite enjoyed that as a child.

But as Ralph and his twin sister Victoria grew, Penbury Christmases changed. Their father passed away, and their mother began spending most of her time traveling and dallying with much younger men. Their cousins had grown up to have homes and families of their own, and no longer came to visit for the holidays.

You'd think that with the family branching out like that, Penbury Christmases would become smaller and smaller. It was quite the opposite, really. After leaving school, Victoria found that she couldn't function without her ten best girlfriends at her side, and a houseful of strangers to keep them all entertained.

Life was one big never-ending party for Victoria Penbury, but her twin brother Ralph often found himself feeling lonely. There were always loads of people around, sure, but could any of them be truly considered a friend? Did any of them know anything about him, other than the fact that he was a Penbury and would surely foot the bill?

Two weeks ago, Mother sent a telegram inviting the twins to Paris for Christmas, to meet her new beau. Victoria had squealed with joy and rushed out to shop for new dresses. Ralph was hesitant at first, but eventually warmed to the idea. Surely Mother wouldn't allow Victoria to bring her mob of hangers-on. Perhaps they'd have a nice family holiday for a change. Meaningful conversation! People who mattered! And at the very least, delicious buttery croissants!

And then Victoria decided that since she couldn't bring her entire entourage to Paris, she'd take them to Penbury Manor for a few days. Ralph had always liked the country manor where he spent his summers and Christmases as a child, so he piled into a car and joined the caravan headed for the sprawling estate.

On the first day, he had fun.

On the second, Ralph began to wish he'd stayed in London.

On the third, he locked himself in the library.

On the fourth, Victoria berated him for being a horrid host and demanded that he join everyone for the gift exchange. He put aside his book and reluctantly agreed to join them for dinner and a party in the great hall.

Ralph, as always, felt as though Victoria's friends were merely tolerating his presence. What was wrong with him? Did he frown too much? Was he too intense? Was it obvious that he'd rather be elsewhere?

He hadn't always been this way.

Sometimes Ralph grew sad, remembering the happy person he used to be. He used to love parties and fashion and making friends. And then he fell in love with someone who despised him. The words "get fucked, creepy stalker freak" still echoed through his mind when he thought of her.

Ralph Penbury had loved her with his whole heart, and his whole heart had been shattered when she rejected him. He even tried to join the French Foreign Legion as a distraction, but they didn't want him either. He hid in a hotel until the girl whose name he could not speak and her friends vacated his family's London home. And then he returned to it, a changed man. A broken man. A man who would never love again.

But a man who must still do what his sister demanded, or he would never hear the end of it.

He made an effort to look engaged throughout dinner, and joined the party afterwards. He watched Victoria's guests unwrap gorgeous gifts from a sickeningly expensive shopping spree; trinkets and jewelry and cigars and chocolates and liquors. Ralph almost forgot to be cynical for a moment, while he watched people's faces light up during the opening of the presents.

When the fun began to wind down, someone brought Ralph a rather large box. He was confused. He and Victoria had already exchanged gifts; monogrammed pyjamas of the finest silk that they planned to wear tonight, for their final night at Penbury Manor. They had more presents for each other reserved their real Christmas morning in Paris in a few days. What was this?

"Open it, Ralph!" someone exclaimed.

He looked to Victoria.

"Go on!" she encouraged him.

He untied the bow and removed the lid from the box. He stared downward, unsure of what he was looking at.

"Show us, Ralph!" called out a voice from the crowd.

Ralph reached into the box and pinched what he assumed was the edge of the contraption - some sort of harness, maybe? - and lifted it into the air.

Everyone laughed. Ralph didn't understand. He looked up with a furrowed brow, hoping someone would explain. The crowd's laughter intensified, and once again, he looked to his twin.

"It's an electric belt!" she cackled. "It can stimulate you in ways a woman can't!"

"Or won't!" someone chimed in.

Ralph's head whipped toward the crowd, wondering who said that. What would he do if he found them? He felt his eyes fill with angry tears, and he hated his stupid body for cursing him with this ridiculous reaction.

"Oh, Ralph, don't be so bloody sensitive," Victoria scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "It's all in good fun!"

Ralph dropped the electric belt back into the box, trying not to let his tears fall. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Aren't you going to demonstrate for us?" someone called from the crowd.

"Drop your trousers and show us how it fits!"

"It's the closest thing to a woman's touch you'll ever feel!"

"Treat it right and perhaps it'll love you back!"

The laughter got louder after each comment.

Ralph threw the box and the awful gift to the floor and rushed from the room with tears streaming down his red face. He ran until he couldn't hear the laughter anymore.

Was this the only reason Victoria wanted him to join the party? So she could humiliate him in front of all her friends?

He wished all of these horrible people would just disappear. He never wanted to see their stupid, sneering faces ever again.

Ralph is cold.

He pulls his blanket up to cover his frozen nose, and suddenly his feet feel a chill. He cracks an eye open and glares at the plush duvet that's not doing its job…

But it's not the duvet that belongs on his bed.

Because he's not in his bed.

He's on a sofa in the reading room next to the library, and this blanket is not providing the kind of warmth he needs right now. Why is it so bloody cold? Why has no one stoked the fire? It's completely died down!

Ralph sits up and wraps the blanket around himself, trying to soak up all the heat it can offer through yesterday's clothes.

Wait. Why isn't he in pyjamas? Why isn't he in his bedroom?

Memories of the night before come flooding back, and Ralph's heart sinks. Not only did he receive the most humiliating gift ever given, but he cried about it in front of everyone. How is he supposed to face those people now? He covers his burning face with his frozen hands.

At least one part of his body is warm.

Eventually, Ralph accepts that he can't hide forever. Is it too late for breakfast? He glances at the clock and winces. His grandmother would have his hide for sleeping this late. He'll probably have to fight for scraps at the lunch table at this hour.

Ralph slips his shoes on his frozen feet and trudges down the stairs, blanket still around his shoulders, trying to convince himself that last night wasn't that bad. Perhaps he could laugh it off and pretend he'd purposely given them a show. Or maybe something more exciting had happened since, and no one would even remember the electric belt or the crying boy that no one would ever love.

He braces himself and reaches for the double doors leading to the dining hall, taking a deep breath and pulling them open.

The room is empty.

Not one straggler. Not one plate. Not one crumb.

Even the Christmas decorations are gone.

It's like no one has been here at all.

Ralph hurries through the main floor, checking every room for a sign of life. He finds nothing.

Has his wish come true? Has everyone disappeared?

He walks back up the stairs, determined to check everything. The bedrooms, the bathrooms, the study, the library, the drawing rooms, the billiards room, the attic. What sort of prank is Victoria playing on him?

Ralph decides to start on the far end of the hall. Last night, there was a Christmas tree in front of this window. Now, there's not even a stray pine needle. What the devil has happened to his house?

He peeks into every room, finding no evidence that anyone had been in them at all. All the bedrooms look as pristine as they had when the group arrived. The trees are gone. The hanging mistletoe and the holly bouquets. The candles in the windows.

Baffled, Ralph starts the journey up the attic stairs. Victoria knows that he's feared this place since he was a child, so perhaps this is where she told everyone to hide. Would she be surprised that he came looking for her up here?

Last night, Ralph had hoped to never see any of his guests again… but right now, climbing those steep steps to the dark, drafty attic his cousins used to lock him in, he almost wishes he had someone there with him.

Could Ralph Penbury truly be alone for the first time in his life? At his own request, even? The thought sends a terrible chill up his spine, making him squeeze his eyes shut and pause to grasp the handrail out of fear of falling down those awful stairs.

When the chill passes, Ralph wills his legs to take him to the next step.

Where he collides with something that shrieks.

He's falling, falling.

And someone - or something - is falling with him, down those steep attic stairs.

You feel as though you hit every step on the way down those damned stairs. When you finally come to a stop on the landing, you notice the groaning body next to you. You rise to your knees quickly, wincing at what will surely be a bruise, and check on the person.

Your heart stops when you realize who it is.

Ralph Penbury, the young master of this house.

Your employer.

Well, your father's employer.

You've just thrown your dad's boss down the stairs.

"Mr. Penbury, are you alright?" you ask, fearing the worst.

He opens his big brown eyes and stares, and your stomach flips.

"Who are you?" he asks.

You struggle to remember your name. When you tell it to him, he doesn't react. "The caretaker's daughter," you clarify.

Your father has been the caretaker of Penbury Manor since before you were born. He manages the grounds and the house when the family is not present, which is most of the year. He'd gotten a telephone call a week ago telling him to call in the staff and decorate the manor for Christmas. You walked to the main house this morning, wanting to see it one last time before the staff ripped down all the decorations and headed home for Christmas.

You and your father live in a small cottage on the edge of the property, which is your favorite place in the world. Until tomorrow, probably, when your father is given the sack and you're both tossed out into the street for mangling the man of the house.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask again.

He keeps staring. Does he have a brain injury, you wonder?

"Are you?" he asks, finally.

"A few bruises, but they'll fade," you smile. "Are you hurt? Would you like me to call for a doctor?"

Mr. Penbury shakes his head. You stand, offering him a hand to help him up. He stands without taking it, trying to brush the wrinkles out of his clothes with a rapidly reddening face.

"Where is everyone?" he asks.

"Miss Penbury and her guests left very early this morning," you tell him. "There was a storm, and they didn't want to get snowed in."

"Snow?"

"Lots of it," you confirm.

"When?"

"Now."

"Now?"

You gesture to the window, and he shuffles over to it. Mr. Penbury gasps when he sees everything covered in white. He stays there for a full minute, staring out at rapidly falling flakes. When he turns back around, there's a sad expression on his face.

"They left me?" he asks pitifully.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to," you say quickly. You have no idea if it's true, but the poor man looks utterly heartbroken. "There were a lot of people in your party, getting everyone packed and into cars in the snow was utter chaos."

His brow furrows.

"May I call a car for you?" you offer.

He nods and turns back to the window. You pretend not to hear him sniffle.

You enter the study a few doors down, where the nearest telephone is located, and pick it up. The line is dead. You nearly run into Mr. Penbury again coming out of the room.

"Sorry!" you breathe, narrowly avoiding him. "There's something wrong with the telephone, I'll try downstairs."

Mr. Penbury follows you to the next telephone. After three with no tone, you turn to him with a grimace in the office by the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, sir. The lines must be out of order because of the storm."

What are you supposed to do with him? You can't just leave him here alone. He'd have no idea how to take care of himself. He's probably never stoked his own fire in his life. You also don't really want to walk home in the snow. It's coming down so hard, you couldn't see your hand if you held it out in front of you.

You'll just have to coexist until one - or both of you - can leave.

"The staff cleaned through the night and went home early this morning, while the roads were still passable," you explain. "I stayed behind to finish up a few things, since I live nearby and can walk home when it stops snowing. I'm afraid it's just us, but I can get you anything you need."

An awkward silence fills the room.

And then the lights go out, leaving you in the dark.

You carefully feel your way through the maze of furniture and pull the curtains apart, giving you just enough light to see him hovering by the door.

"What's your favorite room in the house?" you ask, digging through the office in search of a flashlight.

"My what?"

"Your favorite room," you say again, checking the desk drawers. "Your bedroom, a drawing room, one of the lounges?"

"Why?"

"Because that's where you can stay until the storm passes," you explain. He stares at you blankly.

"Why one room?" he asks.

Is it not obvious? You stop your search, gather your thoughts, and explain calmly.

"Mr. Penbury, it takes a full staff to keep all of the fireplaces lit. Since it's just the two of us, we'll stay in one part of the house and focus on keeping it warm there."

He blushes, his face glowing in the gray light.

"The library."

You wince. That's a horrible choice.

"Mr. Penbury, that's a large room with a lot of windows. It'll be quite drafty. Might I suggest something smaller, so it's easier to heat?"

"My bedroom?" he mutters.

"Excellent choice," you smile, resuming your rummaging.

You should've just told him that's where he should go to begin with, but dammit, you can't tell a Penbury what to do. People like this must be gently guided, so they can let themselves believe everything was their idea. You don't spend a lot of time with people like him, but you think you navigated that quite well.

"Aha!" you cry, clicking on a clunky flashlight.

You pull the curtains closed, already feeling the draft from the exposed window, and exit the room. Mr. Penbury follows closely, muttering a "sorry" once or twice when he steps on the back of your heel in the dark. You lead him through the massive estate and into his bedroom. You quickly start a fire, and when it's large enough to provide warmth, you step away and turn around.

He's still hovering by the door.

"I'll take the one next door, if that's alright?" you ask. "So that I'll be near if you need me?"

He nods.

You smile and squeeze by him, lighting another fire in the other bedroom and taking a moment to warm your hands. The staff let the fires die this morning. A chill has crept through the house since, but you haven't really felt it until now.

Tea would be nice.

Your stomach rumbles, and you place a hand on it as if to silence it. You wonder when Mr. Penbury had his last meal… probably dinner last night? You hurry downstairs and fill a basket with food, lugging it back upstairs toward the two warm bedrooms as quickly as you can.

When you reach the last step and move onto the landing, a movement ahead catches your eye. Mr. Penbury has just closed his door. He's been watching for you. You'd hoped to make lunch in your room and present him with something already cooked, but now you're drawn to his door.

"Mr. Penbury?" You knock lightly. "Are you alright? Did you need something?"

The door slowly creaks open to reveal a narrowed eye.

"You left."

"Only briefly," you smile, holding up your basket. "I've brought us lunch. Are you hungry?"

He hesitates, but nods. He steps back and opens the door the rest of the way. Oh? You follow his lead and come into his bedroom, brushing against him when you pass and feeling a blush creep into your cheeks. Stop that. You hurry toward the fire, so you can pretend that's what caused it, busying yourself with the kettle first. Your tea can steep while you cook.

Mr. Penbury sits on the sofa at the foot of his bed and watches your every move. You're annoyingly clumsy under his watchful eye, but you manage to put together a decent meal. Well, at least it's hot. You put the food on plates and hold yours, glancing to the door. Can you go?

