#Writing Drabbles and Excerpts

[maydays-medbay]

Teaser for something I have planned, feel free to speculate!

TW: Gore mentions, graphic depictions of violence (kinda? better safe than sorry), horror scenarios, PTSD/Anxiety Attack/Flashbacks

I hope that covers everything lol

|| A figure stood in the doorway, outlined in the flickering light of the hall. His frame rattled, the traitorous kibble betraying the fear humming underneath his armor. The silhouette entered the room, just a step, though it felt like hundreds too many. It needed to leave. Go somewhere far, far away from him.

It spoke with indecipherable glyphs: broken, choppy, fragmented bits of speech that sounded nothing like words. It was hard to tell whether or not the noise he heard was from the silhouette in front of him or his own racing spark. They were blending together into a cacophonic mix of sound that pulsed harshly behind his optics, nearly causing a noise to rip from his throat.

His servo fumbled along the ground, reaching for something that he could grab- anything he could use to defend himself. Cold metal touched the tips of his digits and he grabbed it as fast as he could, never taking his sight from the figure stalking closer. Watching the shadowy outline move made his head spin.

Through his swimming vision, he saw the figure take another step…

[The room was dark, sinking in an abyssal muck that couldn’t be wiped away. Claws grappled him, pulling him in and trapping him there. He kicked and fought, but those hooked digits held tight and those glyphs fluttered by his audial while pins shot into his exposed cording]

and another…

[He screamed, screamed until his throat was raw. Why won’t anyone help? Why is he being ignored? Why did they leave him here with this monster...]

and another…

[He clawed at his throat, ripping at the loose cabling until he couldn’t feel his digits coated in his own gore. They left him there alone, they ignored his crying and now they’ll ignore it again, as they always would.]

Until his arm lashed out on instinct, straight upwards into those spotlights beaming down at him.

Then, in a flash of purple, silver and pink, his spark froze. ||

[purplecoffee13]

Busy*

Summary: “Harry has to work on a Saturday, and it leaves you quite frustrated. You settle on a compromise…”

Wc: 2.2k

Warnings: c0ckwarming, degradation kink, squ!rting, overstimulation, daddy kink, Harry being kinda mean (but in a hot sexy way)

A/N: hey besties, here’s a blurb for you. Thank you for the patience! I hope you enjoy this smutty little fic🤭

Blurbs Masterlist

General Masterlist

Harry is a busy man.

Not that there is anything wrong with that, except for one little thing: your fiancé works mostly from home.

He's not required to visit the office all the time because he works at an IT company. He's explained his job to you countless of times, but you always get confused about the details. What you don't get confused about is his absurd work hours, though. In fact, it causes loads of aggravation, such as today.

It was supposed to be a nice, calm Saturday. You had both blocked it out to be able to enjoy a full weekend together, but a big mistake had caused chaos at Harry's company, and it needed to be fixed before the weekend was over.

The worst part? He got the call right when he was about to sink his cock into you, and it's all you've been thinking about since he's isolated himself into that little office of his at nine in the morning. It is now two o'clock, and you fear you might be going crazy. It doesn't help that you are clearly ovulating, and it's obviously one of the main indicators that drive you to enter his office.

Harry glances at you, his eyes softening in that second he sees you in a tanktop and a cardigan you threw on. You didn't bother to put on shorts, it's not like you had to cover up for anyone anyway. Unfortunately his attention is back on the screen quite quickly, along with a crease between his brows.

He's frustrated. You could help with that.

A hint of a smirk paints your face as you near your fiancé, and he only fully redirects his focus to you when you climb on top of him, straddling him in his desk chair. The satisfied hum that leaves his mouth vibrates against your shoulder, where he inhales your scent. He huffs, plants a kiss on your neck, and scoots the chair towards the desk before resuming his furious typing on the keyboard.

You say nothing as you pepper Harry with kisses. You make sure you don't miss an inch, slowly working your way up to his jaw. The entire time, he doesn't move an inch, as if he's unaffected by your attention.

Your slightly bruised ego doesn't like that, and soon enough you begin to subtly grind your hips against him. That does cause a reaction.

The low baritone of his breathy voice tickles down your spine as he laughs at your desperation. Your stomach seems to be doing cartwheels at the sound of it.

"Baby..." his tone is warning, but huskily enough to know that he wants you to go on. You him softly, continuing with the movement of your hips. "What are you doing, hmm?"

"Missed you." You admit, rolling against him harsher than before. Harry bites back a groan, but his eyes stay glued to his laptop, and the clacking of his fingers against the keyboard doesn't stagnate either.

"I've been right here all day." He points out, even though he knows what you mean. He's just trying to be a tease and you both know it. Right now though, you don't care, you just want him.

"Not where I want you." You reply stubbornly, your hands tugging at his belt.

"And where is it that you want me?"

"Inside of me."

"Oh no I can't do that, baby. I'm working, remember?"

"But I need you..." you whine hopelessly. You know Harry likes it when you get all desperate for him, and right now you are feeling very much so.

He finally leans back to look you in the eyes, assessing your current state of mind. "Yeah?"

"So bad, daddy. Please, I'll be good."

From the way Harry clenches his jaw, you can see he has given in, and you'll get your way. He sighs, raising his brows as he gives you a nod.

“Alright… take off your clothes.” He orders, and you immediately do as he says, getting rid of your cardigan and top and throwing them across the room. "You can warm up my cock while I work— get up."

Again, you are incredibly fast to obey him, standing up so he could pull down his pants and take out his already hard cock. With a flick of his fingers, he gestures for you to come sit down again, and you do as he demands, pushing your panties to the side and filling yourself up to the brim.

You are so horny and sensitive, you know you won't need much to come. Wrapping yourself around Harry is like breathing fresh air, it’s right and always seems to clear your mind.

"Good girl." Is the only thing Harry whispers before he resumes to his work. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a pained sigh as you soak in the length of him. He always feels at home between your legs, like he belongs there. You know he knows that he does, it's why he can get away with shit like this.

He's aware of how desperate you can get for his cock, because it feels like there is a part of you that’s missing whenever he's not filling you up. He knows your pussy is his to stuff whenever he wants to.

That thought alone makes you clench around him, which earns you a smack against your bum. You jolt forward, not expecting the intensity of the sting, and moan at the friction that it gives you.

"Behave." Is all Harry says, his tone rough and demanding. It nearly sends a shiver down your spine. You love it when he gets like that, so dominant.

You stay still, exactly like he ordered, but when you suddenly feel Harry leaning back and place his fingers on your clit, you know the real torture is only just beginning. Swallowing away a moan, you try your hardest to keep your composure as Harry begins to rub lazy circles on your puffy clit.

Your attempt to keep quiet is ruined when he pinches your clit, and a small squeak escapes your lips. Before you can even apologize, Harry's free hand spanks your ass. Again, you move a bit from the impact, and this time, it nearly sends you over the edge. Your fiancé is being extremely cruel, his eyes never leaving that damned computer of his. At this point you want to smash the entire thing to have his eyes be on you, to have all of his attention.

Harry resumes to lazily rubbing your clit for a bit, and you develop a breathing pattern that helps you keep quiet. Rewarding your obedience, his pace picks up, and so does the pressure he places on your clit with his fingers.

You bury your face into his neck, hands clenching around the back of the chair as your legs begin to shake. The stimulation is too much to handle and you feel like you might explode as you come around Harry's cock. The pathetic cry—muffled slightly by your lips on his shoulder—that leaves you gets a kiss on your shoulder instead of a slap this time, and you sigh in relief as you come down from your orgasm.

You are surprised to feel Harry's hands redirect yours as he scoots forward, and wraps them around the desk behind you. You hold onto the wooden table and watch him lean back in his seat again, arms on the armrest, before he gives you a slight nod, one that says 'go on'. When you don't immediately do what he says, Harry speaks up.

