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writerwrites · 3 years

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Yuánfèn | 03

Ch. 3: Saudade: “The feeling of longing for an absent something or someone that you love but might never return.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 4.2k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff, domestic fluff is strong in this chapter... ALL THE FLUFF

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You hadn’t been sleeping, not really. Between bouts of crying over the piles of pictures and old love letters from the war, you were at a loss for words. A part of you was so mad at yourself for never getting to know your grandparents, not really, not on a level that truly meant something. You loved them and by the prideful placement of your graduation pictures on the coffee table by your grandmother’s reading nook there was no doubt they had loved you too or at least been proud of your accomplishments. You were no one to the world. No one thought about the person that patched up heroes and now the one person left with whom you may have been their world was also gone. You could only describe the feeling as being left adrift.

Adrift, what an odd, dark place to be. You mused in silence as you thought about life, time, and death. None of it seemed black and white to you. No one was wholly good or bad and even the flawed souls had people that cared about them at some point, conflicting as that may have been. You’d turn that thought over in your head, night after night, wine in one hand and pictures or letters in the other. It made you wonder how long it would be until you’d find a soul to remember you when you were gone, the act of having to replant yourself one that felt more like a chore than your tired body seemed to have energy for. The only person that seemingly connected to your entire existence now was a hundred-and-something year old patient that was adored by every person that knew even a fraction of his story. Every night, with that reminder in mind, you’d polish off your glass and curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for a couple hours of reprieve from the horrors of your solitary reality.

At odd hours, you and Steve would check in with each other. For the most part the pair of you had stuck to texting, you with your proof that you were eating and Steve with some balm that the team was still in one piece without you. To your surprise, he managed at least one short FaceTime every few days. This was a new and pleasant escape from your solitude that happened to include little introductions to food he’d never had and meaningless promises that you’d cook more in your tiny kitchen and bring him your leftovers to try. Maybe it was the way his face lit up when you managed to peak your head up from your bundle of hoodie and blankets, but it really felt like he understood and never judged you for how miserable you looked or for those moments where you’d simply fall silent mid-sentence. In fact, he never commented on your appearance at all. Two weeks and it felt like you learned more about him than you had in all the years as a doctor at Stark Industries.

You missed your job, kept telling him as much but Tony insisted you stay and get what you had to get done over with to prevent you from having to make multiple trips away. Stark may have claimed one thing, but your conversations with Steve made you suspicious of what he was getting into and how he was coping with Wanda’s vision. As if you were on some sort of mental health retreat. Steve wouldn’t say anything particular about it, but you noticed that his jaw went tight before commenting that there were no medical emergencies waiting for you and he’d tell you if there were. It was one of the least reassuring statements the soldier had ever given you and he seemed to notice the way your expression fell, getting off the phone awkwardly with an excuse that he remembered he had somewhere he needed to be.

Something told you that it would be the last time he would FaceTime you on your trip to Mallorca. Rather than let yourself get upset by that or hyper analyze the giddy feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach every time your phone lit up with his name, you busied yourself with all the things you should’ve been working on in the first place. It was the most productive day you’d had since getting there, but you managed to forget to both eat or slow down and rest. With little interest in laying down on the couch, still incapable of sleeping in your grandmother’s room, you decided to shower and head out to find something to eat at one of the dozens of little shops. The noise in your head was already wondering what Steve would say when you sent a picture of whatever you were eating and he realized you’d actually left the house for more than groceries or a meeting with the lawyer.

The late April air was warm and dry, a light breeze blew in the sweet scent of the Valencia red roses and lemon scented geraniums that lined the large balcony. As you towel dried your hair with a yawn, half tempted to collapse onto the couch as your stomach groaned with hunger, the doorbell chimed through the house. You looked down at the maxi dress you’d put on, a little wrinkled from being in the small suitcase, as your heart raced. You hadn’t been expecting anyone and no one had swung by to check on your grandmother, but you figured it was only a matter of time. This is fine, I’m glad she wasn’t alone, you chanted whispered over and over as you went to the door and pulled it open.

Steve rocked on his heels, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a small box wrapped in parchment paper and tied with a simple blue silk ribbon. He could hear footsteps inside and his gaze moved over the place. It wasn’t like any place he’d ever been before, more like something from a postcard, and he found himself eager to explore the streets he could hear voices coming from. Then he heard the rapid pulse and little pep talk on the other side of the door, causing the corners of his lips to turn up in a small smile. In possibly the worst attempt at a Spanish accent you’d ever heard, he managed a bashful, “Buenas tardes.”

With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, mostly to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, you managed to pick up your jaw and ask, “Tony finally send you out here to drag me back?”

“Nah, team had a lead and I want them to practice a little recon without me. I’m not too far from them and, I think, my friend needs me a little more than they need me.” He swallowed down his nerves and you tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple or the fresh stubble along his jaw. Instead you looked at the box in his hand. “Sam said this might help with the pictures and things.”

Slowly backing up you nodded for him to come in, watching him duck through the doorway that he easily filled, as you took the gift from his hand. Moving the blanket and pillow from the couch so you both could fit, you carefully opened what was a portable image scanner that would plug right into your computer. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath, though he’d been watching you the whole time despite wanting to look around the place and he put a hand on your back, thumb rubbing across your spine as you let out a shaky breath. “It’s perfect.”

Nice things, little things, every little opportunity of letting yourself feel even a fraction of emotions seemed to make you fall apart. Steve noticed and took the gift from your hands, setting it gently on the coffee table next to your discarded laptop. “I didn’t get a breakfast or a lunch picture from you. Why don’t we go grab something to eat?”

For some reason you felt the immediate need to protest, but his hands were gently pulling you up from the couch and leading you back to the door. The sun stung your eyes when the door opened and there wasn’t a super soldier to block out the light, making you pull back into the house. Steve didn’t let go of your hand, waiting and trying to encourage you by brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Okay.” You reassured yourself more than him, taking each step slowly as you let yourself be anchored by the man walking with casual purpose as if he knew where he was going. “Are we wandering or did you really memorize a map when you Googled the place?”

Steve smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and you did your best to not cringe at how much your body naturally reacting with your own smile wracked you with guilt or how obvious it was that he knew by his fingers lacing through yours as he held on just a little tighter. Even when you turned down a little street you hadn’t explored and he pulled out a chair for you at a quaint little bistro you were still smiling. “So, I know what tapas are and with some googling this is supposed to be one of the best places for them.”

Time and again, something normal slipping from this man’s mouth couldn’t help but make you stare at him in awe. “Well, do you like spicy food? Tapas are great and patatas bravas are spicy. You can’t go wrong with the classic tortilla de patata though.” A waitress passed you both a menu and you ordered a café con leche and Steve politely nodded to have the same. “You know you just asked for espresso with milk, right?”

His face went a little pink as he admitted, “I thought café was coffee?” Attempting to hold in your laughter, the small sound that did escape you was muffled by the sound of melodic guitar pouring through the open doors and windows of the restaurant. “If I would’ve known that you were all alone in a postcard I would’ve asked Sam to check on Benton sooner.”

“Benton?” Your head tilted to the side as the waitress set your espressos between you and you processed, while asking her for a coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“I told you that I’d end up naming your fish if you didn’t. Thomas Hart Benton is an American painter… pretty famous, but probably not an everyday kind of name if you aren’t really into the Regionalist art movement.” Steve waited until the waitress walked away before trying the espresso, his nose scrunching like a kid trying a sip of beer and finding out it tasted nothing like juice.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” Hiding your smile behind your own espresso, you stole another glance at him, catching his bright blue eyes on you for just a moment before pulling away to the colorful scenery. “You’re lucky you showed up when you did. I was torn between a nap and finding something to eat.”

“Is the espresso so you don’t fall asleep on the table?”

Burying your face in your hands you tried to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not that I’m not ecstatic to see you or that you’re not amazing company.”

Your hands muffled your words and Steve reached over and pulled them down. “It’s fine. I understand. You can get your nap in after you eat something.”

To your surprise, he kept reaching out for your hand between bites and light conversation. By the time you were done eating the waitress was hovering, now seemingly aware of who he was. Despite the looks and flirting on her end, he kept his attention on you, insisted on paying, and walked you back to the house. A part of you thought you’d wake up from the dream when you walked through the door but he followed you, only letting your hand go to close the door. “There’s a lot of books to read. I’ll probably only sleep for like an hour.”

“Sleep as long as you need to, Darling. I can sit out here and read or if you’d like me to help scan things onto your computer, I could do that too.” Steve’s smile fell as you buried your face in your hands and started to cry. “Hey, I don’t have to touch a thing. Whatever you need.”

His arms wrapped around you when his attempts to gently pull your hands from your face failed. Just as he’d done before, one hand caressed your back and the other stroked your hair until you settled into the hug. “I’m sorry, you’re just being nice and I’m exhausted.” Craning your neck to look up at him, you caught the glimmer of tears in his own eyes. You didn’t have to wonder who he missed, knowing that probably every person he’d cared about was gone or moved on in the time he was frozen. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

Steve took in a breath, trying to steady himself as he looked over at the couch, remembering the pillow and blanket you’d moved for you two to sit earlier. “This whole time? Is there not a bed?”

Swallowing you hid your face, “There’s a bed, but it smells like her.”

“C’mon.” Steve cautiously pulled you out of the hug, “Show me where it is. I’ll be your pillow and you can get some proper sleep.”

You were in shock; confused, physically and emotionally exhausted, and then he was taking your hand and pulling you toward his best guess at the direction of the bedroom. After opening the door to the bathroom and office, Steve pushed open the door to the bedroom. Reluctantly and barely over a whisper, you muttered a quiet, “Okay.”

He stepped out of his boots and climbed onto the bed, taking up nearly the whole thing, before he reached out for you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Nodding you climbed in next to him and he pulled you right into his chest. His thumb and palms wiped the damp from your cheeks before brushing your hair from your face. Steve waited, holding your face, gently brushing your jaw as you settled in at his side, your head far away from anything that could shock your senses with nostalgia and grief. “Comfy?”

It didn’t seem to matter that you had to hike your dress up to your knees or that ‘comfy’ meant your legs were tangled up in his. The blankets being under the pair of you didn’t seem to matter either, when you were warm against his abnormally warm chest that, despite being solid muscle, still felt more comfortable than the pillow you’d been resting your head on every night. Steve’s long broad frame dwarfed you, giving you the sense of safety you hadn’t felt since before you’d lost your family. His fingertips drew an invisible map across your bare arms and you hummed a nearly inaudible ‘mmhm’ as your eyes fluttered closed. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, but as he took you in his arms and seemingly unleashed the jar of butterflies in your stomach, you almost instantly fell asleep to the sound of his steady pulse under your ear while he engulfed you in the scent of clean laundry and bar soap.

Steve stayed by your side, as promised, and despite the time difference and the Quinjet negating typical travel time from the States to Europe, he found himself comfortable and exhausted. Maybe it was seeing how broken you were to be sitting in a space of memories, displaced by the absence of everything you held dear, something he knew too well; but he found himself incapable of slipping out of the bed or even moving to reposition you so that he could give you some blankets. Until this moment he’d chalked up all of his thoughts of you to Natasha’s pestering to ask someone, anyone, on a date. As his blue eyes closed, he replayed your smile in the sunlight at the table, the breeze blowing the scent of your shampoo and espresso at him. God, he thought as he drifted to sleep, he should’ve asked you to dance.

When you woke up, disoriented by the darkness and a soft blue-white glow over your head, you found Steve staring at his phone, free hand absentmindedly stroking your hair. Your arm was wrapped tightly around his and the sudden realization that you were clinging to him for dear life made you relax. He looked down at you surprised. “I really thought you’d sleep through the night. Are you hungry again? It’s only eight.”

It was painfully domestic and you hated yourself for not wanting to get out of bed. It felt too much like borrowed time and you nodded, hiding your face in his side as you tried not to think about the reality outside of these four walls where you both would eventually leave back to your respective jobs. The certainty that things would go back to how they were the moment you were back in Stark Tower felt like a new pain you weren’t ready to confront. “I can make-”

“We are both hungry.” He’d interrupted you with a sleep-laced haze to his quiet voice. “We’ll cook together.”

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you gave him a studied look. “Full of surprises.” Reluctantly climbing out of bed, you stretched, feeling his eyes on you as the dress fell down your thighs back to your feet. Steve slipped into the bathroom and you heard him immediately turn the water on. Trying not to think too much into it, you put on some music and started pulling out the fresh feta, garlic, basil, and tomatoes you’d picked out at the store.

When he was done, Steve leaned against the wall of the hallway, listening to you singing along to the song, the corner of his mouth turned up as he tried to not interrupt what looked like a little moment of happiness. He could hear Sam’s laugh when he walked into your apartment to pick up the key and see where everything was. It was a laugh he’d given Bucky when he tried to play off asking the prettiest girl in school was a bet and not because he really liked her; the laugh of a friend that knew the truth but was willing to let you feign ignorance a little longer.

When you turned around, you nearly dropped the pot of water and at least half of it splashed onto you. Steve waved his hands in an apology. “I can boil water. I’ll clean this up.” His hand brushed over the soft curves of your hips as he apologized and shooed you out of the kitchen.

The person that looked back at you in the bathroom mirror wasn’t the one you’d seen every day since your arrival- or even in the last three years. You looked rested, despite your hair being a bit of a mess, and the small smile that no longer made your face ache wouldn’t seem to subside. The voice in your head tried to scold you back to reality telling you that this was the most loyal and old fashioned man on earth and that if you hadn’t sent him your location and seemed like a mess for weeks he wouldn’t have shown up. Swapping one dress for another, trying to make your hair sit right, and putting on some tinted chapstick and mascara, you came out looking like a new person and found the kitchen deserted. “Steve?”

For a moment you felt like an idiot, thinking you may have literally dreamt up his presence out of boredom and loneliness. Then he stuck his head in through the balcony door, already talking. “It’s too nice to eat inside.” You watched him visibly pick up his mouth. “You look… I feel underdressed.” You wrapped your hands around yourself about to apologize and offer to change before he said, “No, no. You look beautiful. I’m just… I’ve never really seen you not in scrubs, y’know.” He scratched at his blonde hair and nodded to the balcony.

When you stepped out you found the pasta plated, wine poured, and silverware set neatly on napkins. He’d even picked a few of the roses and placed them in a small glass of water. “How long was I in there?”

With a shrug, Steve pulled the chair out for you and when you sat down and looked up at him, waiting for an answer that he didn’t give, you watched him hesitate before going to sit opposite you. Your tongue ran across your lips, more out of the butterflies wishing you had kissed him than the smell of the food making your mouth water. “So, what do Spaniards say instead of ‘bon appétit’?”

“I think, qué aproveche, but I grew up saying buen provecho.” Steve picked up his glass and you did the same. “Salud!” You cheersed, tapping your glass against his. At first you kept quiet, the pair of you digging in with hums of satisfaction, but as your leg started to bounce under the table you found the question you didn’t want to know the answer to pour past your lips, “Are you just waiting for the team to send the extraction message?”

