#and getting into the idea of doing a tiny town challenge

[victorluvsalice]

Another Smiler Outfit Post For You All

Because back on May 31st, I played around with putting one of my Smiler Sims in a few new outfit possibilities for their birthday, and, well, I like sharing my attempts to make my Sims into fashion icons with you. XD So here is the latest selection of Potential Smiler Outfits:

First up, we have what I believe is an all-Vampires formal look, featuring a lovely fancy tailed tux with a bright yellow patterned vest; a black top hat; and a pair black shoes with white spats. Plus some lovely dramatic purple eye makeup and yellow eyeliner. I genuinely didn’t realize this tux had this swatch – I will have to keep it in mind for future save files where I use Smiler and need a formal outfit for them!

Next, we have another formal look that, as you might imagine, was at least partially inspired by me seeing that sparkly yellow jacket and going “Felix E. Lated Vibes!” XD But yes, Smiler here is sporting a sparkly yellow jacket and off-white shirt combo from High School Years; a pair of black base game pants with a belt (I have decided I like Smiler in belts); a pair of yellow shoes from Luxury Party Stuff (which are maybe not QUITE the right shade of yellow, but they still felt them); and some dramatic yellow Get To Work eye makeup paired with some winged black Luxury Party Stuff eyeliner. I liked the combo and felt it suited the look!

Here we have a party-ready Smiler wearing one of the base game full-body party outfits – loving the sparkly dark yellow jacket and black pants, but I’m not a big fan of the red undershirt or, honestly, the tie. If I could get a version of this that ditched the tie and had like a black or yellow (or even purple) undershirt, this would be fantastic. *shrug* But you work with what you’re given. Anyway, the dark yellow Discover University shoes actually pair really well with this outfit (the texture goes well with the sparkly cloth), and I found some sparkly yellow eye makeup from Luxury Party Stuff to pull it all together! Which doesn’t show up well in the full-body shot, so here’s a close-up:

Yes, so I caught them at an awkward moment mid-blink, what can you do. XD Anyway, yeah, isn’t that a good match for the jacket? I love the glittery effect. Discovered this while working on their OTHER party outfit and realizing I got a LOT more makeup options when I took off the “masculine” filter! Speaking of which –

Almost forgot to get a picture of this particular outfit when I first played through this CAS makeover session! XD Anyway, this one was a result of me playing around with the color filters, looking for stuff in purple and yellow, which led to me stumbling across this High School Years top and going “YES.” I mean, I would have gone “YES” even harder if the overshirt was yellow instead of purple, but this is still VERY The Smiler-ish, I think. Plus I feel it’s good for Smiler to have some purple-themed outfits – breaks up all the yellow and black! But yes, here we have Smiler in a black-and-white-checked long-sleeved undershirt with purple short-sleeved overshirt (not QUITE a fan of the high collar on the undershirt, but still), black belted base game pants (of course), white and black Get Famous shoes (to go with the shirt), and some purple-with-the-brightness-adjusted-to-better-match-the-overshirt Luxury Party Stuff eye makeup! *nods* I mean, I think it looks good. :P

Here’s a quick “hot weather wear” fit I whipped up because, well, it was the Unofficial Start Of Summer when I originally did this. Featuring a Get Together hat that has a plant symbol on the front because that was the only design that had the right yellow brim (again, I need the help of modders to get me a plain version...or a version with The Smiler Logo on the front instead XD); a Perfect Patio Stuff light yellow overshirt/white undershirt combo; those base game yellow-and-black shorts I found and decided had to be Smiler’s from when I did the “SDX Swimwear” looks; a pair of yellow-and-black Get Famous sandals; and a yellow-and-black base game bracelet for their – guess it would be right arm, since they’re facing us – that I stumbled across looking at some of the bracelet options. I like the chevron one on their other wrist best, but this is still good!

And finally, Smiler in goofy heart-print boxers. Because they would. XD And because they were originally wearing flame-print boxers, and I was like “uh, way too Wickerman.” XD

[nox-is-simming]

Time to welcome our next Tiny Towner: Opal Gem!

[bamfkeeper]

Beautiful Devil

RQ: 'Hi, I have a request: a fic about NightcrawlerxFem!Reader, Beauty and the beast AU, starting it like the fairytale (Reader decide to sacrifice herself for her father because the scared man THINK the mysteriuos blue creature ask him to bring one of his daughters in his place). Maybe in the finale you can add the mob attacking the castle like in the episode of the '90 serie, with Graydon Creed guiding the mob (you can't look at that man and don't think he's a variant of Gaston). Just don't turn Kurt into a human, I love our fuzzy Elf. Thanks!' - @historygirl93

Warnings: F!reader, some violence, minor character death. Unedited.

A/N: I think this is a cute idea, I love the story. I don't see how Kurt could ever be viewed as 'beastly' he's too sweet. The fairytale is a longer story and involving all the details would take me a long time to write, so I did what I could to get the idea of the story across. I did my best, it was slightly challenging, and I changed just a few details just because I thought it would be better for the story.

WC: 2.2k

The village held such a prejudice against the blue demon who lived in the abandoned church. Rumors of yellow glowing eyes and a shadow with a devil's tail flicking in the dark, crawling on the walls like a hellish insect. A monster, the children of the village feared him just as much as the adults, whom had weapons ready to kill if he dared leave the cathedral.

Your father was highly religious. He wanted to banish the devil from the church once and for all, to purify the holy ground, but believed that only a sacrifice would satisfy the creature. You were horrified at first, being so helplessly given away as a sacrifice, you were the lamb that was about to be beheaded for no reason.

Upon being abandoned at the cathedral, surrounded by the harsh cold and snow, you thought you'd freeze to death. To your initial horror and surprise, the devil appeared. He flashed in front of you in black and purple smoke, like they rose from the ashes of Hell. You were far too tired and exhausted, so before you knew it, your body was wrapped and you were inside.

You felt the warmth of the fire inside the stone furnace, you sat up and watched the orange flames dance quietly while the blanket remained wrapped around your drenched form. The snow melted away and left you wet and still somewhat cold. But you were at least inside...

Once you regained enough bearings, you looked around for the devil, wondering where he was and what he was going to do to you. You felt fearful, your mind having heavy thoughts invading your mind of horrific treatment. While you searched the dark room, you saw his eyes peering to you from the darkest corner, tiny irises of gold staring through your soul.

"It's you..." your voice muttered out quietly, "You're the devil." Your hushed tone made him tilt his head slightly, he slowly walked around the wall, the far shadows hiding most of him.

"Nein...I am no Teufel..." he spoke back, his voice was even and not nearly as intimidating as you thought it would be. "I was born like this. But I am no demon." He stepped closer as he spoke to you, his appearance becoming more visible in the firelight. He had blue skin and sharp teeth like the villagers said, a long tail with a devil's spade, sharp nails and pointed ears...

"You look like one," you shakily retorted, still on edge of what his intentions were and you weren't about to fall victim without a fight. He only chuckled back, empty and somewhat...sad.

"I know."

He sat down near you, a few feet away, looking at you and slowly giving a smile, trying to be friendly. "I won't hurt you, I wouldn't ever." He paused, then continued, "Besides, a demon cannot step inside a church." He reasoned, holding out a three fingered hand to you. "Hab keine Angst."

You were cautious, but after seeing he wasn't nearly as horrifying as the town made him seem, you reached out and touched his hand. His skin was warm, he was fluffy. He felt like soft velvet, not like cold scaled skin you had been told was the skin of the devil.

Over the following weeks, you became closer to each other. You warmed up quickly after his efforts to try to appear not so scary, and once you spoke more often, he was actually very sweet and kind. You watched him feed birds and squirrels, holding the seeds in his palms and speaking to the birds as if they could understand him.

His favorites were the blue jays.

He showed you the cathedral, leading you through the massive church and showing you around. He showed you the library with lots of books along the walls, the studio where old paints and canvases were. He gave you plenty of things to do, and he provided you with good food, a large space to sleep, he treated you well. He was kind and sweet and...attractive.

You couldn't help but feel yourself get pulled towards him. Feel yourself get swept up by his chivalry and charm. He showed off in front of you, entertaining you with his skills as an acrobat and swordsman, he even let you try to swing one of his swords.

It was much heavier than you thought, making his skills all the more impressive.

You got word that your father had fallen very ill, and you wanted to see him. Kurt didn't want you to leave, scared you'd never return again. He held your hands and looked at you in the eye, his worry etched on his face. "You won't abandon me, will you?" he asks softly, "I don't wish for you to go..." he brings your hand up to his cheek, rubbing his face into your palm.

Your heart melts and you sigh, "I promise I'll come back. I just...want to make sure my father is okay..." you whisper back. You knew how he felt, being abandoned was one of his biggest fears. All he had been in his life was abandoned, by his mother, this town, sometimes he felt as though God himself has abandoned him.

With great reluctance, he let go and you rushed back into the village, desperate to see your sickly father. You were still angry he left you to die, but he was still your father. When you made it back, you came to his bedside and saw how terrible he looked. You had no idea what he had, but he looked on the verge of death.

Word got loose that you were in the town, somehow surviving the 'demon' who resided in the abandoned church. The town's greatest 'champion,' Graydon, nearly stormed up to your home and forced his way in. His voice loud and demanding, he as angry and furious with you.

The vile man had attempted to court you before. You always denied him. Why would you want to be with someone as crude and hateful as Graydon?

"How did you escape that wretched demon?" he demanded, yanking you from your father's bedside. He held your arm tight and stared at you with fury in his eyes. "That beastly creature will invade our town because of you! You were his sacrifice! Leaving signifies that the deal is broken! You've doomed all of us!"

Your eyes were wide as he basically screamed in your face, his cool was gone and he looked like he wanted to hurt you. You tugged against his strong hold, grunting as you tried to get free. "He's not a monster, or a demon! He's just a man!" You shouted back, "He's kind, gentle, he wouldn't hurt a soul!"

Graydon laughed at you, yanking you closer again. "You are lucky you are pretty, girl...you are such a naïve little thing. That devil is evil, and you have succumbed to his incubi ways. Don't worry, I'll make sure I fix that little head of yours up and rid you of the corruption he has brought upon you."

He threw you down, you hit your head and everything became a hazy mess. You heard his footsteps leave, his heavy boots hitting the old wooden floors with anger. You tried to lift yourself up, but you hit your head too hard. The world was spinning around you, but you didn't want any harm to come to Kurt. Graydon was as ruthless as he was egotistical, and he was dead set on murdering Kurt. He always had been, telling tall tales of cutting off his head and hanging it over the statue in town square.

You could hear his voice, rallying the town and heading up the treacherous path to the abandoned cathedral. You felt your heart ache, your body fading to unconsciousness from the injury.

When you regained consciousness, your body ached but the thought of Graydon already at the church gave you a newfound form of energy. You jerked up, your father had been too weak and sick to help, while you worried for him, the memory of him giving you up to die was there. You had to make a choice, and your heart had been decided.

You needed to get to the church.

You stumbled out to the stables, your body staggering as your brain felt fuzzy and heavy. You probably had a concussion, but right now that wasn't important. You didn't have a horse of your own, you prayed that the one you made it to wouldn't buck you off. The stallion let out a soft nicker, you rubbed its neck, your hand weakly holding onto the mane and you forced your body to mount.

The horse moved a few steps, adjusting to your weight. No saddle, it'll have to do.

You squeezed your legs and held on, the horse moved forward and with your encouragement it began a steady gallop through the trail that led up to the church. The horse was fast and bareback was hard for you to hold on, especially with a head injury. the horse sensed your wavering weight and tried to steady its run.

Over the hill was the church, and the stallion ran you right inside the broken down doors. You heard loud shouting, men fighting, and the sight that came to view was horrible.

Most of the men were down, unconscious, and Graydon was shooting arrows at Kurt, who had been disappearing in puffs of smoke, reappearing in other places. His yellow eyes blazed and he hissed at Graydon, landing kicks and punches to the larger man. You shouted at them to stop, but your voice fell on deaf ears.

The torches the other men had been carrying caught the tapestries and the flames eagerly began to eat the fabric and grow. The horse reared up, and you fell off its back as it ran out of the church. You sat up and cried out at Graydon, "Stop it! Don't hurt him! Can't you see what you're doing?!"

Kurt's teleporting soon became predictable, Graydon memorized the pattern and he shot an arrow into Kurt's leg right as he reappeared again. Kurt let out a strangled cry, stumbling from the beams and to the ground. By now the flames had consumed the entire room, smoke became thick and Graydon towered over Kurt's body. His eyes reflecting the fire, his face red and his hair a mess. He looked like the devil now, the fire only adding to his hellish desires to smite out Kurt's existence.

"Die, I cast you down to the pits of Hell where you belong!" Graydon tore a blade from his sheath, raising it above his head. But Kurt's eyes were focused on the burning wood above him, and he managed to teleport from that spot right as the wooden beams fell from the ceiling. Kurt reappeared by you, his fuzzy arms wrapped around yours as he teleported you outside. The last thing you saw in the church were the large beams falling onto Graydon's body, crushing him.

When you reappeared outside, you saw Kurt was hurt from the fight. He had two arrows in his body, one in his leg and one in his back, several lacerations from fighting the others and some parts of him had been burned. He let out a deep cough and he laid beside you, unresponsive.

"Kurt?? Kurt! Wake up!" You shook him, gently at first but it became more frantic when you noticed his lack of response. "Please get up!" You felt tears prick your eyes, your head swiveled around, looking for anyone to help. You weren't sure what to do, you felt hopeless. After you thought he was gone, his tail twitched at your side, gently curling up around your thigh weakly.

"Kurt??" You asked quickly, glancing down at him. You could see the exhaustion on his face, the weakness, but he nodded back. He gave you a weak smile, his yellow eyes soft and pure.

"Liebe..." he whispered back, his hand held yours and he pulled you closer. Your body naturally obeyed and you let your lips find his, both weakly pressing together as the two of you kissed for the first time. It felt so right, his hand cupped your face and his tail wrapped around you, being so weak but loving all at the same time.

You hadn't noticed the other townspeople had been watching from the trees, seeing how gentle and sweet you were to him. They could see that Kurt didn't resemble a creature of Hell like they thought, while he did seem odd looking, he didn't look to be horrific as they predicted. Their imaginations took over and the tall tales took over their logic.

When you broke the kiss, he smiled up at you. "You....came back..." he rasped, he was hurt still, but he was okay. He'd live. That's all you needed to know.

"Of course I came back...I told you I would..." you whispered sweetly, guilt gnawed at your core, "If I hadn't left then..."

Kurt cut you off, shushing you, "Nein, liebe...do not worry...the church can be rebuilt...I am going to be fine. What's another small scar? My fur will cover it anyway." He added, giving you a playful smile.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, "Oh, Kurt...don't make me laugh right now..." You muttered, some of the onlookers came to aid you in bringing him to the town to get treatment from the doctor there. You knew he'd be okay. The awful stories were debunked and the town appeared to accept him.

You had your love, safe and sound, and the real demon of the town had been snuffed to ash.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[a-simple-imagine]

Just A Taste

Requested by anonymous: "i was wondering if you could do adult van palmer x reader who is a really good cook/baker and always makes food for van? you can obviously add more i just like the idea of van being a terrible cook and relying on reader for amazing food"

Pairing: adult!van palmer x fem!reader

Words: 3.8k+

A/N - watched a van palmer hc tiktok that suggested van makes a mean grilled cheese, and you know what? I agree

WARNING- swearing and suggestive themes. teeny tiny reference to a teeny tiny age difference

'While You Were Streaming'. A cute retro video store popularised by the local kids and nerdy adults that inhabit the small college town. It was a safe haven seeped in nineties nostalgia. renting out VHS tapes and players, but also selling collectibles and toys. It was akin to a comic book store but with a focus on movies. And while you were never one for frequent trips down memory lane, you found yourself here often. Today was no different. The bell rings out as you step inside on your regularly scheduled hour-long lunch break. Although today it was looking more like a hard thirty minutes, with twenty of those minutes being spent on the journey there and back to work. However, the amount of time would never stop you when you weigh up the benefits. You pretend to peruse the shelves as you make your way towards the counter; glancing over classic movies like 'The Godfather' and 'Stand By Me' in pursuit of something much more entertaining. The owner was already deep in conversation as you reached your destination. Ever the passionate cinephile, as she debates something with a young woman. It almost felt cruel to interrupt, and so you don't. You wait patiently listening to the tail end of a discussion until she notices you. You can't help but catch the way her lips curl up into a grin as she politely bids the customer farewell.

Gentle blue eyes take you in. Filling your stomach with the familiar fluttering, much like a childhood crush, but you just can't get enough. "Hey,"

"Hello," She responds. "Is there anything I can help you with today, Miss?"

"There is actually," You nod a little, playing along despite your limited time. You can't help but give in to her whimsy. "I'm looking for someone. They're usually around these parts, so maybe you've seen them?"

"Oh? Maybe I have, what are they like?"

"Hmm," You hum thoughtfully. "She's like exactly your height, long red hair and these scars on her face that she'll never tell you about," You explain, eyes drifting over the other woman. "Frankly, just the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. She's also like mad funny, kinda lame but makes up for it in other ways."

"Lame?" She asks, a curious raise of her scarred brow.

"Yeah she's just really into old movies and tech and shit," You shrug. "probably why shes always in here,"

"Hey," Stated sharply. "Insult me all you want, but my store is off limits."

You chuckle lightly to yourself, running your hand over the smooth surface of the countertop. "My bad. I'm so sorry, 'While You Were Streaming', whatever would the local youths do without your old toys and VHS tapes?"

She swats your hand lightly. "You're just Jealous that all the kids love me because I'm fucking rad." Her eyes narrowed, hands came to lean against the counter like she was ready to pounce. Protecting her baby. You shuffle closer, dropping your bag and copying her pose. Issuing a challenge.

"Not sure the cool kids would say 'rad'," You contest quietly. A playful edge to your tone. You both stand in stalemate for a few seconds before she slowly leans in to connect your lips in the briefest of embraces.

"Hi," Whispered against your skin, the tingle of her touch lingering as she pulls back. Her eyes searching yours, a cheeky grin. Van fucking Palmer. You're suddenly back in your surroundings, grabbing the bag you brought along.

"I brought you lunch."

"What's on the menu today?"

"Nothing fancy, I didn't have a lot of time," You shrug. "A Cuban sandwich. Cubano if you're feeling fancy."

"You're too good to me."

"I know," You smile, placing the sandwich down before her. It's neatly wrapped up in its entirety in lilac lining paper. Arguably, the hardest part of making the whole thing. "I gotta get back,"

"Okay," She nods a little. "Thanks for the food."

"You're quite welcome," You insist. "Enjoy the best sandwich you will ever have in your entire life."

"I'm sure I will," She offers half a smile. "Call you later."

"You better," Declared sharply, you twist on your heel and head for the door, only to abruptly turn back. "You should come by the restaurant tonight- if you're free. doing this food tasting thing. real lowkey."

"Oh, uh yeah, maybe." You try and give her the benefit of the doubt. That wasn't a no. You try not to let the idea of rejection you've made up in your head go to your heart.

"Well, the offers there," You shrug, "And if you're lucky, maybe I'll let you bring me back to your place." You toss her a wink paired with a playful smile. Even with the distance, you can see the colour pink dusting her cheeks. Van always took as good as she gave, but she was never very good at hiding her emotions on her face. "Who knows?"

"Go," She states while smiling.

"Think about it," You let the double meaning hang for a moment, actually heading for the door now. "I'll send pics if I have to."

"Please do," She calls back.

"You'd never get any work done if I did," You taunt, "Bye." The bell rings again, signalling your departure. As the door clicks shut behind you, you take a deep breath before heading off back towards your work.

The restaurant you work at is small in size but mighty in demand. It provides an almost exclusive experience without the ridiculous price tag. It hadn't really meant to be that way, but having limited table space and an increased demand made it seem that way. You're not the head chef, but you try really hard. You practice a lot and like coming up with new recipes. Today was stressful. A non-stop barrage of people being extra demanding. Your only moment of peace was visiting Van during your break. Even as you close for the night, the work doesn't stop for you. After many hours of overtime and begging, you had finally been allowed to use the restaurant to curate some new recipes. Your own special dishes. It was just for some of your coworkers. The ones you actually liked.

"Chef," Yelled through the kitchen.

"Yeah?" You ask, too focused on the task at hand to even look at who was calling you.

"There's a woman out here asking for you." That does bring you out of your workflow. A shiver of hope as you glance up.

"A redhead?" But you've already been left alone. You hesitate for a moment before whipping off your apron and heading out of the kitchen. Your friends all sit at a table chatting amongst themselves, and by the host podium stands said redhead. Dressed in smart-fitted trousers and a shirt, you don't think you have ever seen her wear before. She offers half a smile and a small wave. God, she was beautiful. It makes your mouth run dry. "You came," Said fondly as you approached. A rich, smoky cologne tickling your senses. "I wasn't sure you would."

"You act like I never leave the house." You'd make a joke if you weren't just so happy to see her. Stealing a kiss you just can't wait for.

"You look so handsome."

"Thanks," She smooths down her shirt as if she didn't already look exquisite. You take her hand. It's warm and a little sweaty, but you giddily lead the way towards the table of friends.

"Guys, this is Van, she'll be joining us for the night," You announce; feeling her squeeze your hand slightly. Nerves perhaps? "Be nice," There is a chorus of polite hellos, as you let go to pull out the chair. "For you." A degree of reluctance as she takes a seat. "I'm just gonna finish plating up, then'll bring out something for you guys to try." As you head back to the kitchen, you spare her a glance. A little out of place amongst the others. You know she's probably feeling it too.

Tonight was a two-course dining experience. Just two small dishes paired with good wine and friendly conversation. You had been working on creating these recipes all week. Practising in whatever spare time you have. It had taken a level of courage to invite Van. You didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, but she seemed to be getting along with the others quite well. You only really see her briefly between courses. But as you serve up the second plate, you finally get a chance. Watching other people eat your food was actually incredibly humbling; it made your stomach churn. You pushed that aside to remain at the table beside Van. A hand resting on her thigh to keep you in the moment. She didn't seem to mind.

"So how do you two know each other?" A classic question with a pretty ordinary answer. You walked into her store one day, and the rest was history.

"Uh, so Van owns the retro video store not too far from here,"

"While You Were Streaming?" Your coworker pipes up. "My buddy swears by that place."

"That's the one," You confirm.

"She only ever shows up to get me to taste her food." Van's hand comes to rest upon yours. Drawing your attention for a moment to see her teasing smile.

"I do not?"

"So all those lunchtime food deliveries?"

You can't help but laugh. It wasn't like you always went to visit Van, but if you were making food for her, you'd tell everyone you have a delivery to make. It was never a lie. "Guilty but if I don't she'll just eat crap so i occasionally drop of a little lunch for her because I'm so nice and amazing."

"Nice and amazing? We must be talking about different people,"

"fuck you," Playfully spat at your colleague. "I am a delight."

"You're lucky you can cook,"

"You think I'm a delight, right?" A glance back at the other woman. Bottom lip pushes out in a bit of a pout. You watch her eyes flicker down to your lips before her shoulders rise and fall.

"You're certainly... something that's for sure."

"I have just slaved away in that kitchen to so lovingly prepare a meal for all of you," Over enunciated words and a hand over your heart. "And this is how you treat me? Why don't you just take me out back and shoot me?"

Thankfully, the evening went a lot better than you had expected. It had been a long, stressful day, but you'd managed not to feel it for too long. And everyone seemed to like the food. Giving you long evaluations on everything from the flavours to the presentation. Next time would be even better. But as the clock ticks on, the room soon settles to just you and Van. You had promised to lock up tonight. Another condition that came with borrowing the space. But you linger a while longer. A rich chocolate sponge spared for this exact moment. It was diminutive but rich. You had only made one. In hopes that Van would show up and you could share it together.

"So... what did you really think?" You wonder.

"About?"

"My food obviously." You talk a good game. Make jokes about how talented you are, but taste is subjective. And while your co-workers all had opinions to share, all you really wanted to know was what Van thought? She wasn't like the others. Didn't work in the industry. No fancy words to disguise her true meaning.

"It was good," You wait for her to elaborate. To give you something more than good. You deserved something more than good. But she doesn't. Your brow knitted together in a frown.

"That's it? Just good?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know- give me more? How good? How did it make you feel? What did you like exactly? anything really." You would be lying if you said her answer wasn't a little disappointing, but you suppose it's to be expected. You didn't expect her to just blindly praise you, especially if she didn't like it, but you just wanted an honest opinion. Just saying 'good' makes you feel like she didn't actually like it. The woman holds your gaze as she puts a small bite of cake into her mouth. A look of contemplation as she chews. Taking her time with it.

"It's..." Her mouth scrunches up to one side. "Good."

You push her shoulder. You don't know why you thought she might honestly give a serious answer. Van is nothing if not consistent.

"Okay okay, seriously... I don't know," Van responds. "I like it, but I would like anything you brought out because you made it." You stare at her for a long moment. Trying to gauge if she meant it or was just messing with you still. Sincerity in those soft blue eyes with a perfectly matched smile. You can feel yourself getting hot, so you swallow hard and shove her again.

"Fuck you." The chocolate cake sits pretty and half-eaten. A welcome distraction from your burning cheeks.

"The hell?" Her hands shoot up in faux surrender.

"I want a proper answer."

"That was," Picking up the fork from the far side of the plate, you stick it into the sponge and pull a piece away. Popping it into your mouth.

"No, you were flirting. You're always flirting." Van chuckles. Loud and hearty: so delightfully warm. A siren's song that you could listen to for eternity. Heat tingling in your chest.

"I can't help it," She insists. "You're just so... captivating."

"Stop," You insist, scrunching up your face. The rush of heat surpassing your cheeks and taking over your entire face. You feel so embarrassed despite being the only one to hear her compliments. Her laughter tickling your ears.

"Your food is good," Van insists. "It tastes good and looks... Impressive. That's just not my scene, you know? I prefer the stuff you bring me for lunch. You're really talented but that sandwich you brought me earlier was fucking delicious." You look to her once more. Ignoring the way your face burns or the fluttering in your stomach to offer a small appreciative smile. That was what you were looking for from her. Honesty.