"C'mon then, ride me. 'S what you wanted, wasn't it?"

You nod feverishly and begin grinding on his cock. He lets out a breath through his nose, his eyes shamelessly raking down your naked body while he is still almost fully clothed. The power difference is so apparent, and it makes your stomach swerve even more. You get off on Harry acting so cocky, and he always knows how to play into your desires.

Mindlessly, your hand reaches for Harry's shoulders, but he catches your wrist and harshly puts it behind your back again, shaking his head in disapproval.

"No touching."

Your determination to satisfy him overpowers you and you begin to bounce on his cock with all the strength you have. In this position, with your hands on your back, it's not very easy to do so, but you'd do anything Harry tells you to do.

"Tell me what a pathetic cock slut you are." He growls, slightly out of breath from the pleasure you are giving him.

"I'm so pathetic." You respond instantly, like it's second nature to answer to him. He groans, loving your fast obedience when it comes to his commands.

"Yeah?" He eggs you on, indicating for you to continue talking, to continue degrading yourself.

"I can't control myself around you, I need to have your cock inside me all of the time." You go on, feeling your second high approaching when he hums in response. Harry moves slightly in his seat, and you know he is getting antsy to get his hands on you. But you know that he won't falter.

“Prove it, come on my cock again baby.”

Fingers curled tightly around the desk, so bad that your knuckles have surely turned white, you feel your release wash over you. You stop your movements, unable to keep control of your shaking legs. You clench around Harry in the aftermath of your mind-blowing orgasm, and the groan that falls from his lips tells you that his sperm will be coating your walls at any given moment.

Despite being in your fucked out state of mind, you can tell that Harry’s not going to move to make himself come; he’s too stubborn. Still woozy, you gather the strength you have left and begin grinding your hips, hissing at the extreme, almost uncomfortable sensitivity that your clit is faced with at the cause of this friction.

But Harry’s ragged breathing, and the hint of a moan that leaves his mouth makes it all worth it. It triggers a satisfied, desperate sound of your own.

“Please, fill me up daddy.” You cry out, working through the overstimulation you are giving yourself by grinding against him like this. The little frown on your face is adorable, and the sight of it along with everything else that you are doing to Harry makes him cum on the spot. A smile creeps onto your face as you feel Harry emptying his balls inside you, filling up your womb with his seed.

You let out a shriek when you feel Harry’s thumb attach itself to your clit, but when you move back, his arm wraps itself around your waist and pushes your forward, urging you to go on. A tear trickles down your cheek, and you whimper incoherent words strung together, hoping it’ll resemble somewhat of a sentence.

“What? I can’t hear you baby.”

You shut your eyes at the intensity of Harry’s touch on your heat. It’s taking over every last bit of your senses, but despite feeling like you can’t think anymore, you take a deep breath before you exclaim. “It’s t— too much!”

“You asked for this. Now don’t be such a fucking brat and give me another orgasm.” He argues, the certainty in his tone sounding almost cruel. You open your eyes and meet his stone-cold face, determined in his goal to make you come again. Maybe he just is plain cruel, but you can’t deny that it brings you closer to your high. Harry just always seems to know the right words to say to make you feel like you’re floating.

In this case, you feel like you’re floating out of your body. You only seem to be focused on his thumb rubbing those torturous circles over and over again, fastening his pace as much as he can. Your poor attempt at restraining your moans makes you sound like a wounded animal, purely helpless.

“Come on…” Harry coaxes you, a hint of frustration hidden behind his voice, as if his release isn’t complete without your final one.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” He interrupts you sternly, smacking your ass as he starts rubbing back and forth over your clit. “and you will.”

It’s then that your release hit you, like a truck. Knocking out every last one of your senses, your orgasm takes over your body much like you imagine a demon would. It hurts just enough to feel hallucinatory, and you could swear you lose your sight for a second.

“N— ooh! Harry!” You scream, clawing at him with the little strength you have left. The evident wetness that coats both your and Harry’s legs causes the realization of what he’s accomplished to dawn on you.

He just made you squirt.

You have no energy to comment on it, though, snuggling your head into his shoulder the second you come down from your orgasm. Harry strokes your hair, peppering your tingling skin with kisses, commenting on how well you did for him.

When he tries to get up from your seat, you let out a muffled ‘no’, that makes him stop in his tracks.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, please.” You beg, hugging him tighter. You are simply too tired to do anything right now and all you want is to be close to Harry right now. He hums softly, relaxing in the seat again.

“Alright darling, we’ll stay here for a little while…”

[heretoobsessstuff]

“we’re all gonna miss major Cleven, sir”.

Major Cleven John thought bitterly. Gale. Sweet beautiful Gale. Gale who was there. In the cockpit. Fighting for his life while John was sleeping next to a random woman. Gale who was falling from the sky. Living his last moments. Losing blood. In pain. Scared and cold and alone. While John was here in London. Drinking and coaxing a random woman to spend more time in his bed. Where was Gale now? His Gale. Laying on the dirt and mud somewhere? Lost in some distant German field with no one to look for him? His ocean blue eyes forever closed? What had become of him? Of his Gale? Was anything even left of him?

John felt sick with anger. His thoughts ran wild with no one to tame them. I should’ve never left him alone. I should’ve been up there with him. Protecting him. Looking out for him. It was supposed to be me and him left up in the sky. Not me in London and him lost somewhere I can never reach. It’s all my fault. I failed him. I failed him. Grief clawing at his throat. Suffocating him. His eyes stinging with unshed tears and the lump he had swollen down a hundred times with the alcohol. He needed to go. Avenge Buck. Or find him. Or join him. Wherever he was.

“Don’t worry Kenny” he said. Jumping into the Jeep. Hands shaking. “I don’t even feel it”.

Read Another drabble from Gale’s POV here:

[ghostplasmas]

“So… what happened?” Twilight asked, walking over to time. He was undeniably a ghost, that much was obvious. His form shimmered under the moonlight, a soft, pale blue. Twi sat down next to him, and Time looked back up at the moon.

“I died.” He said joyfully, and Twilight rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got that much- but. How? And why are you in… a puppet body?” He clarified, and Times' cheeky grin dropped to a soft smile.

“I died to a black blooded monster. There was a camp near the Lost woods in my era, and… I didn't realize how strong they were until it was too late.” He spoke, his voice soft, like chimes blowing in the wind. Twilight wasn't entirely sure Time was even talking- his voice rattling around in his head.

Twilight looked down at the grass, chewing the inside of his lip. “What about your new body?” He asked. Time made a strange face, staring at the moon intensely. Twilight mentally smacked himself- Time never talked about his past, why would he want to talk about this?

“It was a compromise with Hylia.” Time said, and Twilight’s eyes blew wide, staring at him.

“What?”

“My journey wasn't over.” Time said. “I wasn't supposed to die- at least. That's what she told me. She needed to bring me back, but… I couldn't stand the thought of Malon losing me again- so. I asked for a body that made it so I couldn't. I asked for enough time to be with Malon for the rest of her life.” He said quietly, before barking out a laugh. “I didn't expect her to turn me into a Puppet.”

Twilight stared at Time, baffled. This made Time laugh loud and clear, finding his surprise immensely humorous. “You don't believe me?” He asked, and Twilight shook his head.

“No! It's just.” Twilight struggled to find the right word for how utterly insane it sounded.

“Crazy? Yeah. It does seem like that.” He smiled. And Twilight couldn't help the nagging feeling in his chest. Seeing him now- the armor, the markings, and the way his voice echoed in his mind-

“at the beginning of my journey…” Twilight started, before clenching his jaw. He already started. He needed to finish it. “There was a ghost I met…”

[grailknightmonty]

"the moon will sing a song of chaos"

She had leapt down onto the fortress gracefully like a meteor having mastered its landing, and ran past them way quicker than either of the two could have reacted. Eyes ablaze, as Pearl ran past Skizz she scooped up the wither skull at his feet which he had just leaned down to grab.