Steve’s fork hung from his mouth a little and he swallowed. “Yes and no? I have the Quinjet, so I’ll have to get them when they’re ready, but it could be days or longer. It could mean that I need to grab the shield and get to work.” The reality of the danger the team was in with the Maximoff twins working for HYDRA wasn’t lost on him, but two things currently felt more important. First, he needed to find Bucky and do whatever he could to save him. Second, he couldn’t leave you to cope with your grief alone. He’d seen so many people lose someone they loved and though he’d initially told himself that this was his way of doing the same thing Tony had done to help a co-worker through an unbearable situation, Steve was slowly settling into the reality that he looked forward to any time of day you gave him. “But I wanted to be here for you and I know the team can handle following a few leads without me. However long you need me and the rest of the world doesn’t, you’ve got me.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows drawing together, still telling yourself this was Steve doing a favor for a friend and to not read into what he was saying. It hurt, but you felt yourself trying to put up a wall to stop yourself from seeing the kindness of someone you happened to find attractive as more than just kindness. For a moment, you stopped to sip the wine, take a few more bites, and calm down your nerves. Just as he’d done at the bistro, he reached his hand across the table, waiting for you to take it. “I still think that I need you.” Whatever this was, you knew he had given you the first manageable day since you went adrift with fresh grief.

He watched you take his hand, studying your small fingers and how they wrapped around three of his, clinging to him like you had in your sleep. “I still think you need me, too.” But he held it in, trying to focus on you and not confess that he thought maybe, for the first time since he woke up from the ice, he felt like someone really saw him.

The conversation was lighter from there and the two of you decided to walk the cobbled streets to where he’d left the Quinjet so that he could get his bag and gear. As you walked back, hand in hand, you slowed down as a young musician plucked out a beautiful and intricate song on his Spanish guitar. “Can we just… just for a moment. My grandparents would’ve never walked away from this.”

Setting his shield, conveniently hidden in a leather case, and his duffel bag next to the musician, Steve came back to you and held out his hand. “I have no idea how to dance to this, but I’d love to learn if you’ll give me a chance.”

It took every ounce of self-control to not bypass his hands and place yours on either side of his neck so that you could pull his mouth down to yours. A soft, nervous laugh passed your lips, “Full of surprises.” A boyish smile spread across his lips as he did his best to learn and three songs later, the two of you settled into the easy slow dancing that disregarded everything else around you, including time and the small crowd that had joined what, to all others, appeared to be two young lovers lost in their own world.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m still shooting for posting a new chapter every Sunday. I would love feedback from you. Do you think they’ll put up a wall before admitting they have feelings? Is someone going to crack first? What’s going to happen when they’re back at the little villa or Stark Tower? I’d love to know where you think this is going.

I mentioned this last time, but while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina. If you know the history of Venezuela, then you also know its political climate in the last 30+ years has led to a mass diaspora, which is why Reader (who like me was raised in the U.S. with family abroad) has some different phrases than typical Spaniards for things. I hope that my Latinx readers don’t mind and that my non-Latinx readers will stick around.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america x reader #captain america x you #fic: steve rogers #writer: writerwrites

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werebearish · 4 years

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NaNoWriMo 2020 tag meme

Okay so I saw this video on youtube and decided to answer these questions here.

1. What are you working on for NaNoWriMo this year?

It’s NaNoAMO again! I’m working on continuing my WIP longfic amo (amas, amamus. I’d like to say “finish” but imho it’s more important that I’m working consistently and making progress at all, so we’ll just say “continue” for now.

2. What apps do you use to help you write and stay motivated?

Apps and sites that are helpful for me with writing, either directly or indirectly:

Google docs and Scrivener apps — processing the words, yup yup.

Calm app — a meditation app. This helps me settle my racing brain.

Atmosphere — a simple ambient sound app that I really like. It has a nice basic interface and you can make mixes of five or six sounds; it’s simple enough that I can throw them together on the fly, and you can also save them.

Ambient Mixer — an app (and site) that is less simple, but can be fun to explore and find or find-and-tweak or create some good mixes. I do NOT do this one on the fly — it’s too easy to get sucked in.

Music playlist — great for signaling my brain that it’s time to work on the thing. Sometimes I have to turn it off after a while because I need more quiet, but that’s okay.

Basic timer app — I don’t have a particular one I prefer, usually just my phone one. Sometimes I might mix it up by using an hourglass. I find that if I set it for more than 20 minutes I often lose focus, so I usually stick with that. I also try to make myself take five minute breaks every 2 or 3 sprints, which is hard to do, but usually helpful.

4thewords.com — this is a gamified writing site, and I do have a lot of fun with the smaller wordcount monsters. It isn’t free, but I enjoy it a lot and use it every day.

I will also mention Fighter’s Block — https://cerey.github.io/fighters-block/ — which is a very very simple version of racing/fighting a monster via wordcount, but this one is free. (I’m not sure if this plays well with mobile right now, and you might have to poke around to get it to work. Be sure to copy and paste your words into your preferred program after you write them!!)

3. Where do you like to write and what’s your favorite writing spot?

Sometimes I like to write lying down in bed with my tablet, but honestly it’s not usually very productive. Even if it weren’t coronatime, I don’t live near any coffee shops or anything. There’s the library (well, normally), but then I get distracted by the books. Occasionally I will mix it up by curling up on the couch with a notebook and pen, but honestly, for me, my desk is best. I have a good chair, which is way better for my back and neck. I also have a little space heater, which is motivating on cold days.

4. What are your writing space must-haves? (i.e. candles, pillows, fave notebook, etc)

Right now on my desk (besides some cluttery nonsense), I have:

Folder with notes, timeline and calendars

Bee balm lotion/ointment — I love it

Lip balm

Post it notes — essential, mostly for noting “what to start with tomorrow”

Process notebook and scratch paper notebook

Beeswax candles — a pillar that has been STRUGGLING, and the votive that I just got out because I was tired of wrestling with the pillar

A basket of AMO-related treasures, including: Simon and Baz plushies that I made, Red plush dragon, Watford scarf, star scarf, Lavender honey lotion, Chocolate mints, Baz candle, Snowbaz art cards, Printout of the comic of the first chapter

5. What are your favorite drinks and snacks to have when writing?

I like to have water and/or Snowbaz tea available. I’m not much for snacks during, but this time I DO have some thematically appropriate Andes chocolate mints. (Simon and Baz actually like mint Aeros, but those are large and hard to find around here, and I like Andes better, so.) I usually have one right at the beginning of a writing session, and maybe one at the end, if it’s been a couple hours.

6. What are your favorite writing distractions? (i.e. pets, tv shows, etc)

I like to take breaks to play harp or kalimba. Naps?

7. What are your favorite ways to get back on track?

Making tea, taking some breaths or doing a meditation in my favorite app, possibly doing some stretching with a tai chi app that I have. Starting my playlist or focusing on a candle is helpful, too. And sometimes I really do just have to take a break for a bit, and then come back later.

8. What are your writing rewards and milestones?

I’m doing a modified version of NaNo, since I’m working on an ongoing project instead of starting something new. I’m counting ALL the words I write (notes and freewriting as well as actual prose) and putting them into the NaNo site, but more importantly I made myself a tracker in my bullet journal with my own definitions of “success” to check off on a daily basis. (Prominently featuring: did you show up for at least 20 minutes? and Did you make a note for what to start with next time? If so then YOU HAVE WON!!)

9. Tag 3 friends to do this tag!

If you want to do it, please consider yourself tagged. :)

#quizzes and memes #assorted memery #nanowrimo #my writing #amo #progress reports

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radiosteve · 5 years

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Need Your Loving Tonight Ch. 16

Summary: With the band going away on tour, a rush of feelings floods you. Will they change when the band returns?

Note: Not sure how I feel about this chapter but enjoy! As always, the italicized part is the reader’s thoughts. The photo is one that I found on google. I do not own any rights to it. If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you!

Warnings: Anxiety

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader, John Deacon x Reader

Words: 3.6k+

March 1, 1974

The months weaved on, swirling through continuous patterns and daily routines as the days grew longer. The fabric of your sweater clung to your skin as you walked down the street, heading towards the bank that you were employed at. A cool breeze rushed through the air, dragging your hair away from your neck, leaving it chilled and exposed. You quickly tugged your hair back down, covering the deep purple spots the lined the side of your skin. John called them a ‘going away present’ the night before, leaving you in a moaning mess as he softly sucked against your skin. When you woke up this morning he was gone and on his way to Blackpool.

The start of the Queen II tour made a part of you feel empty while the other only felt pure joy. You were so happy to see them going off around Europe, finally picking up some traction and loyal fans. But on the other hand, you missed the old days when you stood backstage for every show and kept the boys in check. Everything seemed so different and for some reason you began to hate the concept of change.

You burst through the bank doors, still a little peeved from your thoughts on your walk to work, feeling the eyes of your coworkers and customers staring down upon you. With a polite smile, you rushed back behind the counter into the breakroom, throwing down your bag and fixing your hair once more.

“Rough night?” you heard a voice over your shoulder, turning to look at the person standing in the doorway.

“Not completely,” you pushed the hair back from your neck, revealing the hickies that bruised across your skin.

“Really? You get shagged and still come in here all angry and what not?” she held back a giggle as she sat down on the lunch table in front of you.

“Sorry Carol, I don’t make the rules,” you smirked at her as she playfully shook her head. Carol had been your best work friend since you started at the bank after graduation. She had been the one to train you, to show you how to cut corners when needed, and what to do on a slow day. Besides Sally and the boys, Carol was one of your closest friends.

“How is John? Are the boys nervous about the tour and album release?” she asked while playing with a loose button on her sweater.

“I can’t tell. I mean, I’m sure that he is, but he won’t talk to me about it. It’s like he’s trying to spare me from his feelings,” you responded, fishing through your bag for lip balm, feeling the surface of your lips grow more chapped by the second.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed about being nervous and that’s why he won’t say anything,” Carol said, pulling her attention away from the button. Her gaze focused on you, eyes staring deep into yours, making goosebumps rise all over your skin. “But everything else is good, right? I don’t want to hear that my favorite couple is breaking up,” Carol’s words sounded genuine, as if she was actually worried about some issue in your relationship with John. You nodded, finally grabbing hold of the lip balm in your purse, before applying it and pinning your nametag to the front of your sweater.

“Everything is fine between us. He’s just going on tour. But we’ll be ok. I’m sure of it,” you shoved everything back into your purse, fixed your hair and went to the doorway. You turned back looking at Carol one more time. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I had this dream last night that something happened between you two and when I woke up, I just couldn’t shake it,” she shuddered lightly, getting up from the table, but still standing across the room from you.

“Everything is fine, I promise,” you flashed Carol a bright smile before walking out behind the front desk to greet the customers. Everything is fine.

May 16, 1974

You’d just gotten back from a long day at work, waiting for the weekend to finally bring itself around. You had plans to meet up with the boys tomorrow after work and watch them perform. Just the idea of spending time with all of them again made you feel fluttery inside. Not that you didn’t still see them, but everything was different when they were away on tour. You felt lonelier, relying heavily on Sally and Carol to drag you out of your flat on the weekends. Ever since Queen went on tour, you’d grown used to the feeling of emptiness that filled your seemingly hollow heart. Your trek upstairs in your building droned on, feeling the weight of the week dragging you down. By the time you reached your floor, you simply wanted to collapse into a heap on the ground.

You tried to unlock the door to your apartment, only to find that it was already open. With a heavy sigh, you threw the door open, fumbling around for the light switch on the wall. Filled with annoyance and a little rage, you tossed your bags to the ground after finally flicking on the light. Sally’s bedroom door opened, and she stumbled out into the living room. A look of worry masked her face causing you to fret. One thing that you never understood about Sally is how she is so ridiculously laidback. She’s so calm and collected all the time. Never stressing about anything. Even when she was a student, Sally never once panicked before a presentation or exam. So, when Sally walked out, expression dripping with concern, your heart began to pound deeply in your chest.

“What? What is it, Sal?” the words fell from your lips but the panic that was arising within you made them sound far off and distant. Sally sat down on the sofa slowly, as if trying to find the words to say.

“John called. Something happened with Brian. He’s ill. Really ill. So ill that they’re canceling the rest of the tour,” Sally huffed out, her face scrunched up like she was in pain.

“Oh no. That’s awful,” your body slumped down next to hers on the couch. “Will he recover? Do they know what it is?” as the questions poured from your lips you could feel your body begin to shake. One of your best friends was sick and you felt like there was nothing that you could do to help.

“He should recover, they don’t know how long it will take though. He’s contracted Hepatitis,” Sally’s face looked a little less grave, as if telling you about Brian made her feel a bit better.

“That’s terrible,” you mumbled, lost in thought as you mulled over Sally’s words in combination with yours.

“On the positive side of things, the boys will be back by tomorrow and you can stop moping around like a lost puppy,” Sally laughed lightly, looking over at you as your shoulders loosened.

“I do not mope,” you hunched forward, crossing your arms across your chest as your expression turned sour.

“Oh, you definitely do. Next time they go on tour I’ll make sure to get someone to follow you around with a video camera to capture all of your sulking,” you flashed Sally a silly face before standing up to grab your bags from the ground near the door. You went into your room, dead set on changing your clothes before starting to make dinner. I get to see the boys tomorrow. And John can stay the night like always. And Freddie can tell me all of his crazy concert stories. And Brian can explain how he was so reckless that he contracted and STD. And Roger can… who knows what Roger can do.

May 17, 1974

Rounding the corner to the hospital, you spotted the cute little flower shop you loved that always smelled like lavender. It was filled to the brim with gardening supplies, plant seeds, flowerpots, and of course, flowers. You entered, stopping by the stand that held a row of beautifully arranged bouquets. After a minute or two of examination, you finally plucked two large arrangements of daisies, roses, baby’s breath and carnations and headed towards the counter. The old woman standing next to the cash register looked ever so pleased to see you.

“It’s been a bit since I’ve seen you last,” she spoke smoothly, in a gentle way that made you feel warm inside.

“Yeah, it has been a while. My boyfriend has been out of town, so I haven’t had much of a reason to come buy flowers,” the old woman nodded as you spoke, her lips tight in a smile.

“Who’s the second one for? If you don’t mind me asking,” her soft tone made you feel like you could tell this woman all of your secrets.

“The other bouquet is for my friend. He’s in the hospital,” you gave her a soft smile before handing her the money for the flowers.

“Oh, I see. You had me worried that some other man had grabbed your attention,” she flashed you a polite smile before handing you the bouquets and your receipt. You felt taken aback by the woman’s assumption, feeling dread fill your bones. Do I seem like someone that would cheat on their boyfriend? Has someone else captured my attention? You said a quick goodbye to the woman and rushed towards the front door, desperately gaping for fresh air to rid your head of such ugly thoughts.

Throughout the rest of your walk to the hospital, you took every action possible to calm yourself down. The old woman’s sentiments had really shaken you up and your worry was growing worse with each step. In a gasp of air, you turned to sit on a small wooden bench. Its legs were surrounded by green, leafy weeds and bright dandelions. Trying to get back to reality, you took it upon yourself to survey your surroundings, taking deep breaths as you did so.

The sun was a bright yellow ball in the sky, shining strongly on your bare arms. You absorbed its warmth with every inhale, letting its rays heat your delicate skin. The street in front of you was covered in streaks from hasty breaking and faulty tires. The incessant honking from the road just around the corner you helped keep you grounded. The grass touched your shoes, tickling the sides as they brushed past each blade. Your leg bounced slightly, shaking the wood underneath you as it did. The smell of concrete and grass filled your nostrils, somehow calming you by the second. You’d never been so filled with anxiety before, but as of late it seems to be the only emotion that ruled your head.

Finally calmed down to the point where you felt like you could keep going, you stood up and brushed off the back of your pants. The wood splinters flew from the material, as you clutched to two bouquets in your other hand. The hospital was in sight and a sense of relief overtook you as you approached. The idea of seeing Brian, no matter what condition he was in, made your worrisome thoughts clear. And the knowledge that John was close by made your heart pound and your palms grow sweaty. The hospital door slid open and the scent of latex and soap filled your nose with each sniff. You gripped the flowers in your hand even tighter before walking up to the front desk.

