Jan 17
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🐾🐶 𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝒂𝒔 𝐋𝐏𝐒 🐹🐾
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He’s nothing if not consistent….😆😆😆
Like Prey (MDNI+18)
Virgin!Ralph Penbury x TimeTraveler!Mean!F!Reader
Summary: Ralph’s the one hunting you down. So why is it that he feels like prey?
Tw/tags: smut, loss of virginity, small dick!ralph (little ones deserve love, too also he’s got big balls), oral sex (f.receiving), silly humor, unprotected p in v , creampie, degradation/teasing kink, dirty talk, intense orgasms, breeding kink, primal/chase kink, brief dom!ralph, brief body insecurities on Ralph’s part, little fluff, nipple play, doggystyle sex in the woods, desperate kinda rough sex, licking, french kissing, grinding, getting caught (surprise guest: Lauren)…I think that covers everything
Victory is on the tip of his panting tongue. He could almost taste it…
…Or was that just the taste of blood…
Ralph knows he’s not the most athletic man. Hell, he’s never had to lift as little as a finger due to his abundant wealth. But you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: 30 minutes on the clock, Ralph is meant to hunt you down within this large pine forest, catch you before the end of time, and you’ll surrender yourself to him totally!
After all the push and shove, finally you’ve given him the chance…with some obstacles to hurdle, of course. But Ralph would happily tackle them with the energy of a trained show dog if it meant you were the prize.
Maybe he’s not the best at running but at least the outdoor skills he’s learned from his boy scouting days should give him some advantage. It’s too bad you failed to disclose that you, too, were once both a girl scout and an active member of your high school and college sports teams.
Ralph pats a handkerchief over his reddening sweaty face before wringing out the cloth and placing it back into his shirt pocket. He raises the aluminum round water canteen to his dry lips, shaking it above his tongue when no liquid produces. Frustrated, he tosses it to the ground before moving on to something else that would replenish his energy.
Removing his backpack, he rummages through it for a snack bar. A quick bite should boost his morale and strength. He sits on a nearby tree stump, munching away. Some pesky mosquitoes begin to buzz around him, the honey scent within the snack bar attracting them. Bloody hell…he wishes he hadn’t worn these shorts but he wanted to look the part of a hunter and you, the innocent deer.
But this was only just the beginning of his problems. The food had now attracted a curious squirrel, scurrying its way up to him. Ralph puffs his chest, recalling an animal fact about potential dangerous squirrel encounters: make yourself look bigger.
Or…was that for bears?
The squirrel screeches at him and Ralph raises his hands in caution, trying to reason with the animal. Instead the furry fiend lunges forward in attack, prompting Ralph to yelp and make for an exit.
Ralph’s going in the complete opposite direction from where he’d believe to have seen you and, according to his pocket-watch, he’s only got 5 minutes left. After a couple of circles around the area, he finally makes the smart decision to throw the snack far enough for the squirrel to head in its direction. He takes the time to catch his breath, desperately gasping for air.
“Oh, lover boy,” You call over his shoulder, stepping away once he’s turning to face you. “You’ve still got 10 seconds left on the clock. Catch me.”
“Coming, darling.” Ralph rasps weakly but he’s immediately tripped up by one shoe he’d removed and thrown at the creature. Now he lies on his back, hyperventilating and defeated. It is officially…
Game. Over.
“I win.” You gloat.
“That you did, darling. Good show.” Ralph praises exhaustively, attempting to sit up. With your foot on his shoulder, you push him back into the dirt.
He glances up at you in both confusion and awe as you lower yourself onto his lap, sitting directly on his hardening member. You look absolutely stunning in your thin tulle-like night dress that clings to your perspired body like a second skin. The image is reminiscent to gazing upon a greek sculpture with a thin veil of fabric wrapped around your voluptuous frame that leaves little to the imagination, breasts and warm core silhouetted by the sheer cloth. You don fluffy deer ears above your head along with a matching tail that fit nicely inside your ass.
Such a sinful sight yet so heavenly that it burns his eyes as if he’s staring directly at a celestial being. Ralph doesn’t think he deserves to witness such beauty but you wanted him to gaze upon the unholiness so he’d be exposed to the kinkiest of things people of his time had not yet seen before.
You lower, hovering your face over his before your tongue traces along his jaw, collecting the sweat streaming down it. “I really like seeing the lengths you’d go through for me. So uncoordinated, pathetic, shameful…and yet you make me so wet. I want to see that look on your face all of the time, I think.”
Before he can speak, your lips are planted on his cracked lips. Your hot mouth and your eager tongue is a devilish combination. You lap wildly against his tongue, ensuring you exchange saliva.
He’s inexperienced; an untouched virgin ready to be defiled and sullied. His heart pounds in his chest at an alarmingly fast rate, not believing that this could be happening to him.
And yet your hands interlocking with his ground him—literally ground him as you pin his hands down to the dirt. Your hips undulate, finding the perfect position to capture his clothed mushroom tip between your sopping folds.
Ralph can hardly breathe from both the overwhelming sensation of your kisses and the exhaustion of today’s hunt. You are anything but merciful to his plight, however, as you give him no room to catch his breath. All he can do is find some moments to gasp in between devouring kisses before your tongue shoves back down his throat. This was a kind of hunger he didn’t think to be possible but it’s better than he could have ever dreamed.
“Want your cock.” You whine against his eager tongue that returned your feverish licking in kind.
“You can have it,” He rasps just as desperately, a cry bubbling in his throat when you offer sloppy kisses onto his thick neck. “It has always been yours to own.”
You moan at his response. Regardless of his inexperience, the man had a way with words and knew exactly the kind of things to say to satisfy you. Such a good boy.
“Just one request?” He asks hotly in your ear, pulling you close against him; chest to chest, with his large gorgeous hands once you release them.
“Go on, Ralphie.” You coo, rolling your hips even harder against him and eliciting yet another high-pitched whine.
“I wish to taste you,” He says, begging. “I’ve dreamt of your taste for so many lonely nights. Delusions of you in the empty space in my bed as if you were really mine. With just a taste, if i never get to have you again, I think savoring you will be just enough to keep me sane.”
Overcome with emotion by his words, you kiss him passionately once more, sucking on his tongue as if you, too, wished to savor his taste.
“What an eager little virgin you are,” You cruelly tease. “I’m not entirely convinced you’ll handle yourself fine between my legs. A woman’s pleasure is quite difficult to master and to be honest…when I first met you, I didn’t think you liked women.”
He’s flustered and tripping over his words but you place a finger against his lips, soothingly hushing him.
“It’s alright, Ralphie,” You say before placing a quick kiss on his pouty lips. “I don’t mind a man that’s a little effeminate. I find it exhilarating when a man is in touch with his feminine side. That shows to me that you’ll be willing to learn. So…I suppose I’ll humour you.”
You slide off his lap, allowing him the chance to see the mess you’ve made of his khaki explorer shorts. A tortured groan escapes his parted kiss-swollen lips when he sees the slick trail you’d left on the crotch area. The thought of his painfully erect cock soon being coated in your creamy release nearly has him coming on the spot. He palms his hardened member, squeezing to keep its erratic jumping at bay.
