#not at the desk currently! ✦ queueing

[adventuresinteyvat]

‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎⚞ ADVENTURES IN TEYVAT is looking for SETHOS ⚟

AiT is a SFW 18+ DISCORD-BASED RP, taking place in a sandbox version of Genshin Impact's world that changes in real-time with each update. We offer IC TEXT CHATROOMS && PARAGRAPH-STYLE ROLEPLAY across the various regions that are able to be visited.

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[divinit3a]

oneshot: out of character -> ao3 link reader x mer animatronic!moon 🌊 word count: 3,403

Working at a Fazbear animatronic theme park hadn't really been your dream, but it is your current reality.

At first, you were starry-eyed. Clocking in each day at a place that brings out the magic of imagination. Revamped from its first attempt that mysteriously burnt down after a rigorous police investigation, inexplicably refurbished into a half VR game center, half water-park. You’d bet the money that fuels such an over-the-top offshoot for the franchise pumps in from the Pizzaplex the next city over.

The ambition of the two owners who picked up the business manifested into a massive aquarium at the center, home to mechanized sea life. Animatronics of all shapes and sizes, perfect replicas of their real life counterparts. Plus or minus a more vivid, appealing, toy-selling color palette. 

The multi-level aquarium showcases beautiful spectacles of engineering that allow all creatures of the deep to intermingle without the limitations of reality. You’ve stood in the tunnels that wind throughout the first floor on the slow moving tracks before, looking around with awe and wonder at the flittering sharks and jumping dolphins. A whale would float by now and then, casting a great shadow across the tunnels as everyone hurried to snap a photo.

Ferry rides are offered at an exuberant price to float atop the largest of the decorative tanks, where a stationary mermaid animatronic waves with a pleasant smile. You stopped going to the ferry rides after they replaced the human staff with the admittedly rather creepy, blank-staring bots and their pre-recorded voice lines. 

Despite all the splendor surrounding you, the position of 'general maintenance' tends to become lackluster after cleaning up one too many barf piles near the food courts. Or being tasked with fishing cellphones out of the tops of tanks, enduring the hellish fury of whichever parent you had the misfortune of relaying the lost or damaged items policy to. Rattling off of a lengthy speech of ‘we wont pay for this,’ in corporate, smiley, customer-service-y terms. 

You sigh, pushing a heavy mop forward as music thrums through your ear buds. You take a moment to rest your head against your curled up hands at the top of the handle, listening to the last few seconds of the track, before popping the ear buds out one by one and shoving them into your jacket pockets. 

The slow drip of a faucet welcomes you back to cold, harsh reality. The last hour or more of your life was spent sopping up the ick that countless shoes tracked in and out the restroom facility throughout the day. 

By now, the sun is setting over the horizon line. You always pick up the latest shifts in the day. The overnight security staff are your regular acquaintances. You’ve bribed the main desk guy into being your ride-or-die with sugary, outdated donuts.  

There's a ding on your pager. You lean the broom handle on the brick wall, which is plastered with Chica and Roxanne themed posters that encourage handwashing. As you rest the mop, you falter to catch it from falling over, as the damn thing could never just stay put. Once you’ve prevented the disaster of the mop tipping over, you check the pager again, missing the glitching and rearranging of the letters on screen. 

Honestly, the technology is considerably retro compared to what's out on the market; looking more like a terminal you’d see in a sci-fi movie, or perhaps a calculator that would be chucked at a classmate in second grade. 

What greets you is an open-ended service ticket for the Haunted Shipwreck. You quirk an eyebrow. The exhibit was usually cleaned diligently by daytime staff in preparation for opening in the evening. Spruced up by the folks who worked at the bar, and the poor teenage saps who had to stand in the queue lines scanning tickets. The ‘ride’ was part of the finale of the virtual reality storyline that guests could pay a premium price to experience, connecting all the dots of the theme park’s attractions together. 

Plus, it was the only place that served alcohol after five pm. The specialty drinks are so neon and vivid that the sugar content has to be astronomical. 

Parents flock there like it is truly an oasis in a kiddy-park desert. 

Scratching at your head, you walk in a circle as you read the details, or lack thereof. The ticket reads, 'Exhibition needs spot cleaning.' Spot cleaning? A whole exhibit? Your thumb hovers over the button to accept the task. It beats mopping bathroom tiles any day.

You wring out the mop into its bucket, and begin the tedious task of ferrying cleaning supplies from one area to the next. On your way out, you sling the heft of a tool bag over your shoulder. 

_____________________________________

The scent of lemony freshness follows you in hot pursuit. You shove open the doors to the exhibit with a “Hello?”, expecting another person or two from the maintenance crew to have accepted the job. Cleaning a whole attraction on your lonesome did not bode well for the ‘no overtime’ policy. 

The response you get is absolute silence.

You feel along the wall for a light switch, and then remember that this is an amusement park, not a hotel. The controls for the area’s lights are all in the breaker room out back. Locked away with a key that is not in your possession. With a sigh, you fish out a flashlight from your tool bag and continue to wheel your cart in.

Without music blaring through the hidden speakers, or patrons milling through the bar onto the dance floor, the main atrium of the ride feels as haunted as its namesake. Grumbling, you pull out your pager and look down. The screen is blank, as if the task had never existed at all. 

Before you can question the disappearing act, spotlights turn on. A deafening click causes you to jolt and nearly drop the device.  

You look up, and are face to face with the animatronic who prowls the exhibit. Your lungs temporary pause all function as your heart works in overdrive. 

Above you is an elaborate trick of puppetry. A skeletal siren with a face as white as bone is frozen in place, with its arms outstretched as if it had been reaching towards you in the darkness to swipe you up. Thin, transparent plastic that shimmers like true fish scales acts as webbing between its sharp claws.

A billowing tail snakes like a serpent atop most of the area’s ceiling, weaving around the lighting system. The tip of its tailfin is curled around the rafters, as if supporting its weight. But that couldn’t be true; as a large cord connects into its back. Following the tubing leads to the pulley system which keeps it on predictable tracks. 

One eye is cyan. The other eye is entirely a deep crimson, casting an eerie glow across your face. The eye with the cyan pupil trembles. 

“Jeez, you scared me!” You say, too shocked to catch yourself before talking with an inanimate puppet.

The robotic siren, Moon, stares at you, not budging from its post. The lack of movement makes it feel more and more like a statue. You feel silly for speaking to it directly. 

But you remember: there's a person whose entire job is to spend the day operating these guys. To keep them lifelike, same as the free-roam 'animatronics' that are actually just staff in sweaty old mascot suits. Learning the truth as an employee had dimmed the magic of the theme park, but you still admit that it is an impressive work of robotics, especially considering the aquarium. 

“Are you still on for the night? Ride’s shut down,” You ask, pushing through the lingering fear you felt from the brief scare. During off-season the park closes earlier and is open about half the days, meaning that Haunted Shipwreck is mostly operational Friday and Saturday. Today is a Wednesday. You didn’t expect the elusive staff who controls the two mermaid animatronics to be on duty. 

In response, the animatronic's massive tail slaps against the faux rocky terrain that decorates its elaborate enclosure. Moon lands back on the main stage it perches on during performances. Without the constant spray of dry ice to create the illusion of fog, and the bright red lighting, the siren lacks the intimidating flare you expect.

“Well, I'm here to clean. That's all.” You rest your hands at your sides, settling your thumbs into the belt loops. 

Moon peers at you. Then it rolls over onto its back. The wires controlling its electronics flatten against the surface as it settles into place. You blink as you stare at a 'belly-up' fish. Its hands rest into a t-rex, claw-like position at its sides, as if it wasn’t used to laying down, either, and instantly felt awkward. 

“Oh,” You exclaim, wrapping your head around the vague task you accepted. At last, you understand who – or what, needs cleaning: the animatronic itself. There’s gum stuck to its sculpted fins and a few pieces of paper wedged into the joints that segment its torso from its abdomen, limiting its range of motion. 

A cruel prank, regardless of the recipient’s ability to feel discomfort. 

You set your tool bag down on the floor and stumble up the plastic molded rocks, right past the ‘DO NOT CLIMB’ sign. All things considered, the ‘spot cleaning’ looks like an easy project to finish off your shift. 

You sit on your knees next to the animatronic. 

You start by pulling the paper jammed into its torso hinge out. You brace a palm against its side, and carefully tug. Hearing the papers tear makes you curse softly under your breath. 

The animatronic watches, and then bends its torso hinge away, giving you easier access to pull the shredded bits out. 

You begin to notice that all the papers jammed inside the robot are actually posters and pamphlets that you can pick up for free at the photo kiosk a room over. Strange. 

Taking a second to indulge your curiosity, you inspect one of the postcards. 

The front of the card is split into two; the daytime half, Sun, spritely and bright on the left. And his cursed form that haunts the seas at night, Moon, in an ominous dark silhouette on the right. A few of these are even lenticular prints that you can shift back and forth, but those have to be bought at the complimentary gift shop at the end of the ride.  

The depicted dark, jagged silhouette of Moon is a sharp contrast to the docile animatronic beside you. Existing to be ‘vanquished’ time and time again, by brave patrons, in order to free Sun from the shackles of an evil witch’s hex. 

The witch character is set to debut at long last in a few months.

You find yourself smiling at the memories of watching the performance for the first time; the smoke and mirrors of the robots being switched out on stage to masquerade as one feat of engineering. The silly story never fails to be engaging, with how much production was poured into making Sun’s character so lifelike and memorable.

Now that you think about it, you wonder why Moon never got the same treatment. You look up to see that the ‘cursed siren’ on your mind is staring right at you, almost expectantly. Beneath its chassis where your palms rest is a soft, insistent hum of machinery, fans set to medium gear. It points to a piece of paper you missed under its arm socket. You lean closer to dig in, their gaze burning into the back of your head. 

The silence as you work on the clean-up becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Even more so when you consider that whoever is tasked with puppeting Moon is still up in the server room, no doubt working past their shift’s end to make your job easier by maneuvering the siren this way and that. 

Though, you wonder why the puppeteer didn't just meet you at Haunted Shipwreck themself to talk it through. Must be some kind of NDA, or lack of a remote control.

By the time you are scraping gum off glittering scales, you decisively break the ice with, “Y'know, Im surprised. I thought you'd be home by now,” beginning the idle, one-sided chatter. Just because you are here on business, doesn’t mean the exchange had to be so clinical. Your quiet companion shows that its listening by flicking the long fin that adorns its head. Bright cyan tracks your every movement with what feels like intense curiosity.

While you work, you take out the pager to check on your tasks for the night. In an instant, Moon swipes it, moving faster than you can comprehend. They slither away from you with shocking speed, cable attached to its back whirring to keep up with the momentum. 

“Hey! Give that back!” You reach up, fingertips brushing off the smooth scales upon its long, imposing tail. Up above, the animatronic fiddles with the pager. Frustration ripples off it as its hands clunkily tap away at the tiny, human-sized keyboard. 

“Don't break it, c'mon, it'll come out of my paycheck!” You swat at the robot whose mid-air. You gasp at the audacity it has to curl its tail inward and away from you. An unfair game of keep-away. 

Moon turns the screen of the pager back to you. 'Thank you,' is typed out in simplistic, boxy letters. You blink, staring at the screen as the pager is gingerly placed back in your hands, claws ghosting across your arms. The siren pulls back quickly. Moon fidgets with the hem of its costuming, a subtle act of nerves that trips you up even worse.

“You—you're welcome.” You stumble on your words, not quite sure why the sentiment is so shocking. But it feels like it came from the robot itself—whoever ran these guys was committed to staying in character. Even to other staff. You admire the dedication.

The robot leers down at you. Pupils burning, an unsettling lack of expression except for a wide-eyed stare that never relents the pressure it exerts. A hand extends out, and it takes a moment for you to realize that its asking for the pager back. Dumbstruck, you comply without a second thought. The robot taps away at the keyboard, dwarfed by its palms. You hear the click-click-click of the backspace button as it shakes its faceplate.

The pager returns to you. After all its effort, only one word is on the screen: 'Again.'

“Again?” You repeat aloud, looking up at Moon with confusion. The robot continues to fidget, before nodding so quickly in confirmation, that you are worried you'll need to send in a ticket to fix its neck hinge. That sort of job goes to the on-sight mechanics who the company contracts, not a regular maintenance guy like you. “You'd... like me to stop by, again?” You guess, and Moon's nerves boil over. The tracks in the ceiling creak as the creature 'swims' all around you, showcasing flashes of glittering fins and the faintest glint of sharp fangs beneath its flowing collar. With the blur of violet, magenta, and crimson swirling around you, its like being in the middle of a shark swarm— without any of the fear. 

Because you take the boundless enthusiasm to mean, 'yes.'

”Okay, okay. I will,“ You laugh at the strange antics, charmed by how earnest the supposedly wicked siren can be. You don’t know much about Moon's character here at the park; he was intentionally left mysterious to add to the villainous flare. Or perhaps, to excuse the lack of forethought into an antagonist designed for a theme park. So, to see him instead doing several aerial laps around the perimeter of the shipwreck, you can't help but find them endearing.

Your pager dings, reminding you that there is twenty minutes before your shift ends, and one bathroom facility left half-mopped in your haste. 

“It was nice meeting you,” You hesitate—you have no idea who this person is. You stare into the lens of the animatronic’s eyes, pondering who was watching you back on the camera feed. 

Maybe the two of you could get lunch sometime off the clock, away from the prying of corporate eyes. Perhaps they are nervous to break character. You glance to the security camera in the corner, and back, ”...Moon,” you decide to call them by the character they play, for the time being. 

The siren lurches toward you. 

You reel back, almost slipping on the plastic rocks.

Spindly limbs wrap around you, catching you from your fall, and—Oh.

You blink, struggling to keep up. The wretched siren of the coast is giving you a hug. The fabric of its costume sleeves is silky and smooth, and almost bundles you up like a tarp.   

”O-okay, then.” You pat at the back of the animatronic. Its staring at you so seriously with massive, leering eyes, that you are struggling not to buckle under the stress. The pressure Moon exerts is light, but spikes your heart rate regardless. Your feet are almost off the ground, balancing on the heels of your work boots as you tilt back. You aren’t looking to go for a swim, or to be put on medical leave from a concussion. 

“That’s, um, very sweet, thank you, Moon.” You tap its arms next to indicate you’re ready to be let go of. You find your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, wondering if the animatronic’s puppeteer thinks its amusing to scare you with this level of whiplash. Maybe it is funny to them, to make the theme park's aloof villain act all cuddly for one-on-one exchanges. 

“There we go—nice and easy,” you find yourself narrating, as the siren deliberately sets you back down on the floor. Not back onto the rocks; no, it cranes you over to main floor, where you run a much smaller risk of falling on uneven terrain. 

Walking over to collect your belongings, you shrug your tool bag over your shoulder, and place a hand on the handle of your cleaning cart.

The animatronic waves you off, watching with interest as you shove your way out the door. A glimpse of the outside world, the low lights of the shut-down park and the infinite expanse of the night sky.

You stop in the doorway, prolonging the moment, “Have a good night, Moon.” The animatronic stays perfectly still, playing its role. Poised with elegance and a threatening aura. The sight leaves you with chills, although you hardly had reason to fear the animatronic, or its friendly puppeteer.

The door closes.

A pause. 

Moon stays put until they can no longer hear the roll of your cart. Then it springs up. Pacing back and forth, tail moving as smoothly as kelp in the current, weaving through decorative pillars that sell the illusion of being underwater, trapped in a shipwreck. The sliding of the wire on its tracks plays a symphony as it maneuvers around. Feeling–feeling, like it did something right, by doing something terribly wrong. The sensation was so complex that it keeps cataloguing every second.

Moon couldn't believe that tampering with a maintenance ticket actually worked. A small, small chance that anyone would pick up the task he made up— jamming postcards into its segments in a fury to make the objective believable, once someone had actually said 'yes.'

The cord above squeals, and Moon realizes it needs to relax, less it break its ability to move within its small, small world. 

Settling back down, the siren sits on its lonely perch with a glimmer of hope–that you'll be back again the next night, and the next, and the next. After all, you spoke to them with such ease. Most everyone pretends he’s nothing more than a glorified stage prop. Doomed with an underutilized, elaborate AI on the same caliber as all the others in the park, who roam freely. Who get to interact, learn, and grow daily; who get to make friends and play so many games.  

Until next time, they'll work on their communication. Study the humans who walk through its exhibit closer and closer. Experiment with how to evoke emotions beyond fear.

Their tail thumps, eager to continue daydreaming throughout the rest of its cycle spent awake.

[kabr0ztrousers]

OUGH that bugfic was plenty dark, thank you for your excellent work 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

also had another idea! fem!reader somehow finds herself as the stress-relief chew toy for an all male clan of Gnolls 👀 they were cast out by the matriarchs of their previous clans years ago, so they haven’t fucked in ages and are super pent up. she has a bad time at first, coming to terms with the fact that she belongs to them and she’ll never know the taste of freedom again, but eventually they break her, and she wouldn’t leave her new masters for anything in the world. if you have any ideas or alterations in mind, go wild!! i’d love to see what you come up with!

Kabr0z Writes episode 67: Chew Toy

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Noncon; kidnap; group sex; impregnation; knotting; corruption;

A/N: There's currently 42 requests in the queue, mixed in with the odd miscellaneous ask I'm not sure what to do with 😁

As always, please direct any requests to my ask box and they'll get written when they hit the top of the list

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Cultists raided the caravan. You were about 3 days out of Baldur's Gate headed south along the Sword Coast to Candlekeep when they attacked. Most of the group were captured, awaiting god knows what fate if you don't find a town with an Adventurer's Guild desk and get help. With any luck, the dirt road you're walking will lead to civilization and not some lost city or long-forgotten tomb

Hell, if you did find one of those, there's an even to good chance you'll find a party of adventurers there anyway. It's not like adventuring parties are hard to find, there's normally at least four per tavern.

The road came to an end at a cave. Because of course it did. You sighed and steeled yourself, this is precisely the kind of place you'll go to find a fighter, cleric, mage and/or rogue looking to seek fortune and fame. All you had to do was take those first steps into the scary cave.

The cave smelled of blood, and rotting meat. Not necessarily a bad sign. Nor were the wooden stakes driven into the ground in places, or the gnawed bones lying around. If anything that raised your hopes, an empty cave is just a cave, this is positively bait for a team of idealists hoping to make their name.

You went on, keeping to the shadows as you snuck in. This place defi isn't a goblin cave, there's no cookfires. Not an owlbear, there's too much worked material. A cackling, barking laugh answered your question.

Gnolls. Hyena-people, as big as an orc.

Sure enough, around the corner you saw a couple of gnolls wrestling. As big as the stories said, dressed in rags and furs, flint axes lying forgotten on the floor as they tried to grapple one another into submission.