Mr. Penbury gets up suddenly, surprising you by clearing off a small bedside table and dragging it toward the fire. He places it between the sofa and the fireplace.

"Please?" he asks, gesturing to the seat next to him.

You smile and rise, putting both plates on your tiny table. You consider sitting on the edge of the sofa and staying as far away as you can, but you don't want to seem rude. You don't want to appear too forward, either. You sit where you can reach the table but not touch him.

You look from your plates to him, and you both hesitate. You feel like something should be said. A prayer? A toast?

You lift your teacup, and he does the same. What do you say?

"To not being alone during the storm of the century?" you smile.

Mr. Penbury smiles back, teacups are sipped from, and lunch is eaten in an almost comfortable silence.

When your plates are empty, you excuse yourself to return them to the kitchen and take care of a few chores. You wind through the house, making sure drapes are closed and doors are locked. The staff goes to great lengths to keep the Penburys warm while they're here, and you worry that he'll find out how drafty this big house really is and think it's your fault.

Your constant movement does little to warm you. When it starts nearing dinnertime, you grab a few extra blankets and bring them to the pair of warm bedrooms who'll have inhabitants. You toss half on the bed you can't wait to fall into tonight, and approach his door.

A knock at the door makes Ralph's heart nearly leap out of his chest. He gets up from the sofa by the fire and drops the blanket he's had on his lap for hours, hurrying toward the door. Things have felt awkward with the caretaker's daughter so far, but Ralph is grateful to have her back. He hates being left alone with his thoughts.

He swings the door open and finds the girl standing there with an armful of blankets.

"I thought you might like a few extra blankets," she smiles. "It's only going to get colder as the evening goes on."

Thank her, his brain screams! Invite her in to warm up! Wrap her in one of those blankets! Make her tea!

"Thank you," Ralph mumbles, reaching for the blankets and promptly dropping one. She leans down to pick it up, re-folds it, and hands it to him. He hugs them to his chest.

"I'm going back to the kitchen to fetch dinner before it gets any darker," she says, her voice like warm honey. "Is there anything particular you'd like tonight? That can be cooked in a bedroom fireplace, I mean?"

He'd watched her create a hot meal out of nothing hours earlier, and been absolutely fascinated. He'd sit quietly and watch her do anything, if she let him.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Ralph shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

"Alright," she smiles. "I'll be back soon."

She turns, and Ralph's spirits sink when he realizes she's leaving him again. He's surprised to find words forming on his tongue.

"C-can I come?" he stutters, mentally kicking himself. He starts to close the door, hoping she hadn't heard, but she turns around and catches him.

"Of course, Mr. Penbury," she smiles. She has the most wonderful smile. Shut up, Ralph! He scurries out of the room and to her side, and she looks down. So does he. He's not wearing shoes. His face burns. "You'll want to dress a bit warmer, Mr. Penbury," she says gently. "It's very cold downstairs."

Ralph returns to his room and contemplates jumping out a window. But he glances back to the girl standing outside, looking kind and understanding and not rolling her eyes or laughing at him. He puts on his shoes and a jumper. He doesn't know what the maid did with his coat when he arrived.

He walks toward her, but before he can exit the room, she enters. He freezes. She shakes out one of the blankets she'd brought him and wraps it around his shoulders. Her scent fills his nostrils. Her hands almost touch him. He has to work to control his breathing. Why is he behaving like a lovesick schoolboy? Or worse… his old self?

"There we go," she smiles. "Are you ready?"

He nods, unable to speak for fear of a marriage proposal rolling off his stupid tongue.

She pulls a flashlight from her pocket, flicks it on, and starts walking. He follows her down the stairs and through the house and into the kitchen. Ralph has only been in here a few times in his life. He gets to hold the flashlight while she works. She grabs the basket from earlier, filling it with this and that. He keeps the flashlight trained on her, trying to anticipate her every move so that she's never left in the dark.

He stays close when they go back upstairs, and enjoys watching her make dinner. In silence, of course. Ralph doesn't think he could make a sound if he wanted to. She serves him excellent, strong tea that warms him inside and out. Dinner is wonderful. He'd seen her hesitate at lunchtime, about sitting next to him on the sofa, but she sits a little closer this time. His heart flutters.

Stop that.

When the plates are empty again, she stacks them and puts them in the basket. Ralph feels a sudden panic when she stands.

"You don't have to go yet!" he says, with a little more force than he meant to. He should go throw himself down the stairs.

She hesitates, then sits back down on the sofa and smiles politely.

Ralph has no idea what to say to her. He wanted her to stay, damn it all, it's his job to give her a reason to! Speak! Ask her questions! Tell her a funny story! Anything!

"Did you find something to do this afternoon?" she asks.

What did Ralph do this afternoon? He thinks… oh. He thought. He thought about his humiliating gift, about everyone laughing at him, about everyone leaving him. Was it on purpose, or did they genuinely forget about him? Which would be worse? He thought about the girl who broke his heart and opened his eyes and changed his life. He thought about the caretaker's daughter, and how kind she's been to him. And how pretty she is when she smiles. And how that stupid lovesick little boy he once was would be planning their wedding by now.

"I read a book," he lies.

"Oh?" she questions. "What did you read?"

Damn.

Ralph Penbury, who's read four books during this trip and thousands of others in his lifetime, cannot name a single title.

"Er… it… it wasn't very good." His face is definitely too red to be just from the fire. She knows he's blushing. She knows he's a liar.

"Would you like to go to the library and pick out another?"

"N-no," Ralph stutters, biting his tongue for failing to cooperate. "Not tonight."

"Alright," she says. "Why is the library your favorite room?"

"Pardon?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows.

"I asked about your favorite room earlier, and you said the library," she reminds him. "I was just wondering."

"Not the library, exactly," he begins, "the reading room beside it."

"Oh?"

Ralph nods. The library itself is a vast room, but the cozy chamber beside it is packed with comfortable couches and plush chairs and reading lamps. Hardly anyone ever goes in there.

"I quite like that room myself," she admits. "The painting above the fireplace is one of my favorites. If I'd known that's where you meant, we could've set up camp in there."

"This is fine," Ralph says quickly. He can't imagine the torture of trying to sleep in the same room as a woman he can't have.

"I suppose you're right," she smiles. "Sleeping in a bed is surely more comfortable than even those lovely sofas."

"That's where I slept last night," Ralph confesses.

"I can't believe no one spotted you," she says, her face falling. "Were you by the fire?"

Ralph nods.

"Maybe it had gone out by the time someone came to check," she muses.

Ralph shrugs.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Penbury. Things were hectic when your sister decided to leave. It was a flurry of packing and panicking, and after everyone left, frantic cleaning so the staff could leave before the snow got too deep. But I promise, sir, I'll get you out of here and on your way to rejoin your sister as soon as I can."

What if Ralph doesn't want to get out of here? What if he wants to stay with the nicest person he's ever met, and he wants the snow to keep falling so they're trapped in here for months? Is that long enough to make her love him? Would he have a chance if he were the only man in miles? Or would she brave the elements to get away from the creepy stalker freak in under a week?

Ralph Penbury wishes he could manifest a physical version of the person he used to be, so he could beat it to death. That obnoxious, irritating, stupid little boy who used to fall in love with every girl he met is starting to narrate his every thought. He's not that person anymore!

She gets up to stoke his fire. The flames rise, and the room gets warmer, and she turns to him with a comforting smile.

"I suppose we should get to bed," she says. "If you need anything at all, Mr. Penbury, I'm right next door."

How is he supposed to sleep with only a wall separating them?

"You can call me Ralph," he says to her retreating back. She hesitates, hand already on the doorknob, and turns to him.

"Are you sure, Mr. Penbury?"

He nods.

"Alright, then," she says softly, turning the knob. "Good night, Ralph."

Ralph melts at the sound of his name on her lips.

"Wake up!" a voice hisses.

"No," you grumble, snuggling deeper into the magnificent bed you've claimed for the night. You're warm. You're comfortable. You're having a good dream. If you're left alone, you might be able to finish it.

"Miss!"

You sigh, cracking one eye open to see Mr. Penbury standing beside your bed.

"What's wrong?" you mumble, closing your eye. "Did your fire go out?"

"There's someone in the house!" he whispers.

"It's just the wind, Mr. Penbury," you explain, hoping he'll go back to bed and leave you alone to finish your dream.

"It's people," he says, his voice hushed but frantic. "I heard men talking."

Your eyes shoot open.

"Where?" you ask.

"Downstairs," he breathes.

You roll out of bed, into the frigid room whose fire has long died. It must be nearing morning now. You hold out a hand, gesturing for him to stay put, and tiptoe out into the cold hallway. You stop at the top of the stairs, listening close…

Men. Talking loudly in a downstairs room. You creep down the stairs silently, one at a time, hoping to pinpoint which room they're in. A bottle smashes, and a light illuminates the hallway below. The lounge. They're drinking. They've started a fire. They don't know anyone else is here. You come back up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Ralph hisses, hugging himself for warmth just outside your bedroom doors.

What would those men do if they knew the master of the house they broke into was still here? Unarmed? Unattended? No security, no staff, only you. Ransom? Torture? Murder?

You have to protect him.

You walk to the nearest window and pull the curtain aside. How did those men get here? Surely not by car. The snow has stopped coming down, but it must be knee-deep out there. You can't tell the driveway from the lawn. They must have walked. You could probably make it home in this, but you don't know if Mr. Penbury could. And even if you did, you'd leave a trail directly to your father's cottage. You'd have the same problem with the stable, or one of the outbuildings. Plus, you'd probably freeze to death outside tonight. You cross the floor and approach him.

"Mr. Penbury, I need you to put on warm clothing and come with me. Carry your shoes; we'll make less noise without them."

He nods seriously and returns to his bedroom.

You enter your room, quickly making the bed and gathering the dinner basket and a few blankets and your shoes. You'd slept so hard, you let the fire die; which you now realize is a good thing. When you close the door, the bedroom looks like it hadn't been slept in.

You slip into the room next door and make Ralph's bed too, pulling off the extra blankets and giving them to him. You pick up your basket and gesture for him to follow. You lead him down the hallway and into the study, closing the door quietly behind you and locking it. You approach the second bookcase and feel along the second shelf.

Click.

The hidden door cracks open, and you pull it the rest of the way. It's pitch black inside. You feel for your flashlight, cursing yourself when you realize you left it on the bedside table. You step inside to put your things on the floor, then come back for candles. There's an antique candelabra on a side table that'll do. You light three of the five with a pack of nearby matches, thinking that'll be enough for now.

Mr. Penbury stands frozen, arms full of blankets and mouth gaping.

"It's alright," you whisper, giving his jumper a gentle tug. "Come on." He follows you inside. You latch the door and turn to him.

"We'll be safe in here," you tell him quietly, placing the candelabra on a desk. For how long, you don't know. Surviving tonight is the current priority.

"What is this place?"

"I'm not sure," you whisper, taking the blankets from him. You put them on the ancient moth-eaten sofa, all except one. That one, you wrap around his shoulders. He's shaking. "Well, it's an office, I suppose. I don't know why it needed to be a secret. Come, sit."

You both sit on the small sofa carefully, hoping it doesn't creak too much. It doesn't.

"How did you know it was here?"

You bite your lip, contemplating how much to tell him.

"I just found it one day," you answer. "The house is full of hidden rooms and secret passageways."

"I didn't know that," he says.

"You're only here for a few weeks per year," you remind him. "I've lived here all my life."

"You know my house better than I do," he says, with a hint of embarrassment.

"I could show you," you offer.

You've been obsessed with uncovering the secrets of Penbury Manor since you found that first secret door in a wardrobe when you were twelve. You've always taken great pleasure in knowing more about this house than its owners. Why the hell did you just offer to share your life's work with him?

"Really?" he asks, his eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the candles. You can't stop staring into those black orbs.

"Really," you confirm, feeling oddly calm.

Something crashes from below, and you both jump in surprise. Right. Intruders.

"We'll stay here for tonight," you whisper. "Hopefully, they're just vagrants who will move on after they've raided your liquor cabinet. Let's hope they don't find the key to the wine cellar."

Your attempt a joke does not land.

"If they don't clear out tomorrow, maybe the phone lines will be fixed, and we can call the police."

He rubs his hands across his face.

"Mr. Penbury," you begin.

"Ralph," he reminds you, dropping his hands to his knees.

"Ralph," you repeat, reaching out to place your hand on his. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"This is my house," he argues. "I'm the man. I should be protecting you."

This man is the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"And I know this house inside and out," you remind him. "Perhaps we can protect each other?"

He considers it.

"Alright," he finally agrees.

"We should rest," you say quietly. There's nothing else to do. "Maybe they'll be gone when we wake up. You take the sofa, I'll take the floor."

"Nonsense," he argues, getting up and moving to the hard wooden floor. You let him lie there for a moment, seeing the regret on his face even in the dim light of the candles.

"Alright," you play along, draping him with one blanket and lying down on the sofa with the rest. When his teeth start to chatter, moments later, you've had enough of your game.

"Given that the situation is possibly life or death and I doubt the usual rules apply, would you mind sharing the floor?" you ask. "The sofa stinks, and the blankets will go farther if we combine them."

"Y-yes," he shivers.

"Rise, Sir Ralph of London," you joke. He does.

You lay half of the blankets down and pull the pillows off of the sofa, dropping them where your heads will go.

"Lie down," you instruct.

He does, and when he's settled on his side, you cover him with the other two blankets. You blow out all but one candle, since it's not providing much warmth anyway, and crawl into the makeshift bed beside him.

He's still shivering. So are you.

"Would you think me unladylike if I came closer?" you ask.

"P-please do," he shudders.

You scoot just a little closer, not quite touching, but very aware of the warm body next to you.

"We're going to be alright, Ralph," you whisper. "Rest."

He falls asleep before you.

Ralph Penbury has never woken up with a girl holding him before.

The candle has burned out, so he can't see her.

But he can feel her.