“Will you please undress me, Ralphie?” You ask sweetly, lying back on your elbows against the soft moss.
“As you wish.” He says, reaching towards you with trembling hands.
You stare up at him, anticipating; fawn-like eyes carrying a hint of mischief in them. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth once he begins to unravel the bow around your waistline. His breathing picks up when the bow slips off and gently falls behind you. With his fingers hooked on either sides of your dress, he cautiously parts it.
Ralph’s breath hitches once your breasts come to view, perky nipples calling for his tongue to travel them. He separates the dress oh so slowly and calculated so that the thin fabric could caress your skin as if it were his lips tracing along it instead. You whine, head thrown back when a cool breeze passes by; a gently brush felt on your sensitive peaks.
Unable to contain himself, he leans forward above you to train his long and thick tongue from your tummy, between the valley of your breasts, to your perky nubs. He teases you with his talented mouth in earnest, moaning when your hands weave into his hair to keep him in place.
His teeth lightly nibble earning a surprise squeal and giggle from you. When his tongue glides back up your neck, you tug on his hair forcing him to capture your lips once more. The kiss is sloppy—again a result of his inexperience—but still you find yourself moaning into the kiss, curling your arms around his neck so he doesn’t part for air longer than you can wait.
You’re the one to break the kiss, standing on your feet and towering over him on his knees. Ralph gets the picture, eyes fluttering shut as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs and bask in your fingers weaving in his hair.
He pulls you closer by your legs, slotting your creamy pussy over his drooling tongue. You let out another gasp that morphs into a moan when the rough texture of his dry lips clamp around your clit, suckling lightly.
Sweet Ralph, so determined and devoted to you; his one goal is to satisfy your every desire. Your biting words and insults have only ever served as a form of encouragement for him. He’ll handle your mean behavior any day for as long as he gets to call you his or gets to have your sobbing cunt over his face again.
You lean against the nearest tree, mouth open and brows furrowed almost as if your pain. In a way, you are because this man knew how to take your fucking breath away and now you’re struggling to let out some relief of the cries bubbling within your throat.
Then, his eyes fly open at the same time his tongue thrusts into your tight core and speech finds you again.
“Fuuuck, Ralph! Please! Oh god,” You whimper, hand cupping the back of his head while the other lays against the tree behind you for support.
He hums moans and forces out groans from the back of his throat with your every plea, eyes staring intensely as you fall apart on his tongue.
He’s doing this to you with absolutely no coaching on your part?!
“Oh, darling,” He whispers against your flesh, making out with your puffy pussy between words. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. Please I must know.”
You answer his plea by tugging on his hair roughly. He lowly growls at this, pretty lips turned up an a lust-filled feral snarl before he dives back into you. He raises you completely off the ground now, using the tree as leverage as he drapes your legs over his shoulders.
“So fucking good,” You pant, hand moving away from the tree to glide down your body as if you could feel the pleasure traveling through it. Then, your eyes widen as the sensation settles at the pits of tummy. As it tightens, you begin to hyperventilate, riding his face. “Ralph, fu—ohmygodohmygodohmygod!”
With expert precision, he circles your clit with his tongue while his big brown eyes shine up at you like a lovesick puppy. Finally, he slips a finger into you and immediately the flood gates open, soaking his hands, the lower half of his face—practically everything in sight—with your wetness. Your eyes roll back, lids twitching as it shoots out of you like a geyser surprising the both of you as you squeal in delight.
Though, he doesn’t understand what he’d done he continues to lap away at whatever you gave him until you forcibly pull him away.
You tremble, shaky legs unable to remain rigid enough to rest on his shoulders. You find yourself weakly sliding down into his lap, folded in half, legs still raise in the air where your feet and anklet dangle beside his ears.
Ralph pulls you away from resting on the tree so he can kiss you once more, making you taste yourself in the process.
“I hope I gave you the pleasure you deserved, my love.” He says.
He hopes?! That man made you see God and he’s still unconvinced of his skills?!
You being teasingly mean as always, you respond in a way that one would call…’nonchalant’.
“It was satisfactory.” You reply, expecting him to throw a fit but instead he beams with pride.
Ralph was once told by his papa in a man to man conversation regarding women that, irregardless of a man’s size, as long as a man knew how to pleasure their women with their tongue then they shall remain happy. It’s a sentiment Ralph held dear, honing in on learning the art of cunnilingus through saucy literature reads he’d ‘stumble’ upon in his maid’s room.
And you would come to appreciate him for this as you will soon find out that he lacks in the key department you seek.
“I want you inside me. Please take me.” You beg, kissing his neck feverishly. Your eager hands tear open his explorer button down shirt, buttons scattering in between your bodies and onto the dirt. But your concerns lie with feeling his bare frame flushed against yours, ferverently canting your hips downward.
Ralph nervously searches his mind for an explanation or a way out of giving you his cock. When you made the offer to surrender yourself, he didn’t think that meant getting to fuck you. Hell, he didn’t even win your little game to expect such a blessing to begin with. And although he is grateful, he’d rather you be in love with him enough that seeing his tiny cock and unathletic frame wouldn’t resort to you fleeing from him again. He’s already got some work to do regarding your perception of him as is.
“Could I take you…from behind?” He loathes himself for being such a coward. The first time he gets to make love to you and he won’t even get to see your pretty faces.
“Is it to punish me for escape you, Ralphie?”
“No, darling!”
“I wouldn’t mind if it were my punishment,” You whisper, fingers looping around the waistband of his shorts. “I was rather cruel to you. I knew you’d lose. That there was a chance you’d never get me. I watched on close by—you, a sweltering fool—you were none the wiser.”
Your words to provoke had done enough.
“Turn around.” He growls and you rush to comply, climbing off his lap to eagerly get into position.
Meanwhile, he’s frantically removing articles of clothing; tossing his explorer vest, his now ruined dress shirt, his undershirt, then his hat, then focusing on loosening the ascot around his neck—fuck, it’s amazingly frustrating how many layers of clothing he wore.
Impatience takes over once you notice that his pants still clung to his waist with the support of a heavy duty belt. You turn over for a moment, fumbling with the zipper and buttons of his pants. You’d completely forgotten to unbuckle his belt, whimpering and whining when his pants didn’t seem to budge. Ralph finally assists you, guiding your hands to his belt’s buckle until his pants pool around his knees.
You take in his almost bare form. He’s pale, thin but surprisingly lean. If you wanted to, you could easily overpower him. How…exhilarating.
Ralph squirms under your gaze, feeling self-conscious. He never had any issue with himself but of course he just wants to be perfect for you.
He’s seconds from asking if you want to stop but your hands find the last barrier of clothing separating him from you. You gage his reaction, not once tearing your eyes from his face, while your hands lower his white briefs. His cock springs upward and you observe it in its glory. It’s two-toned schlong with the base being slightly darker than the tip. It’s curvy with a fat girth size though it’s smaller in the length department.
His cock is so goddamn pretty to look at, you have a hard time being mean and cheeky at his expense. All you want to do is worship it, suck his fat breeding balls into your mouth.