Ok, some gnolls, but no heroes to beg for help. Not ideal, but at least you hadn't been seen. You stepped backwards, turning for the cave mouth. And stepped straight into a gnoll behind you.

The canine brute grabbed you and barreled forwards, yipping in excitement "Girl-thing! Yes! Yes!"

The others looked over to him, the two who were sparring broke from each other, the larger pawing over to you "Not us. Not replace. Need mother-leader"

The one holding you tore off your skirt "Not mother-leader. Woman. Fertile. Make new."

The big gnoll inspected you, sniffing your hair before grabbing a fistful and pulling it back to push his face into yours. He smelled of rotting meat and matted fur, an undercurrent of thick musk wafting from him "Have to do. Hold girl-thing. I go first."

The big gnoll grabbed your tit, squeezing hard and making you gasp. You tried to struggle and squirm against the grip of the one behind you as a clawed hand rubbed your folds. Wetness spread over your lower lips even as you tried to stop it. You were at odds with your body, praying to the gods these gnolls wouldn't get to have their way with you as your cunt invited him in.

"Girl-thing is ready." The big one put his slimy hand to his nose, sniffing it "Smells good. Bear lots of pups"

A blunt object pressed up against your cunt. You closed your eyes, pretending you were anywhere but here as it slipped in, the gnoll growling with satisfaction as he sank into your loins.

He sped up, grabbing you off the scrawny one, holding you up by your hips, arms under your knees, keeping you open.

He pressed you against a wall, pounding into your soaking cunt, the sound of your pussy being violated almost drowning out your sobs as you felt the leaking cock pushing up inside you.

You cried out as he hilted himself in you, the knot at the base of his cock expanding to trap you together as he stuck his tongue down your throat. His cum started to fill you up, the heat spreading through you as you stayed locked together.

He was still humping, even as he panted and spurted, the thick knot sending waves of pressure through you, bouncing between your cervix and your entrance. You could feel it pressing up against the inner parts of your clit, forcing against your g-spot. Your legs started to shake, your abs clench, and your hands grip the rough fur of the gnoll railing you as you came to your first wailing orgasm.

He howled as your pussy clenched and squeezed, milking him inside you. You didn't want to enjoy it, being fucked by this stinking brute, but you couldn't help but let a moan escape your lips as you humped into him, grinding your hips against his.

The knot popped out of you, the alpha gnoll dropping you as the next stepped up, the scrawny one this time.

He turned you onto your front, lifting your hips as your face ground into the dirt. No need for foreplay this time; your slobbering, open cunt welcomed his cock as he started thrusting. He was a little smaller than the first, but not by much. If he were a human, he'd still be considered amazingly well-endowed.

Your hand moved on its own, rubbing your clit as he fucked you, your hips rolling and waving against him as your mouth opened to allow whines and gasps of animal lust escape you. Again, a knot swelled up inside you as the second load of hyena-man cum pulsed into you. Your toes curled as you rubbed yourself harder, cresting the peak of another orgasm.

You ached. Your pussy was raw and punished, stretched and twitching as the second knot pulled from you and the third one took its place. You didn't even have enough energy now to moan. You just lay there, hindquarters presented an dripping cum as beast after beast took their turn on you. By the time the last male had pulled out, the alpha was ready for a second helping.

Round and around they went, filling you with a mix of potent cum, taking out their frustrations on you. By the time they were done you couldn't move, sprawled drooling and leaking on the cave floor, short breaths and sporadic twitching the only clues to your continued life.

Gnoll cubs come fast, within weeks of daily treatment you were already visibly pregnant. The pack was gentler with you now, you smelled like them and they could see you were carrying their young.

By the time you were halfway along, the former alpha was curled at your seat. Your hand idly scratching behind his ear as you watched your pack spar and bring home the hunt. They still hadn't figured out how to maintain a cookfire, and teaching them which wood was good for burning was tricky, but they just need a strong woman's hand to guide them.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know there's a reason you came here... It doesn't matter now.

You've got a pack to lead.

####################################

Sorry this one was late! Shit happened last night and left me in no mood to write, so we're getting another Sunday double-bill.

Also meant I could put my whole pussy into this one, so to speak, so not all bad.

I was gonna have this one ending worse for Fem!Reader, but it felt better to invert the power dynamic at the end (plus I love gnolls as a player race in D&D and their equivalent in PF2e so I wanted to make them a little nicer)

[celestialprincesse]

Following up from this idea here!

⋆˙⟡♡

The last twelve months had been surprisingly productive for Simon. He'd been reticent at first, pushed back against the barrage of support provided for him by both the military and those who'd remained close to him outside of mere workplace obligation. That said, it hadn't taken him long to realise how big of a change a civilian lifestyle would be after twelve years of active service. Therapy had been an uphill battle, but Tina, the nice lady he saw twice weekly, who specialised in supporting veterans and those suffering with complex PTSD, was as patient as a saint, and had eventually helped him to open up.

He still, however, struggled to find a new sense of purpose. Life had become quiet, sluggish and static. When Tina had suggested he get a pet, he'd tentatively agreed.

"Hi there! How can I help you today?" Is the sweet voice that shakes him from his thoughts, bringing him back to reality only to realise he now stands at the front of the queue, before the desk of his local adoption centre.

"I'm looking to adopt..." He trails off, somewhat awkward and still a little unsure of whether there's some sort of protocol with these things. "A dog. I'm looking to adopt a dog."

After having quietly filled in the required forms, nervous under the warm gaze of the front desk attendant, he allows himself to be shown to the kennels in which the canine residents of the centre play, sleep and eat. With a nervous, almost shy gaze, Simon takes in the rowdy pack of dogs before him, before crouching to meet the crowd of wet noses coming to check him out.

"Have you got any preferences?" You pipe up from behind him, absently scratching behind the ears of a three legged Bernese Mountain dog, Lucky, who stands loyally at your heels.

"Just - um," Simon murmurs, looking between you, the dog at your feet, and a funny looking beagle, intent on sniffing at the contents of his pockets. "Just some company really. Therapist told me I needed a reason to get out, so..."

Taking his silence as an invitation to speak up, a pensive hum fills the room as you flick though the chart listing the animals currently up for adoption, and what their ideal situation would be. "You said you're quite physically active?" You probe, shooting him a glance.

"Yeah. I run and stuff. Like to try and stay fit."

Another hum of confirmation breaks the quiet as you rule out some of the less mobile options, and, having seen the way he grimaced at a slightly dishevelled Chihuahua, you take the incentive to rule out the smaller lap dogs too. You can't help but to note the way he looks between you and your own little canine friend, a look you've seen countless times on the faces of clients, the look that says that they're interested.

"I'd introduce the two of you, but she's already spoken for I'm afraid." You hum, a wry smile pulling at your lips when you note the expression on his face, surprised at your astute observation. "She's not exactly the most mobile, either."

"Oh, yeah. Right." He stammers back awkwardly, shooting you a bashful smile.

"I do, however, have someone that might take your fancy?"

Taking the laminated sheet from your offered hand, Simon is met with a grainy image of an earnest looking dog, big, marble eyes seemingly staring at him from off of the page.

"He only came in a couple days back. Golden shepherd mix from what we can tell. About four and really good natured. He's at the vet right now, but we could book you in to meet him when he's back?"

"I'd - yeah - That'd be great. Thanks." He nods, a pale blush colouring his cheeks.

Better still, when he leaves the adoption centre with a beginners pet care brochure, flipping through the pages on the walk back home, he's met with a hastily scrawled phone number, and a little smiley face below it.

⋆˙⟡♡

[x-gabrielle-x]

Withered Cards | III

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

"Mistakes are not something you can afford to make, Jason," Bruce commented, though his gaze was trained on the screen before him. "I told you this was an intel mission. You should have waited for my queue."

Jason adjusted his position on the chair he was currently sat on, his gaze burning into Bruce's back the longer he continued to stare at the projective computer before him. The tape that he had collected from the mission played on repeat, and truthfully, it was becoming painful for Jason having to rewatch it over and over.

Yes, he had been given strict orders to merely stay hidden within the shadows and report back to Batman with the intel he was instructed to gather, but Jason wanted to do more than be a sidekick to gather information.

“How was that a mistake?” He retorted, pointing to the screen. “If I hadn’t gone, you would have never known what was happening down there.”

Finally, Bruce turned in his chair, his voice just as deep as always. Like a parent scolding his child - which was true to an extent.

"You're telling me that you found out what that whole ordeal was about?" He questioned, gesturing a hand to the screen. "Because it sure doesn't look like you do."

It angered Jason more than he would have liked to admit that Bruce was mostly right. The most Jason knew was that the Joker was up to something, but when was he not? The best possible answer he got was that he has an alliance of some sort. You seemed to be around his age, possibly younger, and yet you were one of the most skilled fighters he's fought. You were experienced, and no doubt deadly.

His nose ached from the harsh punch that you had thrown, the wet rag that was now soaked with crimson blood was discarded beside him.

When Bruce noticed his silence, he continued to ignore him from then on. His fingers dancing along the computer and leaving an uncomfortable silence that Jason wished to break.

Alfred walked in with a tray of coffee; something Bruce had waved him off to go and grab whilst he worked. Whilst the silence lingered, Alfred's gaze flickered up to the screen of the masked girl.

"I do not recognize this criminal," Alfred spoke as he settled the tray down. "Have we seen this girl before?"

Bruce shook his head, a frown etched on his features. "No, but there have been witnesses. Apparently, she's only shown up around Gotham the past two months."

Alfred hummed. “And what does this criminal do, exactly?”

Bruce pushed his body away from the desk with a long sigh, his brows still pinched into a deep frown as his hand dragged down his face. “Jason’s body cam just managed to pick up a little of their conversation before she ran off. The Joker is in on this, too. She knows him, and well.”

Jason's curiosity was piqued. What was the Joker's intentions, now? Surely it was another scheme to lure Batman into a trap.

“Perhaps another laughing gas?” Alfred suggested as he glanced over at Jason, gesturing toward the tea as he offered to pour some, but Jason shook his head.

"Not a laughing gas," Jason concluded, digging into the suit that he still wore. He pulled out the familiar vial that he had managed to snatch from the masked girl, holding it up for everybody's view. "I'm thinking maybe a drug, or maybe some sort of crazy mutation serum!" He looked between the two, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Bruce remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the vial in his son's hand. Jason was expecting praise, a congratulations, maybe even a pat on the back and allowed more freedom whilst on patrol. But Bruce's face remained stoic.

"Jason," he started, tone very far from what he had expected. Was it anger? Disappointment? Shock?

He was quick to saunter over and take the vial from his hand, analyzing it carefully as he twisted it in his grasp.

With a shake of his head, his frown deepened. If that were even possible. He placed the vial carefully onto the desk beside the computer.

"You're too reckless," he began. "Not only did you go against my orders, but now you are involved with a crime much deeper than what you can handle. You've put yourself in danger. And not only yourself," he pointed to the screen again. "But you got her in danger, too."

Jason felt his anger boil, ready to spill over any second. Could Bruce not see his success for once? Could he not give him the approval he desperately wished for? It was risky, but he had got the job done.

"I did what I had to," he defended, the anger evident in his voice as he took a step closer.

Bruce quickly snapped back. "And what you did was wrong."

A pause.

"Next time something like this happens, you follow my order... otherwise the title of Robin goes to somebody else."

In the heat of his rage, Jason stormed past both Bruce and Alfred and made his way out of the Batcave, cape flowing behind him with every long stride. Before the door had slammed shut, he just managed to hear a little of Alfred's voice.

"They're both just children, Master Wayne," he tried. "Much like you once were."

"I can't have him making more mistakes."

A harsh slap landed against your cheek, your head snapping to the side from the force. The burning sensation left behind caused for your eyes to sting with tears, your vision blurred.

His maniacal laughter was all you could hear despite the ringing in your ears, and you didn't fail to notice the very evident annoyance behind each deep inhale of laughter.

"I can't believe it!" Joker paced. "You really let that little rodent slip past your fingers, just like that? My, my, I might have placed just a little too much faith in you."

He crouched down before you, masking a frown as his thumb came up to swipe the blood from your lip. Your tongue darted out to swipe at the cut he had left, the metallic taste lingering in your mouth.

"I must say I am very disappointed," Joker hummed, but oddly enough his hand came to rest on your shoulder, like an odd way of comforting. "But that's why there's always room to learn from mistakes!"

The vial that you were sent to retrieve merely a few hours ago was no longer tucked away safely in your pocket.

You had only realized once you were in front of Joker's latest warehouse that he used as a current hideout, your hands searching every pocket, each shoe, in search for the vial. Robin had managed to slip it out without you noticing, and it enraged you.

He was fast, skilled, and very obviously sly. Although it was a tough fight, it brought some adrenaline and excitement into your night. Something you had craved for a while.

Joker clicked his tongue in thought, now sat on a torn couch across from you with his leg propped up on his knee.

"You'll make it up to me, right, my little clown?" his tone was almost mocking. "Perhaps next time you might run into the little birdy again, oh, that would spice things up!"

You inhaled a shaky breath. "I'll get it back," you said, but he waved you off.

"Nah, I'll just get the doc to make me a new one. Although, we can't afford any more mistakes now, can we, Y/N?"

He looked at you expectingly, dread washing over you the longer his gaze pierced your own.

"No, we can't."

"That's my girl!" He clapped his hands. "Harley! Come get the poor girl cleaned up, will ya? She looks like she's been through hell!" He let out a loud cackle at what he considered a joke, slapping his knee.

Harley's head popped from around the corner of the cracked wall, pigtails swinging with every movement she made. With one look at you, she was rushing over.

"Puddin, what happened?" She practically squealed, ushering you to stand up, though the small smile never left her lips. "Oh dear, let's get you all nice and cleaned up!"

The bathroom that she had practically dragged you into smelt of urine and had broken tiles scattered across the floor. Mold was growing along the ceiling and puddles of water crowded at the base of the sink. You had to hold back the look of disgust when Harley took a small rag and wet it under some water.

It wasn't long until Harley was finally finished with dabbing your split lip with the cold water and tending to the few cuts you had littered over your flesh. It was a poorly done job, but the moment you had got to step into your own small room - a storage space that barely managed to fit the worn mattress you used to sleep on, you were instantly flopping down.

It was quiet and dark, but nothing that you weren't already used to. You enjoyed having some time away from the two clowns, after all.

Looking over, you reached for the same small bear that you've kept over the years, only now it wasn't as soft as it used to be, and the familiar smell of your old home was gone from the fur. Instead, it was now covered in dirt and grime. A button had been sewn on poorly as an eye after the last had fallen off, and its right arm was barely hanging on by a thread. Still, you carefully held it against your body as you laid on your side, alone and tense.

Your mind refused to settle, thoughts swarming with the Robin boy who had managed to make your night go from alright to horrific in only a few hours.

He had outplayed you - tricked you - and still somehow, he had managed to get your mind swimming. Your fight was oddly thrilling, and it confused you with his cocky comments. Batman was nowhere to be seen, meaning that Robin had let you go. Why?

Your knuckles had tightened their hold on the bear, a reminder of your life before any of this had happened. You didn't dwell on it, knowing that there was no way back. But the sadness lingered once you buried your face into the soft fur, allowing for the sleep to catch up to you. As usual it was never a peaceful one, but instead filled with nightmares and an all too familiar wide grin.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[alisonsfics]

the boss’s goddaughter

pairing: tony dinozzo x gibbs goddaughter!reader

summary: you think it’s your lucky day when you bump into a super charming attractive guy at your godfather’s office. that is, until you realize the guy is an agent on your godfather’s team

word count: 1.9k

warnings: pinch of swearing, implied smut, and really really flirty and charming tony

You huffed to yourself, looking down at your watch. You were currently waiting in line in the lobby of the NCIS headquarters to get your visitor badge.

Gibbs was your godfather and the closest thing you had to a father figure. He had invited you to spend the day with him at the office since his team didn’t have an active case.

It was your first time coming to his work. The long line you were waiting in, and had been waiting in for twenty minutes, was making you question your visit.

“Excuse me, miss,” you heard someone say beside you. You turned and saw a man in a gray suit. He was attractive, very attractive. You noticed the shiny NCIS badge hooked on his belt.

You gave him a polite smile. “I’m Anthony Dinozzo. Please call me Tony though,” he said, reaching out to shake your hand. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach already.

“Nice to meet you, Tony. I’m Y/N,” you said, getting lost in his eyes. He noticed the way you bit down on your lip as you stared at him. He was an investigator after all, which meant it was his job to notice body language cues.

That meant he could tell you were just as into him as he was into you.

“That’s a beautiful name. I see you’re stuck in the infamous line for a visitor badge, but today is your lucky day. You see, very beautiful women do not have to wait in this line, come with me.” He said, lifting the queue rope out of your way, so you could walk under it.

“I didn’t know NCIS had this policy,” you said, tilting your head to the side. He smirked at you. “Don’t worry. You are a beautiful woman, and we will make sure you are very well taken care of,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

He gestured for you to follow him. He walked straight to the front of the line. “Hey, Brian. I need a visitor pass, man,” Tony said, chatting up the man working at the counter. He quickly was handed the pass, and he turned around with a smile.

He slowly clipped the badge onto your shirt, staring into your eyes as he did it. He walked you over to the elevator, where you both waited for the doors to open.

You weren’t ashamed to admit you were checking him out. He was doing the same to you.

The elevator doors opened slowly. “Ladies first,” he gestured for you to walk inside.

As soon as you did, his phone started ringing. He whipped it out of his pocket and looked at the name. “Shit, this is my boss. I really gotta take this. It was really nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, smiling at you. The elevator doors closed, and you traveled up to the floor Gibbs had told you to go to.

You noticed Gibbs sitting at his desk and headed in his direction.

He jumped up from his seat when he saw you. “Good morning,” he said, walking up to you and kissing your cheek.

“It’s nice to see you, Gibbs.” You said, smiling at him. He grabbed a spare chair and rolled it over to his desk, so you could sit beside him.

“Y/N, this is Tim McGee,” he introduced you to the man sitting across the room from him. You quickly shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. You are Gibbs’s ?” He started to ask.

“Goddaughter. It’s nice to meet you too,” you said, politely.

“Traffic not too bad this morning?” Gibbs asked, taking a seat. You copied his behavior, sitting down on the chair. “I took the subway because traffic was supposed to be terrible.” You told him.

You noticed two cups of coffee on his desk. “You really have to work on that caffeine addiction of yours,” you joked. He chuckled to himself. “One is for you,” he said, handing you the cup.

“Well in that case, I guess I’ll allow it,” you teased. You took a sip and realized it was black coffee. You made a face as the bitter liquid hit your taste buds. “This one is yours,” you said, switching cups with Gibbs.