They're still on their sides, but their bodies are pressed together under the blankets. She's slung an arm across Ralphs ribs. Her cheek rests on his chest, her hand on his back. Would she be angry if he did the same? He eases his arm over her, careful not to touch anything inappropriate, and tests his weight on her side a little bit at a time. She doesn't wake and yell at him or tell him to stop touching her. He can't help but smile.

He should be frightened. Terrified, even. There are intruders inside his house. He doesn't know who they are, or how many there are, or their intentions, or when they plan to vacate the premises.

But how can he worry when there's a beautiful woman holding him?

After Ralph's last misadventure in romance, it had been become abundantly clear to him that no woman would ever love a creepy stalker freak. He'd given up. When he stopped begging for attention, he stopped getting it. Were it not for Victoria needing him to sign an occasional cheque or provide a laugh for her friends, he might be forgotten altogether. Hell, she did forget him. She left him behind on the way to their Christmas vacation with their mother.

The girl with her arms around him nuzzles her face into his chest, and he stops caring about Victoria.

She's taking care of him. She fed him multiple times. Brought him blankets and built him a fire. When there was danger, she brought him to safety. She's keeping him warm right now. She did all these things without being asked. This is not her job. She's not employed by the Penburys, is she? Only her father, Ralph thinks. Perhaps she's taking care of him because she thinks she has to. Or because she's a good person. Or because he's useless and pathetic and she feels sorry for him.

Or maybe… just maybe…

Ralph is cold the next time he wakes. He reaches out for her in the dark, wondering if she'd turned in her sleep, but his hand hits a cold blanket.

She left him.

Even in his half-awake state, Ralph's heart sinks.

He finds her pillow and brings it to his nose, breathing in deep. He can still smell her. He pulls the covers over his head and hugs the pillow to his chest, wishing it were her instead of the faint scent of her mixed with the ancient dusty fabric.

A nearby click makes Ralph's heart pound. He stays under the blankets, frozen in fear, trying to hold his breath so he won't be discovered. Footsteps. A scrape. A sigh.

A soft chuckle?

Ralph pulls the blankets off of his face to see that she has returned, and that the room is no longer a black void. She has a flashlight now, and she's smiling down at him.

"Good afternoon," she whispers.

Ralph sits up in the chilly room, pulling a blanket around himself.

She starts unpacking a sack and her pockets, placing tinned food in a neat row. Ralph watches curiously; how did she carry all that? Where did she get it? Did she really go out there with them?!

When she finishes unloading, she joins Ralph on the makeshift bed, sitting across from him and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She's wearing socks; no shoes.

"I have a plan," she whispers.

You wish you could ignore the curiosity eating at you and focus on the warm body holding you tight. But you can't stand not knowing what you're up against. What Ralph is up against. You have to go look. You ease out of his grip and venture out of the hidden room behind the bookcase.

It must be daytime; you're able to see where you're going with the help of dull grey light peeking in from around the curtains. You slip into the secret staircase behind the tapestry and pad quietly down the stairs. Two men, surprisingly well-dressed, are passed out and snoring on the sofas in the lounge. They appear to be traveling light. Perhaps they're not planning on staying long.

You tiptoe to the nearest telephone, hoping for better luck today. On your way, you feel a horrible chill just before finding the broken glass. They'd broken a window to get in. You shiver and check the phone in the hallway, which is still dead. At least there's a flashlight in the table underneath. You pocket it and proceed to a ransacked kitchen. The men had raided it and had themselves a feast. Even after they'd eaten all they could hold, there was still a considerable amount of food. What if they stayed until it was all gone?

You fill an empty flour sack with things that can be eaten without cooking. Is that enough? You add a few tins to your pockets. You and Ralph Penbury may die by these criminals' hands, or freeze to death while trying to escape, but you'll be damned if you let him starve.

You make it back to the hidden stairs without incident, climbing them quietly and re-entering the room behind the bookcase.

You turn on the flashlight so you don't step on him, and find that Ralph has curled up in a ball on the floor and pulled the blankets over his head. You let out an unintentional chuckle at how adorable he is. You hope he hasn't missed you yet. You'd like to crawl right back into bed and not have him notice you left at all.

He pulls the covers off of his head and looks up at you. You've been caught.

"Good afternoon," you whisper.

Ralph sits up, eyes still puffy with sleep, and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. You quickly and quietly unload your pockets, feeling a chill now that the adrenaline of sneaking around is wearing off. You sit across from him on your makeshift bed, covering yourself as well.

"I have a plan."

"Where did you go?" he whispers.

"Downstairs," you answer. "There are only two of them, and the way I see it, we have two options. Would you like to hear them?"

Ralph nods.

"Option One, we leave. We can wait until dark and slip out of here and try to make it to my father's cottage. It'll be cold, and it'll be hard, but we'll be safe there. And it's closer to the road, so it will probably be easier to send for the police." You give Ralph a moment to contemplate before continuing. "Option two, we stay in here for another day or two, and maybe they'll leave after they've filled their bellies. And even if they don't, if I'm not home by Christmas Eve, my father will know something is wrong and come to investigate."

What kind of choice is this? Freeze to death outside, or hide out in this secret room with a girl who makes him feel like his old self? A desperate, puppy-like persona that constantly begged to be loved? Perhaps freezing to death is the more humane choice.

"How about we eat breakfast before we decide?" she prods gently. Ralph nods.

They share a cold breakfast with a single fork. "I swear, I thought I grabbed two," she apologizes. Ralph swoons, and he hates himself for it.

"Have you reached a decision, Mr. Penbury?" she asks, after breakfast is finished.

To freeze to death, or huddle for warmth on the floor with a woman who isn't openly repulsed by him?

"It's too cold out there," he mumbles.

She smiles, and Ralph feels his stomach do a somersault. He wishes someone would punch him there.

And then she gets up and walks toward the entrance, and Ralph panics.

"Where are you going?" he asks. Please don't leave me, he thinks.

"To get us more blankets," she says, like it's obvious.

"It's not safe out there!" he warns in a hushed tone.

"They're asleep," she says gently. "I'm just going to grab a few more from the wardrobe at the end of the hall. I won't be gone long. I promise."

In Penbury Manor, the end of the hall is a long way away.

"I'm coming with you," he insists, rising to his feet.

She looks stunned for a moment, then reaches for the door.

"We must be swift and silent," she whispers. He nods in agreement.

She puts her ear to the door before opening it. And then she cracks it open and peeks outside. When she decides it's clear, she reaches back for Ralph's hand. He takes it and tries not to pass out.

She pulls Ralph out of the secret room behind the bookcase, and they cross the floor and and unlock the study door and enter the hallway in their socks. She's right; they're virtually silent without shoes. They arrive at the wardrobe quickly, and after a heart-stopping creak of its door, she begins piling blankets in Ralph's outstretched arms.

She takes an armload herself and eases the door shut, then leads the way back to the study. When they get near, Ralph hears voices. She stops, panic on her pretty face. He can see her making quick calculations, and she begins to rush toward the study door. Ralph follows as quickly as he can, ducking into the room just in time.

She drops her blankets on the floor and gets the door closed just before the voices get near enough to understand. She winces as the lock clicks, listening closely at the keyhole to see if they heard it.

"You hear somethin'?"

"Only an egghead who won't shut his mouth."

Ralph carefully places his blankets next to hers and joins her at the door, putting his ear to it to better hear the intruders.

"Would you look at the size of this place?"

"Like a royal palace."

"Are those Penny people royal?"

"Nah, just rich."

"And stupid."

Both men laugh. Ralph fumes.

"When do you think they're gonna come back?"

"The floozy said it's a summer house. I bet they don't spend a week a year here."

"You really lucked out with that party invitation, eh?"

"Damn right I did. How long do you think it'll take us to strip the place?"

"Years?"

"Years!"

"I see twenty gold things right here in the hallway! We'd be rich with just what we took from the room we came in!"

"As soon as this snow clears, we'll get Jasper to bring the truck, and we'll all be set for life."

"All thanks to those idiot twins flaunting their fortune!"

The men cackle.

"I'm not sleepin' on a couch tonight, look at the size of them bleedin' beds!"

"These must be the master bedrooms, they had me in some cupboard on the other side of the house. Cheap bastards."

Ralph's face burns. This was a guest. A person Victoria invited to spend Christmas with them. Now he's in their house, planning to rob them blind.

"This one's mine!"

"This was my idea, I get the biggest bed!"

"You don't know that this one's the biggest!"

"Neither do you, now get out and find your own!"

Her hand touches Ralph's shoulder, and he jumps. She puts a finger to her lips, telling him to shush, and gestures to the room behind the bookshelf. They pick up their blankets and tiptoe into the secret room again, latching the door and sighing in relief.

She turns on the flashlight so he can see her face and steps close. Very close. Ralph looks into her eyes, which are full of rage.

"Option Three," she whispers angrily. "We make them leave."

You've always had Penbury Manor to yourself.

You'd explore the house while your father made his weekly inspections or stopped to fix things. When you were twelve, you found a secret door in a wobbly wardrobe. It was the most wonderful discovery an adventurous girl could make, and you immediately became obsessed with finding more. The next was a hidden staircase. You shared your findings with your father, who encouraged you to record everything. Random testing soon turned to careful mapping. And so while he worked near the main house, you were allowed to explore. And explore you did.

You found the hidden room behind the bookcase when you were sixteen. It became your office; the place you stored your maps and diagrams, where no one would ever find them.

The secrets of Penbury Manor have been yours since you were a child. Shouldn't it feel odd to be sharing them with someone now?

You light the candles and spread your maps across the floor to show Ralph Penbury, the man who would one day own this house, its many secrets. How many centuries had Penburys owned this amazing property without knowing the half of its most wonderful features?

The ignorance stops with Ralph.

You show him how to get around the house undetected, explaining how to find and open and close hidden doors. He listens intently, like he's genuinely trying his best to absorb a decade of discoveries in just a few hours.

Because tonight, when those criminals rest in warm and comfortable beds that they were not invited to sleep in, you and Ralph will attack.

You will not tolerate these bastards' disrespect of this house, or its contents, or its owners. Penbury Manor is a work of art, filled with architectural wonders and centuries-old treasures and the memories of generations. Ralph Penbury, who will one day be its master, will have an appreciation of his family home that few of his ancestors have had.

Because this house is going to protect him tonight.

He's surprisingly resourceful for a rich boy who's never had to lift a finger. You go over each section of the house, starting with the wing containing the rooms the intruders are occupying, and come up with a brutal battle plan. You are going to war with these men.

They'll never know what hit them.

Ralph Penbury is in the presence of a genius.

Imagine, exploring and creating maps in your spare time instead of silly things like gossip or shopping. She's nothing like anyone he's ever met. He is fully aware that he is hanging on her every word, but her every word is bloody brilliant. Ralph feels like he's going to war, but he's not frightened, because she's on his side.

He feels alive when they're together.

They spent a long afternoon whispering and planning and taking a break to enjoy a delightful dinner out of a tin with their shared fork. Ralph has never been on such a grand adventure in his life.

"Are you ready for this?" she whispers.

"Yes," he answers.

She leans over the desk and blows out the candles with her perfect mouth. Ralph wishes he could kiss her.

"We're going to be alright," she says, touching his arm softly. "Just stick to the plan."

Ralph nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll ask her to marry him. What adventures they could have together, with her brilliant mind and his unwavering devotion! Never a dull moment, from the wedding to the day they're both laid to rest beside each other in the Penbury family plot! This could be an epic love, the kind of love people write stories about, the kind of love he's always wanted!

Shut up, Ralph.

She pushes open the door, and they step outside their hiding place to set their diabolical plan in motion.

Ralph may have needed a tiny bit of instruction on the practical side of things, but all in all, he's quite an excellent partner.

The traps are laid. Now you just need to give your uninvited guests a little nudge toward the door.

You stand in the hallway, staring at the two doors to the bedrooms the criminals have claimed. You can see the fireplaces burning in the cracks under the doors. One of them is snoring loudly.

You turn to Ralph, barely a silhouette in the shadows concealing you.

"Count to a hundred," you remind him. He nods and tiptoes toward the hidden stairs that lead to the attic.

You make your way down the hall to enter the room next to the snorer. You push the curtains open. The moon is bright, giving you plenty of light to do what you need to do.

You open the wardrobe. You feel around the back of it, finding the crack and prying it open. The wardrobes of these bedrooms are connected through a hole in the wall. If you're small enough, you can slip from one room to another. But you don't need to get through. You just need to leave a gift. The next layer of wood gets pushed open. And just like that, your hand is inside the wardrobe next door.

You reach into your pocket and extract a music box, winding it quietly. You hold the crank still until you get it in place in the bottom of the wardrobe next door. You let go, and music starts playing. You back out and pull the doors shut quickly, then seal the wardrobe.

On a girl's vanity table, a music box is a sweet and joyful tune.

But echoing in an otherwise empty wardrobe, in the middle of the night, in a house you've broken into? Terrifying, hopefully.

The snoring stops.

You rush from the room and into the hallway, ducking into a dark alcove on the far end of the hall where you can't be seen. The light of the moon seeps in through the windows above the grand staircase, illuminating the hallway outside the bedrooms housing the invaders just enough for you to watch.

But you don't hear movement. Shouldn't he be tearing apart the room by now, trying to find what's making the noise? The door opens, and a man slips into the room next door. You hear yelling, but can't make out the words. The other man, apparently angry about being woken up, throws his partner from the room. He hesitates, but goes back into his own.

And then more noises come from the floor above.

Ralph has done his job of making the ancient rocking horse rock, the tops spin, the balls bounce, and turning on the electric toy train. What good fortune, to have your guests choose rooms just underneath the attic playroom!

Both men run into the hallway, looking all around them for answers. The sound really carries in this big empty house. You enjoy watching their confusion, but wish they'd just get going already.

They start to argue again when the shock of the noise begins to wear off, but a great rumbling sound soon drowns them out.

Marbles. Ralph has dumped a box containing hundreds of marbles down the stairs, and they make an absolutely fantastic racket. They bounce off each step and the walls and each other on their way down those steep attic steps, and it sounds like a train is roaring through the house.