With one deliberate finger, you feather touch along his length, riding the smooth pattern of his veins and collecting his sticky essence.
He breathes unevenly, heart pounding as you rub precum over his lips like lipgloss. It should humiliate him but instead this makes his cock jump even more. You suck the slick essence off, starting with his upper lip then swirling your tongue to capture his lower lip.
It’s in the heat of this exchange that you realize even if he had the world’s smallest cock, you’d still fuck him stupid. You’ve dropped suitors for much less reasons yet here you are offering yourself on a silver platter to a man who’d been annoyingly infatuated with you.
Where you could’ve easily take advantage of his money and never return your affections, you latterly chose to be have his virgin ‘coke can’ cock penetrate you with no certainty you’ll even get off! Yet still it’s so fucking worth it.
You go on all fours. Your furry tail is still lodged tightly in your puckered hole, the length of it is draped between your legs.
With one hand off the ground, you hold onto the cosplay piece, allowing him a view of your glistening core from behind. He sees it contracting in a prominent visual that says if he were to stick himself in you, he’d have trouble pulling out ever again; a cushy vortex ready to suck in anything it latches onto.
Dear god, he’ll be lucky if he makes it past a minute…
“Give it to me, baby, please!” You plead him, rocking backward and forward.
“Yes, I’ll give you exactly what you need, darlin’,”He whispers, failing to sound as confident as he planned to fake. “J-Just a moment.”
He settles behind you, lining himself with your entrance while he tries focusing on not coming. The tip sinks in first. A stretch that has both your mouths falling open and eyes rolling back.
Inch by inch he feeds more of himself to you before finding an awkward and shallow rhythm to follow that leaves little to be desired.
The problem is… it feels good. Too good. But the feeling’s fleeting. Almost as if you’re imagining it. He’s so scared to stay in too deep; to allow your hungry pussy to entrap him for too long. He’ll cum immediately the longer he allows himself to stay buried, so he hits into you with quick thrusts that has him whining and gripping your waist while you burn hotter and hotter with an unquenchable heat.
“You feel absolutely wonderful, darling,” Ralph breathes, a timid sliding down your arching back. “The best feeling in the world.”
Pent-up frustration takes over once more as you begin to impatiently rock back against him, forcing him in deeper and keeping him in longer. You understood that the further you pull away, the more annoyed you’ll get with his cock slipping out of you. So again, you find yourself taking the reins from him as you hooked your legs over his to keep him locked in you. You press your face and the lower half of your body into the cold dirt before you’re crashing your hips harshly back against him.
“Ooo, fuuuuck. Your little cock is actually so fucking good when you’re not being stingy with it.” You tease, hardened nipples grazing the tiny abrasive rocks embedded in the soil.
He’s hopeless against your thrusts, his nails now digging into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as you force him to pound into you. The leverage with your legs lets you push and pull his body as you please, setting the pace. The force of the hammering thrusts causes the anal plug to knock against a sensitive point that falls in sync with his fat tip bullying your g-spot.
“Unh, oh my…g-god,” Ralph is on the verge of tears by this point, overwhelmed by the sensation. There is nothing on this earth comparable to a feeling like this. Not even the feeling of being high on the purest of cocaine. Slowly, he finds himself losing the words to better articulate his pleasure in you, babbling and whimpering nonsensical pleas. “Oh, sh-shit. Please…i’m can’t —mmm.”
You force yourself up on your hands again, looking back at him with a devilish smirk and siren eyes as you continue to puppet him; forcing him to wreck your walls over and over.
“You’re so pretty,” You whisper before sinking your teeth into his inner arm that rested beside your head. “I kinda regret not riding you. Would have loved watching every little stupid face you make…but this’ll do.”
The thrusts become more erratic as Ralph shouts the approach of his impending release. You almost would have considered him a shameless virgin until you felt a scarily ascending feeling stirring in the pit of your belly. The less you allow Ralph to withdraw from you, the more it grew until he’s not pulling out at all; only rocking into you.
“Talk me through it, baby. Wanna hear your pretty voice whilst I take this pretty cock.”
“It’s so good, love,” He sobs, hands grabbing your shoulders to force you onto his cock. He feels delirious. Like a wild animal taking over. Maybe it’s the fact that the two of you are alone in the forest with only the distance sounds of the jungle that’s making him become a feral beast but he soon cracks under the same frustrations you found yourself in; desperate to be closer until he’s falling onto your proned body. His thrusts continue to grind you into the dirt, your swollen clit tickled by the soft greenery beaneath you until you’re surprised by your mutual orgasms. Your pussy contracts and gushes around him, creaming his wild pubes and thick base. “That’s right take my cock. Let me mold myself to fit inside you forever.”
“God, yes. Please mold me, Ralphie. My pussy’s made for you. Now give me all your come. Please, pretty please…I’ll be so good. Just breed me.” You mewl, tears escaping your eyes at the power of your orgasm.
He shoots his hot cum into you, pulling you back by your hair and turning your face so he can properly french kiss you.
You bite his bottom lip holding him there until he spurts the last of his semen into you
He laid on top of you, not yet pulling out even after he’d finished. The two of you continue making out for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulls out of you. The two of you groan at the sudden loss of each other but he doesn’t part from you for long, lying on his back beside you before pull you into his perspired chest.
“That was…beyond human comprehension.” Ralph chuckles.
“You said it,” You say, panting softly against him. “I really do love you, Ralph Penbury. I hope you know this is true.”
“I do know this, love,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “But I’ll gladly chase you into the darkest, grimiest parts of the jungle for you. I love you, too.”
The two of you rest together in perfect harmony, staring up at the sky when a startled Lauren stumbles upon your entangled naked frames, screaming and covering her eyes.
“We’re all over by the lake roasting hotdogs while you two play ‘hide the wiener’?!” She tosses her jacket onto the ground then blindly reaches for a nearby tree to guide her back to the site. “Hurry up and dress or I’m sending your coke-frenzied party attendees right this way to see this ungodly spectacle.”
And then, you and Ralph await for her to be a good distance away before you both begin to laugh hysterically.
cece!! the way i ran when i saw that new menu drop!! i think i want chicken on multi-grain with either baby swiss or soft goat’s cheese? (dealer’s choice on which you go for!) i think that’s it, thank you so much 🫶
Sleepy Touches
ralph (timewasters) x fem!reader
word count: 1.8k+
summary: Sandwich Shop Request from Anonymous | You’ve got wandering hands and Ralph has a confession to make.
warnings: Fluff, nothing else really
notes: Might be one of my favorite sleepy confessions I’ve written. Ralphie deserves the world. Hope you like it 😭😭 Big thanks to @punkrockmlchael @robinbuckleywife & @prettycalla for reading this over and @peachyproserpina for editing, as always! 🫶🏻
The bedroom is still cloaked in the hush of the early morning. The light is only just beginning to filter in through those gauzy pink curtains. While pale gold traces the lace trim of your nightdress. The sun casting soft shapes across the floral wallpaper that adorned your bedroom walls and the polished curve of your dressing table mirror. Outside, London murmurs on, still half asleep— there’s the sound of a distant tram, the creak of a milk cart’s wheels, and the occasional pigeon cooing from it’s rooftop perch. But here, wrapped in the heavy warmth of your shared bed, time seems to stand still.