McGee was shocked. He had never seen Gibbs let someone drink out of his cup and not throw it away after. This was a whole new side to Gibbs.

“So, is there anyway you could find me information on a guy I ran into in the lobby? A cute guy. He worked here.” You asked, doing puppy eyes at Gibbs.

He wrapped his arm around you. “I love you, but I don’t need to know about your love life. That’s too much information for me. Talk to McGee about it, he’s the computer guy.” Gibbs replied.

You giggled to yourself at the disgust on his face when you mentioned a cute guy. Gibbs was very protective over you.

Tony arrived on the floor and stepped out of the elevator. Heading to his desk, he spotted McGee. “McProbie, I need you to look at security footage from the lobby. I was talking to this absolutely gorgeous girl.” Tony explained. You started giggling to yourself as you recognized him.

Tony wasn’t looking at Gibbs, so he hadn’t even noticed you yet. “She shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Gibbs chimed in, causing Tony to look in your direction. Tony froze when saw you sitting next to Gibbs.

“She’s not an ex-wife, right?” Tony joked, trying to ease the tension. He knew Gibbs was protective, and whatever Gibbs’ relationship to you was, Gibbs wouldn’t like Tony hitting on you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gibbs scowling at Tony. “This is my goddaughter,” Gibbs snapped.

“I’m feeling like I should shut my mouth now,” Tony said, sinking down to sit on his chair. “Good idea,” McGee said, chuckling at the situation.

“Really? Dinozzo is the guy?” Gibbs asked, looking over at you. You shrugged with a smirk on your face. “What? He’s charming,” you said, feeling like a schoolgirl.

Your gaze drifted back over to Tony. He winked at you, causing your cheeks to heat up.

“Dinozzo, go flirt somewhere else.” Gibbs snapped.

Tony was a little too eager. “Really, boss?” He asked, getting excited. Then, he got a glare that told him that Gibbs was telling him to stop flirting.

“Nevermind, I’m shutting up now,” Tony said, focusing back on his computer. The room got deathly silent as the three men continued working.

You noticed how McGee would smile to himself every time that Gibbs glared at Tony. McGee was very entertained by the whole situation. Gibbs, not so much.

Gibbs phone began to ring. He snatched it up off the desk before answering. He said a few words, and then stood up from his seat.

“I’m going down to Abby’s lab. You two? Not happening.” Gibbs said, before walking out of the room.

As soon as Gibbs got in the elevator, Tony walked over to you. “How about we go get some privacy?” He whispered, with a smirk on his face. He grabbed your hands, helping you up from your seat.

“Probie, cover for me,” Tony said, as he placed his hand on the small of your back and guided you. “If Gibbs catches you, you’re dead,” McGee called out.

Tony led you over to behind the stairs. “So, Gibbs’ goddaughter, huh? What’s that like?” He asked you, curiously.

“He’s the only father figure I’ve ever had, so he cares too much sometimes. And being over-protective when it comes to future boyfriends is just part of the deal.” You told him.

“Future boyfriend?” He quipped, smirking at you. You hadn’t completely meant to say it. It kind of just slipped out. You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Well, if you wanna be,” you replied, putting the ball in his court. “Oh, trust me, I wanna be,” he said, leaning in and kissing you. He weaved his fingers through your hair as your lips moved against his.

You ran your fingers over his stomach. You could feel his muscles through his shirt. His lips tasted like vanilla, and you felt like you were addicted to the taste.

You had a fluttery feeling in your stomach as he moved one of his hands to your waist. He pulled away to take a breath. “God, Gibbs would kill me for doing this,” he mumbled.

He leaned in to kiss you again, but you pulled your head back. “If you want to be a future boyfriend, you’re gonna have to stop thinking about my godfather when you’re kissing me.” You told him, running your fingers over the lapels of his jacket.

“Yes, ma'am,” he nodded, leaning back in to kiss you again. You let your lips connect this time. You were glad Tony had picked a more private place for you both to talk.

He moved your hands so they were resting on his sides underneath his jacket. He smirked against your lips. You ran your hands up and down his sides as he held your waist with one hand and cupped your face with the other.

Gibbs cleared his throat. You both jumped apart. Tony quickly smoothed out his shirt and his jacket. “Hiya, boss,” Tony said, nervously.

Gibbs took a step closer to him. “If you hurt her, you will be in a world of hurt, Dinozzo.” Gibbs threatened. He walked back towards his desk.

Tony stepped back closer to you. “So, you have any plans tonight?” He asked you, smoothing out where he had ruffled your hair.

“That depends on if you’re actually going to ask me out.” You smirked up at him. He was surprised by your little sarcastic comebacks and kind of turned on by them too.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” he said, grabbing your waist. His lips lightly grazed against yours.

You moved his hands off of you and took a step backwards. “Still waiting for you to ask,” you quipped.

He smiled at you. “Would you like to go get dinner tonight?” He asked, grabbing one of your hands. From the expression on your face, he knew you were waiting for more.

He wasn’t sure what you were waiting for, but he knew there was more. “And…?” He hesitated, trying to read your mind.

“And come back to your place,” you whispered, finishing his sentence for him.

“And come back to my place?” He repeated what you said, as if trying to fully process it. His eyes were wide, and his shock was obvious.

“And what would we be doing at my place?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You smirked at him, and he felt his stomach do a flip.

“Use your imagination, Dinozzo,” you whispered in his ear, winking at him. He almost felt weak in his knees. “I can’t say no to that,” he replied.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another kiss. He was quick to kiss you back. You were like a drug to him.

“Dinozzo, back to work!” Gibbs snapped from the other side of the stairs.

He pulled out of the kiss and sighed. “On it, boss,” he replied. You grabbed his hand before he could walk away from you. “Wait a minute,” you whispered.

You wiped your lipstick off his lips quickly. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, returning to his desk.

You were right behind him, taking your seat back next to Gibbs.

“Now you know why I waited so long for you to visit me at work.” Gibbs said, looking over at you.

“You knew this would happen?” You asked, shocked. This also caught Tony’s attention.

“Yeah, I knew. I know you both like the back of my hand. Whether I like it or not, you both are a great fit.” He admitted.

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[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

saw your requests were open sooo what about a CEO!Regina x Reader where reader visits her on her break and gets her some lunch. They work at another company that’s close to Regina’s office. She has been begging the reader to work for her, but they have always refused. Until that lunch- Reader tells her she put in a notice at her company and thus is free to work for Regina. Queue a very very excited Regina :)

Transferring Companies

|| Regina George x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; adult Regina and reader, soft Regina, loads of fluff, short drabble

|| Summary; reader gets tired of their current job and finally puts in a notice; hoping Regina still had that position open for them.

Requests open!

