#ralph timewasters

[usetheeauthor]

Like Prey (MDNI+18)

Virgin!Ralph Penbury x TimeTraveler!Mean!F!Reader

Summary: Ralph’s the one hunting you down. So why is it that he feels like prey?

Tw/tags: smut, loss of virginity, small dick!ralph (little ones deserve love, too also he’s got big balls), oral sex (f.receiving), silly humor, unprotected p in v , creampie, degradation/teasing kink, dirty talk, intense orgasms, breeding kink, primal/chase kink, brief dom!ralph, brief body insecurities on Ralph’s part, little fluff, nipple play, doggystyle sex in the woods, desperate kinda rough sex, licking, french kissing, grinding, getting caught (surprise guest: Lauren)…I think that covers everything

Victory is on the tip of his panting tongue. He could almost taste it…

…Or was that just the taste of blood…

Ralph knows he’s not the most athletic man. Hell, he’s never had to lift as little as a finger due to his abundant wealth. But you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: 30 minutes on the clock, Ralph is meant to hunt you down within this large pine forest, catch you before the end of time, and you’ll surrender yourself to him totally!

After all the push and shove, finally you’ve given him the chance…with some obstacles to hurdle, of course. But Ralph would happily tackle them with the energy of a trained show dog if it meant you were the prize.

Maybe he’s not the best at running but at least the outdoor skills he’s learned from his boy scouting days should give him some advantage. It’s too bad you failed to disclose that you, too, were once both a girl scout and an active member of your high school and college sports teams.

Ralph pats a handkerchief over his reddening sweaty face before wringing out the cloth and placing it back into his shirt pocket. He raises the aluminum round water canteen to his dry lips, shaking it above his tongue when no liquid produces. Frustrated, he tosses it to the ground before moving on to something else that would replenish his energy.

Removing his backpack, he rummages through it for a snack bar. A quick bite should boost his morale and strength. He sits on a nearby tree stump, munching away. Some pesky mosquitoes begin to buzz around him, the honey scent within the snack bar attracting them. Bloody hell…he wishes he hadn’t worn these shorts but he wanted to look the part of a hunter and you, the innocent deer.

But this was only just the beginning of his problems. The food had now attracted a curious squirrel, scurrying its way up to him. Ralph puffs his chest, recalling an animal fact about potential dangerous squirrel encounters: make yourself look bigger.

Or…was that for bears?

The squirrel screeches at him and Ralph raises his hands in caution, trying to reason with the animal. Instead the furry fiend lunges forward in attack, prompting Ralph to yelp and make for an exit.

Ralph’s going in the complete opposite direction from where he’d believe to have seen you and, according to his pocket-watch, he’s only got 5 minutes left. After a couple of circles around the area, he finally makes the smart decision to throw the snack far enough for the squirrel to head in its direction. He takes the time to catch his breath, desperately gasping for air.

“Oh, lover boy,” You call over his shoulder, stepping away once he’s turning to face you. “You’ve still got 10 seconds left on the clock. Catch me.”

“Coming, darling.” Ralph rasps weakly but he’s immediately tripped up by one shoe he’d removed and thrown at the creature. Now he lies on his back, hyperventilating and defeated. It is officially…

Game. Over.

“I win.” You gloat.

“That you did, darling. Good show.” Ralph praises exhaustively, attempting to sit up. With your foot on his shoulder, you push him back into the dirt.

He glances up at you in both confusion and awe as you lower yourself onto his lap, sitting directly on his hardening member. You look absolutely stunning in your thin tulle-like night dress that clings to your perspired body like a second skin. The image is reminiscent to gazing upon a greek sculpture with a thin veil of fabric wrapped around your voluptuous frame that leaves little to the imagination, breasts and warm core silhouetted by the sheer cloth. You don fluffy deer ears above your head along with a matching tail that fit nicely inside your ass.

Such a sinful sight yet so heavenly that it burns his eyes as if he’s staring directly at a celestial being. Ralph doesn’t think he deserves to witness such beauty but you wanted him to gaze upon the unholiness so he’d be exposed to the kinkiest of things people of his time had not yet seen before.

You lower, hovering your face over his before your tongue traces along his jaw, collecting the sweat streaming down it. “I really like seeing the lengths you’d go through for me. So uncoordinated, pathetic, shameful…and yet you make me so wet. I want to see that look on your face all of the time, I think.”

Before he can speak, your lips are planted on his cracked lips. Your hot mouth and your eager tongue is a devilish combination. You lap wildly against his tongue, ensuring you exchange saliva.

He’s inexperienced; an untouched virgin ready to be defiled and sullied. His heart pounds in his chest at an alarmingly fast rate, not believing that this could be happening to him.

And yet your hands interlocking with his ground him—literally ground him as you pin his hands down to the dirt. Your hips undulate, finding the perfect position to capture his clothed mushroom tip between your sopping folds.

Ralph can hardly breathe from both the overwhelming sensation of your kisses and the exhaustion of today’s hunt. You are anything but merciful to his plight, however, as you give him no room to catch his breath. All he can do is find some moments to gasp in between devouring kisses before your tongue shoves back down his throat. This was a kind of hunger he didn’t think to be possible but it’s better than he could have ever dreamed.

“Want your cock.” You whine against his eager tongue that returned your feverish licking in kind.

“You can have it,” He rasps just as desperately, a cry bubbling in his throat when you offer sloppy kisses onto his thick neck. “It has always been yours to own.”

You moan at his response. Regardless of his inexperience, the man had a way with words and knew exactly the kind of things to say to satisfy you. Such a good boy.

“Just one request?” He asks hotly in your ear, pulling you close against him; chest to chest, with his large gorgeous hands once you release them.

“Go on, Ralphie.” You coo, rolling your hips even harder against him and eliciting yet another high-pitched whine.

“I wish to taste you,” He says, begging. “I’ve dreamt of your taste for so many lonely nights. Delusions of you in the empty space in my bed as if you were really mine. With just a taste, if i never get to have you again, I think savoring you will be just enough to keep me sane.”

Overcome with emotion by his words, you kiss him passionately once more, sucking on his tongue as if you, too, wished to savor his taste.

“What an eager little virgin you are,” You cruelly tease. “I’m not entirely convinced you’ll handle yourself fine between my legs. A woman’s pleasure is quite difficult to master and to be honest…when I first met you, I didn’t think you liked women.”

He’s flustered and tripping over his words but you place a finger against his lips, soothingly hushing him.

“It’s alright, Ralphie,” You say before placing a quick kiss on his pouty lips. “I don’t mind a man that’s a little effeminate. I find it exhilarating when a man is in touch with his feminine side. That shows to me that you’ll be willing to learn. So…I suppose I’ll humour you.”

You slide off his lap, allowing him the chance to see the mess you’ve made of his khaki explorer shorts. A tortured groan escapes his parted kiss-swollen lips when he sees the slick trail you’d left on the crotch area. The thought of his painfully erect cock soon being coated in your creamy release nearly has him coming on the spot. He palms his hardened member, squeezing to keep its erratic jumping at bay.

“Will you please undress me, Ralphie?” You ask sweetly, lying back on your elbows against the soft moss.

“As you wish.” He says, reaching towards you with trembling hands.

You stare up at him, anticipating; fawn-like eyes carrying a hint of mischief in them. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth once he begins to unravel the bow around your waistline. His breathing picks up when the bow slips off and gently falls behind you. With his fingers hooked on either sides of your dress, he cautiously parts it.

Ralph’s breath hitches once your breasts come to view, perky nipples calling for his tongue to travel them. He separates the dress oh so slowly and calculated so that the thin fabric could caress your skin as if it were his lips tracing along it instead. You whine, head thrown back when a cool breeze passes by; a gently brush felt on your sensitive peaks.

Unable to contain himself, he leans forward above you to train his long and thick tongue from your tummy, between the valley of your breasts, to your perky nubs. He teases you with his talented mouth in earnest, moaning when your hands weave into his hair to keep him in place.

His teeth lightly nibble earning a surprise squeal and giggle from you. When his tongue glides back up your neck, you tug on his hair forcing him to capture your lips once more. The kiss is sloppy—again a result of his inexperience—but still you find yourself moaning into the kiss, curling your arms around his neck so he doesn’t part for air longer than you can wait.

You’re the one to break the kiss, standing on your feet and towering over him on his knees. Ralph gets the picture, eyes fluttering shut as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs and bask in your fingers weaving in his hair.

He pulls you closer by your legs, slotting your creamy pussy over his drooling tongue. You let out another gasp that morphs into a moan when the rough texture of his dry lips clamp around your clit, suckling lightly.

Sweet Ralph, so determined and devoted to you; his one goal is to satisfy your every desire. Your biting words and insults have only ever served as a form of encouragement for him. He’ll handle your mean behavior any day for as long as he gets to call you his or gets to have your sobbing cunt over his face again.

You lean against the nearest tree, mouth open and brows furrowed almost as if your pain. In a way, you are because this man knew how to take your fucking breath away and now you’re struggling to let out some relief of the cries bubbling within your throat.

Then, his eyes fly open at the same time his tongue thrusts into your tight core and speech finds you again.

“Fuuuck, Ralph! Please! Oh god,” You whimper, hand cupping the back of his head while the other lays against the tree behind you for support.

He hums moans and forces out groans from the back of his throat with your every plea, eyes staring intensely as you fall apart on his tongue.

He’s doing this to you with absolutely no coaching on your part?!

“Oh, darling,” He whispers against your flesh, making out with your puffy pussy between words. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. Please I must know.”

You answer his plea by tugging on his hair roughly. He lowly growls at this, pretty lips turned up an a lust-filled feral snarl before he dives back into you. He raises you completely off the ground now, using the tree as leverage as he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“So fucking good,” You pant, hand moving away from the tree to glide down your body as if you could feel the pleasure traveling through it. Then, your eyes widen as the sensation settles at the pits of tummy. As it tightens, you begin to hyperventilate, riding his face. “Ralph, fu—ohmygodohmygodohmygod!”

With expert precision, he circles your clit with his tongue while his big brown eyes shine up at you like a lovesick puppy. Finally, he slips a finger into you and immediately the flood gates open, soaking his hands, the lower half of his face—practically everything in sight—with your wetness. Your eyes roll back, lids twitching as it shoots out of you like a geyser surprising the both of you as you squeal in delight.

Though, he doesn’t understand what he’d done he continues to lap away at whatever you gave him until you forcibly pull him away.

You tremble, shaky legs unable to remain rigid enough to rest on his shoulders. You find yourself weakly sliding down into his lap, folded in half, legs still raise in the air where your feet and anklet dangle beside his ears.

Ralph pulls you away from resting on the tree so he can kiss you once more, making you taste yourself in the process.

“I hope I gave you the pleasure you deserved, my love.” He says.

He hopes?! That man made you see God and he’s still unconvinced of his skills?!

You being teasingly mean as always, you respond in a way that one would call…’nonchalant’.

“It was satisfactory.” You reply, expecting him to throw a fit but instead he beams with pride.

Ralph was once told by his papa in a man to man conversation regarding women that, irregardless of a man’s size, as long as a man knew how to pleasure their women with their tongue then they shall remain happy. It’s a sentiment Ralph held dear, honing in on learning the art of cunnilingus through saucy literature reads he’d ‘stumble’ upon in his maid’s room.

And you would come to appreciate him for this as you will soon find out that he lacks in the key department you seek.

“I want you inside me. Please take me.” You beg, kissing his neck feverishly. Your eager hands tear open his explorer button down shirt, buttons scattering in between your bodies and onto the dirt. But your concerns lie with feeling his bare frame flushed against yours, ferverently canting your hips downward.

Ralph nervously searches his mind for an explanation or a way out of giving you his cock. When you made the offer to surrender yourself, he didn’t think that meant getting to fuck you. Hell, he didn’t even win your little game to expect such a blessing to begin with. And although he is grateful, he’d rather you be in love with him enough that seeing his tiny cock and unathletic frame wouldn’t resort to you fleeing from him again. He’s already got some work to do regarding your perception of him as is.

“Could I take you…from behind?” He loathes himself for being such a coward. The first time he gets to make love to you and he won’t even get to see your pretty faces.

“Is it to punish me for escape you, Ralphie?”

“No, darling!”

“I wouldn’t mind if it were my punishment,” You whisper, fingers looping around the waistband of his shorts. “I was rather cruel to you. I knew you’d lose. That there was a chance you’d never get me. I watched on close by—you, a sweltering fool—you were none the wiser.”

Your words to provoke had done enough.

“Turn around.” He growls and you rush to comply, climbing off his lap to eagerly get into position.

Meanwhile, he’s frantically removing articles of clothing; tossing his explorer vest, his now ruined dress shirt, his undershirt, then his hat, then focusing on loosening the ascot around his neck—fuck, it’s amazingly frustrating how many layers of clothing he wore.

Impatience takes over once you notice that his pants still clung to his waist with the support of a heavy duty belt. You turn over for a moment, fumbling with the zipper and buttons of his pants. You’d completely forgotten to unbuckle his belt, whimpering and whining when his pants didn’t seem to budge. Ralph finally assists you, guiding your hands to his belt’s buckle until his pants pool around his knees.

You take in his almost bare form. He’s pale, thin but surprisingly lean. If you wanted to, you could easily overpower him. How…exhilarating.

Ralph squirms under your gaze, feeling self-conscious. He never had any issue with himself but of course he just wants to be perfect for you.

He’s seconds from asking if you want to stop but your hands find the last barrier of clothing separating him from you. You gage his reaction, not once tearing your eyes from his face, while your hands lower his white briefs. His cock springs upward and you observe it in its glory. It’s two-toned schlong with the base being slightly darker than the tip. It’s curvy with a fat girth size though it’s smaller in the length department.

His cock is so goddamn pretty to look at, you have a hard time being mean and cheeky at his expense. All you want to do is worship it, suck his fat breeding balls into your mouth.

With one deliberate finger, you feather touch along his length, riding the smooth pattern of his veins and collecting his sticky essence.

He breathes unevenly, heart pounding as you rub precum over his lips like lipgloss. It should humiliate him but instead this makes his cock jump even more. You suck the slick essence off, starting with his upper lip then swirling your tongue to capture his lower lip.