"Wh-HEY!"

"Sorry mate, tasks's a task!"

She threw the Ianitee a salute and a wink as she took off in the opposite, soon being followed by both Skizz and Impulse who spun around to start chasing her down the crimson brick bridge. She could hear Impulse shouting something, but she was far too focused to make out exactly what. As she came to the edge of the fortress, she paused for a moment to brandish her dual scythes, giving Impulse a chance to swing at her, only narrowly missing as she parried his axe and knocked him slightly backwards with the swing of her other weapon. She swiftly turned and dived off downwards towards the lava- fire resistance pot already downed well before she had even approached the duo- trails of flames coming off the diamond blades, and her singed crimson cloak billowing behind her.

Skizz ran past Impulse to rush to the edge, and as he watched her fall, he swore he could see the outline of the god of chaos appear in between the strikes of flame, eyes judging, but ever curious at the player below.

Heard that Pearl is a Mianite enjoyer and I haven't looked back 👀 She would make the perfect Dianitee

[omegaovaries]

prompt: assumptions (warnings: omegaverse) | ao3

Of course Ace had realized that when he re-met Sabo they were already past puberty and thus had already presented. 

He and Sabo were in sync in everything when they were younger- fighting, eating, protecting and providing for Luffy, why would he assume that presenting would be any different? Ace had presented as an alpha on his sixteenth birthday and spent the time before sailing away being taught manners and decorum by Makino. When he miraculously met up with his presumed dead other half, he automatically assumed that because he was an alpha, Sabo would be too. 

It backhands Ace in the face that he’s wrong when Sabo drops by one night on the Moby, looking tired and triumphant, sheepishly asking to crash with Ace for a bit before he has to head back to the Revs. What was Ace going to say, no? 

So here Ace is, standing like a tool in the middle of his own room as Sabo strips down to his under things, he rips off the scent patches at his neck and wrist throwing them into the waste bin next to the small desk Ace has, throwing one of Ace’s barely used shirts over himself to sleep in. He sits down on Ace’s bed to start peeling at the scent patches on his inner thighs. Ace can’t stop staring at them. When they’re taken off Ace probably makes a sound because Sabo immediately turns to look at him.

Ace’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He opens his mouth and has to immediately swallow, Sabo’s scent starting to permeate through the air of his room. He forgets what he was going to say. He doesn’t know if he was going to say anything at all.

“I didn’t know you were an omega.”

Sabo blinks up at him. “Is that a problem?”

“What-No! Don’t be stupid it’s fine, you’re fine, you don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be! I just,” Ace pauses, not sure how to continue, not sure how to voice out I should have known because you should have been with us when you presented and you smell like everything I’ve ever wanted. 

Sabo’s always known how to read him though and time hasn’t changed that. He stares up at Ace for a moment before his lips quirk up at the side into a playful close lipped, knowing smile that Ace knows wants to be an open grin. He goes to say something but his mouth is overtaken by a yawn. Sabo blinks, slow and sleepy, before he flops back onto Ace’s bed. He shifts around until he’s comfortable, nose buried into Ace’s pillow. 

“Well if there’s nothing bothering you, hurry up and get changed, I’m tired.” 

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Ace grumbles even as he sets his hat next to Sabo’s and strips down into what he would usually wear to sleep. 

He hesitates at the edge of his own bed but Sabo is tired enough to just roll his eyes and pull Ace down next to him. He throws one of Ace’s arms over himself and throws one of his own legs over Ace, shuffling until he settles into a comfortable position and sighs so sweetly into Ace’s throat that it makes Ace go cross eyed just hearing it. Ace’s fingers twitch when he feels the point of Sabo’s nose press against the divot under his Adam’s apple. 

He rubs his nose into the hair at Sabo’s hairline, hesitating for one, two, three heartbeats before he presses his lips against Sabo’s forehead, gentle and affectionate. 

Sabo releases a soft purr in response, falling more lax as he settles into sleep. 

Ace watches him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

[naofaun-writes]

“One of these days, we'll be something great.”

The voice broke through the echos of screams lingering in Morro’s ears. He didn’t turn around to face the speaker. He didn’t need to.

Before them stretched a landscape so wide that they could not see the end of it. It was ugly and twisted. Dead trees reached from the ground towards the sky as if it could save them from their fate. The grass, scattered in patches, was an ugly, desaturated brown. Morro knew from experience that it would be so lifeless that it didn’t even bend beneath his feet.

He was no longer certain of how long he had been standing there by himself, recalling his life with a familiar ache in his heart.

“Morro.” The voice spoke again, calling his name.

This time he turned around. There stood his friends. The best of the best, selected by the Preeminent herself. Wraith, for his determination and talent with the blades he donned. Bansha, for her connections throughout the realms and her deadly song. And finally, Soul Archer - not his real name, of course. None of them went by their real name down there except for Morro himself.

He was chosen for his talent in calming the storm that surged Morro’s heart. His level head that combat childish recklessness, his knowledge in the intricate maze that was Morro’s mind. Not even he knew himself as well as the ghost before him did.

“He will recognize your worth,” the ghost reassured, hard gaze softening at the look on Morro’s face. “He will be unable to deny it for much longer.”

Morro clicked his tongue disbelievingly, but did not protest. Instead, he sat down, settling comfortably at the edge of the hill that they stood on. Quietly, the others moved forwards to sit beside him. If he met their gazes, he would’ve seen the concern in their eyes. He did not meet their gazes.

“He never talks about me,” Morro argued, slumping to the side so his head lay on Bansha’s shoulder, seeking the smallest of comforts that his friends could provide. “I left him behind, and he let me die to history. His pupils do not know about me. As far as they are concerned, they’re the first.”

“He will never see who I am. He will never care. And I must learn to accept it.”

[accordingtolauren]

"a prophesy"

Those worn eyes sought it.

Craved it with biting teeth and a carnivorous appetite

Lusted for the illuminating show in back-alley lights

Like a sinful dweller hooked upon the next hit, inhale, high

Addicted to the climactic downfall

Prophesied to repeat itself

-lauren a.p

[davycoquette]

random dreamscape snippet

Collaborative writing character intro. Silas, the "cabbie," is a witch who can enter people's dreams. He works as a private investigator, and has been hired by Dalton's wife to confirm her suspicions.

Oh, Dally-Wally. What a mess you’ve made of things.

Dalton Waller was prone to false awakening dreams. He’d always been, ever since he was a kid growing up in Bumfuck, North Dakota. He’d go through the whole process: hear the rooster crow, rise from bed, brush his teeth, inhale some lukewarm oats, wait for his bus in the biting cold, hit the same pothole day in and day out, get to class, listen to the demonic snickering roll like a wave through homeroom: the classic Forgot to Wear Pants to School nightmare. He stopped falling for it, after a while. Learned to pinch himself, and eventually just to sit up; then he was awake in earnest.

It didn’t stop the dreams from happening. When he met the future Mrs. Waller in physics class in Oregon, he once dreamed he woke and sneaked into her dorm room. A few years later, he dreamed he rose from bed and immediately spoiled the proposal he’d planned for their California trip the following week.

But tonight, Dalton wasn’t dreaming about Ava Waller. He was dreaming about Sierra — oh, what was her last name, again? — and a taxi ride over to her place for an early morning romp. Part of him knew it was one of Those Dreams. They couldn’t do this — they had jobs; they’d met at work! She’d catered an event at his firm. Hit it off, exchanged social media under innocuous pretense. Exchanged likes, comments. Private messages. Life stories.

Since it was a dream, he didn’t mind swatting the usual nagging thoughts about his two kids out of his head.