"Thank you," You reply quietly.

"Any time,"

"We should head out before you declare your undying love for me over my incredible chocolate cake." You taunt.

"Sure,"

"I just need to finish up in the kitchen and lock the back," You explain, rising out of your seat. "Wait for me by the door like a good boy." A scoff, you just ignore as you collect the plate and fork, heading towards the kitchen with a grin. You toss the plate in the pot wash, grateful that you did most of the washing as you went along. You do a final sweep of the place before heading out to meet Van, who's leaning against the wall right by the door. They immediately brighten when they notice you. Setting the alarm, you pull open the door and usher them out into the cool night air. Making sure it's locked up behind them. With a smile, you head off down the street. It's a few minutes of comfortable silence before you decide to break it. "Thanks for coming tonight. I really didn't think you would,"

"You think so little of me."

"No, I just know you," You state, "and you can be a bit of a homebody." You know Van can't argue with that because it was very much true, and there was nothing wrong with that. You weren't exactly a party animal yourself. "Also this shirt looks so fucking good on you. It took everything in me not to jump your bones."

"Oh really?"

"You should get dressed up for me more often."

"You think it looks good now, it'll look even better on the bedroom floor,"

"Just couldn't help yourself, huh?"

"You set it up."

"You're such a child." A roll of your eyes. Van lived in the space above her store, so your walk home wasn't very long. Standing outside her front door like two school kids about to part ways. There was something so uniquely beautiful about the way Van Palmer made you feel. Like you were seventeen again and this was your first real relationship. That childhood sense of wonder is so apparent. The swarms of butterflies that appear whenever you see her. Laughing at all her jokes. Just wanting to be around her all the time. Sharing your lunch breaks. It was crappy mix tapes and sneaking into R - rated movies. Photobooths and rollerskates. Summer night sleepovers where you steal the occasional glance when nobody else is looking. You really like her. You're not ashamed of the fact. You would tell anyone who would listen. "So you gonna invite me in for a nightcap or what?"

"A nightcap?"

"Isn't that what you old people say?" You tease. Van just takes your hand and heads for the door, leading you into her place, but not without lacing your fingers together.

The next morning comes too soon. Buried in the thick covers, shielding yourself from the bright sunlight streaming in through her open window. Why did it have to be so bright? A groan sounds in your throat, muffled by the plush fabric of the pillow. You reach out, hoping to find another still sleeping next to you, however, you're met with the soft bounce of the mattress. A low grumble as you look over at the empty space. You had been hoping for a lazy morning. You'd spend all day in this bed if you could, but apparently Van had other plans. You are not quite awake enough to go searching, so you lie there a little longer. relishing in the softness. the warmth. drifting between various levels of consciousness. Eventually, you decide you want Van, so you get up, find the biggest t-shirt she owns and exit the bedroom. The other woman is found lounging on the couch. You walk over, dragging your feet the entire way. "Hi sleepy head."

"You got up without me," A pout as you rub the sleep from tired eyes. The redhead reaches for your hand, using it to draw you ever so slowly closer. As your knees bump into the cushions, you collapse on top of her. Wrapping your arms around her and nuzzling against her chest, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Good morning to you too- or should I say afternoon?" Van lays a delicate kiss upon your head. You whine peacefully. Appreciating the feeling of being against her. The rise and fall of her chest lulling you back to sleep. You wish you could stay like this forever.

"Do you wanna get breakfast?" Uttered quietly after a moment.

"More like lunch," Van jokes. "You don't have work?"

"Not today," You mumble into her t-shirt. "And if you don't open the store we can have lunch somewhere cute."

"I could make us something," A huff of a laugh leaves your lips. You look up to her, resting on your chin.

"Oh, you're serious,"

"Yeah," You've always been the one to cook. Mostly because you love to do it, but also because Van wasn't a big cook, and whenever she's tried, it's been a disaster. That's why you started making her lunches, so at least she was getting one decent meal a day.

"Do you remember what happened last time?" Van could burn water if you let her.

"Just trust me. You're always cooking for me, I wanna make you something."

You hum thoughtfully, tightening your grip around her. "Fine but not right now, I wanna cuddle some more." Your fingers play with the hem of her shirt before slipping underneath. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch. She lets out a satisfied hum.

"God, you're so obsessed with me,"

"Damn right Palmer," You tease. "Got a problem with that?"

"Not even a little," A silence settles. You lay together a little longer. Delighting in her company. Taking notice of her heartbeat. God, Van was so quickly becoming everything to you and that was so exciting and so so scary.

Sitting impatiently at the table, your eyes follow her as she works. You'd been banished from standing next to her because apparently you ask too many questions. You were just curious. Wanted to know every step of the process in case of overwhelming success or complete disaster. Your legs swing in rapid succession; so much excitement. The smell that filled the space was making your mouth water and stomach growl. That was a very good sign. Van places a plate down before you. A single sandwich sliced perfectly in two. Fresh, golden brown and oozing with cheese. You grab your knife and run it over the surface, listening to the way it scrapes across the bread. "Just eat it," Van orders. "It's best really hot." The woman reaches over the table to steal the other half of the sandwich, taking a big bite. Your mouth parting at the way the cheese strings between the bread and her lips. When her lips curl, your eyes flicker upwards to see her staring at you. Caught in the act, your attention diverts to the sandwich. Picking up the other half, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply. "Baby,"

"Leave me alone, I'm appreciating the artistry."

"Best way to do that is to try it, or do you need me to feed you?" You roll your eyes, holding her gaze as you finally take a bite. Crunching into beautifully toasted bread; it's buttery and crisp, just a hint of salt. Molten cheese seeps into your mouth, stringing between the sandwich and your lips as you pull it away. There was definitely more than one kind of cheese in here, and it's absolutely mouthwatering. It's so delicious you can't help the groan that slips past your lips. A result of your morning appetite and also just how satisfactory the sandwich turned out to be. You take another bite and then another. Quick. Desperate.

"So?"

"Fuck me, Van," mumbled through a mouth full of cheese. "This is incredible."

"I told you,"

"Yeah, but this is like- wow." Even if you ignored your doubts and her proven track record, at best, you expected a decent sandwich. But this grilled cheese blew those expectations sky-high. "Fuck."

"I know it's good, but you can calm down." Van chuckles, taking another mouthful. You definitely could not. You had so many questions.

"i could quite literally not be hornier for you right now," you jest, pulling the pieces of bread apart to inspect the cheese between. "this might be the best grilled cheese i've ever had."

"Probably should have guessed a good sandwich would get you going." The other woman teases, tossing her piece back down on the plate.

"You make fun but given half the chance-"

"Don't threaten me with a good time." Van interrupts

You shove the last of the bread in your mouth and pick up the other half. "Let me finish this, and I'll definitely keep my word."

[flwrkid14]

Training the Bat Way (aka Bruce’s Terrible Parenting 101)

Bruce Wayne, aka the Dark Knight, aka the absolute worst, has this little training exercise that the entire family unanimously despises. He calls it “building resilience” or “preparing for the unexpected.” The rest of the family calls it Bruce’s stupid sleep-deprivation kidnapping game.

Here’s how it works: Bruce waits until you’re at your absolute lowest—after a grueling week of non-stop patrols, minimal sleep, and a near-catastrophic Gotham meltdown. Once you’ve finally collapsed into a dead sleep (and sometimes, after he’s sneakily slipped you a sedative to make sure you stay asleep), he picks you up, sticks you on a plane, and drops you off in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes it’s a remote village in the mountains; sometimes it’s the bustling heart of a city on the other side of the planet. The challenge? Find your way home.

Occasionally, Bruce will leave you with some supplies: a wallet, maybe a burner phone, a little equipment if he’s feeling generous. But more often than not, you’ll wake up with absolutely nothing. No money, no ID, no tools—just the clothes on your back and a pounding headache from whatever the hell Bruce drugged you with.

Some highlights of Bruce’s 'training' include:

• Dick waking up in the middle of Germany with nothing but his expired driver’s license and missing socks (He'd hidden cash in them, so he can only guess Bruce found it).

• Steph regaining consciousness in Iceland with a crumpled €5 euro and zero idea how to exchange it for local currency.

• Damian waking up in the middle of the Sahara Desert. No gear. No money. Nothing but sand and the distant memory of Bruce’s smug face.

• Tim once took over a month to get home from a tiny town in Thailand. By the time he made it back to Gotham, he’d created an entire fake identity, complete with forged documents, an elaborate backstory, and several new international contacts. Bruce called it “impressive.” Tim called it traumatizing.

• Cass, of course, took this completely in stride. Woke up in India, dismantled a shady criminal organization she stumbled across, and then casually returned to Gotham two days later like nothing had happened. When asked how she managed it, she just shrugged.

• Duke waking up in the Grand Canyon with his phone at 1% and a granola bar in his pocket. He got home in less than a day, having hitched a ride, bartered his way onto a train, and charmed a group of tourists into helping him. He also got himself a pet chameleon on the way, somehow.

• Jason refuses to talk about his turn, but based on the suspicious amount of diplomatic immunity he now has in several Eastern European countries, it’s safe to say he didn’t play by Bruce’s rules.

If they’re lucky, Bruce leaves them somewhere within the U.S., in which case the Wayne name might help speed up the process. But outside of the States? Forget it. Flashing a “Wayne” credit card can cause more problems than it solves (That's if they're even lucky enough to have a credit card to flash in the first place).

To the rest of the family, this whole thing is less of a “training exercise” and more of a weird, sadistic game Bruce plays when he thinks they’re getting too soft. And no matter how many times they complain, Bruce insists it’s “for their own good.” Because of course he does.

The thing is, they all do get home. Eventually. And yeah, maybe they come back stronger or sharper or whatever excuse Bruce uses to justify it. But at what cost? (Mostly their sanity and a burning hatred of international airline fees.)

Still, the Bats have learned to adapt. They’ve formed their own set of unspoken rules:

1. Always keep some emergency cash hidden somewhere on your person (And hope Bruce doesn't find it, because he will take it).

2. Never, ever fully trust that glass of water Bruce hands you after patrol.

3. And if you wake up in the middle of nowhere, the first step is simple: curse Bruce Wayne’s name as loudly and creatively as possible. Then get to work.

Because at the end of the day, they will get home. And they’ll probably sucker-punch Bruce the second they do.

[lehguru]

FIRST TASK + ONE PIECE MEN

how they would react to their child first task + trafalgar law, roronoa zoro, sanji

info + tw: for the people that dont know— first tasks are something that the kids do alone for their parents in japan, its usually simple stuff, like buying one or two things at the market! also, ive randomized the kids for each of them tw children — ko-fi

trafalgar d.water law thought he wasn't a protective father—when the idea of sending his three year old daughter to buy basic medical supplies alone came up, he was calm about it and agreed. bepo gave her a bag that matched her father's hat, berries to buy the supplies and a pocket den den mushi. while everyone in the crew was almost crying seeing her walk off alone, law let out a soft 'tsk' and said "all of you are overreacting. she will be fine."

it didn't take 10 minutes for him to wonder if she was really fine, where she was, if she was coming back or was still buying things—what if she never made it to the pharmacy at all. he tried to focus on other matters, but those thoughts never left him. he got up and went to leave the submarine, the crew following suit and telling him to wait.

when the door was swung open, golden eyes that mirrored his blinked up at him. she proudly showed the bag with the supplies, her lips splitting into a smile. feeling tears tickling his lower eyelid, law kneeled and gave her a tight hug. "'m so glad you're okay." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. he pulled away and patted her head. "you did well." while they walked back inside the ship, the little girl started to ramble about her adventure, making a soft smile appear on trafalgar's lips.

roronoa zoro always did things alone as a child, so when nami proposed that he asked his son to do a task in the next island they stop at, zoro groaned a yes. when the day came, he sent off his son with one of his swords—the excuse was to fix it's guard—and just went to take a nap like always. "aren't you worried he might get in trouble?" nami asked, looking at the green haired man with raised eyebrows. zoro shook his head and nami murmured: "okay, well, let's just hope he knows how to use your sword."

upon hearing that, zoro immediately jumped out of the ship, the two swords he still had tied to his belt clicking together. his heart raced as he ran around town, looking for the tiny version of himself—when he found him, it was quite hilarious. "are you challenging the son of the greatest swordsman? how dare you!" the kid yelled, waving his father's sword at a stray cat that didn't seem phased at all. zoro cleared his throat and the green haired child turned fastly, dropping the sword and startling the cat.

"h-hi da—" zoro approaching him made the boy shut himself up. he gulped, his black eyes going wide and his lips pursing. as zoro raised his hand, he prepared himself for a good smack, he closed his eyes and—felt a soft pat on top of his head. "your posture holding the sword was wrong. pick up the sword and let's go, i'll teach you." they started to walk back (away) to the ship, the 'task' long forgotten. but zoro was quite proud of his little one, nonetheless.

sanji adored his son more than everything in the world. even if they didn't look alike appearance wise, the kid behaved so much like him, sanji would do anything to protect him. "i can do it, daddy!" his kid exclaimed one day while they were out getting groceries for the ship. "imma get spices! alone!" the little giggle that left his lips made sanji simply nod and the boy ran away happy before his father could even process his sentences.

after a couple of seconds, sanji ran after the kid, but keeping his distance and watching out for him. surprisingly, the little one was picking up all the right spices and even held the door open for a lady to walk out. feeling his chest swell with pride—and his eyes filling up with tears—, he went back to the store he was previously.

"dad, i got them!" he exclaimed as soon as he saw the blonde. their bright smile could blind everyone around the duo. sanji kneeled to hug him and chuckled. "i'm so proud of you." they walked back home holding hands, talking happily about the exciting dishes they could cook—sanji felt like something inside him was slowly healing.

2024 © content belongs to lehguru, do not repost, translate or feed it into ai without permission

[wontmindd]

No Derogatory Nicknames | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

pairing. sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

plot. You're the one and only member of the Royal Family's official army, and you were given the first, vital mission in your lifetime as a bodyguard. Surveilling the First Man on Earth, Adam. Reincarnated in Hell. You and Adam agree on two things: you can't stand each other, and you would never sleep together.

word count. 3.3k

tags. Hazbin Hotel ep8 spoilers!, enemies to lovers, Adam reincarnated as a sinner in Hell.

tw! cursing, Adam being Adam, mentions of sex

part. 1/3

The Royal Family’s official army was a millennium-old institution, skillfully trained through the years to protect Lucifer’s family from potential threats. Except that the army has lost its prestige a long time ago, and you’re the last unit left. You joined the army a short time after your death. It was princess Charlie Morningstar who guided you towards that decision, after finding you lost and scared, wandering around Pentagram City. The infernal princess didn’t specify that the army was dismantled hundreds of year prior, and that it was just an excuse to convince Lucifer to give you hospitality in one of their mansion’s rooms. In the end, the King accepted to make you a bodyguard. You went through trainings, trials, impossible challenges. All of that to…guard Lucifer’s rubber ducks. Boredom wasn’t ignorable. So when Lucifer asked you if you could take on a really serious mission, you accepted immediately. And your task really was important.

Guarding Adam, the First Man on Earth. Reincarnated in Hell.

After wandering for days around Pentagram City, just like you did, he asked the Hotel for help. E promised that he would change. Charlie, being Charlie, couldn’t deny him a chance. But Lucifer didn’t trust him, and accepted his permanence at the Hotel only at the condition that you would be guarding him. And that’s how you arrived at the Hazbin Hotel, how you met Charlie’s friend and especially…Adam. You immediately regretted the rubber ducks. Adam accepted in turn the idea of being watched, but he detested it and didn’t hesitate to let you know. He was as old as the Earth but as immature as if he was born yesterday. Arrogant, hot-headed, presumptuous. He made your job impossible, but he was clever enough to not show it too much to still stay at the Hotel. You were the opposite of patient and dealing with him was troubling. Talking back to him corresponded to a reaction. For example he never spared himself from letting you know how much he did NOT want to sleep with you, because of how much he found you insufferable.

“I have other priorities, instead of being approached by your teeny-tiny thing” you said.

“Hey! You can only dream of having a taste of the original dick!” Adam said, pointing a finger to your face.

And Adam hated when you followed him around town, with your angelic spear always clenched in your fist. He would always mumble insults under his breath, to which you responded with the same medicine. For example when you accompanied him to the few music shops in the city to fix his electric guitar that he would always break out of frustration of being here.

“I’m here only because Lucifer asked me, ‘cause otherwise I would have already called Nifty to repeat the job” you hissed between your teeth, sticking your spear towards his face.

Adam would hunch forward in an attempt to intimidate you “Oh yeah, go get her, so you can show your Hell Daddy how efficient of a bodyguard you are!”.

And you couldn’t do nothing more than sighing, squeezing the spear in your fist because you knew that Adam was right and you couldn’t do anything about it. You always looked forward to nighttime so that you two could separate and go to your respective rooms in the Hotel. Even the guests were relieved, because your bickering was daily and their ears were filled with your insults thrown left and right. Adam, although he was the one who knocked on the Hotel’s door, wasn’t too fond on participating in its activities. He didn’t get the benefit of Charlie’s exercises, and that anguished him because it seemed like the road back to Heaven was far away. Even there, your duty was to encourage him in participating. And your patience with the First Man was running out, so you had to do so by growling between your teeth to be proactive.

“I get it, bitch” he would whisper, enough to be heard from you but not by Charlie. And then he would improvise some sort of low effort answer barely sufficient to make Charlie happy.

You started to get the feeling that some of Charlie’s exercises were specifically aimed at making you and Adam get along. You had your confirmation when once Charlie called only you and Adam, letting you sit together on the couch. Adam’s fists were clenching in correspondence with his knees.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

You crossed your arms on your chest, cocking an eyebrow. Charlie laughed nervously, feeling a growing tension.

“Uhm…see this as a sort of…couple therapy!”

You and Adam, in tandem, erupted in a disgusted groan. His new wings, now turned black, ruffled and pointed upwards in a synced motion with yours.

“WE’RE NOT A COUPLE!” you two shouted in unison.

“I know, but you’re always together and…”

“WE DIDN’T CHOOSE IT!”

Charlie agitated both her hands “But you need to stand by each other, and I would like for you to do so without fighting every time! There must be something you get along in, right?”

You protruded forward “The only thing we agree on is that we would much rather die for eternity than being close to each other”.

Adam raised his arms to emphasize your words “Exactly, I would rather be stabbed again by your filthy janitor than sleep with a pain in the ass like her”

“What did you just say?!”.

Charlie, seeing you two jump towards each other to fight, threw herself between you both to avoid it.

You couldn’t sleep that night. With your head plunged in your pillow, you smothered screams of frustration. Adam, Adam and again Adam. He fluttered in your head with hammering insistence, tormenting you even in moments of relax. Why was he always traveling in your head? Why did you keep visualizing his dumb fucking face when he insulted you in the most disparate ways? Fuck, he knew how to get on your nerves even in dreams.

———

“Adam!” Charlie stops the fallen angel in the Hotel kitchen. He was filling his bowl with milk and cereals.

“Yeah, brat?” he replied.

Charlie sighed “What did we say about nicknames?”

Adam rolls his eyes, bringing a spoonful of cereals to his mouth.

“No ferogafory nifnames” he slurs, his cheeks full.

“Exactly!” Charlie claps her hands “anyway, I need you to do me a favor. You should go grocery shopping for the Hotel”.

Adam raises a brow “Groceries? What am I, a-“

He interrupts himself when his eyes meet yours behind Charlie’s shoulder. Where did you come from? In any case, your gaze is as furious as always. He’s pretty sure that he never saw you peaceful in all his permanence in Hell. Your fuming look is enough to make him desist, so he sighs.

“Alright. And I suppose that Mrs. Spear-Up-My-Ass is going to come with me”.

“Of course (Y/N) will go with you, you’ll shop together” and Charlie adds a hopeful grin.

“How fortun-OH”.

Without noticing, you appear on Adam’s side, a reassuring look on your face but reserved only to Charlie.

“Don’t worry Charlie, I’ll keep an eye on him”.

“Can you not stick your shitty angelic spear in my fucking cereals?!” Adam cusses.

Nervously, Charlie smiles “Of course (Y/N), but I’m pretty positive that Adam won’t cause any trouble”.

You shrug your shoulders “I dunno, I don’t expect much from a dirtbag of his caliber”.

Adam drops the spoon in the bowl of milk, cereals spilling out of it and one of them hitting your cheek

“What, you old hag?!” he screams.

“Old, me?! You’re literally as old as the Earth!”

Charlie puts her hands in her head, desperate “Just go shopping for fucks sake!”.

Half an hour later you and Adam are walking down the streets of Pentagam City. He was bragging about the time he broke the record of bras thrown on stage during a gig he performed in Heaven. Now that you think about it, Adam played in a band when he was up in the skies. And he has an electric guitar that you always accompanied him to fix. By the way, you never stopped to ask yourself what kind of music he listened to, or what genre he played. That’s because you never thought there was something worth to know about Adam. You turn around to look at him in the eyes. When he talked nonstop, without insulting you, his face was more relaxed and in a certain sense a bit more pleasurable to look at. Two big, curled horns sprouted on his head when he reincarnated, you grabbed them so many times while fighting.

“And what did you play with your band-“

“We’re here”.

You stop. You look at Adam, you didn’t realize that you reached your destination. Maybe you’ll pick up the conversation later, maybe not. Why would you want to know more about the Exterminator? You shove a hand in your pants pocket and you take the list Charlie prepared. You put it in Adam’s hand, and you turn around.

“C’mon, go inside”.

Adam frowns, puzzled.

“Wait, you’re not going with me?”.

Adam plants himself in front of you, trying to read your face. He wants to know if you’re making fun of him or something like that. But he only finds embarrassment, as you try to avoid his analysis.

“Do you need me to hold your hand or you can handle it on your own?”.

For a second, Adam’s eyes widen, then a sly smirk crosses his face.

“You wanna hold my haaaa-“

“No” you stop him “and that’s why I’m telling you to go alone”.

Adam shrugs, he looks amused.

“Okay, I’ll treasure this opportunity to get away as far as I can from you”.

And so Adam goes. You realize that all the time you tried to avoid his eyes, your face was burning. You didn’t want him to see even a drop of trust in your eyes, not even the tiniest amount sufficient to let him go grocery shopping. So you stay still outside the supermarket, your angelic spear hidden between your wings to not catch passerby’s attention. Time goes by, and soon Adam will finish. But Adam doesn’t come back. You decide to wait a little more. Then you hear sounds of shouting inside the supermarket, an argument between two men. A carousel of possible scenarios displays in your mind. Adam who calls the cashier a bitch, Adam who yells to the staff because they’re out of ribs. You immediately dash inside, almost smashing through the automatic glass door. You follow the sound of screams, and you find Adam. It’s just not the scenario you had predicted. Adam has his hands raised in front of a bull-like demon, who has a fist directed towards him.

“I recognize you, you know? You’re that shithead from the Extermination”

Adam, visibly pissed off, still keeps his palms open “Hey asshole, I don’t know what you’re talking about”.

It’s when the other demon jumps onwards to attack Adam that you throw yourself between them, your spear pointed towards the bull.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” you yell.

Your chest rises and lowers wildly with every breath. You can’t see it, but Adam’s eyes are incredulous. He looks at his own chest, your free arm is pressed against it, pushing him back in protection. Your teeth are gritted, your horns grown exponentially. His cheek tickles because one of your wings is brushing against it with ruffled feathers, and his skin starts to warm up because your hair caught fire. Adam saw you enraged so many times, usually because of him, but never like this. In the end, the demon gives up, taking a step back from your tended spear. He grunts and takes his leave, fists still clenched but not a menace anymore. You finally relax, the fire in your hair suffocates, your wings recollect themselves and your horns shrink back to their original size.

“Ehm…what the fuck happened?” Adam asks, trying to find your eyes. You run away from them as always.

“Don’t ask questions”

“I thought you were supposed to protect others from me, not me from others”

You press your lips in a thin line, and walk towards the checkout with the shopping bags Adam dropped.

“It’s not like I can leave you moribund on the floor of a supermarket with the possibility of you respawning somewhere else in Hell where I can’t supervise you. Let’s get back to the Hotel now”.

Adam follows behind you, and you know he’s smirking. He steals one of the shopping bags from your hand, and takes your side.

“Well, what were you about to ask me outside? You wanted to know about my band in Heaven?”.

Back to the Hotel, you’re welcomed by a wide smile from Charlie. Just seeing you two walking close without fighting signs on your bodies means a lot to her.

“Sooooo, how did it go?” she asks, sliding in front of you.

You and Adam exchange a quick glance, then you shrug “He almost got jumped”.

“Oh c’mon!” Adam exclaims, raising his arms in protest.

“Why so?” Charlie asks.

“A total asshole almost recognized me” Adam says.

“It’s not a secret that you reside at the Hotel, and someone might not like you” Charlie adds.

“I don’t like him-“ you convene.

“We know, (Y/N)!” Charlie sighs “and because there are sinners like you who, rightfully so, don’t like Adam, we need you to be close to him. Even because we can’t risk Adam using his powers, it could be trouble”.

You stop to reflect, meanwhile Adam puts the grocery bags on the kitchen counter without saying a word. Now that you think about it, Adam didn’t use his powers. When he reappeared in Hell, although with less capacity, he still kept a great power. He was prohibited from using it at the Hazbin Hotel, but anyone would have used them in a situation like the one that unfolded at the supermarket. But Adam didn’t do nothing. He just raised his hands, limiting himself to only cuss at the potential aggressor, and then you intervened. Did he internalize a Hotel lesson?

“No, Adam didn’t use his powers. We gotta give him credit for that” you say.

Adam freezes as he opens the fridge to organize the groceries. You can’t see him, but he’s delicately blushing.

“That’s awesome!” Charlie chirps, happily “It’s a great step forward, Adam!”.

“Mh yeah whatever” Adam brushes it off.

“And you Adam, did you see any quality in (Y/N) that you previously ignored?” Charlie asks, full of hope.