It’s in the heat of this exchange that you realize even if he had the world’s smallest cock, you’d still fuck him stupid. You’ve dropped suitors for much less reasons yet here you are offering yourself on a silver platter to a man who’d been annoyingly infatuated with you.

Where you could’ve easily take advantage of his money and never return your affections, you latterly chose to be have his virgin ‘coke can’ cock penetrate you with no certainty you’ll even get off! Yet still it’s so fucking worth it.

You go on all fours. Your furry tail is still lodged tightly in your puckered hole, the length of it is draped between your legs.

With one hand off the ground, you hold onto the cosplay piece, allowing him a view of your glistening core from behind. He sees it contracting in a prominent visual that says if he were to stick himself in you, he’d have trouble pulling out ever again; a cushy vortex ready to suck in anything it latches onto.

Dear god, he’ll be lucky if he makes it past a minute…

“Give it to me, baby, please!” You plead him, rocking backward and forward.

“Yes, I’ll give you exactly what you need, darlin’,”He whispers, failing to sound as confident as he planned to fake. “J-Just a moment.”

He settles behind you, lining himself with your entrance while he tries focusing on not coming. The tip sinks in first. A stretch that has both your mouths falling open and eyes rolling back.

Inch by inch he feeds more of himself to you before finding an awkward and shallow rhythm to follow that leaves little to be desired.

The problem is… it feels good. Too good. But the feeling’s fleeting. Almost as if you’re imagining it. He’s so scared to stay in too deep; to allow your hungry pussy to entrap him for too long. He’ll cum immediately the longer he allows himself to stay buried, so he hits into you with quick thrusts that has him whining and gripping your waist while you burn hotter and hotter with an unquenchable heat.

“You feel absolutely wonderful, darling,” Ralph breathes, a timid sliding down your arching back. “The best feeling in the world.”

Pent-up frustration takes over once more as you begin to impatiently rock back against him, forcing him in deeper and keeping him in longer. You understood that the further you pull away, the more annoyed you’ll get with his cock slipping out of you. So again, you find yourself taking the reins from him as you hooked your legs over his to keep him locked in you. You press your face and the lower half of your body into the cold dirt before you’re crashing your hips harshly back against him.

“Ooo, fuuuuck. Your little cock is actually so fucking good when you’re not being stingy with it.” You tease, hardened nipples grazing the tiny abrasive rocks embedded in the soil.

He’s hopeless against your thrusts, his nails now digging into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as you force him to pound into you. The leverage with your legs lets you push and pull his body as you please, setting the pace. The force of the hammering thrusts causes the anal plug to knock against a sensitive point that falls in sync with his fat tip bullying your g-spot.

“Unh, oh my…g-god,” Ralph is on the verge of tears by this point, overwhelmed by the sensation. There is nothing on this earth comparable to a feeling like this. Not even the feeling of being high on the purest of cocaine. Slowly, he finds himself losing the words to better articulate his pleasure in you, babbling and whimpering nonsensical pleas. “Oh, sh-shit. Please…i’m can’t —mmm.”

You force yourself up on your hands again, looking back at him with a devilish smirk and siren eyes as you continue to puppet him; forcing him to wreck your walls over and over.

“You’re so pretty,” You whisper before sinking your teeth into his inner arm that rested beside your head. “I kinda regret not riding you. Would have loved watching every little stupid face you make…but this’ll do.”

The thrusts become more erratic as Ralph shouts the approach of his impending release. You almost would have considered him a shameless virgin until you felt a scarily ascending feeling stirring in the pit of your belly. The less you allow Ralph to withdraw from you, the more it grew until he’s not pulling out at all; only rocking into you.

“Talk me through it, baby. Wanna hear your pretty voice whilst I take this pretty cock.”

“It’s so good, love,” He sobs, hands grabbing your shoulders to force you onto his cock. He feels delirious. Like a wild animal taking over. Maybe it’s the fact that the two of you are alone in the forest with only the distance sounds of the jungle that’s making him become a feral beast but he soon cracks under the same frustrations you found yourself in; desperate to be closer until he’s falling onto your proned body. His thrusts continue to grind you into the dirt, your swollen clit tickled by the soft greenery beaneath you until you’re surprised by your mutual orgasms. Your pussy contracts and gushes around him, creaming his wild pubes and thick base. “That’s right take my cock. Let me mold myself to fit inside you forever.”

“God, yes. Please mold me, Ralphie. My pussy’s made for you. Now give me all your come. Please, pretty please…I’ll be so good. Just breed me.” You mewl, tears escaping your eyes at the power of your orgasm.

He shoots his hot cum into you, pulling you back by your hair and turning your face so he can properly french kiss you.

You bite his bottom lip holding him there until he spurts the last of his semen into you

He laid on top of you, not yet pulling out even after he’d finished. The two of you continue making out for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulls out of you. The two of you groan at the sudden loss of each other but he doesn’t part from you for long, lying on his back beside you before pull you into his perspired chest.

“That was…beyond human comprehension.” Ralph chuckles.

“You said it,” You say, panting softly against him. “I really do love you, Ralph Penbury. I hope you know this is true.”

“I do know this, love,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “But I’ll gladly chase you into the darkest, grimiest parts of the jungle for you. I love you, too.”

The two of you rest together in perfect harmony, staring up at the sky when a startled Lauren stumbles upon your entangled naked frames, screaming and covering her eyes.

“We’re all over by the lake roasting hotdogs while you two play ‘hide the wiener’?!” She tosses her jacket onto the ground then blindly reaches for a nearby tree to guide her back to the site. “Hurry up and dress or I’m sending your coke-frenzied party attendees right this way to see this ungodly spectacle.”

And then, you and Ralph await for her to be a good distance away before you both begin to laugh hysterically.

[glassbxttless]

Garden Life

ralph (timewasters) x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k+

summary: A garden party you don’t want to attend suddenly becomes a lot more bearable when a pair of pretty brown eyes sets his sights on you.

warnings: None, really. It’s just a lil meet cute? Some things may not be accurate. I tried my best with google lmao

notes: I have watched way too many London dialect videos and read way too many 1920’s UK speech articles for this. Hope it reflects well 😂 this video really helped (along with some other references but yall can find those on your own lmao). Big thanks to @prettycalla for reading this over. And as always, the biggest thanks to my love, @peachyproserpina for editing!

You’re not even sure how you were even invited.

Something about a friend of a friend, or a distant aunt who once tutored the niece of an earl— one of those vague connections that seem to pop up when you’re least in the mood for small talk and tiny sandwiches. Being dragged along to listen to London’s most uptight mothers hope their daughters will find their next beau’s at these affairs.

The giggles hidden behind hands and sheltered by disapproving looks from those mothers, was enough to send even the bravest of Britain’s soldiers running. And yet here you are— weathering the storm through it all— clinging to the edges of the party like their ire won't reach you there. You’ve squeezed into a borrowed dress and hat. You’re nursing a small glass of lemonade, desperately trying not to look as out of place as you feel. The garden party is in full swing with lace-draped tables, string quartet playing, women fluttering like butterflies beneath parasols, and men laughing way too loudly over cigars and brandy. You wander the edges of it all. An outsider in a sea of people who’ve never had to count their own change.

You duck behind one of the large hedges for a moment of peace. Pretending to admire the roses when your head snaps in the direction of a large crash. One of the tables having been knocked into, teacups clattering into the grass and cracking. There’s some hushed whispers of annoyance and then a voice startles you from your reprieve.

 “Oh— oh! I’m sorry… I’m terribly sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your… your rose business.”

You turn your attention fully and find him there. Tall and gangly in a charming way, coupled by the fact that he’s dressed far too formally for someone who had just tripped over himself five seconds ago. His hair is neatly parted and slicked back into classic waves, but looks like it fights him for dominance on most days, and he’s holding a tiny half-eaten cucumber sandwich like he’s forgotten what it’s for.

He blinks at you with big brown eyes, taking in the sight in front of him, “You’re not… are you a ghost?”

You laugh, startled by the question, but not in the least bit offended. You take him in. He’s dressed in a white collared shirt, that hadn’t been buttoned all the way. His tie had long been discarded and hung untied around his neck. By the looks of him, you weren’t sure if he had a threatening bone in his body. “I beg your pardon?”

“No, I mean— I just…” He sighs and then gestures vaguely to your hat, your dress, your face, all with the same level of reverence as if you were a painting come to life. “You’re very… radiant. You look like someone who belongs in a museum… In the nice way, I mean, not the dusty way.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at the very odd compliment. 

“And you look like someone who’s had a little too much sun.”

He immediately blushes from his chest to the tips of his ears, red creeping up his neck and mixing with his sun burned skin. “Have I? That would certainly explain the prickly feeling. Or is that nerves? No— it’s sunburn. Probably. Or nerves and sunburn.”

 You’re laughing before you can truly stop yourself. He looks at you, delighted by the sound. It might genuinely be one of the best sounds he’s heard in his life. And he feels so lucky to have heard it, like he’s just won a prize he didn’t know he entered. “I’m Ralph… uh, Penbury. Ralph Penbury,” he says quickly, as if remembering to finally introduce himself. “My sister, over there, is Victoria. We’re twins, non-identical.” There’s a smile on his face as he speaks, still taken by the sound of your laugh.

You begin to introduce yourself, but he cuts in before you’re even able to mutter the first syllable, “No, don’t tell me! Let me guess. It must be something elegant, yes? You look like an Eleanor, or maybe a Vivien, or… Mildred?”

You wrinkle your nose and laugh softly. “Mildred?”

He winces at the guess that is undeniably wrong. “Alright. You don’t look like a Mildred. You look like… I’m not sure… the kind of person who reads poetry in the bath.”

“Do you often guess strangers’ bath habits?” You raise your eyebrows as you smooth out the skirt of your dress. 

“Only when those strangers make me hopelessly enamoured.”

There’s a silence after that— it’s not awkward, not really— but it’s thick with something lovely and unknown. Something you were not expecting to come from a party like this. Every time your eyes flick to him, your heartbeat quickens in the way it does during a favorite song. He’s still holding that tiny little sandwich. And neither of you are noticing the other guests anymore.

 “Well then, Ralph,” you say softly, taking a step closer to him, “what do you do when you’re not wandering about talking to women near rose bushes?”

“Oh, nothing terribly important,” he says with a shrug, waving the hand holding the sandwich dismissively. “I go to parties such as this that I don’t particularly enjoy, eat things I don’t understand, and make a great many mistakes that my sister corrects for me.”

You grin, tilting your head a bit, which makes his cheeks even rosier. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is. Was. Until just now, it was a bit dreadful, really. But now— well, I’m having rather a marvellous time.” There’s a smile that graces his features. A curl making its way out of the slicked back waves. He offers you the rest of the cucumber sandwich in his grasp. You decline, politely. But you do end up walking together through the rose gardens, the scent of florals wafting through the air. Ralph may have even snagged a rose from a bush, holding it out to you. Your fingers brush and he smiles before continuing on. You pass the fountains, letting yourself get lost in the sound of the water falling just as you had gotten lost in Ralph’s voice. You walk past the hedgerows, longing for the next time you’ll be able to do this with him. The afternoon sun slides slowly down the sky. He talks far too much when he’s nervous, uses his hands to enunciate. You don’t mind in the slightest, not when he’s smiling that large and asking you question after question, like he’s never met anyone quite like you. You ask if he’s always this forward, and now that the sun has set you can see the way his blush darkens the apples of his cheeks at the question. The color so reminiscent of the rose he had plucked for you earlier, it very well may be the highlight of your year.

 At some point, he looks down at his shoes, clasping his hands together behind his back, and says, very quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever fancied anyone this fast. Is that mad?” You aren’t sure if you believe it, but the very words feel as if they wrap around your spine tenderly and then squeeze so tightly as they settle in your bones, you can feel them jolt down to your toes. It may be one of the best things you’ve felt in a very long time. 

“Yes,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. You can’t meet his eyes, opting to keep your line of sight on the path at your feet, “but I think I’m mad too.” And just like that, the party around you fades to just background noise. The clinking glasses, the string quartet, the drifting smell of freshly cut grass— all of it vanishes beneath the soft weight of this ridiculous, lightning bolt feeling blooming between you and creeping down each of your spines until it can settle deep in your bones. You don’t even realize the party’s moved indoors until Ralph glances at the sky and mutters, 

“Well, that’s terribly inconsiderate of the sun,” as if it’s wronged him by setting just as it does every evening.

The house itself is grand, in fact you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen something so passionately decorated— nor have you seen a chandelier in the foyer. Each of the floors polished so bright you can see your reflection. Each of the rooms are filled to the brim with echoing laughter. The drawing room had been cleared to make space for dancing, and couples twirl like clockwork toys to the tune of that string quartet now tucked into the corner. You brush a rose petal from your skirt and Ralph suddenly straightens beside you. “Oh,” he says softly, barely over a whisper as he watches a couple twirling in favor of the tune. “Would you— do you dance?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been known to.”

“Brilliant. Marvellous. That’s… good. Because I, well, I don’t. Not really. But I’d like to. I mean, I’d like to dance with you, not just in general. I don’t want to go around dancing with everyone. Unless I’m meant to. Is that the rule? Are you— oh God, are you meant to dance with everyone at these things?”

You place your hand on his arm before he spirals any further. “I think just me will do.”

He blinks at you. Then beams when he feels your hand settling down against him. He leads you onto the makeshift dance floor with all the confidence of a man about to walk off a cliff. His hand is warm in yours, a little clammy, and he holds you as if you might vanish into smoke if he gets it wrong. He pulls you close, one hand delicately placed against your back. You’re so close now, close enough to see the spattering of freckles dusted across his sunburnt cheeks and nose. Your chin tilts up just slightly, nose brushing the skin of his jaw. He’s still warm from the sun, and he smells vaguely of the roses you’d spent so much time with this evening, mixed with something uniquely Ralph. His steps are a touch out of rhythm, but none of it matters. Not really. Not when you’re this close and enjoying each moment you spend together. You’re laughing, it’s possibly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. And he’s staring at you like the strings are playing just for the two of you. The world feels like it slows down in a way it never does for you. Your fingers settle at his shoulder. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth and back again. There’s a flush on his cheeks that deepens every time you lean in. 

“I’m having a terrible time,” he finally speaks up and it catches you off guard.