Dalton had never actually hooked up with Sierra, but it did occupy his every waking (and sleeping, but we’ll get to that) thought. He spent his free time messaging her, grinning at his phone. All the while he became increasingly distant from Ava. Stayed later at work for the privacy it afforded. Told himself he was just working harder for his family. The usual song and dance; the emotional affair preceding a physical one.

He didn’t realize Ava was onto him. She didn’t know the details, of course, but she had her suspicions, and she’d be damned if she was going to let Dalton keep pulling the wool over her eyes.

Anyway, the taxi ride: Dalton felt vaguely lucid and wanted to fast-forward through it, but traffic seemed pretty congested in the dreamscape, this morning.

The cabbie fucked with the radio dials, changing from a station that apparently aired nothing but the nonsensical babbling of an infant to a laugh track.

“Can ya turn that down?” Dalton asked.

The cabbie grinned back at him. A Cheshire grin. Dalton found his driver's sleepy blue eyes ominous. He willed himself to wake up again, but the eyes pulled him back in, holding him as if underwater.

“Sorry, boss,” the driver replied, and turned down the laugh-track station. “Hey, it’s a right up here, yeah?”

Dalton squinted, then said, “No, not this next one. Field House, a couple blocks down.” He pulled a double take at the tall yellow grass passing by the windows. “…Where are we, again?”

“Where are we?” the black-haired cabbie echoed.

“Devil’s Lake.” Dalton furrowed his eyebrows. “North Dakota.”

“Is this where Sierra lives?”

“Sierra lives offa Field House. On Third.”

The cab-driver gave a little hyena chuckle, then pulled over onto a busted curb. Dalton hurried to let himself out, and looked over the roof of the taxi at the cabbie as he too climbed out of the car.

They were in a North Dakota field, alright, except Sierra’s semi-high-rise apartment building stood in the middle of it, and the sidewalks were in apocalyptic disrepair, and while familiar, nothing was right.

And his cab driver was wearing the kinda hat a ship captain might wear paired with a Hawaiian button-down.

“My fare,” the cabbie prompted.

Dalton passed him a handful of oxidized pennies, which the young man palmed into his mouth.

“Alright, champ.” The cabbie slapped him hard between his shoulders. “You have fun, now.” Something in his voice — his voice itself — it had the cadence of Dalton’s father, and the moment was almost precisely the same as one in which he was dropped off for a middle school baseball practice. Late March, unseasonably warm. He could feel the baseball mitt in his hand, but when he looked down, it was just his hand, and the cabbie wasn’t his father but a stranger with eyes he couldn’t stand to look into. They seared his retinas like he'd stared into the sun.

He turned and strode away toward Sierra’s apartment building, and the cab driver sat on the hood of the taxi, apparently to wait.

As Dalton put distance between them, the gravitational pull of his body dragged the edges of his dream until the cab and the driver sat at the fringes. Time and space grew tenuous here, and from his perch on the hood the driver felt content to wait on this precarious ledge with yellow prairie grass swaying on his right, a surreal swirl of cloud and celestial dust encroaching on his left.

I feel bad for tagging because this one is so weird and disjointed but @fortunatetragedy 👀 If you want fewer like this pls let me know!

[warmtv]

Toni Mayors

(haunted)

(no, no, no— please help me find my brother.

before he finds me’)

[praline-elegy]

A small crumb of a Fence fic I’m working on :)

“Tell me about your relationship with Jesse.” Seiji asked, walking in step beside Nicholas.

“This again?” The other boy groaned as the two made their way back to their shared dorm.

“…I thought we made progress on how much you trust me.” Seiji grumbled, the edges of his mouth pressed into a familiar frown. 

“And you thought suddenly bringing this up wouldn’t affect your friendship points with me?” 

“Friendship points?” His nose scrunched in the most Seiji-esque of ways. 

Nicholas exhaled slowly, trying to smother the irritation skimming his nerves. “Yeah, Seiji. This is like, a level ten secret and you’re only at level two, maybe three,” he countered.

“Then how do I bring up these… ‘friendship points’ so to speak?”

“You can’t rush friendship.” Nicholas retorted, but there was something left unsaid that made Seiji look him in the eyes thoughtfully. Whether there was a glimmer of irritation or something else though, Nicholas didn’t hold that gaze long enough to see.

Seiji stared for a moment, before pulling out his dorm key and unlocking the door, oddly allowing Nicholas to swoop in the doorway as he pondered his next words.

“But?” He finally decided on—a single word—extending the conversation.

Nicholas dropped his bags, sweatshirt halfway pulled off his body with his hand on the bathroom doorknob. “But? I thought this conversation was over!” He turned around to look at Seiji, who just stood still in the middle of the room with an intense gaze in his eyes.

Seiji slipped his bag off of his shoulder, answering bluntly. “Yes Nicholas, ‘but’ is a conjunction used to combine two or more independent clauses together.”

“What’s with the sudden English lesson!” He cried in exasperation.

“It sounded like you had something more to say,” Seiji shrugged, taking off his shoes and pulling out clean clothes to change into. “I just thought I’d do it for you.”

Nicholas huffed, tugging his sweatshirt off all the way, tossing it on his desk as he considered Seiji’s comment. Instead of reaching for the doorknob, he turned around, crossing his arms as he slumped against the bathroom door. Seiji’s eyebrow raised, waiting expectantly for him to answer.

Nicholas thought for a moment, letting his head drop to the side as he gazed in the direction of his most prized possession, the little scrap of newspaper with his dad’s winning article on it encased in a protective sleeve under his mattress.

This wasn’t the kind of secret where you could say it and nothing would change, because it was life-altering to know; even if the facts didn’t change, Seiji definitely would. There was absolutely no way that this knowledge wouldn’t reshape the way he saw Nicholas—his worldview of the boy would be so utterly changed! Nicholas didn’t want that.

But…

It would be nice. He supposed, to have someone by his side, apart from his complicated relationship with his mom. 

But Seiji was… he swallowed, closing his eyes at the tiny flutter in his chest. Somebody he didn’t want to lose, not after they’d become rivals, and even more so as friends and… whatever that thing was that happened with the tennis ball in the salle. He opened his eyes and shifted his gaze to the other side, earnestly considering what to do. Seiji seemed so pleased that Nicholas was thinking hard about the suggestion, that he allowed him a moment of respite as he continued to get ready for his post-training routine, occasionally glancing at Nicholas’s face as he pondered and bit his dry chapped lips.

Why couldn’t Seiji just let it go? Why didn’t Nicholas do the sensible thing and put up a damn boundary? He lied when he said it was a level ten friendship secret—as arbitrary as that system was—it was a fucking nuclear S-tier secret and Nicholas just knew it’d break his heart if Seiji was let in on the one secret he had and let it intensify his obsession with finding Jesse in him. 

Seiji would never see, “Nicholas Cox, his ridiculously fast rival who almost got Seiji’s fourth”—No! Nicholas would be:

“The Coste bastard child and Jesse’s younger brother.”

He didn’t want that. Nicholas was his own person, and he’d really hoped Seiji would come around to see that. 

His chest hurt. 

But secrets changed people, the longer they were kept hidden. How long could he theoretically keep that up with no one in his lonely corner? It’d be nice to have someone, even with a bright blue and yellow ducky curtain hanging in the middle…

Groaning in frustration, Nicholas banged his head against the bathroom door, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why’d you have to say ‘but’! Now I’m actually thinking about it!”

“So you’ll tell me?” Seiji treaded carefully, as though one wrong word could end the conversation once and for all.

Nicholas should’ve just said ‘it’s complicated’ and ended it there. Maybe relenting and acknowledging the situation would quell Seiji’s interrogation for now.

But no, his dumbass heart decided to dig a hole deeper than that, pulling from somewhere deep inside his chest with the slightest sliver of hope and profound conviction that Seiji would certainly refuse.

“Only if you’d go on a date with me,” Nicholas huffed softly, shaking his head as he got off the bathroom door, ready to dose himself in a nice hot shower and leave this conversation in the past. 