Adam looks at you. You press your lips together and for a moment you hold each other’s gazes. You feel yourself palpitating, and it bothers you.

“She was cool I guess. Cool-ish. And she got interested in my band. But that’s natural, all bitches are interested in my band”.

“Adam, nicknames!”.

Adam raises his shoulders “If (Y/N) doesn’t mind, I’ll go to my room”.

“Me too” you assert.

You wave at all the guests in the lobby, Angel Dust has a weirdly wide smile on his face, almost amused. You go up the stairs, following behind Adam. His arms fall on his side.

“You wanna follow me to my bed?!” he says.

“I’m going to my own room which happens to be next to yours, asshole!”

“Yeah yeah, it’s more likely for Mr. Deer over there to cross the Pearly Gates than me letting you have a piece of this” Adam replies, pointing both fingers down to his groin.

“I don’t even want it!”.

Downstairs, Angel Dust looks at everyone with insistence. Husk is confused, Alastor simply disinterested, and Cherri Bomb appears to already know what the spider demon is about to say.

“Is it me or I sense a certain sexual tension?” he finally says.

Vaggie, Husk and Charlie sigh in resignation. Alastor decides that it’s time for him to get up and leave. Cherri Bomb, on her part, chuckles.

“Yeah I think it’s only you” she says.

“If you sense sexual tension between them I think you got a serious problem, Angel” Vaggie says.

Angel bursts out laughing, throwing himself back on the couch and crossing his numerous arms behind his neck “I bet good money that those two will end up going at it within a week”.

Before they could realize it, all of them were already placing a good amount of money on bets. All pointing towards a no. Angel Dust is the only one convinced of his vision. That between the Royal Guard and the First Man, climbing up the stairs next to each other with annoyance, there could be something that keeps you close in a different way.

———

Adam stops in front of his bedroom’s door. He opens it, and you walk towards the door next to it which is the one for your room. But Adam clears his throat, staring at an indefinite point in front of him.

“Uhm…can you come here a sec?”.

You raise a confused eyebrow, and you cautiously walk towards him. You should be holding your angelic spear, but you left it aside. You stand behind him, and Adam turns around to face you.

“Yeah?” you question.

Adam looks at you, and you raise your chin to hold up his golden eyes. This time you see the flushed red on his cheeks, and his embarrassed expression.

“Well…thanks for today…I guess? This is how Lucifer’s brat wants me to talk to you, right?”.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and your hands start to fidget. It’s not difficult to look at Adam when he’s being like this.

“Yeah, I don’t know, whatever. Don’t expect things to change” you reply.

Adam scowls, and moves closer to you.

“Of course not, you’re still a world-class pain in the ass”.

“And you’re still a fucking jerk”.

Your foreheads are almost touching, you can feel his breath on your face. You notice it too late. Why aren’t you backing up? Shouldn’t that be easy? Your heart is racing again.

“And you’re still a bi-“

“Hey” you interrupt “Charlie said…”.

Too close now. As always. You and Adam have always been close. In a different way. And you always wanted to leave. But not even Adam is moving and his gaze softens. He’s looking at you intently, he’s burning and doesn’t know what to do and at the same time he seems convinced on something.

“I know” he says, with half a tone “nicknames should not be um…”.

He stumbles on his own words, you’re now chest to chest, and you try to help him out “Nicknames shouldn’t be de…” you have trouble too.

“Deroga…tory…” he mumbles.

You lean in. And without premeditation, there’s a kiss. Strong, desperate. Your lips intertwined, your hands in his hair and grazing his horns, and his own hand placed on your waist. He doesn’t need to pull you closer, you already were. You don’t have time to breathe, your kisses are too persistent. A couple of moans escape you both, out of confusion and satisfaction. Now your arguments all look like a joke, because it’s obvious that the sexual tension Angel Dust envisioned is an undeniable reality. Despite spending months repeating that it was something that would never happen. And here you are, clinging to one another, making out. And it feels good.

When you separate you meet his eyes. You expect something terrible. Disgust, or that he stays true to his word and strays away. But you don’t see any of that. Only disbelief, and a sort of epiphany that encourages him to encapsulate the nape of your neck with a hand.

“Shit” he says.

“Shit” you convene.

And then you throw yourselves against each other’s lips again, and Adam drags you inside his room. You let yourself be taken away, and you shut the door close with a kick.

[caffinated-squid]

Jerry Stokes and the consequences of inaction in The Eltingville Club

Time to talk a lot about the last character in the crew, Jerry Stokes. A couple of quick things before getting into some lukewarm observations, this is not me trying to morally grandstand about a character actually being bad, this is The Eltingville Club, all of your faves are problematic. This is just about how his role feeds into the environment, and because I am not satisfied with only going over a list of bad things Jerry has done in the comics and want to go into why he is like this. I have seen a handful of people already go into his toxic behavior, so this is my attempt to contribute. To summarize, Jerry is both the support and doormat of the group. Even though all the characters rip on each other for their interests, Jerry is usually the main target. He is also the character that attempts to break up a lot of the arguments/feuds that the characters have. However, Jerry never actually fixes the problems present in the group, the most he does is postpone the terrible actions, but still goes along with whatever happens. I call Jerry the support of the group, but only by a slim margin. Like Pete, he has the tendency to enable the clubs behavior, but in his case, it’s by his lack of action rather than exacerbating the conflict.

Jerry’s main concern in the club is avoiding conflict. If he prevents the club from arguing, he won’t lose his friends. But because of that, it leads to a refusal to challenge any of the groups bad ideas. The Eltingville club has cultivated an environment where they all need to have the same opinion, and anyone who doesn’t is wrong or stupid and not a real fan. So the most that Jerry can do is just meekly suggest that something is a bad idea, but because he is also the doormat of the group, and isn’t really going to stop them, his protests can easily be ignored by the rest of the club.

Jerry ends up becoming both a bystander as well as an enabler, which has the tendency to get looked over because characters like Bill, Josh, and Pete are more blatantly toxic and destructive, so Jerry’s behavior usually goes under the radar in comparison to the rest of the clubs.

**The main reason the club will actually listen to Pete when he tells them to cut it out is because he backs up his threats, he will follow though if they don’t listen to him.

Jerry’s tendency to postpone conflict also comes with the result of refusing to call out any of his friends for their terrible behavior. He has almost never defended Josh even though the entire group bullies him for being fat is because it’s been normalized. From how bad arguments tend to get and how no one in the club takes Josh’s concerns seriously, he probably just writes it off as playful jabbing rather than bullying. Even with something like Bill making the Greedo-318 account to tell Josh to kill himself and telling Jerry to keep his secret, Jerry’s main concern is not wanting to lose his friends. He wants Bill to like him, because if Bill still likes him, the club can still exist. Jerry already has a lot of anxiety about the club breaking up, so revealing this would do nothing but add more conflict.

From what I can tell, the characters live in the suburbs. Eltingville is a tiny town with not much to do. None of them have a drivers license so they can’t go anywhere by car, days are monotonous, and the only place that holds any of their interest is a shitty comic book shop. I mention this because in this environment there is the need for community, even if that community is terrible, because it’s better than being alone. It is established that the club takes up a majority of all of the characters time, so outside of this group, there isn't really anywhere else for Jerry to go to.

Even if Jerry was able to make new friends, I have the feeling that the rest of the Eltingville Club would probably try to sabotage any attempt, considering that they spread rumors about him going around telling people that he fucked Agnes Zawatsky to reel him back into the club.

Misery loves company, and even if Jerry is the main punching bag of the group that the characters put most of the blame on, he can't leave, because they are The Eltingville Club, and its always them against the world.

[deancaspinefest]

If I Loved You Less

Author: one_more_offbeat_anthem | Artist: TFWDuke

Posting on Monday March 24

Dean Winchester-Singer is, objectively, living his dream life. After getting a degree in English Literature, he headed back to his dusty Kansas hometown to take over his Uncle Bobby's bookstore. Living in the tiny apartment above the store, Dean spends his days running the store's book club, keeping tabs on his brother out in California, organizing bookshelves, and mooning over local author (and one of his best friends) Cas Novak. But things start to take a tumble when Dean realizes that Cas's fame is starting to outgrow the town, and then something happens to Uncle Bobby that truly challenges Dean's carefully-built dream life…

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Singer’s Book Supply is located at 874 Ninth Avenue and opens promptly every day (except for Monday) at ten in the morning.

Well, it opens promptly if whoever is running the shop that day actually wakes up on time.

Luckily, Dean Winchester-Singer, nephew of owner Bobby Singer, lives in the walk-up above the shop and can tumble downstairs with a yogurt and a coffee if he oversleeps, which is exactly what happened to him today. Outfitted in yesterday’s jeans, a worn t-shirt with the Singer’s Book Supply logo on it, and beat-up Converse, Dean arrives behind the counter with his hair mussed and glasses sliding down his nose.

“Two minutes,” he says to himself; the clock next to the register is three minutes slow, so he always has to do the math in his head.

Today is a Thursday, so it’s no surprise that Dean overslept. He was up late last night baking (oatmeal chocolate chip cookies this week) because Thursdays are his favorite day to work at the bookstore: it’s book club day.

The book club had actually been Uncle Bobby’s idea back in the day. Most people wouldn’t look at Bobby Singer, gruff and grouchy, and imagine him running a bookstore, but in a way it was a perfect career path for him. For years, Bobby had owned a junkyard and fixed up cars, but then he’d had an injury that forced him to sell off the junkyard. He couldn’t stop loving forgotten things, though–he took his sizable secondhand book collection and turned it into the store. Now, Singer’s has both new and used books, records, and a small cafe with tea and coffee.

In a way, Dean was one of Bobby’s secondhand finds. In a literal sense, Bobby isn’t his uncle; once upon a time, as they say in the storybooks, he was Dean’s father’s best friend. That was before Dean’s mother died in the process of his little brother Sam’s birth and his father…had some issues. Bobby got custody of the boys, and Dean hasn’t heard from his father since.

He and Sam turned out okay, though. Sam is in law school out in California, well on his way to, in Dean’s completely unbiased opinion, becoming a hot-shot lawyer. Dean, meanwhile, got a degree in English Literature and is now living out his dream: sharing literature with other people.

Keep reading on Ao3 after Monday March 24 🌲Find more 2025 Pinefest previews here 🌲

[jaylver]

I WANNA BE YOURS — P.SH

synopsis: hiding your secret relationship with sunghoon from your brother, jay, proved to be quite a challenge. that was until you’ve had enough of it, and sunghoon had to prove himself that he wants to be yours.

pairings: non-idol!sunghoon x afab!reader

genre: brother's best friend au, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, romance, humour

warning(s): profanities, slight suggestiveness

wc: 1340

a/n: sorry for the inactivity (currently going insane) !! as promised, here's the hoon drabble, apologies in advance if it's lacking 😭 not my best work imo. will be back after tomorrow since it's my last paper (yay) so please wait for me hehe. as usual, feedbacks and reblogs are much appreciated ! love you all !

masterlist | © jaylver all rights reserved.

This was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Who said it would be a good idea to get involved with your brother's best friend? Nobody. Exactly. 

You found yourself somehow being tangled with Park Sunghoon ever since a party your brother and his friends held. He was only two years older than you and you've known him for practically your whole life. Your brother, Park Jong Seong, had known Sunghoon ever since they were kids, so he was definitely far from a stranger. 

Coming around your house almost every day, dinners during festivities, holding parties when your parents were out of town, Sunghoon's always there no matter what the occasion was. It didn't help that he was nice to you too. Constantly giving you friendly smiles and acknowledging you when your brother chased you away during their 'bro time', he was a sweetheart.

Eventually, you knew you were in hell once you discovered your teeny tiny crush on Sunghoon was real and existing. To be fair, he was gorgeous, paired with an even prettier personality. 

Yet, Jay was there to cockblock you and stop your chances. Look, he's a great brother to you, but he made it clear that you were 'off-limits', whatever that was. You couldn't believe it either. 

Being the typical little sister, it was natural to defy your big brother and do exactly what he told you not to.  Unbeknownst to him, you've gone behind his back and got with one of them. That explained why Sunghoon being in your room was wrong, especially when he's in your bed.

"Fuck—what about Jay?" You rasped out in between kisses, feeling the touch of his lips travelling down your throat.

Sunghoon groaned, his hands on your waist tightened momentarily. "He's not going to know I'm in here. I snuck in from your window anyway,"

"He can suddenly barge in,"

"You have your doors locked,"

Those words might seem nonchalant, but it was more than what it meant. 

The times he's spent in your room, knowing each and every part of it, the crevices of your sheets to the feeling of your skin on his. It wasn't just something simple. Neither was the fact of your door always being locked.

"I–I don't know," you suddenly turned uncertain, pushing yourself up and having him stop. 

"Hm? Are you okay? Something's up?" His face morphed into a look of concern, worried at your abrupt change in emotions.

"It's just—" you sighed, not knowing how to approach it, "I wish we could be honest to Jong. I don't want to sneak around anymore, Hoon, it almost feels like you want to keep me a secret,"

"I don't, Y/N, I would never want that," he ran a hand through his hair, proceeding to take yours in his. "I want to be with you, hell, I want to tell everyone that. I wanna be yours,"

"But? What even are we?"

Right, you got to the question that everyone feared.

"Your brother. I don't know when I can do it,"

Frustration etched deeper into your face. "Hoon, if you don't know when you'll do it, then maybe, maybe, you just don't want me like that, or that you're scared to admit your actual feelings and continue to toy me around,"

"No—"

"Goodnight, Sunghoon."

You turned over onto your side, frowning deeply. It was time for him to set his shit right, and he was going to have to figure it out himself. 

The next few times you saw Sunghoon after that night was when he came over to hang out with your brother. He has been texting you, to which you reciprocated dryly. He even got you flowers, your favourite snacks and even waited for you outside your bedroom door, but all of that wasn't enough for you to forgive him.

Why couldn't he just tell Jay the truth? If it was you, you would've already said it, but since Sunghoon was reluctant, you didn't. This was frustrating.

What's more frustrating was having Sunghoon seated next to you at the dinner table during dinner. You could feel him casting glances at you, nervousness emitting from his body quite obviously. 

You were acting nonchalant, almost too nonchalant that it even had Jay casting glances between you and his jittery best friend. However, he said nothing.

"Hoon, pass the salad to Y/N," your brother said from Sunghoon's side, nudging him. You glanced up at the mention of your name, meeting Sunghoon's slightly widened eyes and confused stare. 

"I—uh—here," he took the bowl and passed it to you, chewing the insides of his mouth. 

How could you be mad at him when he looked like that? Sunghoon's starry eyes that never failed to soften your heart, the moles that decorated his face which you've traced in the night when he was asleep, he was your Sunghoon, or so you thought. 

"Thanks," you said softly, offering a smile that he warmly reciprocated. 

As you took the bowl from him, you felt the feather-like touch of his fingers grazing against yours, sending electricity up your senses. You locked eyes with him again, this time an equal want and pining evident in both your gazes.

He was the first to cough and retreat his hold on the bowl. You were snapped out of your momentary daze and also let out an awkward cough, scooping the salad into your bowl to shake off the feeling he gave you just now.

Once dinner was over, you took the very first chance to escape back upstairs, heart beating quicker the way up, and there was probably a reason for your anxiety. Sunghoon.

"Y/N," almost as fast as he had popped into your mind, he appeared behind you, probably followed you up. He got a hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks and you turned around, mouth slightly agape. "I figured we should … talk,"

You took in his words, nodding slowly. "We should,"

"I'm sorry," he said without any hesitation, a hint of desperation laced in both his gaze and voice. "I was wrong for not putting a label on our relationship, I should've treated you better, you're everything to me. My heart wouldn't stop beating whenever I see you, you've completely bewitched me, you've drove me insane,"

Sunghoon heaved in a breath, stepping closer. "Secrets I've held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought. I told everything to Jay,"

"You—what?"

"I did. I realised what you said was right and I told him. He's cool with it, Y/N," Sunghoon smiled, and it was the same smile he only had whenever he's around you. 

"Really?"

"Really," he intertwined your fingers with his, pulling you close. "I wanna be yours, Y/N. You have my deep devotion, always,"

"Gosh, I want you to be mine—need you. I like you, a lot, like crazy a lot. I wanna be yours too,"

"You genuinely drive me insane," he leaned in close, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, his lips edging closer. "Tell me if I can kiss you, pretty girl,"

He's kissed you many times, but this round, it hits differently. "You can,"

It didn't take Sunghoon another second before crashing his lips onto yours. He was pouring his pent up frustration, angst, desperation, and love into his kiss, almost kissing you as if there was no tomorrow.

As things escalated, you pushed him into your room, letting him spend the night where he smoothly asked you to be his girlfriend, which you agreed to, duh. 

All was well between you and Sunghoon. You even got together and started planning out dates. It was meant to be.

On the other hand, Jay spent the night with music blasting in his ears. He had already suspected something between you and his best friend, but to find out it had been happening for months? It was shocking. But, he wasn't opposed to it.

He just has to make sure to close his eyes whenever you two are around together. Couples, ew.

( © jaylver all rights reserved. do NOT copy, plagiarise or edit my work and repost whatsoever. once discovered will be exposed and blacklisted. )

☆ permanent taglist (open):

@silentkarnival @strvlveera @freshsaladbowl @bejewelledgirl @fakeuwus @yenqa @hsgwrld @ilovegyuvin @enhacatalog @aishigrey

[victorluvsalice]

I Return, with more Thoughts about the Potential Tiny Town Challenge --

-->First off, almost immediately after I finished working on the original damn post, my brain went "hey, if we do the 'multiple fandoms' option, we can get community lots that represent those fandoms and put those in the rest of Windenburg! Wouldn't that be cool? :D :D :D" and wouldn't let that go. So uh, yeah, I guess if I do this, I'm going with Option Two and doing a town with Victor Van Dort, Alice Liddell, Smiler Alton, Emmett "Doc" Brown, Mal Kavian, Preston Garvey, and Wheatley Notamoron. God help my fucking micromanaging tendencies by the time I get the seventh sim on the lot. XD

-->That being said, I'm not opposed to including Victoria and Emily from the first option as "NPCs" in the general world (as I'm already thinking that I would have to do this in a save where Windenburg as it is would be wiped so I could fit in all the aforementioned community lots), so they could still be involved in a way. Hell, might throw in some other characters I'd like to include as NPCs as well -- feels weird to have a Doc without a Marty bumming around somewhere, or a Wheatley without a Chell!

-->I also came up with the idea, briefly mentioned in the original post, that instead of choosing an in-game decor style for every Sim to use while building their house, I should instead do a house that reflects their canon in some way. I feel like this would be easier and more fun for me than forcing myself to stick to a specific decor style for each Sim anyway, and allow me to better represent the Sims I'm using. :)

-->Okay, with the above in mind, let's go through each fandom and how they're being represented in this potential Tiny Town:

Corpse Bride: Town Resident is Victor Van Dort, of course, whose money-making skill would be Painting and whose chosen color would be Blue. I'm thinking a tiny Victorian for his house, naturally -- something that fits in with the aesthetics of the Land of the Living village in the movie. *nods* And as for the Community Lot -- well, how could I pick anything but the Ball & Socket bar? :) We love a colorful pub full of music and fun!

American McGee's Alice: Town Resident is Alice Liddell, whose money-making skill is Writing and whose color is Green (to match her eyes and prevent overlap with other residents). I'm thinking her house should be a tiny version of the Liddell house whose exterior we see a couple of times in the game, with a bit of Wonderland flair (and, of course, not on fucking fire). Haven't fully decided on the Community Lot, but it's probably going to be a park of some kind with Wonderland vibes -- I mean, I still have TONS of CC with all the characters and such, soooo...

The Smiler Coaster: Town Resident is Smiler Alton -- still having a little trouble nailing down their money-making skill, but their color is definitely Yellow. I'm also not ENTIRELY sure what their house should look like yet, but it's definitely gotta have Fun Science Lab vibes. :) (Though, since I'm thinking of making this version specifically my Valicer In The Dark Smiler, maybe it should be something that I think would fit in in Duskwall...) The Community Lot is something I'm actually working on at the moment -- a Ministry of Joy nightclub, with the basic shape of the building based off the station for the actual coaster! I'll share pics of that eventually -- I'm pretty pleased with how it's coming so far. :)

Back To The Future: Town Resident is Emmett "Doc" Brown -- specifically, the young 1930s The Game version I made not long after getting The Sims 4. His money-making skill will probably be Robotics, and his color is Orange. His house will naturally be some form of the Brown family mansion's garage -- even his 1930s self used that as a place to conduct his experiments in secret, after all! And the Community Lot will be an awesome Hill Valley Courthouse build I found on the Gallery (by Eowyn2707) -- it's currently a park, but I'm thinking of changing it to a rec center -- it's big enough inside!

Vampire -- The Masquerade: Bloodlines: Town Resident is Mal Kavian, a fem!Malkavian Fledgling I downloaded off the Gallery ages ago (I unfortunately don't recall the creator at this time). Her money-making skill will be Wellness (because, again, I find that very funny), and her color is Red. Her home will probably be a house version of the nicer haven you can get from LaCroix after the Elizabeth Dane mission (should work well as a tiny home, honestly). And the Community Lot -- well, you'd THINK it would be The Asylum, but I actually already have a really nice version of Confession (the Downtown nightclub) in my Gallery, so I'll likely use that.

Fallout 4: Town Resident is Preston Garvey (specifically, a version of him I found on the Gallery by Jenapher11). His money-making skill is Fabrication, and his color is Light Brown (to go with his iconic jacket). I'm thinking for his house I might do a mini-fort to represent The Castle (the Minutemen's base, also known as the wreckage of Fort Independence) with mid-century modern furniture to represent the facts that the Fallout series is all 50s aesthetics (I also have plenty of Fallout CC to use here). As for the Community Lot, I already have a Red Rocket fuel station in my Gallery as well, though I saw another cool version of it on the Gallery that I might use instead...we'll see! (I, uh, don't recall what lot type either is. XD I'll figure out something!)

Portal: Town Resident is Wheatley Notamoron -- though rather than using the human Wheatley that I made back in the day, I think it might be cool to do a Servo version of him. Finding a good Servo on the Gallery has proved a bit difficult, though, as most people upload Servos with all skills maxed, which is, uh, kind of the opposite of what I want. XD Anyway, his money-making skill would be Programming (because, again, funny) and his color would be White. His house would be a basement house and consist probably of the "relaxation suite" thing that Chell's stuck in at the beginning of Portal 2. And, similarly, the Community Lot would be a basement Aperture Science testing chamber that serves as a gym! Given the amount of walking and bouncing around you do to solve the puzzles in that game, it felt appropriate. :p

-->Finally, some other activities I have in mind for this lot while they build up their tiny town:

a) Smiler creating the "Advocates" club and having regular meetings at the Ministry of Joy nightclub to dance, sing, and otherwise make merry; Preston should probably also create a "Minutemen" club that does things like fabrication and woodworking and the like

b) At least some of the residents going to university once their houses are fully built -- I would at least like Emmett to attend Foxbury and get a Physics degree, and Smiler to go to Mixology skill classes and get the secret Mixology Certificate (because I just learned about this from Petey Plays It's latest Super Sim video -- apparently if you take 11 Mixology skill classes, you can earn a certificate that serves as a "degree" in Mixology, which is very cool :D)

c) I'd also like Emmett to become an "official" scientist once he's done his house-build thing, since it feels appropriate. I haven't done the active career in a while, and it might be fun to return to it. I might also make Victor a Paranormal Investigator -- I'd intended to put the Chill Valicer Save version of Victor into the career before I came up with the idea of them running a grocery store, after all.

d) Obviously there's going to be Valicer with my OT3 -- we'll see how romantic entanglements work out for the others on the lot!

Whew -- got a lot going in in this save and it isn't even an official thing yet. XD Maybe someday soon! I've still got some stuff I want to finish in the Chill Valicer Save first, though...

Sims 4 Wednesday -- Potential Tiny Town Challenge

Hi all! As we're between Chill Valicer Save updates this week, I wanted to talk to you about something I discovered relatively recently and have been thinking about off and on -- The Tiny Town Challenge! I first learned about this challenge through seeing a thumbnail for James Turner's version on YouTube, and, curious, tracked down the original challenge and rules to see what it was all about. You can get the full rule set and take a look at the original lot and Sims Deligracy created at the link above, but the basic gist is that you spend the challenge setting up a tiny town on a large lot (preferably 64x64) for seven Sims. Each Sim has a specific money-making skill that they must use to earn the funds to build their house on their specific sub-lot, and a favorite decor style and color that must inform what their house looks like. Each Sim is moved in individually, once the previous Sim has finished their house, and the challenge ends when all seven houses and any communal area is fully built.

I took one look at that and I was like "yeah, I'm into it." XD Both because it sounds like a fun challenge, and because it's a challenge with minimal set-up (which is the problem with the challenges I personally have come up with previously -- I think they'd be fun, but they require a loooot of prep!). Having thought about it for a bit, I have some ideas about how I'd like to do the challenge myself -- and some problems that I'm going to have to figure out before I can set this up as a potential alternate save file to the Chill Valicer Save:

-->Location: I decided relatively quickly that I'd like to do the challenge in Windenburg, setting up a little community on The Crumbling Isle (something like how Plumbob Paragon set theirs up). I almost never play in Windenburg, so I figured that setting the challenge there would be a good way to encourage me to wander around that world and see the sights. And I already have some ideas about using the other lots to make a true town out of the island -- like turning one lot into a Community Space to get a community garden going, or another lot into a retail store that a couple of the citizens run. Might be fun!