Your heart clenches in your chest. “What?”

“A terrible time. I’m going to have to go home and lie down in a dark room and think about everything I said to you tonight. For weeks. Possibly years.”

You grin, the feeling of quiet adoration growing deep in your belly before you brush your fingers across his shoulder, fixing his collar flat gently. “Then you’d better say something worth remembering, Ralph Penbury.”

He looks down at you, his smile was replaced with something just a bit more serious now. His eyes are shining like glass in candlelight. You’ve never found it easier to get lost in someone’s eyes, than you have found getting lost in Ralph’s. They’re the deepest brown you may have ever seen, hints of gold if you were really looking. With each look, you find it harder and harder to remember your own name. 

 “You just might be the most lovely thing that’s ever happened to me… And I’ve been to Paris. Twice.” He says softly, the hand at your back gently nudging you closer to him, but not close enough to cause scandal. 

Your breath catches as he says the words, like they’re the most causal things to pass his lips. But the music keeps playing and you keep dancing, close enough to feel each other’s breaths. When the song ends, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away nor does his hand leave your back. Instead, he clears his throat awkwardly and smiles, “Would it be… unspeakably forward to ask if you’d accompany me on a walk tomorrow?”

“A walk?” you echo, dipping your chin to look up at him through your lashes, hiding a giddy smile.

“In the park. With ducks. And, uhm… ice cream, if that’s not too scandalous.”

You nod, unable to help the warmth blooming behind your ribs. “It sounds wildly improper, Ralph.”

“Wonderful,” he says. “You can pretend not to know me when I say something embarrassing.”

“Just like today?” You tease gently, although there’s no bite behind it. No real intention. 

He grins back at you, shaking his head just slightly. Those slick waves unmoved. “Exactly. Just like today.” 

He walks you to your carriage, still holding onto your hand. He’s talking about nothing and everything at the same time, like he’s never been able to talk so freely. And you’re listening to every word. Hanging off of them like those words hold the key to your happiness. The sky is a dark indigo now, and the stars have come out peppering the sky overhead like they’re watching you and Ralph too. Before you leave, he hesitates— then quickly pulls a small notebook from his coat pocket and scribbles something down. “Here,” his voice is more of a whisper than anything, and he tears off the page. “Instructions for tomorrow. Meeting point. Precise time. Also a list of duck names in case we see any worth adopting.”

You take it with a laugh. “You’re very thorough, Mr. Penbury.”

“It’s just Ralph.” He grins although his cheeks turn a deep shade of crimson. He tugs at the cuff of his coat. “I’ve never had anything I wanted to get right this badly.” Your hand is still pressed warmly against his palm as you move towards the carriage, you gather your dress as he helps you step up to settle into your seat. He gives you a smile, his hand lingering atop yours for one more moment, before he’s taking a step back, raising his own in a slight wave goodnight. 

You don’t stop smiling the entire ride home. You’re sure your cheeks will be hurting when you crawl into bed. 

And the next afternoon, at precisely two o’clock, you find Ralph sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, a paper bag of bread crumbs sitting beside him, and that ridiculous grin you were really beginning to love blooming on his face the second he sees you.

tags ;;

[prettycalla]

|| i fell (for you) ||

Pairing: Ralph Penbury/Reader

Summary: You and Ralph had tied the knot only a week ago and now, all of a sudden, he was avoiding you. You were determined to find out why.

Word count: 2.3k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, a teensy bit suggestive at the end (but no smut), no use of Y/N.

(Here I am once again, driving my little clown car. This can be read as a standalone fic or as a vague part two of my last Ralph fic.)

Ralph Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

Your wedding day had been the most perfect day. April showers bring May flowers, as the old saying went, and that had certainly rung true; you couldn’t have picked a more beautiful day in late spring to celebrate. It had been a whirlwind from beginning to end, and through it all was your dear Ralph, who looked at you the entire time as though you had hung the very stars in the sky.

Truly, it had been magical.

It had also been a week ago.

Ever since, Ralph had been like trying to hold onto a wet bar of soap - the more you tried, the more he seemed to slip right through your fingers.

The first night, you were both completely exhausted from the day itself. If there was one thing the Penburys were known for, it was their love of a lavish celebration, and you had all but dragged each other into bed that night, hardly able to keep your eyes open. Lying in your now husband's arms had been more than enough excitement for you.

The second night, Ralph had complained of a terrible headache that just wouldn’t leave him be. It had been so dreadfully hot for a spring day. You had let him lay his head in your lap and gently rubbed his temples until he’d drifted off, snoring softly with his hands clasped loosely across his chest. Quite the picture he made, you thought to yourself with a lovestruck little sigh.

Then came the sudden cold. The most ridiculous illness you had ever been witness to. One moment, Ralph was bedridden, practically at death’s door; then the next, it was business as usual, and he was absolutely fine again - as if he was turning it on and off like a tap. He also coincidentally seemed to be at his worst when you were in the room. Funny that.

You weren’t laughing.

By the seventh night, you had had quite enough, thank you very much. In a few days, you would leaving for your honeymoon, and you were not going anywhere until this entire ridiculous situation had been sorted.

Ralph had been pottering about the bedroom for the best part of half an hour, and rather aimlessly, you were quick to notice, as he had long since gotten ready for bed. As had you, wearing one of your nightgowns that left more than enough to the imagination, but not so much that you resembled an old maid. The book you were pretending to read was now developing grooves in the cover from where your fingers had been starting to dig into it.

Eventually, Ralph stopped his pointless clattering and got into bed. You took your time sliding your bookmark into place and set the book on your bedside table, turning your attention to your husband.

“Oh! That reminds me. I forgot my book,” he said suddenly. “Silly me. I must have left it in the parlour, I won’t be a moment in fetching it.”

As soon as he drew back the covers, you were already out of bed, making a beeline for the door. You held the doorknob with both hands behind your back, pressing yourself firmly against it.

Ralph stopped in front of you, confusion etched across his face.

“Darling-” he started, immediately silenced by the glare you were now levelling him with.

“Ralph Penbury,” you said lowly.

The colour drained from his face. You only ever used his full name when he was in trouble. And oh, was he ever in trouble now.

“You have been avoiding me.”

He let out a nervous laugh, his eyes looking everywhere but at you. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“Avoiding you?” he echoed, his voice just a touch too high. “Darling, please, as if I would ever-”

“Ralph,” you said again, through clenched teeth.

He pressed his lips together, his hands wringing nervously.

You pointed to the bed.

“Sit,” you commanded.

He blinked at you a few times in surprise, before finally doing what he was told. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He didn’t move an inch, carefully watching you. His hair was loose from its usual pomade and was starting to curl naturally again; his pyjama shirt sat just a little too loose around his shoulders.

He gave you a small, almost bashful smile, and just like that, you felt yourself soften. You never could stay angry at him for very long.

It was one of the many things that made you love him so.

He patted the spot on the bed next to him, and you crossed the room again, sitting down beside him. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ralph's hands fidgeting. You reached out, placing one of your hands over his in a comforting manner.

He looked up at you then. His wide eyes could melt a crueller woman's heart, truly.

“I have a confession to make,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head to one side.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I, um, I have been avoiding you,” he admitted, his expression apologetic.

You pretended to look surprised.

“Whatever for?” you asked.

Ralph shut his eyes for a moment, huffing out a nervous breath. You could feel his hands moving under yours once more, and you gave them a light squeeze. He stopped.

“Well, I- As you know, I haven’t- Well, I've never-” he stammered nervously.

He paused to clear his throat.

“And I didn’t- What I mean to say is-“

You gently pressed a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him.

“Ralph,” you said gently. “Just tell me. Please.”

He took your hand in his, trying his best to meet your gaze.

“I’m frightened,” he finally confessed in a small voice.

Perhaps you were a crueller woman than you had realised.

“Frightened?" you echoed softly. "What could you possibly be frightened of?”

“Of not- Of not being good enough for you,” he whispered.

Oh, how easily he could break your heart.

The last of your frustrations melted away entirely.

You took his face in your hands, keeping your gaze fixed on his.

"My sweet boy," you murmured affectionately, with a smile as his cheeks flushed under your attention. "You already are good enough for me. Too good sometimes, in fact."

Ralph laughed nervously. "Oh, I doubt that-" he began to say.

You shook your head vehemently. "Shush. You are. You really and truly are."

He ducked his head in embarrassment, as best he could while still in your hold, his teeth grazing his lower lip nervously.

"What can I do to reassure you?" you asked, your thumbs lightly brushing his cheeks.

It took some time before he could gather the courage to look at you again. His hands came up to meet yours, gently holding your wrists.

“One more night, darling,” Ralph said, a quiet plea in how he spoke.

He pulled your hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to one, then the other.

“I promise I will make it worth all of this dreadful waiting that I have made you endure," he said sincerely.

You gave him a warm smile in return.

“One more night,” you agreed, leaning in to kiss him.

The next day, you found yourself feeling rather jittery. Ralph’s words played over and over in your mind, and while you wanted so terribly to believe your dear husband, he had not exactly convinced you thus far. On this matter, at least. You knew that he was a most trustworthy man in many other aspects, and so you tried to reassure yourself of that, and carry on with your day.

Even so, you found yourself attempting to glean any kind of information from Ralph. Each time you did, he would give you a mischievous smile in return and carry on with whatever he had been doing. He wasn’t exactly helping matters.

You supposed you would just have to wait.

Ralph had disappeared fairly quickly after dinner. At this time of the evening, you were normally curled up in your favourite armchair - the one closest to the fireplace in the parlour - with a book in your hands, while your darling husband did everything in his power to divert your attention to him instead. How like a puppy he was, you would think to yourself fondly.

Now that you finally had the peace and quiet to read that you so often sought, you found yourself unable to concentrate without the normal racket that Ralph would be creating. The irony of the situation was not at all lost on you.

With a sigh, you closed your book. A glance at the old grandfather clock told you that it was just past eight o'clock.

You bit your lip nervously. Surely it wasn't too early to retire for the night.

...Was it?

The nerves that had followed you throughout the day had settled themselves quite happily in the pit of your stomach. You drummed your fingers along the cover of the book in your lap.

There were no rules against going to bed at such a time, were there?

As if there was anyone there to argue with you. With a resolute nod to yourself - if only to steel your nerves - you rose from your seat, all but marching yourself upstairs. If any of the household staff could see you, they would surely think you mad. But then, the Penbury Manor had always been rather...eccentric. You may well have appeared dull by comparison.

You faltered as you drew closer to your bedroom. You presumed that was where Ralph had tucked himself away for the evening - although God only knew why exactly.

Well, you supposed you had your suspicions, you thought with a blush, as you turned on your heel in the direction of the bathroom.

Standing in front of the large oval mirror, it struck you. With Ralph secreted away as he was, you were quite trapped in your day dress for the foreseeable future.

You let out a frustrated huff. Of course he would make even this difficult for you. You looked around the room with your hands on your hips. You supposed you would just have to make do and mend.

Mercifully, your hairbrush and some of your make-up still lay on the countertop from this morning. You tidied up your hair, deciding against resetting it for the evening, as was your usual routine. You knew that you would regret it in the morning, but your previous night’s set was still holding up fairly well, despite the hour, and you wanted to look pretty for…whatever you were to find waiting for you.

You smiled to yourself as you reapplied a touch of rouge and tidied up your lipstick. After a little more fussing and preening, you took a little breath to calm yourself, and made your way to your bedroom once more.

You weren’t exactly sure of what to expect, but it was certainly not what was to be found on the other side of the door.

Soft music floated through the room from the gramophone that sat in the corner. Across the floor lay a little trail of rose petals that led all the way to the bed, stopping at the feet of your dear husband, who stood waiting for you, dressed exactly how he was only a week ago. In his hands was a bouquet of roses.

“Hello, darling,” he said, with a smile so fond, it was enough to melt your heart.

“Ralph…” was all that you could manage to say in return.

“Surprise,” he said with a little nervous laugh. “I do hope that it’s alright.”

“Alright?” you echoed. “If I had known you would go to this much effort, I would have worn my dress. Oh, I could have had my hair perfect, and my make-up too-”

Sensing your growing anxiety, Ralph quickly crossed the room to you. He gently pressed the bouquet into your hands.

“Dearest, you have nothing to worry about,” he murmured, dark eyes watching you intently. “You are just as beautiful now as you were last week, and the very first day I saw you, and every single day in-between.”

He smiled then, wide and ever so handsome. How he made your heart flutter.

“My darling wife,” he said softly.

And without a word of warning, you threw yourself into his arms, dragging him into a fervid kiss. He let out a noise akin to a squeak in surprise before he slowly began kissing you back, his hands pressing gently at either side of your face.

Now that you finally, finally, had him where you wanted him, it was difficult to bring yourself to let him go. He looked so handsome in his suit, you could hardly deny it, and yet...

Well, it had been a long week.

"Do you realise how difficult this week has been for me?" you asked between kisses, walking him backwards towards the bed.

"I, um- I believe I'm starting to, yes," he replied breathlessly.

You pressed your hands to his chest.

"Good," you said simply.

With a gentle shove, he fell back onto the bed, a soft gasp escaping him as his back collided with the mattress. You were quick to follow him, climbing into his lap. He didn't dare move, blinking up at you as if in utter disbelief.

You laid the bouquet of roses to one side, before the poor things took any more unnecessary damage. Besides, it wouldn't do to have your hands occupied with anything else at this moment but your darling husband.

"Thank you for allowing me another night, my love," he said softly, his expression nothing short of besotted.

Overcome with adoration, you leaned down to kiss him again, your grip tight on the pressed lapels of his coat.

You need never have worried at all.

No matter what, you knew he would be worth the wait.

He always would be.

Taglist 💖: @glassbxttless @getaapologist

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

TO MY DEAREST,

Pairings: Ralph Penbury x Fem! Summary: Ralph atempts to be your secret admirer for Valentine's Day, though you seem to know exactly who keeps waking you up early in the morning with gifts. Warnings: just Ralph being a cutie.

Valentine masterlist

-Day six-

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

The first time you got one of the cards was at 7 AM on a Sunday, the first of February.

You were sleeping peacefully in your neoclassical bed, the sunlight barely filtering through the heavy curtains, when the doorbell rang, and rang, and rang, its insistent chime shattering your dream. With a groan, you rolled over, burrowing your face deeper into your pillow, hoping it would stop. But it didn't.