Ralph is sleeping on his back beside you as he always does. One of his arms flung up over his head, like he’s making space for a dream. The sheets have slipped low on his hips, exposing the long line of his torso, bare and beautiful in the early morning light. His chest rises and falls with each slow breath, and there’s a softness to his mouth— it’s not quite a smile, but perhaps the memory of one from earlier the day before. You wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s you.
Your hand is already moving before your mind can catch up and give it permission. Your fingers trace the slope of his shoulder slowly. Taking in the smooth, warm skin there. You brush them gently over his collarbone, then down, the back of your knuckles trailing slowly along the dip between his ribs. Your eyes follow their descent. His chest is soft with sleep and faint freckles— making constellations you’ve mapped a hundred times now, though you still find new stars.
You touch his skin reverently, as if he’s something as precious as the diamond on your finger. Like you still can’t quite believe he’s yours.
Maybe you can’t.
It’s been six months since your wedding. Half a year of calling him your husband and hearing him say wife in that same voice that others seem to look down at. He’d light up at the name, before dulling just enough to clear his throat and introduce you properly— like the word was too big for his mouth and still too sweet to let go of. Sometimes you think of all the ways you’ve both changed since that first week of marriage— how his hands now find your waist like they he’s been searching for your hips his entire life, or how he talks to you on mornings like these in half sentences. Filling the gaps with soft glances, like he knows you’ll understand what he means. You always have. You’re the other half to his heart. The thing that makes him whole.
But in moments like this, when he’s still asleep and your palm is splayed across the gentle rise of his stomach, the thud of his heartbeat just beneath your fingertips, it still feels astonishing.
You slide your hand upward once more, over the steady thrum of his ribs. Your thumb brushes against that little patch of hair on his chest. His body is all lean muscle, soft around the edges, warm and comforting, just like the rest of him. Soft like the smell of lavender and starch on his shirt when he hugs you from behind while you’re reading, or the heat of his palm on your back when you wake from a bad dream and he doesn’t even need to speak. He’s just there beside you, quiet, patient, ready to pull you as close as he can get you if you’d let him.
You let your fingers drift up to his throat, just for a second, feeling the little hollow at the base. He stirs faintly, his eyebrows knotting down, but he doesn’t wake. You trace the curve of his jaw with your fingertip, sighing happily. His stubble is always softest in the morning. He’ll shave it away once he’s awake, like the gardeners would wipe away the first frost on the garden wall. You don’t really know how long you lie there like this— worshipping him in silence, your heart full to the brim. It’s a tradition you’ve had with yourself for many mornings now. One you’ve grown to love almost as much as him. Your fingers move in lazy paths across his skin, never quite staying still. His bicep flexes once under your palm as he shifts beside you, his breath hitching sleepily.
Then he stirs awake more fully. His eyes are still closed, but his body aches slightly. His brow scrunch’s down further in the faintest wince at waking. “Mm.” His voice is thick with sleep, his lips barely parting, he knows the routine. Your silent morning dance. Some mornings he’d pretend to be asleep longer, just to feel your touch. “Love. That’s not fair… you keep touching me like that, and I’m going to start talking nonsense.”
You smile, but you don’t stop. Don’t even dream of it. You press your palm flat against his chest now, your fingers curling slightly over his heart. “That’s all right,” you whisper. “I like when you talk nonsense.”
Ralph hums again sleepily, his lashes fluttering now as he slowly opens his eyes. Brown and heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. Like how the sky opens up after it rains. He looks at you, and something melts behind his gaze— like it always does when he sees you first thing in the morning. He reaches forward to tuck back a strand of your hair behind your ear, his own smile plastered on, sleepy but there. You’re never sure what he sees when he looks at you like this— your hair undone and your nightdress rumpled up to your hips— but he always looks at you like you’re magic.
His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks again, laced with that raspy sleep you’ve come to love, “I love you.”
You smile, leaning close to press a kiss to his shoulder. And then another. And another. Your lips slow and lingering against his skin. “I love you too, Ralph.”
He exhales, like your kisses are the only thing that can settle something within him. He’s caught off-guard by the feel of it, every time. But there’s a growing pause between you as your nose nudges along his shoulder, you’re comfortable. He’s comfortable. Rolling over onto his hip to look you in the eye and then he adds, just a bit quieter, “Y’know, when we first met… I really thought you hated me.”
That makes you blink, confused. You lift your head slightly from his chest, your frown apparent. You recall the day you had met Ralph at that garden party, and your meeting had been full of everything but hate. “What? Ralph, Why would you think that?”
Ralph chuckles softly and shakes his head a bit, his cheeks turning a bright pink as he lets out a low sound from his throat. He means for it to be a laugh, but it comes out as more of a heavy breath than anything else. “You were… funny. Very polite in your teasing. And you never laughed at my jokes.”
“That’s because your jokes were terrible.”
“They were not!” he protests with a laugh, feigning fake indignance even now. “Tried to guess your name! Mildred, that’s a funny joke!—”
“—it was nonsense, Penbury.”
He laughs again but this time he lies back, looking up at the ceiling. His joy is quiet but you can feel the way it burns in your chest more than it does your ears. Then he turns his head, his hand coming up— not quite coordinated yet with sleep still dragging at his limbs— and he touches your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone.
“I just… I felt as if you thought I was quite tiresome,” he says softly, his voice more serious now despite how he struggles to hold his eyes open. “Like I was always saying the wrong thing. I didn’t think you’d ever want to speak to me again, much less…” His eyes flick down to the bed, the two of you under the covers, and then the way your body curves toward his with each moment you spend together. “This.”
Your heart twists deep in your chest. Your eyes scan over his face once more, noting how he’s succumbed to letting his kids fall, dozing in and out of sleep as you tuck yourself closer to him and let your hand run up and down his side again. He lets out a content sigh, turning his body slightly until he’s only inches from yours. His eyes flutter open again as your fingers skim the dip of his waist and settle gently on his hip. “I didn’t hate you,” you mumble softly. “I was just… scared..”
He looks at you, soft and curious. “Of me?”
“No,” you whisper back, your thumb now brushing against his hip bone. “Of how much I liked you. You made me feel things I’d never felt so quickly before. And I thought you didn’t like me… You always looked so nervous.”
“I was nervous. You brought it out in me more so than usual,” he admits quietly and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You were…” He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as his thumb continues to stroke your cheekbone. “You were clever. And kind. And beautiful. You still are. And you let me name every single duck we saw in that park and you remembered them the week after. You made me feel like I was standing too close to a flame and not knowing whether I’d warm up or burn.”
Your throat tightens as he speaks. He says these things without guile, without even trying to be poetic. That’s just how he speaks to you. Like everything he feels is too big to stay in his chest. And in turn, too big for you to stay sane in yours. You lean up, your hand still on his chest, and you kiss him. It’s slow and sweet. Your fingers tapping right over his heart as you whisper against his lips, “I think we’ve both done a bit of burning, yeah?”