-->Citizenry: Well, you guys know me -- of course the first three residents of the tiny town would be Victor, Alice, and Smiler. However, I'm having trouble deciding on who the other residents of the town could be. The way I see it, I have two options for the rest of the group:

Option One: Add Victoria Everglot and Emily Merrimack and do a "Four Victorians Riding A Roller Coaster" polycule thing on the tiny town lot! This would be fun as it would allow for amusing and adorable polycule shenanigans...but the problem here is the color schemes. Specifically, while Smiler is fine with their primary color being Yellow, Victor, Alice, and Emily ALL suit Blue being their primary color (Victor has his blue butterfly and blue tie -- plus I've always headcanoned it as his favorite color; Alice has her iconic blue dress; and Emily has her blue -- everything), and Alice and Victoria would both suit Red (Alice has that iconic red blood splatter on her apron; Victoria has her red dress). Now, I know how I could fix this for Alice -- make her primary color Green, to match her eyes -- but I'm not sure what to do about Victor and Emily. I mean, when it comes down to it, Emily would have to get Blue, look at her, but the only other alternate colors I can think of for Victor would be Black or Grey, and that would result in a depressing-looking house. :( So yeah, bit of an issue there!

Option Two: Add my young Emmett "Doc" Brown Sim (patterned off his appearance in BTTF: The Game), a fem!Malkavian Fledgling Sim I downloaded off the Gallery (which I'm already planning on calling Mal Kavian), a Preston Garvey Sim, and my take on a Wheatley Sim to the gang and just represent pretty much all my favorite fandoms and games in one go. The bonus here is that I've got the full roster of seven Sims; as stated, I'm representing a bunch of things I enjoy, not just the primary three; and I get a tiny bit of diversity by including a black character as a primary. However, there are also a couple of issues here:

I'm not entirely sure I want to do the challenge with the full compliment of seven Sims, as I have trouble wrangling a mere three sometimes in my Chill Valicer Save. And before you ask, no, I don't have For Rent, so I couldn't turn the lot into a Residental Rental and just play one family at a time. I'd have to really fight with my own micromanaging tendencies to get this to work!

We again have color overlap issues because Victor, Preston, and Wheatley ALSO all suit the color Blue (Victor for the reasons listed above; Preston because the Minutemen have blue as their primary color scheme; and Wheatley because his eye is blue in the game). Now, admittedly, this one is a bit easier to solve -- make Preston's color Light Brown to match his iconic duster (yes, Sims 4 actually distinguishes between Light Brown and Dark Brown -- the only color that gets that distinction in the sort!), and Wheatley's White to match his core's outer shell -- but still. I am apparently obsessed with Blue characters!

Now, I can think of an interesting way to solve this dilemma -- set up two tiny towns on the Crumbling Isle on the two biggest lots, and divide the Sims so there's like five or so on each lot. (Suppose it could be like Victor, Alice, Smiler, Doc, Mal Kavian on one, and Victoria, Emily, Preston, Wheatley on another?) That does mean having to do the challenge twice, and wrangling a lot more Sims, but... *shrug* We'll see how I feel!

-->Skills, Colors, and Decors: As previously stated, all Sims have to have a specific skill that they use to fund the creation of their home, and a favorite color and decor style that should inform the look of said home. Now, the decor thing is kind of a mystery to me (I mix-and-match styles all the time when building, and I don't have Dream Home Decorator to make Sims Like specific types -- though it does occur to me that I could just fudge it by having each house just reflect their canon in some way), but I do have skills and colors almost entirely locked down for almost all of my potential citizens --

Victor: His color would be Blue (probably darker shades of such), and his money-making skill would be either Painting or Piano (though I'm leaning toward Painting because I've always headcanoned him as being more private with his music)

Alice: Her color would be Green, and her money-making skill either Painting or Writing (leaning toward Writing because I like the idea of her writing her own books)

Victoria: Her color would be Red, and her money-making skill would be either Knitting or Cross-Stitch (since we know she likes to sew from seeing her working on her blanket in the movie when Victor climbs onto her balcony)

Emily: Her color would be Blue (brighter shades), and her money-making skill would be either Flower Arranging (for her bouquet) or Gemology (for the wedding ring that starts the whole Corpse Bride mess -- it just amuses me)

Doc: His color would be Orange (as part of the BTTF logo), and his money-making skill would probably be Robotics (since it's the most sciencey-one), though I wouldn't say no to Fabrication

Mal: Her color would be Red (because, you know, vampire), and her money-making skill would be Wellness (because it deeply amuses me to have a vampire from that clan doing yoga and spa stuff)

Preston: His color would be either Blue or Light Brown (as previously stated), and his money-making skill would be either Fabrication (because he's the settlement guy, and Fabrication is a lot like how the workshops work in Fallout 4), Woodworking (the more low-tech version of that), or Archaeology (because he clearly enjoys the past, given you find him hiding in a museum and his coat is apparently looted from another one -- probably have to use a mod to make it available outside Selvadorada, though!)

Wheatley: His color would either be Blue or White (again, as previously stated), and his money-making skill would be Programming (again, because of the hilarity factor -- I mean, Wheatley CAN hack in the game, but we all know just how "good" he is at it XD)

Smiler: Their color would be Yellow, and their money-making skill --

And this is where I run into a problem, because I'm not entirely sure what to do for Smiler. Because my version of Smiler's primary thing is chemistry (or alchemy, depending on the setting), and I'm not entirely sure how to best represent that with the skills on offer. Should I do Mixology, on the basis that I heacanon they are also awesome at mixing drinks? Herbalism because that's kind of close (I have a mod that puts Granite Falls bugs in other worlds, so that's not an issue)? Do I rely on Simsonian Library's Apothecary mod and related skill because that is arguably closer that Herbalism? Or do I just fudge things by choosing Mixology or something before turning them into a spellcaster and having them focus on the Alchemy section of the spellbook? Decisions, decisions...

But yeah -- that's what I currently have in mind for any future Tiny Town-related save files I may make! Not gonna guarantee that this is gonna happen, but it's a distinct possibility. :) And if you guys have any suggestions regarding how I should do the tiny town (and what the fuck Smiler's money-making skill should be), please let me know!

[moonchildstyles]

épanouissement

élan final part: there was no place like home, even if the people there tried to wreck it

wordcount: 22k+

—————

"You think this is going to make it stop?" 

Harry slammed the boot of the car closed, their bags packed away with the sun low on the horizon. He didn't seem particularly optimistic when he gave (Y/N) a curt nod, but she couldn't blame him.

"'S the best I can think of right now," he murmured, "They at least won't know where you are or where to send anything. We jus' need to get through until we can make it back to New York, then we'll have more options." 

She could tell Harry was still frustrated with the fact they couldn't fly back home at the moment, her father being the very obvious roadblock. That had been his first iteration of this plan; that they leave Paris behind and get back to the high-rises where she had the rest of her letters stowed away. Harry wanted to file something, go public with this kind of information and make it known that she wasn't safe—do anything to get this person off of her back if there was nothing that could be legally done with only the letters as evidence. But, to get back would require either her father's jet, or her very public return—two things that would rattle his cage and cause something she wasn't willing to deal with on top of everything else. 

That was how they made it here: bags packed, and car heading out of Paris for the time being. 

This had been Plan C (right behind A, that consisted of Harry hunting down this person and ending this mess in a rage, and B, heading home and gaining proper protection from authorities or otherwise). Searching through vacation listings in rural villages bordering Paris, Harry had found something far enough away he could buy her privacy while waiting for the chance to make it back to New York. It had been decided he would rent the cottage under his much less recognizable name and they would hide amongst the fields before an opportunity for something more concrete presented itself. 

(Y/N) had never lived in a small town before, the mansion upstate with her parents having been the least populated area she'd resided in, but that had nothing on the tiny village Harry had pinpointed. His reasoning came from the fact that it would be incredibly hard to blend in while out there, no crowds around to slip into and no real reason anyone should be carrying around a professional camera. At the very least, it would provide a challenge for someone who was so used to herding (Y/N) into crowds and peeping through windows to get a glimpse.

It didn't take much convincing for her to go along with the getaway plan, Harry having urgently pitched it to her with his own duffle bag already half packed by the time he shared the details. She had enough time to pack her essentials (and maybe some non-essentials that came in the form of the bouquet of roses Harry brought her, now dried and preserved carefully in her bag), sleep on the idea, then they were off. Though she knew the purpose and was actually kind of excited to actually get away for the first time in her life, it was an odd feeling to see the structures and people of Paris pass outside of the window, growing smaller in the rearview the further Harry drove them out. 

Her only hope was that no one was following them, thwarting their plan before it had even sprung into motion. This person was no stranger to camping around her home and spotting her as soon as she appeared. (Y/N) just had to trust Harry; he wouldn't have suggested this upheaval if he didn't believe the outcome would be the one he wanted, ending with her safe and happy as he had told her time and time again that was all he wanted.

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, the shine of Paris passing by the window in whizzing blurs behind him, she saw him with that new filter that had lingered since the night they kissed. Everything was just a little bit softer, a little hazier. Even with the sharp set in his jaw and the thinned line of his lips, she knew if she plucked just a hair closer she would see the ridges of his mouth that had been pressed against hers, the tip of his nose that brushes against her cheek, the sun-dappled stubble that had grazed her chin and was soft under her hands when he deepened the seal of their lips. She no longer only knew what he looked like, she knew what he felt like. 

Though, they hadn't kissed since, instead leaving a blurred line between them. Harry no longer seemed to hold many reservations about that professional line that had developed, those grazes of his hand over hers or the way he hovered around her in the kitchen were no longer reserved for only the times that he was leading her through packed situations or acting as the security he was hired on as. He no longer shied away from her the same way he had before, the buffer of space having dissipated. He had even stolen a bite of her dinner right off her fork the night before, sharing a glass of wine where he pressed his lips into the same space she had supped from just before. 

There was a level of intimacy they now shared, even if they hadn't touched the limits of the barrier since. 

Even now, (Y/N) knew that if she peeled his hand away from the steering wheel, pressed her palm against his and laced their fingers together, Harry wouldn't hesitate to reciprocate that hold.

But, she wasn't sure how to do it. 

She'd never been shy around a man before, not since she was a teenager. No attraction was ever serious enough for her to feel as if she were silly for acting the way she did or looking the way she did. She didn't lack confidence when it came to those she wanted, but Harry was different. He made her flustered and shy, sheepish and fluttering under the skin and she didn't know how to feel about that. 

He made her feel like she needed to journal about him, add the night in the kitchen to her diary so she would never forget about the way his voice wrapped around the words sweet girl and how he promised he cared for her. 

Even spying him now, the lines of his profile being haloed with the buttery light of the fringes of the city, (Y/N) felt her heart skip in her chest. 

It was worth it to be flustered by him.

—————

After over an hour of golden fields and rose tinted air, the paved road making way for a gravel trail, the cottage of Harry's choice came into view. 

Along the way, (Y/N) had been enamored with the scenery outside, spotting farms with grazing animals, swaying stalks of lavender, and the neighbourhoods growing smaller and smaller, actual neighbours getting few and far between. If Paris smelled like butter and wine, this rural area smelled of lavender and fresh linen. (Y/N) wanted to bask in the sunlight pouring over the land. 

While Paris was one of her great loves, a place she was happy she could show Harry, this was exciting to her. The idea of experiencing this place for the first time with him at her side was enough to have her tummy fluttering into delicately ribboned knots. A new first together, she thought. 

Just like the photos online showed, the cottage was small, showcasing just enough space for what the listing entailed. The frame was built with tan cobblestones, sandy shades emulating the wheat fields they passed on the way, warm and sunny. A small chimney was stationed on the side of the house, white trim outlining the windows and coloring the door. From where they were pulling in, she could see just the corner of the back porch. Bushes of deep greens and wine red roses were blooming against the buttery backdrop, standing low next to the croppings of lavender. Up the small chimney, ivy vines traced the brickwork, tiny white blooms fluttering in the wind. It was like a storybook, (Y/N) thought. 

"This is beautiful, Harry," she whispered in awe, eyes the size of her heart as she took in the whole place. 

"I saw the roses and figured this would be the place for us," he told her, his voice low though she could still hear the tinge of pride. 

There was that fluster in her chest, the sheepish feeling that had her skin warming. For us, he said. 

Pulling her gaze from the home, (Y/N) watched from the passenger seat as Harry pulled them into the tiny gravel drive. Her lips curled into a soft smile. 

"I love it." 

As soon as Harry had them parked in the drive safely, (Y/N)'s jittery excitement couldn't be contained. She was excited to check out their designated safe house, skipping out of the car and heading towards the storybook porch, saddled by bushels of lavender and roses. Harry hung back, grabbing their bags from the boot. 

"(Y/N)," he called, his voice carrying over the lavender-scented breeze, "Before y'go in, there's only one bedroom." 

Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) turned on her heel. For a split second she thought about what it would be like to share a bed with him, to feel his arms wrapped around her waist and head nestled in her shoulder the way he always did when he held her. She saw that in the morning often, but she wondered if it would be different to wake up next to him, to see the mess of curls on his head and the bleary blinks of his eyes. She didn't hate the idea at all. 

Staying put, she canted her head as she looked at him, hoping she was playing it cool. "Oh?"

He nodded his head, pushing the trunk closed with a fist full of two duffle bags (both hers). "I was planning on sleeping on the couch, but I want to tell y'before y'saw." 

Harry caught up with her as she stood in her spot, shifting her weight with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "Are you sure?" 

Meeting her eyes, the flecks of gold in his irises shimmering like stars in this light, he remained resolute. "'M sure. I jus' want you to be comfortable." 

There's a part of her that wanted to argue that she would be more than comfortable with sharing the single bed with him, sleeping with the window open and sharing body heat under the linen. Though, that part of her didn't have a chance before Harry was forging ahead and unlocking the front door.

He went inside first, leaving (Y/N) to follow after with a view of his broad shoulders. He dropped the bags quietly in the tiny tiled space in front of the door, already peering around the cottage. 

"Wait here for me," he murmured, getting that set in his gaze she remembered from the first time he had toured her apartment. 

Kicking off her shoes, she stayed put while he cased the space, checking for any and everything. From where she was, no cameras could be found, or any open windows or cracked doors. Nonetheless, those closed windows were now locked, the closed doors were blown open, and every corner was double checked for any kind of camera that could be hiding in plain sight. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked after Harry disappeared into the main bedroom. 

Wandering out a moment later, he gave her an absent nod, his gaze stuck to the ceiling as if one of the dust motes in the air would suddenly start recording their conversation. "I think 's alright, jus' let me know if y'notice anything weird, please." 

"Got it! Thank you," she beamed, feeling a bit too excited to start traipsing around the place. She hadn't felt like this since Francesca offered her a spot on her family's annual Switzerland trip and she saw the levels of the cabin they owned. 

Taking in the small common area that would double as Harry's bedroom, she was endeared by the small television propped on the vintage wooden stand pressed against the wall. She could imagine sitting with Harry before bed, trying to watch an episode of Julia Childs and figuring out what exactly it was that she said before dropping the duck into the pan. It was cozy and small, complete with an overstuffed couch, a crocheted doily across the back and an uneven coffee table. There was a small space designated as the dining area just behind the couch, looking into the kitchen that was tucked away from the serenity of the living room. A huge pantry was the back wall of the kitchen, space left for any and everything (Y/N) could imagine. 

There was another small hallway past the kitchen that led to the bathroom as well as what would be (Y/N)'s bedroom. A large window had been molded into the wall of the bedroom, giving a view into the back garden, complete with the small porch on the backside of the house. On the bed was a fresh pile of linen to be stretched across the mattress, fluffy pillows at the head. Inside the bathroom hung an ornate mirror, complete with a golden frame and a clawfoot bathtub. An even smaller short has been tucked into the corner, the tile matching the sunny, buttery tones throughout the cottage. 

Everywhere she went smelled like powdery fresh linen, rosewater and lulling lavender. She'd never been so far away from a bustling city to experience something like this. The space was cozy and secluded, warm and inviting. She felt like she was sitting in a fairytale—this home fit for Beauty And The Beast. Bread should be baking somewhere, a pristine rose encased in glass. 

She had thought Paris was the best place to be exiled, but even the city couldn't compare to this. Though she didn't have much to compare it to (thankfully) she figured this had to be the best of the best when it came to safe houses. 

The best part? Checking her phone, she found she had limited service when not connected to Wi-Fi. Though it was small, that detail made it that much harder for someone to get into contact with her. 

"Like it?" she heard Harry ask from where he sauntered through the doorway, his expression easy and warm as he gazed at her. 

"I love it," she answered through a beaming smile, grazing her hand over the fresh linens waiting on her bed, "Thank you." Watching the spring back of the sheets against her hand, the fluff of the pillows waiting to cushion her head, she tried again, "Are you sure about the couch? Really sure?" 

The bed was big enough for the both of them, she wanted to tell him. She wouldn't mind. 

It was the half of a heartbeat's worth of lag before he answered her that had (Y/N) looking up to intently watch him. But, he was a master of a stoic face, giving nothing away as per usual. "'M sure, really," he cemented, "It'll make it easier for me to be right there in case anything happens, anyway. This looks like the kind of best y'could get lost in if you're not careful." 

(Y/N) made a point not to think too hard about his words before she was relenting with a soft okay. Glancing out the window that made up a third of the wall, she fixed her eyes to the blossoming roses. 

"Should we go check out the garden? Maybe there's vegetables we can use to make something." 

The roses couldn't hold a candle to the way Harry's lips bloomed into a smile, complete with dimples and bright eyes the color of healthy, thornless stems. He held a hand towards her, "Yeah, c'mon." 

This place was perfect, she decided, slipping her hand in his and allowing Harry to parade her through their temporary home. Just the flowers and Harry. 

—————

Sitting on the overstuffed couch that doubled as Harry's bed, (Y/N) had her legs curled up underneath her and the T.V. in front of her showing an animated movie in French. Harry was at her side, legs spread with his arm laid across the back of the furniture, eyes squinted as he tried to decipher what exactly was playing on screen. 

"What did they jus' say?" he asked, his question muttered as he craned his neck forward as if that would make him understand any better. 

(Y/N) let out a soft breath of laughter, her eyes on the movie with a small rat skittering through the sewers, cookbook in tow. "We just finished watching this in English, you know what they said." 

"I don't know what"—he added a jumble of letters accented in French, essentially speaking gibberish to prove his point—"means," he pointed out, shaking his head. 

A peal of boisterous laughter left her lips over his half-hearted attempt, rolling into his chest with her eyes squeezing closed. 

"You're not even trying anymore," she laughed, settling into Harry's side as he curled around her. 

She fit against him like a puzzle piece, her head on his shoulder and his arm falling from around the couch to cocoon around her. Despite no more than a single kiss being shared between them, this intimacy, the comfortable touching and casual affection, had been the level they had reached, the outcome of that night in the kitchen. 

"Do you really want to know what they're saying?" she asked, a touch breathless once her laughing settled down. 

"I do, yeah," he murmured, his nose grazing the top of her head as he dropped his chin. He spoke to her like he was sharing a secret, something only for her to hear, and not a quiet request for translation. 

(Y/N) translated for him, sharing the English version of whatever string of gibberish he had let out. Her voice was low, matching the volume of his own. 

"How do you say it the right way—in French?" he asked after a beat, his tone lulled into something softer. 

A small smile curled her lips. She loved it when he asked her to do something like this, to share the language with him. Bubbling it off, she shared the flourish of the sentence that he had already heard on screen just moments before. 

A beat passed, Harry's arm around her tucking her into the cove his body was making around hers. "What did they say now?" 

And the game began. 

Despite the way he was asking about the movie, looking for translations and the French flourish to be slowed down for him in her voice, it wasn't about the script or the plot anymore. This was one of his favorite games to play with her, and (Y/N) indulged him every time. She liked reciting the lines for him, having him repeat them back at times if he wasn't too eager to fire off another excuse for her to speak French to him. More than once, he pulled away from her just enough to watch her speak, see the way her mouth formed around the words and the accent trolling off of her tongue. 

"Have you learned how to say anything since I started helping you?" (Y/N) teased, her smile easy as she gazed up at him with her head resting on his shoulder. 

His gaze lingered over her features, the tip of his tongue peaking out to wet his lips. "I know a few things," he said, decidedly more serious than her own tone. 

"Like what?" she pressed through her soft-lipped smile. 

Harry started off easy, reciting off words that he'd garnered from his time in the kitchen with her. "Tomate, carotte, ail, soupe, poireau," he listed off, counting on his fingers with each one, even as (Y/N)'s laughter rose. 

Of course he would remember all of the food related words she'd taught him—he always paid a lot more attention when she was making him dinner. 

Twisting on the cushions, (Y/N) turned to face him, her side now pressed against the back of the couch with Harry's arm around her with his hand settling on her hip. He watched on as she bubbled with laughter, her features bright and laugh filling the small cottage. 

"That's all you know?" she giggled. 

"I know a little more," Harry promised, looking a little smug before his gaze started tracing over the planes of her face. As her laughter died down, she wished she knew what he was thinking as he looked at her. She wondered what he saw in moments like these. "I know rose," he started, his words drawling and lingering a little more this time, "Pétale. Magnifique." 

He went on to describe another color when he locked eyes with her, his gaze shifting over her skin and hair, more descriptors following after. Everything was said with a lingering flourish, as if they were more than just colors and little words he'd picked up, but more like a poem he was reciting. She watched as his raspberry lips wrapped around every word, even if he fumbled the pronunciation just a hair. More and more gentle, tender expressions left his lips, his eyes warming and deep as he looked at her the whole time. 

"Douce," he finished with, his eyes lingering on the shape of her mouth. The room suddenly felt charged the longer he gazed at her, (Y/N) warming under his eyes. 

"I never taught you those," she murmured, smiling with a cant to her head, trying her best to keep her head straight. 

"I know," he answered on a soft exhale, his attention obviously taken elsewhere. 

"Where'd you learn it then?" 

"Myself." 

"Yeah?" she asked, the corners of her lips lifting that much more, "When did you do that?" 

She could only ever recall him reciting things she had taught him, never anything like this. Though it wasn't that complicated, some of the words he'd shown off with, it was more than he'd come to the country with and she was proud of him for learning any at all when he easily could have relied on her for translation the whole time.

Harry shrugged casually, though the silence suggested anything but. The audio of the movie had become nothing more than white noise, a vague French song in the background of this scene. 

"I—Um—I wanted..." he started, words fumbling and distracted. The full of his bottom lip became trapped between his teeth, a slight pause before he regained himself with a clearing grumble of his throat. Harry looked at her through his lashes, "I want to know how to describe you if I ever needed help to find you." 

"So you learned sweet and gorgeous?" 

(Y/N) wanted to tease him, give him an easy smile and laugh with him, but her voice stuck in her throat. There wasn't anything to tease him about, anything that could cut through the breathless tension. He was admitting to thinking she was pretty, and that was enough to stutter her lungs. 

"Isn't that you?" he deadpanned, with genuine intensity sitting in his eyes. 

The heart shape of his lips fell into a soft gape as he gazed at her. The hold he had on her hip tightened that much more. If not for the fact that she was hyper-aware of everything him, she doubted she wouldn't have noticed the minute way his breathing hitched, his throat slightly bobbing. 

Maybe she needed to give it a second thought, allow a moment of pause, but (Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reaching across and pressing her lips to Harry's. Only a beat of lag came from him; his neck stiffened under her hands she had looped around to connect at his nape, the fingers on her hip flexing. It didn't take long for him to lose himself in the kiss, melting against her and tipping his head to reciprocate. 

Slotting his lips against hers, he cradled her top lip between his two and kissed her with everything that had been waiting since the last time they had a moment like this. He was able to curl himself around her, cupping her hip and using the bar of his arm to tuck her against his chest. (Y/N) kept her hands locked around his neck, fingers twiddling with the baby hairs fringing his hairline. 

Deepening the kiss, she tipped her head, the tip of his nose brushing the apple of her cheek. His chest pressing against hers as he pulled in a deep breath, the warm fanning across her skin when they broke away for a heartbeat. Harry followed her, sealing his lips against hers once more, shifting that much closer to her on the couch. His hand on her hip skated up her side, creasing and bunching her shirt up her side as he came to rest his palm on the ladder of her ribs. His grip strengthened there, matching the intensity of his kiss as he slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, hugging her to his chest with her arms bundled between. She clung to his shirt, fisting the fabric as if he could slip away if she wasn't careful. 

"Harry," she whispered, pulling away. She just wanted him to open his eyes; she wanted to see him again, remember that this was the man she was kissing, the same one she met in her father's office. 

Drawing away just enough to match her gaze, she watched intently as he opened his eyes with a flutter of his lashes. His pupils were dilated, his eyes increasingly dark compared to the mossy jade that typically made up his iris. His lips were kiss-swollen and cheeks rosy with a heated flush. 

She had done this to him, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the way he couldn't seem to look away from her for even a split second. 

The thought had her throwing herself back into the kiss, her hands around the back of his neck shifting until she was cradling his jawline in her palms. The stubble covering the skin prickled against her palms, the soft skin of his cheeks moving with every heavy kiss he planted upon her lips. Harry's free hand that had been carefully resting on his thigh abandoned post, coming up to cup the side of her throat, his thumb circling the hinge of her jaw. He held her steady as he pushed against her, giving and giving and giving while her soft mouth cushioned the full of his kissing.

"C'mere," he murmured against her lips, his voice a heated breath fanning across. 

With that, he used his arm he had wrapped around her, holding her hip, to pull her to his lap. He helped position her atop him, her thighs splitting to fit his hips between, her feet folding underneath to hook under his thighs. His own legs were still spread, with sifting heavy and hard bulging in his lap. Both of his hands came to cup her bottom, keeping her steady on his lap with his fingertips digging into the plush skin there. 

(Y/N)'s fingertips curled in the baby hairs bordering his hairline, her brows coming to a furrow as she rested heavily on his hard cock. His hands on her ass held her flush against him, until he seemed to grow restless and started using his leverage to roll her hips against his in slow grinds. 

There wasn't anything urgent in the way he moved her, gripping her and lifting her until she slid down the bulge in a lingering stroke. It was indulgent. It matched the lingering kisses, the heavy breaths in the air, the way (Y/N) couldn't seem to have him close enough and Harry couldn't taste her enough. 

While their first kiss had been entirely romantic and revealing, backlit by the Eiffel Tower and scented with confessions of adoration, this was different. She had been missing him before she had even kissed him. Now, combined with every moment she had wished she had him after that night in her kitchen, it was all coming together and fueling this moment.