Started; october 9th

Finished; october 9th

~~~

Ugh. Going to your job every day felt like nails on a chalk board, you hated it but the opportunity was good. You learnt a lot, the pay was decent and you had some pretty good benefits.

Your girlfriend however, Regina George, seemed to think otherwise about your job. She knew you hated it and so she had always made sure you knew there was a spot for you in her company. If you ever wanted to consider changing. She made sure to bring the topic up a few times a week too, so it was always fresh in your mind; and she definitely succeeded at that. You were always thinking about it. Every morning when you left to go to work.

So you finally made a decision, it was harder than you thought it would have been and it should have seemed like a no brainer to you. But you didn't like change, you'd hated it. So much so that you still have the same clothing style and hair style from when you were in highschool. That was the last time you'd ever really made any noticeable changes.

You knew this was something you should do, you were okay with it. Though the transition still wasn't going to be easy, however it helped knowing you would have Regina in your corner. Regina. Right. You should tell her about your decision.

When you left for your lunch break that afternoon, you picked up some of Regina's favourite fast food. Knowing that your CEO girlfriend often forgot to eat when she was deep in her work.

Food bag in hand, you walked to her office and knocked on the door. "Come in!" She called, getting a smile from you. She could do the simplest thing and it would always make your heart flutter. You opened the door, greeting her with that same smile," oh my God!! Hi, baby!" She immediately lightened up seeing you and practically leaped out of her chair.

She walked over and gave you a tight hug, kissing your neck. You easily hugged back, being mindful about the food bag," hey, baby."

"What are you doing here?! You didn't tell me you were stopping by, I would have prepared something for you," She was surprised by your visit, to say the least. She was really happy to see you, though.

You lifted the bag of food and grinned," I already got that covered. I had actually come by to talk to you about something."

"Uh oh. Good something or bad something?" She asked, taking the food with caution as she eyed you.

"Good, I promise." You assured her, realizing now how you could have sounded. You waited a moment to figure out her reaction, then decided to tell her." I'm transferring companies. I put in my notice and was hoping you still had that spot for me and I totally didn't just screw up?" Maybe you should have mentioned it first to her, but as luck would have it...

Regina smiled wide, practically grinning from ear to ear as she looked at you." Wait- really?! You're serious?" She set the bag of food on her desk and gripped your shoulders," you're coming to work here?"

"If you'll have me." You nodded and she kissed you, which pretty much answered your question. She seemed to almost vibrate with excitement as her lips moved against yours with effortless ease.

You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling the blonde close so she was flush against you. God you loved her.

And you couldn't wait to start working with her as your new boss.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXVI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) LDN -> LA

Chapter Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

“You might want to put this on,” said Ben, pulling a surgical mask from the back pocket of his jeans and handing it to you.

You took it from him with a raised brow. “Is this so you don’t get recognised?” 

“That, and germs.” He slipped on his own mask, adjusting it to sit comfortably over his nose and mouth. “Press tours are draining enough without being sick on top of it.” 

You put on your mask and slid on a pair of sunglasses - brand new, more money than you’d usually be willing to spend on something so superfluous. But you’d been pressed for time, caught up in the excitement of last minute holiday shopping.

The driver was taking your bags from the boot of the car, placing them on the ground one by one. The early morning was bright and crisp, making you shiver as you stepped out, teeth clenching with every brush of cold air across your bare arms. You’d dressed for California; soft, comfy trousers, a little white baby tee, stupidly forgetting the unpredictable British weather that would come first.  

A man was waiting near the airport entrance, his short greying hair and casual clothes making him indistinguishable from any other person around him. But Ben seemed to know him, acknowledging him with a nod and a quick wave as he grabbed your luggage and began walking towards him.

You turned to the driver and gave a quick smile; your numerous awkward moments alone in the back of his car making you feel like you somewhat knew him now. He nodded at you in response, before closing the boot with a heavy thud and making his way back to the driver’s side door. 

The man with the greying hair walked you briskly through the airport. It was emptier than you’d expected; short queues, no crowds, the sound of muted footsteps and hushed murmurs filling the vast, open space. Your suitcase rolled smoothly over the tiled floor as you dragged it behind you, while Ben was somehow managing to haul everything else on his own; his suitcase, his backpack, your large carry-on slugged over his shoulder. You’d offered to take it from him, but he simply shook his head, grabbing it before you even had the chance to protest. 

You were guided through check-in and security, following Ben’s lead as he followed his escort’s. The smell hit you first; the overwhelming blend of expensive perfumes and colognes, burnt coffee, food wafting from restaurants and cafés. It was such a familiar scent, nostalgic, exciting, no matter how long it had been since your last flight.

People were slumped in stiff chairs, some curled up like they’d been waiting forever. The cry of a baby echoed somewhere in the distance, while a muffled, metallic voice spoke over the tannoy. You continued past it all, past the people with their neck pillows and coffee cups, duffel bags tucked between their knees, past the shoppers with their duty free bags and a group of young women in matching hen party t-shirts. Yet here you were, drifting along in a surreal, peaceful current, bypassing the chaos.

Eventually, you were brought to a quiet corner of the terminal where a small welcome desk stood in front of a sleek glass door, a subtle, shiny plaque on the wall beside it that read: The Windsor Suite. There was a man standing at the desk in a shirt and gold coloured tie, a name tag across the breast of his long black tailcoat. He was wearing a bowler hat, and it took everything in you not to laugh at the absurdity of it all as you watched him reach out his leather-gloved hand and take your boarding passes from Ben.

Your escort seemed to disappear, making himself scarce without a word, or maybe you were just too focused on the man in front of you to notice.  

“The Windsor Suite?” you whispered to Ben with a raised eyebrow. 

He nodded towards the doors as the man pulled them open for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

And you did, your mouth falling open in shock as you wandered further in. The place looked like a luxury hotel penthouse; polished wooden floors and buttery leather chairs, fresh flowers in tall metallic vases. Everything was soft, neutral, warmly lit and beautifully decorated. A long, open bar extended the length of one wall, another wall filled with books and a large mounted TV. There was artwork everywhere, plush sofas and armchairs in textures of velvet, leather and chenille, a discreet butler standing near a serving cart.

You pulled down your mask as you looked around in awe. “This is… Insane.” 

Ben set down your bags, taking off his own mask to reveal a slight smile. “How else are we supposed to wait for our flight?” he asked, clearly joking. 

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “I usually just sit on the floor near a plug socket somewhere with an overpriced sandwich.”

He laughed, dropping into an armchair with a sigh. “Trust me, if I could still get away with doing that, I would.” 

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” You flopped into the armchair beside him, your body sinking into the soft cushions like a warm embrace. “Definitely not complaining.” 

He laughed again and checked his watch, before settling back into his chair and closing his eyes. 

You watched him for a moment before turning your attention to the rest of the room, eyeing the glossy sheen of the bar, the precisely placed books on the shelves and bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. There was a large, frameless window, providing an uninterrupted view of the runway outside, a private jet waiting on the tarmac, baggage handlers lugging suitcases onto the conveyor of a commercial plane. 

If you weren’t so tired, you were certain you’d be exploring; walking the entire length of the suite and back, touching every surface, peering into cabinets and smelling the flowers. It was probably a good job you were exhausted, saving Ben the embarrassment of his ‘commoner’ girlfriend acting like she’d never seen a coffee table before.

“Would either of you like a glass of champagne?” the butler asked in a soft, posh voice.

You hadn’t even heard him approach you, startling slightly when you saw him standing at your side.

“It’s half past six in the morning,” you said with a quiet laugh, before pausing for a brief moment. “Yeah, okay. Can you put a bit of Chambord in it as well?” 

He subdued his amusement, but the smile still managed to reach his eyes. He nodded and turned his attention to Ben. 

“No I’m alright, thank you. But could I possibly get some water?” 

“Of course, sir,” he replied, before quickly walking away. 

You leaned in towards Ben, speaking quietly. “You’re making me look bad.” 

“You said yourself it’s only half six,” he chuckled.

“Mm, well, I’d feel like we wasted this place if I didn’t at least do one extravagant thing. How much is this even costing you- actually, no, don’t tell me.” 

He laughed again, a deep, tired laugh in the base of his throat. 

The butler handed you a tall, thin champagne flute, the rosy liquid fizzing gently, tickling your nose as you brought it to your lips. It was sweet, slightly bitter, scratchy as it slid down your throat and cold as it hit your empty stomach. But it was undeniably satisfying, making your cheeks flush and your muscles relax as you curled your feet underneath yourself and settled back further.

You talked quietly for a while, the conversation drifting aimlessly from work schedules to bucket lists, stories, jokes, favourite things. The sun was getting brighter as the morning progressed, but the lighting inside the suite stayed soft and ambient, keeping you suspended in your relaxed, comfortable bubble. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you took it out to see a message from your mother.

Did you get to the airport ok? How long til your flight? x

“Everything okay?” Ben asked.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Just my mum worrying about me as always.” 

You leaned towards him, holding your phone up to take a selfie together. He tilted his head towards you, pulling a stupid face at the camera. 

“I’m sending this to my mum,” you said. 

“Oh.” He quickly adjusted his expression, smiling warmly and waiting for you to snap the photo. 

But before you could, your phone began to ring, an unknown number popping up on the screen. You looked at it with confusion for a moment before finally answering it with a dubious ‘hello?’ 

“May I speak with Quinn Armitage?” said a smooth, intimidating voice.

You knew immediately who it was, sitting up straighter in your seat and clearing your throat. “Yes, this is- speaking…” 

“Quinn, hello, this is Ellen Ford.” 

Ben was watching you with curious eyes, analysing your face. 

“Hi, Ms Ford, how are you?” you replied, locking eyes with him and watching his brows raise in surprise. 

“I understand you’re taking some personal leave so I wanted to catch you first,” she began, her voice calm, unbothered, a complete juxtaposition to your shaking hands and swirling stomach. “A piece came across my desk recently that I understand you wrote; ‘Still, They Watch’...?”

It felt surreal to hear the title of something you’d written come from her. “Y-yes that’s mine, I… i brought it to Julia a while back but she-”

“It’s very good,” she interrupted simply, as though she hadn’t even registered that you were speaking.

“Thank you.” 

“With some minor edits, I’d like to run it in the next issue.” 

Your hand instinctively lunged for Ben’s thigh, fingers gripping him like a vice. 

“However, with you being out of office for the foreseeable-”

“No, I’m,” you interjected, too excited to care about cutting her off. “I am out of office but I’m still working. If you send it, I can make the changes and get it right back to you.” 

“Excellent. I’d like to talk more with you about the piece when you get back.”

“I- Yes, definitely. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how-”

She’d already hung up. You looked down at your phone in stunned silence, the camera reflecting your awestruck face back at you. 

“What was that about?” asked Ben. 

“My op-ed. She wants to publish my op-ed.” 

He breathed out a single, quick laugh, smiling as he reached over and placed a hand on the back of your head, shaking you with restrained excitement. “That’s amazing!”

“I don’t even know how she got hold of it-” You paused, before looking up at him suspiciously. “Did you have something to do with this?” 

“What? No! I swear to god, no.”

You narrowed your eyes at him before quickly realising he was telling the truth, your mouth swiftly curling into a smile. “I wish I could see the look on Julia’s face when she finds out.”

“Maybe she’s the one who showed it to her?” 

“Definitely not. Maybe Nick snuck it into her office. I need to text him.”

“Text your mum first.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You lifted the phone, leaning into him and finally snapping the photo.   

You couldn’t stop giggling. Not as you were driven across the tarmac, or as you climbed the steps to the plane, not even when you finally got onboard. The whole thing just seemed so ridiculous to you; the special treatment and constant fast tracking, the flight attendants calling you ‘madam’ as they led you to your seat.

You’d stared out of the window during takeoff like a wonderstruck child, the reality of what you were doing finally starting to sink in - you were on a plane, tucked cosily inside your own personal business class cubicle as you soared towards the atlantic, your famous boyfriend sat directly behind you. Was this your life now? Would there come a day when trips like this no longer felt special? When boarding a plane and sitting in business class felt as mundane as catching the tube?

You’d been in the air for almost eight hours, and you were growing restless. You’d tried to sleep, took out your laptop and tried to write, you’d flicked through films on the TV, even resorted to playing word games on your phone.

You huffed and stood up, kneeling on your seat and resting your arms on top of the partition separating your cubicle from Ben’s. 

He glanced up at you before taking off his headphones. “Hi,” he greeted with a smile.

“Hi. What’re you watching?” 

“Hm? Oh, nothing, I’m listening to music.” He looked up at you for a moment. “Are you bored?” 

“Mhm.” You looked around the quiet cabin, then over to the toilets, then back to him, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Do you want to go and join the mile high club?” 

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and steady, like a warning. 

“I’m only joking. I’m too loud to ever get away with that.”

“I know.” 

You rested your chin on your arms as you looked down at him, smirking slightly. “Well if you won’t meet me in the toilets, will you at least play scrabble with me for a bit?”

He rolled his eyes, giving in to a smile and reaching for his phone. “Fine, but you can’t get pissed off with me like you did last time.”

“No promises,” you replied, turning around and sinking back down into your seat.

It was noon when you landed in LA, but your bodyclock was still stuck on London time. The evening would be closing in there now, the temperature dropping, sun beginning to sink towards the horizon. Yet here, it was bright and busy, with air conditioning blasting from the ceilings and deafeningly loud crowds at every turn. You were exhausted as you followed another escort through the airport, your eyelids gritty, limbs heavy, wondering why your mind hadn’t let you sleep on the plane when your body so desperately needed it. 

Ben took you by the hand as you walked, while his other hand pushed a large luggage trolley. “You okay?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask covering his mouth. 

You nodded, giving him a slight squeeze. 

It was strange how different everything felt already, like the atmosphere itself was unfamiliar; the current moved faster here, more erratic, pulling everyone along in sharp, errant bursts. There was a restlessness, a sense that no one had time to walk slowly or speak quietly, not even inside the airport.

Ben kept hold of your hand as you were ushered towards a private exit, and as the doors slid open, you were hit by a wall of sudden, intense heat. It was thick yet dry, like stepping into a cloud of dust. You’d visited hot countries before, but none that had taken your breath away quite like this. It was exciting, to feel so far removed from home.

A black SUV was waiting outside, the windows tinted so dark they looked opaque. The driver stood beside it holding up a discreet sign; Ben’s initials and a string of numbers you didn’t understand. The escort handed you both off to him, like children who couldn’t be left unsupervised for even a moment. 

You climbed into the backseat as they piled your bags into the boot, breathing a sigh of relief to find the aircon blasting through the car. You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes, listening as the door opened and Ben shuffled in beside you, his voice hoarse from tiredness and the recycled plane air as he spoke to the driver. 

His hand found your thigh, thumb stroking gently back and forth in a silently soothing gesture. You appreciated it, turning to look at him with a sleepy smile.

“How long until we get there?” you asked as the car began to move.

“About an hour.” 

You rolled your eyes and he laughed. 

“You just survived an eleven hour flight,” he said. “You’ll cope.” 

The car rolled to a stop, but you weren’t there yet. You peered into the front, watching the driver roll down his window next to a small wood-paneled outbuilding. Ben leaned over, handing him a small plastic card. The engine rumbled quietly as you waited, and after a moment, you saw a barrier rise to let you through. You flashed Ben a curious glance but he didn’t seem to notice, too busy directing the driver on where to go. 

You moved steadily along wide, winding roads, and even in your tired haze, your eyes stayed wide open. Huge gates stood before endless driveways, leading to grand entrances set into ivy-covered walls. Tall palms framed perfectly manicured lawns that stretched across hillsides, spanish villas with clay tile roofs, modern houses of glass and steel set like art installations against the dusty gold backdrop of hills and valleys. It was surreal, so perfect it almost seemed fake. 

You kept going further up the winding road, the houses growing larger and further apart like they needed room to breathe. When you finally turned a corner, you’d almost forgotten why you were there, finally snapping back into reality when Ben handed the driver another keycard.

He used it to open a gate, rolling slowly up a long private road lined with neat grass and pruned hedges, wild bushes, trees and shrubbery providing a sense of seclusion as you ventured further in. The car finally stopped in the middle of a large, paved driveway, the house surrounding it making your mouth fall open. 

You climbed out of the car, shielding your eyes from the sun as you stared up at the building before you. Lime Washed walls and terracotta roofs, arches and walkways, windows with wooden shutters and stone paths leading to standalone structures. The front entrance was like its own private courtyard; plants and pillars, another magnificent arch framing a glass front door. You stood gawping at it as Ben lifted your luggage out of the boot. And by the time the car had begun to drive away, you still hadn’t uttered a word. 

“Quinn, can you come and get your suitcase?” he called out. 

“When you said you had a house you stayed in whenever you came to LA, you failed to mention it was a fucking mansion,” you said, whipping around to face him. 

He shrugged at you, brow furrowed like he didn’t understand.

“Is this yours?” you pressed. “Like… You own it? You’re not renting it out, it- this is your house?” 

“Yes, this is my house.” He began, talking sarcastically slow, like he was explaining the concept to a child. “This is my California home. So when I am in California, I live here.” 

 You sneered at him and grabbed the handle of your suitcase. “Well go on then, lead the way.” 

“Why are you annoyed with me for having a nice house?” he laughed. 

“I’m not annoyed, I’m just- I keep forgetting you’re… you. Then suddenly it’s like boom, vip lounge, business class, sprawling fucking mansion in the hills.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening a smirk he knew better than to let spread. Instead he kissed the side of your head and hoisted your bags onto his shoulders, dragging his suitcase behind him. You followed, eyeing more details of the house as you went; the architecture and the greenery, the steps leading up to the front door framed with lanterns, how everything seemed so thought out and deliberate. 

He unlocked the door and let you inside, your footsteps echoing against the polished tile floor as you wandered in. You bit the inside of your cheek as you gazed around, knowing you couldn’t keep harping on at him about it, no matter how much you wanted to. The walls were smooth and rounded, the staircase curving perfectly up to the second floor. Everything was neutral and clean, earth tones and natural textures, tall ceilings and minimal clutter. There were more archways, providing small glimpses into other parts of the house, and you wondered how one man could possibly make use of so much space, if there were places he rarely ever saw. 

“Go on, lay into me,” he said with a joking sigh.

“This is… beautiful,” you replied sincerely. 

“Oh. Thank you. Do you want a quick tour?” 

“Quick?” 

He glared at you. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting back a smirk. “Couldn’t help myself.” 

The house echoed as you walked through it, the tall ceilings and generous windows making the place feel airy and open. Walls and archways seemed sculpted into the space, tones of clay and earth accented with black iron banisters, tiled floors and carved mahogany finishes. It was a far cry from his home back in London. There, his wealth was hidden in the foundations, in the pricey location and quiet luxuries. But here, it was impossible to miss. 

The kitchen alone was bigger than your entire flat, bordered with pale oak cabinets and shiny industrial-sized appliances. Dim, warm spotlights lined the exposed beams in the ceiling, casting a glow over the huge island in the middle of the room. You ran your hand along the polished marble top as you passed it, catching a glimpse of what looked like a small orchard beyond the window.

“This is the kitchen,” said Ben.

There were a bunch of flowers sitting in a vase on the island. You reached out and touched the petals, surprised to discover they were real. “How are these not dead?” 

“Hm? Oh, well I have people who come once or twice a week to look after the house when I’m not staying here. Y’know, gardeners, housekeepers, pool maintenance…”

You nodded, slowly learning to take this new reality in your stride.

He showed you to the first of many living rooms, where framed art and floating bookshelves decorated the pristine white walls. Curved couches sat low to the ground, angled towards the windows and sliding glass door on the back wall. He slid it open and gestured for you to follow him outside, a slight smile on his face, like he was excited for you to see what lay beyond it.

There was a fire pit on the patio, outdoor furniture still wrapped in its waterproof covering. You stood there for a moment in the dry, california heat, looking out at the well-kept grass that seemed to blend into the hills in the distance. Across the lawn was a swimming pool, a tennis court, statues and water features, flowers and citrus trees.

“It’s not like you to be this quiet,” he said. “Where’s the snarky comments? The criticism telling me this is all too much?” 

You shrugged and shook your head. “I think you’ve finally managed to make me speechless.” 

The tour continued with Ben doing most of the talking. He showed you rooms you wouldn’t have even known were there; a bar, a study, a sun room, all tucked away down curved passageways and across small courtyards connecting one part of the building to the other. There was a cinema room, with velvet recliners and a huge projector screen, a sleek home gym with accompanying sauna, and a cellar stocked full of whiskeys and gins, wines and bottles with labels you couldn’t even make out. 

He lugged your bags upstairs and you followed behind in awe, staring up at the skylight above the landing, natural light flooding another vast, minimal space. You peered into passing guest rooms and bathrooms, verandas and more stairs leading back down to places you weren’t sure you’d even seen yet. 

“And this is our room,” said Ben breathlessly, pushing open a set of double doors and dropping  the luggage on the ground with a huff. 

You stepped into the master bedroom and let out a soft, quiet sigh, too overwhelmed to muster anything more. It was huge, with smooth, curving walls and a glass door leading out onto a private balcony. The bed was perfectly made, all soft linens and neutral tones, the large wooden headboard built into the back wall. There was a sitting area, a fireplace, a television, and yet still, the room somehow felt sparse.