Finally, you relented, pushing the covers aside and stretching with a yawn as you slid into your silk robe. You shuffled down the hallway, the softness of the fabric brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the cold tiles beneath your bare feet. By the time you reached the foyer, the bell rang again, as if it had a personal vendetta against your slumber.

Opening the door with a groggy sigh, you were greeted by a young delivery man with a cheeky grin, holding a large, impeccably wrapped package. The ribbon was a deep red, and there was an odd sense of extravagance about the whole thing, as if the sender had spent an entire fortune on a single bouquet of roses and... whatever else might be inside.

"Miss, delivery for you," he said, his smile widening as he handed you the package, only to wink and quickly depart, leaving you standing in the doorway, utterly perplexed.

You stared at the parcel, the tag clearly marked in delicate script:

To my dearest, from a most secret admirer.

The handwriting was bold but elegant, unmistakably... Ralph Penbury.

..

The second time came even earlier, at 6:30 AM on the 2nd of February.

You were still half asleep when the bell rang again, sharp and insistent. This time, you couldn’t ignore it. Pulling yourself out of bed with a much greater effort than the morning before, you yawned and stumbled into your robe, your hair a messy halo around your face.

The doorbell rang again- louder this time, as if daring you to stay in bed a second longer.

You groaned but went to answer it, fully expecting another extravagant package.

A young man stood there holding a bouquet of roses so large it nearly covered his face. The deep red blooms were impossibly fresh, the petals slightly dewy as though they’d just been picked that morning. The scent was intoxicating, filling the cold morning air and making your heart skip in spite of yourself.

With a polite bow, he handed them over, barely meeting your eyes. “From your admirer,” he said simply before turning and walking off, leaving you once again standing on your doorstep.

You stared down at the card nestled among the roses, the script unmistakable:

To my dearest, Another token of my affection, though not nearly enough to show the depth of my admiration.

There was no mistaking it. This was Ralph Penbury- again.

..

The third time came at precisely 7 AM on the 3rd of February.

This time, you were barely awake when the doorbell rang- not loud enough to pull you from your slumber immediately, but insistent enough that you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed again.

Your silk robe felt heavier than ever as you trudged down the hallway, the weight of it mirroring the growing weight in your chest. The sheer absurdity of Ralph’s daily gifts was starting to wear thin, and though part of you felt flattered by the attention, another part of you just wanted to tell him to stop.

But when you opened the door this time, your eyes went wide.

A full-sized parasol, the kind that would be more at home at a garden party or under the hot sun on a lavish estate, sat at your doorstep. It was opulent- deep green silk with gold-trimmed edges, and the handle was made from intricately carved wood, almost too beautiful to be real. And underneath it, sitting at your feet, was another bouquet of roses- this time, a mix of white and lavender, arranged like a crown fit for royalty.

You stared at the sight, a mix of disbelief and amusement crossing your face.

You picked up the parasol and the card nestled under it, noticing the fine paper and the delicate handwriting once again:

To my dearest, For your beauty, even the sun pales in comparison.

It was a grand gesture, certainly, but it felt almost... absurd. Ralph Penbury had somehow gone from sending simple cards to arranging a regal display right outside your door, and yet, despite all the opulence, there was still no sign of him.

A small sigh escaped your lips. How much longer would this go on?

..

The fourth time came at 8:24 AM on the 4th of February.

This morning, you’d braced yourself for yet another surprise. You had no idea what Ralph could possibly top the parasol and roses with, but somehow, you had a feeling it would be even more extravagant than the day before.

You opened the door with a bit of reluctance, still half-sleeping, and blinked in surprise.

This time, instead of a delivery man, there was a small troupe of musicians, standing at the bottom of your steps, their instruments gleaming in the early morning light. There were two violins, a cello, and a lone flutist, all waiting patiently.

“Miss,” the lead musician said with a bow, “a little serenade from your admirer.”

Before you could say anything, they began playing- a beautiful, sweeping melody that seemed to echo the feel of a classical love story. It was lovely, but utterly unexpected, and you felt your cheeks heat as you watched them play, knowing full well who was behind this.

Once the last note faded, the lead musician handed you an elegant silver box, nestled in velvet. Inside, you found a delicate brooch, its center a gleaming sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. The card that accompanied it read:

To my dearest, a lady whose beauty deserves to be celebrated every day.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sheer absurdity of it all. This wasn’t just a simple gift anymore; Ralph was throwing everything he had into this- grand gestures, fine jewelry, and even live music. Yet, still, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to confront him. Instead, you closed the box and sighed, wondering just how far he’d go tomorrow.

..

The fifth time came at 6:45 AM on the 5th of February.

You were starting to feel like you could predict the pattern now. Another delivery, another gift, and yet still no sign of Ralph. But when you opened the door this time, it wasn’t a person waiting on your doorstep.

Instead, there was a vintage wooden crate placed carefully at your feet. The top was decorated with flourishes of gold-leaf writing, the sort of thing you'd expect to find in an antique store.

Inside the crate, nestled among soft layers of tissue paper, was a hand-painted porcelain tea set, its intricate floral patterns in soft blues and pinks, the delicate cups rimmed with gold. Alongside it was a handwritten card in Ralph’s familiar handwriting:

To my dearest, for the quiet moments between us, a set to make those moments as beautiful as they are fleeting.

You felt a small smile tug at your lips. The tea set was undeniably lovely, a touch of sophistication that felt almost personal- like Ralph had tried to choose something that reflected you. But still, the extravagance of it all was starting to make you laugh, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips as you wondered just how long he planned to keep this up.

..

The sixth time came at 7:15 AM on the 6th of February.

By now, you were truly done. Ralph’s ridiculous gifts had gone on long enough, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to be flattered anymore. It was all just... too much. What did he think this was going to do? Was he trying to win you over with flowers and letters?

You opened the door, fully prepared for whatever absurd thing he'd come up with today, and found a massive bundle of flowers, their petals so vibrant that they nearly stopped you in your tracks.

The bouquet was an overwhelming mix of every flower you could imagine:

Roses, lilies, daisies, and even some blooms you didn’t recognize. At the very center of the pile, a set of love letters- each one sealed with wax- was stacked neatly, with a ribbon tied around them like some kind of literary treasure. And tucked underneath, nestled among the petals, was a beautifully ornate quill set, the kind you might expect to see in a Victorian parlor. The feathers were dyed a soft purple, and the ink well was etched with intricate designs.

You stared at the collection, incredulous. This was too much.

The card that came with it was more of Ralph’s flowery prose:

To my dearest, for the words I long to share with you, yet can only write for now. The letters I wish I could say aloud.

You groaned audibly, the last straw. He’s really outdone himself this time, hasn’t he? The flowers, the letters, the quill set- it was all just a spectacle now. You felt a rise of frustration bubbling inside you as you carefully placed the gifts aside.

You had no idea what you were supposed to do with all of this. Why couldn’t he just knock on your door? Why couldn’t he be brave enough to speak to you face-to-face instead of hiding behind these ridiculous gestures?

Sitting down with your head in your hands, you couldn’t decide if you were more amused or irritated at this point. Either way, you were starting to get the feeling that Ralph didn’t quite understand the meaning of subtlety.

..

The seventh time came at 7:30 AM on the 7th of February.

You were done- or at least, you thought you were. You had braced yourself for whatever dramatic gesture Ralph would come up with today, and yet, when you opened the door, nothing could have prepared you for this.

At first, all you saw were dozens of white doves, fluttering around your front porch, circling in the early morning air. Their soft wings brushed the ground as they moved, creating an almost magical, if absurd, scene. You stood there, momentarily caught off guard, watching as they cooed and flapped in perfect unison.

Then, your gaze shifted to the grand, black horse-drawn carriage now parked in front of your house, polished to a mirror shine. The coachman, dressed in full livery, tipped his hat to you as the carriage door opened, revealing a small, velvet-lined box placed carefully inside.

You hesitated for a moment before approaching the carriage. The driver held the box out to you, bowing slightly as he did. You took it from him, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Inside, nestled in soft red velvet, was a massive diamond necklace, its diamonds shimmering like stars in the early morning light. Attached to it was a handwritten note, sealed with wax in the shape of a heart:

To my dearest, the woman whose beauty has captivated me from the first moment we met. I am but a man lost in admiration, awaiting the moment you might look my way.

The necklace was so extravagant, so over-the-top, that for a split second, you forgot about your irritation. You could almost picture Ralph- suit and tie, full of flair- handing this to you with a flourish. If he had shown up himself…

But as quickly as that thought came, frustration replaced it. Ralph was still not here. He had sent the doves, the coach, the necklace, and the poetry- all without having the decency to show up himself.

You took a deep breath, biting back the urge to laugh or yell. The absurdity of it all was suffocating. How many more grand gestures would it take before he finally took the courage to step forward and simply confess to you?

With a deep sigh, you set the box down, feeling the weight of both the necklace and the situation.

One thing was for certain- Ralph had a flair for the dramatic, but when would he stop hiding behind his spectacles and make his real move?

..

The eighth time came at 6:45 AM on the 8th of February.

You had been expecting it. You had been bracing yourself. After days of lavish gifts, flowers, and poetry, you were almost certain that Ralph was finally going to show up. But, as you opened the door, you realized that- of course- he hadn’t.

Instead, you found an elegant carriage parked outside your house, the horses’ coats gleaming under the soft light of the early morning. The coachman was nowhere to be found, but on the steps, there was a small table covered in white lace, and atop it lay a single, pristine white rose, its petals so delicate they could have been plucked from a dream. Beside it was a silver tray, with an envelope sealed in crimson wax and an extravagant, black silk ribbon tied around it, forming an almost perfect bow.

With your heart already racing, you carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a card, large and beautifully designed, framed with lace and embossed with gold, as though it had been crafted by the finest artisans of the era.

The message read:

To My Dearest, I can no longer stand in the shadows of my own silence. I have adored you since the first moment we met, and every gesture has been a step toward the truth I now lay bare before you. Will you be my Valentine, and let me express the depth of my feelings for you in ways beyond what mere words can capture?

Beneath the words, in delicate cursive, there was a silver key, shining in the light, attached to a small ribbon. A key to his heart- or perhaps to his house, to something deeper than words could say.

You blinked a few times, your emotions conflicted. Was this it? Was this the moment when he would finally show his face and stop hiding behind his gifts? You looked around, expecting to find him hidden behind one of the trees or perhaps hiding in the shadows of his lavishly planned final gesture, but- there was nothing.

No Ralph. Just the carriage.

You felt your frustration boil over again. Hadn’t he learned anything? The key was the most obvious sign yet- he was asking you to unlock whatever feelings he thought you might have for him, but he was still too afraid to unlock his own door to you.

And yet, despite everything, a small, irrational part of you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. The romance of it all- the key, the rose, the golden words- was almost too much to resist. But you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

You looked at the rose and the key one last time, trying to temper your own curiosity with the lingering irritation.

This was the moment. And it was up to him to finally show up- in person- and make his confession face-to-face.

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

You marched to Ralph's house, a mixture of frustration and determination boiling inside you. The road felt longer than usual, your every step heavy with the weight of your thoughts. This ends today.

When you finally arrived, you walked up to the door and knocked firmly- three times.

After a moment, the door opened with a soft creak, and there stood Ralph, dressed in his usual sharp, yet effortless manner, as if he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to throw on his finest suit. He smiled widely at you, that charming grin lighting up his face, the one you’d come to expect- but this time, you weren’t fooled.

"Ah, good morning, my dearest!" he said, stepping aside with a flourish. "What brings me the honour of your company on this fine day?"

You've never heard him speak so...formal, it was a little scary.

You stared at him, holding back the frustration that was threatening to spill over. "I’m here to talk to you, Ralph."

"Talk to me? About what?" His expression remained one of innocent curiosity, though you could see the playful glint in his eyes as if he were enjoying this far too much.

You stepped forward, holding out the letter, the key, and the rose.

"What’s this, then?" you demanded, your voice a little sharper than you intended. "What’s with all these gifts? The flowers, the notes, the key to your house, Ralph? Why haven’t you just come out and told me you were the one behind all of this?"

He blinked at the rose in your hand and then looked up at you, genuinely puzzled. "Gifts? I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re talking about, my dear. I haven’t sent you any gifts."

Your jaw nearly dropped. Was he for real?

"You haven’t sent me any-" You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "Ralph, don’t play coy. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The doves, the cards, the roses, the chocolates- everything! You can’t seriously tell me you haven’t been sending those."

He put on a mock expression of deep thought, crossing his arms. "Hmm, doves? Roses? The tea set. Well, now, I must say I’m flattered you think so highly of me, but I’m afraid I’ve been too busy to orchestrate any such… elaborate gestures."

You glared at him, now fully aware that he was not only pretending not to know but doing so with that trademark charm of his. "You’re telling me someone else has been doing all of this? Someone else has been sending all of this to me?"

"Absolutely," Ralph said with a smooth nod, completely unfazed. "Why, if I had known you enjoyed all these lovely gifts so much, I might have started sending you more myself!" He chuckled, completely casual about it.

You stared at him in disbelief, the nerve of this man. He was standing there, acting like he wasn’t responsible for any of this- like the past week had never even happened. Your fingers tightened around the rose stem; the petals crushed in your grasp.

"Ralph," you said, your voice low but still firm, "I don’t know whether you think this is some sort of joke, but I’m done playing games."

"Games?" He leaned forward, a smirk on his lips. "I think you might be imagining things, darling. No need to get upset."

You stepped closer to him, the frustration in your chest bubbling over. "I’m not imagining anything. I’m standing here in front of you, holding the evidence, and you’re pretending it’s not you behind all of this. Why won’t you just admit it?"

His smirk only grew wider, and he shrugged dramatically. "Because, my dear, I really haven’t done anything. You must be quite mistaken. But, if you’d like, I’d be happy to start sending more of these gifts... just to keep you on your toes."

You were at your breaking point. You took one final step closer, practically toe-to-toe with him. "You’re infuriating," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Am I?" he asked with an innocent blink, as though he hadn’t been the one pulling every string behind the scenes. He leaned in, his voice dropping a little lower, more teasing. "But I do have to admit, you’re here now… and that’s something, isn’t it?"