Ralph smiles against your lips, his eyes closing again as he lets himself sink into the feel of your kiss. He lets himself sink back into the bed, and finally into you. His arms wrap around your middle now, your nightdress bunching up a bit higher. His arms are solid, pulling you close until your leg’s slung over his, your cheek pressed tight against his shoulder. “I still can hardly believe you’re mine, love,” he mumbles into your hair.
“I always was,” you reply softly, resting your cheek over the beat of his heart as you drag your fingertips in the shape of a heart over his ribs. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
And for a long, quiet while, the both of you lie tangled up together in that old fancy brass bed. The world outside is still waking. But the two of you opt to stay wrapped in the quiet, forever kind of love that doesn’t need a big public fanfare— you only need Ralph’s soft touches and sleepy smiles and the occasional confession whispered against your skin.
Just you and Ralph. As it was always meant to be.
tags ;; @bib200 @prettycalla @robinbuckleywife @dancininseptember
JOSEPH QUINN AS RALPH IN TIMEWASTERS
This is my shit top pinned. That’s all.
Moodboards (coming soon)
My Edits
Fluff Favourite
Smut Favourite
Angst Favourite
Joseph Quinn {My Babygirl}
George Harrison The Beatles (coming soon)
No Name Down the Length (coming soon)
Johnny Storm Fantastic Four
Sam Warfare
Emperor Geta Gladiator ii
Eric A Quiet Place: Day One
Michael Hoard
Eddie Munson Stranger Things
Billy Knight C.B Strike
Tom Grant Make-Up
Prince Paul Catherine the Great
Enjolras Les Misérables
Grunauer Overlord
Hash The Hoist
Leonard Bast Howard's End
Jamie Kin
Ralph Timewasters
Koner Game of Thrones
Arthur Havisham Dickensian
Tutti Frutti (Except Mango)
Warnings: pure fluff—stay away if you suffer from recurring cavities! 🍬🍡🍭
There will probably be some historical inaccuracies, but we're here to dream, so let's just do it! 💗
The summer of 1929 had descended upon London with an uncharacteristic vengeance, turning the city into a sticky, breathless haze that made even the most proper drawing rooms feel like greenhouses.
Ralph Penbury, however, barely noticed the heat.
His mind had long since abandoned meteorology in favour of a far more pressing obsession: you.
He had always been the sort of young man who fell in love the way other people caught colds—suddenly, dramatically, and with very little regard for self-preservation.
In his twenty-odd years, he had declared his undying devotion to at least four different young ladies, each time accompanied by impromptu serenades, handwritten sonnets of questionable metre and the occasional public display involving too many roses or a rented string quartet.
Once, and unfortunately for him—memorably, even to a peculiar jazz musician dressed in men's clothing—whose rejection had sent him spiralling into the French Foreign Legion (a brief and ill-fated adventure, thankfully aborted before he ever left British soil).
His twin sister Victoria (non-identical) and their circle of friends had responded with the same weary affection one reserves for a particularly enthusiastic puppy: loud laughter, relentless mockery, and some unwelcome pats on his perfectly styled hair.
“Another one, Ralphie?” She would sigh, rolling her eyes as he mooned about the latest object of his affections. “Try not to propose marriage before tea this time.”
The rejections had piled up like unread invitations—polite, freezing, and invariably final. Ralph bore each one with theatrical heartbreak, flinging himself onto chaise longues and composing dirges with his ukulele—only to bounce back within days, convinced the next girl was The One.
It was endearing, in its way.
It was also exhausting.
But then you had made your entrance on the scene.
You were not one of the glittering society girls who flitted through the Penbury twins’ orbit like moths around a chandelier.
You had slipped in quietly, a friend of a friend, with a sharp wit, an insatiable appetite for novels, and a habit of listening—really listening—when Ralph spoke. Where others saw exaggeration and theatricality,
you saw enthusiasm.
Where they rolled their eyes at his improvised rhymes, you smiled softly and asked him to repeat your favourite lines.
You never laughed at him, not once.
Ralph noticed immediately.
How could he not?
It was as though someone had finally tuned the gramophone to the correct speed after years of scratchy, off-key warbling.
He found himself watching you across parlours, memorising the way your brow furrowed when you read, the bright laugh that escaped when one of his more absurd stories landed just right. He catalogued these details the way a miser hoards gold: privately, obsessively, terrified that if he spoke too soon, you would vanish like the others.
For the first time in his life, Ralph Penbury felt the weight of real love and real fear.
Not the dramatic, operatic sort he was accustomed to performing, but something quieter, more vicious: the cold terror that this time, if he got it wrong, the loss would matter. Truly matter.
So he said nothing.
He hovered instead—bringing you extra cushions during long afternoons at the Penburys’ with a warm smile on his face, fetching books he thought you might enjoy from the library before you even asked, lingering just a beat too long when your fingers brushed his while passing a teacup.
Eventually Victoria noticed, of course; she always did.
“You’re being suspiciously quiet lately, brother dear,” she teased one evening over sherry. “No romantic ballads this time? No exaggerated gallant gestures? Have you finally run out of steam?”
Ralph had flushed crimson and muttered something about summer not being the right season for poetry.
Victoria had laughed, amused, assuming it was another fleeting fancy soon to burn itself out.
But it hadn’t.
Days had stretched into weeks and weeks into months, but the feeling had only grown steady, stubborn, terrifying in its quietness.
Ralph no longer wanted to shout his love from rooftops or compose acrostics in your honour (though the temptation remained).
He wanted something smaller. Something true.
Something only yours.
Something that proved he could be more than the court jester.
And so, on this sweltering afternoon in late August, with the sun beating mercilessly against the tall windows of the Penbury townhouse, Ralph had hatched his plan.
It was simple, quite embarrassingly so, but if the enthusiastic words he’d overheard at Victoria's latest party—coming from nothing less than the mouth of one of her most demanding friends—meant what he thought it did… perhaps, just perhaps, he could finally be on the right track.
“Who loves you will peel your fruit, my dear.” She had declared, holding court upon her return from a honeymoon that had cost an arm and a leg (from what was rumored, not that Ralph cared). “There's nothing more boring and annoying in the world. If there's someone who takes care of it for you—without getting paid, I mean—well... that someone really loves you to bits.”
You were certainly not as snobbish and superficial as she was, but you had still nodded to that statement, small but firm.
So, now he sat in the shaded corner of the garden room, a small knife in one trembling hand and a mountain of fruit before him, waiting for you to arrive.
His cream shirt clung to his sweating back, a mutinous curl kept on sticking to his forehead, but he scarcely noticed.
His heart hammered louder than the heat—and it was bloody damned hot that day.
Just before tea time the garden room door opened with a soft creak, admitting a rush of women’s chatter from the foyer and the faint scent of fresh baked biscuits that someone had bravely prepared despite the scorching heat.
You stepped in alone, a well worn volume tucked under one arm (of course) and a soft, easy expression on your clean face.
A few strands of hair—that you continued to wear long despite the current fashion—had escaped their pins to curl against your neck.