“What’s through there?” you asked, pointing to another door facing the bed. 

“That’s the wardrobe- Well, closet,” he said in an American accent, making you giggle. “And if you come through it, I’ll show you the master bathroom.”

You watched him open the door and disappear into the walk-in closet space, refraining from making a Narnia joke as you began to follow him. 

You could have slapped him for calling it a wardrobe. It was more like a hallway, each side lined with shelves and cupboards, glass cabinets filled with watches and cufflinks, shoes neatly organised on racks beneath them. There was an archway on the other end, leading through to a bathroom of marble and tile, glass and stainless steel. The deep clawfoot tub stood in the centre of the room, behind it a large window looking out on another stunning landscape. 

“Toilet’s through there,” said Ben. “And the shower’s in that bit over there.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I’m so embarrassed that I ever let you set foot in my flat.” 

He furrowed his brow and laughed. “What?”

“This. This is how you live, and then you come and stay with me where you need to punch the shower just to get it to turn on.” 

He laughed again, more heartily this time. “I did offer to get that fixed for you.” 

You rolled your eyes and made your way back through to the bedroom, your eyes immediately falling on the glass door. You walked across the room and slid it open, stepping out onto the balcony and resting your elbows on the railing. 

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back to let the sun warm your face, and after a moment, Ben was behind you, pressing up against your back and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I get why you want to live here full time,” you said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Who said I wanted to live here full time?” 

“Faye.”

He inhaled deeply, letting it out in a low groan. “I thought we’d learned not to listen to anything that woman says…” 

“Yeah but, I wouldn’t blame you if this one was true. Why on earth would you ever go back to London when you have the ability to wake up to this every morning?” 

He hummed in thought. “Well, I might not appreciate it as much if I was here all the time.” He kissed the side of your head. “I like it here, but… London’s my home.”

You let your head fall back against his chest, eyes scanning the hills in the distance, the afternoon light pouring over them like honey. A gentle breeze rolled in, taking the edge off the heat, and for a while neither of you spoke.

His chest rose and fell slowly as you rested against him, the quiet strength of his arms snug around your waist. Every time you thought you were finally getting used to it all, to the odd reality he existed in, something always came to throw you off kilter again. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nodded, leaning back further into him. “Readjusting.” 

He exhaled a laugh. “It’s been a long day. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” 

You turned your head slightly, intending to speak, but stopped yourself with a gentle sigh. The old Quinn would have corrected him, reminded him how far removed from normal his life was. But you no longer felt the need; understanding now that this wasn’t normal, but it was his normal. And, if you were going to stay with him, it would inevitably become yours too. 

For a short while, you stood there wrapped in the quiet, basking in the warmth and the soft brush of his thumbs over your hips. Until eventually you felt him shift, his hands moving to your waist to guide you back inside. 

“Shall we get a shower?” he asked.

His voice was low and casual, the same tone he might use when talking about dinner or the weather. There was no sly smile, no teasing edge, just an easy, simple offer.

It still surprised you how natural it felt; the idea of sharing something so intimate without expectation. Before him, you’d never have believed an invitation like that could be about comfort rather than sex. You wouldn’t have wanted it to be. 

*Yeah, that sounds nice,” you replied with a sleepy smile, letting him take your hand and lead you back towards the bathroom. 

You undressed together, throwing your clothes into a heap on the tiled floor. He opened the glass door of the shower and turned it on, holding his hand under the stream to test the temperature. And when it was ready, he gestured for you to step in.

He’d kept the water cool; a soothing relief from the California heat. You closed your eyes as you stood directly beneath the shower head, washing away the sweat and grime of your long journey. He got in behind you, pressing himself up close against your back and reaching over you for a bottle of shampoo.  

He washed your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp with a firm pressure, making you relax into him with a grateful sigh. And when he was done, you turned to face him, tilting your head back to rinse away the suds before lathering him with shower gel. Your palms glided over his shoulders and down his arms, curving around his waist and trailing down his back. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours, just once, before returning his attention to your hair. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, lost in the scent of his soap and the sound of running water. Neither of you had spoken, moving with ease around the small space, taking turns under the stream and tending to each other carefully.

When you stepped out, your muscles felt looser, your skin fresh and clean, your mind pleasantly quiet. You wrapped yourself in a towel and wandered back into the bedroom, crouching at your suitcase and opening it to find the crumpled, disorganised mess of clothes you’d carelessly shoved inside.

Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped low around his waist, watching you as you rummaged for something to wear. His eyes followed you as you stood up and began to move around the room, drying yourself and peering at your reflection in the mirror.

“What?” you asked with a suspicious smirk.

He shook his head, leaning back on his elbows. “I just think you’re so beautiful.” 

You paused for a moment, pressing your lips together to hide a smile before continuing to dry yourself. “Well, that’s lucky. I imagine you’d find it quite challenging to sleep with me if you didn’t.” 

“I’m a man, darling. I’d manage.” 

You snorted. “Charming.” 

You slipped into your underwear and sat down to pull on a pair of leggings, your eyes flitting over to him every few moments as he began to get dressed too. Water stuck to his shoulders and chest like beads, his arms flexing as he unfolded a t-shirt, bottom lip sucked gently into his mouth. He was divine, mouthwatering, and there was a bed right there. Yet somehow, you were perfectly content on the other side of the room. 

"Oh no," you began dryly. "We've already hit the 'boring' stage, haven’t we." 

"What do you mean?" he asked with a laugh. 

"Beautiful place, huge bed, and we’re just… Getting dressed." 

His mouth curled in amusement as he realised what you were implying. Then his gaze drifted over you, his voice turning low and calm when he finally spoke.

“I’m letting you rest today.” 

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t punctuate his words with a wink or a smirk. Instead, he simply reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

“You’re letting me rest…?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” he replied as he rolled the material down over his torso. “Because I’m working all day tomorrow. And by the time I get home, I’ll need somewhere to put my frustration.”

You glanced up at him, your fingers paused with your leggings halfway up your thighs. 

He met your gaze, the weight of his meaning settling in the space between you. “And you’ll be right here,” he said simply. “Won’t you.”

The air seemed to thin, your throat tightening, heat blooming deep in your stomach. “I’ll be here,” you finally replied.

His eyes flitted to your fingers as they clutched the waistband of your leggings, still half-forgotten at your thighs. The sight seemed to amuse him, a soft, brief smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby

[macabr3-barbi3]

Alastor x Reader who has temperamental issues and decides to throw something at him which leads to him fucking the tantrum out of her.

well shit, I’m fucking obsessed with this idea lmao to the top of the adhd queue it went! I tried to keep it a little more bite sized, sometimes the plot does get away from me lol

As usual the ending is rushed once the smut is over but I hope this works with what you were looking for 🖤

Tags: light bondage; vaginal sex; just a tad bit of begging

Everyone else in the hotel knew it was easiest to just give you your way when you were pissy; except Alastor apparently. You came home after a rough day to spot him in the kitchen with the last chamomile teabag in his steaming mug; you asked him to trade for something else so you could have what was currently steeping in his ‘Oh Deer’ cup, so you could sleep.

“You don’t need it to sleep; really all that one needs to sleep is a bed and silence! You have your own bedroom and everyone else is asleep so I think you’ll be perfectly fine.” 

Some childish part of you decided that the best course of action upon his refusal would be to throw your own empty mug directly at his head in retaliation.

The sickening crack you heard almost made you think you had hit your mark- but no, that was just his fucking neck snapping as he cocked his head far enough to the side to avoid the ceramic projectile. The mug shattered harmlessly on the floor and Alastor turned to look at you, his eyes black, red dials in place of pupils. “Surely you can’t be so foolish,” he had growled, and the kitchen faded into darkness as he transported you to his bedroom.

How exactly that led to where you were now- hands suspended above you by shadows, Alastor’s claws digging ridges into the flesh of your hips while he bounced you on his thick cock- was a bit beyond you at the moment. You were overwhelmed with the feeling of it, the sensation of his hardness inside you, the smell of his sweat and your arousal combining into some olfactory aphrodisiac that served to hurtle you closer to the edge of orgasm than you had been since dying.

“Have you remembered yet, darling?” Alastor’s eyes are lidded, cast low enough to watch your pussy swallowing him. “What do we say when we want something?”

Ahh, that’s what it was. Reintroducing the concept of manners, he had said, though he failed to mention that he would be fucking it into you. You had honestly thought he was going to kill you, shadow tentacles wrapped around your wrists, his eyes dark and dangerous until he noticed the embarrassed flush to your cheeks, the subtle dilation of your pupils and sharp intake of breath when he trailed his claws down the bare skin of your arms. “Perhaps there’s a better way to get the idea across, hm?”

“P- please,” you whisper, your voice strained.

“Mmm, and when we do get what we want?” He accompanies this with a hard thrust, and your head drops forward with a moan, gaze captivated by the flex of his stomach muscles while he grinds up into you, his shirt discarded when you had climbed onto the bed.

“Oh, fuck- thank you.” 

His smile is pleased. “Lovely, chérie. You know, I’ve kept that cup of tea nice and hot on your desk over there- I could be persuaded to part with it if you can be polite.”

He thought you still wanted the tea? “Don’t care,” you gasp out. “Just- fuck me.”

His hips still, hands leaving your waist to fold behind his head, the picture of casual patience, like his prick wasn’t twitching inside you. “That’s not how we ask, dear- whether it’s for tea for pleasure.”

“God damn- please, Alastor.” You can’t stop the roll of your eyes as you try to grind down, the shadows around your wrist pulling you up at the last moment to prevent you from gaining any of the delicious friction you were seeking. 

“I think you can do better. Keep in mind that I’m being merciful, darling- I’ve killed greater demons for lesser crimes than trying to crack my skull open, you know. I’ve certainly never rewarded whining and demands in such a way before.” He reaches a clawed finger out, trails it down your neck and between the mounds of your breasts, continuing down your frame until he reaches the sensitive juncture between your thighs. The hard press against your clit has you groaning and trying to press down, only to be stopped by the grip of his shadows still on your wrists. “Once more- try for some sincerity this time!”

“Fuck- please, Alastor.” You make it as saccharine and earnest as you can, and you’re rewarded with being lowered back down onto the Radio Demon’s cock, slow and sweet. The pleads fall from your lips unbidden then, his hands coming back to your hips and pace picking up with every repetition; “please please please, oh God, fuck, Alastor-”

“Beautiful, dear,” he says, and he guides you over the peak with a gentle finger to your sensitive clit and an angle of his hips, driving into you with a frantic fierceness that has you wishing you could dig your nails into the flesh of his chest to ride it out. 

Like he can hear the thought, the shadows on your wrists release and you fall forward and sink your fingers in the way that you want to. You want to demand that he finish, that he follow you over the edge, but this whole thing started because of you demanding something from him, and pitching a fit (and a mug) when he didn’t comply. You could take his lesson to heart- show him just how effective a method of teaching it was.

“Please,” you moan in his ear, and his fingers tense against your skin. “Cum for me, I want it- I’ll ask nicely, Al, please?”

He groans against your neck, dragging your hips down into his and grinding up against you, the clench of your body pulling him into the abyss along with you.

There’s a moment of quiet filled only with the sounds of your panting before Alastor clears his throat. “So, darling, what have we learned?”

You sigh, still irritated at the reprimanding but satisfied with how it turned out- your eyelids are dropping shut. “Mind my manners, I suppose.”

Alastor hums into your hair. “That’s right. Now, the offer does still stand for the tea- what do you think?”

“I don’t have the necessary equipment or angle to throw a cup so I guess I’ll be polite. Can I please have the last cup of chamomile?” Despite the request your mind is fuzzy, eyes harder to keep open.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, and you hear the gentle clatter of ceramic on your nightstand. “I did tell you that you didn’t need the tea to sleep, darling.” The soft vibrations of his voice are the last thing you hear before dropping off into blissful rest.

[moonchildstyles]

hyssop

rosemary part two: y/n made harry want to try, even if he didn't always believe he deserved the chance

wordcount: 11.5k+

—————

The spring-inspired logo of The Flour Pot gleamed in the Sunday morning sunshine, the front window crystal clear and streak free. With this week's trip being later in the morning after Harry managed to sleep some, the bakery wasn't quite as busy as he'd seen it in the past. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. 

While many of those initial anxieties he'd felt that first time he dared even stepping onto the sidewalk had melted away like butter in a croissant, there was still a part of him that braced himself when approaching those front doors. The butterflies were an enemy he had control over currently, but they always got bold whenever he was too close to (Y/N). He still kept his hands clenched in his pockets. 

Peering through the glass doors, he saw only a pair of patrons sitting at one of the tables, a set of pastries between them with only one fork to share. Both of the women looked content sharing those bites. Slipping inside, the bakery lacked the kind of noise he'd begun to associate with the space. The queue to the front register was only two people long. 

But, (Y/N) wasn't there.

The same dark-haired girl he'd seen the last time he traveled through was there along with the boy darting through the pastry case, but there was no bouncing bow or arms laden with heaps of bread. There was a part of him that deflated at that. He knew it was a bit later in the morning than his previous visits, but he figured that she'd still be here. He was only a couple of hours late. 

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Harry felt extremely out of place in the shop. Without (Y/N) there, there wasn't much of a reason for him to be there—even if the pastries were delicious. Toeing at the ground, he wanted to inch towards the exit, leave before anyone could really notice, but it wasn't busy enough to make an exit without feeling eyes on him.

Before he had a chance to make any plan, dark brown eyes of the attendant behind the register landed on him. She brightened at the sight, flicking her attention back and forth between him and the customer she was helping at the desk. She recognized him. 

Just as the next client stepped up to order, the other waiting off to the side for their order, Harry saw her ask for a moment. She told the customer that she would be right with him, she just needed to take care of something super quick.

With that, her long ponytail brushing her back, she disappeared through the cafe doors. True to her word, she was back in a moment, a smile shot in Harry's direction. She was right back to helping her client, apologizing for the delay. 

It was a beat later that (Y/N) emerged. 

Her cheeks were stretched into a smile, and eyes bright as she spotted him almost immediately. Her plastic gloves were quickly stripped from her hands as she approached him, her hair lacking a bow in favor of a sparkling clip. 

"Harry!" she beamed, looping around the counter to meet him where he stood in the middle of the shop. 

Harry swallowed down the smile that wanted to take over his features. No one had been excited to see him in years. 

"Hi, (Y/N)." His heart skipped a beat when her smile grew that much larger at his greeting. 

He followed her lead as she stepped off to the side, out of the way of anyone should the line grow and other patrons enter. She stood with her hip popped, discarded gloves bunched between her hands. "Did you just get off work?" 

Shaking his head, he allowed his gaze to take a trip down her form. Flour spotted her top, soft leggings conforming to the shape of her legs and well-worn shoes on her feet. "No, I went home and slept a little before coming in." 

(He slept for a little over an hour, but that was better than nothing). 

"When did you get off?" she asked, shifting her weight on her feet. 

Pulling one of his hands from his pocket, he brushed the tip of his nose with his knuckle. "I usually get off around four or six depending on what time 'm schedule to go in." 

"In the morning?" she blanched, stretching her neck with a furrow in her brow. 

Harry hummed a confirmation. 

"Oh," she sounded, her eyes wide, "I knew you worked late shifts, but I guess I never thought you worked all night. I don't know how you do it; I hate getting up before the sun is up, I don't think I could work like that." 

Shrugging, Harry brought his hand up and repeated the brush against his nose to conceal his mouth. The tiniest of curls touched the corner of his mouth, the closest thing to a smile he'd given to another in a long while. The bubbliest non-morning person he'd ever met, he thought. 

"Y'get used to it."

"Well, I'm happy you could come in today because I have some stuff for you." Her voice was something like a song, lilting around her words as she rocked on her heels. 

Harry wasn't sure if it was his lungs or his heart that squeezed at the sound of that. "Yeah?" 

"Mhmm," she hummed, "Go sit down and I'll go get everything. I'll take my break right now too so we can talk a little." 

Before he could say much else, she was scooting back to the kitchen, her bound back hair being the last thing he saw before the cafe doors closed behind her. From the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired cashier glance at him, a short smile on her lips as she continued to wipe down the counters. 

Harry took a spot towards the back, a few places away behind the couple who paid no other patrons any mind. His restless hands did what they do best as he began to pick at his cuticles, the beds still raw from the last time he plucked at the frayed skin.

By the time (Y/N) was strolling out of the kitchen, the waiting patrons had exited, leaving only he and the other couple filling the lobby. The dark-haired girl behind the desk had huddled into the corner shielded by the pastry case, her phone in her hands as she took advantage of the lull in clientele. (Y/N) had a ramekin with a puffy pastry she was carefully holding in one hand while the other had a plain, square Tupperware case. 

She hopped on the high stool in front of him, that table bracing her weight as she carefully shifted with her gifts. With the duo laid out in front of him, a spoon balanced on the top of the Tupperware, she gave him a giddy smile. 

"I know it's closer to lunch than breakfast at this point, but I did make you one of those soufflés I was telling you about." As she spoke, she pushed the ramekin towards him, the lightweight top of the soufflé puffed and golden brown. "I also made focaccia last night, and saved you a square if you wanted to try." 

"Focaccia?" he posed, grabbing the spoon from her outstretched hand. 

"It's a kind of bread," she laughed, the sound light and airy, "You can make it a whole bunch of different ways, but last night I made it with black pepper, basil, and a little bit of parmesan. Have you ever tried it?" 

"Maybe?" he shrugged. (There was a period of time back when his sister was distracted with her boyfriend a lot, that his mother didn't know what to do with herself and decided to try her hand at bread making. He could never and would never tell her, but she wasn't very good, so there was a high chance that he'd tried a version of whatever bread (Y/N) was talking about, just a very bad version that he didn't give more than a nibble to). 

"Try the soufflé first while it's still warm from the oven, and then I'll show you the bread," (Y/N) decided.

While there was something a bit awkward knowing that (Y/N) was going to watch him eat and wait for a reaction to something she made with him in mind, there was no universe in which Harry was going to say no to homemade food. After being accustomed to frozen meals and canned foods, things like this with real flavor were things Harry cherished more than what was probably normal. 

He kept his eyes on his hands as he poked the spoon through the eggy top layer of the treat, strings of cheese clinging to the utensil as he scooped out a bite. A plume of fragrant steam lifted through the air, holding notes of rosemary and thyme with the bite of a salty cheese. Popping it in his mouth, Harry felt that pressure to give her a good reaction disappearing. He wouldn't have to make anything up when he swallowed it down, the praise was going to come naturally. 

The bite was custardy and warm, while being entirely light and airy. Hints of the different cheeses were sprinkled throughout, still warm and melty from the steam that had collected in the middle of the pastry. Ribbons of spinach added a bitter bite that cut through the cheese and egg, adding to the fresh herbs that were sprinkled across the top of (Y/N)'s creation. It was perfect—better than the scone even, but Harry had a feeling that anything he ate of her's, he would decide it was better than the last. 

As much as he wanted to tell her how well she did, he couldn't wait that long to take another bite. Maybe he was a bit frantic, eager to try another shoveled bite, but the only reason Harry figured as much was because of the huffed laugh that (Y/N) let out. He could still feel her eyes on him, though now he only felt the warmth, not the weight. 

"(Y/N)," he started after finally pulling the spoon away from the treat, "This is... I didn't think y'could make anything better than the scone, but this is amazing. Really." He hoped she understood how much he meant what he was saying, even if he held onto his stoic mask. 

The booming smile that took over her features had something close to pride sitting in the back of Harry's chest. He liked knowing that he could put a smile like that on her face, even if there was a valid argument he could make stating he didn't deserve it. 

"I'm so happy you like it!" Her voice bubbled bright and giddy as she spoke. "They're one of my favorite things to make, even if they're a little hard to deal with sometimes. If you ever want one and it's not Friday, just let me know before you come in and I can put one aside for you." 

Having been unable to stop himself from taking another bite, Harry had to rush to swallow it down by the time she stopped speaking. He nodded to her, taking down the eggy, cheesy, salty bite in a heady swallow. "Thank you," he told her again, "That's really nice, (Y/N)." 

He didn't know how, but her bright smile seemed to grow wider as she watched him take another heaping bite. Her cheek was smushed against the palm of her hand she had splayed over the side of her face, her elbow propped onto the table. 

"You don't have to finish it if you don't want, though. I know it's pretty heavy, and we still have the bread I wanted to share with you," she said, though she didn't make any attempt to stop him when he shook his head. 

"I'll finish it," he told her bluntly, a little too invested in the soufflé to care about the huffed laugh she let out at his reaction. A beat passed while she tried to hide how happy she was to see him scarf down her food before Harry began to savor the bites once he made it to the bottom of the cup. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, having almost forgot about the price of the treat. 

A knit pinched her brows together though her eyes remained bright. "What do you mean?" 

"For this." His own expression mimicked hers with his brows drawing together in the middle. 