She couldn't help the small, breathy moan she let out against his mouth, Harry's fingers flexing against the plushness of her bottom. He pulled away then, though his lips never left her skin. He turned to messy, streaking kisses splayed over her cheek, down her jaw, and over the column of her throat. 

"Feel good?" he asked, his voice a smear against her skin.

(Y/N) threw her head back, feeling his cock twitch between her legs. God, she had never been more grateful for the thin fabric of her sleep-shorts and the fact it seemed Harry didn't like to wear any boxers under his sweats. 

"Uh-huh," she breathed, her neck stretching under his lips with more space for him to make his mark.

Harry did just that, his teeth scraping against her skin with a sharp nip, her body tensing against his. (Y/N) was melting, melting, melt—

Until something outside seemingly crashed on the ground, a clattering noise ringing across the patio out back. 

(Y/N) startled in her skin, clinging to Harry in a different way with her chest rapidly rising and falling against his. Her eyes were wide, the vignette that clouded her vision and sunk her deeper into this moment with him dissipated in an instant. Harry held her for a moment, seemingly startled himself, until he sprung into action.

"Wait here," he murmured, twisting her off his lap and settling her into the couch cushion. 

He didn't look back when her hands dropped from him, her body curling in on itself as he disappeared. She knew he had gone through the kitchen, reaching for something in a cabinet before the backdoor was thrown open and Harry stomped outside. 

She wished she could get a glance of him somehow, shakily rising to her knees. She looked over the back of the couch, hoping to spot him through the small trio of windows that lined the back wall of the dining area. 

They both had the same suspect in mind, she was sure of that. And, by the direction the last photos she had looked at began taking, her admirer—stalker, she reminded herself—was starting to turn on Harry. She didn't want him getting hurt. 

There was no telling how long he'd been outside with the way time seemed to stand still then. (Y/N) knelt there, waiting, watching, worrying her lip between her teeth and finding anything to worry her hands with. 

It could have been hours by the time the back door opened once more, Harry stomping through and reappearing. This time, she saw him with a gun in his hand, something she'd never seen him with but figured he would have had given the nature of his job. He took a moment to leave it on the dining table, the barrel facing away from her before he turned to face (Y/N).

His eyes were wild, hair a mess. 

"What was it?" (Y/N) asked, even her whisper feeling too loud for this moment. 

Harry shook his head, seemingly decompressing when she shuttered his eyes and took in a deep breath. The sharp set to his shoulders didn't deplete, but the lines beside his eyes finally relaxed. He ambled towards her on slow feet, his demeanor defeated despite being her saving grace in that moment. 

"Some animals got into a fight in the garden," he told her. He stopped to stand in front of her, placing his hands on either side of her where she still knelt with her own fingers digging into the backing cushion of the couch. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, coming down from the skyrocketing adrenaline that had pumped through both of them. "'M sorry." 

"For what?" she pressed, dumbfounding that he would be apologizing then. It wasn't as if he made the noise that spooked the life out of her. 

He rolled his neck, his eyes dropping down to the curve of her throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he explained, his choice of words careful as they fell from his mouth, "I jus'..."

"No, don't be sorry," she insisted, a furrow to her brow as she laid her hand atop his. Though she felt a bit shy thinking about what exactly had been interrupted, she didn't want him to hold any guilt for something that was far from his fault. "I don't blame you, or anything. We're hiding for a reason, even if it's been really easy to forget these last couple of weeks. You still technically have a job to do instead of just watching movies with me and doing the dishes while I nap." 

She was trying her hand at being light-hearted, hoping to alleviate the fatigue that had entered his system. She wanted him to smile again.

Unfortunately, all he did was shake his head again. The man she had been snuggling and kissing on the couch was out of commission for the time being it seemed. 

"I need to be paying more attention," he told her, his tone resolute as if he had failed her. He stepped away then. "'M going to see if I can find any temporary security cameras I can put up outside." 

With that, the conversation was seemingly over while he rifled through his duffle bag for his laptop. 

Reality was sinking in against once more, the rose petals falling around her. 

This wasn't a vacation, she had to remember, a lusty getaway with a dreamy man. There was a reason—a good and important reason—that they had to flee the way they did. 

—————

"Are you going to bed?" (Y/N) asked, meeting Harry's eyes from where he stood in the doorway of her bathroom. He had lent against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her through the mirror. 

"Yeah," he said after a beat, seemingly coming alive from where he was watching her twist her damp hair into a braid. "Jus' wanted to come say goodnight." 

Harry had been decidedly quiet after the clatter from outside, a distance having been put up between them despite the intimacy they shared just moments before it had been shattered. (Y/N) hadn't expected him to visit her after the sun went down, assuming she would have to wait until the morning to see him again and hope he was less in his head after a night's rest. 

The fact he came to see her at all, waited until she was out of the shower and readying herself for bed, brought a wide grin to her face. 

Turning on her heel, she met his eyes head-on, no longer having to go through the mirror. "Goodnight," she murmured through her smile, "I'll see you in the morning for breakfast?" 

Harry's eyes lingered over her. Her skin was especially soft and warm after her shower, scented with Miss Dior and the rose petals that seemed to follow every room in the cottage. The high points of her face were coated in a dewy shine from her moisturizer, her hair soft from her conditioner. A set of silky pajamas slid over her freshly exfoliated skin, softening Harry's phantom hold she pretended she hadn't been thinking about all afternoon.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, (Y/N)." 

Expecting him to head out to the living room to sleep then, (Y/N) was surprised when he did the opposite. Harry reached out and settled a heavy hand on her waist, pulling her to him with a gentle tug. Dipping down, he pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Everything was innocent, nothing heated or deepened. He kept his hand on her waist and lips sealed her hers for a breath before he fell away. The tip of his nose skimmed hers before he pulled back completely. 

He looked at her with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe he'd done the same thing.

(Y/N) only looked up at him with a wide smile touching her lips, reaching her hand out to clasp his for a moment. That disbelief in his eyes melted then, knowing that she wanted that kiss as much as he did.

"I'll see you in the morning." 

Harry squeezed her hand in his before giving her a quiet nod, dimples in his cheeks. 

Her eyes were on him until he left her room, though he was on her mind for the rest of the night.

—————

"Yeah, I'm fine. We just decided to leave the city for a bit. I realized I'd never been anywhere but Paris, and Harry was able to find this cute little cottage available for a few weeks so we took it." 

(Y/N) prattled with the crocheted doily on the dining table, tugging at the edges and slipping her fingers through the knit, with her phone pressed to her ear. Francesca had called as soon as she read the text (Y/N) had sent, apologizing for the delay in getting back to her here weeks with her spotty service so far from the city. Fran had plenty of questions, too many for a text she decided. 

"How far from the city is it that you barely have service?" Francesca pressed, the mortification easily detectable in her voice. (Y/N) couldn't blame her, the lack of consistent bars on her phone was rough the first few days, but the WiFi was good enough to stream movies and that was all she could ask for. 

"Pretty far," (Y/N) mused, tiptoeing around the details for no other reason than she liked the level of anonymity she was gaining from this spur of the moment flee. Telling Fran seems like it would ruin the illusion. 

Looking up, (Y/N) saw Harry quietly smiling to himself as he stirred the roasted tomato soup he had going on the stove. She had watched him prep for a half an hour, carefully slicing and sautéing ingredients he plucked from the garden along with the few he picked from the Farmer's Market he went to earlier in the week. That was how he was landed with dinner duty for the night, Harry having claimed he picked out the perfect things for a grilled cheese and soup—and he wanted to show her. 

She smiled too, watching him stir, stir, stir just like she taught him was important. (While it may not have been as vital as she made it out to be when she had him as her sous chef, it was cute thinking he had clung onto that and used it for his own meals). 

"Everyone's been worried about you," Fran shared, her words coming out on a sigh, "There's even been blogs trying to claim you died or something, all because there hasn't been anything posted about you since that date with that guy. And, because you haven't posted anything since before the Gala." 

(Y/N)'s smile stretched at the new information. If there was nothing new for over three weeks to be shared about her, not even off-hand pap pictures or a blurry fan photo, there was no way anyone could know where she was. Her stalker wasn't the patient kind, if they'd found her already, there would be no way they'd keep it a secret to her or the press. 

"Well, I'm not," (Y/N) joked, "There's no reason to worry or anything, though, seriously. I'm really happy." 

From where Harry stood at the stove, that smile on his face widened, a deep dimple on his cheek.

"I'm sure you are with your bodyguard," Francesca laughed, her bright voice rising over the phone, "But, are you coming home soon? I miss you—New York is boring without you." 

"I don't know," (Y/N) answered, dropping her eyes to her twiddling hands, "I haven't really talked to my father or anything about coming back, so... But you'll be the first to know when I know." 

Honestly, (Y/N) didn't think she was ready to return to the city. While she knew this was temporary—the cottage, Harry's doting, everything so tranquil about this space—until they could make it back to the city and do something productive to end this stalker's obsession with her, she still couldn't help the way she was falling in love with it. Everything was easier here; lavender followed her like rose petals and even the sunshine seemed to have this clean smell. Even with the noise that rattled the cottage, that had been the one isolated incident that had put them on their twos, everything else solidly safe. 

All (Y/N) did all day was ease into herself and into Harry—into the person she was when she was with him. Even he had begun loosening up; his job was still incredibly serious to him (he really did end up going out and grabbing these small security cameras he could access through his phone, the gadgets set up outside of the cottage to catch anyone approaching), but the slow-pace of the countryside was getting to him, she could tell. 

Kisses were even shared freely between them now, less of a production of built up tension and more of a gift they could give—a reminder the other was there and was thinking of them. 

She didn't want that to change if they were to stray from this cottage. 

"Well, you need to come back soon," Fran started, the sounds of a pout in her voice, "Besides, I heard Dami—Oh, shit, I'm late for a nail appointment. I have to go!" 

(Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that bubbled to her lips at Francesca's sudden plans. She couldn't remember many times she was ever on time for any kind of appointment. 

"Okay, text me later, then," (Y/N) said.

"For sure, for sure" Francesca bubbled, "I'll talk to you soon, love you!" 

"Love you, too. Bye, Fran." 

Francesca barely said her own goodbyes before she hung up, leaving (Y/N) shaking her head as she pulled her phone from her face. Looking up, she saw Harry looking to her with a soft smile on his face, his features molded into soft curves. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes following her as she stood from the dining table and joined him in the kitchen. 

Peeking inside the pot, seeing all the herbs and spicing floating through the soup, (Y/N) took in a deep breath. "Needy," she joked, reveling in the small laugh Harry let out for her, though his stirring never ceased, "She just misses me, she said. People are starting to think I'm dead apparently, since I haven't posted anything and there haven't been any more pictures coming out of me." 

"Yeah?" he pressed, brows raised as he looked at her. Now he stopped stirring the wooden spoon, his direct attention on her. 

"Yeah," she smiled, excited to share the news, "I think we're doing good. I don't think anyone knows where we are; we're doing good." 

Pride found a home on Harry's features then. "We're doing good, yeah," he affirmed, smile growing on his lips. 

Everything felt good in that moment.

For the first time in a while—years, even—there wasn't the threat of eyes on her that (Y/N) had learned to live with. She didn't have the urge to look over her shoulder and catch someone in the act with a camera in her face. Here, she was able to indulge in the small moments with Harry: watching him cook a simple dinner, watching movies she hadn't seen in years, going over a week without wearing a single spot of makeup on her skin. 

Just as (Y/N) snatched a bit of cheese Harry had left over on his cutting board, a firm hand wrapped around her waist tugging her to a firm chest. Harry's familiar lips were pressed to hers in a breath, soft and giving. (Y/N) couldn't help the smile that formed against his mouth. 

Pulling away (Y/N) gave him that same smile he felt, letting him see it for real. She would never not see a model when she looked at him, feeling that much more lucky to be with him here, knowing he cared about her. 

"Ready for dinner?" he muttered, his voice dancing through his quiet, dimpled smile. 

A teasing edge entered her lips. "What are we having?" 

Her smile only widened when Harry answered her with gummy French words, nothing at all like she had taught him to say just a few hours prior. 

"Almost," she laughed, biting back her smile with her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"Yeah? You'll have to teach me again," Harry cemented just before he pressed another kiss to her lips.

—————

Harry looked at the grocery list in his hand with intensity, his brows in a furrow. 

"This is everything we need?" he asked looking at (Y/N) through his lashes. 

"Mhm," she hummed, running through what she had written down one more time in her head, "But, if you find anything that looks really good, just grab it and we'll make something with it. Please." 

"Okay," he sighed, sounding unsure despite the fact the trip to the farmer's market was his idea.

He got this way, mood shifting, every time he had to head out without her since coming to the cottage. It wasn't his favorite thing to leave her behind, numerous worst case scenarios floating around his head when he had to, but it was an even worse option to take her along. Having her seen out and about would defeat the whole purpose of running to the countryside. It wasn't something either of them were willing to sacrifice. 

Nonetheless, it didn't make it easier for him. 

"You'll be fast, H," she reminded him, reaching out to lay her palm on his forearm, "I'll be okay." 

"I know," he answered automatically, though (Y/N) could see the gears turning, his head spinning just under the surface of his stoic calm. 

Stretching to her tiptoes, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple would dent if he were smiling. "Come home soon, okay?" 

This time, when his eyes met hers, she could still see the intensity though it was dulled by something soft and dazed. "Okay," he murmured, his answer simple. 

"Then go," (Y/N) prompted him with a small smile, standing back to usher him towards the door before he could change his mind, "The faster you leave, the faster you can come back to me." 

Harry didn't leave until he pressed a grazing kiss to the tip of her nose, then he was out the door with another promise to come home within the next hour. She sent him off from the front door, waving to him as he backed out of the drive and entered the main stretch of road towards the village center. 

She hoped he found some roses to bring home with him.

—————

Tucked into bed, bright moonlight shone through (Y/N)'s bedroom. Looking through the windows, she had never seen so many stars in the sky. How could so many of them exist and her never actually seeing more than a handful at a time? 

(Y/N)'s breath caught when she heard her door knob rattle, the sound aggressive compared to the tranquility of the night. Harry wouldn't do something like that, would he? 

She didn't have to question anymore who it could be when the door slammed open a moment later. A faceless man barged in, heading directly towards her bed with rough hands reaching out towards her. 

Though she wanted to scream, to feel her throat burn with the breadth of her voice, nothing came out. Her light linen bedding was too heavy for her to move, clinging to her body and tying her down. She could do nothing as the man approached, her being his only target. 

Where's Harry? That was all she could think about. Where was he? Was he okay? He never would have let anything like this happen to her if he could stop it. Horror wretched through her body at the thought of him giving himself to be gravely injured in an attempt to save her. Her eyes burned with tears. 

Where is he, where is he, where is he—

The man's rough hand closed around her throat.

Shooting awake, (Y/N) was drenched in sweat. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes burning from tears she had shed in her sleep. No moonlight snuck through her windows like in her dream, the only light coming from the small night light plugged into the wall. 

She sat with her head in her hands as she came down, willing the nightmare out of her mind. She was so tired, wanting nothing more than to return to sleep and wake up at a real hour, but she knew she couldn't do that yet. If she returned to dream land now, she would have to spend another terrifying time with the faceless man until she woke up like this again. 

Her mind was chugging along, running too fast for her slow sense-of-self to keep up. The only clear thought was the same one she had during her dream: 

Where's Harry?

That feeling she had as a little girl when she would wake up from a nightmare and just wanted someone—a nanny, her mother, anyone who might care—to coddle and coax her down returned in that moment. She wanted Harry. 

He could protect her, she knew that. He'd said he cared about her. He always told her to grab him if she needed him, no matter what it was that was setting her. He'd be there for her, he promised. 

It was on those juvenile instincts that (Y/N) climbed out of bed and padded towards the living room. She sniffled as she opened her creaky door, peering out to find Harry asleep with the television on, scrunched onto the couch. A loose blanket was draped over his form, a pillow tucked under his head as he slept on his side, his hair a mess of loose curls. 

There was a part of her that didn't want to wake him, that already felt a bit guilty over the idea of pulling him from his sleep when he didn't really have any responsibility to care for her when she was like this. That was why she hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room. She needed him, she thought, remembering the faceless man in her dream that had struck a fear in her that felt something close to primal. Harry always told her to get him if she needed him; he cared about her. He wanted her to be happy, not like she was now with teary eyes and a sniffly nose. 

"Harry?" she asked, standing awkwardly off to the side of the couch, still a tad nervous over waking him at such a rough hour. When he didn't stir, she tried again, raising her voice just a hair. 

At that, Harry startled awake, his eyes fluttering open in urgent blinks. When his gaze focused around the room, he took her in with her watery eyes and unsure stance before him.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" he grumbled, forcing himself awake through bleary eyes. 

At his question, (Y/N) felt a bit silly. He most likely imagined something serious, like a new letter, someone having found the cottage, anything of real danger, when in reality she just had a bad dream and didn't want to be alone. 

"Are you okay?" he pressed, urgent now that she wasn't answering him. He moved to get off the couch before she stopped him, panicking some. 

"Yes, yes, I'm okay, sorry," she rushed out, flustered, "I just... I had a bad dream and..." 

She didn't finish her thought, rolling her lips between her teeth instead. 

Though she wasn't sure he was entirely awake still, Harry didn't hesitate before he was settling back into the couch and scooting back as far as he could before opening up the blanket. "C'mere." 

(Y/N) stood still, eyes following the cave he'd made with the blanket draped over his arm to welcome her in. 

"'S okay, (Y/N)," Harry murmured, patting his free hand on the space beside him, "C'mere." 

Her heart jumped in her throat as she gave into his direction. While this had been what she had asked for—hoped for—she didn't really think about the reality of getting just that. 

With the way Harry had crammed himself against the back of the couch, there was just enough space for her to slip in beside him, her arms bundled between them. There was no part of them that wasn't touching, the warmth of shared body heating intensifying when Harry laid his arm around her waist, blanket fluttering down. He helped her settle into him, his ankle hooking around hers, hand flat on her back to keep her steady on the sliver of cushion, and his other arm laid out with his bicep as her pillow. He curled her into him, becoming that furled rose once more, the protector of his worried bumblebee. 

He placed a hand on the back of her head, tucking her under his chin with her forehead resting on his throat. (Y/N) breathed into the hold, melting against him and welcoming the cage of his arms. 

Now, nothing could get her. 

"What happened, sweet girl? Your dream really this bad?" he murmured, voice giving away the fact that he was clearly much closer to sleep than he was giving off. 

(Y/N) snuggled closer to him, enjoying the way she could feel his voice in his chest as much as she heard it with her ears. She nodded against him. "It scared me," she sniffled, "I don't want to go back to sleep in case it starts again."

His hand on her back moved in a soothing circuit, fingers spread out wide. "What happened?" 

The details of the dream were still too sharp for comfort, none of that fuzziness that usually followed after waking. "It was the stalker," she told him, aware of the way Harry's arms locked around her that much tighter, "I don't know how I knew it was them, but it was. He found the cottage while we were sleeping and he did something to you I think. Then he came into my room and I woke up when he started choking me." 

Harry nosed at the top of her head, a frown apparent on his lips. "(Y/N)," he crooned, "That's terrible. Were y'thinking about them a lot today?" 

"I don't think so," she answered, voice small. "I don't know why I had a dream like that." 

"'S alright," he soothed, voice fanning through her hair, "'M happy y'came and got me—I don't want you to deal with this stuff by yourself." 

(Y/N) allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she laid in his arms. It was nice knowing he wasn't upset with her after she scared him awake. 

"Y'don't want to fall asleep again?" he asked after a moment, scratching his nails gently over her back, her t-shirt softening his touch that much more. 

"Not yet," she shook her head. It was all still too fresh. If she fell asleep again, would she see that faceless man again? Would he chase her through the cottage this time? Force her to see whatever he'd done to get Harry out of the way. "Definitely, not yet," she repeated, her voice thick over the reminder of her fear. 

"Okay, okay," he crooned, "We won't go back to sleep, yet then. We'll stay up and talk a little, instead. Do you think that'll help?" 

"Yes, please." 

Petting his fingers through her hair, Harry sighed. "Good, good," he murmured, the sleep still thick in his voice. Nonetheless, that didn't keep him from saying, "I don't think you've ever told me how you met Francesca." 

The abrupt change in topic was perfect for what (Y/N) needed, pushing her mind in the complete opposite direction of what had transpired in her dreams. 

"I met her at private school, when I was, like, thirteen," she shared, fondly looking back on the days of her youth with her best friend. "We met on orientation day, moving into the same dorm." 

"Dorm?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) confirmed, "It was also a kind of boarding school my father picked for me after he and my mom filed for divorce. But, anyway, we were in adjoined rooms, sharing a kitchen. I was definitely shyer than her, but after we found out we had almost the exact same classes, we started hanging out in the kitchen and doing our homework together all the time. She's been my best friend ever since.

"We did pretty much everything together when we were younger. I spent a lot of summers with her, and her mom invited me to go on trips during the holidays with them." She thought back to the amount of time she spent at Francesca's when her parents were dealing with their divorce, fighting over the prenuptial agreement and who got what assets. Those summer-long sleepovers were some of her favorite memories. "Did you know that she had a bodyguard when we were sixteen?" 

"She did?" Harry mused, his fingers still working through her hair. 

"Mhm," she hummed, "His name was Barry. During the school year, photographers started showing up at our school trying to get pictures when we were outside for gym class, or lunch, or whatever they could catch of us. I remember Fran telling her mom how much it scared her because they would yell at us or say whatever they could to get us to react. The school was able to get them off the property after a while, but when we were out for the summer, her mom hired Barry to look out for us so that didn't happen again." 

"You were sixteen when this started?" Harry pressed, his voice decidedly tender, carefully breaching the subject. 

"Yeah. But it only got really bad after I turned eighteen," she shared, thinking back to the way paparazzi changed when she became of age. Rules no longer seemed to apply when it came to how close they came to her or how rowdy they got in order to get a reaction. That didn't matter though, she reminded herself. It was too long ago to care about, anymore. "Barry was really nice, though. He didn't talk a lot when I was around, but Fran really liked him." 

She was sure Harry wasn't impressed with the backstory of her tabloid fame, resenting the age of which her entire life changed. She couldn't blame him. Nonetheless, he stayed composed with only a deep breath inflating his chest, his hold on her staying strong. 

"That's good, 'm happy he was good to you," he told her, his hand rubbing her back, "I didn't know that y'knew Francesca for so long. She's a good friend to you, isn't she?" 

"The best," (Y/N) answered, smiling against Harry's throat, "I love Emma, Toriana, and Kita, and all, but Fran's been there through everything. Her and Sully are the only reasons I haven't actually lost my mind the way everyone thinks I have." 

"Sully's good to you, too, isn't he?" Harry started, steering her to more happy thoughts, "You're close with his family aren't you?" 

"A little, yeah. I've met his wife a few times, and I give his daughter a lot of clothes and everything." 

"You gave her a prom dress, right?"

"I did, yeah." (Y/N) smiled. She still needed to get pictures from Sully of her in the Dior gown she passed on. "She's so sweet. She goes to a private school upstate, and Sully told me one time that she felt like she didn't fit in because all of the other girls had all these fancy clothes, so I started buying a bunch of stuff I hope she liked and then told him I was giving them away so she could have them if she wanted. From what I hear, she absolutely loves them." 

"You did that with her prom dress?" 

As much as (Y/N) tried to fight it, Harry's lulling questions were so soothing to her. The rumble of his chest and the soft way he handled her, petting her hair and rubbing her back, she was getting more and more sleepy as they went, her lips looser and stories more and more personal. 

It was easy to share with him like this. 

"No, her prom dress was one of my favorite Diors I had when I was sixteen. I only wore it for one night for a school event, then never again. I loved it, so I figured she would love it too." 

"That's very kind of you, (Y/N)," he told her after a beat, the praise being spoken against her hair with the tip of his nose skimming her scalp. "I'm sure she really appreciates it." 

"I hope so—it was vintage," (Y/N) laughed, feeling Harry smile against her hair. Her hands that were bundled between their chests twisted until she was fisting his shirt in her hands, the planes of his chest smooth under the fabric. "Who else do you want to know about?" 

"I'll listen to anything y'want to tell me," he crooned, unashamed over being caught in his pointed game of misdirection and distracted. "As long as you're not too tired, 'm here to listen." 

If she was being honest, (Y/N) knew she could go back to sleep and slip into a new dream no problem at this point. She barely remembered her nightmare, the only details she could recall being ones that she had shared out loud with Harry. Everything else was a fuzzy blur.

But, she didn't want to sleep yet. 

She was telling him things she hadn't really told anyone, for no other reason than there was no one there to listen. She couldn't really share to Sully and Fran the retelling of her favorite memories with them, or how much she loved them without crying. Harry was the first person to genuinely ask her these things and care about what she had to say. It was a comforting thought; that she wasn't alone. 

She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to know exactly who she was. 

Starting with the reason they even know each other in the first place, she decided. 

"That whole thing with Damien Moore didn't happen the way the magazines said," she started, unsure of where exactly she was starting this story, but knowing she wanted to share it. "He's the son of one of my father's investors, and even though he's a few years younger than me, our dads always wanted us to be together for some reason. I only really met him a couple of years ago, and he seemed way more okay with the idea of being set up than I was, but I couldn't reject him or anything because he'd tell my father.

"I started seeing him more earlier this year, but nothing ever happened, of course. But, with the pictures and all, his dad had made us reservations at this restaurant but I told Damien I wouldn't be able to stay long because I was meeting Fran later to go out in the Upper West Side." (Y/N) wanted to roll her eyes at the memory of Damien's reaction, not regretting a single thing about the way she handled him. "He got really upset then, saying I would embarrass him if I left and he started saying terrible things about Fran—like, how I shouldn't be friends with a slut like her, and she was tainting my reputation, and I shouldn't be friends with someone like her since I was better than that. Just stupid stuff. Obviously, I got mad and that was why I threw my drink on him." 