The nerve. You were so done with his games, yet a part of you couldn’t help but feel that small spark of intrigue- because even as maddening as he was, he was still Ralph. And this absurd little act of his? Maybe it was the final test.

But you weren't going to let him have the last word this time.

You stared at him, your patience hanging by a thread.

How could he keep pretending that he didn’t know what was going on? All these gifts, all these thoughtful gestures- it was him, no doubt about it. But still, he refused to admit it, and it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure.

“You…” you started, your voice trembling with frustration. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

Ralph’s eyes widened in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to get so worked up.

“Me? Really?” He shifted on his feet, looking genuinely concerned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought… maybe you’d like it? The mystery, I mean.”

“Like it?!” you almost shouted, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I would’ve been your Valentine by now if you weren’t such a nincompoop! But no, you keep sending me all these gifts like some mysterious stranger and won’t just show up and say it’s you!”

Ralph looked more confused than anything, his brow furrowing as if he was trying to make sense of what you were saying. “But… I thought you liked the surprises. You don’t?”

“No, I do like them! But if you weren’t so afraid to admit it’s you behind all of this, we could’ve been done with this already!”

Your chest was tight with a mix of anger and confusion. “Why can’t you just be honest?”

“I am honest!” Ralph protested, stepping back as though the weight of the situation was sinking in.

“I’m just… well, I thought you might like it better if it was a bit of a game. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He wrung his hands nervously, looking even more like a deer caught in headlights.

“You’ve been sending me things for days, Ralph! And I’ve had enough! If you can’t just fess up and admit you’re behind it all, then I’m leaving.” You were practically shaking now with frustration.

“Oh,” Ralph said softly, almost as if he hadn’t realized how serious you were. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I guess there’s nothing I can do.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, staring at the ground like he was lost for words.

“I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”

You shook your head, still seething. “It’s not about the gifts or the mystery! It’s about you pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about! If you cared about me at all, you’d just tell me the truth.”

Ralph bit his lip, his eyes wide with a mix of guilt and confusion. He didn’t know how to respond. “I… I didn’t want to make things weird,” he muttered, looking away from you. “I thought maybe… you’d think I was being too forward.”

Your hand was already on the door, ready to leave. “Well, I’ve had enough of this. If you can’t be honest with me, then I’m done.”

You turned and opened the door, stepping out without looking back.

Ralph stood in the doorway, looking helpless as you left. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t try to explain. He just stood there, as if he was still trying to understand what had just happened.

As you walked away, you felt a strange mix of relief and frustration. He was still acting like it was all some kind of game, and you had no idea how to make him see that it wasn’t.

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

February 12th

A knock at your door.

You ignored it at first.

Then came another knock. And another. More urgent. More insistent.

With an exhausted sigh, you pulled yourself up, tightened the belt of your robe, and stomped toward the door, fully prepared to give whoever it was a piece of your mind.

The second you opened it, though, all that frustration hit a wall.

That wall was named Ralph Penbury.

He stood there on your doorstep, bundled up in his finest coat and waistcoat, gripping a ukulele like it might float away if he loosened his grip. His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, and his face—already pink from the cold- somehow got redder the moment he saw you.

“Oh,” he said, blinking rapidly. “Hello.”

You folded your arms. “Ralph.”

Silence.

Then, after an awkward pause, he perked up like he suddenly remembered why he was there. “I- well, I thought that since my previous attempts at, um, expressing my… intentions may have been a bit much, I’d try something a little less… er… grandiose this time.”

You arched a brow.

“A song,” he added quickly, lifting his ukulele with a hopeful little smile.

You said nothing, just stared at him.

Ralph cleared his throat and set his fingers on the strings. He strummed once.

A horrible, ear-piercingly flat note rang out.

Ralph winced like he’d physically hurt himself. You blinked.

“Oh dear,” he muttered, frowning at the instrument. “That’s- that’s not right at all.”

And then, to your absolute bewilderment, he started tuning it, right there on your doorstep, flicking the pegs with intense concentration, plucking the strings, and murmuring to himself in frustration.

You stared.

Then, despite yourself, you felt your lips twitch.

He was completely oblivious to your reaction, too focused on adjusting the ukulele, muttering, “Honestly, this was in perfect tune when I left the house, I don’t know what- oh, bother, now I’ve made it worse-”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, pretending to cough, anything to disguise the fact that you were very much not annoyed anymore.

Finally, after a few more adjustments, he gave the strings a satisfied little pluck, nodded to himself, then looked up at you with the proudest, most innocent grin.

“Right then,” he declared, shifting his stance. “Take two.”

And then he played.

The song was sweet and soft and maybe a little bit clumsy. His fingers weren’t the most practiced, and he still hesitated on a few chords, but his voice- when he dared to sing- was gentle, warm, and filled with the kind of sincerity you couldn’t fake.

The worst part? It was working.

Your heart- your very annoyed, put-upon, exasperated heart—was melting.

By the time he strummed the last note, you weren’t even pretending to be mad anymore.

He looked up at you then, his wide brown eyes searching, nervous. He swallowed hard. “I, um… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

A long moment passed.

Then, without a word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Ralph made a tiny, surprised noise in the back of his throat- like a squeak, almost- but then he all but melted, his arms hovering in the air for a moment before he finally hugged you back, gentle and hesitant and so incredibly warm.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder.

He let out a small, breathless laugh, then whispered, “Does- does this mean you’ll be my Valentine?”

You sighed dramatically. “If you weren’t such a nincompoop, you’d have figured that out already.”

His arms tightened just a little, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the giddy little smile in his voice.

"So, you will?!" he smiled brightly as you pulled away, his whole body twitching in excitement, bouncing on his feet.

You had to admit it now; he was so cute...so pretty.

You hugged him once more, your face digging into his neck, making him squeal of happiness.

"How did you know it was me? that send you the gifts?" he asked softly

"Your handwriting is quite disguinishable, Ralph. Besides, no one else calls me 'My Dearest'" you laughed, earning a blush in return.

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

[wheels-of-despair]

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.

[thischarmingmandalorian]

Help just started watching Timewasters and I need Ralph Penbury like I need air to breathe

[d0rianw1lde]

I feel like ppl might enjoy this more here i love my boy ralph sm. </3

[pollenallergie]

random breakdown of joseph quinn’s characters, brought to you by my knowledge of way too many terms of endearment and my intense boredom while on my meal break:

arthur havisham - troubled turtledove

billy knight - schizoaffective sunshine / precious pumpkin

eddie munson - rebellious romeo / metalhead muse (or my metalhead man?? we can workshop this one)

enjolras - profoundly pensive pookie

eric - sad, scared snookums

geta - tyrannical teddybear / cruel cutiepie

jamie - hot-headed honey

johnny storm - dreamy darling

koner - pathetic puppy

leonard bast - ambitious amor / vulnerable valentine

michael - horny, hunky himbo / bizarre beau

prince paul - spoiled sweetpea / pouty poppet

ralph - hyper honeybee / lovestruck lamb

tom grant - cheeky cherie

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

Twins

was thinking about joseph quinns two twin characters 🥺

[drmaddict]

Very, very good Ralph

Summary: Ralph and (Y/n)s relationship is something the people around them do not understand. But they work. (With a little fun ending)

Wordcount: 693

To call it a forced marriage would have been an exaggeration. But the Penburys and (Y/L/N)s had figured that Ralph and (Y/n), both claimed to be a lost cause on the marriage market, would make a good match after all. That it would benefit their respective family businesses was, of course, just a nice side effect. Most would have expected her to treat him exactly as his sister always does. No one expected her to stand behind Ralph like a mother lion as soon as they got engaged, and to make make everyone shut up just with looks, if they even just started to make fun of him.

(Y/n) was considered too progressive for many, even by the progressive standards of the 1920s. She was a moody, young woman, who made no bones about the fact that she was fine without a man. "If I were a man, no one would even question my behaviour.", she said often enough.

Ralph... well, he was Ralph. A ray of sunshine on two legs, who immediately pursued (Y/n) like a love-struck puppy. He serenaded her and soaked up every word, that fell from her lips.

Anyone would have expected (Y/n) to leave quickly enough and emigrate to America, just to finally get rid of him. But she not only accepted his presence, she even agreed to his marriage proposal... At least to the the fourth one. He made the first one after just a week and she simply pointed out, that they should get to know each other better.

According to Ralph's wishes, the wedding had been a celebration of white kitsch. He stood at the altar in his waistcoat embroidered with glitter and silver and simply beamed at his rather simply dressed wife. The celebration was exuberant and, above all, expensive. Champagne as far as the eye could see and as much drinks, foods and sweets as everyone wanted. Without Ralph's knowledge, (Y/n) had organised a group of men before the wedding, who would keep Victoria busy all day. His sister hardly spent a minute off the dance floor and was swarmed with compliments. (Y/n) smiled at him with an for the public unusually gentle look, when he thanked the guests and was probably for the first time in his life not interrupted. She kissed him benevolently after his speech, having signalled to everyone behind his back shortly beforehand to clap for his words.

As tough as she liked to be, Ralph noticed that evening, that she became quieter. It was her sign of nervousness.

"What's wrong, my angel?", he asked. She shook her head. "A wedding night isn't said to be very pleasant for most women...",  she mumbled as she took off her pearl necklace. "It is what it is, but I..." She pressed her lips together. She didn't want to admit, that something as banal as the idea of sex scared her. Ralph, who had just taken off his bow tie, whistled straight into it without a filter, as usual. "Don't worry about it. I've read a lot about it. I don't want to say I know what I'm doing, but I think I can do it. We just have to-" "You've read about it?" she smirked. He smiled at her with naive eyes. "Of course I have. I want it to be good for you, my angel. But I didn't want to ask Victoria. She would have just laughed at me again and I found some novels in our library that surely can't be that far from reality." She smiled. "All that research just for me?" She put her arms round his neck. He nodded happily. "Of course." She kissed the tip of his nose. He chuckled slightly. "Thanks Ralph." He grinned. "Always... Mrs Penbury.", he winked at her. She grinned.

Ralph lay on the bed smiling happily, his hair slightly tousled and lit a cigarette. "Was it good?", he asked sincerely. (Y/n) lay next to him, completely dishevelled. Her neck was covered in hickeys. Cheeks bright red. Her body covered in sweat. Almost catatonic, she stared at the ceiling. "Very, very good Ralph."

[usetheeauthor]

Kinktober Day 5: Uniform

Ralph Penbury (Timewasters) x Time Traveler!Reader

Summary: Ralph’s going to join the French Foreign Legion but you just won’t let him go.

Warnings: 18+ smut, uniform kink, blowjob through pants, boot riding, cumming in pants, sub!ralph

“Love, please…I must leave at once.” Ralph whimpers. Yet despite his protests, he allows you access to his neck so you can properly pepper the soft skin with wet open-mouth kisses.

He’s leaving you today. For how long? Could be months or even years but you tried putting on a brave face about his impending departure. After all, it is for the best if you plan on going back home. Yet the time has finally arrived and you’re an absolute wreck.

It’s so strange to see how attached you grew to him considering how long it took for you to reciprocate your feelings for him. You had always found him to be quite the strange fellow. Very intense with his emotions, too. He instantly fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you but you were put off by his forwardness. Hell, he proposed to you the very next day you met!

All you cared for back then was to get back to your timeline so his pursuit of you seemed futile. His learning of your revulsion made him do all he could to prove himself as a worthy man for you. He wrote you songs of his love, tried sweeping you off your feet any chance he got (literally), and he’d been trying to save you in various situations so that you knew him as your protector…even if those situations were as small as throwing his jacket over a shallow puddle of water for you to walk over.

Slowly you warmed to him, simply because of the effort he’d gone through just to make you love him. But he could tell it wasn’t enough. So, his next bet was to join a greater cause wanting to build from those experiences and better himself. And that’s when you learned that he’d enlisted in the French Foreign Legion.

You thought you’d handle it just fine but now two weeks later and you’ve cracked under your cool facade the moment you see him in that dorky tan uniform. There’s a range of emotions that consume you: sadness, lust, yearning…it’s all so overwhelming. It feels too real.

You look up at him with doe eyes, cheeks stained with tears. “Don’t go,” You kiss him hotly, your tongue caressing his own. Once you part, a line of saliva connects your lips. Your hands roam down his body, desperately clawing him through his uniform. “Stay with me.”

He mewls when your hand cups him through rough material of his pants. “I cannot. It wounds me deeply to go but I must—“

You smash your lips against his hard enough for the hat on his head to land on the ground. You walk him backwards into his bed until you both fall against the mattress. You’re feral, hands and mouth all over him and he melts with bliss.

Ralph didn’t think the uniform would have this much of an effect on you. When he was advised by a confidant that women love a man in uniform, he took the concept and ran with it, immediately signing away his life for military service. The way you’re responding to it went far beyond his expectations. He isn’t even expected to be leaving until next week in actuality, only wearing the uniform to admire himself in the mirror when he caught you in the corner of the room with lust-filled yet wet eyes. But he’ll just save that tidbit of news for another time.

Because you finally understand. You’re just as pathetically needy as he’s always been for you. Although, you’re a lot more lewd in your approach.

You snake down his body until you’re on your knees at the edge of his bed, your face nudged between his legs. His eyes bug out of his head when you begin to suck on the tip of his cock through his pants. You were on the exact right spot. Ralph can feel the suction’s pressure around the crown with some of your saliva soaking through the thick material.

“Oh, my…” He gasps, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

Then to show off some more, you begin to knead his balls through the pants with precision, earning another surprise hitch in his breath. You lick a long stripe up his hardened base, enjoying the feeling of the mild abrasiveness of the fabric against your tongue. Even if you can’t get a proper taste him; the warm, heavy feeling of his cock against your tongue makes you moan out loud.

You soon find yourself grinding down on his combat boots as you latch your lips around the sensitive mushroom head again. His head falls back against the mattress but you sink your nails into his inner thigh, nails sharp enough to penetrate the tough cotton.

He recognizes correctly that it’s a warning to him that he mustn’t remove his eyes from you. So with fluttering eyes and those pink pouty lips, he watches you while he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling and his moans from pitching in tone. It shouldn’t feel this good but because it’s you, it’s heavenly.