Ralph’s heart executed a perfect somersault and landed somewhere near his throat.
You moved through the world with the quiet confidence of someone who had long since decided that propriety was a suggestion rather than a commandment.
He loved your unconventional, independent side.
You were unlike any other girl he'd ever met.
You were unique and irreplaceable, absolutely wonderful.
“Oh—hello miss!” He said, far too surprised, as though he had not spent the last forty minutes rehearsing this exact moment in his head. “Splendid timing. I was just preparing… a little something. For the heat, you know. One must combat this beastly weather with… fresh fruit.” He gestured grandly at the coffee table before him, as if unveiling a priceless artefact rather than a teetering pyramid of peaches, apricots, pears and a single defiant mango that had cost him an embarrassing amount of pocket money at the greengrocer’s.
You paused just inside the threshold, taking in the peculiar scene: Ralph Penbury, posh scion of London high society, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar carefully unbuttoned, a single bead of sweat tracing a slow but determined path down his temple.
Your lips curved and eyes sparkled—soft, knowing, affectionate.
You did not laugh—you’d never laugh at him.
“How thoughtful, Ralph!” You beamed, voice cheerful but threaded with that gentle mischief that always made him feel simultaneously exposed and cherished. “You’ve turned this ordinary space into a sort of… fruit operating room, I see.”
Ralph flushed from collarbone to hairline, brown gaze darting away from you for a brief moment.
“Well—yes. Precisely. One does the best to survive.” He cleared his throat, picked up a peach with the solemnity of a doctor selecting a scalpel, and began to peel. “I thought perhaps you might appreciate not having to wrestle with the wretched things yourself. Fruit can be so… uncooperative.”
The small knife slipped from his trembling fingers, but he managed to catch it just in time, narrowly avoiding an impromptu performance of amateur surgery.
You settled into the wicker chair opposite him, setting your book on the table with deliberate care. It was Virginia Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’—the copy with your pencil notes in the margins, the one you had confessed made you want to weep and throw things at once.
Ralph remembered, of course.
He remembered every single thing about you.
“I do hate peeling fruit indeed,” you admitted, watching his hands work. “It’s sticky and fiddly and always ends bad with juice dripping everywhere,” you stopped, looking at his concentrated grimace, the tip of his tongue just peeking out between his lips.
Clearly he had never peeled anything in his life before that day, and the thought gave your stomach a languid tug downwards because he was trying so hard to be good at what he was doing.
“I confess this is the first time I have someone volunteer to do battle on my behalf,” you continued in an intimate whisper between the two of you, even though you were still alone—thankfully.
Ralph’s hand paused mid-stroke. He glanced up, eyes wide and earnest under the damp curls that refused to stay in place today. “Then allow me to be the first, dearest. And, er—the only… if you’ll permit it.”
The words hung between you for a heartbeat—too honest, too hurried, too Ralph.
He cursed himself mentally and busied himself back with the peach, slicing it into neat crescents and sliding the gold-rimmed porcelain plate with floral motifs toward you.
You took a piece, bit into it slowly, and let the sweetness burst against your taste buds.
Your gaze never left his reddening face.
“Mmm, delicious.” You smiled. “You’re surprisingly eclectic in your secret talents—but I expected nothing less from a gentleman who once arrived at his own birthday party wearing tap shoes.”
Ralph made a small, strangled sound that was half laugh, half mortified groan. “Ah… You heard about that, too?”
“Victoria is an excellent storyteller.” Your smile was wickedly gentle. “She said you were magnificent in them.”
He grabbed the mango with some urgency, turning it over in his fingers without really knowing where to start the operation.
“Yes… They were quite… wizard,” he muttered without looking at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
You watched him wrestle with the unfamiliar, prickly skin; the knife slipping once… twice…
“I can imagine. Do you think I could have the honor of dancing with you at the next party, while you wear them?”
Ralph gasped loudly and fixed his big, soft eyes on yours—distracting himself from the treacherous mission he was trying to complete.
The blade slipped, barely touching the side of his thumb, and a tiny drop of blood appeared on his skin.
He stared at it as though it were a personal betrayal.
“Good Lord,” he squeaked, “I’ve wounded myself in the line of duty.”
Before he could launch into full theatrical despair or faint, you reached across the table, caught his hand gently and pressed your clean handkerchief to the minuscule cut.
“It was a difficult duel, Ralphie,” you said, voice low and fond. “I really appreciate your valor.”
He froze, staring at your fingers curled around his hand.
The blood had already stained the thin white cotton.
You had just called him ‘Ralphie’.
It was the first time.
Suddenly the garden room seemed hotter and smaller, the air thicker, the distant hum of London traffic miles away.
His pulse thundered in his ears and throat.
“I—I’m sorry. I… only wanted—” he swallowed on nothing and tried again. “I only wanted to do something nice and sweet—for you. Only for you. Something that wasn’t… ridiculous… But apparently I'm just not capable of not being a complete mess—”
Your thumb slowly brushed over the back of his hand, trying to comfort him.
“It isn’t ridiculous,” you said quietly. “You are not ridiculous, or a mess. You’re kind, tender… Absolutely perfect.”
Ralph looked at you then—really looked—eyes shining with something fragile and hopeful and utterly unguarded.
For once, he had no words.
No quip, no flourish, no improvised rhyme—just himself, distraught and flushed and trembling—only a breath away from you.
It would have taken very little—for you to lean forward just a little more, for him to slide further just a little onto the leather sofa—and your mouths would have touched.
That would have been enough for Ralph to die happy—finally kissing you, gently holding your face as though you were the most precious thing in the world.
To him, you truly were.
You smiled at him like you knew exactly what he was thinking about, as though you had been waiting for this exact moment all summer.
The moment stretched for long seconds, dainty and electric, with only the low table between you and the ticking of his pocket watch.
Ralph was still holding the offending mango in his free hand—the other still wrapped in your handkerchief—and your fingers were holding it with such care his chest ached in the best way.
His eyes, wide and shining, left yours just for a moment, landing on your mouth.
“Darling…” His breath came shallow and quick, caressing your hot cheeks.
You tilted your head slightly and he did the same, both parting your lips and finally—
The door burst open.
Victoria swept in like a shimmering storm—all sequins and beads and feathers—followed by three of her closest, most giggling friends. They carried a tray of biscuits and a bottle of lemonade that sloshed dangerously to their unexpected halt.
“Oh, Ralphie!” Victoria crowed the instant she saw you both frozen in place, hands still touching across the table. “What on earth is this? A fruit massacre? And you, brother dear, are looking like a man who’s just been caught proposing to the poor mango!”
The girls dissolved into delighted laughter, clustering around like curious birds.
One fanned herself dramatically. “Look at him—positively scarlet! Did we interrupt a tender moment, Ralphie? Or were you simply demonstrating your legendary dexterity with a weapon?”
Ralph’s face went from pink to puce.
He tried to speak, but only managed a strangled “V-Victoria—! Please!” before the words vanished into a mortified silence.
He let go of your hand (but not of the mango), bouncing to his feet like a spring.
