#albert x reader

[fairy-writes]

Hello! For the event, what do you think about Albert (Moriarty the Patriot) and the 9th action prompt? 👀

9) Showing up to surprise their lover when they’re in a long-distance relationship

ONE GOOD SURPRISE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): Albert James Moriarty x Gender Neutral!Reader

Prompt: 9) Showing up to surprise their lover when they’re in a long-distance relationship (Action Prompt #9)

Notes: The mentioned war in this is fictional. I don’t know exactly when MTP occurs, so I’m making this up.

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It was safe to say you were miserable.

William could tell. 

Fred could tell. 

Hell, even Moran could tell. 

The only person who couldn’t tell was the only one who wasn’t there. 

Of course, you had letters. You exchanged them as frequently as the mail system would allow. Still, you didn't get many with Albert overseas managing soldiers in the East. You kept said letters in a box by your bedside, reading them by candlelight when missing your husband got particularly bad. 

Seven months, three weeks, and seventeen days since he had been gone with no end in sight. 

You sigh for the umpteenth time that day, and Moran throws down his cards in frustration.

“If you’re not gonna play, then don’t play! I don’t want to play with you while you’re mopey and depressed!” He snaps, and you glare in his direction. He flinches at the frosty look and holds up his hands with a “geez, sorry.” 

Eventually, you leave Moran alone, and he bugs Fred into playing a round of poker with him and Jack. 

William finds you out in the gardens of the Moriarty estate. 

He sits beside you without a word as you read through Albert’s latest letter. It had been delivered earlier that week. It contained the usual: whatever updates he could give you, responses to your letters, how much he missed and loved you, and asked the occasional odd question when he detailed what he had been doing since his last letter. 

“I’m being insufferable, aren’t I?” You ask your younger brother-in-law, who simply hums as he watches a light breeze sway the flowers Fred worked so hard for. 

“I don’t believe you’re being insufferable. A little tiresome to deal with, maybe, but everyone understands why so they don’t mind.” He says, and you look up from the letter,

“Except for Moran. I think he’s about ready to wring my neck.” William huffs out a laugh at that. 

“Except for maybe Moran.” He agrees. 

The two of you sit in silence for a minute. But it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. Instead, it’s warm and welcoming. It was something you sorely missed from Albert. 

And something you likely wouldn’t have for a while. 

“I’m afraid I must get back to my duties. With Albert gone, his responsibilities as a Lord have fallen to me.” William says and stands. He offers you a smile that has something concealed behind it. 

What was he hiding?

You narrow your eyes, but he says nothing more, instead leaving you to your own devices as you trace the letters in Albert’s note with your thumb. 

“They’re rather beautiful, aren’t they?” Comes a familiar voice, and your heart stops. You stand shakily, turning around to see your husband standing at the entrance to the gardens. He hadn’t even changed from his uniform, his medals decorating his breast and glinting in the sunlight. His hair was mussed and tousled from the wind, and running his hand through it. You swear you could see soot from gunfire staining his cheek. He looks tired as if he had come from the docks directly here. 

He likely had.

You set the papers down inside the box of letters you had been carrying with you, all the while looking at Albert. He sets down his hat and opens his arms, and the floodgates burst open. 

You crash into your husband and knock him to the ground in a bear hug. Your arms go around his neck, and you’re kissing him desperately. He cradles your cheeks, and you can almost taste the tears streaking someone’s cheeks. Whether they’re his or yours, you can’t tell.

But that doesn’t matter. 

Seven months, three weeks, and seventeen days later, he was finally home. 

[angelltheninth]

William, Louis, Albert, Sherlock, Moran, James, Mycroft and their favorite spots to kiss you at?

Oh! I misunderstood the first time I read it lol, ok no problem Anon!

Pairing: William, Louis, Albert, Sherlock, Moran, James, Mycroft x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, making out, slight groping/fondling, teasing, neck kisses, shoulder kisses

A/N: They all make me swoon so hard!