“Going to cum, my love.” He rasps, large hand resting on top of your head for a moment as if he’s petting you.

This makes you ride his boot harder, making the steel-toed part of his shoe press directly against your clothed sensitive little nub. You cry out at the delicious feeling. You’re going to cum soon, too.

But he doesn’t get to cum until he tells you he’ll stay. Until you could somehow convince him to follow you back to your life instead.

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.” You demand while rubbing your cheek against him like a cat in heat.

“I’ll never leave you.” He sighs.

“Tell me you’ll follow me anywhere and everywhere I tell you.” You continue to rub your face over the crotch of his pants, looking at him with such tender and wide eyes that look so innocent despite the absolute filthiest thoughts they held in them.

“I’ll follow you. Anywhere, Everywhere you tell me. Please just let me cum,” He’s practically sobbing by this point. “I’ll be so good for you.”

“Cum for your love.” You say, giving him one heavy lick and, in the next second, he’s spurting inside his pants. The twitching within the confines of his pants is erratic. You sneak your hands beneath his shirt, soothing a hand over his belly as he whines and squirms beneath you.

Your high peaks at the sight of him, gushing your honeyed essence on the tip of his boot. You don’t stop rocking against him, wanting to feel his toes flexing within the shoe.

Aftershocks shoot through the both of you as you come down from your high. You continue to kiss and worship the leg you straddled until you rise up on shaky legs and go to lay beside him in bed.

He turns to look at you with a smile, still panting. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

[glassbxttless]

cece!! the way i ran when i saw that new menu drop!! i think i want chicken on multi-grain with either baby swiss or soft goat’s cheese? (dealer’s choice on which you go for!) i think that’s it, thank you so much 🫶

Sleepy Touches

ralph (timewasters) x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from Anonymous | You’ve got wandering hands and Ralph has a confession to make.

warnings: Fluff, nothing else really

notes: Might be one of my favorite sleepy confessions I’ve written. Ralphie deserves the world. Hope you like it 😭😭 Big thanks to @punkrockmlchael @robinbuckleywife & @prettycalla for reading this over and @peachyproserpina for editing, as always! 🫶🏻

The bedroom is still cloaked in the hush of the early morning. The light is only just beginning to filter in through those gauzy pink curtains. While pale gold traces the lace trim of your nightdress. The sun casting soft shapes across the floral wallpaper that adorned your bedroom walls and the polished curve of your dressing table mirror. Outside, London murmurs on, still half asleep— there’s the sound of a distant tram, the creak of a milk cart’s wheels, and the occasional pigeon cooing from it’s rooftop perch. But here, wrapped in the heavy warmth of your shared bed, time seems to stand still.

Ralph is sleeping on his back beside you as he always does. One of his arms flung up over his head, like he’s making space for a dream. The sheets have slipped low on his hips, exposing the long line of his torso, bare and beautiful in the early morning light. His chest rises and falls with each slow breath, and there’s a softness to his mouth— it’s not quite a smile, but perhaps the memory of one from earlier the day before. You wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s you. 

Your hand is already moving before your mind can catch up and give it permission. Your fingers trace the slope of his shoulder slowly. Taking in the smooth, warm skin there. You brush them gently over his collarbone, then down, the back of your knuckles trailing slowly along the dip between his ribs. Your eyes follow their descent. His chest is soft with sleep and faint freckles— making constellations you’ve mapped a hundred times now, though you still find new stars.

You touch his skin reverently, as if he’s something as precious as the diamond on your finger. Like you still can’t quite believe he’s yours.

Maybe you can’t. 

It’s been six months since your wedding. Half a year of calling him your husband and hearing him say wife in that same voice that others seem to look down at. He’d light up at the name, before dulling just enough to clear his throat and introduce you properly— like the word was too big for his mouth and still too sweet to let go of. Sometimes you think of all the ways you’ve both changed since that first week of marriage— how his hands now find your waist like they he’s been searching for your hips his entire life, or how he talks to you on mornings like these in half sentences. Filling the gaps with soft glances, like he knows you’ll understand what he means. You always have. You’re the other half to his heart. The thing that makes him whole. 

But in moments like this, when he’s still asleep and your palm is splayed across the gentle rise of his stomach, the thud of his heartbeat just beneath your fingertips, it still feels astonishing.

You slide your hand upward once more, over the steady thrum of his ribs. Your thumb brushes against that little patch of hair on his chest. His body is all lean muscle, soft around the edges, warm and comforting, just like the rest of him. Soft like the smell of lavender and starch on his shirt when he hugs you from behind while you’re reading, or the heat of his palm on your back when you wake from a bad dream and he doesn’t even need to speak. He’s just there beside you, quiet, patient, ready to pull you as close as he can get you if you’d let him.

You let your fingers drift up to his throat, just for a second, feeling the little hollow at the base. He stirs faintly, his eyebrows knotting down, but he doesn’t wake. You trace the curve of his jaw with your fingertip, sighing happily. His stubble is always softest in the morning. He’ll shave it away once he’s awake, like the gardeners would wipe away the first frost on the garden wall. You don’t really know how long you lie there like this— worshipping him in silence, your heart full to the brim. It’s a tradition you’ve had with yourself for many mornings now. One you’ve grown to love almost as much as him. Your fingers move in lazy paths across his skin, never quite staying still. His bicep flexes once under your palm as he shifts beside you, his breath hitching sleepily.

Then he stirs awake more fully. His eyes are still closed, but his body aches slightly. His brow scrunch’s down further in the faintest wince at waking. “Mm.” His voice is thick with sleep, his lips barely parting, he knows the routine. Your silent morning dance. Some mornings he’d pretend to be asleep longer, just to feel your touch. “Love. That’s not fair… you keep touching me like that, and I’m going to start talking nonsense.”

You smile, but you don’t stop. Don’t even dream of it. You press your palm flat against his chest now, your fingers curling slightly over his heart. “That’s all right,” you whisper. “I like when you talk nonsense.”

Ralph hums again sleepily, his lashes fluttering now as he slowly opens his eyes. Brown and heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. Like how the sky opens up after it rains. He looks at you, and something melts behind his gaze— like it always does when he sees you first thing in the morning. He reaches forward to tuck back a strand of your hair behind your ear, his own smile plastered on, sleepy but there. You’re never sure what he sees when he looks at you like this— your hair undone and your nightdress rumpled up to your hips— but he always looks at you like you’re magic.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks again, laced with that raspy sleep you’ve come to love, “I love you.”

You smile, leaning close to press a kiss to his shoulder. And then another. And another. Your lips slow and lingering against his skin. “I love you too, Ralph.”

He exhales, like your kisses are the only thing that can settle something within him. He’s caught off-guard by the feel of it, every time. But there’s a growing pause between you as your nose nudges along his shoulder, you’re comfortable. He’s comfortable. Rolling over onto his hip to look you in the eye and then he adds, just a bit quieter, “Y’know, when we first met… I really thought you hated me.”

That makes you blink, confused. You lift your head slightly from his chest, your frown apparent. You recall the day you had met Ralph at that garden party, and your meeting had been full of everything but hate. “What? Ralph, Why would you think that?”

Ralph chuckles softly and shakes his head a bit, his cheeks turning a bright pink as he lets out a low sound from his throat. He means for it to be a laugh, but it comes out as more of a heavy breath than anything else. “You were… funny. Very polite in your teasing. And you never laughed at my jokes.”

“That’s because your jokes were terrible.”

“They were not!” he protests with a laugh, feigning fake indignance even now. “Tried to guess your name! Mildred, that’s a funny joke!—”

“—it was nonsense, Penbury.”

He laughs again but this time he lies back, looking up at the ceiling. His joy is quiet but you can feel the way it burns in your chest more than it does your ears. Then he turns his head, his hand coming up— not quite coordinated yet with sleep still dragging at his limbs— and he touches your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone.

“I just… I felt as if you thought I was quite tiresome,” he says softly, his voice more serious now despite how he struggles to hold his eyes open. “Like I was always saying the wrong thing. I didn’t think you’d ever want to speak to me again, much less…” His eyes flick down to the bed, the two of you under the covers, and then the way your body curves toward his with each moment you spend together. “This.”

Your heart twists deep in your chest. Your eyes scan over his face once more, noting how he’s succumbed to letting his kids fall, dozing in and out of sleep as you tuck yourself closer to him and let your hand run up and down his side again. He lets out a content sigh, turning his body slightly until he’s only inches from yours. His eyes flutter open again as your fingers skim the dip of his waist and settle gently on his hip. “I didn’t hate you,” you mumble softly. “I was just… scared..”

He looks at you, soft and curious. “Of me?”

“No,” you whisper back, your thumb now brushing against his hip bone. “Of how much I liked you. You made me feel things I’d never felt so quickly before. And I thought you didn’t like me… You always looked so nervous.”

“I was nervous. You brought it out in me more so than usual,” he admits quietly and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You were…” He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as his thumb continues to stroke your cheekbone. “You were clever. And kind. And beautiful. You still are. And you let me name every single duck we saw in that park and you remembered them the week after. You made me feel like I was standing too close to a flame and not knowing whether I’d warm up or burn.”

Your throat tightens as he speaks. He says these things without guile, without even trying to be poetic. That’s just how he speaks to you. Like everything he feels is too big to stay in his chest. And in turn, too big for you to stay sane in yours. You lean up, your hand still on his chest, and you kiss him. It’s slow and sweet. Your fingers tapping right over his heart  as you whisper against his lips, “I think we’ve both done a bit of burning, yeah?”

Ralph smiles against your lips, his eyes closing again as he lets himself sink into the feel of your kiss. He lets himself sink back into the bed, and finally into you. His arms wrap around your middle now, your nightdress bunching up a bit higher. His arms are solid, pulling you close until your leg’s slung over his, your cheek pressed tight against his shoulder. “I still can hardly believe you’re mine, love,” he mumbles into your hair.

“I always was,” you reply softly, resting your cheek over the beat of his heart as you drag your fingertips in the shape of a heart over his ribs. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

And for a long, quiet while, the both of you lie tangled up together in that old fancy brass bed. The world outside is still waking. But the two of you opt to stay wrapped in the quiet, forever kind of love that doesn’t need a big public fanfare— you only need Ralph’s soft touches and sleepy smiles and the occasional confession whispered against your skin.

Just you and Ralph. As it was always meant to be.

tags ;; @bib200 @prettycalla @robinbuckleywife @dancininseptember

[prettycalla]

|| every time i fell ||

Pairing: Ralph Penbury/Reader

Summary: What started as a boring afternoon spent at a dressmaker’s shop soon became a lot more interesting after a chance encounter with a very eccentric gentleman.

Word count: 1.6k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, Ralph is his typical nuisance self, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.

(Me? Writing in past tense? Who is she. I have no excuse for writing this. The man has 3 minutes of screen time, and yet here I am. Anyway. The song Bruises by Chairlift is to blame for a lot of this fic - it has such a Ralph vibe.)

Ralph Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

If you were to make a list of everything that you would like to be doing on a sunny Saturday afternoon, spending it in a dressmaker's shop would be somewhere at the very bottom.

It was your great-aunt's idea. A letter had arrived, with an invitation to attend the Duke and Duchess of Such-and-Such's party to celebrate their Something-or-Other - you hadn't exactly been riveted by the details. In fact, it had sounded dreadfully boring, and you had made the mistake of saying as much within your great-aunt's earshot. As punishment - for it had to have been so - she had insisted that you must have something more fitting to wear. As if you weren't in possession of an entire wardrobe fit to bursting with variations of the exact same tea dress appropriate for such an affair.

Dear old aunty had an interesting habit of pretending that her hearing was playing up when people said things that she didn't like, and so here you found yourself, after much cajoling from your mother - who, quite frankly, would have done anything just to be rid of the overwhelming musk of lavender and mothballs that seemed to follow your great-aunt everywhere she went.

The woman in charge of the shop was a small older woman, who seemed to spend more time criticising your posture than she did anything else. You had endured an hour of this at the very least, when mercifully she was called away on some other business with another customer. Your great-aunt was busying herself with fabric swatches, carefully comparing the robin's egg blue chintz with the duck egg blue chintz, and so you were afforded a moment's peace.

You were considering how best to sit down and rest your legs without being stabbed by one of the many pins holding the toile draped around you, when a voice caught your attention from the other side of the fitting room curtain. It was a man's voice, clearly well-to-do in how he spoke.

"...must be here somewhere," he was saying, quietly, as if speaking to himself. He sounded rather distressed.

Carefully, you stepped down from the platform you had been perched on, creeping closer to the curtain in the hopes of hearing more. Surely you could be forgiven for eavesdropping when you were so terribly bored.

No sooner had you reached the curtain when it was pulled back rather suddenly to reveal the man on the other side.

"Victoria? Are you-"

He interrupted himself with an almighty shriek, immediately shutting his eyes when he saw you.

Rather than stepping back, as any sensible person would have done, he had instead spun around on the spot in a panic, pulling the curtain with him, so that he now stood inside the fitting room with you.

"O-Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry!" he said shrilly, voice muffled by the curtain clutched tightly in his hand. "I- I wasn't - I didn't mean to- That is to say- Have you seen my sister?”

In spite of your shock, you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you.

"No, I haven't, I'm afraid," you replied. "Perhaps the lady who owns the shop would know?"

The man was still clinging to the fabric in his hand for dear life.

"I- I couldn't find her," he stammered. "So I thought perhaps- Well- I could-"

You fought back another peal of laughter. This poor man was truly absurd.

"You thought perhaps you could find your sister yourself?" you offered.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, exactly. I thought if I just went around each fitting room, I would be able to find her myself."

"And do you normally walk in on a woman without knocking?" you asked, your tone lightly teasing.

"Well, I don't see how I could," he replied, as if completely oblivious. "How does one knock a curtain?"

You adjusted the fabric draped around you as it began to slip from your shoulder. Perhaps you should ask the poor thing to turn around so you could at least get a better look at him, you thought to yourself. He was already on the wrong side of the curtain, how much more damage could it cause, really? Besides, as pleasant as he was to look at from behind, you would really rather get a better look at his face.

"Would you mind awfully if you turned around?" you asked. "I don't particularly enjoy making conversation with the back of a person's head."

He was quiet for a moment, and you could hear him swallow.