“Okay.”

“Wait—what?” Nicholas whipped his head around, surprised to find Seiji standing right behind him, much closer than he’d expected him to be in their tiny dorm room.

“I’ll take you on a date.” He said simply. He left off the part that said, "The price would be so easy;” that Nicholas would so easily bend for a sliver of Seiji’s attention. He’d be right though, which was why Nicholas tried so hard to resist that. To be as absolutely volatile as possible around him.

But his resolution was wavering around the undeniable pull of Seiji’s presence. Nicholas could still feel the light touch and hot hot burning of where the dark haired boy adjusted his stance over a week ago.

Feelings are dumb. 

But this kind of dumb made him feel good. 

He was weak to that.

“I—what are you saying?”

“Friday,” Seiji decided, in a voice that Nicholas pretended was just for him; the rasp in that single word caressing his ear. The taller boy smirked, leaning around him to put a hand against the door. “Friday I’ll take you out for dinner.”

Nicholas’s mouth parted slightly, speechless, as a blush spread across his face. 

Seiji’s eyes flickered down for a moment before looking up again. “And wear something nice.”

He turned the doorknob and walked past Nicholas, clicking the bathroom door shut.

Nicholas stuttered, frozen at the sudden turn of events. Before finally realizing—

“Hey! I was gonna shower first!”

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - part 2

Summary: “Y/N’s first self defense class leads to some inevitable tension, all of which is thrown out of Y/N’s mind when she gets an unexpected visit at her office desk…”

Wc: 4.8k

Tropes: boxer!Harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: sexual TENSION😈, brief mention of SA, blood

A/N: hi everyone! I am so positively overwhelmed by the great response this new series has been getting🥹. I have such a good feeling about this and I hope you’ll appreciate this little adventure we’re going on😋. Xxx

P.S. I would also recommend listening to ‘Knuckles’ by the Snuts. Not only because it’s a great song, but along with NFWMB, it’s kinda the theme song of this series🤭.

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It was 8:55pm.

Harry had never been so fixated on time before. It was like his brain was counting down each second, even when he was trying to concentrate on quite literally anything else.

All weekend he had been wondering whether or not Y/N would show up tonight. Even though he had other things to do, and plenty of more urgent matters occupying his mind, the thought of her still managed to take up some space.

He hadn't heard from her. Not that it was technically possible; he didn't give him any contact information. God, why was he sweating this so much?

8:59pm.

The gym was entirely empty. He always closed early on Tuesdays. The rest of the week he stays open until 12am. There are more people who go to the gym late at night than he thought, but since he needed to cut himself some slack, he decided to use Tuesdays for that.

Not that he really cut himself some slack. He'd stay and do his own exercises, then stay longer to work on administration. He would eventually go home at around 11pm. Greg scolded him for it, demanding he take some time for himself, but that seemed to be impossible for Harry.

He loved this. He loved helping people and the shitty administrative stuff was nothing in comparison to the smiles he would see on people's faces upon leaving the gym. Whether that was one of the women in his defense classes, or a man who'd reached his new weightlifting goal. He loved seeing people happy.

9:04pm.

A wave of disappointment flooded through Harry's body. He didn't even know why he thought she'd come. It's not like he gave any indication that she wanted to. She actually told him, outright, that she didn't. He needed to check himself into a mental hospital or something... occupying himself so much with a girl he met once. He needed some sort of reality check.

The sound of the reception bell tore Harry from his thoughts, his head shooting towards the hallway where the sound was coming from. His feet began to move before he could even comprehend, and when he turned around the corner, a small sigh left his mouth.

Shit. There she was. Wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized Rolling Stones t-shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail, much like it had been the last time he saw her. It still looked different, though, as if she had put in more effort this time. There were no stray hairs, and the ponytail was braided. Her eyes were as big as ever, and he could've sworn they gleamed a bit when they landed on him.

Angel.

"Hi." She smiled shyly, adjusting the strap of her duffel bag that slung around her shoulder. The corner of Harry's mouth tugged up.

"Hi."

She didn't say anything, just stared at him and waited for him to continue talking. Harry, however, was too busy with looking at her that he forgot he should probably say something. It's why it took him a little longer to say:

"C'mon, let's go to the other room."

He waited for her to pace towards him before he turned around and walked to the training room. He tried, he truly did, to stay casual and just keep walking, but he couldn't help it. His head turned—just to check, he said to himself—to see the beautiful woman still walking behind him. She really was here.

Having entered the training room, Harry walked onto the mat, Y/N following him closely. He turned around and gestured for her to put her bag on the ground. She did as instructed, and stood back in front of him. He noticed her posture, the way it was extra straight. She was compensating for the insecurity that displayed in the way she fiddled with her fingers behind her back. She probably thought he didn't notice, but there were mirrors all around the room, so he could see every single part of her.

Harry titled his head downwards and looked at her. He was only realizing it now; the height difference between them. He had seen it last week, but now that he was standing close to her, it was more prominent.

"I want to say beforehand, that during these classes I will have to touch you." He said softly, his voice still in that low baritone. Y/N's lips slowly parted, but no words came out. "Is that okay with you?"

From the way her cheeks flushed after vigorously nodding her head, he could tell she had found her quick agreement to be a bit embarrassing. Harry only smiled.

"Words, please, Y/N."

"Y—yes," She quickly answered, and Harry opened his mouth to communicate his approval, but the continuation of her consent caught him off guard. "You can touch me."

His heartbeat began to pick up a bit, blood rushing towards parts that it should definitely not be rushing to. He clenched his jaw and balled up his fists, hoping the tension in the other parts of his body would refrain his cock from straining too hard against his pants.

Jesus, what was wrong with him? Why was he acting like he just got out of prison?

"Let's warm up." He said gruffly, sounding more moody than he wanted to. Y/N nodded, looking at her feet as she took a step backwards. She waited as Harry walked to the bench to get jump rope. When he walked back and handed it to her, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"It's to get your heart rate up. It'll have you ready for the exercises."

"Okay." She took the rope from his hands and got ready, but never started the exercise.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Her eyes went all big like it did in that first class.

"Oh— no, nothing. I was waiting for you. I don't know why... you're the instructor, of course." She was rambling again, shutting her eyes tightly for a few seconds after closing her mouth. Harry bit his lip to keep himself from chuckling at the woman in front of him.

"You know what, you're right, I'll join you. I haven't done my exercises today anyway." He said as he grabbed another rope. It was a big fat lie; he had trained for a good two hours today. But these exercises were harmless fun, and if it would make her feel more comfortable, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Would you like some music? I always prefer it because it tends to get kind of quiet in here. But we don't have to. It's really a personal preference." Harry explained, holding up his phone. A small smile appeared on Y/N's face.

"Uhm, yeah, that would be great. What do you usually listen to?"

Harry shrugged. "Uhm, rap usually."

Y/N hummed. Harry squinted his eyes at the woman in front of him, then raised a brow.

"You don't like that, do you?"

"What? No! I don't care, really. You can put on whatever you want." She was quick to defend herself. She wasn't exactly lying. Y/N didn't care, she wouldn't dream of opposing the man in front of her.

"What do you usually listen to?"

"Uhm, I like older music." You confessed. Harry tilted his head.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Jazz, Soul, classic rock, a bit of hard rock, disco."

Harry nodded, and looked down at his phone to type in something. Y/N frowned—probably wondering what he was doing—but a giggle escaped her as 'Let's Hear It For The Boy' started playing through the speakers. Harry's eyes twinkled as he took in the sight of her. He couldn't help but smile pridefully, knowing he made her laugh like that. It felt like an accomplishment.

"Okay, let's begin."

And so, Harry and Y/N began jumping with the jump rope next to each other. He told her to count until fifty out loud, and she obeyed him. By the time they were done, Y/N's heavy breathing made her realize that her physical shape had gotten a lot worse since moving out. She always used to run back when she lived with her parents, she told Harry, but she hadn't found time for it since she'd moved.