A hand touches your back, and you turn to see an out-of-breath Ralph. He'd slipped down a hidden staircase after releasing the marbles, arriving just in time for the show.

The criminals run for the grand staircase.

Unfortunately for them, you and Ralph have used thread to install a tripwire at the top of it.

The trespassers go airborne when they trip, one of them actually going tail over teakettle in mid-air, then bounce down the stairs, thudding and grunting the whole way.

You and Ralph approach the stairs when it goes quiet, seeing that one of the men has landed on top of his partner in a heap at the bottom. Neither of them move for a moment.

Are they dead? It hadn't been your intention, but that would really simplify things.

They part with a groan. You reach for Ralph's sleeve and tug him backward, into the shadows.

There's grumbling from below, and grunting, and a pained gasp. You get brave and step closer to peek, seeing them both slowly limp toward the front door. The one in better shape goes back to the lounge they stayed in on their first day to fetch their bags full of stolen goods. Can't leave empty-handed, of course.

The pair hobbles out of the doors and toward the front steps.

Which you and Ralph doused with water, which has now turned to ice.

That was his idea.

You hear a scream, and scurry to a window.

"Excellent plan, Mr. Penbury," you admire, watching the two thieves try to separate their tangle of arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs.

"Couldn't have done it without you, darling," he says proudly.

You turn to him in the light of the moon and smile. He really is quite handsome. He meets your eye, but you turn back to the window before you get carried away. The thieves are struggling for each step in that deep snow. You watch them become smaller and smaller.

"Do you think they'll freeze to death?" he asks.

"At least they won't go hungry," you smirk. Ralph snickers.

You'd swapped their sacks full of stolen treasures with tinned food.

"What do we do now?" Ralph wonders.

"Hm…" you hum. "A toast to a job well done?"

"I've got just the thing," Ralph smiles. "If you'll come with me?"

You grab a flashlight and follow him down to the wine cellar, where he selects a bottle. You know nothing of wine, except for the dandelion wine that your father makes once a year. You don't care for it.

Ralph pours two glasses when you return to the kitchen, and you raise them into the air.

"To us?" Ralph asks.

"And a job well done," you smile.

This stuff's not so bad.

Ralph was feeling warm and fuzzy and far too relaxed by the time the second bottle of wine was opened. They'd moved from the kitchen to the reading room, and were happily lazing on the plush couch closest to the fire. It was daylight outside, but their sleep schedules were somewhat off-kilter. He didn't mind.

"What would you be doing right now if you were in Paris?" she asks.

"Wishing I'd stayed in London," he grins, taking a drink.

"And if you'd stayed in London?"

"Wishing I'd gone to Paris."

They make eye contact over their glasses and dissolve into a fit of giggles.

"There's just no making you happy, is there?" she teases.

Ralph stops laughing.

"I am happy," he realizes. "I can't remember the last time I was this happy."

"That's the wine talking," she says, taking another sip.

"No," he argues, feeling shockingly sober. "It's not the wine."

"No electricity, no telephone, a home invasion," she smiles. "What's not to love?"

Love. The word, coming from her perfect mouth, knocks the breath from his lungs.

"Have you ever been in love?" he breathes.

"Have you?" she asks without answering.

"I used to fall in love five times a day," he whispers, feeling hollow inside.

"What happened?"

"Lauren." He hasn't spoken her name since he left her that stupid letter and tried to join the French Foreign Legion. He didn't burst into flames or tears. Her name can't hurt him anymore. "Lauren happened."

"What did she do to you?" she asks sympathetically.

"She opened my eyes."

And closed his heart.

Has it been opened again?

"I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he finds himself saying. He's never talked about Lauren with anyone. Not even Victoria. "I would have done anything for her. I would have given her everything she wanted. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to make her love me…"

Get fucked, creepy stalker freak.

"She did not reciprocate."

Is that Ralph's pain reflecting in her eyes, or does she look that sad for him?

"In fact, she openly despised me."

"She was a fool," she whispers.

"It was my fault," Ralph shakes his head. "I was so desperate to be loved, I smothered her. I was unbearable. Any girl would have done the same." His face burns at the memory of how annoying he'd been. How he'd followed Lauren around like a puppy and driven her away by being so pathetic and desperate and disgusting. Get fucked, creepy stalker freak. "Faster, even. I was a stupid, naïve little boy. I know better now."

"Everyone wants to be loved, Ralph," she says softly.

"No one wants to be loved like that," he argues.

"Is that a fact?"

Ralph looks up.

She smiles slyly and empties her glass, leaning forward to put it on the table with a clink. Ralph does the same, although he's not sure why.

He wants desperately to lean in and kiss her, but he doesn't dare.

Or does he?

"You know what we should do?" she asks.

Kiss until they run out of breath? Keep warm with a loving embrace? Grab another bottle of wine and disappear into the bedroom for the rest of the week?

"What's that?" Ralph asks, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"Decorate."

"Pardon?"

"We should re-decorate," she smiles. "There's still a Penbury at Penbury Manor for Christmas, and all the decorations have been put away. It's a disgrace."

Ralph laughs. And then he realizes that he's never decorated for Christmas before. He'd just wake up one morning and find that his home had been transformed into a winter wonderland. The idea of doing it himself, especially with her help, is exciting.

"Let's do it," he grins.

They leave their warm fire behind to climb the grand staircase and the steep steps to the storage room in the attic and rifle through the boxes that the staff had packed up just a few days before.

"These are beautiful," she notes, stopping to admire a bauble with a Victorian scene painted on it. The real beauty is the way she handles everything so carefully. Unremarkable decorations he's walked past a hundred times seem so precious in her hands.

"We'll need a tree," he says.

She puts the ornament down and smiles at him.

"The trees that were taken out are in a pile behind the shed. Perhaps we can brave the snow and rescue one."

"Or cut our own," he says dreamily.

She chuckles.

"You, Ralph Penbury, are going to venture into the forest and chop down your own Christmas tree?" she asks with amusement.

"Why not?" he challenges. "Do you think I can't?"

"I said nothing of the sort," she smiles, standing. "Let's take these downstairs and bundle up. We've got a tree to acquire, Mr. Penbury."

Ralph picks up a box and follows her downstairs with a grin.

They deposit their decorations and find coats. When they're properly bundled, they head out the back door and to the shed for an axe. There's a mountain beside it; the discarded trees, under a heavy blanket of snow.

"Are you sure you don't want to take one of these instead?" she asks. "The ones in the middle are probably dry. All we have to do is get one out and take it inside. We'll be back in front of the fire in no time."

Ralph looks from the pile of trees to the forest in the distance. It's a long way. It's a lot of snow. It would take up a lot of time that he'd rather spend sitting in front of the fire with her. As if to steer him in the right direction, the wind picks up and makes his face sting.

"Alright, fine, you win," he sighs.

She laughs and kisses his cheek.

Suddenly, the wind doesn't bother him so much anymore.

You're so glad you talked Ralph into rescuing one of the old Christmas trees instead of walking all the way through that deep snow to the forest and cutting another one down.

You struggled to liberate a dry one from the middle of the pile, but it was a nice one. Barely damaged in the extraction. You carried it back to the main house together, laughing all the way, and decided to put it in the reading room beside the library.

Ralph seemed clueless when it came to decorating, but once you got the tree on a stand, he picked it up quickly. You hung the ornaments, popped corn and taught him how to string it with a needle, and decorated the mantelpiece.

When the boxes were empty and the room was festive, you collapsed on the big comfortable couch together with two cups of hot tea. You sat quietly and sipped for a while, enjoying the company and the decorations.

Dinner was made over an open fire and eaten in front of it. Another bottle of wine was opened. There were tidings of comfort and joy. This would likely go down in history as the best Christmas you'd ever experienced.

The lack of sleep (or the amount of wine you've consumed today) is starting to catch up with you, but you're not ready to turn in yet. You're not ready for this wonderful day to end.

And then you get a brilliant idea.

"Should we get comfortable down here, or go upstairs to bed?" you ask.

"Bed, I suppose," Ralph yawns.

You tidy your mess and head upstairs. He begins to drag his feet when you reach the second floor, like he isn't really ready to turn in. You enter his bedroom and light his fire, taking your time and making sure it's just right before turning to him.

"What if they come back?" you wonder.

"The burglars?" Ralph asks. You nod.

"What if the snow is too deep or it's too cold and they double back and find us?"

It's a genuine concern that you probably should have considered earlier, but you were busy drinking and decorating and having fun.

"Perhaps we should stay together, so we can protect each other?" he suggests, having fallen into your trap perfectly.

"We can barricade the door," you suggest.

"We'll be safer that way," Ralph agrees.

He looks as happy as you feel.

Ralph Penbury has never been so happy in his life.

He can't believe that it was only a few days ago that his sister humiliated him in front of all their guests and left him behind.

Now, he's lying in a soft bed in front of a crackling fire with a person he can't seem to take his eyes off of.

What a magnificent turn of events.

They'd had a grand adventure. They'd protected each other, and battled villains, and downed a few bottles of wine, and decided that maybe they should stay together tonight, just in case the intruders come back. They'd lit a fire, moved a heavy dresser in front of the bedroom door, and crawled under the covers. Together.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he mumbles, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"So do I."

Ralph's heart stops.

"I've had the time of my life with you these last few days, Mr. Penbury," she smiles sadly. "I don't know what I'll do with myself when you're gone."

The thought of going back to London and leaving her behind had never crossed his mind. In fact, he hadn't thought about what might happen after this snow melts at all. Ralph hasn't worried about what Victoria might think, or his mother, or her father. Ever since he crashed into her on the attic stairs, he's been completely unbothered by anything that exists outside of this house.

"Do you want to know why I was here when you found me?" she whispers.

Ralph nods, suddenly much more awake.

"I wanted some time alone before seeing my family on Christmas," she explains. "Just a few days to myself, to prepare for the constant barrage of questions about why I'm still unmarried and childless. That's all Christmas is for me anymore. A chance for my relatives to remind me that I'm a disappointment."

Ralph reaches out and wipes a tear from her cheek, letting his hand linger on her smooth skin.

She lets him.

It pains him to see her upset. Physically pains him. He'd do anything to see her smile again.

"What do you want for Christmas?" he asks.

He waits on bated breath while she thinks. He'll buy her anything her heart desires. Take her anywhere she wants to go. Write her a cheque. Anything at all to stop those tears. The corner of her mouth twitches into the tiniest of smiles. Another tear falls. Please darling, Ralph begs on the inside, tell me how to help you.

"All I want for Christmas is a few more days with you," she whispers.

Tears suddenly sting at Ralph's eyes, too.

And then his lips meet hers.

"Ralph," you whisper.

He moans and nuzzles his face into his pillow.

"Ralph," you try again, tracing his ear with your finger.

He shudders and smiles. He's awake, he's just ignoring you. Two can play this game. You lean over and leave a trail of kisses up his jawline.

"I want to show you something," you whisper in his ear.

This gets him to crack an eye open. You grin and stand, pulling the covers off of his bare body and exposing him to the cool morning air. He shrieks and curls into a ball. He's so adorable, you could burst.

"Come on," you urge, holding out a blanket you intend to wrap him in.

Ralph pouts, whines, and then drags himself out of bed trying (and failing) to conceal his smile. You wrap the long, fluffy blanket around his shoulders. He blushes. You put an arm around him and lead him to the window. He shuffles in step with you, his blanket trailing on the floor behind him.

You pull the curtain aside.

"It's snowing again!" Ralph exclaims.

"Looks like I got my Christmas wish," you smile, leaning your head on his blanketed shoulder.

There will be no traveling in this. No cold vehicles, no condescending relatives, no overcooked pudding. It's just the two of you, spending Christmas alone together in the most amazing home ever built. You couldn't have asked for more.

"What about my Christmas wish?" Ralph asks.

You'd gotten so wrapped up in exploring each other, you'd never asked him what he wanted. You lift your head and look at him guiltily.

"What do you want for Christmas, Ralph?" you breathe, absolutely ashamed of yourself for not asking sooner.

Ralph's face splits into a grin.

"You."

Before you can react, Ralph opens his arms and pulls you to him, wrapping you both in the blanket. You laugh, letting your arms circle him to get even closer.

"Looks like you got your Christmas wish, too," you smile, looking up into those beautiful brown eyes.

"Do you think…" he begins, almost fearfully. "Do you think you could learn to love me?"

Ralph Penbury has no business making your heart flutter like this.

"I think I already do," you whisper.

Ralph's eyes fill with tears. His mouth crashes to yours.

Maybe by the New Year, you'll have mastered kissing without crying.

#writings of despair #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters

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0oolookitsme · 2 years ago

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So Despicable

Type - A One-Shot (yet again!)

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - Uses of degrading slurs such as slut and whore. Do not read if that's not your cup of tea!

A/n - Legit posting this an hour late and I'm sorry! I just finished proofreading and am right away posting this. Not exactly my best, but it's good! Hoping you'll think the same hahah <3

Kinks - Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking and Begging (if you squint)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

As she turned the lock of her house, Y/n felt like her knees would simply give out if it took one more second to get the door to open. On the final twist of the key, she pushed the door open and immediately swung her purse on top of the shoe rack.

Bending to undo her heels, she left them thrown there and walked further inside the house. She was confused when she didn't find Harry downstairs but nevertheless poured herself a glass of water.

If he weren't down here, then he must be up in their bedroom or his office. Dreadfully, she climbed up the stairs, her shoulders droopy and her back aching after the long day. "Harry?" She called out, hoping that he would hear her and come out. Alas, he didn't.

She looked around in all the rooms before going inside the bedroom, dropping her body onto the mattress right away. After lying in silence for no more than a few seconds, she got up and fished her phone out of her purse – pressing on Harry's contact before putting the phone on speaker and stripping her clothes.

"'ello?" He answered, his voice serious in a way that made her doubt if he didn't know it was her on the other end of the call.

"Where are you, H?" She questioned him right away, picking the phone back up when the only clothings on her body were her under garments. "Searched the whole house, didn't find you."