William likes to kiss you in the living room while the two of you are relaxing after a long day. It's one of the spots he allows himself to be the most vulnerable at. He doesn't particularly care if someone were to walk in and see the two of you, he will give you a kiss regardless.

Louis will kiss you in passing in between chores that he does. He keeps busy a lot during the day so it's really the only time he can kiss you, other then mission and meetings and of course during your alone time at night before you go to sleep.

Albert kisses you only behind closed doors. Well he can kiss your hand during a social event but the real kisses are for you to witness only. He's the kind of man who can get pretty carried away when kissing you and he'd rather not contribute to the inevitable gossip.

Sherlock either kisses you in his office or his bedroom. Any other place and you're more then likely get interrupted by someone. He can't have that, not when he's too busy leaving hickyes and marks down your neck as you squirm against him.

Moran doesn't care where he's kissing you as long as he's kissing you. Everyone knows not to approach and try to pull anything when he's around. He'll kiss you anywhere his lips can reach and hold you against him while cupping your ass to let everyone know that you're his.

James will pull you into a kiss anywhere to surprise you and see you blush and be flustered. He likes being the gentleman of course but he can't deny that you look cute when you're walking hand in hand and he leans over to kiss you, much to the disgruntled gasps and murmurs of the people around you.

Mycroft will kiss you as soon as he comes home from work. No matter where he finds you he'll wrap his arms around you from behind and kiss your neck and shoulder until you're gasping and asking for more.

[s0ulsniper]

PAIRINGS - albert aretz x sleepy!reader

WARNINGS - none

SUMMARY - albert knew you loved to sleep, probably one of your favorite things to do. While he was editing a video curled up with you, he felt your bodyweight get heavier and wondered why.

WORD COUNT - 221

NOTES: guess I'm getting back into posting :)

he yawns feeling his fingers getting heavy from using them too long. he feels you laying on his chest, the blanket strapped messily over the two of you.

he always loves to cherish the moments like these where you guys don't even need to talk, just laying together in comfortable silence.

he finishes up and waits for the video to download, before sending it to paige, sighing from the accomplishment after hours of working on it, even though paige would definitely edit most of his changes out.

he closes the laptop and tosses it on the chair beside him and looking back down at you.

"y/n?" he whispers. "I've finished editing, you wanna go upstairs and sleep?"

he waits for a response for a couple seconds before scooching to see your face, only to meet with closed eyes and light breathing.

he smiles, careful not to move a certain way to disturb you.

he decides to just stay on the couch, and pulls the blanket more over the two of you, a hand gliding back to hold your hand lightly.

he certainly wishes he could just stay awake and savor the moment, but the more he thought about it, the more the comfort washed over him and his eye lids drooped, swaying him into a deep sleep with dreams of you.

TAGS: @yeehawbrothers

[cherryskyies]

Somnophilia with The Grabber

The Grabber x fem!reader // some hdcs 

a/n: why is he so hot gn i haven’t even seen the movie yet and i'm still thirsting over him and upset at his lack of content. also probs not my best work simply because i do not know his character very well yet tysn 

Warnings: The Grabber himself is a warning, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, unprotected sex, fingering (f.recieving), dry humping, probably a mistake or two. This is dark content, mdni. 

Masterlist || Navigation || Ao3

You’d been so teasing earlier that day; sucking the egg crumbs off his thumb that he had swiped across your bottom lip, crawling on your hands and knees when he called you to him — watching him expectantly with those big doe eyes of yours.

God, you drive him crazy — whether you mean to or not.

When the thought crossed his mind; you sprawled out beneath him, body limp from the drug, eyes closed with soft moans leaving your mouth, he knew he had to try it. 

It was fairly simple. He had already made some rohypnol infused chocolates to use on boys for kidnapping, so all he needed to do was get you to eat one or two pieces — likely two, seeing as you, a grown woman, are much bigger than the previous boys he’s taken.