“Hello, I’m here to visit Brian May,” your voice was timid as the middle-aged woman at the desk stared back at you. Her hair was just starting to gray at the roots, and her eyes had small wrinkles beside them. She was nursing a cup of coffee when you approached but had since set it down next to a cup of pens and pencils that sat upon her desk.

“And what is your relation to Mr. May?” she asked, picking up a clipboard from a small basket in front of her. She began scribbling on the sheet as you told her all of your information. After she finally completed your forms, stuck a nametag across your chest and told you where to go, you headed off. The intensely lit hallway tickled your irises as you walked along towards Brian’s room. You could hear the faint sound of a television floating throughout the corridor as you stood before Brian’ door. Other than the echo of tv, you couldn’t hear anything from inside Brian’s room, making you second guess the woman’s directions. With a light tap on the door, you heard a strangled welcome and opened the door. Inside sat Brian, propped up against three pillows with a small smile growing over his face.

“Y/n,” he called out weakly, his expression pained but still radiating excitement. He tried to sit up but winced before he could move fully. You rushed to his side, moving the pillows behind him to support his back as he looked at you. “Finally returning the favor for all those times I had to take care of you after a night out in uni,” Brian chuckled, grabbing your free hand.

“I was never bad enough to go to the hospital. You beat me to that one,” you muttered as a smile graced itself upon your face. You both sat still for a little, just being comforted by each other’s presence. “Oh, I almost forgot,” you let go of Brian’s hand, replacing your soft fingers in his grasp with one of the bouquets. “I know you think it’s a little cheesy, but I brought you some flowers,” Brian smiled at you once more, bringing the bouquet to his nose and inhaling deeply.

“They’re wonderful, Y/n. Thank you,” he slowly moved up, pulling you into a loose hug before leaning back and pressing a button on his bed to hail the nurse. She came in a minute later, looking down to Brian. He asked her for a vase for the flowers and a cool glass of water. “I really appreciate you coming to visit me,” Brian’s words were soft as he looked towards you once again. “But I know that I’m not the only one you intended to run into today,” he nodded down at the other bouquet resting on your lap.

“That’s ridiculous. You are my first and only priority until you fully recover,” your eyebrows knitted together as you spoke.

“Yeah, yeah,” Brian waved his hand sarcastically. “John is downstairs in the cafe with Freddie and Rog,” he nodded towards the door, signaling for you to go. You hugged him once more before standing up and pacing over to the door. With a quick glance back, you pulled on the handle and walked back into the gleaming hallway, blinded by the overhead lights. Your trek down to the cafe was short. The excitement of seeing John, Roger, and Freddie dragging your feet faster than normal down the stairs.

Your feet stopped just outside the large glass window that separated the cafe from the rest of the hospital. Your eyes trailed over the mostly empty room, landing on the three boys crowded around a small, white circular table. They hadn’t seen you yet, even as you walked over to the large door and swung it open.

“John,” you called, and although your voice was quiet, you still saw John’s head perk up from behind Freddie. He glanced around the room, trying to gauge where the call of his name came from. John looked straight at you as you rushed towards him with a giant smile spanning from ear to ear. He stood up, throwing his chair back and startling his bandmates in the process, and ran the rest of the way towards you. His arms embraced you so tightly that you felt all the air leave your lungs. He picked your feet slightly off the ground, before placing you back down. And despite the screeching from your body as it begged for air, you couldn’t let go. The tour hadn’t been that long, and you’d managed to see John every few weeks, but being here with him now felt so real. Much more so than anytime that you met him backstage or in his hotel room.

“I missed you so much,” John pulled you even closer, surely making a scene in the middle of the cafe. You could even hear Freddie snickering about the two of you from his seat a few feet away. But you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered right now was the way John held you tightly in his arms.

“I missed you too,” you squeaked, rubbing your free hand up and down John’s back. “And I love you so much,” you added as John pulled away to look at your face. His hands cupped your cheeks before he placed a gentle kiss upon your lips. His lips turned from pursed to a smile, seemingly mesmerized by you with every passing second.

“Gross,” you heard a voice from behind you. Turning around, you came face to face with Roger, his lips crinkled into a small smirk. “We go on tour for a month and a half and she ignores us for her boyfriend,” Roger jokingly taunted, elbowing Freddie who had come to stand next to him.

“You know I missed you guys too,” you pulled Freddie in for a hug and he planted a large kiss on your forehead. After letting go, Roger wrapped his arms around you tightly, squeezing you playfully before he let you go.

“What? Johnny boy gets a kiss, but we don’t?” Roger joked, earning a chuckle from his bandmates as you pushed him lightly.

“Shit,” you quickly pulled up the now mostly crushed bouquet of flowers for John to see. “These were for you,” you handed it to him, and he chuckled lightly.

“They’re still beautiful. Thank you, Y/n,” he kissed the top of your head before grabbing your hand down by your side. The four of you agreed to go back upstairs and check on Brian. The boys flooded you with crazy tour stories, describing every detail of the shows that you missed. The four of you rounded the corner to Brian’s room only to be stopped by his nurse.

“Only three visitors at a time please,” she said, scanning the four faces in front of her before walking off down the hallway.

“That’s a stupid rule,” Roger mumbled under his breath as he watched her disappear around the corner.

“That’s alright. I have to go to the bathroom anyway. You guys just head in there and we can switch out or something when we get back,” you reassured them, and they all nodded. “Just one thing,” you added before they all stepped in through the door. “Just one more thing. Where is the bathroom?”

“I found it earlier. I’ll take you,” Roger said, moving back from the door and more so towards you. He placed his hand on your back to guide you down the long corridor as his boots squeaked against the tile with every step.

“The tour sounded really fun,” you looked up towards Roger as he continued to lead you down the hallway.

“Yeah, it was. Would have been more fun with you there though,” he had a shy smile on his face as he spoke. His cheeks flushed slightly despite his efforts to prevent it and you noticed.

“Aw, Roger Taylor missed me,” you teased, reaching up to pinch his cheeks as you now walked up a flight of stairs leading to the third floor.

“Yeah, yeah. I always miss you when you’re not around,” he muttered, feeling a little less confident than normal.

“That’s very sweet, Roger,” you smiled at him as you finally approached the bathroom. The two of you stopped in front of the door and you turned to face him. “I hope you know that I missed you too,” you spoke quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, love,” he said bashfully, tearing his gaze from the floor as he nodded. You walked into the bathroom with a wide smile on your face. It wasn’t until you caught sight of said smile in the mirror that the familiar hollow pit of guilt opened up in your stomach once more. It was a feeling that you’d been trying to push away, but also one that slowly kept creeping back in.

You loved John; you knew that for sure. Whether it was the way he made everything feel right with just a giggle or a closed-lipped smile. Or how his hands fit always perfectly with yours as you interlocked them, feeling his fingers brushed against the back of your hand as you both held them close. Everything about John made sense. You loved him. You were in love with him. You were positive of that.

But then there was Roger. He made you blush and feel shy like a little kid. He teased and taunted you, and some part of you always craved it. It was so different from anything you’d ever known before. Something about him drew you in. Whether it was lingering feelings or just a dumb crush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that burned quietly in your heart when you were near him. You were troubled and confused, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror with your palms pressed against the counter.

You were in love with John, but maybe you were in love with Roger too.

Taglist: @retromusicsalad @bohemiansweede @deaconsroger @queen-crue @ohtheseboysilove @queeniesteiins @kemeryyyy @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ixchel-9275 @rogmeddows @ziggymay @deakysmisfire @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @briarrose26 @greatdinosaursalad @queendeakyy @killer-qu33n-of-disaster

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catchester · 4 years

Text

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Ten Lords a Leaping

Authors: @evieplease and @catchester

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Chapter 13 - 10 Lords a Leaping

Knowing that the Ten Lords a Leaping was looming, I’d spent ages wracking my brain to come up with something for Tom’s Tenth Day of Christmas present. Why did I ever agree to this mad scheme? But after his Nine Ladies Dancing I needed to raise the bar. Wait. Oh dear. If I couldn’t get Lords to Leap, maybe Tom and I could do the Leaping? From barre to bar? There are loads of pubs with Lords and Royalty in their names in the greater London metropolitan area!

An hour with google maps and Bob’s yer uncle! I had a list of pubs and a walking map. There were some really terrible pub names out there! I mean, The Royal Flush? Really? They’d better have excellent plumbing!

However, I found the best, most wonderful name of all. The Queen’s Scepter!! I can’t even think of it without laughing out loud! Though it sounds like it ought to be the name of a sex shoppe where one can buy really quality dildoes.

I arranged our pub ‘leaping’ so that all our stops were within walking distance. We’ll take a cab to the first one, because it’s The Queen’s Scepter, (snicker!) which was farthest away, walk from pub to pub, and take a cab back from the last one, as we’ll probably be legless by then.

I checked I had all my ‘leaping’ gear. I needed to be comfortable and warm for a long day in and out of doors. I wore the red wool peacoat that Tom had given me for Christmas of course, a rather deep cut v-neck black jumper, and my good jeans, the ones that cup my arse just right. I bounced on the toes of my old comfy black trainers, eager to get to our adventures.

A beaming Tom met me on the stoop, pulling me indoors, wrapping his arms around me and bending me back to kiss me as if he hadn’t kissed me in months, instead of just this morning.

Naturally, I gave as good as I got, my tongue dancing with his, my hands in his hair and my leg winding around his thigh. Finally he let me up for air and grinned down at me.

“Now will you tell me what you have planned for today?”

I grinned slyly back. The only clue I’d given him was to wear comfortable shoes. He’d taken it a little far, if you ask me, he looked more like he was going hiking, but that wax jacket with a hoodie underneath did suit him, and he was in those lovely old, soft, black jeans so I wasn't about to ask him to change! I kind of liked the tan Caterpillar boots, they gave his posh image a working man’s edge, which oddly suited him. I realised I’d been staring at him for longer than was perhaps appropriate.

“Um, right.” I surreptitiously checked for drool in the guise of fixing my lipstick. That might have been more suave if it hadn’t been lip balm.

“This was a tricky one! I mean, short of setting Parliament on fire, where the hell am I going to get Ten Lords a Leaping?! And anyway the lazy sods aren’t even in session!” I waved my arms about in exasperation.

Tom looked faintly alarmed. “Well, not to mention that it is Christmas, and you’re not Guy Fawkes, after all!”

“And aren’t you glad I’m not!” I wriggled my bum and batted my eyelashes at him, just to remind him how lucky he is. “So, while I wouldn’t mind doing something that would shift that lot off their arses, I can hardly wait to see what you’ve laid on for Eleven Pipers Piping, and I don’t want to be languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for it! Plus, your Nine Ladies Dancing was so brilliant! I needed to raise the barre, so to speak… And anyway, they say that ten out of Ten Lords proof-er drinking in the daytime!”

Tom glanced out the window at the chilly, grey day. “So we’re going to a pub...?” He frowned. “What does that have to do with Lords a Leaping?”

I crossed my arms and shook my head in mock disapproval at his slowness.

“Well, I figured that if the lazy bastards won’t leap to it, it’ll have to be our job! And there are loads of pubs named after Lords and other Royalty, so we’re going on a Ten Lords Pub Leaping!”

Tom choked “Good Lord! That’s…so bad, it’s actually good!”

“Why thank you,” I curtsied. “So you approve, then?”

“Certainly! It sounds marvelous fun!”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to gin up any excitement, because I’ve been tankering with the list of pubs and maps all morning!”

“And will we have to order particular drinks at each of these noble establishments?”

“Nah. Let’s just play it by beer.”

“ Well, you’ve done an excellent job, as far as I can see.”

“It’s ale in a days work!”

Pulling up to the Queen’s Sceptre, Tom stepped from the cab onto the kerb and gallantly offered me a hand out. I stifled a snicker. If my Posh Idiot wants to treat me like a grand lady, am I going to object?

Besides, his hand was warm when I slid my cold fingers into his palm, and when he tugged me onto my feet he met me with a kiss. I shivered in the cool damp air and he bundled me into the pub.

The Queen’s Sceptre was a traditional olde worlde pub with dark beams overhead and a quiet fire in the fireplace, immediately warming us.

Tom helped me off with my coat. “Thank you again for my pretty wool coat, Tom.” I stroked the sleeve. Tom smiled, pleased. “It’s totally baa-aa-d-ass!”

Now he groaned and rolled his eyes. “You know, when I was shopping for your gift, I had a conversation with myself…” he trailed off expectantly. Ok, I’ll play.

“Oh yes? Do tell!” I raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“It’s a coat, I said to myself. What could possibly go wrong with a coat, I asked myself. I totally forgot to check for puns!”

I stood on my toes and kissed the end of his nose. “Now you know! It’s good to learn something new each day, right? You should write it up as a life-hack!”

“What, and give some runny nosed kid online the opportunity to say ‘Ok, boomer’ to me? I think snot.” Tom raised an offended eyebrow and I snickered. I’d like to see some kid try to get away with calling Tom old!

After we ordered our drinks at the bar, I plopped down on the bench and looked around the scarred old place. There were cracks in the plaster, probably left over from the London bombings during the war. The rough wood floor had probably never been polished, the tabletops were gouged and scratched, and the mullioned windows were filled with wavy, bubbled old glass. There were only a couple of other drinkers there. But the place was perfect. It carried the rich, warm, smell of good ale, and the scent of the logs burning on the fire.

“Your sheep impersonation needs some work, by the way,” he told me. “That ‘baa’ sound needs to come from the throat,” he rubbed his hand suggestively along his throat, tracing a finger around his adam’s apple. “You need to practice until you can literally feel the vibration and-”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Was he seriously trying to give me an acting lesson here to improve my sheep bleating?? I’m supposed to be the weird one in this relationship, not him!

“Then with a little-” he stopped and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry... your face!” he said between guffaws.

I could feel my blush rising but hopefully he’d think it was still from the cold outside. He’d got me, but there was no way I was going to admit that!

Fortunately the barman interrupted for our drinks order. I went for a lager, and Tom asked for a glass of wine, whee aren’t we adventurous?

Soon we were sitting at a table in the window of the nearly empty pub, looking out at the grey day.

“I have to say, I’m impressed by your choice of a pub crawl,” Tom grinned at me over his wine, his eyes twinkling merrily. “This ought to be interesting, since you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Can too!” I drew myself up indignantly.

“Darling,” he drawled, “you were three sheets to the wind the first time you met my mother! Your first words to her were, if I remember correctly, to stumble over calling her ‘Mum’, ‘Hiddleston’ and ‘Mrs. Posh Idiot’! You were squiffy!

“How long are you going to bludgeon me with that one for?” I teased. “But, that’s fair,” I nodded judiciously. “Of course I’d had nearly half a bottle of scotch on my own, and it was all your fault!”

“My fault?! How was you turning up trolleyed my fault?”

“She was your mother!”

Tom blinked, confused. “Well yes, she was. I mean, she still is.” He shook his head. “What’s your point?”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, I’d never have got drunk in front of your mother if you hadn’t insisted on introducing me! It stands to riesling.”

“You’re treading a vine line, there.” He snorted and looked skeptical, but he had to concede my logic. Reluctantly.

“Now let’s have a look at this list of Lordly pubs of yours.”