It was silent for a moment, and Y/n felt that something was off. "I'm in the gym, didn't hear you come in," he said in that same tone and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Oh, I didn't check the gym. When are you going to be done?" She asked, fidgeting with her fingers as her mind raced a million miles per second to come up with all the things that she could've done or said wrong.

Yet, she came up empty. Harry wasn't the one to go to gym after noon, it happened rarely – mostly if he had been out and about during the morning time. So, it was clear that he was avoiding her.

"Dunno, should be done in half an hour," he said and she could tell he was doing push ups or something else by the sound of his strained voice and heavy breathing.

"Okay, I'm going in the shower," Y/n told him before he agreed and cut the call.

Taken aback, she shut out the situation before jumping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away all the stress off her muscles. After rinsing her hair rid of the shampoo, she came out of the shower, water still dripping from the ends of her hair.

When she turned around, her hand immediately went to her chest on a sharp intake of breath. "Fucking hell, Harry," she exhaled deeply, heat creeping up the back of her neck once she realised how ridiculous it was of her to get scared by the sight of him seated on their bed.

She just hadn't expected him to be there, that's all. "I'm sure there's still water left, I didn't shower for too long," she told him while walking towards their closet.

"Drop the towel and come here," Harry said, his voice deep and low. She couldn't help but ask him to repeat himself, caught off guard. "I won't repeat again, Y/n. Drop the towel, and come here," he said again, this time weighing down on each word as he spoke.

His arms were crossed across his chest, the veins more prominent because of his recent workout session. One of his legs dangled off the bed while the other one was folded. Nothing but a white undervest covered his upper half, a short pair of shorts clinging to his thighs.

Hesitant but because of her trust in him, Y/n dropped her towel and walked to him. Uncertainty and anticipation caused her hands to start fidgeting again. Slowly but surely, she reached right where he was sitting on the bed, her hands seemingly frozen on her sides as she stood upright, unable to move any further.

"Lay across my lap," Harry said, unfolding his leg and laying it straight on the bed to make the spot comfortable for her.

Y/n did so, all of the silence and holding-back of Harry was causing her brain to spiral. But one thing she knew was that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be very holy.

She felt Harry's cold hand grab her ass before he started massaging it. That's when she knew she had surely done something wrong, because he was punishing her.

His palm met her ass cheek with a sharp blow, causing her to jerk forward. "Count for me," he told her, kneading her other cheek before hitting it with the same blow.

"2," Y/n counted, her voice shaking with thrill.

Harry watched her bum jiggle at the impact, the skin already begining to grow red. He stopped kneading the skin by the fifth blow when he couldn't hear pain in her voice. Now, he was just spanking – one side before the other. He was going at a fast pace, his hits unrelentlessly hard as he finally began hearing despair in her voice.

He kept going, not giving the skin much time before slapping it again.

"P-please, Harry–" Y/n stuttered, stopping when he gave a especially hard hit on her ass.

"What do you say? Have you forgotten your manners?" Harry said, his voice sterner than ever and Y/n was beginning to feel like he was being unnecessarily mean to her.

"Sir – It's Sir." She blabbered, answering him as if he would give her a reward. Yet, she was met with another hard spank. "W-what-ever have I done wrong, Sir?" She asked desperately, still lost on the cause for this side of him boiling up to the surface.

"A pathetic mess already? Can see your cunt glistening," he mocked her, swiping one of his fingers through her folds. "What have you not done wrong today? Cut my calls, answered back in short answers as if I were wasting your time, didn't even tell me if you were going to be back for the night or not," he answered her, massaging her bum.

"Didn't even apologize to me," he said, his eyes fallen into angry slits as he slapped her ass harshly.

He pushed her off of his lap and watched her roll over, unable to balance herself and get up. "Can't do anything right, can you?" Harry said as he pulled her up by her shoulders and sat her on her bottom.

She moved around, her bum hurting too much for her to sit on it. "Hurts," she whimpered, the corners of her eyes moist and wet hair sticking to the skin on her back, neck and forehead.

"Of course it does. Wouldn't have done it if it pleased you."

Both of them knew it pleased her. And if they didn't, then her juicy cunt would have surely given her away. She sat on her calves in front of him, her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but in his eyes.

"Still, you aren't apologizing." Harry pointed out, causing her to flush. But before she could say anything, Harry pushed at her chest so she would fall on her back on the soft mattress.

Her legs immediately fell open in order for her to get comfortable, and just as she took notice, Harry's hand had already met her pussy in a harsh slap.

"Instead, you're pathetically dripping out of your hole," Harry sneered, slapping her puffy pussy again. A wet noise came from the impact and when he brought his hand back up, the string of her arousal connected them.

"So despicable you are."

Y/n jerked each time Harry hit her cunt, her thighs aching to close and protect her core yet she knew better than to do that. She counted each hit and once she counted the tenth slap, Harry dragged a finger across her dripping hole and covered her clit with her own arousal.

"I've been punishing you over here, and you've done nothing but drip out of that needy hole and blabber out the shit I've asked you to." Harry said as if he were disgusted. "Can't think of anything else with that dumb little brain of yours, can you?" He tsk'd at her, shaking his head.

He pinched her clit, laughing hoarsely when she instinctively closed her thighs shut. "Hook your hands under your knees," Harry instructed her and once she had done that, he was glad to have full access to her pussy.

He pinched her clit again, this time not releasing the hissing hold. With his other hand, he filled her hole with two of his fingers right away – sliding them in and out with great ease due to her wetness.

"Such a poor little thing you are, getting off on being a pretty whore – on me being mean to you," Harry crooned.

When she started to moan, he took her panties that she had taken off of herself before going into the shower, and stuffed them into her mouth. Pathetically enough, she hadn't stopped moaning even with the cloth in her mouth. The noise came out muffled, which Harry seemed to enjoy.

He then created an unrelenting pace, his back crouching in order to give all his strength in fucking her. He was still pinching her swollen clit, a grin plastered on his mouth as he heard the wet noises her pussy was making.

Her clit had grown red in colour due to his harsh pinch that didn't seem to know how to release its hold. "Fuck – fuck , sir. Sir I'm coming, I'm coming I'm so close –" Y/n stuttered as her body shook violently, her face scrunched up in pain and pure ecstasy.

Her body burned and her pussy pulsed as Harry continued fucking her with his fingers mercilessly. "What do you say?" Harry cooed at her, impossibly increasing his pace. "What do you say, my darling slut?"

Her eyes glazed over at the slur, tears springing in her eyes as she felt the knot begin to lower in her tummy.

"Can I please– please cum, Sir?" She said with great strain in a voice, like she was holding back.

"Why are you holding back? Not going to comply with your sir, hm?" Harry asked her his voice shaking due to his violent movement. "Guess I'll just deny you the permission, then."

Harry got off on dominating her. After all, she dominated all of the people around her, especially the ones in her office. She always had a hunger to control people, so the fact that he got to control what she would do or not do, dominate and manhandle her, and be mean to her like she was to most of her employees who deserved to be fired, he felt absolutely euphoric.

"Can I please cum," she cried out, her body shaking vigorously. "May I – may I please cum, Sir?" She cried again, repeating her request until it turned into beg for him to let her cum.

"Please, Sir!" She yelled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold back. "Please – please, let me come Sir," she kept on begging.

"Ah okay okay, don't need to be so annoying about it," Harry rolled his eyes, watching in amazement as she became a shouting mess.

He felt as her walls clenched around his fingers, and pinched her clit a bit harder. He heard her let out a final cry before she finally gushed all over his hand.

He maintained his pace as her cum spurted around due to his force. She arched off of the bed and pushed into his hand while heaving gibberish. "Fuck – fuck," she stammered, when he stopped and put his mouth on her – lapping at her as if he hadn't quenched his thirst all day.

"P-please, sir – sensitive," she whimpered, now trying to pull away from his mouth but unable to do so because of the position he had put her in. Her legs ached, but his palms laid flat on the back of her thighs as he sucked at her clit.

Harry finally detached his mouth from her and rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. He put the hand that was covered in her juices in front of her mouth, and ordered her to suck.

When she licked his hand clean, he wrapped it around her neck in a choking manner and weighed on it when he leaned down to get closer to her.

"See? You can be good, too." He grinned, pecking her cheek as she turned her face away from him to hide her rosy cheeks.

"God, I love you no matter what you be – my pathetic slut or my pleasing little darling," he chuckled, nipping at her jaw.

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qierxing · 2 years ago

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hnnnngh animal hybrids getting me so…..yan hybrid heartslabyul time

Riddle is a pampered little kitty, who always knows he's the best of the best! He's got the pedigree to back him up on it too. there's a strict routine he follows down to the letter-wake up, groom himself neatly, eat a balanced breakfast, spend time observing for intruders-it's all rather tiring, but he sticks to it like no other. if his carefully set up routine is offset, expect some major temper tantrums incoming. still, he is a cat, and as such he'll still adamantly stick to your side for cuddles and petting. once you see him sleepy eyed and pouty lipped, perhaps you can forgive him for his stringent attitude other times. But you know he only does all these tiresome things to make sure you pay attention to him, and him only, right? best make sure you don’t indulge in bad habits, lest you end up on the wrong side of his claws. If you won’t look at him, then he’ll make you look at him.

a faithful companion is what Trey is, as being a dog hybrid, especially of the Newfoundland breed, means his loyalty and ability to care for others is second to none. He's extremely good natured and so patient, even with the rowdy younger ones. you have to remind him to not hover over the others too much, lest he stretch himself too far or his mother henning ends up controlling. It's already happened to you so far, even though you'd argue that's what you're supposed to be doing for him. his instinct to protect must be ingrained deeply, for why does it seem like he's always trailing after you nagging? it's one thing to look out for you, it's completely another thing to run his paws down your body for injuries. maybe you should enlist in some retraining advice…otherwise you might end up pinned to your bed with a possessive hound rutting into you.

a sly little thing, that Cater. Foxes are mischievous by nature, and he is no different. always pulling you to his side for surprise selfies or stealing your ribbon to tie up his own hair, he sure knows how to keep you on your toes. that said, he's still a lovable guy, just not very…honest. Is that another inherent trait? You often ask him where he’s been most of the day and he answers with a vague “just hanging around with other people!”(even though you swear you saw a flash of red orange fur out of the corner of your eye when you went shopping), or when you ask if he’s seen your favorite shirt, only to catch him red handed with it in the laundry. Still, it’s not like he’s weird or mean, it’s just that he needs a firm hand when going too far. And when it gets to the point where you’re having to confiscate his phone for having numerous photos of you, you’ll have to do something real quick or else you might end up flashing more than just underwear in those snaps.

you swear that Ace is a rascal, a rascal! Do all weasel hybrids act like this? one moment you're minding your own business and the next you're having to stop him from consuming your entire snack supply from the pantry. he's always managing to get himself in trouble that it has to be a talent at this point. Some days, you have to seriously consider whether you regret bringing him in from the shelter. Although, maybe that’s too harsh. When he’s not hellbent annoying the soul out of you, he entertains you with tricks up his sleeves, always smugly smiling whenever you compliment his skills. He has his soft moments. but sometimes he gets too mean–always snarling at your other friends or insulting you to the point of tears or frustration. Just when you think about returning him to another handler who could take care of such a rowdy guy, he always manages to come pleading and begging for your forgiveness and then your heart is too nice to not forgive him in the end. this game of tug of war can’t be good for you, but you don’t know that Ace is too well versed in playing hot and cold, and if it means you’ll be isolated from one more rival that isn’t him, then he’ll gladly play this game of breaking your heart.

your heart melts when you look at Deuce. you found the raccoon hybrid shivering in the snowy cold and brought him inside immediately. He’s a little roughed up but with a lot of warm food and being dried by a fluffy towel, he’s practically sparkling with a cool beauty that can’t be seen anywhere. You calm him down from his fretting and over time, he grows rather attached to your side. always insisting on doing your share of the work, claiming it’s to repay you for all you’ve done for him. It’s a little worrying though. Raccoons are mostly solitary creatures, but Deuce has told you he’s been separated from his mother, and you wish to help him reunite with his family. But why is it that he’s not in any hurry to leave? Is he afraid? surely not, as you’ve seen him send intimidating guys twice his size packing from his fighting skills. It’s a secret, but Deuce has been chickening out on proposing to you. he’s been wanting to introduce someone to his mother for a while and put her worries to rest, but every time he’s faced with your smiling face he always ends up red faced and silent. Just give him a couple more days to drum up his courage! once he returns triumphantly with you swollen with his cubs by his side, he’ll be able to rest easy.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #my works #almost posted this on the wrong blog ☠#relieving stress by sketching the boys tm

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letstalkalatte · 1 month ago

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set up | hughie campbell x f!reader

Summary: you totally meant to hangout as friends, as it made it so much easier for you to invite the cute guy you recently met to a small group thing, little did you know that the others "couldn't" make it.

Content tags + warnings: fluff, pre-season 1 hughie, self conscious!reader, height difference, shyness ensues. very cheesy.

Note: 3.1k words. I wanted to write something before anything bad happens to our boy. That's at least what I was trying to depict. I think I had some fun with this, hopefully someone gets something out of it too lol.

You'd been sitting on the bench, gazing across through the fountain's arching mists, which just made you even more hyper aware of the fact that you were abnormally early for the meet up. You bit your lip, switching between the two text threads you had going-- one, including your two friends you had pleaded to come along, and the other was a casual back and forth with Hughie, a somewhat newly acquainted friend.

Well, long story short, the two of you met at his job. You wouldn't normally have considered yourself, by any means, a techie, so it was a relief that you could rely on an expert with your questions on setting up new speakers for the TV at your apartment. You reasoned, that you weren't normally well versed with connecting anything wireless, save for pairing earbuds with your smartphone. So, imagine your shock that you'd exchange numbers with someone you just met-- it's strictly professional, though. By the time you gave it a second thought, you'd already made your purchase, mentally cursing yourself for realizing you might have also done that for another reason entirely.

You kept in communication after the simple walkthrough and setup over the phone. What excellent customer service! 'Was he even clocked in at that point?' you thought.