They did a couple other warm-up exercises together, and when stretching the final time, Harry dared to comment.

"You're pretty flexible."

Y/N looked up, shrugging at her instructor. "I was a cheerleader back in high school, and I used to do a lot of yoga in college. Maybe it stuck."

"Yeah, probably." Harry nodded, admiring the woman in front of him. She talked so casually about herself. She was actually impressively flexible; it's why he noted it in the first place. She was taking herself for granted, he could tell.

"Okay, let's start, shall we?" Harry said, getting up to his feet. Y/N silently nodded as she followed in his footsteps. "I'm going to teach you some basic things, but I also want to ask you if there are some specific exercises you would like to focus on. If so, we can start by handling those after having learned the basics, okay?"

"Okay." Y/N said, taking a deep breath.

"You can think about it, and tell me next time." Harry added, and as The Jackson 5's ABC began to play, the real exercises started.

Y/N listened intently as he explained her the basic things about throwing a punch. Balance was the most important thing, Harry had said. She followed his instructions closely and stood with her feet shoulder-with apart, her right foot—the dominant one, he told her it had to be—slightly ahead of her left one.

"Good." Harry's sound of approval had awakened something in your stomach. "Now clench your fist— you have to wrap your thumb around your index and middle fingers. Otherwise you'll break your thumb."

Y/N did as he said, keeping her wrist straight. Her stomach dropped as he let out a disapproving hum. He went to stand beside her as he lowly said:

"Bend your knees."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Y/N bent her knees a bit. From all the nervousness she kept stretching her limbs all the time, going against his order. Seeing her answer to him so quickly had made him smirk a bit.

"Good."

He didn't miss the deep breath Y/N took as he spoke. She desperately wanted his approval. It was endearing... and other things that it shouldn't be. Harry mentally slapped himself in the face. This was a professional environment, why were his thoughts racing the same way they used to back when he was a teenager? It was pathetic, really.

"Now, when you punch someone, it's important to put your entire body into it. If you punch without moving the rest of your body, it won't have as much of an impact. You have to generate the power from your core and legs. That way, the blow will land way harder." He explained, trying not to smile at Y/N's faint frown as she took in all the he was saying. She was so concentrated, wanting to absorb every piece of information he shared. "Like this."

He showed her what he meant. Y/N nodded and tried to imitate her instructor, but without much luck.

"You don't have to lean forward that much. If you turn with your entire body, it'll do that for you." He said, and had to fight the small grin that threatened to form on his lips when she tried to hold herself back too much this time. She huffed in annoyance.

"How am I ever going to be able to defend myself again if I can't even get a punch right?" She murmured, mainly to herself, as she pinched the bridge between her nose. Harry's ears perked up at what she said.

What did she mean with 'again'? Rage started simmering in his body at the sole implication of someone having done something to this woman that made her have to defend herself. Is that why she was so interested in the class? Why she wanted to learn so bad despite being so shy? Because someone had hurt her, or threatened to, and made her feel unsafe?

"Can I touch you?"

Y/N's gaze shot up to Harry's, keeping them locked for a few seconds before she let out a soft 'yes'. He nodded once, went to stand behind her, and told her to get back into position. As soon as she had, he grabbed her hips. Firm, but light.

"Do it again, slowly."

Y/N did as he said, and let him help her move her body in the right way. Automatically, her foot stayed in the right position, and she wasn't really leaning forward anymore.

"That's it." Harry said proudly. He was kind of caught off guard when Y/N sucked in a breath and turned around, his hands falling off her hips immediately. For a second, he felt bad, not having wanted to make her feel uncomfortable in any way, but when he saw her swallow, biting her lip, he knew that his touch had caused something else.

Fuck. He was definitely better off not knowing.

"I— Can I drink some water?" Y/N asked, almost sounding like she was out of breath. Harry did his best not to let it get to his head too much as he nodded, biting inside of his cheek. She scurried over to her bag, and took out a water bottle, of which she probably gulped half down before she set it down on the bench.

"Okay, c'mon. We have a lot to cover." Harry said when he felt she was lingering by the bench too much. She immediately walked back to him, and there was sense of pride that filled Harry's chest. Such a good listener, she was.

Y/N was exhausted. Her first self defense class was finally over, and it was a lot harder than she thought it'd be. They went over the basics of punching, and Harry had decided that she definitely needed to build some muscle. In the end, they practiced half an hour longer than the original hour Y/N thought the class was going to be. The regular classes were sixty minutes, so she'd just assumed.

It was also unbearable. She couldn't believe how worked up she was getting over the proximity between her and Harry. It was embarrassing, she had to be ovulating or something. Of course, it probably also had something to do with the fact that Harry was singlehandedly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, but she shouldn't have let that distract her from her goal. She needed these classes, she needed not to be weak anymore.

After the class, Harry told her to be here at the same time next week, and she thanked him before walking out of the gym.

Harry probably didn't expect her to still stand outside ten minutes later when he walked out to lock up, but when he noticed the pouring rain, it looked like he understood.

"Did you walk?" He asked casually, locking the door. Y/N shook her head.

"Bike." She pointed to the soaking wet bicycle a few feet away.

"D'you need a ride?" He questioned, stepping towards her. Again, she shook her head.

"It's fine, I'll just wait until this blows over."

As if the universe and the weather were playing a crude joke on her, loud thunder ripped through the sky just as the sentence left her mouth. Harry tilted his head a bit.

"Yeah, no. I'm dropping you off at home." He said, and before she could protest, Harry began to walk away, right into the rain. He stepped into his car and drove over to Y/N, then got out of the car again. As he approached her, he asked:

"Where are the keys to your bike?"

Too stunned to say anything, she just handed him the keys. She was a little occupied with how hot he looked all soaking wet and— oh Jesus, she needed shock therapy.

She watched as Harry carried the bicycle and out in the trunk of his car. The grey hoodie that he must've thrown on before leaving the gym was a few shades darker now, and strands of his hair clung to his forehead. He made his way to the passenger door, and opened it, a wave of his arm gesturing for her to get in. She ran into the car, the door closing behind her with a harsh thud.

Harry ran around the car and got in himself, closing the door and turning the vehicle on immediately. Y/N's eyes went wide as Harry pulled the hoodie over his head, tugging his t-shirt up a bit along with it. She eyed the tattoos that inked his hip bones. They seemed like... leaves of some kind? She couldn't exactly make it up in such a short time because she shifted her gaze to the car window and strictly kept it there as soon as she'd realized she was staring.

"Where to?" Harry asked, but Y/N only replied with a distracted hum, not daring to take her eyes off the car window. She had never been around someone who'd made her so nervous before. Sure, she'd been awkward a whole bunch in her life, especially around her crushes in high school. But she was 23 now, she shouldn't be behaving like this around men anymore!

"Y/N?" He leaned forward, waving a hand in front of her face. She snapped her head to him.

"Oh, sorry!" She said, her tone revealing how stressed she was.

"It's okay. Just type in your address, and I'll drive you home." Harry answered sweetly. His soft, green eyes made him seem like much less of an intimidating man. That was, until one would look further down his body of course. The man was extremely jacked, and while that was very hot, it could also be quite scary. But she couldn't find any part of herself that was afraid of him.

No, he might've intimidated her, and that might've made her act like an complet fool in front of him, but she wasn't scared of him.

The silence during the car ride was mostly filled up with Harry asking Y/N questions about herself. Where she was from, what she'd studied. She, alike, returned those questions and found out a bit more about Harry's past as well.

The he was a boxer, retired two years ago, and now owned several gyms. Y/N knows she should've been taken aback a bit when she asked Harry's age and he said he was 29, but for some reason it worked the opposite for her.

Was this a topic for therapy?