I pulled the list and map from my bag and set them in front of Tom with a flourish:

The Queens Sceptre

Sir Vesa’s

The Lord Lucan

The Royal Flush

The Barons Bollocks

The Duchess and Tipple

Down for the Count

The Bloody Queen Mary

The Earls Whiskers

The Laird of Scotch

The Princes Licker

The Rummy Lord

The Fresh Prince

The Dukes Drunk Ducks

The Kings Cocktail

Tom ran a finger down the list and laughed. “You’ve got fifteen pubs listed here, love, not ten!

“Hey, it’s not my fault that London publicans have an over fondness for kissing Royal arse!” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, some of them are too far away for our walking programme. I only included the ten in walking distance of each other. Check the map. See?”

Tom flipped the list over and looked at our proposed ‘leaping’ route.

Tom laughed, pointing at The Prince’s Licker.

“Is that really what it’s called? The Prince’s Licker??”

I grinned. “Well no, it’s spelled Liquor. But I like my spelling better, as in ‘Candy is dandy, but lick-her is quicker to her heart’!”

Tom pulled me closer and nuzzled behind my ear. “It certainly is with you.”

I nuzzled back. “And you have a very good licker…” I trailed off suggestively.

Tom promptly licked a broad, very wet stripe up my cheek as I squealed and ducked away. “Guess I deserved that,” I said ruefully, scrubbing at my face with the sleeve of my jumper. Tom innocently drank from his glass, returning his attention to the list.

“The Lord Lucan.” he mused. “Isn't he the one who murdered his nanny, tried to murder his wife, and then disappeared, never to be seen again?”

“Yes,” I said with a grin. The macabre nature of the pub’s namesake had played a little into my choice. “You order your drinks at the bar, then they hide them and you have to find them before you can drink.”

“Are you serious?”

“No,” I laughed. “But it is said that only 50% of customers are ever seen again.”

He wasn't falling for it this time, no matter how deadpan my delivery.

“And the staff all carry pokers to bludgeon rude customers?” he suggested.

“Not far off,” I grinned and explained. “They stage murder mystery nights once a month, so if we like it here, we could try one sometime.”

“That sounds perfectly gruesome. We should go some evening.”

“I’ll check their schedule.” I promised. “You can’t get near it at Halloween, but it should be ok at any other time of the year.”

Tom looked back at our list. He grimaced at the next one.

“The Royal Flush? What is that?”

“I know, right? I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a pub, a gambling hell, or a shop that sells gold toilets!“

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t have high hops for a pub that has the word Flush right in its name.”

“Yeah, I think urine trouble if they can’t come up with a better name for a pub! It’s out of our walking zone, so we’re spared that one, anyway. What about the next one?”

“The Barons Bollocks?” Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “Did you spell that one wrong as well?”

I laughed. “Maybe? It used to be called the Barons Bullock, but some wag went and painted over the original letters on the sign. Every time the landlord fixed it, someone would come round and change it back. Eventually the landlord just gave up and left it that way. I hear their drinks are strong enough to put hair on your chest, and further south!”

“But darling, I like your chest just the way it is!” Tom traced a finger along the neckline of my jumper.

I glanced down. Oops. There was a bit too much of the girls on display for the public. I gave my jumper a tug and Tom sat back looking disappointed.

“Too bad.” I consoled him in mock sorrow. “But I wouldn’t want to get a chest cold.”

“Or a cold chest, I suppose.” Tom brightened and nuzzled my ear. “But I’d be happy to warm them up for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said dryly. I shook the pub list at him to get his attention off my boobs.

“The Duchess and Tipple is supposed to have quite a good wine cellar. And they have 2 for 1 House wine at happy hour!”

“Well, that’s an offer we decant refuse!

We finished our drinks at the Queen’s Sceptre and pulled on our coats. I grabbed Tom’s hand, tugging him out the door.

“Come on, Sir Vesa’s is only hops, skip and a jump from here!” I did my best to hop, skip and jump, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.

“Come on!” I urged Tom, who was laughing as he watched me. “Live a little!”

“How far is this pub?” he asked.

“According to the map, we’re only a quarter of a mile away.” I gave him my best side eye. “Yeah, you’re probably too old to skip for that long.”

His eyes narrowed. I was going to pay for that quip later. I couldn't wait!

“Fine.”

And so we ended up going this weird sort of flailing hop scotch dance down the pavement. Do you know how hard it is to hop, skip, and jump while laughing and dodging other, more sedate walkers? For a miracle nobody grumbled at our cavorting like ninnies, some even laughed and joined us for a hop or two! It must be the season.

Laughing and breathless from leaping about playing silly buggers down the pavement, I saw my chance. A narrow space between buildings was dark, a street light shining faintly through at the end of the gap, showing that the space was deserted. It was just the thing!

I tugged his hand and pulled him into the dark, turning and slinging my arm around his neck, reaching up on my toes to lick my way into his mouth.

Fingers ran over my cheek and down my neck, moving around my nape to dig into my hair and return the favour.

Tom braced himself with a hand on the bricks beside my head, brushing his lips teasingly across mine, but I wasn’t having it. I wanted his body against mine, and wrapped my hands in his jacket, pulling to grind against him. Tom chuckled into my mouth.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

The warm wool of my coat cushioned me against the frigid brick wall at my back, but I could still feel the chill seeping through. It was bloody cold out there! Tom, however, was warming my front nicely, his body pressing into mine as he took over the kiss, heating me up from the inside. I wanted to put my hands in his hair, but my damned gloves…

Tom lifted his head, searching my face for something. I was about to pull him down for another kiss just to see if he really could make me burst into flames, when he startled and his head whipped toward the entrance of our dark little niche.

I’d been so lost in his kisses that I hadn’t even noticed the chattering and noise of passersby until that moment. A loud burst of laughter echoed around us as a group of men walked past, joking and pushing each other as they passed only a couple of meters from us.

Tom took a step back with a shake of his head and a regretful sigh. Yeah, that place was too public, and I didn’t fancy getting caught doing Tom Hiddleston in a dark alley! I’m not into exhibitionism anyway, and the reminder that we were nearly in public cooled me right off.

I shrugged and grinned ruefully at Tom, standing on my toes for a quick brushing kiss over his lips.

“Baby, it’s cold outside…” I sang. Tom chuckled.

“Then let us repair to somewhere warmer. Perhaps to yon public house?” Tom made a grand sweeping gesture and offered me his arm with a bow.

“Delighted, good Sir!” I laughingly tucked my hand in his elbow and he drew me back onto the busy pavement, nonchalantly merging us into the bustling foot traffic without a ripple. We were only a couple of doors from our destination.

Sir Vesa’s turned out to be surprisingly posh, with menus at the tables and waitstaff to take your order. My tummy rumbled. I immediately determined that I hadn’t had enough chips in my life.

“Oh look! I pointed at the drinks menu. They have Budweiser on tap! I’ve never had any, have you?

Tom made an adorable moue of disgust. “I have. Listen to me well when I tell you, Bud you’d be wieser to choose something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like watered down goat piss!” Tom muttered quietly.

I choked. Eugh! I flipped the menu over, glancing down the list. “Oh, do they have that here?” i feigned innocence.

Tom looked at the menu over my shoulder, pretending to be serious. “Doesn’t look like it. Nope, no goat’s piss. Only the Budweiser.”

“You mean they don’t have real goat’s piss on offer, they only have the artificial stuff in a Budweiser can?? Well, all I can say is that’s a bitter pils to swallow!” I made my most outraged face and looked ‘round for the barman.

Tom slid an arm over my shoulders, holding me firmly in my seat, obviously not trusting me not to leap up and give the barman a piece of my mind on his lack of authentic goat’s piss. Wise man, our Tom.

“Now darling, you mustn’t harass the barman over his stock. You wouldn’t want to booze his ego, would you?”

“Who said anything about egos?” I eyed the man behind the bar. “He looks a stout young man, but I bet I could take ‘im…”

“Darling, I forbid you to take the poor man anywhere!! I’ll nip this in the bud!” And then Tom used his patented distraction technique, snogging me until I forgot what I was saying.

“Mmmm.” I blinked my eyes open and tried to stop my knees wobbling. Well, that was… refreshing. “Um. What was I saying?”

“We were perusing the menu,” Tom said with a sly smile, and I turned my attention back to the menu in my hand. Luckily while page one was the tried and not-so-true international brands, page two made this beer bar worth the visit. Of course the cervesa pun didn’t hurt, either! I don’t think you could have kept us out once we heard that name.

The various beers were described like a posh wine menu that had been turned into beer porn.

For example, Vienna Pale was described as “Based on the classic Vienna Lager style (though technically an ale), and annoyer of a certain type of beer geek, Vienna Pale is a sweet, malty drinking pint, with plenty of Saaz, Citra and Cascade dry-hopping to keep things interesting”.

I giggled over the menu. It might have been a little pretentious, if someone hadn’t come along and dirtied up the prose, but what the hell.

In the end, I chose a Pilot Bucks Peach, of which the menu said ‘Pilot is a Leith microbrewery that specialises in kick-arse brews. Lovingly handcrafted by braw men in kilts, it’ll lay you out with a smile on your face!’

Apparently it came in flavours! I didn’t fancy the mochachino flavoured one, which seemed more like a breakfast beer, if there is such a thing, but the Buck’s Peach sounded good.

Tom opted for one called, with devastating originality, An IPA.

I knew that meant an India Pale Ale. It was described as “An interpretation of the challenge ‘Create a New Scotland IPA’. A mix of malted oats and barley, then dry hopped both during active fermentation, then once fermentation is complete. A juicy, orgasmic starburst of a beer.”

“Tom, you know that it’s just beer, right? I mean it’s a bit much to expect the earth to move from a beer..” I cautioned him, shaking my head at the over-the-top description.

Tom’s lips twitched.. “But I have such high hops for it!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I hope it moves you to cheers!” I patted his hand. “If the earth doesn’t move, I’ll move it for you when we get home, dear.”

The beer turned out to be pretty good, but nowhere good enough to move anyone’s earth. Eh, the chips were much better, golden crisp on the outside, lovely, hot, and mealy in the center. With lashings of salt and malt vinegar they were the orgasmic item on the menu!

Tom took the last chip on my plate as I was swallowing the last of my Bucks Peach, which was a good lager, but not peachy at all. My other hand came down on his wrist, pinning it to the table. I carefully set my glass down and narrowed my eyes at him.

The fucker gave me those big puppy dog eyes and I lost all desire to fight him for it. I let go his wrist and gently took the chip from him, brushing his lips tantalizingly with it.

Tom delicately took it between his teeth and nibbled it down to my fingertips, licking the last of the salt away.

I sighed. “The sacrifries I make for you…” and shook my head. Tom chuckled.

“Darling, I always pay my debts.” His hand slid around to the nape of my neck and he leaned in to take my lips in a searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes.

“That’s only the down payment, you’ll get the balance when we get home,” he murmured against my lips. I tried not to whimper too loudly when he sat up.

“Right. Get off your heineken, it’s time to go. What’s next?” Suddenly Tom is all business. I blinked, and after a moment to gather myself, got the list from my bag.

“It says here The Lairds Scotch. And it’s only three doors down.”

A quick dash into the cold and we were there.

Tom took my coat, and when he came back I nodded at the bar, turning innocent eyes up at him.

“If you ask the barman to help you find the good scotch does that make him your spirit-guide?”

“Dear god, I hope so,” he groaned. “I’m going to need all the spiritual help I can get after that clanker!”

“Oh look,” I pointed to an upright piano next to the opposite wall to change the subject. I could just imagine people having a sing-song around it in the old days. “You should give us a tune,” I cajoled as we stepped up to the bar.

Tom ordered a Laphroig, but I couldn’t face any more scotch after my last go round. I asked for a G&T.

“It doesn't look like it’s been tuned since the war,” Tom deflected.

“They play it every Sat’de,” an elderly gentleman at the next table interrupted. “Owner’s son is studying music and he or one o’ ‘is friends play for us every weekend.” He nodded judiciously. “They’re not bad.”

Tom did not look thrilled by this news, but I’d seen his eyes linger longingly on the old piano.

“There you go,” I smiled smugly as I sipped my G and T.

“If I’m playing, you’re singing,” he challenged.

Ooh! Things just got interesting. Well, whatever my reluctance to be caught singing in public, if he wanted this, then I would give it to him. But I’d make him work for it!

“Is that right?”

“Of course, the only song I know is Little Drummer Boy,” he said as if that settled it. Bloody hell, I hate that song!

“No,” I shook my head. “There will be no pa-rum-pa-pums! Besides,” I sassed, “Drummers are the twelfth day of Christmas! And I definitely remember your Mum saying something about how you’d regale them with Christmas carols every year until you left for Uni!”

“My darling,” He affected a world weary air. “Do you have any idea how long ago university was for me?”

“Sure, grandpa,” I teased. “But you don’t play something for that many years and just forget it.”

I polished off my G&T, and went to order another from the barman. I’d need more booze to get me up to the piano. Either I sing better when I’ve had a good belt, or I only think I do. But it’s all in the mind, right? Let’s hear is for Dutch Courage!

I brought another scotch for Tom as well, even though he doesn’t actually need any Dutch Courage to perform. He’s in his element. But fair is fair, right? If I need to get tipsy to sing in public, well, he’s just going to have to keep up!

“I’ll tell you one I do remember.” The twinkle in his eye had an evil slant.

“Hmm?” I was cautious. God knows what he’d come up with

“I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

I smiled smugly. He thought he’d stump me? Ha! I know that song. By heart, even. I love that old tune. Dad had a bunch of old LP’s, and an honest-to-god turntable, and he loved to play the old songs at Christmas time. His favourites, and mine as well, were Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby.

But I decided to be difficult. Anyway, if he thinks I don’t know the tune, he’s in for a surprise! And there’s nothing I like better than surprising Tom.

“Sorry, I don’t know the lyrics.”

“And you say I’m the old one,” He laughed. “Google them on your phone, you numpty!” Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head despairingly.

Yeah, I was sort of hoping he wouldn’t think of that. What the hell, I’d made him work hard enough for it. I relented. Besides, he has to pay for that ‘numpty’ crack!

“Bring it.” I tossed my hair behind my back and straightened my jumper, giving it a little tug downward to distract him.

It’s a song written from the perspective of a soldier in World War II, to his girl back home.”

His eyes closed and I could see him relax, his shoulders went down and his head fell forward, drawing a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. His long fingers carefully picked out the tune as if reminding himself how it went.

His fingers danced over the keys as he launched into the slow, romantic song. It did have a world war two vibe to it. I swear he could have been one of those old fashioned crooners as he began to sing in his smooth baritone. I shouldn’t have been surprised, he’s an amazing mimic, and I saw I Saw the Light.

“I'll be home for Christmas...You can plan on me… Please have snow, and mistletoe...and presents by the tree…”

Tom lifted his chin at me, commanding me to sing with him. I smiled and purposely set my mobile down on the piano, joining in with my alto voice.

“Christmas Eve will find you...Where the love light gleams...I'll be home for Christmas...If only in my dreams…”

The old gent and his friends, as well as the barman joined in and sang the rest with us. They clapped when we’d finished, encouraging Tom to play more.

One of the old gents waved his pint glass at us. “Can you give us Oh Holy Night, lad?

Tom nodded. “If you don’t mind the odd stumble, I might just manage it, “ Tom said modestly. Then he launched into the old church music, the old men singing along with us. Dad had always dragged us to Christmas services, so I was able to keep up.

Where I didn’t remember the verse, I sipped at my G&T and enjoyed the men’s voices winding together. They weren’t half bad! Everybody clapped happily at the end, egging Tom on to play another.