(Y/N) paused. "I'd do it again, too." 

A breathy laugh fanned across the top of (Y/N)'s head, Harry's smile apparent through the strands of hair he nosed at. 

"I don't blame you," he murmured, "I'd do the same thing." He held her closely then, mulling over the silence that filled the room, the only light coming from the flashing television with whatever French program he had tuned into. "You're a good person, (Y/N)," he crooned, pressing a hard kiss to the top of her head, ensuring she felt it even as she teetered closer to sleep, "'M happy I got a chance to know you." 

Snuggling closer to him, (Y/N) couldn't help her own quiet smile from plucking at her lips. She pressed a small kiss to the column of his throat, reveling in the warmth. 

"Thank you for wanting to know me." 

—————

Adjusting the clip in her hair, (Y/N) paused where she stood in the back garden of the cottage. The sun had been shining brightly since it broke over the horizon, only small puffs of clouds drifting through the blue sky. It had been her idea to prance through the space, taking advantage of the sunshine and celebrate the fact that they'd been able to evade prying eyes for so long. 

And, she wanted Harry to pick some vegetables to be used for dinner tonight. 

With him on his hands and knees, grabbing vegetables and tending to the garden as best he could, (Y/N) was free to play around and enjoy the space around the cottage. While she knew it was in her best interest, not being able to really leave the place at all in hopes of avoiding anyone catching sight of her or posting about her online had made her stir crazy. Any time she could spend outside with Harry was time she savored. 

Brushing baby hairs out of her face, she smiled as she took in the sprawling wild roses that sprung up around the backside of the cottage, growing past the bordering lavender. It reminded her of the small hedge maze at the country club back home, though the blooms were much freer and untamed. The toes of her white sneakers were now dirtied as she traipsed around the blooms, her skin warmed and sparkling with a sheen of sweat. 

A butterfly with gorgeous purple and orange designs spanning across her wings floated through the garden, (Y/N)'s attention stolen by the creature. She'd never seen anything like it back home. She didn't even know butterflies could be purple outside of nail art photos she found on Pinterest. 

Flapping its wings, it came close to landing around (Y/N), not even scaring when she reached a hand out as if she could coax it into settling on her finger. It was a bit silly, the way she had the urge to chase it, but she couldn't really find it in her to care about looking juvenile. 

When the butterfly finally did land on a thick green leaf, (Y/N) paused, slowing her steps before lunging out with her hands cupped into a makeshift net. She wasn't sure what she would do with it if she managed to catch it, but she at least wanted to touch it, pretend to be a princess for a moment with a little companion. 

It came as no surprise when the butterfly flapped away before she came too close, though (Y/N) was suddenly determined to make a new friend. She didn't stop with her lunge, instead giving into that urge to chase and following after the insect. She had her eyes in the sky, watching as the sun shimmered over the purple glazed wings, showing off the intricate patterns nature had given the butterfly. 

Reaching her hands up, (Y/N) thought she had bounded around the edge of the wild roses, but learned the hard way that she definitely hadn't. 

With only a small linen skirt covering the top half of her thighs, her bare legs were left to the punishment of the thorny rose bushes. The sting of the barbs only came after she had sunk a few steps deep into the bushes, the pain registering after a lag. She yelped at the feeling, her shoelaces even growing stuck amongst the spiny greenery. 

She froze in place, unsure of how to make it out of this mess without further injuring her legs.

In an instant, after most likely hearing the cry she gave out, Harry was rounding the side of the cottage, brows furrowed and jaw tensed. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, deflating a bit when he realized what exactly she had gotten herself stuck in, "What happened, sweet girl?" 

He stepped towards her, his own arms sparkling with sweat and hands dirty from digging through the garden. Though he had a small hair clip fastened to the edge of his shirt, he left his curls to run wild, a few loose ones falling over his forehead. His skin looked especially tan under the sun, freckles dotting his skin with his tattoos deep and dark across his muscles. 

"I was chasing her," she explained, feeling a bit silly now that she had to say it out loud as he pointed at the shimmering butterfly flying high in the sky.

"Yeah?" Harry laughed, his pink lips stretching into a smile, "And that got y'stuck in the roses?"

"I thought I could catch her," (Y/N) offered, looking down towards her legs, "But, now I think I'm bleeding." 

Just then, it seemed to register to Harry that the flowers she got herself wrapped up in her roses, complete with thorns. 

"Shit," he murmured, reaching a dirt smudged hand out to her, "I didn't even realize, (Y/N), 'm sorry. C'mere." 

Taking his hand, she braced herself for the feeling of more paper-cut like slices being made over her legs. She hissed as she tried to step out of the bush, Harry's grip on her hand steadying. 

"'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he recited as her face twisted at the feel of the thorns scratching at her legs, catching on her skirt and tennis shoes. 

"It's okay," she assured him, stepping both feet onto the solid grass with a rough kick of her foot to dislodge it from the thorns. 

Harry steadied her with his hands on her biceps, standing far enough away that he could assess the damage on her legs. Looking down, (Y/N) saw the tiny scratches littering her legs. Some were nothing more than a raised red line, the skin unbroken, while others were deep with blood running in small rivers down her skin. There were even small droplets that had marred the hem of her previously creamy white skirt. 

"Oh, (Y/N)," Harry crooned, his eyes rounding out as he looked at the mess she'd made, "Let's get y'cleaned up."

Leading her back inside the cottage, they passed the pile of vegetables Harry had to have abandoned in his effort to get to her as soon as possible. While she wanted to feel guilt over distracting him over something so trivial and completely her fault, when she saw the stretch of his shoulders in front of her, arms bare from his sleeveless top, she let those thoughts dissipate. His attention wasn't something she was going to regret catching.

"Is there any kind of band aids here?" Harry mused, taking her through the kitchen with his steps slowing.

"Maybe in my bathroom? I'm not sure—I never really looked." And, she wasn't currently looking either. She'd never seen the small palm tree inked on the back of his arm before. It was cute.

Diligent as ever, Harry led her through to her bedroom. He deposited her on the edge of her bed, mumbling for her to wait right there for him before he was heading towards the bathroom in search of anything to clean her up. With her hands in her lap, one of them with the phantom of Harry's touch warm against her palm, she heard him rifle through the cabinets. 

Soon enough, after hearing the sink run and all the cabinets dropping closed at least twice, he emerged with a small navy blue bag, the flap top opened with Harry's scrutinizing eyes going through the contents. "There isn't much," he mused, "but I can get you cleaned up and the worst ones wrapped up." 

"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, feeling every bit the child that gave into the urge to chase bugs around the garden, "Sorry." 

"Don't be," Harry countered immediately, "I would have chased her too if I hadn't been busy." Kneeling at her feet, he laid the kit at his side, with his now dirt-free fingers pushing through the supplies. He plucked out a roll of individual alcohol wipes, ripping open the first in the pack with a concentrated set in his features. "I didn't even know butterflies could be purple." 

"Me neither," (Y/N) chirped, goosebumps rising over her skin at the feel of the cold wipe gliding across. A slight burn lingered after he swiped over her cuts, the pad growing marred with drops of blood. "I thought I had gotten away from the roses before I started after her." 

"Jus' gotta be more careful, that's all," he told her, his voice a small mutter as he concentrated. He worked over her calves, getting the small droplets that had worked down her skin and cleaning the barely there grazes. His hands were gentle as he worked over her skin, holding her steady with glances of his skin over hers. Moving up her legs, he slowly parted them as he made his way up towards her thighs where snags now appeared in the fabric of her skirt with crimson spots marring the creamy white. 

Harry stopped at the inside of her knees. He looked up at her with hooded eyes, fluttering lashes framing the forest of his irises. (Y/N) was brought back to the day of the 132 Gala, Harry helping her into her shoes, but not before explicitly asking for permission. He handled her much like that day with lingering holds and soft hands, completely unhurried as he steadied her and appraised her like a diamond. 

She watched as he ran his tongue over his lips. "Is it alright if I go higher?" he murmured, gaze intense on hers. His hands were stopped on her knees, not going an inch higher. 

(Y/N) nodded. "It's okay." 

It wasn't until he helped her spread her legs, her skirt tightening across the plush skin, that she realized she might have given the wrong answer. Under her skirt was nothing more than a soft pair of panties, the fabric a shiny blush with a white rosette stitched to the waistband. With the way Harry was going to have to push and prod around the hem of her skirt, wiping at the highest cuts, there was no way he wouldn't notice. 

She must not have hidden her nerves well with the way Harry's hand placed just above her knee squeezed the plush of her thigh. He blinked up at her, brows raised. "Y'alright?" he asked, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, "Am I hurting you?" 

"No, no," she shook her head, her mind running for an excuse, "I just didn't realize I had some so high up." 

Harry frowned at her words, focusing his attention on the graze sliced across the top of her thigh. "I know, I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'll get y'cleaned up quick." 

True to his word, Harry resumed his work. Pushing up her skirt that much more, he cleaned the highest of her cuts while his other hand kept her spread legs steady. The pad of his thumb circled the inside of her knee, a distracting touch. That would be perfect, (Y/N) thought, if his touch wasn't the exact thing she needed a distraction from. 

"Last one," he murmured, pulling out a clean alcohol wipe as he tackled the biggest of the cuts on her thigh, a swipe of blood marring the soft skin on the inside. This sting was more noticeable than the rest, (Y/N) rolling her lips between her teeth to keep from pouting like a child at the stinging feeling. Once all cleaned, Harry leant forward, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin just below the graze. "There," he declared, "Jus' need to bandage the worst of them, then you're all done." 

(Y/N) wanted to be paying attention, truly. She was grateful to Harry tending to her superficial wounds and being so kind, but her brain was too busy running miles away into fantasy land. 

He'd kissed her thigh like it was nothing. He kissed her thigh like he didn't know it would get her squirming in her spot, goosebumps to pop over her skin, and her head to get a little foggy. She hadn't forgotten the second time he had kissed her, the way they clung to one another on the couch, her body in his lap and his cock hard under her core. He couldn't just touch her so sweetly, reaching up under her skirt and holding her thighs open without (Y/N) inching closer and closer to losing her mind. 

She couldn't remember the last time a man she actually liked had touched her like this, someone who had intentions of staying for longer than a night and who knew her for more than what the tabloids said. Maybe that was why she had to fist her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him, tensing her thighs to keep from squirming, and averting her gaze from his to keep from pouncing on him. 

It only took a moment of rifling through the ill-equipped first aid bag before she felt his hands back on her skin. Tiny bandages had been pulled from the package, a single found pinched between Harry's fingers. 

"Gotta stay still for me, (Y/N)," he murmured, concentrating on a cut just above her knee. 

"Sorry," she rushed, trying her best to keep from clenching her thighs and squirming in her spot. With the warmth she felt between her legs, this was proving to be a harder task than she anticipated. 

When she still couldn't seem to stay still, Harry slipped his free hand underneath her thigh, his palm pressed to the back with his fingertips denting the plush skin. "I don't want to mess up, (Y/N)," he reminded her, voice a tad firm, "Stay still, then I promise I'll be fast." 

"I can't!" she blurted out, already regretting the outburst as soon as the air left her lungs. 

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her with raised brows and wide eyes. His grip on her loosened though his hand stayed right where it was, warmed underneath her thigh. 

"Why not?" he gently prodded, concern dripping from his tone. 

There was no articulate way to describe what was going through her mind. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to share with him what exactly had brought her to this state, but she wasn't sure if she was really going to have a choice against the unwavering eye contact he was giving her. It was the same way he looked at her when he told her he cared about her, just wanted her happy. How could she deny the truth to eyes like that?

"You," she decided on, zipping her lips as soon as the syllable was out. 

Pausing, Harry processed her answer. "Me? Y'can't stay still because of me, but you're also not hurting?" 

(Y/N) gave him a short nod. 

A pinch appeared between his brows. "I don't think I understand." 

How he couldn't understand his effect on her was beyond (Y/N)'s comprehension. He was sitting between her legs on his knees, with her skirt pushed precariously up her thighs and his hands gently caressing swaths of her skin, and he didn't understand? Would she have to pull her skirt up entirely and show off what exactly his touch did to her? 

Suddenly, his expression fell the longer (Y/N) stayed quiet. His hand under her thigh wiggled away, cutting contact with her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his voice soft and apologetic, "I thought y'promised me you'd always tell me if something was making you uncomfortable." 

"No, no, no—that's not it!" she bubbled off, reaching out to take his hand and placing it back on her thigh. "You're not making me uncomfortable at all. I like how you're touching me." Her skin burned as she processed her own panicked words. "I think I like it too much considering you're only cleaning me up after I hurt myself." 

Realization seemed to dawn on him then. His gaze dropped to his hand on her thigh, practicing that touch she praised with a flex of his fingers against her skin. She gave way under his grip, soft dents appearing under his fingertips. With all of her scrapes freshened up, he was left with a view of clean skin before him, a canvas for him to paint his hands across. 

"Want me to keep touching you?" he asked, voice decidedly lower than she last heard.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She couldn't remember the last time someone made her nervous the way Harry did. How did she say yes without saying yes? 

"O-Only if you want to." That was fine enough, she thought. 

Harry kept his eyes on his hand as it slowly slid up the expanse of her thigh. "I want to," he cemented, "I think I have an idea of how to make y'feel better. Y'jus' tell me if you change your mind." 

(Y/N)'s mouth ran dry at his words, drawing her hands from her lap to lay at her sides as he placed both his hands high up her thighs. With the way he spread her legs before, he was able to easily fit between them. His fingertips disappeared underneath the hem of her skirt, his eyes on her as if awaiting any kind of objection to his touch. When none came, he continued up until she felt him nudge the waistline of her panties. 

Her breath caught in her throat, hands fisting the bedding on either side of her. 

"This okay?" he murmured. 

"Uh-huh." 

Hooking his fingertips underneath the band of her underwear, he dragged down the small article over the length of her legs. There was a moment of lag as he tugged, the seat of her panties sticking to her folds. (Y/N) wanted to be mortified when she saw just how sodden the center was, full of her reaction to the most gentle of touches. But, that thought went out of her head when she saw the way Harry gazed at the moisture, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

He helped her shuck the underwear from her legs before he bunched her skirt at her waist, leaving nothing in the way of his view. The warmth of his palms pressed against the inside of her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide open for him. The broad of his shoulders were the perfect wedge he helped her drape her calves over, blinking his eyes up to match her own as if he awaited her objection. 

When none came, he pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of her knee. (Y/N)'s hands clenched in the bedding at her sides. The tip of his nose skimmed over her skin in a fleeting pass, following after his lips as he grazed up the inside of her thigh. She could feel her insides twisting at the feel of his breath fanned over her skin, enough to take her own breath away. He had her already and he'd barely touched her in more than a few light grazes and fleeting touches. 

Harry dragged his lips up the inside of her thigh, smearing kiss after kiss until he reached the very highest point before her pussy. (Y/N) could feel herself clench just at the fact he was so close. He lingered there, his eyes hooded with his spit-slicked lips parting just enough for his teeth to glance over the soft skin.

"Wh-Why'd you stop?" (Y/N) pressed, her thoughts coming out of her mouth before she had even made the decision to speak. 

She could feel him smiling against the sensitive spot, his teeth giving a sharp nip before he pulled away. He looked at her with hooded eyes, fanned lashes and dilated pupils. "Want me to keep going, sweet girl?" 

His voice was a rumble against her. Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore she could feel the depth of his voice fanning over her core, wetness dripping down. 

With her bottom lip worried between her teeth, she nodded her head. Baby hairs fluttered around her face, the messy updo she did with her clip not holding as well as she needed, though she didn't really find it in herself to care. As long as it didn't take away from her view in front of her, she didn't care about anything else. 

The smile he gave her was a lopsided curl she was so familiar with. "I'm gonna make you happy, love," he murmured, hooking his hands underneath her thighs until they fit just under the curve of her ass, "Don't worry." 

Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the ghost of his touch settle over her core, his breath fanning over her silken skin. She couldn't take her eyes away, especially not when he placed a tentative kiss just above her slit. She shuddered at the touch, the graze not nearly enough but still eliciting a zip through her spine. 

Glancing up at her through his lashes, Harry was spurred on by whatever he saw on her face—whether that be the dazed eyes, the gaped lips, or the warm skin, she wasn't sure. He planted a harder kiss to the same spot, his chin pressed against her folds. He gauged her reaction, squeezing his hands underneath her thighs as he dipped lower over her core. 

The first graze of his lips over her clit was enough to have a small hitch hinder (Y/N)'s breath. He didn't do anything more than a quick peck over the bud, but it was enough to have her toes curling in her tennis shoes. 

Parting his lips, he took her clit between them, kissing and licking at the peak. She almost crumbled then, feeling her throat run dry while her core grew even wetter. She practically strangled the bedding in her hands, the linen stretching around the length of her nails. 

His hands around her thighs clenched, keeping them open as his fingertips dented the plush skin. He snaked his tongue out and laved a stripe up through her folds. (Y/N) fell into stunned silence, nothing leaving her mouth as her lungs were stunted, giving Harry his turn to moan against her folds. He spread her wetness around with his tongue, wet sounds filling the sunshine filled cottage. 

Harry no longer had his eyes flitting to her face, his lids fluttering to a close as he sunk himself into the moment with her. Instead, he focused solely on pushing his tongue through her folds, skimming her entrance, and ensuring his face was tucked tight against her center. She could feel the mush of his nose against her clit, his chin growing slick with every wag of his head against her. He kissed and licked and sucked on her pussy, taking everything there was to be offered. 

(Y/N)'s breathing came out in heavy pants, lingering and hot, as she could focus on nothing more than his touch and the way he explored her body. Every press of his nose against her clit or sucking kiss he gave to her folds was enough to have her head spinning, her balance shifting as if she were only a second away from falling back onto the mattress. But she couldn't do that, she had to pointedly remind herself, because she wanted to see him. She wanted to see Harry as he worked on her, hair in swirling curls with sunlight pouring through to highlight him in gold. She wanted to see the way his brows furrowed and cheeks hollowed when he sucked on her clit or gave a particularly heavy kiss to her hole. She wanted to see him enjoy her. 

His hair was a mess on the top of his head from tending to the garden, anyway, but the way he threw himself between her thighs was enough agitation to have those curls dropping over his forehead. He didn't pay them any mind, instead drawing away just enough to give her a handful of long licks through her folds. (Y/N)'s thighs clenched at the pressure of his heavy tongue over her cunt, heavy wet sounds being compounded by the absent moans Harry let out as he tasted her. 

Unraveling her hand from the sheets, (Y/N) racked her nails through his hair, keeping the strands out of his face and out of her view of him. She didn't want to miss a single detail; she didn't want to miss the flush that came to his nose with the tip sodden, the rosy glow that blushed his cheeks, the way he couldn't seem to get enough of her even when she could feel his panting breaths for more air. 

At the feel of her hand going through his curls, Harry fluttered his eyes open for the first time since sinking between her thighs. He saw her through dazed eyes. Whatever he gauged from her expression, he must have liked it if his lips curled into a smile, his tongue liking up her slit. 

Her feet dangling over his back pressed into his shoulder blades, keeping him close as he started kissing over her clit in harsh presses once more. He was much too proud of himself, she could see, but she couldn't blame him. He had barely started and she was already short of breath, whimpering, and scratching at his hair. Even the bouquet of roses on the bedside table seemed to want a closer look, petals falling from the buds down to the floor at his feet. 

"H-Harry," she cried, her grip in his hair tightening when his tongue dared to press against her entrance. 

"'M here, sweet girl, 'm here," he mumbled, his voice thick and heady. 

He barely had enough time to get his words out before he was prodding at her hole once more. He watched her reaction as he did so, hesitating for only a second when he saw her lashes flutter through her blink. As soon as he had her eyes on him once more, he pushed through, slipping his tongue inside. 

Pressing deep, she could feel the length of his tongue against her walls, slick and heavy as he tasted her like wine. His nose was smushed against her clit, nudging and circling with every shift and tilt of his head. 

Her brain was jumbled, (Y/N) throwing her head back on instinct. "Oh mon Dieu," she slurred, slipping into French as a reflex. 

Harry stuttered in his movements only to let out a loud moan against her, the sound vibrating through her core. He resumed his efforts tenfold when he recovered. 

This was enough, (Y/N) thought. The pressure against her clit, the tight hold on her thighs, the way his tongue wriggled inside her pressing and licking one her most sensitive spots. He was taking all of her, touching, worshipping, coveting every bit of her that he could get his hands on. 

Her heels dug into his back, thighs unable to close around his head through she did still try. She kept him close, her hole pulsing around his tongue in an effort to keep him near. 

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," (Y/N) whimpered, feeling desperate as she teetered the edge. 

Harry blinked up at her, eyes dark and vignetted with thick lashes. He didn't ease up at her declaration, continuing to give her more and more. 

The final straw came in the form of him shaking his head, his tongue deep inside her with his nose nudging against her clit. (Y/N)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hand in his hair tugging at the roots, and her feet digging into the plains of his back. 

Her eyes watered at the intense rush sinking through her form, unable to remember a time she could ever recall feeling this much with anyone. She fought to keep her eyes on him as she came, her stomach tight and unyielding and more wetness seeped around his tongue. Harry took it all in stride, luxuriating in the feel like a devout follower taking whatever their deity would give. 

(Y/N) came down in a mess of sparkling skin and rouge hairs, her bottom lashes clumping with the moisture from unshed tears. Her system was shot, fingers cramping as she uncurled them from his hair. 

Harry took his time to separate from her, dragging his tongue through her sodden folds with his own wet face glimmering in the light. (Y/N) jumped at the overstimulation that came from his absent lick, Harry huffing out a small laugh at her reaction. He backed away just enough, looking at the mess he made on her with her cum and his saliva having been spread over her lips and towards the inside of her thighs. His own breathing was heavy as he took her all in, eyes distant and dark. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, her voice small and shaky as she found her footing in the real world. 

Brought back to reality, he blinked up at her, that bleary film clearing from his gaze. He took her in wit his expression going smug. "Yeah? Y'alright?" 

She bit back a smile as she brought her hand back through his hair, only to push him away. "You're the worst," she laughed, not meaning a single word of what she said. "Come here." 

Using the hem of his shirt, Harry wiped his face as he stood to the full of his height. (Y/N)'s shaky legs stayed wide open for him, even as he adjusted her skirt to fall over her thighs. The open space allowed him to plant himself atop her as he pushed her to lay flat on her back with his hands on either side of her head, palms flat and pressing into the mattress. He hovered above her, his gaze clearing despite the fact she could feel his own arousal pressing against her hip. He was observing her again, taking in each of her features and the minute expression and twitches muscle gave. 

"Really, this time," he started, voice a quiet secret between the two of them, "Are y'alright? I made you happy?" 

Looping her arms around his neck, (Y/N) didn't try to hide the smile that crossed her features and squinted her eyes. "You did," she beamed, "Really happy." 

"Good," he settled, using one of his hands to cup her cheek before leaning down and pressing an affectionate kiss to her lips. 

He lingered there, resting his forehead against hers as he slipped his fingertips into the soft strands at her hairline. He basked in the afterglow with her, remaining until (Y/N) no longer heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. 

"'M gonna clean you up, okay?" he said, planting one more kiss on the bridge of her nose before he started backing away from her. 

"Wait," (Y/N) bubbled before he could make it too far away. 

Stopping where he stood, he looked to her with raised brows. (Y/N) felt his eyes on her as she reached for one of the short-stemmed roses that had been sitting on the bedside table, the bloom ripe and full. The greenery was clear of all thorns, making it perfect for the job she had in mind. 

With Harry just close enough, she was able to reach and place the rose behind his ear, nestling it amongst the curls. The petals caressed his temple, velveteen soft and deep red against his tanned skin. 

Harry gave her a soft-lipped smile. 

"That's what y'needed to stop me for?" he asked, bringing his hand up to brush his fingers over the petals. 

"I've always wanted to do that," she smiled, gazing affectionately up at him. 

Harry only shook his head with a fond smile on his lips, dimples and all. He kept the rose in his hair for the rest of the day.

—————

(Y/N) swore she could feel her blood running ice cold as she looked at the photo laying on the coffee table. 

She was still dressed in her pajamas, breakfast nothing more than prepped ingredients on the kitchen counter. The time hadn't even blinked passed nine-thirty. 

Harry was already sweeping through the space, his phone pressed to his ear as he argued with whoever was on the other line. (Y/N) thought it was her father, but she couldn't remember. Harry had said something about arranging a way to fly back to New York as soon as possible, but she hadn't heard a single syllable of the details. 

She couldn't think about anything other than the photo in front of her. 

Having been taken through a window, in perfect detail, was a photo of Harry laying atop (Y/N) with his lips sealed against hers. She was laid under him in her linen skirt, hair a mess, with her eyes closed in gentle bliss. Harry's sleeveless shirt showed all of his muscles, including the sheen of sweat that had collected over his skin. 

The photo had to have been taken days ago, right after Harry had been on his knees between her legs. The worst of her fear came from the fact that she couldn't rule out the possibility that whoever had taken this also had photos of what happened just before this kiss. 

Slashed across the top in stark red ink was a declaration labeling (Y/N) a BITCH. 

The whole thing was unhinged and terrifying. 

Neither of them noticed anyone outside, and there was no telling just how long they'd been found out. 

She wanted to cry the longer she looked at it. 

This person took a special moment from her, shrouded it in something evil and degrading. 

Harry paced about the cottage, her duffle bag in hand as he repacked everything in sight. His features were severe as he spoke in rushed commands, his voice having no give compared to the way he spoke to her. 

"I do not care," he muttered, "She's not staying here. We're coming back to the city now, and you're going to help us." 

With that, he hung up the call. He didn't slow down as he bundled each of her belongings into her bags, his own already stashed away. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) whispered, her voice just a note away from breaking. 

"Yes?" he asserted, zipping up her bag without looking at her. 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, she just wanted him. She was scared, her lip quivering as tears pricked her eyes. She didn't want to look at the photo anymore, didn't want to analyze what someone could be thinking to the degree that made them think that this was okay. 