You stood up too, but with measured calm, your patience dangerously thinning like ice under that scorching August sun.
You felt the shame rise from his body in bitter waves.
His shoulders hunched as bracing himself for another round of good-natured ridicule—the same ridicule that had followed him in every enthusiastic, spontaneous gesture of affection or excitement.
Many people had laughed at him—not with him—laughed at his hasty declarations of admiration, at his serenades out of tune, at his wizard tap shoes…
But this time it would be different.
This time, on the other side, there was you—in love with him from the very first moment you had seen him, awkward and adorable at the last Christmas party.
So you did not wait anymore.
With a soft, determined exhale, you leaned across the table, fists closing around the fine fabric of his shirt.
“Enough,” you said—quiet but steady, clear enough to cut through the giggles like a bell.
The room stilled.
Victoria’s mouth opened, then closed again.
The girls exchanged bewildered glances.
You tugged him gently, but firm.
Ralph’s eyes flew impossibly wider as you pulled him forward—across the table, over scattered peach slices and the mango that finally rolled forgotten to the floor—and kissed him.
It was not tentative, or shy.
It was sweet, final, peach-flavoured.
He froze for one stunned second before closing his eyelids and melting into you.
His uninjured hand rose instinctively to cradle the back of your neck—uncertain at first, then firmer—as though afraid you might run for the hills if he held on too loosely.
The kiss lasted only a handful of heartbeats, but when you drew back, Ralph’s face was a masterpiece of dazed wonder: lips swollen, cheeks flaming, curls in disarray, eyes glassy with something happier than tears.
The silence in the garden room was deafening.
Then Victoria let out a delighted whoop.
“Well, I never!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands in ecstasy. “My beloved brother, finally getting the girl for whom he had lost his mind—and without a single ballad! Miracles do happen, now I know it!”
Her friends burst into a new wave of cheerful giggles, taking her under arms and turning back the way they had come.
Ralph blinked slowly, like he was waking from the most perfect dream ever.
His voice, when it came out, was hoarse and reverent.
“You… you had just kissed me, darling.”
You smiled, thumb brushing once more over the back of his bandaged hand.
“Yes, Ralphie,” you said softly.
He looked at you as if you'd just grown a new head.
"Why did you do that? In front of Victoria and her friends, no less! In ten minutes, all of London will know and they won't leave you alone!”
You frowned just a moment before walking around the small table, approaching him from his side and placing your fingers on his cheeks.
In addition to the second head, you had also just sprouted wings and a dragon's tail.
“So? What do you want me to care about?!” You were fierce as you caressed his cheekbones with your thumbs. “I would do it again now. Then tomorrow. And the day after. And every day you want to peel fruit for me—or sing off-key, or wear those wizard tap shoes. I would do it as long as you want me to.”
He stared at you, utterly undone.
Then, with a shaky, radiant smile that lit the entire room brighter than the damned sun, Ralph Penbury leaned in and kissed you back—properly this time, with all his clumsy, tender longing.
When you pulled apart for air, you rested your forehead on his, smiling and adjusting his collar. "So... Mrs. Fletpad was right after all: those who truly love you peel your fruit..."
Ralph laughed heartily, giving you another quick peck on the mouth. "Yes, absolutely. Especially the bloody mango.”
|| good to me ||
Pairing: Ralph Penbury/Reader
Summary: Ralph had been not so subtly sneaking around the house with a camera. You had to find out what he was up to.
Word count: 2.4k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, little slice of (married) life, Ralph is a nuisance (affectionate), reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(This was absolutely inspired by the iconic "I have some pictures I took of you when you weren't looking" line. Stay classy, Ralph. The research I had to put in for this tiny fic was unreal, I swear. But look at this gorgeous photo that absolutely saved me when I'd written myself into a corner.)
Ralph Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
It was a beautiful morning, in the midst of the sunniest June you had yet seen. Dappled sunlight streamed through the ivory voile curtains, and a gentle breeze whispered through the open bedroom window. The lavender were already in full bloom in the gardens below, their faint scent floating up through the warm air.
This time of the morning was always your favourite. Not so early that you felt as though you had been robbed of sleep, and not so late that the day felt as though it was already slipping out of your grasp.
You sat at your vanity table, still dressed in your pyjamas, as you meticulously removed each little duckbill clip that had held your hair in place overnight. Normally at this time, Ralph would be going through his usual routine of opening and closing one of the clips with little quacking noises to make you laugh, but today he was distracted with something else. You could see a little of what he was doing in the reflection of the mirror that sat in front of you.
“Ralphie,” you called, gently teasing your curls loose with your fingers. “What are you doing?”
The clattering coming from behind you suddenly stopped.
“Oh! I forgot to show you, didn’t I? Silly me. I was in the attic just yesterday, and I found this!” he said excitedly.
He crossed the room to you, holding the object out for you to see with a wide smile on his face.
It was a camera. A slight older model of one, from the looks of it.
“Oh, how lovely,” you said. “Does it still work?”
He turned the camera carefully in his hands as he looked at it.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he replied with a little frown. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“Well, as long as you’re not trying to take pictures of me while I'm getting ready,” you said with a little laugh, turning your attention back to your hair.
Ralph laughed too. A little too loudly, you noticed.
“Yes, of course,” he replied quickly. “How…vulgar that would be of me.”
He laughed again, nervously this time, before promptly turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
Your eyes narrowed briefly, and then you thought no more of it.
The next few days passed with Ralph absolutely infatuated with his new find. He had managed to figure out how it worked, which he was delighted with, and had insisted upon showing it all to you.
At first, you thought it was quite sweet that he’d taken such a liking to it. But now, you were beginning to find it rather irksome. For starters, he never seemed to put the bloody thing down. You wouldn't mind so much, but trying to have even a simple conversation with him as he was right now was like trying to wade through treacle.
“Ralph,” you said, attempting to keep your tone light. “Do you think perhaps we could have dinner without your new toy on the table?”
His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he quickly slid the camera under the tablecloth out of sight.
“Yes, darling, of course,” he muttered, not quite able to meet your eye.
Not only that, but he seemed to be getting more and more underfoot. Quite literally, at times. More than once, you found yourself tripping over him as he attempted to set up a shot of the garden, or of a flower in a vase. He really was all limbs sometimes, particularly as he was now, splayed out on the rug a few metres away from where you sat.
Afternoons like these, when the sun was a little too high for the gardens to be a comfortable resting spot, were perfect for retiring to the library with a book for a few hours, and so that is what you had decided to do.
Of course, it does always help to have quiet when reading, and well...
Ralph, as usual, was anything but quiet. He was rather fond of muttering to himself as he went about his everyday tasks, and right now was no different. You found yourself peering more and more over the top of your book, entirely unable to concentrate.
By the third time he had distracted you, you were quick to notice that the camera in his hands was now aimed at you.
Ralph's eyes met yours, and he only just managed to stop himself from shattering the camera on the floor in his clumsiness.
"Are you alright?" you asked, placing your now quite forgotten book down in your lap.
Ralph stood up a little too straight, looking every which way but at you.
"Yes! Yes, of course," he answered, in that nervous way you had become all too familiar with.