Tom laughingly agreed, sliding me a sly challenging look. He was a picture, his face flushed with exhilaration and happiness. It’s a good look on him. And it melts my knickers!

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” There went that challenging eyebrow. I wrinkled my nose at him and joined in.

“Jack Frost nipping at your toes...Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...And folks dressed up like Eskimos…”

The old gents were silent, not knowing the lyrics, I suppose. So we gave them a duet. Dad would have been proud.

When we’d finished and the last lingering note faded the gents applauded and called compliments, offering us another round, which we both declined. But we gave them Auld Lang Syne for an encore, and they all joined in. Tom laughingly refused requests for more.

“I’d better get back to my date, or there won’t be any kisses for me tonight!” he kidded. “And she’s ever so much better looking than you lot! Thanks for letting me play your piano!”

I tend to forget that Tom is such a born performer until moments like that. Watching him perform for an audience is like watching a rose bloom on fast forward; all that is hidden quietly away burst into full colour, and everyone nearby just basks in it.

When we went to finish our drinks back at our table, I slid into his lap, nuzzling his hair and wrapping my arms around him wordlessly. He is so precious to me, and I’m not making a Lord of the Rings joke.

At the Duchess and Tipple Tom made me drink a big glass of water after I called it the Duchess and Nipple, and couldn’t stop giggling. We agreed it was time for dinner.

“How about the Dukes Drunk Ducks? That’s not too far from here.”

“The what?”

“Dukes Drunk Ducks. It’s an old legend. It used to be called The Dukes Duck. One day the landlady came down to find all her ducks dead. Being a practical sort, she shrugged and put duck on the menu for that night. But as she was preparing them to cook, they woke up! Apparently they were only drunk and passed out after drinking from a leaking barrel of ale, not dead, and the name kind of stuck.”

“Yeah, okay, they sound like ducks I’d want to know.”

“I haven't been there for a few years but they used to do good food too.”

I checked my watch. “We do need something to soak up the alcohol,” I agreed. That and the mile long walk there should help sober us up enough to finish the crawl, I mean ‘Leap’, without being totally blotto. A good night out is no fun if you can’t remember it the next day!

“We’d best have a pee before we leave,” Tom cautioned.

“Good idea.” Yeah, a mile long walk with crossed legs didn't sound like much fun.

***

The Drunk Duck took its name and theme very seriously. Every wall was adorned with pictures of ducks, including duck portraits of ducks in Victorian clothing, some in military uniforms with high ranking titles.

Mr Firequacker, Sir Quacks a Lot, and Admiral Moby Duck were among my favorite names, although the fanged duck in a black cape titled Count Quackula topped my fav list.

“I’m surprised they don’t have duck a l'orange,” I said.

“You don’t kill your namesake,” Tom said with mock shock, clutching his chest.

“I don’t care how much I like this place, I am not giving up crispy duck pancakes with hoisin sauce. Not even if I can never look another duck in the eye again.”

Tom Laughed as the waiter set our plates in front of us, wished us bon appetit, and bustled off. I smiled at Tom over my Shepherds Pie and he smiled fondly back, and we both took a bite.

“It’s pretty good stuff, this.” I scooped a bit more onto the back of my fork.

“Not as good as yours, though.”

“Well, cheers!” I lifted my glass of wine and tilted my glass to him.

“Mm. Pudding was even better, as I recall.” Tom purred, sending shivers down my spine. My brow furrowed. I didn’t remember any pudding.

“What pudding ? We drank beer and watched Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen destroy some poor sod’s house!”

Tom wiped his mouth with his serviette and grinned wickedly.

“Oh yes! I distinctly remember I had a couple of lovely frozen bombes with cherries on top.” Tom’s eyes fell to the v-neck of my jumper, and I felt my face warm.

“Uh huh. Icy what you did there.”

We each nursed only one glass of wine during the meal, but we ordered water too and stayed for desert. I was feeling almost sober as we left, but I could do with the walk to the next bar to help the food digest.

“Where to?” Tom asked as we stepped out the door.

“Oh, um…” I felt my pockets but couldn’t find the list. “The Bloody Bits of Barons or something?”

“Do you mean The Barron’s Bollocks?”

“That’s the one. But I think my name is better.”

“Definitely more memorable, darling,” Tom piped up. “And rather bloodthirsty. If I ever become a publican I shall definitely call my establishment The Baron’s Bollocks.” He discretely hid a belch behind his hand.

God, I adored that cut glass accent of his. He could say absolutely ridiculous things like that and still sound like a sexy toff. It wasn't fair! I was about 50% sure I was drooling by now, and I’m absolutely certain that my mascara has migrated south since I put it on before we left. Tom meanwhile just had that sexy, tousled look about him. All he needs is some lipstick. Which I was happy to provide! I grabbed his chin and snogged him hard. Leaning back, I surveyed him. Damn, that shade looks as good on him as it does on me.

I eventually found my list in a pocket I was sure I’d checked three times already.

I slipped my arm through Tom’s and leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly as we strolled along.

“You seem happy.” Tom noted.

“Mmm,” I wrapped my other arm around his too.

“If I’d known feeding you was all it took to tame the beast, I’d have tried it months ago,” he laughed.

The idea of having been tamed made me giggle. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I felt, but I was feeling very happy right now, even if I was freezing my metaphorical bollocks off.

“Feeding’s not the only thing that tames me,” I purred, but the effect was rather ruined when I slipped on a patch of ice. Luckily Tom was there to catch me up. I might have hammed it up a bit.

“We still have three more pubs to get to!” Tom groaned, scrubbing at his face to wake himself up

“No, two more!” I corrected.

“Three!”

“Look, mister, this is my day and if you keep arguing, it’ll be four.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. We’d been arguing about whether it was Ten or Eleven Lords a Leaping all evening. Tom liked the alliteration, the drunk posh idiot. Alliteration! I ask you!

“But, that’s brewtal! I’m sure-”

“Five.”

“Alright! Okay, you win! Please don't make me go to five more pubs! We’ll be drunk as Lords until Easter!”

“Now see how much easier it is when you agree with me?” I smiled my victory and batted my eyelashes.

“Well the alliteration is still better with Eleven Lords a Leaping,” he grumbled, “but if you make us go to 13 pubs neither of us will be having much fun after! So, what’s it going to be?

“Fine, we can skip the Duke of Marlborough. Never liked his ciggies anyway.” I drew a rather drunken line through the name, and Tom took it from me, stuffing it in his pocket.

Tom grinned, pleased to have won. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh yes you will!! What’s next?” I patted my pockets again. Wait. Now Tom had my list as well! But he had an excellent memory. Well, he did when he wasn't drunk. I reached for his pocket to retrieve the list of pubs, but he wasn’t having it. After tussling with him for a minute I gave up and tried for a stern expression.

“Hang on, this is my game! I make the rules.” I tilted my head, thinking hard. “It is my game, right?”

Tom snickered into his pint of cider. “You, my darling, are drunk.”

“You wouldn't exactly pass a breathalyser either, buddy! Better still, I’d like to see you do those American tests, where you walk heel to toe and touch your finger to your nose!” I swayed as I made my point. What was it again?

“I’d rather touch your nose,” Tom smouldered as he leaned in close, his nose inches from mine.

I shook my head as if shaking off a stupor. “Hey, no fair using The Smoulder to distract me!” I paused, trying to puzzle out where I was going with this. “Um, what were you distracting me from, anyway?”

“Hell if I know.”

“My good sir, you are snockered!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“That’s the way to do it,” the barman said with a chuckle as he wiped down the neighbouring table.

“Sorry?” Tom asked.

“Am not, are too?” he imitated them. “I thought you were doing pantomime. ‘Tis the season, right?”

“‘That’s the way to do it’ is Punch and Judy,” I corrected him.

“Oh no it isn’t,” the barman teased.

“Oh yes it is!”

“This could go on for a while and I need to pee.” Tom drained the rest of his cider before he stood up and headed for the toilets. “Behave yourself!” he shot over his shoulder as he ambled away.

“Right, onward to the next bacchanalia! The Bloody Queen Mary was it?”

I pulled the list from my pocket and unfolded it. “Yes.”

We staggered out into the cold night air. I breathed deeply, letting it sober me up a little.

Not that I was roaring drunk. Not quite. Not yet. This next one was our second to last pub of the night though, and we were only having one each. Two more couldn't hurt too much, right?

Down for the Count was our final pub of the night and I held up my glass of sherry and giggled. I was definitely getting tiddly. And naughty. “Here’s to every Tom’s Dick and Sherry!”

“That, my dear, was a toastament to bad puns! And who’s this Sherry bird, anyway?” Tom squinted at me. “You aren’t setting up a threesome are you?”

“No fear,” I snickered, “I don’t think Tom’s dick would be up to the job after all this!” I waved my glass around, spilling it over the rim.

Tom grinned. “Apparently Sherry is sloshed as well!”

I snickered and made a small noise of annoyance at the sherry trailing down my wrist, glancing around for something to wipe it off, but there were only glasses and coasters on the small table.

Tom tisked, taking my glass from me and lifting my hand to his mouth. “May I?” The fucking smoulder was back.

“Be my guest.” My voice had gone all breathy, and I swallowed hard as his tongue came out and delicately licked the trickle of sherry from my wrist to my fingers.

Hot blue eyes stared into mine as he sucked a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one to clean the sticky sherry from my fingers.

I breathed out hard, squirming in my seat to ease the need building below as he left a kiss in my palm.

“Mmm. Sherry tastes sweet, but you taste sweeter…”

“I’ll call us a cab,”

It started to snow on our way home in the cab, just light flurries at first, and then big, fat flakes drifting down out of the sky just as we were climbing out of the cab in front of Tom’s.

The cab left, and Tom wrapped his arms around me, turning my back to his front, and setting his cheek next to mine. We stood on his top step, tranquilly watching the snow fall , peacefully muffling the city noises all around us, listening to each other’s breathing as it fogged in the cold air.

Tom was warm at my back and I leaned against him, wrapping my own arms over his, and just simply enjoying the quiet moments.

Eventually I realised that I needed to pee. With that came the awareness that my feet were freezing in their trainers, and a headache was beginning to bloom behind my eyes.

I turned my head back and up, kissing Tom’s cool lips for a long luxurious moment.

I whispered in his ear, “I really need to pee.”

He didn’t laugh, he simply nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket and let us in. Tom took my coat as I kicked my trainers off and padded through the dark house to the loo.

I gasped when I flipped the switch, light stabbing through my eyes and waking my incipient headache. I quickly flipped the light off, deciding that there were some things that I was perfectly capable of doing in the dark.

I did what I needed to do and had a quick wash before I opened the door and found Tom leaning on the wall opposite, with two bottles of water and a bottle of paracetamol crooked in his elbow against his chest.

He took my hand and quietly drew me up the stairs, undressed me, and sat me on the bed. Setting down his burden, he twisted the cap off a bottle of cold water and handed it to me, quickly doing the same for himself.

“One more drink, darling. What shall we drink to?”

“Don’t know, don’t care!”

“That’s good enough!”

He tapped his water bottle against mine and we both drank thirstily. I moaned at the cool liquid sliding down my throat, it felt so good.

“Nothing like copious amounts of alcohol to dry you out.” Tom set his half empty bottle down and opened the paracetamol, tapping two out on his palm and offering them to me.

I’m nobody’s fool, I took the damn pills even though I detest swallowing them. If I didn’t I knew I’d be sorry in the morning.

I fell back on the bed with a groan. Tom settled me under the blankets, chuckling and ignoring my uncoordinated attempt to do it. I gave up and let him man handle me because I really was tired.

Stripping off as he made his way a little carefully into the ensuite, I listened drowsily to the homey sound of Tom humming to himself as he did whatever. I think it might have been a bit of the Nutcracker. My eyes were drifting shut on the slightly swaying bed, feeling warm and sleepy.

Tom lifted the blankets and slid in next to me, wrapping around me and dropping a kiss below my ear.

I woke some time before dawn with Tom’s warm body spooned around me from behind, and my bloody phone ringing far too loudly.

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gifthappybox · 4 years

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5 Reasons why Gift Box is the Best Gift Option

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providentially-demonic · 5 years

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Miraculous Mystery Skulls: Chapter Two

First Arc: a Spellcaster, a Ghost and a Mechanic walk into a bar Paris

Summary: On their honeymoon in Paris, the City of Lights, the trio of Vivi, Lewis and Arthur encounter more than sightseeing… in the form of monsters, supervillains and a pair of teen superheroes. Sometimes, miraculous things can happen, when you least expect it.

(A Mystery Skulls/Miraculous Ladybug crossover event)

A/N: This all started with this fic by @phantoms-lair and the silly idea of them running into Chat Noir and Ladybug while there. It grew…

It’s a tale of heroes, miraculous, found family and more (with a healthy dose of puns). Co-created and written with assistance from @phantoms-lair, so she deserves some of the credit and a lot of the blame! :P

Back to Chapter One

Chapter Two: Language and Other Barriers

In spite of the late night, Vivi had them up by ten. The smell of fresh hot coffee and pastries lured Arthur out of the depths of slumber, where he'd spent a surprising amount of time since their flight. Vivi was seated Indian-style on the chest at the foot of the bed, bright colored brochures spread around her and something smelling enticingly of cinnamon in one hand.

Arthur pushed himself upright to be greeted by a kiss on the cheek and a offered take-out cup that smelled like heaven.

"Up and at'em, sleepy head." Lewis chuckled warmly. "I think Vi has decided we're playing tourist today."

On cue, Vivi lifted her head and stuck out her tongue. "I was promised sights, and I don't plan on letting Hawk-Mothra ruin our entire honeymoon. Today we spend enjoying ourselves." She took an over-large bite of the pastry in her hand and grinned with stuffed cheeks. "So get your cute butt out of bed and cleaned up before I eat all the lovely goodies Lewis got from the bakery down the street."

“Fine, fine. I’m up.” Arthur accepted the hand Lewis held out to him and pulled himself from the comfort of the bed. Lewis set the coffee on the beside table and shooed Arthur into the bathroom with a pat on the rump. Arthur stuck his tongue out at him but retreated into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He emerged and attached his arm, braced for the familiar wash of pain.

Lewis rubbed his back until it was over and offered him the coffee again. Arthur took it gratefully. “So where is she planning on dragging us today?”

“To judge by the brochures, everywhere.” Lewis chuckled dryly and offered him a pink and white bakery box.

Vivi shot them both a dirty look. “Just for that I should drag you around shopping all day.”

“You’d be bored in half an hour,” Arthur selected a pastry and took a bite. He moaned in appreciation of the flakey, buttery taste. “Oh, man, these are amazing. Wonder if we can smuggle a few home?”

“I’m already planning to get breakfast from there every morning until we go home.” Vivi’s sour frown vanished like a leaf in the wind as she bit into another. “So yummy.”

“I think that's a very good idea.” Lewis reached out to tap Vivi's nose affectionately, wearing a grin Arthur could only describe as shit-eating. “Very lucky that it's so near. And I already spotted a familiar face there.”

Arthur lifted his head to give Lewis a bemused look. He hadn't— “Dare I ask—?”

“Ooh—!” Vivi exclaimed, a delighted smile lighting up her face.

Suddenly, Lewis’s head came up and he focused on the balcony. With a frown, he strode over and opened the doors.

“Lew-Lew? What is it?” Vivi abandoned her scone and reached for her bat.

“I don’t know. I thought I saw something out here. It was small and red.” Lewis peered around.

Arthur’s hand clenched on his coffee, “Not an Akuma, then?”

“Those are purple and black, so no.”

Vivi peered under Lewis's arm. “I don’t see anything. Think you scared it off?”