“Open up, doll.” The Grabber demands, voice as sweet as honey, gently placing the two chocolate tabs on your tongue. “Good girl, now swallow.” His thumb is still resting on your tongue when you close your mouth, lips wrapping softly around it as you begin to suck, allowing the chocolate square to melt and glide down your throat. Grabber releases a throaty growl, pushing his thumb the rest of the way, other hand gripping your chin – forcing you to look up at him.  “Playing a dangerous game here, bunny.”

He stays with you, watching as your eyes get heavy and your sentences turn to slurred mumbles, holding you against his chest and petting your hair as you continue to doze off, “That’s it, honey. Get some sleep.” And in hindsight, you should have seen the red flags, you should have fought against the sudden drowsiness consuming you whole — you shouldn’t have felt so safe and loved in The Grabbers arms.

As soon as you’re asleep, he wants to dive in – to wrap his large hand around your throat, using the other to slide your pink panties down to your ankles and stuff you full of his cock, but he doesn’t. He decides he wants to be slow, starting with those perfect lips of yours. 

The Grabber crawls on top of you, sliding a hand from your waist to your breast, teasing the soft nipple through your shirt until it's poking through, and finally, he brings his hand to your throat, pinning you down to the dirty mattress. “You’ve been so good for me,” He whispers, taking the soft flesh of your earlobe between his teeth. “My good girl, mine.” Grabber all but growls, leaving hickeys on the parts of your neck his hand can’t cover — which isn’t much. 

He can feel himself losing control as he begins to rut against your cloth covered pussy, undoing his belt and pulling his jeans down — have they always been this tight? His boxers are all that’s left keeping him covered, save for his shirt, but it still feels like there is too much in the way; he needs to be inside you. 

With great resistance, he tears himself from you, all plans of being slow and savoring you flys out the window. His fingers trail down your body, pushing your panties to the side, allowing him to slip one, then two, fingers inside — he attempts a third, but there isn’t enough space and he finds himself hoping his cock will tear you open when he forces it in. “Feels good doesn’t it, Doll?” He asks, already knowing the answer is a yes with the way you’re moaning; mixed with snores and the occasional mumble. 

Your cunt swallows his fingers greedily, wet squelches emitting with each harsh thrust of his fingers; how he wishes he only gave you one tab, the desire for you to wake up and watch the mess he will make of you overwhelming his senses – next time, he decides.

He stops when he feels you getting close, retracting his fingers with a wet ‘pop’ as a thin trail of your slick follows. Grabber brings his fingers to his mouth, pressing them down onto his tongue to taste you; this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. 

You’re breathing heavily, wetness seeping through your underwear, but still you remain asleep, blissfully unaware. You miss the way he lines himself up with your entrance, the way his touch sets your nerves on fire. 

He groans, sliding the tip of his dick up and down your glistening slit, pressing in ever-so-slightly when he passes your needy hole. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He sounds humored, like he’s won a bet you promised he’d lose. 

Growing impatient with his slow movements, Grabber begins to push inside, groaning when he hears you whine — the stretch is almost painful for him, but he can’t stop, not now when he’s finally got a taste. 

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Twenty-Seven: Albert Wesker + 2x Penetration

You'd been working with your captian for a few years now. You'd been right there when he destroyed the Umbrella corporation. At the end of that you stayed by your Captains side.

Even if he pushed you to leave him, leave the group that had become smaller in the past few years. Regardless you stayed by his side. Wesker had asked you to become his personal assitant, getting hsi coffee and anything else that he needed. Paperwork, pens from the drawers, whatever he needed you got for him.

The thing about Wesker is that he's always making passes at you. His large and cold hand grabbing the back of your neck one time. Or how softly his fingers feel when they brush up agasint yours when you give him his coffee cup.

Let's be hoenst you've always been a snoopy person. It started when you were a kid, looking to see if you could tell what you got for christmas, going into your mothers purse and stealing a twenty from her wallet.