He finally slowed when she didn't answer him. He took in a deep breath before looking at her, eyes softening the second he took in her appearance. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, crossing the room in large strides until he was lowering to one knee. "'S going to be alright, okay? I promise you." Harry took her hands in his, his grip tight and absolute. 

Her fingers were stiff as she reciprocated his hold, trying her best to keep from shaking. "Why would someone do this?" she cried to him, eyes burning with tears, "Th-That picture—We—" 

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his thumbs running circles over the backs of her hands. She could tell he was putting exponential amounts of effort into keeping his cool. "We're going home today, okay? Then we're going to do something about this. I don't know how, but we're going to make this stop, okay? No one's going to keep doing this to you." 

Tears fled down her cheeks then. She shook her head, her expression crumpling. "Th-They did it to you, too," (Y/N) sobbed, "They're taking stuff from you now, too." 

Harry didn't hesitate to bundle her against his chest, taking her form where she was sitting on the couch and into his arms. She cried into his neck, mourning the privacy she had curated with him and the fact that she couldn't protect him nearly as well as he could for her. It was scary enough to have someone taking terribly personal pictures of her, but it was now her fault that she had dragged Harry in, with no way out. 

If that person had photos of them in the middle of the act, Harry's life could be ruined. Her stalker was obviously angry enough at the both of them now to do something worse than just following her around and invading privacy. 

"Don't worry about me," he crooned to her, nosing at the top of her head, "'M going to be okay, 'm only worried about you." 

"B-But—" 

"Don't," he stopped her, his voice firm with his ever-soft hold, "'M going to be okay, (Y/N). You are the only person that can be hurt in this, and 'm not going to let that happen. But, we have to go, okay?" 

He pulled away just enough to look at her, cry-swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her view of him was blurry and refracted. She clung to him even harder. 

"I don't want to be here anymore," she breathed, trying to clear her gaze against the mounting tears. 

Harry dipped his head down and pressed a harsh kiss to her cheek, nose skimming her skin. "I've got you, sweet girl," he promised, "'M going to take you home and we'll make you safe." 

(Y/N) clung to him, ignoring everything else in the room. She knew there was a photo degrading her, her father angry on the other side of the world, and a cottage that she really hoped she could still look on fondly after this.

"I've got you, (Y/N)." 

And, she believed him.

—————

The flight back to New York had been a tearful one, but since touching down on the tarmac, Harry hadn't left (Y/N)'s side for anything. He had taken up residence in her apartment, sleeping at her side when either of them managed to find the peace to do as much. He cooked with her, supported her, and calmed her in the night now that there was a real threat lingering around them. 

Harry had been shocked to see the amount of letters she had been hoarding, majority without the seal having been even picked at. There was only a thin amount of composure that kept him together when he leafed through the pages, glossy photos that even (Y/N) hadn't peeked at hinging his jaw tighter with each picture. The letters were the worst. Harry had to lock himself in the guest room as he read them, unwilling to share his reaction to the disgusting things this person dared to type out about her, only coming out when he had calmed and was able to think rationally. 

"We have to do something—there has to be something we can do with these. There's so many," he had told her after, his shoulders tightly set with his arms heavy across his chest. 

(Y/N) had sat across from him, hands pathetically limp in her lap. 

"I don't know if there's much we can do," she had murmured, her brows knitted into a worried stitch, "I looked into it once. Since I don't know who's sending them and they've never tried to hurt me, there's not a lot that anyone will do."

She remembered the way his hands had formed into fists under his arms, as she spoke, heavy and white-knuckled. His knee bounced as his unfocused eyes blinked off in the distance. 

"We can file something at least, right?" 

(Y/N) gave a small nod, remembering the limited options she had researched way back in the beginning. "A police report. It won't do much, but it stays on record in case something more... serious happens." 

His jaw seemingly hinged tighter at her quiet words. 

"Then that's what we're going to do," he decided. The gears in his head kept turning, an absent nod bobbing Harry's head. "Reports like that are public," he mused, a plan coming together as he spoke aloud, "Someone will pick up on it, some magazine or whoever will post about it—they love stuff like this. That might be enough to scare this person off, knowing you're doing something about it now." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) found herself stuck on the word public. "Will the pictures be out there, too?" 

Flashing his gaze up to her, he matched her eyes intensely. He knew what photos she had in mind. 

"No. I'll make sure they're not." 

She didn't doubt that Harry would keep his word. When he was cemented in an idea, he was too stubborn to let up. 

"You think this will scare them?" 

"I can't be sure," he admitted, "But, I think it's something. Obviously, ignoring them isn't working, so maybe letting them know that you're not going to let it happen anymore will make them reconsider." 

While she felt more comfortable ignoring this person—this problem—, she knew he was right. Despite not feeding into whatever delusion they had, it wasn't enough to make them move on. There had to be some kind of pushback. 

Slowly nodding her head, (Y/N) let go of her lingering hesitations. "Okay," she breathed, "How do we do this?" 

Harry rolled his neck. "I think we need every bit of evidence we have, and we take it to someone who can help. From there, they'll tell us what we can do, 'm sure." 

"Okay," she repeated, "I have more letters at my father's house." 

"Yeah? Where?" 

(Y/N) shrugged. "Somewhere in my bedroom. We should probably get those too, right?" 

"Probably," Harry agreed, though she was sure he was just as hesitant as she about running into her father. 

Even though he was well aware of the fact she was back in the city considering the jet had been chartered to get her home, her father hadn't reached out to her at all. She didn't remember exactly what had been going on between he and Harry when they were on the phone together back at the cottage, only vaguely remembering the way Harry had shouted at him and hung up. He knew she was back here, knew that something severe enough happened that she had to flee Paris, but not even a text had been sent. 

He didn't even care enough to be angry at her. 

"But, we'll go together, okay?" Harry had murmured to her, taking her out of her head. (Y/N) remembered the way he leant across the dining table to reach out for her, cupping her cheek and running his thumb along the height of her cheekbone. "I'll be there. We won't even talk to him, if you don't want to." 

"I don't want to," (Y/N) answered immediately. 

Harry breathed out a laugh at her automatic response. 

"That's what we'll do." 

It was days later that they ended up at the front door of her father's mansion. Sully was going to be waiting in the drive, car running, promising that as soon as (Y/N) was ready to leave, there would be no lag on his end. Harry was at her side, his hand clasped in hers while she shakily input the door code to twist the locks. 

Her father was given no heads up to her visit, hoping he would be out for the afternoon anyway. She worried if he knew that she was coming to snoop for more letters that he would do something with them, or somehow convince her that going through with Harry's plan was the wrong thing to do. She didn't want to risk either outcome, instead barging through the mansion with her heels clacking over the marble floor up to her room. 

Harry was her silent pillar of support, following after her the whole way. He stood back and watched as she took them to her teenage bedroom, unearthing the hidden compartment under her bed that her friends used to use to hide alcohol. Instead of tiny bottles of liquor, under the floorboard were now letters addressed to her with no return label. These were the few she had ever read before she retired the act, their seals broken with photos (Y/N) remembered as if she had seen them only yesterday. 

There were only a handful that were here before they started showing at her apartment, whoever had been stalking her finally realizing that she didn't live with her father like they had assumed. 

"Okay," (Y/N) started, fishing out the last of the envelopes, "I think that's all of the—" 

"What are you doing?!" 

That was her father's voice that boomed through the room, causing (Y/N) to jump where she was kneeling on the floor. 

Turning to face him, her heart in her throat, she saw Harry had sprung into action, stepping between the two of them as her shield. 

"We were jus' about to leave," Harry said, voice resolute and unwavering, "Right, (Y/N)?" 

That was her cue to collect her things and scurry away before her father could get any more involved. 

"Right," she peeped, grabbing her purse and the letters before standing to her feet. 

She didn't dare look at her father as she came to stand at Harry's side, allowing him to take the lead and get her out of here before her father's next words had her panicking in her tracks. 

"Are those the letters?" 

She had hoped he hadn't seen them. 

"Ignore him," Harry whispered to her, tossing an arm over her shoulder as they brushed past him and out of her bedroom. 

"(Y/N)! Do not ignore me, are those the letters I told you to forget about?! Why are you taking them?!" Her father chased after them, his anger rising the longer he garnered no reaction. "What are you doing with them?! You can't take them from my house!" 

Despite it being his very own advice he was going against, Harry couldn't seem to stand by any longer when it came to the way her father treated her. Reaching the landing of the staircase, Harry turned to face her father head-on as he followed, going toe-to-toe with him. Her father stumbled back. 

"We're actually going to do something about it," Harry grumbled back, his words biting and sharp, "They're hers, and we're taking them. We'll make sure to mention that you insisted that she never share them either—maybe add you in for some kind of coverup if it comes to it."

Though she could see her father trying to stay hardened, keep from showing Harry that anything he said was getting to him, but she saw the signs. Color leached from his face, his lips thinning just enough. His fingers twitched. 

"You don't need to report this, (Y/N)," he called, switching tactics and speaking around Harry. "I don't know what he's been telling you, but you don't need to worry about this. You're going to regret overreacting like this." 

She could see Harry gearing up for a grating response, but she beat him to it. 

"No, I'm not," she cemented, her voice nowhere near as concrete as Harry's no matter how hard she tried, "Th-This isn't some fan, or admirer, or whatever you called it before. This person is stalking me, and taking private pictures of me, and saying terrible things. I want this to stop, I don't care if you don't like it.' 

Her father gritted his teeth where he stood behind the barricade that was Harry. A beat passed before he eyed both she and her bodyguard—a man on his payroll. "Come to my office." 

He turned swiftly, leaving them behind as he scaled the stairs. Harry turned to her with a neutral expression, thinly veiling the chattering anger the interaction had left in him. "We don't have to," he reminded her, "We can leave now." 

While the smartest part of her knew Harry was presenting her with the best choice, to take the letters and leave while he was stupid enough to turn his back on them, there was another part of her that was intrigued by his reaction. Her father was a calculating man when it came to everything but her. With his daughter, he was always reactionary before rational. The invitation to his office was something that her curiosity urged her not to ignore. 

There was no way he had any real part in this, right? Harry threatening to add him into the conspiracy was nothing more than a rage-fueled bluff, so why did he seem so rattled by the idea? 

"I-I think we need to see what he has to say," (Y/N) murmured.

"You're sure?" Harry pressed, face staying neutral. 

She swallowed. "No, but I feel like I have to know what he wants to say." 

Harry rolled his lips between his teeth before giving her a curt nod. "Okay," he told her, reaching his hand out for hers, "I trust you—if you think we need to hear this, then we'll go. But, if things change, 'm taking you out right away." 

(Y/N) didn't hesitate to agree to the conditions, taking his hand. There was a huge chance she was wrong about this, that this was nothing more than the little girl inside of her pining for her daddy's affection and hoped that doing what he asked would earn her just that. She needed Harry to be there to take the lead if things went south. 

The trail to his office seemed longer than ever. The door was left wide pen with her father already seated at his desk, hands clasped and eyes calculating and cold. She took a seat across from him while Harry stayed on his feet at her side. 

"What do I have to give you to leave those letters behind and do nothing with the others I know you have?" her father opened, his voice detached. 

"What?" she deadpanned in response, her grip tightening on the letters. 

"What do you want?" he pressed once more, enunciating every word as if that was the problem with this situation, "If you leave the letters here, and don't make any kind of report or talk to any press, I will give you whatever you want. Name your price." 

Silence filled the room like a heavy blanket, (Y/N) just barely able to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. 

"Are you kidding me? Are you actually joking right now, or are you seriously asking me this?" That complete detachment she had felt for years had thinned, allowing every bit of bubbling rage she had kept siphoned away to rise to the surface. 

"(Y/N)," he snapped, "Now is not the time for an attitude. I want to know what it will take to get you to stop obsessing ove—" 

"I'm obsessed? Me? You have to be fucking joking." She almost wanted to laugh. This was a terrible comedy, too dark for her liking. "I have someone following me around, taking pictures of me all the time—even when my boyfriend is going down on me. You can't think for a single second about anything other than yourself and how you look to your idiot country club friends and investors. But, I'm the one that's obsessed? Because I'm tired of being taken advantage of? Because I feel like I deserve privacy and the opportunity to think for myself?" 

It was satisfying watching the way he flinched at her words, most notably so when she spat out the fact that there were photos of her in a compromising position with Harry. At her side, Harry's hands were clenched into fists.

"You don't understand," he pushed once recovering, "Let it go, (Y/N)." 

"No!" she shouted, feeling her skin heat, "I'm not letting this go!" She was tired of him condescending her and thinking for her despite the fact she was a grown woman who never even depended on him as a child. 

Her father visibly began to boil over, his jaw clenching and nose flaring as he looked at her. "(Y/N)," he hissed, "You need to think. There are people who will be very upset if you keep pursuing this, a—" 

"That's really what this is all about?! You're protecting your image? Over me?! You're a fucking coward, I—" 

Her father slammed his fist into the top of his desk, the sound reverberating through the room before he shouted: "That's not what this is about, (Y/N)! I could lose a lot if you report Damien, an—" 

"Damien?" (Y/N) blanched. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's patience thinning. This conversation had flown south enough that he could pull her at any second. But, she couldn't leave now, not when her father brought up Damien Moore out of thin air. "What do you mean if I report Damien?" 

The outburst seemed to catch up with him then, his breathing going heavy with his eyes wide. "I misspoke," he tried to recover, suddenly backtracking, "I didn't mean to say his name—" 

"Yes, you did," While her father was an idiot, he was very calculating when it came to his thought process. He never did things by accident. "Why did you bring up Damien?" 

Everyone knew the answer to her question. She just wanted to hear him say it. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his eyes closing with his jaw rotating. 

"You knew it was him this whole time?" she pressed, her voice decidedly smaller than the shouting from before. "You've been covering for him. That's why you never wanted me to say anything." 

Her father didn't say a word, not even a blink in her direction. 

The longer (Y/N) looked at him the less and less he looked like the man that she used to follow around in hopes of catching his attention. He didn't look like the man she idolized when she was a child. She didn't recognize him anymore. 

"You left me scared for years all so you could keep his dad's money," she continued, the gravity of the situation sinking into her bones. Her eyes burned as she looked at him. "I hate you." 

That seemed to snap her father back into reality, his eyes sharp when he matched hers. "Watch your mouth," he spat, standing from behind his desk, "You do not get to disrespect me in my home, you litt—" 

Harry stepped in immediately. He effectively cut her father's view of her, his hand harshly landing on the older man's shoulder before pushing him to sit back down once more. 

"Sit," Harry commanded as if speaking to a dog. 

Her father flustered at the interference, taken aback that anyone would have the audacity to do anything to keep him from degrading her. 

"I don't know who you think you are, but sleeping with my daughter doesn't me—" 

"You don't get to talk to him," (Y/N) shot off, cutting off her father. 

More than anything, he couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that either of them were daring to talk back to him, to stop him in his tracks. 

"I could ruin you, you know," (Y/N) started, gaining the full of her father's attention, "I have more on you than anyone else—I could go to the press and you would be over." 

"No one would believe you." 

"Maybe not, but people love a story. The crazier the better, right? It would be everywhere." (Y/N) steeled her grip on the letters. "I could end you and Damien so fast. You would have nothing." 

She watched the way her father seemed to realize the fact that he truly held no power in any of this. (Y/N) had all the cards and he was going to bend to her will, whether he liked it or not. 

"What do you want, then? My offer still stands: leave the letters and keep your mouth shut, and whatever you want is yours." 

"I don't want anything from you. I just want this to stop, I want him to stop taking pictures of me—or hiring people to, or whatever it is that he does." 

"I can do that," was her father's swift response, "I'll make it all stop. You have to leave the letters and promise that you won't say a single word to anyone." 

"We're not promising anything," Harry piped up, taking the words out of his (Y/N)'s mouth. She wasn't in the mood to compromise for anything. 

Her father's anger peeked out once more then. "Why should I do anything for you, then?" 

"Because I said so." 

That had his steely gaze shifting to land on her, hard and unforgiving.

That was exactly the same thing that he used to tell (Y/N) when she would question him. She was the one giving orders now and there was no room left to argue. He would listen because she said so, and there was no other option she was going to accept. 

The standoff between them continued with unwavering eye contact until her father glanced at the letters in her hand. He crumbled then. She held everything this time. 

"Fine," he spat. "I trust that you're going to do the right thing, (Y/N). Just as I am." 

"Right," she settled, unwilling to give any more energy to this man. 

She stood from her seat, gently placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. His eyes were still blazing when they met hers.

"Let's go," she told him. 

That was all it took for Harry to disconnect himself from the interaction, taking his hand in hers and following her lead out of the office. 

No words were shared or glances cast backwards as they made their way out of the mansion (Y/N) used to live in. Outside, Sully waited just as he promised he would. 

Harry opened the backdoor for her, helping her slide in first before he followed closely behind. 

"Back to your apartment, Ms. (Y/N)?" Sully asked, already pulling out of the driveway. 

"Yes, please," Harry answered for her, helping her buckle into her seat before silence rained down in the cab.

Until (Y/N) started sobbing. 

One moment she was running on adrenaline and disbelief and anger, the next she was crumbling in her seat with tears pouring down her cheeks and her hands shaking. The letters fell into a mess on the floor, but she couldn't care at that moment. 

All she knew was that her father knew for years who was terrorizing her, and covered for him. Her father cared more about money and his reputation than he cared about her, his only child. 

She felt as if she was in mourning—for who, she wasn't sure, but something died back at that house that she was never going to get back. 

Harry silently wrapped his arm around her, tucking her against his chest as she sobbed in heartbreaking puffs. He nosed at her hair, offering nothing more than his presence. 

She cried until she fell asleep in the back seat. 

—————

"Y'should be proud of yourself, you know." 

Harry's murmured words blended in with the noise of the city happening stories below them. Laid under the duvet at her side, he shared her pillow with her as he ran his fingers over the curve of her side in a soothing motion. (Y/N)'s eyes were still swollen from the afternoon she spent off and on crying, takeout containers thrown away in the trash with hers barely touched. 

(Y/N) hiccuped, feeling her lip begin to quiver. "I know I didn't do anything wrong, but I still feel guilty." 

His observant gaze softened. "That's because you're a good person," he crooned, sincerity dripping from his words, "Even though you expected the worst from him, it's never easy learning something so terrible form someone you're supposed to trust." 

"M-Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him, or—" 

"No, don't do that," Harry cut her off, his grip on her side pulsing, "Today happened the exact way it was supposed to. You needed to say those things to him to make him understand. You were never going to be in the wrong for anything that happened today, (Y/N). He did this to himself." 

"I just want to forget any of it happened," she whispered, wiggling closer before Harry pulled her into his chest. 

He held her, her head under his chin as a fresh wave of tears bubbled in her eyes. She was going to be okay, she knew that, but she never imagined cutting her father off and telling him the things that had been on her mind for years would affect her like this. 

"I know," Harry cooed, petting his hand down her hair with his chest rumbling a lullaby, "But 's going to be okay. I jus' want you to know 'm proud of you, and think the absolute world of how strong y'are. No one gives you enough credit." 

With every bit of armor shedded from her heart, Harry's words sunk deep. 

Once again, he was there for her when she needed him the most. He never shied from taking care of her, putting back her jagged pieces, and standing by to let her have her own choice. While she knew it was the bare minimum, Harry never made her feel crazy or stupid, or anything but completely herself. The second he learned the kind of person she was, he never looked back. 

She squeezed herself harder against him. Maybe today was the day for finally saying things that were on her mind. 

"I love you." 

Her words were smeared against his neck, but she was sure he still heard her with the way his soothing hand through her hair paused. 

"What did you say?" 

Swallowing, (Y/N) strengthened her resolve. She meant what she said, even if it was scary to admit. 

"I love you," she repeated, voice clearer. 

Harry pulled her away from his chest then, fitting a hand on the side ochre jaw to tip her head up to face him. His ever observant gaze traced over each of her features, softening until there was nothing left of his irises but melted jade pools. Even in the dark she could still see the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, his thumb running along the soft skin of her cheek. "You mean that?" 

She gave him a small nod, a light smile setting on her lips. "I'm all about telling the truth today, remember?" 

He didn't budge at her attempt to joke, staying ever serious. His lips parted, a soft puff of air fanning across her features. 

"I love you, too." 

Before she had a chance to respond, Harry was pushing his lips against hers in a searing kiss. It was messy and unorganized, but there was nothing urgent behind it. It was nothing more than an expression of devotion, filled with everything that simmered beyond what they could find the words for. 

"I love you, too," Harry repeated, pulling away just enough to smear the words across her mouth, "So much, sweet girl. Best thing that ever happened to me." 

(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that took her features at his words. 

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, mon amour." 

He couldn't wait before he brought her in for another kiss.

—————

"I'm so happy you're home," Francesca said, squeezing (Y/N) tighter, "I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Really soon," (Y/N) cemented, feeling just the same to be reunited with her best friend. While she wasn't able to catch her up on everything that she had learned since making it back to New York, (Y/N) didn't plan on keeping it a secret for very long—especially not since she and Harry already decided they were going to file a police report anyway. Her father's word be damned.

"Text me when you get home," Fran smiled, pulling away.

"I will," (Y/N) promised, inching towards the waiting SUV, "Love you." 

"Love you, too!" 

With that, the door to Sully's car was pushed open from the inside by a hand with a tattooed cross. (Y/N) gave a single wave back to Fran who made her way towards her own car. Her mother was taking her to another gallery opening, pitching that this was going to be the one to finally cause Francesca to realize her dreams. No wonder her friend was dragging her feet. 

Climbing into her own car, (Y/N) was greeted with the relieving sight of Harry waiting for her, his arm stretched across the top of the seat for her to fit right underneath. 

"Hi," she greeted, feeling lighter to be with him again. It was odd not having him follow her everywhere all the time, anymore. Though he was still her bodyguard in spirit, especially with the unfinished business that was Damien Moore and the potential retaliation that could come, they were learning to relax some of that paranoia. Francesca was a safe boundary to test that with. 

"Hi, love," he crooned, pulling her in next to him. 

As soon as (Y/N) was buckled in at his side, Sully started off in the opposite direction of the apartment. There was a farmer's market Harry had found outside of the city that he wanted to bring her to (not quite as rustic as the ones in Paris, but they should be alright, he promised). Sully eyed them from the rearview mirror. 

"Francesca's doing okay?" Harry asked, his hand on her shoulder squeezing the cuff. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) smiled, "She's happy we're home now. Her mom's taking her to a gallery opening tonight." 

"Not excited about that then," Harry laughed, remembering those details (Y/N) had shared about her friends all that time ago. 

"Definitely not," (Y/N) shook her head, "I almost told her I'd go with her, but I figured my plans were a little more important." 

"I'd hope so," he murmured, dropping his head to press a quick kiss to her cheek. 

(Y/N)'s easy laughter blinked through the car, Harry's smile extending. 

"Mr. Harry?" Sully called from the driver's seat, taking advantage of the lull in conversation. 

"Yes, sir?" 

Sully's blue eyes glimmered in the reflection of the mirror, the corners creasing that much more with a smile (Y/N) couldn't see. "I take it that you'll be staying with us longer than initially expected?" 

A memory sparked to the front of (Y/N)'s mind, months prior before she knew Harry and Harry knew her. Sully had asked how long Harry would be with them, shadowing (Y/N) and monitoring her movements. Harry had put an expiration date on the arrangement, citing the end would come when she could convince her father she was a grownup. 

This time, Harry gave an easy smile, full of dimples and white teeth. 

"Yes, sir. I'll be staying for a while." 

—————

épanouissement is an untranslatable French word that describes the flourishing and blooming of a person growing into a new and more beautiful stage of life

and thats the end of bodyguard h! I had a lot of fun w this one exploring a different kind of female character than im used to and getting to do the writing process a little differnt! thank u so much for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if theres any ideas for anything thar you want to see next please sent them in!

[mingtinysworld]

Don’t Hurt Me

Pairing: kang yeosang x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The presence of a killer is made known on the news. Little did you know, you would have your own encounter with the man, experiencing a night you won’t forget.

Warnings: MDNI, mute yeosang, “psychopath killer” yeosang, mention of a knife, clothed grinding, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), handjob, couple clit slaps

NOTE: the sign language is the italics in terms of conversation

A/n: lowkey this idea was much better written in my head💀 but I hope you like it! I tried to challenge myself with a new concept, and honestly imagining yeosang in this role got me hot and bothered so yeah. Please like, comment and reblog!! - J

It was a late Friday night and you finally got off of work, completely ready for the weekend. To celebrate, you found yourself drinking at the local pub, which is conveniently not frequented by others often. You lazily stir your drink as you lean your face in your hand, watching the tv with an detached frown.

There’s no one around at this late hour. Only the barman and you occupy the space, giving you the option of sitting wherever you’d like. The sports channel gets switched off all of a sudden, turning to the news. You lift an eyebrow in slight interest, trying to see if there’s anything worth paying attention to.

“We present tonight’s news with great urgency. There’s been a dangerous man spotted around town. His face hasn’t been revealed, but he is going around killing individuals. Stay diligent, and if you see anything suspicious, call 911 immediately.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. This little town has stayed relatively peaceful for the 7 years you’ve been living there, so imagining a killer going around shocks you. You know you should head home, but the warmth is pulling you down further in your seat.

Suddenly you can feel a cold breeze brush past your shoulder and you shiver involuntarily. You lift your head up from the counter and almost fall backwards from the shock. There’s a newcomer sitting next to you, very closely.

He has long, silky, sandy blonde hair. His nose is sharp and jaw so sculpted he looks almost statue like. His eyes are looking deeply into yours and you could spend at least an hour trying to decipher all the emotions residing in them. He’s got deep, dark eyes, that are nothing short of being sinful. It’s as if he’s silently beckoning you to fall headfirst into his gaze.

After a few moments of astonished staring at the stranger, you compose yourself and attempt to sit up as straight as possible. You straighten up your spine and make direct eye contact.

“Hey, how are you?” You ask, trying to not sound overly inquisitive. You feel alarmed for a split second when you see him lift up his hands from his lap. You involuntarily lean back, trying to put distance between you.