Arthur joined them at the doors. “I think it’s more likely that a visitor from last night had the same idea you did, Lewis.” He carefully did not say more in case their spy was still in earshot.

Lewis frowned. “Whatever it was, it moved fast.”

Lewis sighed and closed the balcony doors. After a moment he hesitated and turned to the bakery box on the table. He selected a pastry and set it on a paper plate that he set out on the wrought iron table outside. He chuckled at Arthur's wry smile. "Never hurts to make a friend. And even if the pigeons get it, I still made the effort."

Arthur elbowed him. "You're still a sap, Big Guy, but that's what we love about you."

~~~~

It was nearly eight when they got back to the hotel, laden with shopping bags and footsore, but Vivi was delighted and that made it all worth it. They had managed to find a tour of the catacombs, guided of course, but better that than not at all. And Vivi had been in her element.

Lewis had hung close, not spooked, but wary of the pressure of hundreds of years of spirits interred with their bones. Not too many had been hostile and none of them were willing to brave him to try anything but he admitted to being glad when they had emerged into the sunlight again.

Arthur had to admit he was honestly glad, both for Lewis’s protective hovering in the oppressive atmosphere of the catacombs and for when they had finally left the bones of the dead to their rest, and headed back into the bright bustle of a Paris afternoon.

After a late lunch, Vivi had called home and Uncle Lance, who was looking after their apartment and assorted other things, and had him put Mystery on the phone. She put him on speaker and explained what they knew in a few short sentences and that they had a lead on someone who could tell them more.

Mystery made a sound deep in his throat. “I’ve heard of kwami, though I have never encountered one. They are primal forces, but still innocent, like children, in their delight at all things new. I know little more, though.” they could hear his tags jingle in a way that indicated he was giving himself a good shake. “I could be there within hours if you need me.” His tone was eager.

“Ease up there, knight errant, your princess doesn’t need you to ride to the rescue just yet.” Vivi chuckled. “I’ll let you know when we have a dragon to slay, trust me. For now, though, we need to find out what we can, and for that I can’t rely on imperfect translations. Chat Noir’s English is good, but we’ve already had a language snafu that could have been really bad, and my French is passable at best. Lewis’s is way better, but—” Vivi shrugged, even knowing he couldn’t see her. “I used that translation spell, but I need something a bit more permanent. It only lasts as long as the carrier does, and well, ice melts.”

Mystery chuffed. “You’re limiting yourself again. Outside the box, my dear. What is ice but—?”

“Water,” Arthur answered for her.

“Mmnn, and we are composed of a good percentage of what element?” Mystery’s voice carried a trace of his sly smile.

“Okay, okay, but how do I— oh, wait. Perform the spell on the ice and then drink the water.”

“Indeed.” Now Mystery’s tone was more like that of a proud parent. “It will require some binding agents to integrate the spell into your bodies, so you may need to do a little shopping. Now, to begin, you will need some lemon balm. Dried will work but fresh is better—”

“Hang on, hang on, let me write this down—” Vivi grabbed a pencil out of her bag and scribbled the ingredients down as Mystery dictated them. When he was done, she tapped the eraser against her chin thoughtfully. “Most of this I can get at a grocery store or herbalist but these last two, I’ll need to find an esoterica shop for those. Hope there’s one nearby. Might as well stock up on a few things if we find one, no sense in facing Hawkmoth without a few weapons in my arsenal.”

After she hung up, she pulled up google on her phone and spent a few minutes quietly muttering to herself. “Got it!’ She declared at last, pulling up a map. “Fresh market here should have most of these and then we head here for the other stuff.”

Arthur chuckled. “Looks like you get to drag us around shopping after all.”

“Hush, husband mine.”

That had taken the rest of the afternoon and they stopped for dinner afterwards before returning to the hotel. Vivi sorted her spoils into three categories, souvenirs for the folks back home (and one for herself but really, it was her honeymoon) things for her spell and things for her personal arsenal of magic. “I can prep the tincture now, but I need one of them for their language.” She groaned in frustration. “And then that means waiting for the ice to melt!”

Arthur snorted a laugh. “Vi, two words: Fire. Ghost.”

Lewis summoned a tiny fireball in his palm to illustrate. “One magic drink; no waiting.”

“I knew I married the two of you for a reason.” Vivi chortled with delight and peppered both of them with kisses.

~~~~

Ladybug was the first to meet them at the park, alighting on the grass with a soft thump. Her eyes were wary as she scanned the area. Though the park was well-lit in the twilight, there were plenty of patches of shadow that could conceal a threat.

Lewis glanced around to make sure they were alone and called up several of his light orbs, sending them to hang in the branches of the nearest trees like Chinese lanterns. Ladybug peered at them before a small smile curved her lips. "That's a useful trick."

Vivi looked up where she was setting up a pitcher of ice and several paper cups and smiled a welcome.

Lewis laughed and waved her to the table where Vivi was decanting her tincture into the ice. "One of several," he replied in decent French.

Vivi murmured her incantation and touched the ice, before gesturing Ladybug forward to do the same.

"I can't," Ladybug said helplessly, raising her gloved hands. Unlike Chat's, they were one piece with her suit and could not be removed.

"Something Milady cannot do?" Chat's voice purred from overhead. "I am paw-sitively shocked."

"You don't have to be catty about it," Ladybug retorted in the same spirit.

Chat dropped to the ground and offered a sharp-toothed grin. "Brava."

Vivi explained what she was doing to Chat, who translated it into French for his partner. Ladybug understood some English but was not fluent, he explained in an aside to Vivi, before peeling off a glove and touching the ice.

Vivi grinned at him and offered the pitcher to Lewis. He obligingly lit one of his hands afire and cupped the bottom of it, carefully modulating the heat to melt the ice. When all that remained was water, Vivi took it back and poured a cup for all of them. She made sure to drink hers first. Arthur followed suit while Lewis looked mournfully at his own glass. “I can drink this, but it’s not like I’m really going to metabolize it— or the spell, Vi.”

"Oh for pity's sake," Vivi sighed and grabbed his locket. Dunking it unceremoniously into his cup, she muttered a few short words.

Lewis yelped. "C-cold!"

"Big baby."

"Watch and see if I don't toss you right in the lake when we get home," he grumped sourly at her, cradling his abused locket.

Arthur chuckled. "Stop acting like a cat that just had a bath."

Chat laughed while Ladybug just rolled her eyes.

Vivi thumbed her nose at her ghostly husband before turning her attention to Chat and Ladybug. “This one isn’t going to fade,” she explained. “The spell is essentially absorbed into our systems through the water. So we won't have any more— miscommunication issues. You two now know English as if you had spoken it all your lives, while we know French the same way.”

Chat laughed again. “Wow, if I could use that all the time I wouldn’t have to take language lessons every week.”

“It’s a bit of a hassle to put together, but worth it in cases like this. Our earlier linguistic issue could have ended badly, for all concerned.” Vivi stowed the pitcher and the rest of the things she had brought in a large shopping bag.

“How many languages do you speak?” Ladybug murmured quietly to Chat.

“Three fluently, counting French,” Chat ticked off several clawed fingers. “Two more that I’m passable at, but not fluent. A few words here and there of others.”

“Color me impressed, kitty-cat.”

“Mew only have to ask and I will happily caterwaul you a song in one of the languages I know, Milady.” Chat’s bow was flamboyant.

“I’ll pass on the alley serenade, thanks.” Ladybug reached out and flicked the bell he wore around his neck.

“But we could have a yowling good time.”

“Don't push your luck, kitty.”

Vivi stifled a laugh. She had to admit, she liked these two. Chat reminded her a lot of Arthur, insouciant charm and sass, hiding pain behind a smile and attitude. He was better now, most of the time, but Chat could be a younger version of him easily. Including the pain. She hadn't forgotten his verbal misstep of last night. “So, now that we can all speak, shall we go speak to this Master Fu of yours?”

She didn’t miss Ladybug’s almost instinctive flinch.

Chat rested a hand on Ladybug’s tense shoulder. “Lets.”

She heaved a sigh and nodded. “We’ll lead you from the rooftops.”

~~~~

Ladybug called out from above. "Turn left down here. We're here."

She leapt down to land in front of them. Her expression was still nervous. Chat put a hand on her shoulder and she tried for a smile. It was wobbly. "I-I know this is the best thing to do but I can't help being nervous."

Vivi smiled at her. "Trust me. He wants someone to blame, I'm right here and I am not afraid of anything he comes up with."

Ladybug was trying not to hunch in on herself. Arthur was intimately familiar with her posture. He crouched in front of her to bring their eyes to the same level. "Hey, what's got you so spooked?"

"I'm not scared," she retorted.

"Don't kid a kidder. I know scared. You're flat-out terrified." Arthur took her hand, a little surprised when she didn't flinch away.

"I— I don't want to lose my Kwami... I'm afraid he'll say we're not worthy and take them away from us. They're not only our kwami, but our friends too."

"I dare him to try." Vivi's voice was flat. "No offense to you two, but it’s pretty clear he's manipulating you through the medium of only letting you have bits of information and playing on your loyalty to each other and to your kwami." She snorted. "I haven't even met him and I'm already unimpressed."

Ladybug tapped softly on the door and took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself. Chat Noir was right behind her, his posture a mix of concern and protectiveness.

An older Asian man opened the door. Arthur guesstimated he was in his early fifties. He smiled in a grandfatherly way at the two teen superheroes. "Ladybug— and Chat Noir... What brings you to my door?"

Ladybug choked, freezing like a deer in headlights. Behind her mask, her eyes were wide and startled. "Uhh—" she managed to squeak.

Chat smoothly took over. His smile was the same guarded one from last night. "Greetings, Master Fu. We brought some allies over and were hoping to pick your brains on what we could do to solve the Hawkmoth problem, once and for all."

Master Fu's smile did not waver but his eyes were shuttered and wary. "Ahh, allies? I was unaware of any other miraculous in operation besides Hawkmoth's. And yours, of course."

"Oh, we may not have Miraculous, but we have our own talents," Vivi stepped forward and put her hand on Chat's shoulder. Her smile was her most high-wattage customer service smile. "Trust me. We have a lot of very useful abilities that can be applied to this fight."

"I... see." Master Fu's voice, like his eyes, had lost several degrees of warmth. "I do believe this is best discussed over tea, yes. Please come in."

They followed him into a very Chinese themed room, decorated sparingly, with a single low table that held a kettle, a single cup, several old looking books and oddly, a smartphone.

Arthur noted that he peered out into the narrow street before closing and locking the door.

Fu gestured them to the table, taking a tea tray from a cabinet and disappearing into a second room, that Arthur leaned over to catch a glimpse of. It looked like an ordinary enough kitchen, but he wasn't about to assume anything. What little he had learned about this man set his hackles up, and to judge by Vivi's darting glances, she wasn't taking anything at face value either.

Ladybug had dropped cross-legged onto a flat cushion, her whole posture one of barely contained panic. Chat Noir crouched as near her as space allowed, not touching, but barely a breath away. His expression alternated between concern for her and a watchfulness that was years outside his actual age.

Vivi followed Ladybug's example, but sat with her legs folded under her. Her back was ramrod straight and Arthur was reminded of the way she'd held herself at tea with her grandmother.

He dropped onto a cushion to her right, his posture carefully calculated to look careless.

Lewis settled on the cushion to Vivi's left, slightly farther back from the table. He wore his sunglasses to hide his uncanny eyes and an affable smile. For all his bulk, he appeared mostly harmless this way.

Master Fu returned with the tea tray, his expression even more inscrutable than before. His grandfatherly mask had slipped a little more, but he offered a careful smile and a brief bow before seating himself opposite them. There was silence as he poured tea for all of them.

Ladybug was too keyed up to even touch hers and Chat followed her example. Lewis only glanced at his before returning his attention to Master Fu and Arthur carelessly ignored his cup.

Vivi took her offered cup and deliberately inhaled the steam before taking a sip. "Excellent blend. Thank you."

Master Fu raised an eyebrow and sipped his own cup, glancing at the other untouched cups on the table.

Vivi gave a discrete signal at Lewis to pick up his own cup. Arthur continued to ignore his, playing the 'rude American' to the hilt.

"It is quite good," Lewis said after a sip.

"I am pleased you like it, but I doubt Ladybug and Chat Noir brought you here for a cup of tea."

"They did not." Vivi put her cup down. "We asked to be brought to you to discuss Hawkmoth, and what we can do to help pluck his wings."

Master Fu's expression became more rigid. "I am pleased by your willingness to help, but it is best to leave these things to the professionals."

Vivi's expression was like ice. "You may be content to allow two fourteen year olds to face a super-powered megalomaniac, but I am not."

Master Fu looked to Chat Noir and Ladybug, but the horror on their faces showed they had not told their guests that. That was good, at least, he had feared they had been lax. "And what makes you say they're fourteen?"

"Oh there is no need to be coy about it. I can also tell you their names and where they both live, If I desired to." She took another sip of tea. "My dear Lewis even paid Ladybug's residence a visit this morning."

Ladybug made a strangled squeaking sound.

Of course, it hadn't been because they'd known it was Ladybug's home, that had been a coincidence, but better to play it up. "Your mother's macarons are divine, by the way. Now, I am here on my honeymoon. I have known about Paris's superhero and villain situation for less than twenty four hours and I've learned that much. Because I know how to look. I can guarantee there are others in the world who can do the same. What can you do if Hawkmoth finds such a person?"

"You know nothing of Hawkmoth."

"I know everything I need to know. I know he uses a kwami, a primal force of the universe, to empower and control people. I know he's familiar enough with Japanese spiritual beliefs to know the term akuma, but not so much as to know what it really means. I know his power manifests like a possession, themed through an item the victim has. I know he desires the Miraculous of Ladybug and Chat Noir in addition to his own. And most importantly, I know he targeted my husband, and in doing so signed his own warrant."

She leaned forward, eyes intent. "And now, Master Fu, shall I tell you what I know about you?"

At this, Lewis and Arthur froze and gave her a look, trying to tell her to back off, but Vivi was having exactly none of that.

"I would be most interested in what you could possibly learned about me in such little time that we shared." The words were kind, but there was steel behind the tone.

Vivi took a last sip of her tea, as if gathering her thoughts, then delicately set the cup down. "You play the role of the affable old man, and it isn't all an act. You care what happens; you truly do want to stop Hawkmoth and save the world. But your worst enemy in this endeavor is yourself. You chose children as your champions because you can control them. You don't tell them everything right away and leave them to figure things out on their own, thus making them dependant on you. You don't think they should have the Miraculous they do." Vivi did her best to ignore Ladybug's pained gasp. "Because you don't think anyone should have Miraculouses. You don't trust them in anyone's hands but your own."

"I also know you're upset right now and it's for the completely wrong reason. The fact that I am sitting here telling you this makes me living proof your security has been broken. You should be worrying about contingencies, about whether or not the children are in danger. Instead you see something like a child messing in the cleaning cabinet. Too young to understand what's going on around them and putting themselves in danger. You haven't even asked how I thought we could help."

"The young always want to push things, but Hawkmoth has been stopped at every turn. Slow and steady will prevail." Master Fu smiled genuinely at the bracelet on his wrist. "You do not add the noodles to the pot before the water boils."

"But if you wait till the water boils over, you create a mess and risk someone getting seriously burned." It wasn't Vivi, but Lewis who responded this time.

"Should have known you'd have a cooking metaphor at the ready." Vivi smiled at him fondly. "You won't listen to us, but we are going to help. The sooner you take us seriously, they sooner we can get one step closer to ending Hawkmoth."

"The best way you could help is to stay out of Ladybug and Chat Noir's way. Then they do not have to split their attention between protection and their duty."

"Actually, Master Fu, they helped already." Chat Noir chimed in. "She was the one to destroy the akumatized screwdriver last night." He glanced at Lewis, hoping the actual akuma wasn't offended by the term.

"Accepting one lucky turn as a foregone conclusion is dangerous." Master Fu chided.

Vivi sighed. "I don't think we're going to make any headway tonight. But we've spoken and told you of our intentions, that's enough. Thank you for the tea."

As they got up to leave, Master Fu showed them out. "One idle curiosity, if you don't mind. May I ask his relationship to you?" Master Fu gestured towards Arthur.

"He's my husband," Vivi said airly, leaving a gobsmacked Master Fu in her wake.