But this… this was the worst. You shamelessly were snooping through your Captains drawers at his desk. He had told ou that he needed something his office, but then curoisity got the cat. Your hand just had to reach for the drawers handle.

The first drawers was fine, it was filled with pens, unmarked sticky-notes, and some chewy gum. A minty flavor whafting from inside the drawer.

The second drawer to the opposite was just as empty. A few papers in folders stacked on top of each other. There were a few written on sticky notes, and a calendar book.

Underneath were two more, but for some reason your attention took you away from the drawer to the left and brought it all to the one right in front of you. You dropped whatever Wesker had you come into the office and orignally get for him. It landed with no sound to the top of the desk. Then your hand was gripping the drawers handle hard.

You pulled the drawer open, and was saly met with nothing to appealing, a few more folders and paper work. The amount of paperwork packed away made you discouraged to look through the other drawer, but as you were closin the drawer in front of you something caughter your eye.

A towel wrapped around something, shifting a few things in the drawer you pulled the towel out, and out fell something… a toy of sorts. Why would your captain have need for a toy like this, at work no less. The dildo sat on it base, standing tall and proud. You picked it up, holding it weight in your hands. The girth of the dildo was much more then you had ever taken, and before you could put it back… you were caught.

"Y/n, what's taking you so… long." You couldn't see the smirk, but you could hear it in his voice. You tried to swallow and think of something to say, but with a six-inch dildo in your hand and an open drawer you weren't getting away with anything.

You shifted your weight on your feet, your bottom lip between your teeth, and turned to look at your captain. He was already moving towards you, a strong and wide stance the closer he got to you.

Nothing was stopping you from dropping the toy, and running out of his office. "Were being naughty? Poking around my stuff." Wesker asks you, you can't look at him right now. All the teasing all of the forward passes he's made at you has your thighs in a constant battle with each other.

When you do try to move it's already to late. His hand is wrapped around your bicep in a matter of seconds. "You know sweetpea, I think you like being naughty." he says is voice so deep, and calm. It makes your knees buckle.

"Come on now sweetpea, make me wish comes true. I know you like when I touch you." Wesker whispers into your ear before licking it. You don't bite back the moans you just let them fall freely.

Your skirt seems to hide nothing, and give away everything. Wesker moves you in such a way that has you pressed up agasint the desks surface. He flips us your skirt, a gush of cool air hitting your dampen panties. "Cap…" You moan out in revernace, "Oh be quiet sweetpea, I'll take care of you." The dildo is now sitting next to you. Base suctioned to the desks top.

Your panties are slide down your legs, and the sticky wetness follows with a string. "Look at you so wet, and it's all for me right sweetheart?" He asks. Not really looking, or caring for an answer when he shoves a finger, and then another into your soaking cunt.

Your moans bounces on the walls as he beings to finger your hole. your breasts are pressed into the hard wood surface, but you don't seem to care. 'Captain… fuck please…" You moan out as you buck into him. When he spits down at your ass you shirek with a mixture of pleasure and anxiety.

"Oh don't worry princess, I've got you now." He murmurs to you, you feel the shift, you hear the sound ofths zipper being undone, and then the press of his cock againt your entrance. Tight as frist when her pushes his head in, and then the sudden slam has you breathless.

A few thrusts as you gushing around his cock. "Oh fuck, so fuckin wet. Can you hear how wet you are for me?" He asks, as he continues his rough and hard thrusts. You're to dazed to notice the shift in his weight on your body again, but what you do notice is the intruding feeling at your ass. "captain?" You ask even though it comes out as a moan. "Sweetpea, it's okay. relax for me, you want me to make you feel good right?" You can't deny that the feeling ofhis cock in your cunt, how full you feel has you to unwilling to agrue with him.

The force, and press of that toy. You know it's the toy, the wieght of it, how unreal it feel compared to Weskers cock. You still moan as the head of the dildo makes it past the pressure, the tight squeeze of the dildo makes you want to scream, and the feeling of Wesker cock right next to it makes you fall even further into the desk.