She hadn't time to think too much of it, as he soon pulled up in front of her apartment complex. They both got out of the car and Harry helped carry her bicycle to a little garage for bikes at the side of the apartment.

They walked back towards the car, both drenched in water by now, and Harry turned around to say goodbye, but Y/N interrupted him.

"What do I owe you?" She asked, not caring that she was standing in the pouring rain and she was shivering from the cold. A sort of didn't want the conversation to end just yet. Harry thought it over for a few seconds, then shrugged.

"Nothing." He said, to which Y/N knitted her brows.

"But I need to pay you for the classes." She stated the obvious, at least she felt like she was.

"It was a try-out class." Harry replied with a smile.

"I already had my try-out class." She reiterated. Harry shook his head.

"That was your group try-out class, this was your private try-out class. Try-outs are always free."

Y/N bit her lip, unsure of what to say to that. Eventually she settled on something in the middle. "Fine. I'll just tip you extra good the upcoming classes."

Harry let out a laugh. "Sure, angel."

She could've sworn that her heart skipped the beat at the sound of that nickname rolling off Harry's tongue. Did he really just call her that? Y/N scanned for answers in Harry's face, and only noticed a slight shock in his eyes, but it was quickly covered up with that casual ease that always seemed to be hanging over him.

"I— I'm gonna get inside. Thank you for the ride, and the class."

Harry just gave her a small nod. "Anytime."

With that, Y/N turned around and hurried to her apartment complex, shivering by the time she got inside her own place. Her mind was racing, everything that had happened tonight kept flashing through her brain and it was like she could feel the burn of his fingers on her hips.

This was so unlike her. Unlike anything she'd ever done. Taking this class was a risk, one she'd thought being worth it, because it would bring her safety and security.

But this... these tingling feelings crashing into her like an avalanche— she hadn't felt like this since college. Hadn't had a crush become so intense in such a short time.

What the hell was she gonna do about this?

All she knew is that she couldn't stop thinking about him. Not as she got in the shower, nor as she got into bed. She kept tossing and turning until she gave into that feeling that had been nagging at her all night, her hand slowly sliding down her belly and to the sensitive ache that had been growing between her legs.

She closed her eyes and didn't even have to try to imagine Harry's hands on her again, the way he'd said those words to her. As if he wanted her to misinterpret them for something dirty.

"Can I touch you?"

"Do it again, slowly."

"That's it."

The sound of his voice ringing through her head had Y/N rubbing her fingers faster over her clit, her legs starting to close from the immense stimulation. Nevertheless, she forced herself to keep them open as she pleasured herself. Small gasps for air began leaving her body as she felt her climax coming closer and closer.

"Sure, angel."

The teasing tone in which he spoke, the playfulness in his eyes and the accent with which he said the nickname, that memory is what made her make a mess all over her fingers. A small moan even left her mouth in the sound of his name, and although no one was there to hear it, Y/N was embarrassed as she went to the bathroom, cleaned herself up, and went back to bed.

She did fall asleep quite quickly after, though. She was exhausted.

The next morning, there was a slight flutter in her stomach and a smile on her face as she opened her eyes. A new reason to get up in the morning had been making its way into her life, and she couldn't feel anything but giddy about it. Having a crush was always fun.

Despite the replaying of yesterday's practice over breakfast, and the heating of her cheeks at the memories of his words in the car on her way to work, Y/N knew that she was playing with fire by letting herself indulge in this crush. She needed to be careful not to let it go too far. A simple crush wasn't a problem, but he was her instructor and if she truly wanted to learn something in those self defense classes, she better separate business and pleasure.

With the loads of work she had to do at work, Y/N managed to drown out most of the thoughts about Harry the rest of the morning. She was finally relaxing after getting some important papers sent over—which was a stressful problem, as they had to be sent yesterday but some incompetent idiot messed up, leaving Y/N to solve it by herself first thing in the morning—when she got an e-mail from Sophie.

You are invited to

SOPHIE'S 30th BIRTHDAY PARTY

SATURDAY 5 OCTOBER

8:00pm (don't be late!)

Theme: Casino Night

Y/N stared at the invitation on her computer screen, a wide smile covering most of her face. She knew she didn't have any plans, but she still checked her agenda to make sure she was available Saturday next week. She felt like a child who'd just gotten her first ever birthday invitation. It sure felt like that.

Y/N hadn't really had such sweet friends before. Getting along with Sophie had been so incredibly easy and although she always felt like it was too good to be true and there must be some sort of trap, there never was. Sophie just enjoyed Y/N's company, and vice versa. It was like having a big sister and a best friend in one.

About five seconds after silently celebrating having received the invitation, Y/N began to stress about what present she should bring her new friend. It had to be something good. Sophie had earned a lot of money, and could basically get herself anything she wanted, so it had to be more of a sentimental gift.

Y/N had her eyes on a present already. She was very enthusiastic about it; it was something Sophie would really like.

All caught up in the excitement, she didn't notice a tall shadow standing over her until he coughed to get her attention. Y/N looked up, dread filling her stomach as she locked eyes with Oscar. She was still trying to remember how to breathe since her body just shut down out of anxiousness at the sight of him, when he started talking.

"Look, I'll keep this short, because I know you don't want to talk to me," He looked to his left and right before grabbing onto the desk and leaning over it. "but I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

Y/N could do nothing but blink at the man in front of her. What was he talking about, 'same page'?

"Things didn't really go how I thought they would that night, and I've accepted that. But I would appreciate if you wouldn't go around telling people."

"Telling people what?" The words left her mouth before she could stop herself. Originally she didn't want to utter a word in front of this man, nor did she believe she was able to, but this demand of his made her stomach twist. The way he said it, the distaste so apparent on his tongue. As if she were an inconvenience to be dealt with. He'd really mastered that heartlessness that only the cruelest of lawyers could conjure.

"You know what..." He said through clenched teeth, giving her a bit of a warning glare. The anger that boiled within her was new. She had never experienced it in such a large quantity before, and it had her acting out of character.

"What? About you assaulting me?"

The sentence had barely escaped her mouth when Oscar leaped forward a bit, frown so deep that it had made the vein in his forehead extremely prominent. She flinched at the sudden movement, tilting back into her chair. She felt the sped up pace of heartbeat as she clenched her fists, the rest of her body frozen in anticipation of what he was going to do.

"I did not assault—" he stopped himself, his crazy eyes calming a bit, as if he realized he was still in the office. "You know what, you can run to whoever you want. This firm trusts me, and they know what kind of man I am, that I would never do such a thing. Either way, it’s most likely not my job you'll be risking by bringing forth such an accusation."

Y/N had no idea what to possibly say to that. Not that Oscar gave her the chance, seeing as he backed away and walked off before she had the chance to come up with something. She began breathing more heavily with every step he took away from her.

Did he just threaten her?

A tingling pain in her hand distracted Y/N from the rabbit hole of thoughts she was just about to fall into, and when her eyes moved to see what it was, she raised her brows at the sight of blood in her hand.

Unconsciously, somewhere in between looking at the invitation and Oscar's impromptu visit, she must've grabbed the pair of scissors that were laying on the desk. She must've balled up her fists so much that she cut her hand.

Staring at the blood, a thousand thoughts running through her head, only one was the loudest.

She needed to get out of here.

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno

[thesaurus-lover]

next door apartment neighbors where one always sings in the shower and the other can always hear through their walls

I physically jump a little when the silhouette of another person appears as I close the door to my apartment. Their own seems to just have shut as well.

The guy notices me and smiles, if not a bit confusedly. "Um... good morning."

"Morning," I reply, then mentally strangle myself for the tired rasp in my voice. A second that feels like an hour passes, and I awkwardly add, "Didn't know I, uh... had a neighbor."

He laughs a bit. "Well, I only knew that I had one who likes a lot of pop music. It's nice to finally meet you."