~~~~

Ladybug swung away from the most awkward tea in her life, Chat Noir right on her heels.

"Do you think that was a bluff?" Chat Noir asked.

"No,” Ladybug’s voice wavered a bit. “My mother mentioned a tall, dark skinned man today. She didn't mention him being American, but given that he's pretty fluent in French..."

"She might not have even realized." Chat finished. "And she gave a random stranger macarons?"

"Mom likes sharing her baking," Ladybug covered, not wanting to reveal her parents worked in a bakery.

Chat smiled fondly, "Sounds like someone I know from class." That they were both students was clearly out of the bag now.

Huh, wonder who'd just bring macarons to class. I mean I do because my parents own a bakery, but I wonder who else does? "I notice you didn't mention the magic water or Lewis being a real akuma."

"I would have if he tried to ask any follow-up questions, but they were right. Master Fu wasn't going to listen to anything we said." Chat Noir sighed. "I know we have to work with Master Fu, but I think we also need to be ready to work around him."

Ladybug paused on a railing to gather her thoughts. “I hate to have to say it, but you’re right.”

She looked out on the lights of Paris for a long moment, before turning her full attention to Chat Noir. “I am sorry for not telling you about Master Fu before. He— he said it was best... And at the time I believed him.”

“And now you don't?” Chat's green eyes were intent, but thankfully not as wary and guarded as they had been since she had brought Master Fu up.

“No...” She sighed. “I don't know anymore. I think we need his knowledge, but a lot of what Vivi said made sense. Too much sense. Tikki trusts him, but I'm not sure I do anymore. There's a lot more he could have told us even without that impetuousness of youth thing he hinted at tonight.”

“On that, Milady, we are categorically agreed.”

Ladybug laughed. She needed his sense of humor right now to ease the knots in her stomach. “And he was so guarded when he spoke to them. You'd have to have been catatonic to not feel the tension in there tonight,”

Chat's grin widened and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I knew you'd fall for my puns sooner or later.”

It actually took her a minute to realize the pun in what she'd said and all her willpower not to facepalm. “Chat!”

~~~~

"Master?" Wayzz's voice was tentative.

Fu closed the door (perhaps just a little too hard) behind his unexpected visitors and threw the bolt. His hands were shaking and he had to pause and will them to stop.

“I do not believe they know what they are getting into, any of them.” Fu kept his voice on an even keel, but inside he was seething. He had given too much to protect the miraculous to see foreigners undo all his hard work, by thinking they could just come in and—

He drew in a deep breath through his nose and slowly let it out in a sigh. “Wayzz, I— I am going to meditate before bed. I trust you can take care of making sure everything is secure?”

“Of— of course, Master.” He didn’t care for the hesitant note in Wayzz’s reply, but he was not going to let it upset him further. He needed to balance his emotions. He needed to meditate.

It did not help. He could only brood on her thinly (and some not so thinly) veiled accusations. After the third attempt to find balance and failing miserably, he knew all he could do was go to bed and hope he would have a clearer head come the morning.

He woke screaming in the cold gray light of pre-dawn, images of the destroyed Temple of the Guardians and his dead brethren swimming behind his eyelids, wordless accusations still ringing in his head. He strangled a sob down before it could escape. He had never felt so out of internal balance, not even back then, when all his attention had been devoted to surviving and protecting the miraculous.

Shaking, he rose from his bed, aching in so many ways, not all of them having to do with age. He needed tea to calm his nerves, and try to find his equilibrium.

He shuffled down to the kitchen, but froze in the doorway of the main room.

Like an accusation, the tea set still sat on the low table.

Rage bubbled in his breast.

Unthinkingly, his hands picked up the insolent girl’s empty teacup. He stared at it for a long moment before hurling it at the wall. Shards went everywhere. "Intruder," he seethed. "She has no idea of what she interferes with." How dare she—?

"Master?" Wayzz woke and hovered over him. “What is it?”

"Interloper!" He fumed. "I learned my lesson well about trusting outsiders at the fall of the Temple!"

“Master—?” Wayzz tried again but Fu was not in any frame of mind to let himself be soothed. “Master, please, you must calm yourself!”

“I will not. She has no right, no knowledge of what she thinks to speak upon—!”

"Master!"

This time the panic in Wayzz's voice got through and Fu looked up from the destroyed cup. Above him a black-winged butterfly fluttered, trailing corruption in the air.

The anger froze into a hard lump of terror in his throat and all he could think was that it must not get to Wayzz or the other miraculous. He snatched up the nearest thing, the cane he used when he needed to appear as a harmless old man, and placed himself between the Akuma and his kwami. It must not infect Wayzz.

He had one last, desperate moment of clear thought and used it to rip the miraculous off his wrist, flinging it away as the butterfly darted toward him. "Wayzz! Hide the box and yourself! Quickly! You must not be taken!"

The cane did him no favors. The black butterfly settled on it and began to meld into it. “No—!” He tried to fling it away but it was already far too late

A seductive voice overrode his will in spite of his struggles. "Grand Master, you know who I am and what I desire, as I know your desire. I will give you the power to protect the miraculous from those who cannot be trusted to protect them."

His last vestige of resistance crumbled under those words. "Yes. I must take them away. They must be kept safe."

"They will be," Hawkmoth soothed. "Once I have used the miraculous of Ladybug and Chat Noir to make my wish come true, you will be able to take them. You will have the power to keep them safe... forever."

“Yes. Safe, always and forever.”

~~~~

The grin on Hawkmoth's face was truly wicked. When he'd sensed the strong negative emotion all he'd known was it was an old man infuriated by ones younger than him. Instead he'd nabbed a prize he'd never dreamed of— a Guardian. True, with the kwami hiding the other Miraculouses he couldn't simply order them brought to him, but he could wait to find the turtle.

The other Miraculouses were merely icing on the cake. He needed Ladybug's and Chat Noir's. And after Grand Master brought them to him, he'd be able to use the man’s knowledge to give Nooroo even more power.

What a wonderful twist of fate. Now at last, he would have everything he dreamed of.

#mystery skulls animated #miraculous ladybug #miraculous: tales of ladybug and chat noir #an au/crossover fic #arthur kingsmen #vivi yukino #lewis pepper #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #master fu #*hides under a rock*

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years

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1. What big corporation(s) do you support, particularly because you like what they stand for (many vegan items, donate large amount of money to charities, pay their workers a living wage, etc)? I don’t think there’s any I support just for that reason to be honest. If I’m being even more honest, I don’t really look into what they stand for. Well, except for when it comes to makeup and I see the “cruelty free” logo then I buy those. That’s all that immediately comes to mind. 2. For those who menstruate or have in the past, is it worse to deal with a period in the summer or winter time? Why do you feel that way over the other season? For me it was horrible all year round because I had really bad PMS/PMDD. Summer certainly didn’t help; though, because that makes me miserable enough already. 3. If you wear foundation or have in the past, what type of applicator do you use (beauty sponge, foundation brush, fingers, etc)? Is there a type of applicator that doesn’t work for you? I use a sponge.

4. For those of you that do listen/watch ASMR videos, what are your favorite “triggers”? If you don’t watch ASMR, what are your thoughts on the whole phenomenon that seemed to happen the past couple years over it? I love ASMR. If you read my surveys and the question is, “What are you listening to” or something along those lines, my answer is almost always “An ASMR video” lol. It’s been a thing on YouTube for several years, but it started off with a small community and then really grew over the past few years. The past couple of years it has gained recognition in the news and there was even a Superbowl beer commercial with Zoe Gravitz. There’s also those videos where various celebrities try ASMR. I’m glad it’s getting talked about more and people are learning about it because it has a stigma to it and people who don’t understand think it’s weird or sexual. It’s not inherently sexual, but like other things it can be made that way. Anyway, ASMR is a sensation I’ve experienced since I was a kid, but I only just learned there was a name for it about 4 years ago. I remember feeling it as a kid when someone would brush or play with my hair, and when someone was reading a book or magazine and like the sounds of the pages turning. Those things are definitely some of my triggers. My favorite types of videos are hairstylist role plays, applying makeup, receptionist with typing and writing sounds videos, and stuff like that. I prefer the role play style ones over just straight tapping on items videos. I also like ones where they’re not talking as well, I don’t care for the no talking videos. 5. Are there any true crime cases that bothers you immensely because of the story or verdict of the court case (ex. OJ Simpson)? Plenty. Particularly ones that involve the murder of children. I can never understand that. Also, I don’t understand how Casey Anthony got away with it. 6. When looking for discounted events or activities, where are you most likely to look for these deals (besides Google or other big search engines)? Google is really all I would use, though. 7. What is your favorite type of lip balm (brand, scent, what ingredients are in it, etc)? What about sunscreen or other sun protecting products? I like EOS. As for sunscreen, I like to use ones with the highest SPF. 8. What store(s) do you have the worst time finding clothing/accessories in because they don’t cater to your body type (disregard price and other factors when considering)? If this isn’t something you struggle with, what store(s) do you think people might struggle finding clothing options in if they were the opposite body type as you? I hear people talk about stores like H&M, Forever 21, and Victoria’s Secret because their sizes are too small. 9. Do you use store loyalty programs? If you don’t use them, what is your reasoning behind that? What store loyalty programs do you feel offer the best incentives, regardless if you aren’t a member of them? Like the rewards programs? If it’s something for free and I get points or coupons or whatever for what I spend then sure. If I have to pay for something then nah. 10. When it comes to skincare, what product could you not go without over the other ones? Where are you most likely to shop for your skincare needs? I honestly don’t use any except for water and a moisturizer sometimes. It works for me. I should use the moisturizer more, though. 11. Regardless if you aren’t someone who hoards or keeps stuff for a long time, what is one (type of) item that you have a hard time getting rid of? I am that type of person. I have a hard time getting rid of anything. Like, I used to even keep receipts and shoe boxes for the longest, but I got better about that. I do still keep birthday cards, brochures, ticket stubs, things like that. OH I used to hoard homework assignments, binders, and notes and not even just for the current school year, I’d have stuff from years prior lol. I eventually got rid of that stuff as well. Now my biggest issue is clothes. I have way too many. It’s to the point where I have a dresser, a hamper full of clean clothes, and a mountain of clothes on my bed. I know I could get rid of a lot of it, but I have a really hard time with doing so for some reason. A lot of it I haven’t worn in a long time and probably never will again. I really, really need to go through it all again and try to get rid of some, though. :/ 12. If you eat meat, what is at least one vegan item (not necessarily a banana) that you like or would like trying (such as a trying a soy ham substitute)? If you don’t eat meat, what is one meat item that you like and understand why people eat it? I don’t know. I’m so picky, so I don’t know if I’d like vegan “chicken” tenders or burgers or anything like that, really. 13. What is a food that is always better homemade? How about a food that is always better at a restaurant? I like the homemade meals my family makes, but I like a lot of takeout foods, too. I like both versions of foods, it just depends what I’m in the mood for. I definitely prefer getting pizza, chicken tenders, and french fries from restaurants/fast food places, though. The frozen stuff you put in the oven or microwave at home just doesn’t cut it. Basically all the fried stuff. 14. If you watched teen dramas growing up (such as 90210 or One Tree Hill), which one was your favorite or you liked the best? If you watched family sitcoms growing up (such as Full House or The Fresh Prince), which one was your favorite or liked the best? I like The OC, Degrassi, and Boy Meets World (does that count?) for teen dramas. As for family sitcoms, I liked Full House, Step by Step, Family Matters, and Roseanne. There were others, but those are the ones that immediately come to mind. 15. What is a tradition either within your country or family that you feel is not needed or could in fact even be bad (ex. using paper plates for every party, eating hot dogs every weekend during the summer, etc)? Ew, some people eat hot dogs every weekend during the summer? I can’t judge the paper plates thing because we use them a lot. They’re very convenient for me. The person before me said 4th of July traditions, which I could understand because of the fireworks. They’re obviously dangerous. And LOUD. They’re pretty to look at, but yeah I can see how they’re problematic.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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distributorlipcreamfabilnatural · 2 years

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naomirose24u · 5 years

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years

Text

486.

Last time you had a s'more? >> It’s been some years. Do you like peppermint candy? >> Sometimes. Do you like spearmint or peppermint gum better? >> Both are good. Do you prefer fruity flavors over minty ones? >> I prefer minty flavours in general, but I usually chew bubble gum because of the bubble factor. What is the nearest thing to you that contains paper? >> A book from the library.

What color is your favorite pen? >> The ink is black but the pen itself is pastel blue.