"Oh," she sounded, the word coming out on a breath, "Don't worry about it. I got it covered." 

That had him pausing on the last couple of bites left of the soufflé. "No. How much do I owe you?" 

Something stubborn had her eyes hardened when she looked at him across the small table. "You're not paying for this, Harry. It was a gift from me, don't worry." 

"'M not taking free food from you, (Y/N). That's not fair after all the work y'did and everything," he argued. 

"You are," she countered, a surprisingly firm edge to her voice, "I don't care. I wanted to do this for you, so I think it's perfectly fair. Now finish it so we can have some of the bread before I have to get back to work." 

"(Y/N)..."

She didn't let him get very far before he was cut off, "Harry." 

As much as he knew she was trying to tell him that he would be in trouble with her if he pushed the issue further, he liked seeing her get a little stern. It was cute seeing her go from the chirping, bubbly tone she used almost exclusively to putting her foot down over something so trivial. He thought she looked rather pretty like this. 

He decided, looking at her trying to be stern in her Flour Pot uniform and shimmering nails, that he'd make it up to her somehow, this free breakfast. 

Looking all too smug when he didn't argue back, (Y/N) brightened up when she saw him take the last bite. 

"Thank you again, (Y/N)," he told her, wiping his face with one of the napkins in the holder on the table.

"Of course, Harry," she beamed at him, practically bouncing in her spot, "I'm just happy you liked it. I was getting nervous because I think I talked it up a little, so I didn't want to disappoint you." 

He wanted to tell her that he was almost completely sure that there wasn't any way she could disappoint him. He kept his mouth shut. 

She pushed the Tupperware towards him, the lip of the lid grasped between her fingers. "Do you think you still have room to try?" 

Peeling back the lid, a square of dimpled bread was revealed to him. Basil leaves were pressed into the surface of the bread, crisped and preserved under a layer of crusty cheese. Flakes of black pepper could be seen throughout the dough and sprinkled over the top. The bread perfumed the air with spicy black pepper notes and the warmth of the cheese and basil. A small section of the container was cupped off, holding a creamy dip, tinted a golden yellow. 

"I definitely have some room," he decided, his eyes growing to the size of his stomach with all the food being offered to him.

Fresh bread and a warm breakfast all in one day. She was spoiling him. 

"Is it okay if I have a little with you? I made sure there would be enough for the both of us if you're okay with sharing." 

"'S your food, 'course I don't mind," he told her, his lips turning into a frown. She was sharing with him, not the other way around. 

Harry waited for her to take her first bite, fingers plucking off a corner with a basil leaf imprinted into the top. The bread was light and airy when he took his turn, chewy and soft when he pinched it between his fingers. He watched as she dipped into the condiment she had told him was a garlic aioli. One of her favorites; both to make and eat.

Just as he went to take his first dip into the sauce, (Y/N) had the same idea. Their fingers bumped, (Y/N) pulling back immediately with a soft sound exiting her lips. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until his lungs began to ache. 

"Sorry," he said first, jerking his chin, "You first." 

(Y/N) hesitated for only a second, her eyes on him before she blinked in a flutter of long lashes. "Thanks," she chirped out, recovering as she dipped her next bite into the aioli. 

When it was Harry's turn, he almost felt bad to be eating so much of her food when it should be celebrated from the rooftops for everyone to see and try. The crust on top was warm and crunchy, salty with the help of the parmesan she had spread across, while the middle was light and chewy. A bite was given to each taste with the help of the black pepper.

In an unsurprising turn of events, Harry wanted to say this was his favorite thing she'd ever made before. 

"This might be my favorite," Harry settled on, waiting his turn before he plucked off another bite, the warm oil drizzled atop the bread shimmering on his fingers. "I know I keep saying it, but this is really amazing (Y/N). It's been a really long time since I've had anything like this, but you're really amazing at this." 

He knew he was rambling, a habit he wasn't familiar with as his tongue fumbled around the words before he had a chance to stop them. He only managed to quit when he shoved another bite of the focaccia into his mouth, the bread all but melting over his tongue. 

Her smile was ever-present as she spoke, "Thank you. I haven't been making bread like this for very long, on my own at home and all. I'm not super great at it yet, but it's been really fun and I think I'm getting better. It's more fun than the baguettes and sourdoughs I make here, I think. I get to make it however I want." 

"You're very talented, (Y/N)." The compliment felt lame falling from his lips but it was the best he could do before he started going off again, possibly telling her how amazing she was once more.

She chirped her gratitude out, all but glowing under his praise. He liked knowing he could make her feel like that, give her the sunshine look that warmed her features. 

The bread between them slowly dwindled to small chunks the longer they sat across from one another. (Y/N) told him more about the bakery and the people she worked with, what she liked making at home and what she preferred to keep at work. She didn't make him talk for more than a few hums here and there, allowing him to soak in her presence and settle into her without worrying about what he could share with her and what would be better to keep to himself. 

The longer they sat, more and more patrons flitted into the shop. It started as a trickle, the groups small enough to be attended to before another would step up. The line didn't reach longer than a pair of people. Until the lunch rush came in. 

(Y/N) cut herself off when a large group made their way in. Her eyes scanned the growing line and the pastry case that was getting picked through with every person that placed their order. 

"I should probably get back to work. I definitely took longer than fifteen minutes with you," she said, looking more than a little reluctant to hop off her stool, "But you can stay as long as you want, eat however much you want." Just as she turned on her heel, a goodbye on her lips and wave on her fingers, he saw her stop in her tracks, turning back to face him. "Thank you for coming in, by the way. My days are always a little nicer when I get to see you." 

Harry's hand clenched around the napkin he had been using to wipe his fingers and clean his face, the paper crumbling in his grip. His throat was dry, tongue too big for his mouth as he took in what she saw. How was he supposed to respond to something like that, when he almost wondered if he knew any words at all? Those butterflies were sabotaging him. 

Even with Harry's lack of response, (Y/N) didn't look perturbed at all. She gave him that glowing smile once more—bright but only for him. "I'll see you later?" 

"Y-Yeah," he stuttered out, a disjointed nod accompanying the word. 

That was all she needed to hear before she was turning back to the kitchen. She waved at him, tossing that smile over her shoulder. "Bye, Harry." 

"Bye, (Y/N)." 

By the time Harry felt as though he needed to leave, he felt relaxed enough he could sleep some of the day away. He doubted a nightmare could enter his brain after a moment like this—the vision of (Y/N) in his brain, scented with soft bread and pastries made with only him in mind. 

—————

It was a habit now for Harry to park in the same spot by the bakery every time he went into town. Even if he had no intention of sneaking inside and getting a glimpse of a fluttering bow and a whiff of rosemary, he always took his place across the street from The Flour Pot. The fresh air and the extra steps were good for him, anyway.

Getting out of his car, library books at his side, he couldn't help but to glance at the building. He cast a lingering look through the glass, eyes scanning through the pane in hopes of seeing a familiar face. It was an old instinct coming to the surface after so long of burying it underneath his hopes of a different life; he used to do the same, checking on his mother and sister to ensure they were safe and none of his mistakes had found them. The same habit was beginning to form for (Y/N). 

Through the window pane, he saw her standing behind the pastry case, her profile to him as she spoke to the dark-haired girl he now knew to be her friend Sabrina. (Y/N) gesticulated as she talked, hands held out with her fingers spread out, emphasizing whatever story she was telling that had Sabrina holding back her laugh behind her own hand. 

Harry had to drop his gaze, stitching his gaze to his feet as he walked to keep the smile from creeping onto his features. 

Heading towards the library, Harry created a rhythm as he counted the cracks in the sidewalk with loose pieces of pavement kicking up with every step. It was on the sixteenth crack that he heard his name being called out behind him. 

He knew that voice. 

The plastic covering on his library book crackled when he tightened his grip on the spine. Looking over his shoulder, there was that smiling face framed by those stray strands of hair that escaped her ribboned bun. She beamed at him where she stood across the intersection from him, the dark pavement separating them. 

"Wait up!" she called, looking both ways before scampering over the painted crosswalk to meet him. She slowed to a stop in front of him, the straps of her bag sliding off her shoulder. "Hi," she chirped out.

"Hi," he answered, his voice sounding decidedly less excitable than her own even if his chest was thumping, 

"How are you?" she asked, "Today's your day off, right?" 

"Yeah," he mumbled out, nodding his head, "I jus' woke up, so 's going alright so far." 

"Long night last night?" she continued, getting comfortable in the conversation even if it was nothing more than small talk. 

Harry recalled the twitch that had started in his eye now that Theo and the others had started trying to chat with him during the overnight shifts since Harry had accidentally opened the floodgates with his questions about (Y/N). "A little bit," he settled on, holding back a sigh, "But 's alright. How about you?" 

Casting her gaze behind her to the bakery she'd just run out of, she only shrugged before looking back at him. "I don't like doing mids so they're always long, but I'm done for the day at least," she smiled at him, glancing at the book at his side, "Are you going to the library?" 

Shifting his weight on his feet, Harry felt a little more exposed than he felt comfortable with. He always felt much more at ease when (Y/N) spoke of herself or he was able center questions around her. 

Swallowing, Harry nodded.

(Y/N) perked up at his answer, almost bouncing in her spot. "I didn't know you went to the library and everything," she started, "I just finished at the bakery for the day, would it be alright if I tagged along?" 

Another invitation, but one that he was to extend to her. 

It felt personal in an odd way to invite her to accompany him, to see him pick out different novels and how he interacted with people that aren't her. The universe around them seemed to only extend to The Flour Pot and the grocery store—the only places where he was allowed to exist around her. 

But, if this was their universe, then she was the center star. She beamed up at him, the kind of sun a creature like him would warm himself under, trailing pathetically behind. How he is supposed to say no to that? 

"Sure," he mumbled out, "A-Are y'sure y'don't want to go home?" If it were him, after a long shift, he wouldn't even entertain the idea of doing anything other than heading home right away. 

"I have too much energy to go home," she bubbled, inching closer to him to match his route to the library, "I had coffee this morning, so I'm all over the place. I'm worried about what I would do to my living room if I go home right now; I'd probably rearrange everything and decide to redecorate with money I don't have." 

Dropping his gaze to his feet, Harry hid the twitch that tugged at the corner of his lips. 

He fell into step beside her, slowing his paces as they trekked down the sidewalk to the library on the corner. She tugged on the strap of her bag, the lengths seemingly constantly falling from her shoulder. 

"When did you get home last night?" (Y/N) asked, her voice floating over the sound of the cracked concrete under their feet.

Harry shrugged, shifting his books into the opposite hand leaving the one closest to her swinging at his side. "I stayed a little late and made it home by four." 

(Y/N) shook her head, fixing the strap of her bag once more. "I'm starting to think you're a vampire, Harry," she chided, "I don't know how you do it. I like to stay up late and everything too, but I only like the nighttime because I have nothing I need to do." 

"You get used to it," he told her. Harry could feel his features softening at her bubbly remarks. 

"Sure," she said, lilting her voice into a tease, "Anyway, what are we looking for at the library today?" 

Bringing his hand up to brush a knuckle under the tip of his nose, Harry felt that exposure again. "Jus' returning these, and probably check out a few more." 

"What are your favorite kinds of books?" (Y/N) bounced in her steps beside him, glancing up at him with that sunshine face. "I didn't know you liked to read so much." 

Just as Harry brought in a heavy breath through his nose, the steps to the library doors were in front of them. The proverbial bell that save him, he decided. Instead of giving her any kind of answers he was able to grab the stainless steel door handle and pull it open. "After you," he murmured to (Y/N).

The laugh that fell from her lips was enough to keep his chest from constricting so tightly. He hadn't even meant to make her laugh, but he'd take it whenever she was willing to give it. 

(Y/N) waited just inside for him, only stepping towards the front desk when Harry was beside her. Ms. Klarke looked at them over the green frames of her glasses, brows rising with her eyes widening for only a moment before she fell back into that same pleasant expression she always greeted Harry with. 

"Hello, Mr. Styles," she started, something in her eyes flashing before she moved onto his companion, "and Ms. (Y/N)." 

"Hi, Ms. Klarke," (Y/N) chirped. 

Harry felt out of place for a moment, listening to them speak to each other with the kind of familiarity he hadn't been invited into for years now. He only offered a small wave to the librarian in greeting, "Hi." 

"How can I help you two today?"

(Y/N) looked to him immediately. Harry's hand started sweating around the plastic covering of his borrowed book. "Jus' here to return these and get something new," he mumbled once he reached the wooden desk. 

"Already?" Ms. Klarke asked, "I'm going to run out of books for you soon, if you keep this up." She swiped his books off the counter, tapping away at her computer before swiping them under the scanner. "Lucky for you, though," she continued, "I did get some new ones I put out yesterday on your shelves if you wanted to look there first." 

"Thank you," Harry said, feeling shy now that he had someone at his side. He hadn't had anyone there to run errands with in years. 

"By the way," (Y/N) piped up, her eyes on the librarian, "We're bringing back some of those special croissants at the bakery, Ms. Klarke. This Sunday we'll have some of the currant ones and the fig sandwich ones, if you want to come by." 

Ms. Klarke's expression brightened like Harry had never seen before, a hand landing on her hip as she looked at (Y/N). "Thank you, dear! That's so exciting, thank you for letting me know." 

"Of course," (Y/N) beamed, offering up extra information to Ms. Klarke while Harry kept his eyes on the grains of the wooden desk. 

He felt like a potted plant, standing in the middle of the interaction. At least this was saving him time before (Y/N) would follow him into the shelves and watch as he picked out new books to try. 

Soon enough, the conversation ended with Ms. Klarke prompting them to look around, (Y/N) looked to Harry to lead the way. 

"Where to first?" Her gaze dropped down the opposing wings of the library, each end marked with flags showing off different genres. 

The shelves were packed with books, some visibly old with cracked spines and barcodes that had been replaced more than once, while others were vibrantly bright with fresh packaging. Spaces were left here and there for new arrivals to make a home, but it seemed like a place like this wouldn't ever run out of space no matter how many volumes were shoved into the empty spaces. 

"This way," he said, shoving his now empty hand into his pocket. 

Harry trailed through the shelves, not even bothering to look up at the markers as he went. He knew where he was going, even if he took slow steps as if contemplating where to go next.

The mystery section was the last one to amble through before reaching Harry's destination. The dark spines with words like murder and cold case. He didn't bother to look too close at the editions. Mystery wasn't a genre he enjoyed anymore, not since many of the subjects became the things he was trying to run from not escape into. 

Bypassing the space, Harry led them to the shelves just an aisle over. The romance section. 

Among the stacks were the stereotypical shirtless covers with overtly sexual titles, the kind of books that would have been on the roster of a women's wine and book club. Interspersed through were the bright covers Harry was more familiar with, blocky titles with drawn covers and bestselling authors. 

He could hear (Y/N)'s footsteps behind him, following him into the section he took his time getting to. The pat of her feet stopped just beside him. 

"You like romance books?" 

Swallowing, Harry feigned an attempt to get a closer look at a book as he crouched down. He didn't want to see her face if she had any other thoughts about his selection. "It's easy to read," he told her, eyeing a volume with gold lettering over a dark blue cover, constellations decorating the binding, "Happy endings and all that." 

"That's why I like them, too," she said after a beat, her voice soft to match the ambiance of the library, "There's always so much going on, it's nice to read something happy and soft instead of focusing on all the bad." 

An invisible pressure that had been pressing on his chest waned at her words. While there wasn't much opportunity to share his preferred book genre with others, Harry hadn't ever wanted to. He always figured it was a little embarrassing to admit to reading kissing books. Of course (Y/N) wouldn't have any kind of problem with it, though. He should have figured. 

The static of her presence shifted as she began her own perusal of the shelves. A beat of silence settled between the two of them, only the whisper of another patron heard down the aisle. 

Swallowing, Harry felt his heartbeat in his chest. "I also like to read fantasy stuff sometimes," he told her, feeling all too nervous to be sharing something so trivial about himself. 

Her response came in the form of a small hum, "Really? What kind do you like?" 

Distracting his restless hands, Harry plucked the blue book from the shelf, the plastic covering crackling under his fingers. "Kind of like Dracula and those kinds of things," he mumbled, pretending as if he didn't feel her eyes on him, "They're hard to read sometimes, jus' because the language is hard to understand, but I think they're pretty interesting." 

"I don't know if I could read any of those monster books, honestly," she said, huffing out a laugh, "I think I would give myself nightmares if I read them after dark, but they do sound really interesting. I want to know if it's still as scary now as it was back then." 

The thought of (Y/N), perky and bright as she was, sitting down with a book like Dracula or one of the other great gothic horrors, had Harry almost breaking into a smile while looking at the book in his hand. He'd be interested to see her reaction to something that dark. 

A process Harry was far too familiar with started then: the seemingly endless browsing of library shelves. Even after picking out the trio of books that would keep him busy for the week, he didn't find any kind of rush to head out immediately after. (Y/N) meandered with him, finding her own interesting reads before restocking them on the shelf. Harry could hear her mumbling something about needing to get a library card. 

"So this is what you do on your days off?" she asked once they reconvened around a shelf of autobiographies. 

Nodding, Harry had his eyes forward as he spoke. "Usually. I visit you, the library, and sleep. Nothing exciting." 

"That sounds so nice, though," she all but melted, "I feel like I'm so busy all the time, even when I'm not at work. I know I'm lucky to be doing a hobby of mine for work, but it does take out some of the fun of baking for myself, you know? And it used to be a kind of stress reliever, but now it just feels like I'm doing my work again." 

"I'm sorry," he told her, brows knitting in the middle at the explanation. He'd never really thought about it like that, if he was being honest. He always figured that if you're doing something you love, you never work—or whatever it was that quote said. "I've never thought about it like that." 

"I didn't either before I started," she shared, "But, it's okay, really. I still enjoy baking and my job is easy because of that, I just don't have the urge to bake in my free time like I used to." 

"As long as you're happy," he murmured. He felt as though it was a secret he was sharing with her between the stacks, that he thought at all about her happiness. 

Her finger paused on the spine of the book she was tracing over, a falter in her route. Looking up at her, he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips. 

"Do you bake or cook or anything like that?" she asked once she seemingly recovered, her attention now placed on the autobiography of an eighties songwriter. 

Taking in a deep breath, he kept himself from drawing his gaze over her profile. His attention was forcefully placed on what looked like a memoir of a philosopher. "Not really. Baking is too scientific for me; all the measuring makes me feel like I'll mess it up," he offered, "And, I don't really cook anymore." 

"Anymore?"

It was an innocent question. The wording he used was something anyone would pick up on, so he wasn't sure why he felt nervous knowing that she picked up on it. He swallowed, throat bobbing around the building words. 

"Yeah, I don't cook much anymore but when I lived with my—um—my mum we used to cook together a lot." Though it was little more than a sentence, this was the most he'd talked about his past to anyone in over a handful of years. He just hoped she didn't ask about his mom. 

"That's really sweet," she said, looking up from where she was reading the back description of one of her books, "What did you like to cook?" 

Relief touched his chest at the new subject matter. It didn't matter how long it's been since he and his family had to scatter themselves around, it was still hard to speak on them when he never got to process the grief over losing them. This was easier, speaking about her indirectly, even if he could still feel that well of emotion growing heavier in his stomach. 

"We liked to make this soup together a lot; it had rice and chicken sometimes and other little things. I think I was too young to really pay attention to what she was putting in before she had me doing something else. It was that and a lot of grilled cheeses, and Sunday dinners, and just... things she knew I liked." 

Harry felt himself shutting down when he started uncovering more and more memories in the kitchen with his mother. Those moments were what they had left up until things changed, her always having him help even when he was old enough to do more than wash the produce and stir the pot. His defense mechanism of shutting down kicked in, shutting him out of his own memories and own recollection of those days. 

"That's really cute," (Y/N) murmured, looking at him with something in her eyes that looked entirely too soft to be directed at him. Her gaze lingered before it dropped back to the book in her hands. "I've always been okay at cooking, but before I started at the bakery, I used to make cupcakes all the time." 

Cupcakes. That was much easier to focus on. He almost wanted to thank her for changing the subject. 

"Yeah?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, sliding the book back into place on the shelf, "I used to try all kinds of weird flavors with different frostings and little designs in all different colors. It was so fun, but now the idea of doing something like that after I get home from work makes my hands hurt before I've even started." 

A furrow pinched at Harry's brows. That same instinct he had that urged him to check on her earlier piped up once again. "Do your hands hurt a lot from work?" 

"Sometimes," she shrugged, facing him with the tendrils of her bow fluttering behind her, "If I'm working on the bread case that day, then yeah. All of the yeast stuff that needs me to really work with it and everything, that hurts my hands the worst, but it usually depends on the prep." 

It was the way her face dropped when she said the word prep and how quickly she pulled out her phone afterwards that had that concerned instinct flaring once more. Even as she tapped away at whatever it was that lived in her phone, her attention stitched elsewhere, he still squared his shoulders as if to show her he could help. "What's wrong?" 

"I almost completely forgot I have to go in for an overnight this weekend. Sabrina was supposed to, but she has a concert that night she doesn't want to miss," she sighed, finishing whatever it was that was on her screen before putting her phone back into her bag, "It's basically just a prep shift while we're closed so the opener is ready to put things in the oven. I haven't done one in so long; I don't want to." 