"Yes," he said after a time. "Yes, I suppose I could do that.”

Slowly, he released his grip on the curtain, taking his time as he turned around. A smile pulled at your lips when you saw that his eyes were squeezed shut. He really was rather handsome, even with such a ridiculous expression on his face. He wore an ivory suit, perfectly tailored and pressed, with a bow tie that sat slightly askew against his shirt collar. His hair was immaculately styled into finger waves, with the exception of one little curl that lay against his temple. Held tightly in one hand was a boating hat.

"You can open your eyes," you told him lightly.

He immediately shook his head.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly- You're hardly decent, madam," he replied earnestly.

You raised your eyebrows in exasperation. Oh, the cheek.

"I beg your pardon?" you said in a raised tone. "Madam?"

He shook his head again, harder this time, that one little curl growing looser with every movement.

"No, of course, how rude of me. You aren't a madam, surely," he said quickly, then stopped, as if another thought had occurred to him. "Actually, I only caught a glimpse of you, so perhaps- Well, you might-"

"I would surmise that I'm only a little older than you, sir!" you replied, nonplussed.

He pulled a face, clearly regretting his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if to amend his words, then thinking better of it.

"Perhaps you might open your eyes and see for yourself," you said.

It took a moment for him to move, then finally, he opened one eye slowly, as if afraid he might see something he shouldn't; then the other.

He immediately broke into a wide smile at the sight of you, the tips of his ears reddening.

"Oh," he all but breathed. "Oh, I do apologise for my earlier words, miss."

He gave a theatrical little bow, and you found yourself once again laughing at the absolute absurdity of this man.

"I could have been completely naked, you know," you said, pretending to scold him. "Did you think of that before you peeked?"

His eyes widened as a shrill little squawk escaped him. Oh, you were having far too much fun.

“Y-Yes, you’re quite right, that would have been- That would have been...” he trailed off, as if struggling to find the right words.

“Awful? Terrible?” you prompted airily.

His poor hat would soon be in pieces if he didn't relinquish his deathly grip on it.

“Well, yes, I-I suppose, but none of those words would describe you at all,” he replied with sincerity.

Your smile faded a little. Here you were, trying to make the most of an…odd situation, and this strange man you didn’t even know the name of was trying to be charming. You weren't sure if he was even aware of what he was doing.

“And what words would describe me?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

How entirely unlike you - you didn’t even know this man’s name.

“O-Oh, well, pretty, I suppose,” he managed to stammer, his fingers fidgeting at the fabric of his trousers. “Your face, I mean- I can't see anything else- There isn't much else to look at- No, what I mean is, you're covered, so-”

If he kept this up, he was going to make himself faint. And what a scandal that would cause, as if things weren't bad enough as they were.

"You don't do this often, do you?" you asked, almost pityingly.

His shoulders immediately slumped at your words.

"What gave it away?" he asked with a nervous laugh.

You shook your head fondly, still smiling.

He opened his mouth to speak again, when the curtain was drawn back suddenly to reveal your great-aunt and a well-dressed, young woman you had never seen before.

"Ralph!" the woman said shrilly. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

Ralph spun around on his heel, frightened out of his wits.

"Victoria!" he exclaimed. "You said that I should meet you here."

Victoria scoffed, rolling her eyes with her hands on her hips.

"Yes, an hour ago!" she scolded. "My God, you would lose your head if it wasn't attached to your body sometimes. Honestly. Come along now, we're late enough as it is."

She grabbed his arm before he had a chance to argue, dragging him towards the shop door. He turned to you as he went, his smile wide as he waved.

"It was so lovely meeting you! Perhaps I'll see you another time," he called. "With more clothes on!"

"Ralphie!" Victoria snapped as the door swung shut behind them.

You had barely a moment to watch him go when your great-aunt was pulling the curtain over harshly, her expression aghast.

“Well, I never,” she blustered. “The nerve of that boy.”

You smiled to yourself as she continued to drone on about manners and decorum and the downfall of polite society.

You hoped you would see him again.

How pleasantly surprised you were to find that he had been invited to the very same party as you. Perhaps you would be able to introduce yourself this time.

Taglist 💖: @punkrockmlchael @glassbxttless @keaganz @peachyproserpina

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[annoyingexboyfriend]

“Ok to be fair if a girl said that about me I would fold immediately. Still unhinged tho” you don’t get it

he’s so yummy and chewable

[madelynraemunson]

WHEN I SAY WHIP, YOU SAY LASH

creds to @spdrgwen for ralph pic <3

[bippot]

A Change Of Pace - Chapter 1

Story Summary -> Ralph knows he's quick to fall in love, and that's bitten him on the ass every single time it has happened. Not this time, no. To ensure he doesn't scare his new infatuation away, he must take the advice of his servant, Michael, and take it slow.

Tags -> Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, 1920s, Slow Burn, Shopping, Male simp, Caretaking, Fake Marriage, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Weddings, Wedding Night

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Turns out that the French Foreign Legion didn't actually want Ralph, which was understandable because he did have the softest of hands. That ensured that all the heavy lifting and hard work was painful for such a dainty, fancy man.

In reality, it was due to the fact that they suspected he had poor eyesight based on how his target practice went. He didn't hit a single target, but he did manage to graze the instructor's hand when he got annoyed and threw the pistol.

So, he came home. That was not something he wished to do, but, luckily, Lauren was gone by the time he arrived back. And despite Victoria being her usual snotty self, things were fine. Not good. Not great. Just fine.

Although, after his brief stint away from her, Ralph now found it harder to deal with her. Every time she interrupted him, every time she said something rude or even downright insulting about him, he had to take a moment to calm himself.

The best way to do that was to get out of the house and walk around the park that was a few streets across. He could sit on a bench, preferably one that was far from the swans as they had taken a strong dislike to him and now he'd developed a deep seated fear of their attacks, and read in peace.

Being without his family was nice. It was a breath of fresh air. Ralph liked it so much that he had a long winded talk with his father about moving out. He wanted to leave the nest, not too far as the apartment he'd been eyeing was only a half an hour drive away from their home, and he was more than thrilled when his father agreed.

This new found freedom was exhilarating. It brought him so much joy. And yet, there was one thing that bothered him more than anything else right now. His new life was not fulfilling in the slightest. All he did was read, sleep and go to the very frequent parties that Victoria would host. It was exactly like his old one, but he could set his own curfew.

There had to be something else that life had to offer?

When Lauren was around, it was as if he could forget about his pure boredom because there were new, unconventional people around so he could focus on them instead of looking inward. Now it was just him and his lack of achievements, his lack of life.

Getting a job was beneath him. Why would he do that? His father made sure that every single thing he'd ever wanted was paid for without a fuss and then some, yet it seemed that having access to money didn't make him happy. He was fed and sheltered and pampered, but not happy. He never felt satisfied.

Was he doomed to live his life as a bored posh dandy? Did his parents expect this, too? If that was true, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage without going absolutely batty. The thought terrified him. He needed a goal in order to function well, an object in which he could set his gaze upon. The world seemed empty and meaningless otherwise.

Soon he'd get that goal. That goal lived two doors down from his new apartment.

Y/N knew that people were still warming up to female writers. Agatha Christie was really helping the whole thing, yet she still heard some men at the publisher call her Arthur Conan Doyle with tits. Progress is slow. She needed to keep her head up and roll with the punches.

Admittedly, her ride was a lot easier than others as her father owned the newspaper she had a column in. Sure, she went under a pseudonym, but she still had a foot in the door from the get go. There was a hundred percent certainty that she was only employed because of who her father was, but nepotism aside, she had the talent to back it up.

Like most writers, part of Y/N's process was to spiral into a patch of self doubt and profess that what she'd written was absolute hog shit so she always took a step back and stepped outside for a breather.

On one fateful day, the two had planned a little walk at the same time. Almost in synchrony, both Ralph and Y/N swung open their respective front doors and made their way to the pavement. Ralph, however, happened to glance to his right.

Boom. He'd always been one to be transfixed by pretty girls, but he'd never fainted before at the mere sight of one. It was pitiful really, and he couldn't believe he'd fallen under the spell so quickly. His feet moved too quickly for his body and next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

Hearing the sound of something roughly falling to the ground to the left of her, Y/N quickly found the dazed Ralph laying flat on the ground, his hand resting gently on heart as he stared into thin air. She hurried to check if he was okay, crouching down next to him and putting two fingers against his neck.

He had a pulse. A quick one.

"Hello, sir? Sir? Are you alright?" She asked, leaning over and tapping him lightly on the cheek to wake him up. But all he did was mumble incoherently, staring off into space and clutching at his chest like he'd run a marathon.

With more force than she intended to, she slapped him across the face, causing him to jump in surprise and blink at her, finally focusing his gaze upon her. "I'm sorry for striking you, sir. You were too far up in the clouds," Y/N apologised sheepishly, "Is everything okay?"

Her question was met with silence for a second before Ralph responded, slowly but surely becoming more aware of his surroundings. "No, no, I must apologise. I haven't the foggiest why such a thing happened."

Lie. Total lie.

"I apologise if I frightened you, ma'am."

Despite the fact he was responding, she kept her hand on his cheek and gently caressed where she'd struck him, feeling embarrassed that such a thing might happen on a peaceful outing of all places. Still, she was worried about him.

"It was quite a fall," she told him, trying her best to smile while she checked him for any injuries. "You're not zozzled, are you, sir?"

His eyes widened and shook his head, claiming that, "No, nothing like that. I can assure you I haven't had a drop since last night," as she helped him sit upright properly. Once he was situated, Ralph smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, miss…"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N. And you are?"

"Ralph, Ralph Penbury."

Politely, he offered his hand to shake hers and she obliged, surprised by the firm handshake he gave her. He certainly wasn't as delicate as a girl might assume.

Then, to her surprise, he didn't let go of her hand straight away and brought her knuckles to his lips, lightly brushing his mouth against each of them in a manner that was entirely unexpected. His lips lingered for a few seconds longer than acceptable in polite society and his eyes bore into hers the entire time.

"Thank you for your care, Y/N," he breathed, his voice a bit thick when he pulled his hand away. Ralph cleared his throat and looked away from her, clearly embarrassed that he had done such a thing in such a public setting. "Please, forgive my rudeness. I should return home immediately."

"Oh. Goodbye then. I do hope you're okay," Y/N told him as she helped him up to his feet and watched him open the door, awkwardly wave goodbye then quickly rush inside before he could embarrass himself further. What sort of gentleman acts in such a way?! Fainting? In public? How uncouth could he be?

Yet, it wasn't as if he had any control over the matter. Y/N, without a single doubt in his head, was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. No, scratch that, he was sure she had to be the most beautiful girl ever in the history of the world. Because there were girls out there that he'd never seen before and never will be able to see, and Ralph was sure she beat them all.

Nobody could compare. Nobody could even come close. Was there another person in the world that looked so effortless as she walked through her front door? Someone whose hair looked enough like silk that Ralph knew he'd die in the most pleasant way if he ran his hair through it?

Although he'd be hesitant to admit it to Victoria, he was rather transfixed by the fact she wore wide legged trousers - which, if he took the time to recall, as did Lauren (so he could have a type) - and nowhere in his mind did he think that she was odd in any way. They suited her. Maybe everything suited her, he assumed as such.

"Ralph, you're back already?" his servant Michael asked in surprise when he heard the door close. In his time away from his family, Ralph had become rather lonely. His sister was the one with all the friends, and here he was, free and totally alone. So, he did something really out there.

He made friends with the help.

I know, I know, it's crazy. While he'd always tried to be polite to those in his father's employ, they were never friends until now. Ralph had come to realise that, not only did his servants have lives outside the Penbury's, but they had families and friends and goals and emotions just like he did.

Michael was certainly a friend. Perhaps the closest friend he ever had.

Yet, that didn't stop Ralph from ignoring the question and hurrying to the nearest window so he could get one more glance at his inamorata before she carried on with her business. He couldn't resist. He needed to see those delicately painted red lips again.

"She's rather beautiful, isn't she?" Michael said, looking over Ralph's shoulder. Of course he'd noticed that Ralph wasn't focused on anything else other than the woman in question. "She always says hello when I pass her with the shopping. She's quite nice for someone so unconventional."

"Unconventional how?"

"The trousers are a start."

As she made it down the street and out of his view, Ralph let out a sigh and rested his forehead against the cool glass pane. "Other than the obvious, Michael," he huffed, creating a patch of condensation that was swiftly wiped away.

"Apparently, Anna -" The only other servant he allowed himself to have. "-Spoke to her when she moved in a week or so back, and she lives there all by herself."

That caught Ralph's attention. He spun around in his spot to stare at Michael with wide eyes, his mouth gaping slightly. "She's not married? Now that is a relief!"

Looking back to his very recent memories, he didn't see a ring on her left hand so this was amazing news.

"Her father's Mr L/N."

"He owns The Shoehorn Press, right?"

"Correct."

The gears were turning in his little head. Not only was she perfect for him, their families were compatible too. Wasn't that a relief. It was fate. The Penbury's owned a batch of high class theatres (which could be why the twins were dramatic all the time) and the L/N owned the most reliable paper. Perfection in every way.

"And Mr L/N let's her write an article every week to go in it."

"She's a working girl? Oh, I like that."

Was there any part of her that he didn't like?

"I heard from Elizabeth down the street that Mr L/N keeps setting her up with potential suitors but they never work out. She refuses to marry."

Shit. There it was. That piece of information was disheartening for Ralph to hear. Usually, he was fond of hearing all the gossip Michael had managed to gather from the other servants on the street, but this bit, well, it's safe to say his shoulders slouched as he heard it.

From the moment he understood what a husband was, he knew that's what he wanted to be. A life where he gets to be married to a beautiful lady who he could worship and love and cherish. There was no job out there that suited Ralph better. The thought of taking up an occupation filled him with dread, but loving his wife forever? That could be easily done.

A small, happy grin crossed his lips as he contemplated the notion, allowing his mind to imagine what it would be like to spend every day by her side, to wake up next to her every morning, to hold her in his arms at night and feel her warm breath fanning across his neck whenever she snuggled up closer… There was nothing in the world that sounded more desirable than being her husband.