The one that said he was definitely up to something, and was not about to admit to it.
"Are you sure?" you persisted gently, your hands now folded on top of your book as you watched him.
Ralph turned his head quickly. You knew that if he'd had a hand to spare, he would have been pulling at the collar of his shirt in a fretful manner.
Your dear old Ralphie always was so predictable.
"Of course, of course I am," he replied, his laugh more of a nervous titter. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He cleared his throat loudly, looking down at the camera.
"Well now, I must be- I should-"
He trailed off into a non-committal mumble before swiftly leaving the room.
You sat for a moment, your gaze fixed on the door that Ralph had almost fallen through in his haste to leave.
What on earth was wrong with him?
Being married meant that you were more than familiar with Ralph's little quirks - one of them being that he was rather prone to picking up new hobbies and dropping them again as quickly as that. You surmised that in no more than a week, this silly camera business would be long forgotten about, and he would be causing a commotion with some other fad or trinket.
Oh, how wrong you were.
Ralph seemed more enthused with his new pastime than ever, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that that blasted camera seemed to be pointed more and more at you.
While you had to admit to yourself that it was rather endearing in a manner of speaking, it also left you feeling quite uneasy. Couldn't he just ask you, instead of sneaking around as he evidently was? Granted, you never had been the most comfortable with having your photograph taken, but even so. It would be nice for him to ask for your permission.
Perhaps you were overthinking things, you tried to reason with yourself. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence that Ralph seemed to follow you around with his camera. The two of you did spend quite a lot of time together, as married couples tend to do, and so it made sense that it would seem that way.
Besides, there really wasn't a bad bone in Ralph's body, so even if he was up to something, surely no harm would come of it.
Somewhat reassured, you tried to put it to rest.
Until you caught him at it again.
You were in the midst of getting ready for bed one evening, make-up washed off and hair reset for the next day. You had just finished tying your dressing robe around your waist when Ralph had walked in with, unsurprisingly, his camera in tow.
He had been very well-behaved the past few days, and so you had thought nothing of it. Until you had turned to adjust one of your hair clips in the mirror of your vanity, and he was doing it again.
You felt your jaw clench. You had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, but this was getting ridiculous now.
Twice was a coincidence, but thrice was certainly a pattern, and by now, you had had quite enough of his odd behaviour. You marched across the room, and Ralph's eyes widened, almost comically, as he saw you approach.
"Give me the camera," you demanded, holding out your hand.
Ralph clutched it to his chest protectively.
"Why?" he asked in a wavering voice.
"Now, Ralph," you insisted.
Hesitantly, he handed it over to you.
"Follow me," you said.
Before he had the chance to reply, you had grabbed his hand and all but pulled him across the room to your vanity table. You sat down on the little velvet bench in front of it, placing the camera on the table so that the lens was facing the mirror.
Ralph stood next to you nervously, unsure as to what to do with himself. You patted the space next to you.
"Sit," you said firmly.
Thankfully, he did as he was told without argument. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but it would more than suffice for what you had in mind.
You placed your hand on top of the camera, positioning your index finger over the shutter button.
"Ralphie," you called in your sweetest voice.
Immediately, Ralph turned his attention to you. Hook, line and sinker, as always. You reached out with your free hand, grabbing him by the collar of his pyjama shirt, and dragged him forward to kiss him. You could hardly stop yourself from smiling as you felt him gasp against your mouth, while your finger pressed down on the button. The camera made a whirring sound, followed by a loud click, and it was only then that you released Ralph from your vice-like grip.
"There," you said with a satisfied smile. "Are you happy now?"
Ralph just stared at you, with the same dazed expression he often had after one too many glasses of sherry.
"I- Well- What?" he managed to stammer.
You tilted your head to one side, feeling rather pleased with yourself. It wasn't the easiest task to render your husband speechless, and so you were always quick to bask in it the rare time you were able to manage it.
"Do you really think I'm stupid?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "You've been about as subtle as a brick tossed through a window."
Ralph's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink at that.
"Darling, if you'd let me explain," he said quietly, as he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve.
"Go on, then," you replied, unable to hide your amusement.
"Well, you see I- It's just-"
He stopped himself, taking a little breath.
"I know that you don't particularly enjoy having your photograph taken, and while I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, I don't like pushing you to do things that make you uncomfortable. But..."
He trailed off, as if choosing his next words carefully. You said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
"Well, I...I thought perhaps I might take some candid photographs of you. You know, whilst you were preoccupied. That way, I wouldn't be bothering you."
Only Ralph could make something as odd as trying to sneak photographs of you sound so...romantic.
"I know I've been quite a pain these past few days," he continued, shyly glancing up at you. "I do hope you'll be able to forgive me."
Now more than ever, you were grateful that Ralph hadn't quite figured out how to make a weapon out of the look he was giving you right now, otherwise you'd be in serious trouble. For how could you possibly remain angry at such a sweet face?
You took his hands in yours, squeezing them gently.
"From now on, just ask me, alright?" you asked. "No more of this 'sneaking around' business. I might not always say yes, but...well, now that I know it means so much to you, I'm certainly willing to try a little more."
Ralph's face lit up at that, and he leaned in to kiss you again.
"Thank you, dear," he replied, his forehead pressed lightly against yours. "I couldn't possibly ask for more."
It was a week or so before Ralph returned home with his developed photographs. He almost tripped over the threshold of the door in his haste to bring them to you. Without warning, he all but threw himself into the space on the settee next to you. You wisely set aside the embroidery you had been working on.
"They're here!" he said excitedly. "I just picked them up an hour ago. I haven't opened them yet, even though I've been just dying to."
As contagious as Ralph's excitement always was, you found yourself feeling a little nervous as he tore through the large brown envelope and began eagerly flipping through each print. A good deal of them were out of focus or off-centre, but he had definitely begun to improve as time went on.
Then he stopped suddenly, and you felt your heart stammer against your ribcage.
There it was. The photograph you had taken together. Of the two of you kissing, framed by the gilded mirror. Ralph's eyes were wide open in surprise, and yours were shut just a little too tight. It was a little blurred, and the camera took up a great deal of room, but...
You carefully reached out to lift it, looking over each and every little detail.
It was perfect.
"You certainly have the makings of a photographer in you, darling," Ralph said softly.
You turned to look at him, and the fond look on his face set your heart aflutter all over again.
"Perhaps we might keep this one to ourselves," you replied shyly. "Think of the scandal it would cause, hanging it in the sitting room."
You laughed nervously, expecting Ralph to do the same, but instead he shook his head.
"Oh, let people talk," he murmured, with quiet sincerity in his voice. "As if it's a scandal to love my beautiful wife as much as I do."
You could feel yourself becoming rather overcome with emotion, and you turned your attention back to the photograph in your hands.
He was right. What did it matter, really?
You felt Ralph's arm wrap carefully around your waist, his hand giving your hip a gentle squeeze. You laid your head on his shoulder, expelling a soft breath, and allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet together.
Perhaps Ralph's ridiculous notions for hobbies weren't always quite so ridiculous after all.
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