Regardless, you ended up mentioning that you were hanging out with some friends, so naturally you invited him to come along, so that you could treat for lunch as a formal thank you. Somehow that happened, and it was chill. But apparently you must have dropped some heavy tells, because your roommate mentioned how Hughie seemed mutually interested.

Which is kind of funny because you doubt she's at home coughing up the storm she claims; she was literally fine a couple of hours ago. While your other friend mentioned that something with her family came up. So, somehow you were going to be alone with Hughie for an outing.

'What if he thinks I did that intentionally?' you mentally debated with yourself. 'No big deal, it's just as friends, anyways. He's nice enough, it should be fine.'

"Hey," that familiar voice greeted, with your name following.

You perked up from your chin's resting place of your palm, perking up instantly as you straightened up your posture. "Hughie, hey!"

His hands casually slipped into the pockets of his jacket, that unforgettably contagious smile gracing his face. "I guess I'm a little early… didn't want to keep you girls waiting. But it looks like we've still got time, is this seat taken?"

So that you wouldn't be caught staring, you quickly scooted over to make room for him on the bench, and pulled out your phone, pretending to be checking your texts again.

He sat next to you, finding himself looking ahead, which was great… less eye contact might make your racing mind not so obvious.

"You know, we could probably just get going whenever you want. They're actually not going to be able to make it." you carefully said, turning to face him, no doubt meeting eyes now.

"Oh, okay, I mean. That's also fine, I hope they're okay though, right?" he asked, his face reading a tad concerned.

"Well, they're okay, some stuff came up, but they said they'd love to reschedule-- I mean, we could still do something if you want." you spat out suddenly, feeling as though your voice was about to leap out from your throat. And you kind of deep down knew, it was an instant attraction for you, but you were close to going insane, hoping you wouldn't embarrass yourself about it. What's worse than someone catching onto you, and expressing very clearly, verbally or not that it was one-sided?

Then again, this wasn't the first time you felt drawn in immediately, be that it may, each time you caught a desperate case of it, you were rediscovering certain parts of you that were seldom ignited; how could something like this seem foreign when you've dated before? This isn't a big deal-- it's just that you were caught off guard, is all.

Roused from your daze, Hughie shrugged casually, not seeming to be bothered by the fact. "I mean, I'm still down if you want to hit the movies."

"Same," you smiled a bit to yourself before glancing towards him. "I'd hate to send you back home when you've already freed yourself up for this. Don't wanna be like," you paused and made the motion of scribbling with an invisible pencil as you put on your exaggerated deep-voice, "Lemme see, I've gotta check the calendar."

He started laughing, "Alright, boss don't let me interfere with the rest of your appointments."

You clasped your hands together as if you shut your book. "No worries, I've got you penciled in already. Red circled sharpi'd and everything." you announced, proud look painted all over your face.

"Perfect, shall we?" he replied, quirking an eyebrow.

And with that, you both got up to start heading to the theaters. On your walk over, you didn't realize how instantaneous your uncertainties seemed to mostly dissolve away. Not only was Hughie good company, but your conversation seemed to flow so naturally knowing there weren't any familiar eyes to judge the interactions. The back and forth was undeniably charged with chemistry you weren't sure you've shared with other guys before. Sure, there were others going about their business around you, but none if it really registered while you continued to chat side by side. You wish it lasted a bit longer, but before you knew it, you were in line to buy tickets.

As you waited in line, you looked up at the now showing marquee titles. You casually confessed how you weren't entirely in the mood for another Superhero movie, you've seen so many of them with your friends-- you were content just checking it out on streaming later.

"But I wouldn't mind watching it if you want." you shrugged, acting like it wouldn't bother you either way.

"Nah, I could watch it anytime. Seriously. We could watch the romcom, there wouldn't be too long of a wait."

You swiped up on your phone, looking at the time till the next showing in about 20 minutes. "Hughie, I don't want you to feel silly watching something you aren't interested in."

"I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm dying to find out what kind of third act breakup to resolution these two are going to have." he said oh-so convincingly, as he continued to try and get a feel for your interest in the genre. He didn't mind either way, he very much felt like his attraction to you was so palpable, you'd see the hearts that have been floating all over his field of vision today.

Your eyes gaze narrowed on him. "Well I'm also not entirely sure how I feel knowing you assumed I'm into romance movies."

"Oh I didn't mean it like…uh," he attempted, his mouth opening in a way that felt clumsy, as he was hoping not to ruin something before it even started by his thoughtless speech.

"I'm kidding, I'm partial to romance, if it's done right. But if the lead actor is my type that certainly doesn't hurt." you gave way to a cheesy smile, running a hand over your mouth subconsciously to cover it.

"Whew, crisis averted. I was hoping you weren't going end up hating me before the day's over."

"Well the day's still young, so check back in with me after the movie?" Your soft laugh garnered his attention, as he very temporarily lost the connection between thought and speech, as just the simple action of your lips curving, and the sound paired with what, essentially was just you reacting to his presence-- yet, it must have caused his mind to short circuit.

You looked back at him, wondering why he didn't reply, yet his own smile ended up causing you to end up dead in your tracks. You opened your mouth, and then just as quickly as it opened you bit your lip-

Before the either of you could say or do anything next, you snapped out of whatever realm you wandered into, as a couple of teenaged kids muttered some rude-curse littered comments about holding up the line, pushing past you two.

"Alright, that was unnecessary." Hughie mumbled, not quite speaking loud enough for them to have heard or bothered.

"Anywayyys, I'ma total popcorn hog, so we don't have to share. I can buy my own." you offered, hoping to push past both of those awkward instances without another word.But with a very persuasive and insistent Hughie, he wanted to make sure he treated, well mostly, but you very adamant to pay partial in cash, as you told him you would not forgive him for paying when this outing was not entirely planned like this.

'Is this considered a date? Does he think I made this happen?' you thought to yourself about the possible implications, as you took your seats in the dark theater. Not that you were opposed to the idea, infact you were warming up to seeing it that way, but you very suddenly felt extremely exposed.

For the most part, neither of you made many comments to each other initially, as you were unsure if he would be the type to judge you for talking during a movie. But every so often, you found that you both would glance at each other now and then, after a character's comment or action was reaction-worthy. Which was fun in itself, because you've known others who could take communication to a level deeper than mere words could express.

And once you got there, you were able to whisper silly little thoughts throughout the rest of the film. Which, was a relief, because at first you were so anxious in the dark, as you hoped you would appear busy with your popcorn. You insisted you would infact share, but you kept it in your lap the whole time, since you weren't overly fond of having to reach your hand over him constantly. Subconscious thing, again probably.

But then there was also those moments, that left your attention nonexistent to the movie itself; you could feel your very self wanting to sneak looks at Hughie, ones that had nothing to do with anything else besides, him, really. You sipped on your soda, hoping that you could save face by keeping it in the cupholder between your seats, so that you possibly had an excuse that wouldn't give you away just yet.

After the movie, you walked out together. It was a bit chillier now, since the sun was already on the verge of setting.

"So I'd ask what you thought of the movie, but I think we probably established that already." you spoke up, "That was pretty cliche, but it wasn't bad either."

"Well, it's a proven formula, makes sense why you wouldn't want to stray too far from it if you know what sells."

"True! But I think part of the storytelling is how the audience connects with it. And I don't know, I could kind offf… relate to the girl. I've been there."

"Mm," he hummed. He didn't feel like he would press you any further, he'd wait to see if you would expand upon it if you wanted.

"Well I dunno, I guess deep down I've put a lot of stock in having someone, not as the center of my universe or, me in theirs-- but someone I know I can count on to stay with me as I grow. I welcome all the goofy shenanigans and clumsy mistakes in between, of course. But it's the staying, or patience, I hope for."

Hughie gave you a look of acknowledgement, hoping that he wouldn't ruin the moment and say something that would ruin the mood.

"Orrr… something like that. I have no idea, that probably didn't even make sense." you lightly scoffed at yourself, waving a hand like everything you said was insignificant.

"No, I think that makes perfect sense. I think deep down that's probably what all of us really want."

You simply nod and look off in nowhere in particular, hoping that you wouldn't be seen as a total sap. "You know, Hughie I had a lot of fun. You're great company, and I'd give you 5 stars, if I'd remember to fill out that survey last time."

"Wow, yeah that's a big compliment." he laughed. "Hey um, speaking of… did you uh, maybe want to get something to eat? There's a diner not too far from here, I just thought if you weren't um-"

"Oh," you started, with your eyes searching his as you felt like he read your mind; you were dreading for the night to end. Unless, of course you were just that obvious. "Of course, I'd love to."

Hughie's face lit up instantly. "Great!"

You hugged your arms close to yourself, not really expecting what you heard next.

"Here, it's kind of chilly. I'd hate for you to catch something because I kept you out later."

Before you could really protest, he had gently draped his jacket over your shoulders, which just made you feel all the more sheepish about the situation. "Thanks."

Could it really be at all your fault if you were just drowning even more in your suspicions that this was, by any definition of the word, qualified as a date? Or maybe it just evolved into that? Both willing parties, of course. Hopefully.

Once you were seated and chatting across from each other, the time absolutely flew from the wait inbetween the order and when it came back to your table. You wouldn't have minded if it took longer, though.

"You uh, seem to do that, a lot." he said, like he'd caught onto some kind of secret of yours.

"I do what, a lot?" you asked, simpering a bit as you waited to find out what he's caught onto now.

"This." He pressed his hand loosely over the bottom half of his face, and then you mirrored it back as you noticed how his smile was concealed.

"Oh that's not like, I think it's kind of a habit." you nervously smiled. "I dunno, I'm not really a fan of how I look when I laugh. I probably do it without realizing, but I didn't realize it was that obvious."

"What? Are you kidding? I mean, well obviously you're not. I'm sorry." He was then realizing maybe he shouldn't have brought up something you might have been sensitive about. Crap, it just kind of came out since he couldn't help but notice. "I meant, that you must be kidding…as in, I actually…think your smile is gorgeous. And especially when you laugh, and don't catch it in time."

The look on your face read as pleasant disbelief, as your face felt feverish after hearing his affirmations so very clearly, and suddenly just like that. "Oh, that's lame." you quickly said to tease, trying to divert the conversation hopefully towards something that would make you feel less shy.

"Well, if it makes any difference, you can laugh around me all you want. Infact, just laugh at me if you want, I'm free game. I do stupid stuff all the time."

"Gorgeous, huh?" you simply asked, you couldn't resist smiling as you relished being under his affectionate words.

By the time you had picked apart at your respective plates, you definitely felt so much more invested in getting to know Hughie, the food was just there as the mediator, as it was just an excuse to take up as much time as the night would allow. Not long after, you walked side by side as you both made it back to your apartment. You didn't normally do that kind of thing, but it was late by now, so you weren't at all opposed to being walked home.

You were just outside the stairs leading up to your floor, when you looked up at Hughie, knowing that you were going to resign yourself to being content with ending. You were pretty tired, actually. You both were looking at each other, every other moment finding a different spot to look at on the wall before retreating back to eye contact. Was it a little awkward, or were you communicating with the looks again? Probably both.

Finally mustering up what you wanted to say, you decided to break the silence, "Hey, do you wanna do this again sometime? Maybe a bit more officially, like completely and absolutely intended."

"Yeah?" he asked, eyes hopeful. He took a step closer, maybe without really thinking it, but it was clear to him, there was not fighting against his being naturally drawn to you. "I'd love that."

"Of course, I mean. You've already got my number."

"I mean, I'm free the same time this week. And if it doesn't make me sound desperate, I could be available as soon as tomorrow night."

"Oh, not at all. But um, I think you forgot something?" Your smile once again painting itself in a way that was waiting to be discovered what secret it'd divulge next.

"What's that?" he asked, his eyes searching yours as you took the next step closer.

You gently laid your arms across his shoulders, and without questioning further, he dipped his head a bit lower so he could meet yours in a kiss as his eyes drew closed.

It quickly went a bit past chaste, as you deepened the kiss just a bit further, as you very carefully parted your mouth to allow him that much closer to you. Some moments passed, as your fingers curled into his hair and reluctantly, you pulled away to not get so carried away.

"Here." you whispered, chewing on your lip as you looked from his mouth and then back to his eyes briefly. You slipped his jacket off and handed it back to him, pleased with yourself for not waiting for another day to pass, before addressing the undeniable attraction between you two.

"Wow," he said, still attempting to catch his breath after that. "You sure you don't need me to troubleshoot those speakers for you?"

"Hughie, they're working great but I appreciate the concern. I'll text you?" you were grinning, as you shook your head.

For the rest of the night you were on cloud nine, as you hugged your pillow close to you, inhaling as you thought about being so close to him. The kiss. Oh, that kiss. You couldn't wait for the next day to pass, so you could wake up with him as your first thought.

#the boys x reader #hughie campbell x reader #hughie campbell x you #reader insert #fluff fic

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lifefcrged · 2 years ago

Text

TAG DROP. ( verses. )

VERSE. ( you are a weapon; not a shield. )

--> MCU / (reluctant) shield recruit.

VERSE. ( you are a weapon; and weapons do not weep. )

--> HYDRA (or equivalent)

VERSE. ( the world was not created in a deluge; it was covered by it. )

--> Waterworld (crossover.)

VERSE. ( a world divided; what a world it might have been. )

--> XMCU (geneticist. mutant / ally of the x-men.)

VERSE. ( if death is justice; what is injustice. )

--> TOG (crossover.)

VERSE. ( women do not forget; women do not forgive. )

--> HotD / GoT.

VERSE. ( i am become; what you have made me. )

--> post hydra au; mercenary / villain verse.

VERSE. ( peace is a lie; there is only passion. )

--> SW. ( dark side force user. )

VERSE. ( Ex Astris; scientia. )

--> ST.

VERSE. ( victims; aren't we all. )

--> unspecified fandom. vigilante.

VERSE. ( no man is above the law; nor no man below it. )

--> on the run, post hydra.

VERSE. ( don't open; dead inside. )

--> TWD / generic apocalypse / post apocalypse.