"You can't get out of it?" Harry pressed, feeling worried over how much she didn't want to do it. 

Was there more he needed to be concerned about? Was she hiding from something? Was someone making her do this? How was he supposed to help her if she didn't tell him what was going on?

"It's honestly not that bad, I'm just being dramatic," she smiled at him, relaxing some under the intensity of his gaze, "These are the kinds of shifts that hurt my hands the most, but it's nice going on when everything is closed. I don't have to be in uniform, and I can just listen to music and be by myself for a little while." 

By myself. That pinged in Harry's head a little too loudly. He understood what she was getting at—the kind of solitude that had him gravitating towards his own overnight shift—, but that didn't ease him into the idea of her being alone overnight in the bakery. 

"I'll be like you that day," she told him, kicking her toe lightly against his own Vans, "A vampire getting up before the sun is up, and everything." 

He wanted to lighten up, especially at the small touch she offered him without reason, but he still was working overtime in his head. "You'll be alone? No one else is coming in with you?" 

"Yeah, but it's not so bad," she said, inching out the aisle with Harry following her lead, "I'll see one of the other girls when I come in after we close, but after that it's just me." He was sure she could tell he wasn't completely eased at the new centimeter of information. "I promise it's not as bad as I was acting. I don't even think I'll need to drive that day, so I won't need to worry about parking or anything either." 

Though Harry knew she was trying to reference back to when she told him that she wasn't very good at parking and always made herself nervous when she had to pick a spot in the overflow lot by the bakery, he was focusing too much on the fact she wasn't planning on driving at all. 

"What do y'mean?" 

"I think I'm going to walk to work that day since it'll be so quiet, anyway. It'll help me relax a little afterwards, I think." 

Harry almost stopped in his tracks. She planned on walking to her overnight shift. The shift that exclusively deals in dark nights and little to no light? The one that encourages those that feel too comfortable in the dark to come out and mess with someone like her? The spines of his chosen books crackled at his tightening grip. 

"You're going to walk?" 

"I live in a townhouse a few blocks over, so it's not a long walk or anything. I would do it more often, I just hate usually have things to do afterwards that I need to drive for." 

"What time do y'get off?" The question rolled off his tongue before he had even decided he was going to ask as much. He hoped he wasn't coming off as creepy as he sounded. 

"I think I'm scheduled until two, but I usually stay a little longer just to make sure everything is resting well before I leave." The information was offered to him with no fight. Another red flag to Harry's too cautious brain. Worst case scenarios began to brew in his brain with villains who made sure to exploit her trusting nature. 

He brushed a knuckle against the tip of his nose, taking in a deep breath. "If you're willing to wait a little until I get off, I can walk y'home." 

It was (Y/N)'s turn for her steps to falling in the meandering trail they were curating through the stacks. She looked at him with an incredulous look on her face, brows raised and eyes wide. "Really?" 

A determined set had his features in hard lines. A furrow scrunched Harry's brows, mouth set into a hard line with a jaw to match, gaze stitched to her own. He didn't waver even when he faltered over his words. "I...I don't like the idea of y'walking alone in the dark." 

The incredulous mold of her features melted away to something much more shy and flustered. A small smile curled her lips, her eyes softening as she looked up at him through a flutter of lashes. She was the closest thing to the human embodiment of the butterflies that made their home in Harry's stomach. 

"You don't mind after working all night?" 

"No." 

Her smile grew some at his simple answer. "I think I'd like that, then. Thank you, Harry." 

Harry only dropped her gaze to keep her from spotting the small curl of his lips over the sound of her voice wrapping around his name like silk. 

—————

Harry had his eyes glued to the clock stationed above the computer in the stock room. The second the hands thunked into position, detailing out three o'clock, he was punching out. Not a minute later. He wasn't going to be late with someone waiting on him.

He promised (Y/N)'d he'd be there to walk her home, and he wasn't going to be a second late. 

It was barely 3:02 a.m. when he stepped out into the rain-soaked parking lot, scaling the length to his car. All night had felt like a countdown, Harry near constantly checking the time on his phone to ensure he would finish with his boxes in time to clock out right away when the time struck. Other than a wave over his shoulders, he didn't waste time playing into the chatty goodbyes of his coworkers. (Even on regular nights, he didn't understand how they could be so eager to socialize at three in the morning after a full shift). 

After pulling out of the parking lot, the drive to her bakery felt like five minutes with the way he was driving. He especially didn't want her to wait long enough for (Y/N) to get any wild ideas about waiting outside the front doors for him. But, as he pulled up to the building, The Flour Pot sign darkened, there was no one there. 

Peering through the windows after he picked his usual parking space across the street, he saw only a tiny light. Knowing what he knew of the layout, it looked as if it could be one the light to the kitchen or a back office, but the shine could easily be mistaken for a glare from oncoming traffic. 

That was where (Y/N) was. Safe inside. 

The drumming in his chest settled at the knowledge. He hadn't realized he had given so much weight to the scenario where he would pull up to her already walking home without him, some faceless entity trailing her, opening its maw to reveal sharpened fangs before swallowing her whole. (He'd been thinking about checking out Dracula again since their conversation in the library, but after this he figured his imagination was a little too active for something like that). 

Now it was his turn to wait. She had warned him that she would be later than her scheduled time of two o'clock, and he had no qualms about waiting it out for her. He was a patient person, a virtue Harry and learned in his old life, but this was one of the first times he felt content to wait for someone. As long as she didn't leave without him. 

Harry settled into his seat, soft music filtering through the speakers. 

——————

Almost an hour later, from the corner of his eye, Harry saw movement from inside the bakery. The light in the back had been flicked off moments before he saw a comfy dressed figure slipping out of the front door.

(Y/N) had her hair pulled back, a loose shirt on with soft leggings and her ever-present Vans on her feet. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, hands full of her keys and her phone. She took her time locking the front doors.

Through that hour of waiting, fatigue had settled in Harry's bones, making his movements much more lethargic than normal as he readied to meet her on the sidewalk. Until he saw her pull out a pair of headphones from her bag, slipping the buds into her ears before turning in the opposite direction of the shop. 

Though he didn't want to scare her, Harry had to quicken his pace and catch up with her as soon as he could. She didn't seem to hear the thud of his feet over the pavement and splashing through rain puddles until he was close enough to call her name. (Any kind of creature could have snuck up on her with her being so distracted like that. The thought sent a frigid chill down Harry's spine). 

At the call of her name, Harry's hand inches away from grazing her arm, (Y/N) spun around, hand to her neck with a squeaking scream clogging her throat. Realization came a moment later, her widened eyes and startled stature melting away when she took him in. 

"Jeez, Harry, you scared me," she breathed out. 

"Sorry," he told her, hand dropping back to her side, "I didn't want y'to leave without me."

"That's right, oh my god," she bubbled off, replacing her headphones back into the pod carrier, "I almost completely forgot you're walking with me. I'm sorry, tonight's been a really long night."

"'S okay," he said, stepping that much closer to her over the cracked concrete. "At least y'didn't get too far before I caught you." 

"Yeah," she smiled at him, nudging her shoulder to keep the straps of her bag up, "Thank you again. Even though I almost forgot, it means a lot." 

Harry only nodded his head, that odd feeling of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth returning at her words. It wasn't something he'd experienced in a long while, but (Y/N) seemed to be the only one that could pull it from him. 

Falling into step beside her as they started on the couple block walk to her home, he saw as she flexed her fingers as her sides, her phone being discarded to float in her bag instead of in her grasp. "Are your hands okay?" 

Flexing her hands out in front of her, (Y/N)'s joints were visibly stiff with spots of flour decorating the hem of her sleeves. "Yeah, they're not too bad, actually. I've definitely had worse." She ran the pad of her thumb over the meaty part of the other. "I'm really only sore right here, but I'll be fine." 

Her voice was like a melody over the sounds of the night. Rain showers had cleansed the town earlier in the night, leaving their footsteps to be complimented by the stick of raindrops clinging to the rubber soles of their shoes. Leaves rustled around them as drops slid down the surface, arcing down every leaf until joining a puddle created on the concrete around them. Everything smelled wet and fresh; clear. (Y/N)'s refreshing presence fit in perfectly. 

"'M happy you're alright," he said, his own hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Peering at her at his side, he saw her looking to the sky. He slowed his steps to not leave her behind. "Am I allowed to know what y'made today?" 

"Of course," she laughed, looking at him with the same kind of wonder she was giving to the starry sky, "I prepped a lot of shortbread tonight, so Sabrina can make them into tulips later, and even more croissants. I did a few other little things for the bread case but I think the croissants got me the worst today." 

"Yeah? Why do you think that?" 

"It's all the layers," she started, leading him in taking a left out of the main town, "It's a lot of rolling it out and making sure I get it all done before the butter starts melting in between. I've gotten a lot better at the timing since I've started, but it's still a lot to work on all at once." 

"I didn't know that. 'M sorry." He now suddenly felt bad for enjoying any of her treats. He didn't like the idea of her hurting just for a sweet to start his morning. 

"Don't be sorry, it's okay. Someone has to do it," she chirped out, mimicking the birds that were beginning to wake up around them, "How was your night, though? Did you just get off?" 

Harry shrugged. He didn't really feel like telling her he'd been waiting for over an hour outside the bakery for her. "I got off a little earlier, but yeah. It was an easy night, jus' boring. Longer than I thought it would be." 

Her bag bounced against her hip as they walked, her eyes like the starlight when she looked at him. "Unpack anything fun?" 

Dropping his head, he brushed his knuckle against the tip of his nose to conceal the small twitch on the corner of his mouth. He knew what she was getting at. "I mean, I did unpack some cookies tonight." 

(Y/N) had them cross the street before turning into a suburban area, full of small houses. It was like a gingerbread house community Harry thought, everything similar but distinctly different with the way every inhabitant decorated the outside. 

"What kind of cookies?" 

He had to look the other way this time to keep her from seeing that smile. He didn't know why, but he wasn't sure if he wanted her to see him like that; as if she would call him out, like even she would know he wasn't supposed to be happy like that. 

With a shrug and his composure in place, Harry told her with a flat tease, "This raspberry kind with white chocolate, I think? And one of the other guys unpacked some fancy cheeses, too. At least I heard anyway." 

She was silent beside him for a moment. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me, or if you really forgot that those are two of my favorite things right now." 

"Are they?" 

That had a peal of laughter falling from (Y/N)'s lips. She drifted close enough then to bump his hip with her own, looking up at him with faux offense. "You think you're so funny, don't you?" 

Looking at his feet, the puddles he disrupted with his steps and the clinging wetness that filled the cracks in the pavement. Peering at her from the corner of his eye, he spotted her still looking at him, a smile crumbling her facade. 

"A little." 

(Y/N) only laughed and shook her head, bumping his hip once more. She mumbled something under her breath about how of course he did. 

Straying from her path, (Y/N) bumped Harry's hip once more, her bag pressing into his side. His steps never faltered, eyes forward and a twitch in his lips. He forgot what it was like to be teased and have fun with someone. 

The silence that fell between them was filled with the clear, dewy slick of the rain under their feet. The gingerbread neighbourhood he'd seen down the street was now around them in their cookie cutter shapes and frosting decor. Short white picket fences outlined the perimeters of the small front yards, the houses stacked side by side behind. 

(Y/N) stopped in front of a row of three units. A set of pastel colored curtains in the window of the one bookending the building gave away exactly who lived there. A dull cream paint was brushed over the panels with a muted blue trim and front door. It was a complete replica of every other townhouse on the block. 

The personal touches came in the form of a sunshine yellow bird house hung on her small porch, leaves and twigs poking out of the front hole. A welcome mat was placed in front of her door, the pattern one of daisies and strawberries though the colors had now been muddied and dull from every time a pair of feet wiped themselves off on the fibers. Around the side was a window with a flowerbed hung underneath. Instead of blooms and bright petals, Harry spotted brown leaves and wilted stems. She tried her best to keep those plants alive, he was sure. 

"This is mine," she said, looking up at him with starry eyes. For the first time since he picked her up, he saw those lines of fatigue around her irises, exhaustion tugging at her features. 

"I'll see you soon, then?" he asked. He didn't mean to sound so abrupt, but he wanted her to get some rest. As much as a part of him wanted her to linger outside with him, to spend some of these usually lonely hours with him, it wasn't fair to keep her from sleeping. She wasn't like him. 

Nonetheless, a soft smile touched her chapped lips. "Definitely." 

Despite the pause that would allow her to head inside and end her night, (Y/N) lingered for a beat longer. Reaching a hand up to press those stray baby hairs out of her eyes, she looked at him through the fan of her lashes. 

"Harry?" 

He swallowed. "Hm?" 

She looked sheepish in that moment, struggling to meet his eyes with a shy smile on her lips. "You can tell me if this is too much, but I was wondering if I could have your number, maybe?" 

Harry's voice stuck in his throat when he processed what she said. His hand clenched in his pocket, his phone suddenly heavy in his back pocket. 

A nervous hand pushed back hair that wasn't in her face when the silence stretched on a little too long for comfort. "I don't know, I'm sorry, I just think it might be nice to know when I'll see you again, instead of just waiting? And, I'm really bad at remembering to tell you about the things I see that make me think of you or things I think you'd like and all, so it would be cool to tell you before I forget." 

Standing there in the clean air after rainfall, a dew touching his skin with birds beginning to sing around him, Harry felt frozen. His heartbeat didn't quicken, his blood didn't rush, his hands didn't shake. He had been plunged into ice, stopping him in his spot with a breath of air stuck in his lungs. 

(Y/N) wasn't supposed to ask him that. She wasn't supposed to want to see him, to find things in the world that made her think of him—she wasn't supposed to think of him at all, really. How did he get here? 

How had he tricked her into seeing anything more than a standoffish man who didn't need anyone but himself? Even with these stolen moments together, he couldn't imagine he would enter her mind in the same way she had been able to do to him. 

A shuttering blink had Harry's eyes clearing by the time he opened them to find her still standing there. In a millisecond, words tumbled out of his throat, his hand fumbling for his back pocket. "Y-Yeah, of course." 

In clumsy fingers, he held his phone out towards her. The device had a hairline crack along the side of the screen, a case that had seen more wear-and-tear he figured most people would allow, and a generic Lock Screen. He didn't bother opening it up and taking her to the needed app. There was no security to get through on there, nothing for him to hide in his squeaky-clean existence. 

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him with a shy smile on her lips. She was bashful under his gaze, gingerly taking his phone and swiping through the screens and tapping on what she needed, a short tremor touching at her fingers. "Is it okay if I text myself from your phone so I have your number too?" 

Swallowing, Harry nodded his head, stuffing his hands back into his pockets before he had a chance to pluck at his cuticles again. "Maybe—um—y'can let me know the next time y'have a shift like this, and I can walk y'home again. Maybe." 

A breathy laugh fell from her lips at his stumbling words, her gaze flicking from the phone to him. "Definitely, I'll let you know. I don't get scheduled for these often anymore, but you'll be the first to know if that changes." 

Harry couldn't remember the last time his body reacted this way—the frozen limbs, the waking heart, the stunted lungs. Definitely never under such sweet circumstances, he knew that. 

Though he felt like he could have been standing there long enough to see the sunrise then set again, it only took a moment for the text she sent to herself to go through. She took her own phone out then, surely looking at the text and saying Harry's number for herself. There was something especially bright in her gaze when she looked up at him to return his own device, her phone being wrung between both of her hands.

"I'll see you again soon, then?" she asked, toeing at the ground. She didn't attempt to fix the sliding strap of her bag. 

"Yeah," he sounded in the quiet of the slow morning, a nod of his head. 

He expected her to then spin on her heel and head inside, a goodbye said over her shoulder before he would trace his path back alone. Instead, (Y/N) lingered, her hands growing busier on her phone, playing with the corners of her phone case. That nervous pinch in her brows returned. 

"C-Can I hug you?" she asked, voice almost as small as the dew drops on the grass of her yard, "It's okay if you're not a hugger or anything, though, I just thought I'd ask 'cause..." 

She trailed off before any real explanation could be given, a sheepish shrug in its place. 

If he thought he had been plunged into ice water before, Harry swore he was frozen under the throes of an avalanche now. 

"No—um—y'can. 'M okay with it." His voice felt thick in his throat, smearing over his tongue before falling out for her to taste too. 

(Y/N) brightened like he had given her something sweet, a treat she couldn't have made herself. 

Harry couldn't remember the lead up or any of the details before she had folded her arms around him. She had reached up, looping her arms around his neck while Harry's settled around her middle. His hands spanned the planes of her back, ducking down with his nose touching the crown of her head, ruffled strands of hair tickling him. 

From the outside, there was nothing special. She didn't squeeze him particularly hard or press her whole body to his, she didn't spill any secrets into the column of his neck. But, this had to be one of the most profound moments in Harry's recent life. 

The last time someone hugged him, he had to have been a teenager. He'd forgotten what it felt like to feel that kind of gentle touch. 

She didn't linger for too long, drawing away after she had cradled him for long enough. The absence of her form left a ghost of heat on Harry's body. He almost wanted to clutch at it like it was really her. He'd settle for the warmth of her gaze. 

"Thank you for walking me home and everything, Harry." Her smile grew as she spoke. "It made my night." 

He could have crumbled then. Whatever was happening to his body and his brain, he wasn't sure. It felt good, though. 

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he murmured as she took her slow steps back to her front door. His hand tightly clutched his phone in his pocket. "I-I'll text y'when I get home?" 

It was like the sunrise occurred right in front of him the way she perked up. "Yes, please! I might be asleep, but I want to make sure you made it home okay." That bubbly smile was tacked onto her lips as she absently fiddled with the doorknob. "Goodnight." 

Harry stayed on the concrete until she was safely inside, a wave being thrown over her shoulder to him before the door was sealed shut behind her. It was then when he was alone that he allowed a smile to break out over his features. 

Though only the ground under his feet saw it, the smile was for (Y/N), only.

His phone was warm in his palm when he pulled it out, something he was willing to convince himself was still from (Y/N). Sliding open the lock screen, the message thread she had started was still up. 

Up top, her name was punctuated with a lotus flower and a croissant. The one message she sent to herself was a heart emoji. Though he hadn't been the one to press send, seeing the text in the blue bubble on his side the screen, made his heart tick. It was easy to pretend he was the one that sent it in the first place. 

The whole walk back to his care he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

—————

hyssop represents purification and hope; letting go of the past and allowing a better future

eepppp! super excited to show you some different parts of rosemary h! patreon is now a little more than halfway through the story now, so if you cant wait you can def sign up there and get to know more of their story! thank you soooooo much for reading and following along! so sorry if theres any mistakes but please let me know if you have any fun ideas or requests or predictions!

[adventuresinteyvat]

As of 9/18/2024, we are looking for:

✦ Cyrus ✦ Dehya ✦ Dori ✦ Dunyarzad ✦ Kasala ✦ Layla ✦ Naphis ✦ Nilou ✦ Rahman

We also accept other Sumeru NPCs not listed. If you’re interested in a SFW 18+ Genshin Impact Discord RP, check out our pinned post for more information!

[landoom]

organised by @33max and @leatherandcherryblossoms - header from them

List of prompts

Day 10: 🧣 Holiday Travel (I won't be able to finish every prompt today but I'll keep going in January)

22/12 - 9 AM

For all the times he had to take a plane this year, Oscar only had a small delay when leaving for Italy and the 3h-long one in Hungary. He counted himself lucky for that but he had apparently run out of luck. 

Now that he’s waiting to fly back home for Christmas, he finds himself looking at the departure boards and at all the little red “cancelled” appearing on them. A snowstorm of hell is paralysing nearly all of Europe. 

And to make it worse, he’s not even in Monaco, where he could at least get back to his apartment. No. He’s in fucking Madrid because, once again, he was too kind and accepted to do a last sponsor event before going back to Australia for the break…

Oscar looks around at all the people around him, leaving the boarding gate to go ask for info at the desks probably. He could follow them and queue and wait but he really doesn’t feel like it so he just stands, grabs his backpack and walks to the nearest Starbucks where he proceeds to order the most decadent hot chocolate possible.

***

23/12 - 9AM

For all the places Oscar could have been on Christmas Eve’s Eve, Carlos’ apartment wasn’t on the list.

But still, here he is. Alone. He’s not sure if it makes the whole experience better or worse.

He still can’t believe he’s here when he was supposed to be in his Mum’s house in Melbourne… But the snow still falls all over Europe, preventing most planes from taking off. As he paces around the perfectly decorated living room, he checks the weather app again but the little snowflakes are still there… For the whole day… And the next… And the one after.

Slowly, he accepts he’s stuck there. In that town he doesn’t really know, in that flat that is not his. He supposes it could have been worse. He could have found himself in one of the rare hotels that still had free rooms just before Christmas.

At least, after calling Lando to tell him about his predicament and having his teammate answer with an “I know who can help you”, he ended up here. And if he still feels a bit wary of just touching things, the place is quite nicer than a dodgy hotel room.

He reckons he can order some take-out and video call his family at least…That’s not the Christmas he was hoping for but he can’t change the weather, can he?

***

24/12 - 9 PM

For all the people Oscar was expecting to spend Christmas Eve with, the Sainz family was nowhere on the list.

But here he is, in the middle of a huge table with too many people speaking too loud and too fast… Not that he can understand Spanish anyway.