Alas, it seemed that she didn't want one. She wouldn't want him. His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"Oh Michael, why is the world so cruel to me? Why can't happiness be within reach?" Ralph whined dramatically, resting his hands against his face, his elbows propped up on the windowsill. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the warmth of his own sadness seeping into him and infecting everything he held dear.

What did love even mean to him anyway? Was he meant to settle down someday? Was that even possible anymore? He knew most of the ladies in town thought he was far too much of a dandy for them to ever be interested in him. And it bothered him to no end, because even though he was thoughtful and sensitive and open, he was a man that had his own unique brand of masculinity.

It wasn't like he was unattractive or unapproachable. Quite the opposite actually. People would often compliment him for his style or his manners, but his personality was not something people seemed to enjoy. Was he too excitable? Too outspoken? Too loud? Too annoying?

Or simply, was he too Ralph?

He sighed deeply before opening his eyes and looking up to the ceiling; letting out a long, low groan. There was absolutely no way around this. No matter how hard he tried to convince his heart that it was hopeless, it was still stuck on her.

Michael gave him a reassuring pat on the back and couldn't stop himself from chuckling at how dramatic Ralph was being. He did look a tad pathetic standing there with his nose pressed against the glass, so, with a light yet supportive smile, Michael spoke.

"Perhaps, you should get to know her before you make these assumptions. Take it slow, Ralph, and try your best. If she doesn't feel the same about you, then maybe you shouldn't be so persistent about the whole thing..."

"No, Michael. She must. I need her to love me." He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, before continuing with a confident tone of voice. "But, I think taking it slow is a good idea. I've rushed proposals before and that did not turn out well for either me or my past lady love…"

That was an understatement.

"Why don't you try to get to know her before you start planning how many kids you'll have -"

"Three. Two girls. One boy."

Sighing, Michael turned Ralph around to face him and placed his hands on his employer's shoulders. "Listen to the words coming out of my mouth, Ralph," he scolded gently. "This lady is not going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly want to marry you."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't know you."

"I'm well aware of that, Michael," Ralph insisted determinedly, his gaze intense as he stared at his friend. It faltered as dipped his head and, almost inaudibly, whispered, "What if she gets to know me and doesn't like.. what if she doesn't like the real me?"

What if she decided she didn't care for his quirky, eccentric personality? What if she found another gentleman worthy enough to love and marry her after all? What if... what if... what if...! Ralph couldn't even bring himself to finish thinking about all the possible consequences that might await him if his hopes weren't realised.

"That's a gamble you're going to have to take."

Shit, that wasn't something he wanted to hear. He wanted things to be easy. He wanted her to swoon and blush and fall for him as easily as he did for her. He wanted her to be his. He wanted her to smile and call him her darling and kiss him like he was the only thing in the entire world that mattered.

Not a risk. Not a chance. Not a possibility. A certainty.

Ralph nodded his head slowly, trying to ignore the pain that settled in his chest as Michael released his shoulders and pulled away.

"Start small. Say hello. Ask how she's doing. Tell her about yourself. Try to make her laugh. Be friendly before you try to woo her."

Michael's words brought out some optimism in Ralph and lifted his spirits considerably. Even though it was a big risk, he would do it no matter how much his heart ached to take it slow. It wouldn't hurt to try.

Okay, okay...he could do this. He could act normal around a woman.

The next day, he got his chance to try. Ralph exited at the exact same time as he had the day previous and hoped she followed a similar routine each day. He stood half in, half out of his front door and waited patiently until he heard her door open.

"Good mornin', Miss!" Ralph called brightly and, despite the fact he had caused her to jump and her bag to slip down her shoulder, she turned to give him a smile.

"Morning, Mr Penbury."

"Please, call me Ralph."

He closed his door and tried to hide his excitement when she walked to lean against the fence that was opposite his house. He practically skipped to stand next to her, trying his hardest not to appear too eager but failing miserably.

"How are you today? You're not going to faint on me, are you?" She asked playfully, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Her lips curled upwards just slightly at the corners when he shook his head violently.

"No, no, no. I'm fine! How are you?" He asked in return, smiling shyly at her and ignoring his nerves that threatened to consume him.

"I'm, uh... a bit of a mess, if you want the honest answer." She chuckled nervously.

"I'm a writer, you see, and I seem to be running low on stories as of late... but you don't want to hear me ramble all-"

"I do!" He cut in excitedly. "I really do. Tell me."

And she did. The pair began walking towards the park and chatted away, talking about anything that came to their minds. From food to the weather, to books they enjoyed to art they had seen, the two talked endlessly about everything and nothing at the same time. All Ralph could think was that this was possibly one of the happiest days of his life so far.

Y/N soon found out that Ralph was a great listener and that their lively conversation was getting the ideas in her head to float to the top of her brain in a dizzy rush of inspiration. By the time they got to the park, she'd completely forgotten about her little problem and was able to focus solely on enjoying herself and learning about the man next to her.

In a sudden moment of confidence, Ralph offered his arm for her to link hers through and she complied, allowing him to lead her off to walk along the path leading to the pond. With ease, he made his way through the paths and led her over to where the water flowed lazily and without worry.

"You're so easy to talk to," he confessed quietly, leaning in a bit close so that she could hear him clearly. "Talking to you is like breathing fresh, unpolluted air."

"You flatter me," Y/N giggled bashfully as she brushed her fingers lightly against the fabric covering his bicep. She could feel his muscles flex underneath the touch. The heat that radiated from him was almost unbearable in the most pleasant way.

"I simply speak the truth." He grinned as he gazed across up at her, gazing intently into her eyes. "I hope we can do this more often…if you'd like us to."

"I would like that very much, Ralph."

To say that he looked like a puppy would be an understatement. As he gazed up at her, his eyes were wide filled with so much wonder and joy that it was almost impossible not to smile. Even when he happened to walk into a tree branch and, in doing so, messed up his perfectly styled hair.

"Oh shit," he cursed as he made contact with the rough bark, wincing in discomfort at the sting at the twigs poking at his head. He swatted them away whilst trying desperately to straighten his messy hair, and Y/N couldn't help but to let out a hearty laughter at his reaction.

She held her hand out and only attempted to help tame his hair when he nodded, commenting, "I actually think you look quite nice with the messy hair look."

"Thank you…" He muttered quietly, staring down at the ground, blushing under her praise. Then his head shot up again and he flashed her an incredibly goofy smile. "...Honestly, I don't really like how all the gel feels on my head. It makes it feel stiff and dry."

With a snort, Y/N replied by ruffling his hair even more than it already was. "Why'd you wear it like that then?" she inquired curiously. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Victoria tells me to. Says that it looks better and I'm not one to argue with her."

"Ah, I see," she murmured at the mention of a woman in his life. She glanced sideways at him and forced a smile. "Is Victoria your girlfriend?"

"Gross, no. She's my sister. Twin sister, non-identical."

In relief, her smile grew wider at the news and somehow got happier when he added, "I don't have a girlfriend. Do you?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh, oh, I meant... I meant like a boyfriend, you know, like a boyfriend." His brows furrowed briefly as he tried to decipher how she'd reacted to the fact he just implied that she was a lesbian. A lesbian in 1927, no less.

Yet, she didn't seem to mind. In fact, the way she smiled at him told him that the whole situation hadn't seemed to phase her all that much.

"Uh... no. I don't have a boyfriend."

He sighed deeply relieved that there had been absolutely no indication whatsoever that she'd thought he had been strange or inappropriate in his questioning, and on top of that, she was single and ready to mingle.

"I don't have a boyfriend either, just in case you wanted to know," he added with an almost teasing lilt to his voice, earning a chuckle from her as they found a bench and sat down comfortably together side by side.

As soon as she placed her bag down, the ducks came running and caused Ralph to yelp at their sudden appearance. Y/N cackled at his startled expression. She reached into her bag and pulled out what at first looked like a stack of newspapers, but once she peeled back the paper, it was very clearly a few pieces of bread that she'd wrapped up so the crumbs wouldn't get anywhere.

Tearing pieces off and throwing it for the ducks, she turned to explain, "I do this a lot. They probably recognise the bag and know they're going to be fed."

"You feed these beasts?"

Again, she laughed. She held out a slice to him, which he took cautiously, and gestured for him to break off a bit and toss it. When he complied, a duckling waddled over to it and gobbled it up greedily.

"That's quite cute actually..." he commented, watching the animal enjoy itself before turning his attention back to her as she continued feeding the ducks. He couldn't help but stare at her as she did so, taking in every detail. She was such a beautiful sight and, although he felt the need to hold himself back in fear that he might embarrass himself, he knew he should make sure to commit her beauty to memory.

The sun filtered through the branches above, illuminating her soft hair beautifully and bathing her in warm and incredibly rare British sunlight. She glowed, he realised with a smile. Her eyes shone and sparkled with so much happiness; her face flushed and rosy; a small, crooked smile tugged the corner of her mouth upward in a way that made him believe there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Oh, how he wished he'd brought his sketchpad. Maybe then he could capture her in all its splendour. But he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off of her.

Interrupting his daze, one of the bigger duck's got impatient as he still had half a slice in his hand and hadn't thrown it so it nipped at his fingers. He jumped with a very high pitched squeal and flung the bread far away from him, where it hit a nearby tree and flopped to the ground with a soft thump.

"Ow." He cradled his finger in his other hand gently, frowning at the pain that pulsated through his digit.

"Are you okay? Let me see."

Placing his hand in hers, he watched her inspect the damage - the bird's bite hadn't even broken skin but would be a purplish colour by the evening - and deadpanned, "I'm surprised it didn't bite your hand off," only to immediately drop the facade when he seemed genuinely concerned. "I'm kidding. The worst you could get from a duck would be an infection and your nip didn't draw blood so you're perfectly fine."

Ralph let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank god…" He smiled weakly at her and then glanced towards the duck who seemed pretty contented now. The simple act of holding her hand made him forget about any smidgeon of pain.

From the other side of the pond, Ralph felt a pair of eyes on him and turned his head to find that they belonged to none other than Sonia, one of Victoria's friends. He slowly took his hand out of Y/N grip and shifted so Y/N was blocked from view by his body.

"Do you know her?" she questioned in a quiet voice, peering around Ralph's shoulder in order to see behind him.

"She's one of my sister's friends, yes. And not one of the nice ones."

"Ah. I see. She's coming this way."

"She is?"

Noticing how uncomfortable he was, Y/N had to offer, "Shall we make a quick getaway?" He considered her suggestion for a moment and nodded his head before standing up hastily and offering his hands out to pull her up. She accepted his help gratefully and they both briskly walked away without looking back at the scene.

They were going the wrong way to get home and had stumbled into a street market full of vendors selling all kinds of foods and trinkets and knick knacks. Ralph had never been to a market before as he usually got his servants to gather anything he wanted. Clothes shopping was the only time he went out for himself.

"Hungry?" She asked with a grin, eyeing him with amusement as his eyes darted from stall to stall.

"Yes… Yes, please!"

Y/N giggled, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him forward, "Alright, come on then, big guy. Let's go find something."

While Ralph followed behind her blindly, he couldn't help but admire how elegant and graceful her movements were as she weaved through the crowd effortlessly. With her locks bouncing along with her footsteps, and her lips curved up at the corners in joy, he just couldn't tear his gaze away.

"I'm in the mood for some hot soup, you?" she queried, glancing back over her shoulder at him. Smiling brightly at her request, Ralph nodded his head enthusiastically as they started walking in the direction of a particular stand, where steam filled the air and wafted the scent of homemade broth towards them.

Still holding onto him, she ordered and paid for their food before he'd even realised what she was doing. Upon returning, they found a seat outside under a large oak tree that provided shade and privacy from all other people and occupied themselves by chatting for the remainder of their meal.

Despite having just met Y/N, he quickly grew accustomed to her presence and was able to keep himself entertained with her conversation during their lunchtime. Maybe all of his conquests were this interesting and he'd been so blinded by his infatuation to realise it, or maybe she was the most interesting of them all - that was the most likely in his head.

Once they were done, they stood and started the journey back home. As they passed more stalls, the pair got to the end and Ralph happened to notice a flower stall.

"Wait here," he told her before rushing up to the florist's stand while she stood awkwardly to the side waiting for him. He soon returned with a single yellow tulip in his hand, smiling sheepishly and holding it up for her to see. "For you."

Her eyes widened at his gesture, her cheeks reddening slightly as she gazed at the flower in wonder. "Thank you, Ralph," she murmured softly as she gently took it from him and tucked it behind her ear for safe keeping.

"I tried to buy more but I don't think that lady liked me," he confessed, laughing before clearing his throat and continuing, "My mother taught me that yellow tulips mean 'there's sunshine in your smile' and I never had use for that information until now."

Y/N shook her head fondly at his adorable confession, knowing that this boy was a genuine treasure inside and out. And that, combined with his sweet words of gratitude, were making her heart soar. It was a feeling she could get used to. It was a wonderful feeling.

So she gave his arm a squeeze, urging, "Let's get home, I need to put this in a vase before it wilts," and then led him back the way they came, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the market.

As they neared their homes, however, she noticed that he was slowing down his pace. Not stopping, but slowing considerably. And not because he was tired, but because he wanted to stretch out their time together as long as possible.

Because he wanted to savour everything about this day. Because he wasn't ready to part ways yet and he wasn't sure if he'd ever have another chance like this again.

Then he did stop.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow? I'm in need of some new clothes and I was hoping for a second opinion." He came up with that on the spot, unsure of whether or not she would accept or not. "My sister usually helps but she's busy. Would you?"

"Of course I'll help. Just tell me when and where and I shall make myself available for you."

That was a better response than he'd ever imagined he could've received. Perhaps gaining her love really wasn't as hopeless as he may have previously believed.

They continued onwards and once they reached the entrance to her house, she hesitated slightly as though she wanted to say something. Before either of them could, however, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye," she whispered and hurried off up the steps.

He watched her leave until she disappeared behind her door, his mind wandering into a fantasy, a world where the woman he loved lived in the same house as him. And they spent everyday together like they had today, eating meals and enjoying each others' company and being together whenever they pleased.

A world where the only thing they needed was each other - no matter how many times they argued, no matter how many misunderstandings they had; nothing else would matter because they loved each other.

Yet, a pang of disappointment ran through him as reality sank in. She didn't love him. No, not yet.

Next Chapter -> Chapter 2

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