VERSE. ( this lonely road; trying to make it home. )

--> JUSTIFIED.

VERSE. ( such things must happen; but the end is still to come. )

—> DOMINION.

VERSE. ( the only thing necessary for evil to triumph; is for good men to do nothing. )

--> THE BOYS.

#VERSES.#TAG DROP. ( verses. )#TAG DROP.#VERSE. ( you are a weapon; not a shield. )#VERSE. ( you are a weapon; and weapons do not weep. )#VERSE. ( the world was not created in a deluge; it was covered by it. )#VERSE. ( a world divided; what a world it might have been. )#VERSE. ( if death is justice; what is injustice. )#VERSE. ( women do not forget; women do not forgive. )#VERSE. ( i am become; what you have made me. )#VERSE. ( peace is a lie; there is only passion. )#VERSE. ( ex astris; scientia. )#VERSE. ( victims; aren't we all. )#VERSE. ( no man is above the law; nor no man below it. )#VERSE. ( don't open; dead inside. )#VERSE. ( this lonely road; trying to make it home. )#VERSE. ( such things must happen; but the end is still to come. )#VERSE. ( the only thing necessary for evil to trimph; is for good men to do nothing. )

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rwrbficrecs · 1 year ago

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We’ll Invite Something In by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@dot524: This is a fandom favorite and for good reason. In this canon divergence AU, Alex is President, Henry is out, and they never got together in their 20s. Instead, they encounter each other in their late 30s and a very different type of relationship ensues. They still hide it at first, but there’s a lot of living that they both have done and need to work through. I really enjoyed the character dynamics here and how the premise changed both Alex and Henry, making them bolder and more mature. Definitely read this one!

Eyes Blue, Like the Atlantic by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@dot524: A Titanic AU! Adapted by an excellent writer, this one has suspense, action, romance, and intrigue. There is a MCD (Main Character Death) in here and some other tags to be aware of, but also vibrant scenes with dancing, chasing, art, and formal wear. I really enjoyed it!

Clean Slate by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: This was just so excellent. I devoured it in no time, couldn't put it down. I love the way Alex just slips into Henry's life like a silk glove even though Henry has his hesitations. There's abslutely no angst at all other than "you're too young for me" "no, next question" I love it. I love Henry finally feeling young for the first time. I think that is something that Henry generally feels after meeting Alex, like he's never been able to, no matter at what point in life he is. ANYWAY I'm talking about Henry way too much again for a rec. Read this.

Most People Exist by @sprigsofviolets (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Henry, 30, is a nurse on a cancer ward. From the very first moment he feels an intense connection and attraction to his newest patient, the one who has a brain tumor and is named Alexander Claremont-Diaz. - The tags say it all: "Falling in love, Slow Burn, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort". After reading this story I am a whole new person. I laughed and cried, had butterflies in my stomach, I felt it all. Hands down one of the best fics I've ever read!

after hours by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@na-dineee: How much can happen in a few hours? stutteringpeach: Hold my beer. 😅🤝 Reading this was truly a roller coaster ride, my stomach was doing somersaults non-stop: On his last evening in New York, poet Henry meets bartender Alex and the two spend the night together - in true "Before Sunrise" style. To sum it all up: enchanting, sweet, phenomenal, iconic!

No. 1 (Royal Red and Blue) Oil on Canvas by @captainjunglegym (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: This fic is so twisted and surprising in the best way! The summary did not prepare me for all the action that comes after the initial relationship drama and I'd really like to fawn over it some more but I don't want to spoil the fun of figuring out what really is going on and what are characters' motivations. Just give it a try.

Meet the Parents (series) by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@dot524: I really enjoyed these thoughtful character studies of Ellen and Oscar. The two short stories are a series of canon vignettes from Oscar and Ellen’s POV. These glimpses of the Claremont-Diaz parents add heart and depth to the RWRB canon, giving insight about how Ellen and Oscar think about parenthood, power, family, and each other.

Leave The World Better Than You Found It: A BONES AU by @treluna4 (book/movie-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: I really enjoyed this FirstPrince meets procedural TV show fic! With Alex as Booth and Henry as Brennan, they learn to work together, solve crimes--and fall in love, of course. Plus take down a very satisfying book villain.

No Laughing Matter by @inexplicablymine (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is absolutely hysterical- a must read if you need something to cheer you up! It's also very relatable for anyone who, like me, has said things they've regretted in all the best ways!

in summer air by @acdsbff (book-verse)

@na-dineee: I need a vacation and vitamin D - maybe that's why this series (both POVs are covered 🥰) captivated me so much?! It is set on a Greek island, where Alex, just cheated on by his boyfriend, meets hotel owner Henry. What follows is a whirlwind speedrun romance against a beautiful backdrop. Really therapeutic for the heart on dreary days!!

here is a map (with your name as a capital) by @alasse9 (book-verse)

@dot524: What an incredible surprise to have this entire 50k story drop at once. In this canon divergent story, Alex and Henry start getting to know each other in Rio, when Alex helps him recover from a panic attack. Their friendship, and later their relationship, is a delightful slow burn with funny moments, heartbreak, and steady support of each other. I thoroughly enjoyed this start to finish — the characterization of both Alex and Henry is on point and I really enjoyed how the writer changed some of the scenes from the book while keeping key callbacks. A delight.

Claremont 2008 by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This friends to lovers AU is done so well! Having Henry and Alex meet as kids means we get years of their friendship before they even start dating, and it gives every aspect of their relationship so much depth through this entire fic. It also gives some events only referenced in the novel a completely different perspective, which makes them even better!

keep me in the moment (don't it feel so real?) by @anincompletelist (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: I absolutely love everything that comes out of Sarah's magic little fingers and this was no exception. Alex and Henry are best friends and pinning over eache other unknowingly and an accidental lil discovery turns their relationship upside-down (for the better) absolutely recommended. I honestly loved it so much.

you know i can't be found with you by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: This was SO much fun. Alex was RELENTLESS and I absolutely love an older Henry. It was also very fucking funny. 10/10

the great duck fiasco by @alexclaremont-diaz (book-verse)

@suseagull04: A spy AU, dating apps, and Alex's Texas roots combine in the funniest way possible- definitely read this if you want a good laugh!

#monthly faves #rwrb fic recs #firstprince #firstprince fic recs

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crheativity · 11 months ago

Note

Congrats for your 200 followers, hopefully you will grow more!

Can I request Silver at 7 pm? Cuddling with him in MC room, specially since how busy he can be as Malleus guard. Hopefully this is fine.

WARNINGS: ametuer poetry lol

COMMENTS: Hey Anon! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you don’t mind but I changed it slightly to make it just a little more SFW as this request is right on the edge of what I’m comfortable writing. Also, the poem is selected lines of a sonnet I wrote a couple years back, bc that was a thing I used to do often. As such, it’s not very professional, so sorry if the poetry isn’t the best. Thank you! :D

It had been a while since you’d gotten to relax with your boyfriend. I mean, he was awfully busy. You supposed that was a fair price to pay for someone as sweet and good as Silver.

But in the rare moments - in between his and your studies, random bouts of sleepiness and monitoring Malleus’ wellbeing, miraculously, you were able to make things work. You never seemed to have the time for any big, romantic dates. It was a rare occasion indeed where you had dinner at the Mostro Lounge, watched a movie at the cinema or went shopping together.

That didn’t stop either of you from having dinner at Ramshackle, watching movies at home or going on errands to Sam’s together. Your “dates” were often smaller, and even more sweet than anything else you could imagine doing.

Like right now, for example.

Currently, you and Silver were sitting close to each other on a couch. A blanket was draped gently over the two of you as you sat holding a book of poetry. The two of you took turns searching through it, before you each found one you’d like (whether it be funny, romantic or emotional) and read it aloud to each other.

Silver had been getting sleepy for a while now, although he was a little too stubborn to admit it. Or maybe he just wanted to spend more time chatting and reading with you.

That thought gave you butterflies.

Concentrating on the book, you flicked through, scanning the contents for any poems that stood out to you - ones you hadn’t read yet. Your eyes settled on one, a soft smile settling on your lips as you skimmed the contents.

Yes, this one seemed appropriate.

“Have you found one?” Silver piped up sleepily beside you. He’d started leaning on you gently, resting his head on your shoulder as his eyelids grew heavy.

“Yep, you ready?”

“Always.”

You smiled softly as you read aloud.

“I can still remember the day we met,

You held my hand and asked me what was wrong.

I don’t remember why I was upset,

But I remember your smile as you sung:”

You paused for a moment, skimming the lyrics and guessing how the melody is supposed to go. Softly, you sung the next verse of the poem.

“No matter what has happened dear sweetheart,

I am always here for you, it’s okay,

Like flowers, whose petals must come apart

So they can bloom, you will find your own way.”

Silver shifted next to you. His breathing was changing by the moment, his sleepiness finally starting to win the battle against his will to stay awake - to stay with you.

He was always here for you, much like the friend in the poem. The thought made you smile. You wondered if Silver could sing? That would definitely be something to ask him when he woke up. Maybe he could sing the poem to you next time.

You continued through the poem, reading through the last verse.

“Fast forward a few years, we were best friends,

“Best friends”… oh yes, and maybe something more.

We were “best friends”, with seemingly no end,

Until the day you knocked upon the door.”

Your mind wandered back to the day Silver had confessed. It was simple, but very sweet. He had come to visit you at Ramshackle. It was the only time you could remember seeing Silver nervous.

You brought your mind back to the last couplet of the poem as Silver continued to fight a losing battle against his sleepiness.

“You told me you’d find me, gave me this ring,

And every day since, I have spent hoping.”

You felt Silver squeeze your hand and glanced over at him just in time to see his eyes flutter closed.

Sleep had won.

You gently set the book aside and adjusted Silver into a more comfortable position against you, moving the blanket draped over you both to cover him more fully. You gently leaned against him and shut your eyes. One hand held Silver’s, your other floating up to your neck, where a promise ring hung from a chain.

Maybe your love was like poetry in more ways than you’d thought.

♥ Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it! ♥

#Rhea’s TWST Fics~!#200 follower celebrheation event!#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fluff #Silver #Silver Vanrouge #silver x reader #twst fanfic #twst

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padfootagain · 10 months ago

Text

Love in Verses (III)

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Hi, everyone!!! Here is another chapter! Break up is rough, angst is everywhere!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Word Count: 3954

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide. There are a hundred places where I fear To go,—so with his memory they brim. And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, “There is no memory of him here!” And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected poems, 1938

You woke up in an empty bed.

Your alarm rang, it was time to get up and go to work. There was no one else on the other side of the mattress, nobody else’s warmth beneath the sheets. There was still Frank’s scent everywhere though, but no item left on his bedside table. You got up, took a shower where his shampoo and bodywash had disappeared, his toothbrush and razor missing by the sink. None of his clothes were left, and the thought suddenly struck you that he couldn’t have packed all of his things in the hour he stayed the previous night. Where had he left anyway? He must have planned everything…

You were so overwhelmed with emotion that you weren’t even sure what you were feeling, in the end. Hurt, anger, loss, shock, denial… God, you couldn’t believe that this was truly happening…

You looked down at your left hand, and your engagement ring was still there, on your finger, where it belonged. None of this was real, it was a mistake, a dream, a prank even… but it couldn’t be real.

How could Frank be gone? And if he was… what on earth was this story of his about a woman he had just met, a woman he barely knew? He was ready to throw away the past six years for a stranger? Was that truly all you meant to him?

This was a mistake, clearly. Frank was making a mistake. Perhaps he was stressed with his job, maybe he was freaking out because of the wedding. Whatever it was, he would realise soon that he was acting on an impulse, out of all logic, and he would come back to his senses. He ought to…

… he ought to, because how could you live without him? You had forgotten how to do it.

Andrew sent a text to Samantha, as he did every morning. He was late, as per usual. He almost tripped on Elwood, while the dog was stretching in the middle of the hallway, rushing as he did to get his coat. He checked in his pockets.

Phone, yes.

Keys, yes.

Wallet, yes.

Glasses were upon his nose, he had his bag thrown over his shoulder with his laptop, a water bottle, a thermos and…

He rolled his eyes, cursed under his breath.

An empty thermos. That’s what he had forgotten to do this morning, prepare himself some coffee or tea. Never mind, Andrew would prepare something at work, he didn’t have the time.

Anyway, the list…

An empty thermos, the article he had brought from work last night, the book of poetry he was currently studying…

He pressed ‘send’ on the screen of his smartphone, spotting a spelling mistake before he could close the app, but he didn’t have time to correct it.

Good morning, love. Hopng for a good day for you. Are you planning on dropping by tonight?

… A notebook, a couple of pencils, a hair tie. Wait, did he have a hair tie? Yes, around his wrist, of course, bloody idiot…

He petted Elwood’s head, told him to be a good boy, and hurried outside.

During his drive, he thought about Samantha, wondered if her meetings had gone well the previous day. She hadn’t sent him a text to tell him she was safely home, but upon receiving no news and no answer to his calls, he had called her friend Jess, who had told him she was indeed home, safe and sound. She was probably just drunk and had gone to bed, forgetting to text him. As long as she was safe, Andrew didn’t really mind, but he had been worried about her. He made a mental note to remind her to text him the next time she went out.

He heaved a sigh, turning up the volume of the music, letting Duke Ellington and John Coltrane fill up the space around him. A sentimental mood started playing, he felt all his muscles relax as the saxophone sang.

His mind wandered with the airy notes, jumping from Sam, to work, to you. He was happy to see you today, to ask about your work at lunchtime. You would probably have thought about your classes during the evening, would have a lot of things to discuss over a salad or a sandwich at noon. He smiled at the thought as he parked his car at Trinity.