“Do you know sign language? I’m mute, but I can talk through writing as well.”

Your heart rate immediately goes down. The poor guy was just trying to communicate. Coincidentally enough, you actually do know sign language. Turns out the four years of ASL classes in high school paid off after all, and you feel grateful to your teachers. You instantly sign back to him.

“I do know sign language actually. What brings you here today?”

He gives you a cute, crooked smile and leans in a tiny inch closer.

“I saw a pretty girl sitting here, thought I’d keep her company.” He finishes off with a smirk.

You can’t help your surprise at his blatant flirting, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Trying to match the vibe, you flirt right back.

“Wow, I’d love the company of a very handsome man actually. Thank you.” You send a wink and immediately cringe at yourself. What is wrong with you?

He opens his mouth in a silent laugh and you can’t help but admire his perfect teeth. He really is a beautiful man, the type to catch the attention of anyone and everyone around him. You can bet that even your most straight friends would want to get in his pants, no questions asked. He notices your distracted state and waves a hand across your face.

“What are you thinking about pretty girl?” He asks.

You flush from being caught staring at him. You’re thankful that he can’t read your mind, but from the confident tilt of his head it looks like he can tell anyways. You think of an excuse but choose to tell the truth.

“I just think that you’re very pretty.” You say honestly.

His face brightens at your admission, and he scoots a little closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you feel desire bubbling deep within. You can feel the soft puff of air from him against your own mouth and you dart your eyes between his eyes and lips. You close the distance between your bodies and slot your lips against his.

He moves along with you, breaths synchronizing. He slides an arm behind you, holding onto your waist with a gentle tug. His body warms you up and you melt into his touch, making you completely disregard the fact that this man is still a stranger. You cling to the edge of his shirt tighter when you feel a sharp, thin object against your ribs.

You pull back with a start and find that you’re held still by his strength. As you look into his eyes, you note with slight panic that his eyes have changed dramatically. He’s looking down at you with an excited malice, as if he’s looking forward to destroying you. You shrink down with dread, realizing that you’re utterly fucked.

You take a subtle glance at the tv which is showing the news still, and he catches the look, shooting you a toothy smile.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m the ‘psychopath.’” He admits somewhat proudly. “I won’t hurt you though sweet thing. Not unless you want me to.” He drags a cold finger down your jaw, lightly holding you in place.

He removes the knife away from you, gazing at it fondly. “This little friend of mine has been with me through some things. Isn’t she beautiful?” A shudder goes through your body as you look at the sinister shine of the blade. He’s looking at you expectantly, wanting to hear an answer. You don’t bother using sign language anymore as he can hear perfectly fine. You only used it out of consideration, but there’s no more consideration left for him.

“I couldn’t care less about your stupid knife.” You spit with venom. You want him to be offended, to burst out in anger, but he only gives you the most irritating grin. It’s as if nothing can phase him.

“You’re so cute,” he shakes his head in what appears to be endearment. “I can’t wait to be buried in you.” Your eyes widen at that and you feel an involuntary fluttering in your core. You can’t believe that you’re getting turned on right now. The situation is absolutely absurd, a killer is sitting in front of you, and you’re getting your panties wet.

His eyes follow the movement of your thighs, trying to gain friction against each other. He splays out a hand against one thigh, keeping you still. You look at him with both shame and lust in your eyes, and he mirrors the latter. With a glance to the bartender, who appears to be heavily involved with his phone, he grabs your hand and drags you out of the bar.

You pull back slightly, making him stop in his tracks. “Wait, I want to know what your name is.” You ask him.

He looks intently into your eyes and answers. “My name’s Yeosang.”

Before you can say anything he drags you forward again. You walk for a few minutes until you reach a very shiny looking car. At a closer glance it appears to be a Ferrari. You look at Yeosang with a surprised look and his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

“What, Princess? Were you expecting a trashy car from me?”

“I guess??” You say uncertainly with a shrug. He shakes his head again and opens the door for you. You get in and he closes the door after him. You sit there awkwardly for a second, not sure if you should do anything. Yeosang breaks you out of your thought however when he attacks your lips.

His lips are on yours in a flash, and you’re fighting with tongues. He squeezes your hip and slides his knee in between your legs, subtly rubbing against your now very wet panties. You should feel mortified, but all you feel is desire.

You grind against his clothed knee, and your clit catches it at an angle that makes you moan into his mouth. He grabs hold of your ass and moves you against him harder, eliciting pathetic mewls from you. You shockingly feel your climax approaching very quickly, and so could Yeosang apparently, and he immediately stops his movements. You whine in complaint but he shushes you with another intense kiss.

He quickly rids of his pants and your panties and pumps his cock a few times. You eye his length and your mouth salivates an embarrassing amount. You choose to give in to your temptations. You spit on your hand and slide it up and down Yeosang’s cock. He jolts in surprise but lets out a pleased hum, covering your hand in his, following the up and down motion.

If he wasn’t addicted to you already, he definitely is now. Seeing your tiny hand jerking him off sets off fireworks in his brain and he feels short of breath. He feels about ready to burst so he gently takes your hand away and has you lie down. He hovers above you and you can’t help but vibrate with anticipation.

He slides in slowly, filling every inch of space inside you. You arch your back in pleasure and throw your head back. Yeosang watches your reaction with eager eyes, needing you to feel like a goddess. He then watches your cunt sucking him in hungrily and loses all composure.

He pulls out until the tip is left, and slams back in with so much force your back bounces on the seats. He hits your sweet spot with every thrust, making you see stars, and you babbling incoherently by this point. You grab onto whatever you can find, his shirt being one of the items.

He slaps your clit harshly and you cry out at the sting. He slaps it two more times, leaving you a sobbing writhing mess. A knot tightens in your stomach and Yeosang can feel you clenching around him. He grits his teeth tightly and somehow thrusts even harder.

A few more sloppy thrusts later you’re coming undone around him. Your stomach convulses and your legs can’t seem to stop shaking. He pulls out and comes all over your stomach, ropes of cum coating your soft skin. He hangs his head and lets out a few deep breaths.

You close your eyes and bask in the afterglow. Quite literally, because the light of the lamppost is hitting your stomach and illuminating his cum brightly.

He looks around for something to clean you up with and finds one of his spare shirts. He cleans you the best he can and caresses your flushed cheek. You flutter your eyes open and find him looking at you with adoration, corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

He signs “thank you” and you let out a chuckle. “I should be the one thanking you, Yeosang.” He smiles softly and proceeds to put your clothes back on. As soon as the band of your skirt is snapped back onto you, you hear the sirens.

Yeosang stiffens in place, and looks at you with a distressed tilt of his eyebrows. He looks about ready to flee, but he hesitates. He looks around for something and you look on curiously. He finds a pen and paper and writes down some digits. He hands it to you and you see that it’s a phone number, along with an address.

“Come find me soon.”

With a mischievous wink he leaves the car and disappears into the night with the sirens fading away. You stay there for a bit, completely stunned with the turn of events. You can’t believe he just left you and the car like this, but you also can’t get over the intense passion you two shared. Slowly you get out of the car and head to your apartment where you should’ve been all along.

You do your regular nightly routine, get into pajamas and set your alarm.

You’ve got an important trip tomorrow.

[bethanydelleman]

I saw a post you reblogged at some point about Fanny being stuck in a time loop and it got me thinking: if the main men (both protagonists and antagonists) of the different Austen novels time travelled back to the day they first met their love interest/the start of the novel - whichever is latest so wentworth, knightley, and Edmund Bertram would travel to the day the main events of their novels start - who do you think would end up changing the least of the events and the most (intentionally or not)?

Because I feel like Knightley would change the least and Henry Tilney and the three S&S gents would come next. But like Wentworth would immediately throw the entire novel off track and like Darcy and Henry Crawford would come in close second trying to change their truly awful first impressions

(Also I just want to add that I really love your Austen takes and discussions 😊)

Thank you!

This is a fascinating idea. Here are my thoughts:

Wentworth just marches into Uppercross Cottage and proposes again. Doesn't even wait to be properly introduced to the family. He's getting Anne back NOW. (She says yes, of course)

I can imagine Darcy having a tiny little crisis as he decides if he really wants to be married to Elizabeth, maybe he could just not accompany Bingley to Netherfield and his life could go the way he planned... nah, he can't resist. Off to Netherfield he goes and he lets Bingley introduce him to Elizabeth at the assembly ball. Things progress unimpeded and by Christmas there is a double wedding and Wickham's character is known throughout Hertfordshire. He skips town and Lydia is packed off to Pemberley to benefit from some better society. (Side note: Mrs. Bennet would push Mr. Collins on Mary if she had any inclination that Darcy liked Elizabeth).

If Bingley knew everything, he'd never leave Jane. He'd return from London and marry her, no matter what Darcy or his sisters said. (I wrote that once actually)

Does Wickham count as a main? Because I don't want him having the ability to predict the future. Yikes on bikes!

Henry Crawford is very interesting, because does he actually understand where he went wrong? I'm not sure he does. Can he resist a flirtation with two very pretty sisters? That would be a fun fan fiction to write. Because if he went for Fanny right off the bat and she knew nothing else about him... he'd probably succeed with her, secret Edmund love or not. And she certainly wouldn't have a leg to stand on in refusing his proposal.

Does Edmund come back in the same timeline as Henry? That would be so agnsty! If not, he'd probably be doing whatever he could to keep Maria and Henry apart, but he's shockingly ineffective in canon, so would he even be able to change anything?

Henry Tilney would probably just try to prevent Catherine being sent home alone. He could easily come back early.

Mr. Knightley's best move would be to tell Robert Martin to propose in person. I doubt Harriet could have resisted. Then he could just sit back and watch everything else play out.

Honestly, I don't know if Frank Churchill would change a thing, other than making sure his final letter was posted to Jane. He enjoyed the subterfuge.

Poor Edward Ferrars has to travel back while engaged to Lucy? I feel like he wouldn't even want to relive the novel, there is nothing he can do anyway.

Colonel Brandon would probably change a lot. He could immediately save Eliza and challenge Willoughby. He might even spare Marianne from a lot of pain.

Reginald de Courcy (Lady Susan) would likely act as well and save Frederica earlier than in the novel.

[soelstress]

I Don’t Mind Falling For You

Pairing: Curtis Everett x female!reader

Summary: What happens when the grumpy hermit meets the town klutz?

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , sex/smut, p in v sex , unprotected sex , handjob , vaginal fingering , some language

A/N 1 - This is my second joint submission for @steviebbboi 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge and @yenzys-lucky-charm & @sweater-daddiesdumbdork Horny Hoes Hootenanny. Sorry it's a few days late!

A/N 2 - Prompts - - A: "What?" B: "I never realized how nice your smile is" (Person A flushing then rolling their eyes) -"You have no idea what you're doing to me" - Disaster character with grumpy -I’m mad that you’re always hurting yourself- character - Possessive/or protective manhandling!BB - Grouchybb! who is only soft with you - "Just one more I promise"

As a bonus, I asked Yenzy for two spins on the trick-or-treat wheel of potential doom... and for this one I chose the drunken confession!

A/N 3 - Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work - GIF taken from google but page was listed for @evansensations

A/N 4 - Please let me know if I've missed a warning, knowing me it's more than likely. Hope you all enjoy ☺️

No. Not a chance. There was nothing that could change his mind. Curtis stared out the window to the view of the forest and saw the sun break through the trees, almost like it was trying to burst into the quiet haven he built.

After being betrayed by people he thought for years to be allies and lost several friends who he considered to be family, Curtis had gathered only a change of clothes and a few items of sentimental value before relocating to this tiny town surrounded by trees for miles in a sea of green. Upon finding a cabin that was isolated and a small distance from the town he bought it and kept to himself. Twice a month when he ventured into town for groceries, he avoided speaking to anyone and usually answered with short grunts if required. He became known as the grumpy hermit and people tended to avoid him, which suited him just fine. That had been his routine… until you crashed into his life. Literally. 

Curtis had been walking through the grocery store when a blur barrelled into his chest. His arms framed the unexpected mass and he managed to catch his balance before looking down. Big eyes twinkled up at him, the colour shining against blushing cheeks. “Sorry, I guess gravity still works huh?” Blinking in surprise at your question, his head cocked when you giggled softly. When he realised he was still holding you, he slowly let go. "Thanks for catching me” you smiled at him before walking past. Curtis watched you before glancing around to see if you had tripped over an object or maybe slipped but there was nothing in sight. 

There were a few instances that followed when you slipped, tripped or fell around Curtis. At first he wasn’t sure if you were somehow purposely trying to interact with him but when he saw you fall in front of the local sheriff who helped you up then proceeded to laugh about it with you, Curtis approached the sheriff and asked about you. Though highly surprised that Curtis was speaking to him, the sheriff understood why he was asking about you. “Poor girl. She’s a sweetheart but real accident prone. She could get a papercut from a closed book, and ought to wear a suit of bubble wrap. Never gets down about it though, always laughs it off” the sheriff shook his head fondly.

After a few more incidents involving Curtis, you once again found yourself in the arms of the rumoured grumpy hermit and took a moment to observe him. Black beanie pulled low on his head which hid his hair, pink lips set in a straight line beneath the dark beard covering his face. His blue eyes warmed at the sight of you, and your customary blush deepened. Your usual self depreciation was cut off when he spoke first. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling for me”. His eyes widened, amazed he’d actually said something to you. 

“So long as you’re there to catch me, I don’t mind falling for you” you murmured back, suddenly shy under his gaze.

You offered to buy him a drink as thanks for his continued efforts of stopping you from face planting the ground, and with a little coaxing Curtis began to open up. It continued from there, with him asking you to dinner. You suggested a picnic as an alternative, having gathered from various townsfolk that Curtis didn’t enjoy being around people.

Curtis agreed and had driven you to a spot near his cabin that was peaceful and secluded. After a gentle bit of prying, Curtis began to tell you about the work he was doing on his cabin and about enjoying the peace of a small town. Once the picnic had been packed up he drove you home and sadly turned off the engine of his truck, he had enjoyed being with you and didn’t want it to end. “I had a nice time” he mumbled and scolded himself immediately at his poor word choice. Shaking his head, he looked to see you lean in before placing a light kiss on his cheek. Before you could pull too far back Curtis’ hand framed your face, eyes darting from yours to your mouth and back again and dipped his head. His warm chapped lips pressed to yours hesitantly as he felt you relax into him before breaking the kiss. When his eyes opened there was an awestruck look on your face.

”What?”

"I never realized how nice your smile is". Eyes sparkling with little crinkles around the edges, cheeks lifted with a small hint of a smile - it was a complete contrast to his surly demeanour. Curtis flushed, rolling his eyes and grumbling bashfully before your hands cupped his jaw, thumbs tracing over the corners of his mouth. “Curtis… I mean it. You should smile more often”.

And so he did. At least with you. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend after the next date. It had been a few months now since that first date. He was still constantly amazed at how you maintained your positive outlook despite the numerous non-stop mishaps you endured - tripping over thin air, falling upstairs, bumping into every sharp corner possible, cutting or burning your fingers while cooking -  but the protective side of him was irritated that you were constantly having these misfortunes and there was nothing he could do about it. Whenever he grumbled about your injuries, you’d boop his nose and deliver one of your lines.

”If I was a superhero, my power would be unintended collateral damage”.

”I’ve got a frequent visitor card for the hospital. Doc said every tenth visit is free”.

When he saw movement in the window reflection, he knew you were behind him. With a deep sigh he turned to confirm his refusal but the words died on his tongue at the pout you were giving him. It was rarely used, only appearing when you truly wanted something. “Sugar…”

”Please?” You shuffled closer, winding your arms around his neck. “It’ll be fun, I promise”.

Curtis could never say no when you asked, and especially with big puppy eyes and trembling lips. Which was how he found himself carving pumpkins with you and attending a festival a few days later to view all the entries. He could feel the stares and whispers of the townsfolk. It was no secret that you two were an item, neither of you had denied it. But sightings of the two of you were rare, mainly because both of you knew this would be the reaction and Curtis’ comfort was always your first concern. So instead of eating in town, you’d pick up the food and eat at your place or Curtis’.

As you both viewed the other pumpkins, you swelled with pride and joy at Curtis not only participating in the carving but joining your outing. You knew this was outside of his comfort zone but you had attended the competition for the past few years and wanted to participate this year, also hoping to have someone share it with you. You snapped a picture of Curtis’ Jack Skellington and your owl, wincing slightly when you saw a faint red smear on the side. Of course, you had somehow sliced your hand whilst carving and Curtis had reacted in typical fashion. “Seriously, again?” he’d grumbled before cleaning and covering the cut with a dressing before kissing your hand. “Spilling blood and you’re more worried about the damn pumpkin”. 

After walking around you sat in Curtis’ lap at a picnic table sipping alcoholic apple cider. You were on your second helping, feeling a little tipsy as you didn’t drink very often. But sitting in your boyfriend's lap surrounded by his warmth and smell of cedarwood, you felt protected. Only a few people had been brave enough to speak with you, daring to face Curtis’ scowl as he held you tightly and grunting in response if greeted. When the sounds of giggles reached his ears, he nuzzled into your neck. “Something funny, sugar?”

”People think you’re this grumpy guy, all rough and rugged and… scary” you growled the last bit, trying to pull a scary face that made Curtis chuckle. “But you’re soft with me, always be gentle with my bruises”. Curtis hummed in agreement before your next words caught him off guard. “Wouldn’t mind getting some bruises from you for a change. I think you’re sexy when you’re grumpy. Strong and rough…” you giggled again, naughty thoughts swirling around your brain which caused you to squirm slightly on Curtis’ lap.

He muffled a groan as you unknowingly moved against his hardening cock. Not wanting to lose control and take advantage of you in public, he lifted you off his lap and smiled as you whined in complaint. “I’ll be right back, sugar”. He walked off, both to dispose of the empty cups but also to give him a few moments to control his desire to pin you against a tree and have his way with you.

You watched him stride away, his figure cutting through the crowds easily. Standing, you moved to stretch and winced as someone barged into you. 

“Whoops, sorry darlin’”. Offering a small smile, you tried to wave it off and head back to your table when the stranger caught your hand. “Where you rushing off to there, huh? C’mon honey, why don’t cha stick around?” He unintentionally squeezed your cut and a small yelp escaped you. “Aw, think you need a kiss to make it better”. 

Suddenly your arm was yanked from his grip and you were pulled back into an embrace you knew all too well. “She’s with me”. Curtis’ chest rumbled as he growled at the stranger. You weren’t sure if it was the words, the tone or if the stranger recognised Curtis but you didn’t remotely care. You looked up at him, caught between his iron grip and the glare that remained as he looked down at you. Without a word Curtis steered you out of the festival and toward your place which was a few minutes away. Although you knew Curtis wouldn’t hurt you, it was concerning that he hadn’t said anything to you or that his anger hadn’t faded. He’d never been like this with you before.

Beside you, Curtis was a riot of emotions. He’d barely reached a garbage can, able to get rid of the cups but not calm his imagination following your tipsy confession. Curtis always tried to be gentle with you, knowing he was bigger and stronger than you plus with your predisposition for getting injured he erred on the side of caution. Hearing his sweet little klutz say that you wanted him to be rough, that you didn’t mind him marking you set both his heart and mind racing. But your sound of pain interrupted his thoughts, concern surging through him chased by anger when he saw someone daring to touch his girl - to hurt the light in his life. Curtis rushed back to you, pulling you free and into his arms before warning the other man in a few short words. He refused to look away until the stranger melted into the crowd. When he looked at you his heart pounded furiously, feeling you soft and pliant against him. Silently, Curtis urged you to follow him. He needed to get you home, needed to check on you first before he lost all rational thought.

Hastily unlocking your door Curtis led you inside, pulling you close before closing and locking the door. Taking your injured hand, he thoroughly checked it before pressing a kiss over the irritated skin. “I want you, sweet girl. If I’m too rough, you tell me to stop and I will. Do you understand?” You nodded. “No sugar, I need to hear you say it”.

“I understand. I want you too, Curtis”. 

Curtis kissed you with a growl and pushed you against the door, one hand cushioning the back of your head as the other snaked around your back to hold you tightly. Blindly one of your hands moved to grip his coat as the other moved to his head, tugging his black beanie off and relishing the softness of his cropped dark hair before gently running your nails along his scalp. Groaning deeply Curtis’ mouth moved down your neck, his soft beard leaving a delicious tingle along the smooth flesh as he nipped and sucked. His hands lowered, cupping the globes of your behind and squeezing firmly. “You have no idea what you're doing to me". The words were whispered but you heard clearly. Bristling with barely restrained desire Curtis was a sight before you - ocean blue eyes dark and wild with lust, pink lips swollen from kissing. His big strong body sandwiched you to the door, not an inch between you. Jerking his hips, you gasped at the clothed erection nudging your core. Desperate to touch him, you rushed to release him from his constraints. Curtis let loose a soft moan as his cock was freed. Keeping your gaze locked with his you undid the button of your jeans and slid your uninjured hand through your folds, coating it in your arousal before wrapping it around Curtis’ thick hard flesh. “Fuck sugar…”. Not wanting to neglect you, his fingers slid carefully into your soaking centre and pumped at a steady rhythm. He needed you to cum, to be soft and ready for him. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes hungrily roving your face and breaths mingling as you pleasured each other. “Yes baby, just like that. Gonna take you hard and fast, make you come on my cock”. Whimpering you bucked against his hand, your hand jerked quickly which had him grinding eagerly into your touch. “You want that, sweet girl? Want me to fuck you hard?” Encouraged by your nodding, he sped up the rhythm of his fingers. “Need you to cum first. Cum all over my fingers, and I’ll fuck you so good”. His dark promise rang in your ears as the white heat suddenly burst through your body. 

As you slowly came down from your high you saw Curtis sucking his fingers clean before stripping, almost ripping his clothes off before kneeling to remove your shoes, socks, jeans and underwear. As he did you quickly shed your jacket, shirt and bra. Completely bare to each other you took a moment to look at Curtis. Strong arms, a built chest with a smattering of dark hair that trailed down to his cock and thick thighs. He truly was a sight, especially with the dark gleam in his eyes you’d never seen before. “Need you baby”. The words barely left your mouth before he was on you, hands once again squeezing your ass before lifting you up. As your legs wrapped around his waist his hand reached for his throbbing member, swiping through the slick pooling from your entrance. With a sharp thrust he was buried to the hilt within you before pounding into you with deep rapid thrusts, guiding you to meet every move. “Baby…” 

Your mewl and your desperate grip on him only fuelled the feral need to take you, to mark you and affirm you were his. Lost in his primitive drive, Curtis snarled as his hips snapped against you. “Mine. All mine”. His thick head rubbed inside you, another spark of pleasure starting to burn deep within you. “That's it sugar, cum for me” you bounced on Curtis‘ cock, head thrown back as he kept moving to prolong your pleasure. Head resting on his shoulder it took you a moment to recognise the jostling wasn’t him still fucking you, he was moving to your bedroom. He placed you on the bed, caging you. His hand gripped your wrists firmly, mindful of your injured hand. The other raised your legs higher so he could sink deeper into you and began his punishing rhythm again. Your hips met his, bodies becoming slick with sweat. 

When your third crest of pleasure started to rise, you shook your head. “Curtis I can’t”. 

"Just one more, I promise." Curtis ground against you, circling his hips. “Just. One. Fucking. More”. Each word was punctuated by a thrust. “Sugar… I’m gonna… fuck, need you to cum now baby. For me. Only me”. 

You wailed as the band snapped and sent you spiralling, Curtis roaring his own release and holding you tightly. Shivers wracked his body as he tenderly pulled out carefully and smiled softly as he felt you clench, trying to hold onto him despite being overstimulated. His smile froze as he saw the marks on your neck from where he had feasted and faint bruises where he gripped you tightly. Your hand caught his chin, and his breath caught at the sight of you beneath him, hair fanned out on the pillow, eyes sparkling with love, body flushed from desire. “It’s ok baby” you murmured. “I wanted you to be rough with me, to mark me. Or did you not mean it when you said I’m yours?” Though the tone was teasing, he heard a slight note of worry. 

Shaking his head, he lips ghosted up over the marks on your neck before finding your lips. “Oh sugar… you really don’t know what you’ve done to me, what you mean to me do you?” Gently he rolled so you were side by side, tucked against him. “You’re the best thing in my life. My light, my sweet girl. And to see somebody else touch you, hurt you… I won’t let that happen baby. I want to protect you, to keep you safe”. 

Humming, you nuzzled against his chest and heard the steady beat of his heart. The sound lulled you to sleep. “My grumpy guy” you laughed softly. 

Curtis knew he couldn’t always stop you from falling, only swearing that he would be there to catch you, to take care of you and protect you from the rest of the world. His sweet klutz.

[ohcorny]

i've noticed a trend of games that are essentially just legos and let you build something pretty, like SUMMERHOUSE, Townscaper, or now Tiny Glade which just came out, but... like.... i wish they were actually games? they're such gorgeous, interesting demonstrations of procedural generation and tools and aesthetic sensibility, but they're not games! and it's so strange how all of them advertise themselves on their lack of gameplay.

no wrong answers, no rules, no winning, no losing--no game!

and i'm just like... why not game? why put in so much work to make something like this and not put in the effort of goals or challenges? you can still have your freeform jazz play with blocks game, but like... can't you give me something to do? something to unlock? something to work toward? soon as the novelty wears off and you're familiar with all the pieces, you're left with a bucket of legos and no idea what to do with them, and for some people (like me) that happens really quick.

why not include basic challenges? build a castle that can house 10 people, build a town that features these three items, build a house that this character with these preferences would like. just something.

you know what game about free form designing did that? animal crossing happy homes dlc. and we all went crazy for it. and it still gave you a ton of freedom to just play around! as long as you met some requirements, you could do whatever you wanted--and eventually you didn't even need the requirements (though coincidentally, that's when i stop playing)

i want to like these games, because they're gorgeous and do look fun! but i just know i'd boot them up and get bored in fifteen minutes because i'd have nothing to do