On his right, there is Carlos. Carlos who came to the apartment in the morning and nearly kidnapped him because, apparently, he doesn’t hate Oscar enough to leave him to spend Christmas alone in an empty place.

And Oscar has to admit that, even if he still feels a bit awkward around Carlos’s family, the food is good, the house is homey, the dogs are cute and… Carlos is unexpectedly fun.

And taking a selfie with Carlos Sainz Sr is a good Christmas gift.

***

31/12 11 PM

Things were finally happening like they were supposed to. Oscar was spending New Year in Monaco, in a club Max had privatised for his friends including a few drivers.

There was still a tiny unexpected detail, though…

The man currently sitting next to him in the booth. The man whose arm was around his shoulder. The man he was going to kiss at midnight.

“Carlos?”

“Yes, carino.”

Oscar didn’t answer but decided he could kiss his boyfriend a few more times before 2025.

[inurnctdreams]

it’s the way you are - l.dh

masterlist

<prev next>

taglist: @ilovejungwonandhaechan @neozon3nha

viii. are you starting a freshman babysitting service? (wc 1.5k)

you bite your lip as you survey the downstairs floor of the NCT frat house. from your position on the fifth step of the staircase (you may have bypassed the crudely drawn ‘OUT OF BOUNDS - GO FUCK SOMEWHERE ELSE’ sign, but you figure you can get away with it as NCT’s favourite menace), you can see most of the lower floor. the kitchen is in the far right corner, double doors wide open to display the multitude of students hanging around the island covered in an assortment of beverages and stereotypical red solo cups. in the middle sits a huge plastic bowl full of doyoung’s infamous blackout punch. it’s an alarming orange colour and tastes dangerously like fruit juice instead of any of the numerous types of alcohol that are mixed in. jaemin drank so much one party last year he had to buy yeri coffee for two weeks to make up for the dress incident, which he still doesn’t even remember happening. he passed out in jeno’s lap five minutes later, hence the name. currently, you can see wooyoung and changbin yelling excitedly at san, before said soccer player downs an entire cup of the stuff and then goes back in for another.

your nose wrinkles, and you turn your gaze to the back doors to the left of the kitchen. a few people are sitting on the various pieces of garden furniture strewn out on the deck, but you can’t see much further and the only person you recognise out there is amy. unfortunately, she isn’t what you’re after right now. you bypass the small queue of girls waiting to get into the downstairs bathroom and look over the biggest space of the house, the living room. all of the non-seating furniture has been taken away and stored safely in the basement like usual, leaving the two huge sofas and whatever the guys could find for people to sit on. it’s mostly beanbags and a couple camping chairs, though you’re pretty sure that’s yuta’s desk chair he’s currently lounging in, chatting animatedly to sicheng and yangyang. a potential candidate. the rest of the floor space is taken up by people dancing along to the music booming throughout the house (currently wow by btob), and you see a lot of familiar faces strewn throughout the throng of students. sadly, none that jump out at you, other than maybe yeonjun, but he seems a little preoccupied with soobin, wooyoung’s unofficial fifth roommate.

and directly below you, pushed up against the staircase, is the entire reason you’re scanning the house so meticulously: the beer pong table. your master plan to get jaehyun inebriated enough to agree to playing shinee on night night wednesday all relies on your ability to secure a partner skilled enough to give the reigning NCT beer pong champion a half-decent challenge. at the moment, ryujin and yeji are wiping the floor with felix and hyunjin, who is dramatically fake crying while downing yet another cup. eyes flitting back to the corner of the room where yuta is still engaged in conversation, you’re about to descend the stairs and proposition him when something catches your attention.

perched on the arm of the sofa on the right side of the living room is a boy with chocolate brown hair looking around nervously and wringing his hands in his lap. normally, you wouldn’t think twice about a stranger presumably looking for a friend at a frat party, but something about this boy’s demeanour is screaming that he’s super uncomfortable and in need of help. you make your way down through the room, waving at yuta, sicheng and yangyang as you go, coming to a stop in front of the boy, who, upon closer inspection, is definitely younger yet almost certainly at least six inches taller than you.

“hi!” you greet him over the music, feeling the bass of b.a.p’s hurricane in your entire body. “are you okay? you look a little lost… or like you’ve lost someone.”

“hey, uh.” his voice is a lot deeper than you expected. “both, i guess?” he brings a hand up to rub at his neck nervously. “i came in with my friend, but he went to get drinks like twenty minutes ago. now i can’t see him anywhere, and there are so many people here, and i only know like maybe five of them?”

“well he can’t have gone too far, i can help you look if you want? i’m y/n.” you smile. “even if we can’t find your friend, maybe one of the other four will show up so you’re not on your own.”

“yes please.” the earnest look on his face is so endearing you have to stop yourself pinching his cheeks. “honestly, we were invited at the rush event last week, but i dunno if frat life is for me anymore.”

“it’s not all like this.” you laugh, weaving your way through the crowd. “yeah, parties are what people tend to think of when they think frats, but that’s only a small part of it and they’re not compulsory. there’s so many other fun and less choatic events that get put on, and they’re all really great guys here.”

you’ve managed to make your way to the back doors, and the tall freshman holds the door open for you as you step out into the cool night air. maybe johnny was right and your outfit was lacking a few layers for the frigid january weather, but you’d never give him the satisfaction of letting him know. it’s not as busy out here, and while there’s a buzz of conversation emitting from the backyard, it’s nowhere near as loud as inside.

“oh!” your new companion exclaims. “there’s mark.” you follow his line of sight to see said recruitment chair leaning up against the wall with a drink in his hand. he’s laughing along with something one of the people in the small group surrounding him has said, and you spot a few familiar faces among them.

“you know mark? oh, he must’ve been at the rush event.”

“yeah, it was him and the frat president who invited us, but i can’t remember his name.” the boy frowns, following as you lead the way over to them.

“taeyong.” you supply, watching as he nods in recognition. “i haven’t seen him around tonight actually, but like you said there are a lot of people here.”

“y/n!” jeno is the first to notice your presence. you easily accept the hug he offers and turn to greet the other boys.

“hey guys, so this is-“ you cut yourself off with a frown, realising you’d never actually asked the freshman what his name was. oops.

“jisung!”

“chenle!” jisung moves to stand next to who you presume is his missing friend with a huge grin.

“this is jisung.” you laugh. “i met him inside looking a little lost and offered to help him find his friend, but seems like you beat me to it.”

“hey, man!” mark grins at jisung. “we bumped into chenle in the kitchen and got to talking, sorry if we worried you.”

“hi.” a voice to your left diverts your attention from the conversation in front of you. you turn and come face to face with donghyuck and damn, the picture ten posted earlier in the evening really didn’t do him justice. up close, you can see every mole that dots his pretty face and you want to trace your fingertips between them to map them out like a constellation.

“hey.” you breathe, suddenly finding it more difficult to do so. being in this close proximity to him is not something you’ve experienced yet, and it’s seemingly bad for your health.

“are you starting a freshman babysitting service?” he teases, little smirk turning up the corner of his lips.

“yeah, of course.” you scoff, leaning back to give yourself some space to collect your thoughts. “he just looked really lost and i wanted to make sure he was okay. i was actually on my way to find a beer pong parter to hopefully dethrone jaehyun.”

“either you’re very confident in your own beer pong skills or you’re delusional.” donghyuck looks very unimpressed by your response. “he’s been undefeated for as long as we’ve been students here, probably longer.”

“since the end of year party the year before, actually.” you inform him, shrugging. “and maybe ‘dethrone’ is a little ambitious, i just need someone good enough to not get swept without making him down a few.”

“why?”

“well… i have a plan that may or may not involve getting him drunk enough to agree to something and then recording it as evidence so he can’t say no afterwards.” you watch as what can only be described as an evil, gleeful smile spreads across donghyuck’s face.

“i’m in.”

[cogentsummoner]

Your headcanons about the Stardew Farmer, go!

im just gonna go off of what i hc for my farmer on the file im currently playing, with the toshi mod installed (which is the one i'd base my fic on if i write it)

autistic and socially awkward. doesn't talk much, tends to stare in a way that makes a lot of people uncomfortable alongside this resting blank look they have.

no one saw them for the first week they were in town. they stayed exclusively on their farm, trying to clear it of all the rocks, trees, and other debris.

given that they worked a desk job and had little energy for anything outside their desk job, they had VERY low stamina and strength when they got to pelican town. meaning that clearing their farm was a goddamn ORDEAL. their squishy arms were not used to using an axe or hauling logs around.

toshi is the first person who approached them- everyone was getting antsy about them not entering town at all for that first week, and he was worried something might've happened to them. so, he goes to their farm

and finds them unconscious from exhaustion. queue him pushing himself WAY too hard trying to drag them to harvey

they end up on cots next to each other <3 we love meet cutes

the farmer is obviously beyond embarrassed, and over the next day or so (harvey INSISTS!!! that they stay at least a day), the entire town comes in, curious about them.

it's not a great first impression, all things considered.

they're a crop farmer over an animal farmer. they looked up diy videos on how to make your own preserves jars on youtube

actually all of their crafting knowledge comes from youtube tutorials

one of the scarecrows they made looks... a lil bit like toshi... 🤨🤨

they imprint on toshi since he 1. came to check on them 2. lowkey saved their life 3. is consistently really nice to them and 4. feels like an outsider like them.

they bring him daffodils all spring and grow him sunflowers in summer, since he mentioned off hand that he liked them.

they don't tend to say anything when they give a gift, they just sort of offer it and give that blank stare. when you take it, though, they kind of smile (its cute)

they don't like fishing because they don't like sitting around doing nothing. its boring to them

they're always covered in dirt. they could've just showered and they'd end up covered in dirt 10 minutes later

they love the spa. they're constantly going to the hot springs in the evenings, and they tend to drag toshi along too, since its good for him.

just a little bit of a cryptid. just a little bit.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(15)

Come Back To Reality

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Y/n and Cobb are finally able to come back to reality. But Y/n worries if her and Robert in the dream was just that; a dream.

word count - 1.6k

warnings - just way too much fluff!

a/n - why am I actually getting sad how close we are to the end! I know this one feels like the end but we've still got one more chapter left ;)

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3…2…1.

My eyelids fluttered open with the weight of a thousand hours. My body laced with grogginess. I crack my bones and felt the comfort of the plane seat under me.

I smiled.

We did it.

I giggled.

I turned to my side and greeted each member with giddiness. We all sat back and relished in success.

I felt a hand grip my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Arthur shooting me a wink. I placed my hand over his and squeezed it in acceptance.

I looked over and failed to meet Robert’s own gaze as he was locked in contemplation. I realised his mind must be flooded, the overcrowding shocking his sense into silence.

But my eyes trained on my father’s still sleeping form. My breath stuck in my throat. His eyes fluttered ever so softly and when they finally opened, they were tired enough for a lifetime. But they were still bright. And they still pleaded love once they landed on my form. As I squirmed about in my seat unable to hide my excitement. He laughed at the freedom of my movements.

Saito followed soon after. He reached into his jacket to pull out his phone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I stood by my father in the queue for passport control. The others had separated off but we stayed together.

His hand slipped into my mine and gave it an affirming grip.

He was next in line.

He turned to me, his face flushed as he was about to divulge everything he could, fearing this could be his last chance. Saito could have screwed him. The clearance may not have been successful.

He struggled to find the words so I decided to help him out.

“I guess you’re healed now. Whatever happened down there it was definitely some form of catharsis.”

“For you and me both.” He breathlessly laughed out.

“I don’t know about that.” His face fell at my sad tone. “I’m gonna need some time. A lot of things have happened down there. I just don’t think I can do it yet.”

“I understand.” He delivered a swift kiss to my hairline. But pulled away with his hand still clasped around mine. “But now we’ve got all the time we need. We’re not running against the clock anymore.” A tear escaped in relief. But I brushed it away before I became noticeable.

“Next.” Was shouted down our line. Dad nervously looked to the awaiting officer. We came together in as miniscule a hug as we could muster before he was sent along first.

He offered up his passport and the officers eyes passed over it intensely. A minute drudged on. We never stopped for a single gasp.

“Welcome to America, Mr Cobb.” His passport was stamped and shoved back to him across the counter. I could see my dad’s frame melt and relax. He moved on more spritely than I’d ever seen. This meant it was my turn and as I approached no worries plagued me. But as my passport was shoved back to me, I remembered there was still just one. And he currently stood at the desk to the side of me.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I shucked my suitcase off of the carousel. I slowly paced my way back down to the exit, following my dad’s silhouette.

I passed each member and acknowledged them with minute appreciation.

I nodded at Yusuf.

I waved at Ariadne.

I winked at Eames.

I smiled at Arthur.

But I was struck in my place when I saw Robert waiting for his own bag. His eyes were locked on his phone but they briefly flitted up just enough to recognise my frame. Fearfully, I scampered to the side. Taking solace behind Arthur’s frame. He looked down at me and couldn’t help but giggle.

He looked up to Robert. He then nodded in understanding.

He turned around and gripped me by the arms so I couldn’t run from what he was about to say.

“We both know what you promised yourself, but we both know how you feel. After everything,” He trailed off and looked over to where Robert was searching for my frame in the crowd.  “I think you finally need to take something for yourself” He patted my shoulder and then unceremoniously shoved me towards Robert. I stilled but then ran back to place one last kiss on Arthur’s cheek.

Well I guess there was no turning back now.

I skipped up hoping speed would remove my desire to turn back. I tapped his shoulder and he turned around.

“I just wanted to say I heard about your father and I wanted to offer my sympathy. You must miss him?”

Our eyes finally met unadulterated and we both were allowed to show as much desire as we could.

“Have we met? You look awfully familiar.” The question no longer filled me with dread. I tucked my hair behind my ear and giggled at his dulcet tone.

“I’d like to think I’d remember someone like you.” I flirted back. He laughed but his eyes still raked mine for familiarity. I shook out to start again. “The plane. I was the wall you crashed into.” He laughed in memory and seemed to relax upon this declaration.

“Robert Fischer.” He held out his hand and I shook it. I couldn’t believe how soft his skin was. “But seeing as you already mentioned my father you already knew that so forget what I said it was stupid.” He broke his hand away and mimicked shooing. His body was racked with nerves. So I clasped his hand once again.

“Y/n Cobb. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He breathed out through a smile. “Beautiful.” He whispered before his mind could catch up.

“I’m sorry?” I questioned, thinking I had misheard.

“Oh sorry it’s just that I think you’re very beautiful but there were more eloquent ways to express it.” He once again began to flap his hands about. He seemed embarrassed but I found it endearing.

“Anyways it was lovely to meet you.” I declared and quickly turned, secretly hoping he would stop me.

“Wait!” Told you. “Can I get your number?”

I turned back around but didn’t stop walking as I shouted back.

“I gave you my name. If you’re as powerful as you look you’ll find me by tomorrow.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I caught up to my dad as he conversed with grandad. I fidgeted as I approached, nervous about meeting his eyes for the first time in years. Instead he took my hands away from their movement and pulled me into a bone crushing hug. Tears burst out and it was the only conversation I needed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We arrived back to the home I had struck from my memory. Fearing it would sting too much.

We both got out, our steps tipping on the edge.

The walk inside felt a lifetime and it seemed the buzzing of life resumed within my mind once again.

We stood as strangers in our own living room. My eyes flitted over every surface to commit it to my mind.

Grandad approached the garden.

“James! Philippa!”

 The two innocent frames finally turned from their play and I laughed through tears when I got to meet their beautiful eyes once again.

They ran forward. Jumping into the awaiting arms of their father and sister. James launched into me whilst my dad swung Philippa around. I sunk my head into James’ neck and just relished in feeling him close. We eventually swapped and I offered Philippa the piggy backs she had loved. She began playing with my hair from behind, slicking it through into loose braids. But she gave up and instead felt she’d be more at peace with her arms locked tightly around my neck and her cheek next to mine.

A thousand photographs could never capture the love of that single moment.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I awoke and stretched in the sheets that had been left since my last day. They had been washed, obviously, but grandma had tried to keep my room as untouched as possible.

My bones melted from the deepest sleep I had ever had. For the first time I had slept unaided and it had cured every ache in my chest.

Suddenly my door was thrown open and I looked up in time to see James launch himself onto body. He cuddled into my side and I threw my arms around him, squeezing him.

“Good morning, Jamesy.”

“There’s a man here.” His voice, ladened with sleep, informed. I tensed.

“He’s got a really fancy car and suit and he asked for you.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

My bare feet plodded across the cold wooden floor. I shuddered in my shorts and tank top. I opened the door. And there I was greeted with Robert, in his perfectly tailored suit, stood in front of his car, that I am assuming he didn’t drive himself due to the man stood to the side.

A smile brushed across his face when I finally entered his sight.

“Do you have any idea how many Y/n Cobbs there are in L.A.?” He declared with perfect practise.

“Well, I didn’t want to make it easy for you.” I teased back whilst carefully making my way to him across the stones.

We were now inches apart. Just gazing into each other.

 “So did I pass the test? Am I powerful enough to take you out on a date?” He toyed using my previous taunt. I blushed under his intense gaze. My hair fell in front of my face but he carefully brushed it back behind my ear.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked and he smiled so brightly.

From inside the house my dad watched on from the kitchen window. His morning coffee clasped in his hand. Like me, his previous attire was forgone for a soft pyjama top and checkered pants. He looked onto his daughter but once he recognised the light which oozed from her frame, he merely relented, well as much as any father can, and smiled.

“You would’ve been proud of her, Mal.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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[ever-after-high-alistair]

The Perfectly Imperfect Day

The birds chirped through the morning, acting as an alarm as Apple woke up from a long slumber. Her hair rollers still perfectly intact, she got up off her white silk pillow. She lifted her big blanket off herself and got out of bed. Looking over at a fast asleep Raven, she chuckled to herself, thinking about her roommate that would sleep through an explosion. As for her usual routine, she studied her face deeply in the mirror, picking out the nonexistent flaws that graced her face. With no imperfections in sight, she smiled to herself, showing off her deep dimples on both of her cheeks. The washroom that all the girls shared in the middle of the hallway was currently only occupied by her. Coming in early gave her a sense of peace as she could use the communal materials for as long as she wanted. She changed out of her light yellow silk pjs and into the showers. The strong scent of her cherry blossom body wash radiated the entire stall. By the end of her hot shower, she got out with her hair cap, revealing her curls still perfectly intact. Her peaceful moment to herself was put to a halt, following a trail of talking mouths and walking steps. 

“I don’t know, I think I’m going to try out”  She heard a voice say. And in a liberating tone, the voice, who was made out to be Cedar Wood, talking about trying out for the dance team. Apple didn't want to believe her ears. Here, a girl who was made of wood talking about dancing. She wasn't meant to be a dancer, Apple thought. The sheer fact that they were talking about breaking their perfect social queues right in front of her shocked her. Her mind lingered ruining her perfect morning. Her fairest smile faded for the rest of her routine, dismissing it as feeling ill when her fellow classmates asked what was wrong.

A little while after being shaken up, a little bit of food had always calmed her down. She got out her apple cinnamon oatmeal, taking delicate bites while looking around. She usually ate with Raven at this time, but she instead decided to dine with her rebel friends. Cerise, Cedar, Sparrow and Raven all sat like a big family at the middle table. Apples attention was drawn away in moments, realizing that her apple had fallen to the ground. What's going on today?

After a confusing and disappointing breakfast, she got into her apron and put on some goggles for chemistry class. Her fast paced motion of placing chemical after chemical in an orderly fashion betrayed her, causing an unexpected explosion to the roof. 

“Apple White! Detention!” 

To everyone's surprise including her own, she had gotten detention and messed up the entire potion that usually worked in her favour. Sitting in detention gave her unlimited time to think about the previous events. Why's everything going wrong today? What else will go wrong? Detention lasted longer than she wanted it to, putting her in a terrible mood from the morning. By the next classes it was revealed that not only one thing could go wrong. After her books falling from her hands, tripping in the halls, running out of ink in the middle of an exam, and losing her glasses, she was ready to give up. The bell rang felt like a sound sent from heaven. She plopped onto her huge princess bed once more and let out a sigh. 

“You ok?” Raven asked with a smile 

“No. Today was a total fairy fail. Someone must have a spell on me” 

“Happens way too often huh?” Raven teased

She got up from her bed, looking at Raven writing something at her desk. It must be Raven with the spell she thought, and even though it was silly, she half wished it was the truth. When bedtime rolled around, she felt like maybe the day ahead would be different, better, normal. No one would act out of place and everyone would be happy in their normal positions. The sound of nothingness caught her breath, with a presence causing her to sit up in bed and gently get out. She walked over to her mirror with desperation, hoping to get validated somehow. No one told me how fairest I looked today, how odd. With that she whispered in the darkness, “mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?” A quiet and dark reply came faster than usual, yet with the expected response “You are my queen.”

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Hey yall hope you enjoyed. I might take a break from stories after the next one is complete and focus more on short texts like headcanons or alignment charts. I'm still available for requests so please feel free to ask for any prompt/preferred characters you would like to read about and I'll get to it as soon as possible . Have a great weekend yall!