What is your favorite cookie? >> --- What is your favorite lip gloss/lip balm/chap stick? >> Badger unscented. Do you have a little Pink brand dog from Victoria’s Secret? >> No. Do you have any blank cds right now? >> No. What is your favorite color to paint your nails? >> Black. What is the last thing you broke? >> --- What is the last thing you blew? >> I have no idea. Do you tend to wear the color blue the most? >> No, black. Did you kiss anyone on New Years? >> She probably kissed me. I don’t remember. Were you dating anyone on New Years? >> --- Do you have any cotton balls? >> No. When’s the last time you got flowers? >> We bought sunflowers at the farmer’s market a few weeks ago. Do you have any irrational fears? >> No. What’s the last gift you received? >> I haven’t gotten any gifts lately, but we’ve been getting a lot of registry gifts from various family members of hers. Most of the stuff in our kitchen is new now. What’s the last movie you rented or watched? >> The Talented Mr Ripley. What’s the last cold thing you ate? >> I haven’t eaten anything cold today. What did your parents do today? >> --- Do you like when guys spike their hair, or do you like it long? >> In general, I like long hair. Are you more of an arm or stomach person? >> --- Who did you spend your last velentine’s day with? >> I mean, I didn’t do anything on Valentine’s Day. Do you watch Desperate House Wives? >> No. Have you seen Sex and the City? >> No. What is the symbol for your type of computer? >> I’m not sure what you’re asking me. Do the clothes you’re wearing have any type of symbol on them now? >> My pants have little aliens printed all over them, and my hoodie has little Dancin’ Dominick heads on the sleeves (he was an old patron and “mascot” of sorts for the bar that this hoodie is advertising) and an Omen-style “666″ on the hood. Does the picture closest to you have a frame around it? >> Yeah. Do you like peas? >> Yeah. Has anyone ever kissed your nose? >> Probably. Do you like toes? >> I have no feelings towards them. Are you hungry at all? >> No, I just ate. Have you ever done anything involving rope, duct tape, and small children? >> That’s one hell of a question. Do you like folk music? >> Not as a rule. Do you ever wear hats? What’s the last kind of hat you wore? >> I do if I can ever find one I actually like on me. It’s hard. I don’t remember the last one I wore. Are you on a laptop? >> Yeah. If so, is there anything plugged into it? >> No. Anyone ever got you something while you were with them without you knowing? >> Yeah. Last December Sparrow and I went shopping for stocking stuffers and we had to split up in the shopping center and avoid each other so we wouldn’t see what we were buying each other lmao. Are you more of the indie or mainstream type? >> --- Where is your favorite place to be massaged? >> --- Are there any candles in the room you’re in? What scent are they? >> No. Do you like composition books, or spiral notebooks? >> Composition books because spiral notebooks tend to get snagged on shit and just get annoying. Where are your uncles right now? >> --- Do you have sinus problems? >> No. When did you last speak with your grandparents? >> --- The person you like, What color eyes do they have? >> --- So what is your favorite physical feature about that person? >> --- If you text whats the last digit of the persons number you text the most? >> 0. Don’t you hate it when something limits the amount you can type/write? >> What, like twitter’s character limit? I guess it would be annoying. Do you have large handwriting or small? >> Smallish. Are you right handed or left? >> Right. Can you drive a stick shift? >> No. What kind of fourwheeler do you have? >> --- Do you live where there are a lot of cows? >> It’s a pretty short drive to see some cows. What is your favorite animal with spots? >> Cheetah. Give me your opinion on sports. >> I have no opinion, I’m not interested in sports. Except figure skating. Why do you play the sports you do? >> --- Have you ever went an entire day without looking at yourself in the mirror? >> Yeah. Not on purpose, I just don’t usually have a reason to look in the mirror. What do you think would be a cool way for the world to come to an end? >> --- Do you have a reason for reading the news paper? >> If there’s one near me and I’m interested, I’ll flip through it. But usually I don’t bother with the news. Do you actually care about your school work and what grades you make? >> --- Do you have a typical family, or a weird one? >> --- What’s the best thing you’ve eaten today? >> I’ve only eaten a veggie burger and chips, my usual breakfast. Do you like the colors purple and orange together? >> Sometimes. What is the greatest fruit to eat? >> I don’t know. Do you, too, have problems spelling words that end in o, such as potato? >> No. What was the last thing you clicked? >> I clicked here... Are you one of those annoying foot tappers, or pen clickers? >> I don’t usually stim that way, no. I prefer quiet stims. Can you type in pig latin? >> No. Are you taking a foreign language in school? >> --- If you’re on myspace, who did you get this survey from? >> I’m not on MySpace, and I got this survey from @lovemesomesurveys. Why are so many people getting facebooks and myspaces? >> Well, it was fun at the time. So is facebook becoming more popular than myspace? >> That is what happened, yeah. Do you google a lot? >> I do. Who is your favorite teacher? >> --- Honestly, do you smell nice at the moment? >> I don’t smell horrible, but I could use a shower (which I’m taking later). Do you have a favorite letter? >> V. Who was the last person you saw, that wasn’t family? >> Sparrow. What was the last animal you saw, that wasn’t part of the family? >> A photo of Loki the cat that Sparrow texted me. From the room youre in can you hear a door shut when someone arrives there? >> Yeah. Why did you take this survey, when you had 48650205 others to choose from? >> Because I saw it in the #surveys tag and it was one I hadn’t already taken.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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yehet-me-up · 6 years

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Remote

Pairing: Jinyoung x reader

Word Count: 2,817

Rating: (F) for fluff

Summary: Feeling overwhelmed by the busyness of the city you book a weekend getaway by yourself to a remote island in the San Juans for some peace and quiet. Strolls on the chilly beaches, perusing the quaint local bookstore, quiet breakfasts alone; all are things you’re looking forward to. Until you meet a handsome man on the ferry and decide to throw out all your plans.

Part 5 of the GOT7 colors series of oneshots! 🌈 Color: Blue.

The October wind whips your hair into your face as you walk up the steps to the top deck of the ferry. It's freezing now that it’s turning into evening.

No one else is out here but you and the thought makes you smile. You don't mind that the wind is blowing in every direction and a light rain has started to fall. With a glance back at the main passenger cabin you see a few families getting set up at the tables inside.

Couples are finding adjoining seats to lean together for the three and a half hour ride. A few lone souls are seated with books or cups of coffee, preparing for the evening.

Despite the weather you refuse to break your tradition of standing on the back deck whenever the ferry takes off. You’re disinterested in watching the city you've come from, always preferring to look instead at where the ship will take you.

You pull your wayward hair behind your ears and consider pulling it back with a hair tie for a moment before dismissing the idea and letting it free. The railing is shockingly cold beneath your palms so you slip your sweater down over your wrists before resuming your post.

The twilight blue of the night sky makes the land around Seattle take on a mystical glow. It's this frantic city you're so desperately escaping this Friday evening. Too many people, pushing and shoving and existing near you had started to make you feel trapped.

With a groan you'd looked up from your desk at lunch time, taking in the hustle and bustle of the busy crowds, and decided you needed a weekend off. Somewhere quiet where you could hear yourself think and feel yourself move without dozens of people in your personal space.

Your family had taken trips to the San Juans several summers growing up. A slice of heaven only a short ferry ride away. Homey boardwalks with cute little shops selling driftwood art or stained glass creations. Ice cream shops, staffed by friendly married couples who retired to the islands. Local bookstores with small selections that felt like a relief after rows upon rows of selections in the stores on the mainland.

Pulling up google you'd found a small bed and breakfast on Whitman Island. You'd never heard of it before, but Wikipedia listed the local population at 765. Perfect, you’d thought and booked two nights. A quiet weekend getaway with nothing to do but write and explore the town and walk on the (hopefully) deserted beach.

You'd dashed the few blocks home from work to your apartment to fill a small bag with a few clothes, toiletries, and your notebook. One of the benefits of living downtown was that the ferry terminal was just a few blocks away. The six o’clock ferry was easy to board as a walk-on.

The loud horn of the ship makes you flinch and you laugh to yourself. You see the dark water churn below as the ship starts to make it's way out from port.

With a deep breath you feel yourself start to relax already, as if you were leaving all your worries and cares behind for good, instead of just a weekend. Normally this trip is only made once a day, in the morning, but it looks like popularity had caused them to add a once-weekly Friday night trip as well and you were thankful they had.

Two families with kids brave the cold to come out and join you on the deck for take off and you give them a small smile as they squeal excitedly.

They abandon their post after a few minutes, slowly trickling back inside leaving you once again alone out in the almost complete dark. Well, almost alone. A movement in your periphery startles you and you turn your head to see a man standing at the other end of the deck.

His thick, long wool black jacket and shock of black hair make him nearly blend into the night. He's not looking at you, but straight ahead at the landscapes moving by quickly, now that the ferry is up to it's fully speed. A messenger bag is slung over his shoulder and a long black notebook is held protectively in his hands as his shrewd gaze, framed by strong brows, takes in the scenery.

He turns around to look back at the ferry itself, lit up by warm yellow beams casting their glow out into the night. He's devastatingly handsome, you admit to yourself, before turning your attention back to the water ahead of you. Before you lose consistent service you pull out your phone and text your best friend and your mom about the trip, just to give them a heads up.

Both reply within minutes, telling you they hope you enjoy yourself. You smirk, feeling the concern that underlies both of their messages. You can practically hear them, worrying about how little you go out. How single you are. How long it's been since you dated anyone.

You sigh and roll your eyes before lifting them skyward.

The ferry is almost far enough past the city for you to really be able to see the stars, but the little taste you can see past the light pollution is a balm to your soul.

Is it really such a crime that you prefer the quiet? You enjoy simple pleasures like a good cup of tea in the morning, an evening spent with your laptop toying around with the beginnings of your next novel, and a nice stroll through the city on early Sunday mornings when it's blessedly quiet.

It's not that you hate company. On the contrary, you love your colleagues in the publishing world and relish the work that you do. You and your best friend passionately spend your lunches talking about the latest books you're representing.

But when the day is done, you want your time to yourself. And that, apparently, is a fate worse than death according to your mother, you think with an amused sigh.

'I didn't think anyone else would be crazy enough to be out here,' comes a low male voice, shouted to be heard over the noise of the wind and the churning waters of the Puget Sound.

You turn around at the sound, battling the wind and your hair to look at the handsome man. Up close he's even more stunning, his lips tugged up into an friendly smile, his deep eyes meeting yours with a spark.

'I never miss the chance to be out here,' you reply loudly over the wind, returning his smile. 'Crazy is definitely the word for it.' With a shrug you wrap your arms around your chest against a surge of icy drizzle.

He tucks the notebook he's holding inside the fold of his jacket and flips up his collar against the rain. 'Want to grab a cup of coffee?' he asks with a motion of his head back to the appealing warmth of the indoor cabin.

You nod and lead the way back inside. When you're halfway across the deck a huge surge of wind almost knocks you sideways. You'd forgotten how tempestuous the storms out on the Sound can get.

You stumble a step and collide with the man next to you who's also trying to find his footing in the gale. His warm eyes are crinkled as he laughs and tries to right himself. His hand finds yours and you both steady yourselves and hurry inside, bodies jostling each other in the rain.

The two of you emerge into the bright main area with a relieved sigh. You pull your hair back and twirl it around your finger, throwing it over your shoulder to see clearly. He's shaking droplets of water from his hair, huffing out a laugh.

'Well, that escalated quickly,' he quips, pointing over to an empty booth facing out to the water with a raise of his brows.

You nod and follow him, taking off your overcoat and laying it on the bench to dry along with your bag before sitting on the bench with a sigh. He follows your motions, dropping his notebook onto the table as he slides into the seat opposite you.

'So how do you take your coffee?' he asks, pulling a wallet from his back pocket.

'Oh, you don't have to buy it for me, I can-' you start but he waves you off and stands up again.

'It's my treat, please,' he replies, his tone decisive, his eyes bright and daring you to challenge him.

'All right then, thank you' you concede with a laugh. 'Cream and two sugars please.'

'Coming right up,' he says, tapping his wallet to the table before walking off to the small cafe on-board the ship.

When he disappears around the corner you turn, resting your elbow on the window ledge, watching the seas and the night sky with interest. Something unwinds within you as you take in the wild weather and the raw cliffs of the small, uninhabited islands the ship passes. You feel the stress and anxiety drain from you the farther you get from the city.

He returns after another minute, setting two steaming to-go cups of coffee on the table and sliding back into the booth. After offering him another thanks and a warm smile the two of you settle in to drink your coffees in amiable silence, watching the world pass by out the window.

You do your best to keep your attention off of him but eventually give up and let yourself notice him. The warm-looking grey knit sweater he's wearing. His thick, long lashes. The mysterious notebook on the table. You wonder if he's perhaps an artist, coming to the island to find inspiration.

'So what brings you to Whitman island?' he asks before taking another sip, turning to you.

It occurs to you that you're a woman traveling alone to a remote island, and you consider for a moment telling him that you're meeting family or a lover.

But the way he asks is friendly and not pushy, and you find none of the warning in your gut that you can always trust to tell you when something isn't quite right. So instead you take another sip and figure out how to word it, eventually just settling on the most straightforward.

'Just taking a weekend to get away from the city,' you eventually reply with a shrug.

He nods, reaching out a hand to tap a finger to his notebook. 'Same. I've been so slammed at work I've been too drained to make anything that I want to.'

'Are you a writer? An artist?' you ask. Perhaps far too eagerly, you think as he lifts an eye and smirks at you.

'Graphic designer by day, artist by night,' he says in dramatic voice that draws a laugh from you.

'I'm a writer myself. Makes sense that the two crazy people out on the deck are both artists,' you reply. 'What kind of art do you make?'

'Mostly charcoal,' he says, pursing his lips in consideration. 'I've tried my hand at water colors and some other mediums. But the rough, dark lines of charcoal always feel the most natural to me.'

Your eyes dart back down to his sketchbook, your curiosity rising. For a moment you think about asking him if you can see some of his work, but immediately rule it out as too presumptuous and private.

As if sensing your question he speaks again. 'I'd be happy to show you some of my work.'

'If I can read some of your writing, that is,' he continues with a grin.

Your eyes go wide at the challenge. You normally don’t let anyone read what you're working on except for your editor and your best friend. The first novel you published was well received and you’re excited to have time to find inspiration for the next.

'I'm not really sure it would be up your alley,' you laugh.

'And why is that?' he counters in mock offense, drawing his hand to his chest dramatically.

'It's a romance,' you answer with a grin.

'Are you seriously telling me that you think someone who has a soft spot for charcoals isn't a romantic?' he rebuts with a smirk, his deep brown eyes fixing on you over this rim of his coffee.

'Okay, you got me there,' you say, reaching a finger down to hook in the back of your shoes.

You slip out of them and fold your legs underneath you, desperately willing warmth back into your frozen toes. 'I haven't written much yet, I mostly just have an outline though. Sorry to disappoint.'

'Don't worry, I'm a patient man,' he replies, quirking up one of his brows. 'I can't wait to read some.'

Your cheeks heat in response, at the implication that he'll be around by the time you'll have written something. True, the two of you are going to a small island and it would be incredibly easy to run into each other this weekend. Even easier if you plan to meet, you think with a small smile. But there's at least another two and a half hours of this ferry ride, so you're in no rush.

He acquiesces 'for now,’ to show you his work on the promise that he can read yours as soon as you have a sizable chunk. You lean your heads together as he flips through his sketchbook. He's incredible, you can tell right away. Portraits, landscapes, abstracts; everything he creates is infused with his unique style. Raw, blunt lines, somehow rendered sweeping and cohesive by his blending.

You mention an exhibit you saw last year at the Seattle Art Museum, an artist you can't quite remember the name of, who also works primarily in charcoal. He immediately lights up in recognition, telling you the artist is a friend, and the conversation flows easily into discussions of your favorite artists in the Seattle area.

All too soon the horn for the ferry blows and you realize it's nine thirty and time to dock on Whitman Island. You lean back up, just now noticing how close the two of you had been over the table while you spoke. The distance between your hand and his on the smooth surface of the table is easily less than an inch, you notice with a flush as you quickly pull it back so you can slip on your shoes.

'Time to go already?' he echoes your thoughts as he grabs his coat and shrugs it back on.

'Yeah, wow. That went by insanely fast,' you say softly with a shake of your head as you throw on your coat and grab your bag.

'So, where are you staying?' he asks with a furrow of his brow, motioning you to go ahead of him to make your way to the dock that is fast approaching, lit up through the inky black night.

'Why?' you ask, perplexed. Yes, there's obviously an attraction between you two, but he can't seriously think you're going to take him to bed tonight.

He laughs and rests his hand on your waist while you walk, leaning down to speak close to you. 'It's late. I want to make sure you get safely to where you're staying,' he says in a low voice that sends heat down your spine.

'My intentions are pure, I promise,' he says with a grin, leaning up and putting his hands in the air in mock defense.

You laugh, tilting your head back. When you look over you meet his eyes and feel something inside you melt, something frozen and solid you weren't aware of until this moment. Even after a full day of work and a long evening of travel your insides feel electric at his nearness.

'It's the Country Inn Bed and Breakfast,' you answer, pulling out your phone to open your email and find the address.

When you meet his eyes again he's closed his own for a moment and a wry smile is gracing his full lips. He holds open the heavy door out to the walkway off the ferry for you and joins you a moment later.

'Well, that will be very easy, since that's also where I'm staying,' he supplies with a laugh.

'Perfect,' you say, meeting his gaze.

Your hands brush against each other as the two of you walk together down the narrow ramp to the pier. Without a trace of awkwardness he gently slides his palm against yours and you clasp your hand in his.

This was supposed to be a solo getaway from the crowds, you think. But looking at the adorable way the wind throws his hair across his forehead you find you don't mind in the least. You’re willing to make an exception for him.

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