He checked the time on his watch before leaving his car. He was late, although he had no meeting nor class to give. But he had hoped to be in his office by nine o’clock, and it was almost nine thirty. Where did these thirty minutes go? God, he really was a terrible time-keeper…

He hurried through the university grounds, left empty by the summer, students enjoying a well-deserved rest. There was still a little bit of dew wetting the grass, making it shine with pearly specs of light. The sky was a mix of blue and cotton-white, as if it pondered for now on whether to give Dublin a sunny day or a rainy one. Andrew paid little attention to those details, hurrying towards his work, his head already busy with all he had to do. He stopped by the cafeteria before heading to his office to prepare himself some coffee, filling up his thermos. He took a sip of the too-warm beverage as he exited the room, walked down a corridor, burning his tongue a little in the process. He cursed under his breath at the feeling.

He heaved a sigh, hurried towards the staircase and climbed all the way up to your shared office, a smile back on his lips as he thought of seeing you. Maybe this day had not started in the best way, but you would greet him in just a moment with your usual enthusiasm, and it would make him feel happy again. He hurried down the corridor leading to the wooden door that sported both of your names, engraved in copper.

When he opened the door, you were there, indeed. You were focused on your computer screen, didn’t seem to notice that Andrew had come in. He smiled at you anyway.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted you with warmth, making you finally look up at him.

“Oh… morning, Andrew,” you gave him a polite smile, right before focusing on your screen again.

The gesture was tight-lipped, professional. He frowned at the sight, blinked a couple of times before finally putting his thermos down on his desk and his bag on the ground by the side of his desk.

“You’re alright this morning?” he asked, trying to hide that his question was genuine behind a neutral tone.

“Sure. You?”

“Yeah, yeah… all grand.”

You didn’t look up, merely stared at your screen. He noticed that your eyes were red, that you seemed tired. He wondered if anything wrong had happened for you to act so cold. But then again, you were colleagues, had been for less than a week. Perhaps you were always like that. Now that the excitement of the first days was over, maybe you were just falling back into your normal character, turning professional rather than friendly. And it was alright, of course. You were colleagues. As long as you would both get along fine together, you didn’t need to be anything more.

Still, Andrew couldn’t refrain the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

You remained quiet for the rest of the morning, and so did he. He was focused on his work, you were struggling to keep your eyes away from your phone, glancing regularly at the device propped on your desk, right by your side.

When it was finally time for lunch, Colm came knocking on the door of your office, without waiting for an invitation to come in.

“Well, hello, busy bees! Time to eat! I’m starved!” he proclaimed, making Andrew chuckle as he got up.

You didn’t move from your seat, merely granted Colm another one of your polite smiles.

“Erm… you’re eating with us, Y/N?” Andrew offered, putting on his jacket.

“Thanks for offering! But I’m really not hungry today.”

“You’re sick?” Colm asked, crossing his arms before his chest. “I know it’s your first week, but if you’re sick you can just go home. No need to act all brave and tough just to gain points towards… nobody, really.”

“No, no… it’s not that at all. I’m not sick, just… not hungry.”

“As you wish…” Colm shrugged, turning towards Andrew, who didn’t seem convinced by your explanation at all.

“Come on, Treebeard! I’m starving!”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andrew asked you, ignoring Colm for a moment.

But you nodded, the same neutral smile on your lips. You seemed sad, upset even.

“Sure, I’m alright.”

Andrew nodded, giving up. He was a mere colleague to you, after all. He wasn’t your friend, surely something was wrong but it was perfectly normal for you not to want to discuss it with him. Still, he forced himself to walk out of the room, guilt tugging at his heart.

Andrew ended up eating with several colleagues, and he had a nice time. He checked his phone, but Sam had not replied to his text yet. He started making assumptions, worrying about her all over again. He admonished himself for being such a worrier, for not being able to let go. She had had too much to drink, she was probably dealing with a hangover, nothing more, nothing to worry about… Besides, how hypocritical of him it would be to get angry because she wasn’t answering right away, when he was terrible at managing texts and emails himself. He too often forgot about a text he had left on read, being busy when he received it, only to remember to reply days later. He didn’t do that for Sam, though…

He walked back up the stairs with Colm and Ronan, who worked at the IT department and turned left instead of right to go back to his own office. A nice guy, commented Colm, they ought to hang out with him more often. Besides, it was always a good idea to have someone good with computers close by. The remark made Andrew chuckle, while he let Colm reach his own office. Andrew was alone again as he opened the wooden door of your shared working space.

He was quiet as the door slid open, and you weren’t. Over the noise of your own conversation you were having over the phone, you didn’t notice as Andrew was walking in, closing the door behind him. You were facing the window behind your desk.

“Frank… you can’t be serious about this.”

Frank. Andrew recognised the name. He was your partner. Perhaps the two of you had a row…

He was taking off his jacket already, but stopped before he would finish his movement. Perhaps he should just tiptoe out of the office. You didn’t seem to have noticed him, and this was clearly a personal conversation that he had no business hearing.

“What do you mean you’ve taken your decision?! Have you taken a minute to actually think?! We’ve spent six years together! Yes! No! Yes, you’re right, I’m not accepting your ‘decision’, because it makes no fucking sense! Look… just… let’s meet up tomorrow, and discuss things, okay? Are you chickening out because of the wedding?”

Andrew silently slid his jacket back on his shoulders, pulled his hair from under the collar, and slowly walked back towards the door.

“Frank, this is ridiculous… it makes no sense…”

Your voice broke, Andrew ached at the pain it was revealing.

“No, I don’t want to!”

Andrew had almost reached the door when the tiles under his feet cracked, and you spun around in a jolt. He gave you an apologetic smile, but remained frozen under your stare.

“Frank, I’ve got to go, babe. Just… please, think about what you’re doing, okay? And we need to discuss this properly, face to face.”

Your face fell, he saw that you were about to cry, before you pulled your phone away from your ear, stared at the screen with a blank stare.

“Y/N? You’re alright?” Andrew asked, staring at you, at how distressed you looked.

You blinked up at him, put your phone down on your desk. And then you shook your head, covered your mouth with your hand, and started crying. Or sobbing, rather. Andrew stared for a second with round eyes, not knowing what to do.

His first reaction was to hold you, and so he took a couple of steps towards you, but then he remembered that you were colleagues, that you barely knew each other, that it would be inappropriate for him to touch you in any way. So, he stopped abruptly, stared at you some more.

“Y/N?”

You stared at each other for a moment, while your sobbing got worse, and Andrew was thinking of what he should do. But then, you were the one to circle your desk, and basically let yourself fall into his arms. He caught you easily, held you in a tight hug.

“Hey… what’s going on? You’re alright? What’s wrong?” he asked, making his voice even softer than it usually was, rubbing soothingly your back.

You were shaking in his arms, holding on his jacket like your life depended on it.

“Frank is breaking…up… up with me,” you explained, your cries making you stutter, choking on your breathing.

Andrew clenched his jaw, held you a little tighter.

“God… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s just… out of nowhere… we’re engaged! He says… he says he’s met someone else… but he… he doesn’t know her! They met… like… just a few weeks ago… who does that?!”

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know…”

“What am I going to do now?”

He let you cry for a few more minutes, supporting your weight as your legs seemed too weak to fully carry you, rubbing soothing circles into your back, your head buried in his chest.

“Why don’t you go home, Y/N? Huh? You should go home, get some rest.”

But you shook your head, suddenly breaking free from his embrace.

“No, no… I need to work…”

“You’re not going to get anything done, anyway. It’s alright. Just… go home. Go home, and rest. You’ll come back on Monday morning, once you’ve sorted this out.”

You blinked up at him, dried your cheeks on your sleeves.

“I’m sorry…”

“There’s no need to apologise. Just go home, get some rest. You’re upset, being here will do nothing to make you feel better. We don’t have classes yet, you can work at home if you want to.”

You nodded, but sat back at your computer all the same.

“I’ll leave early.”

“Alright.”

“It’s… It’s better if I don’t think about this, anyway.”

“I understand…”

“I… I’m sorry I hugged you like that…”

“No need to apologise. It’s fine. You’re upset, it’s okay.”

“I… I’m sorry if I’m a little off today…”

“Y/N… I reckon that it’s normal for you to ‘be off’ today. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, in fact… I was about to walk out again, like… erm… but you heard me before I could…”

“You could have knocked.”

“It’s my office.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Yeah, right… it’s okay…”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

But you shook your head.

“It’s better if I focus on something else. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with my personal life.”

He nodded, not saying anything else while he took off his jacket, threw it on the back of his chair and sat down behind his desk.

When he looked up at you, you were still crying, although you were doing so in silence, drying your eyes and cheeks quickly, in an attempt to hide it.

Andrew wanted to hold you again, until you would stop crying for real.

Elwood wasn’t supposed to climb on the couch, but Andrew had such a soft spot for his dog that this rule had been neglected for a long time. Instead, he let his dog lie by his side on the sofa while he watched tv, a beer in his hand, Elwood’s head lying on his laps in search for infinite scratches. And Andrew was happy to comply and offer all the petting his dog desired.

Stallone was suffering of post-traumatic stress on screen, hiding near a village after coming back from war with nothing, but Andrew wasn’t really paying attention to Rambo’s pain. Instead, he let his mind wander off to other places, to worries and lists of things to do. He thought of you, hoped that you would be fine, that you would sort things out with the man you loved. He thought about the article he needed to read the next day, the poems he wanted to select and discuss in his class about Yeats. He thought about the notebook that sat in his office at home, that had remained closed for the past few months, how he couldn’t find any reason to write these days, how he missed being able to produce poetry. It used to quieten his busy head for a while, he grieved for the easy cure, the temporary emotional relief creating provided for him. But then again, things were a little off with Sam these days. He could feel her drifting away sometimes, didn’t feel that they were as close as they used to. They would overcome it, of course, they always did. But what worried him most was that he didn’t know the reason behind it. Especially the past few weeks. She didn’t seem to make much efforts to be with him, to show interest in him. He wasn’t sure if it came from outside, may it be work or family, or if it came from inside their relationship. Perhaps he wasn’t paying enough attention, perhaps he had said something without realising it could be hurtful to her…

Anyway, they were drifting apart, and Andrew couldn’t write. He hadn’t written a single poem in two months, the longest time he had spent not writing at all since his teenage years. He felt kind of lost without that routine, the anchor it provided.

Sam had not answered to his texts today, he was worried. He knew she was alright, he had asked her friend again this afternoon, and Sam had been to work as per usual. It wasn’t like her to simply ghost him, though, that was new.

He would have been lying had he pretended that it didn’t make him angry. He didn’t reckon that he was being too much, crossing boundaries or anything of the kind by asking her to reply, when he just wanted to make sure she was alright. He clenched his jaw at the thought, tried not to let anger win, but he couldn’t help it. She was always complaining about his lack of communication skills, but she was pulling stunts like this? Andrew was far from perfect in that area, he knew it, he tried to make efforts about it, but he had never ghosted her for an entire day.

There was something wrong, and Andrew dreaded to find out what it could be.

Andrew jumped when he heard a knock on the door. Elwood felt his sudden rush of fear, barked in response.

“Shh, it’s alright, boy,” Andrew petted Elwood’s head before standing and walking to the door.

His eyes grew round in surprise as he found Sam on his doorstep.

“Babe? What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight…”

“I… I wanted to see you.”

His heart grew warm at her words, but he was still angry because of her silence. He let her in anyway.

“You’re alright? You didn’t answer me at all since yesterday morning,” Andrew said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry… I was just… busy…”

“What’s wrong? You seem upset?”

“Long day…”

She walked to the kitchen, paid no mind to Elwood as he watched her pass by, sniffed at her jeans, before heading back towards Andrew. The dog followed him around as he walked to the kitchen as well.

Andrew internally debated whether he should start a fight or not, about her silence, about the unanswered texts, about the fact that he was worried sick…

“How was your day, Andy?”

A simple question, Andrew was surprised to be stunned by it. It was a perfectly normal question, one he asked her every day, one she used to ask him. But then, he realised he was surprised because she had stopped asking about his day years ago…

“Erm… fine,” he answered, blinking at her, pushing his resentment to the side for a moment.

He looked at her fidgeting with his kettle, with a mug she had taken from the cabinet above her head. She seemed nervous, distressed even. Perhaps she was summoning up the courage to talk about whatever was bothering her. So, Andrew answered, instead of arguing.

“I… My day was fine. Got a lot of work done, ate with Colm and Ronan, which was nice. I’ve started narrowing down my list of poems I want to talk about for this new class about Yeats I’ll be teaching this year, made some historical research for it too. I’m worried about Y/N, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… her fiancé broke up with her last night. She’s devastated.”

He saw how Sam tensed at his words, turned her head slightly in his direction.

“Really?”

“Hmm… they had been together for several years, were engaged and everything. She was upset, like… really upset. I hope they can fix things, she seems to love him a lot. And apparently, it was very sudden too. Which only made things worse. She truly didn’t see it coming. God, can you imagine? Your long-time partner just… dropping a bomb on you like that? Without any warning? She didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know exactly what happened, but… something so unexpected like that….”

He saw Sam struggling to swallow, saw the fear and the hesitation in her eyes, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He walked over to her, folded his long arms around waist, pressing her back to his chest, kissed her head.

“Anyway, how are you? Are you okay, baby? Why didn’t you tell me you were home last night, I was worried sick…”

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m a little off today.”

“Yeah, I can see that. What happened?”

She hesitated, but then she shook her head, and he could tell that she was changing her answer, that she was hiding something from him.

“Just…” she stopped, stared at the empty mug in front of her. ��Do you think that could happen to us?”

“What?”

“What happened to your colleague… do you think that could happen to us?”

Andrew’s heart started pounding, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t show the panic rising in his chest at the thought, he merely tightened protectively his hold on her instead.

“Of course, not. We’ve always been through every issue we’ve had, every row, every hard time. We’ll be fine, babe. We’re always fine.”

She didn’t relax per say, but Sam heaved a sigh, shook her head, turned in his arms to hug Andrew tight.

“You’re right. That’s silly…”

“Babe, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

But she shook her head, closing her eyes as she buried her face in his t-shirt.

“Nothing. Nothing important. I’m sorry I was so off today.”

“I love you, Sam.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but seemed to change her mind right before speaking. “I know, Andy. I know.”

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