"You... can hear? Through the, um..."

He hesitates, glancing away, as if hesitating whether to admit it or not. "Yeah... almost every night."

The world sways in my vision, and my head feels oddly light. Oh... am I fainting?

But then he's clearing his throat, and I realize that—unfortunately—I am not. "You're pretty good," he says, as if it's any comfort. There's also an awkward edge to it.

I try to laugh, but it sounds like a strangled cough.

[magicaldreamfox1]

dreamy drabbles

— prompt: caught

"What if we get caught?"

"I have a backup plan, can you fucking relax?"

Pete glares at Vegas as he continues picking the lock.

How anyone bought their fake relationship is a mystery to him — they can't ever seem to get along.

"And what would that be?"

"You'll find out–" Pete watches Vegas' fingers work; mesmerising somehow. "–if we need it."

Just then, echoing footsteps start approaching them.

"Vegas!" Pete hisses. "We need it now."

Vegas quickly straightens up to his full height and with a swift movement, Pete is slammed into the wall and pulled into a passionate kiss.

[lavender-laney]

drabble, untitled concept

...this is definitely not something I decided to start in my notes app after replaying tears of the kingdom and being filled with the need to write a dynamic like link and zelda... definitely not working on this when I should be working on my other projects...

anyway. hope you enjoy and hope this is even slightly comprehensible as it is midnight but I refuse to wait <3

Cool water laps over Enya’s ankles, her bare feet prickling at the sensation. She can feel smooth stones and soft foliage beneath her, and, when she glances down, the water is clear enough to easily see minnows darting around her legs. Distraction takes her for a moment, and she watches the fish. They’re unlike any she’s ever seen. Their bodies glisten, glowing like the fireflies that fill the air around her. Every time her eyes begin to focus on their forms, they dart away, sparkling and flickering. The movement nearly feels mischievous.

She draws her eyes away from the flashing scales, continuing on as she fights the urge to glance back at her mother. She would be met with only the same stern gaze she seems to find with every look at the queen. The edges of her dress lift with the water’s pull, though somehow she’s sure these marshes will leave no sign of muck on the pure white material. As it is, it hardly seems to affect the fabric’s weight, and Enya feels almost dizzy for a moment at the sensation of walking through air rather than water.

When she reaches the sculpture previously only described to her in scriptures, the water touches her waist. She takes in the sight before her, the sight she’s waited so many moons to behold, that her family has long prepared her to witness.

Stone steps before her rise into a platform in the center of the marsh, and between one blink and the next, the moon’s rays seem to focus on the fixture. Enya’s eyes hungrily roam across the ornate carvings that decorate the pale stone. First, Enya thinks them to be constellations, then soaring birds, then the fish that still circle her like flies buzzing around carrion. She refocuses. The center of the platform is laid with a circle of pale blue crystal of some kind, one that seems to glitter and shift under the celestial light. Enya does not recognize it from any of her lessons, and her father’s voice echoes in her mind as she imagines the ways he would ponder its worth rather than its composition. Past the crystal, Enya can see where the stone lengthens into a pathway, but she cannot discern any other details. It appears as though it simply vanishes into the fog, fallen away into a chasm.

The water stills. At once, the fish dart away from her form, managing to vanish despite the water’s transparency. The fireflies blink out one by one, and a single owl offers a long, mournful call before the landscape falls silent. 

Enya looks back. 

Even as she turns to do so, she can imagine the way her mother’s face will fall into irritation, the way she will lecture her during her classes tomorrow on the importance of appearing unyielding in the face of the beasts’ judgment. As Enya's braids brush against her bare shoulders, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so vulnerable, so naked, despite the fabric draped across her form. She needn’t have worried about her mother’s reaction. The fog around her has grown so thick that she can hardly see the stretch of water behind her, and certainly not the bank on which her mother and handmaiden stand. Her heart clenches.

Turning back to the platform, she steadies herself, suddenly aware of the dozens of eyes that rest on her, unseen, unfelt. Not even a prickle on the back of her neck alerts her to their presence, but she knows they are waiting for her. Thus, when she lifts the circlet from her brow, she does so gracefully, poised, just as her mother taught her. She turns it, slowly, studying the citrine set in the center. The gem is nearly the size of her thumbnail, perfect from any angle, any light under which you study its form. She lifts it free from its cage, holding it in her palm for a moment, watching it glimmer in the pale light. When she lays it on the stone, its gentle tink is absorbed by the fog. The circlet is returned to her brow. Her hands clasp before her. Her hair drags the water when she bows her head, eyes falling closed with some reluctance. 

Then, she waits. It doesn’t take long.

Gentle steps disrupt the air’s stillness. Unbidden, the way her mother’s dress shoes tap against the castle’s marble floors rise to Enya’s mind. The simultaneously harsh yet melodic beats grow louder with each step, in tune with the princess’s pounding heart. She wonders if the creature can hear it fluttering like a butterfly clutched between palms, sunlight flickering through just out of reach, vibrant scales tarnishing and falling away under the unyielding grip. When the steps pause, Enya still finds herself unable to detect any presence. She can hardly be blamed, then, when she lifts her head before she’s meant to.

Enya's deep brown eyes meets ice blue, and the mysterious crystal flashes to the front of Enya’s mind. The beast's face is mere inches away from Enya's own, close enough that she can see the silver spots speckled across its fur so shockingly white it nearly seems to emit its own light. When her eyes land on its somehow brighter mane, she is abruptly filled with the desire to reach out and graze her fingers through it, positive it must feel like the most expensive of silks and the most lush of prairie grass, the softest of hares and the smoothest of trout.

Her attention broadens. Its body is comparable to both a young elk and a mare of royal lineage, rippling with power and grace but, to the untrained eye, delicate and soft. Enya can so clearly imagine it scaling the most steep of cliffs, dark hooves finding purchase in the smallest of crags, or endlessly galloping through open land, seemingly gliding across the ground in a flurry of hoofbeats. 

Its fur thickens and curls around its ankles and chest, similar to the tuft at the tip of its whip-like tail. At first, Enya can see no imperfections at all, and for a moment, believes with her whole heart the tales of creatures delivered straight from the heavens above, crafted in the painstaking hands of a mythical power. But, no, she realizes. Mud clumps around its hooves, fur hangs in disheveled tendrils where it's tail has dragged the ground, a pale pink scar mars its shoulder.

The creature blinks, long white eyelashes brushing its cheeks, and Enya’s attention is brought back to its face, to perhaps the most awe-inspiring detail, but the one she reflexively avoided like a child with a burnt palm shying away from a stove — its horn.

Enya doesn't know what color to call it, the way it shifts between lavender to salmon to silver to gold, opalescent. It spirals up, up, up, from the beast’s forehead, nearly long enough for it to touch the ground with a dip of its head. It culminates into a wicked point, and it sends a jolt of primal fear through the princess. 

She knows exactly what that horn could do to a mortal, and she knows exactly what it will do to her.

All in all, a majesty of beauty and strength nearly divine in nature. A creature that pulls your attention like butterflies on a bloated corpse: delight at the puddle of gently flapping wings, then horror at what lies beneath.

A unicorn. Her unicorn.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

I have big plans for this concept, my vision right now is something that emulates 80s fantasy movies (labyrinth, the last unicorn, the princess bride, etc etc), ofc a sapphic romance (the unicorn does in fact have a human form), and, like I mentioned, a dynamic similar to link and princess zelda <3 we'll see!! 🤗

[yvesdot]

monsters and The Guy. / 4K

It’s not so strange to see monsters in the boarding line.

Now available to all $1+ Patrons: the original version of monsters and The Guy., featured in the original edition of Something's Not Right! With the release of the new edition (and an updated version of the story!) I decided to make the original available to all Patrons as a thank-you. If you subscribe now, you can read not just this but ALL previous $1 posts! Thanks for following along.

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