You become limp. Like a rag doll being fucked for not your pleasure. "There you go." Wesker praises you for your relaxation as the dildo makes it the hilt. Now that's over Wesker is back to thursting into you at a vigorous pace, unforgiving. He pumps the toy at the same time, and you relish in the way it all feels. The tightness, the girth and thickness. It all but brings you to your climax.

This of course until Wesker is pressed his weight into your back, and whsiepring dirty things into your hear. Coaxing you to the white bridge of release. Fianlly with a few finally thrusts he's got you were you want to be most, and he's no far behind.

A few heavy, heavy breaths later and you can see clearly. The tears being blinked away. Wesker slips the toy out from your ass throwing it back into the drawer. And slipping out of you with your protest. "Now next time you don't have to go snooping around in my drawers." He leaves you there a mess on his desk. Before Wesker turns and leave the room. He look over his shoulder, proud of himself. "Don't forget those papers I ask for, sweetpea."

Completed on: 08/17/23

Posted on: 10/27/23

Kinktober 23- @lanad3lreyscokewhor3 @homelanderscumdump @hummusxx@chvnsdimple @vvitzvafflezvv @lokisivy @claud-blood0703 @iliketoreads-stuff @all-that-glitters-is-treasure@clearscissorsbonkgiant-blog @lxonix--ac @piecesofx @mortallyswimmingpainter @playwithfire99 @fucak @everythingneytiri @lovetheos @xxxxxoseungxoooo @durazopato @hotpead42069 @oddseabiscuit @capoda @witching-hour @viviwows @lover103 @alexlovesfiction @katiecat10 @electricfans @jianasmind @max-505 @powerbun21o @the-horny-simp @missy420-0 @jaq-dav @arescosplays

Resident Evil Master List // Resident 4 Master List // Kinktober '23

[inkblotsandpapertrails]

Loves Me, Loves Me Not [A.D]

Pairing: Albert DaSilva x Reader

Description: Working as a florist means expressing a person's love for them, writing out their love story in an array of petals and blossoms and messages hidden in between it all. It does not mean falling in love yourself. But then the newsie starts selling outside your shop, and your whole routine goes out the window.

Tags: Oblivious reader, shy reader, flustered Albert, canon era, florist au, flower language/floriography, gender neutral reader, oneshot

A/N: OHHHH you didn't think ol ANGSTY MCGEE could write 10k of sheer toothrotting fluff now didja?? hm?? didja bitch?? well jokes on you cause i wanted to branch out with my reader types and there's nothing i love more than turning the token Tough Guy character into a squirming flustered puddle of a man. anyways i'd say take a shot for every repeated motif in this thing but you'd probably die of alcohol poisoning so just sit back and enjoy the self indulgence!

It is important to note that this happened entirely by chance.

You really can’t stress that enough. There are a thousand things that could’ve caused it, and another thousand things that could’ve led to the whole thing being avoided altogether. But of all things, it had to be chance. And newspapers, you suppose.

Yes, newspapers, har-har. It’s ridiculous, such a simple cause for the whole thing. Something that, again, could’ve been entirely avoided. You know it’s not especially pretty to wrap your painstakingly arranged bouquets in newspapers of all things. It’d be better to use parchment paper – something plain, but rustic, something that drew attention to the blossoms without looking too vulgar, perhaps lined with coloured tissue or lace if you were feeling particularly showy – rather than the same wastepaper the fishmongers used to wrap their catch. But you can’t help it. It’s an in-joke, of a kind; the idea of something growing out of yesterdays news brought you comfort, absurd as that is. So you don’t care if the ladies and businessmen wrinkle their noses at the crinkling paper and running ink wrapped around their lush roses and baby’s breath – they could stand to be humbled some, in your opinion. A rose by any other name, after all.

So, yes. Newspapers. Not the grandest way to start a story, but it’s yours. You like reading them, when the days get long, looking over yesterday’s stories. It became a game, almost – you’d read about the horses favoured to win at Sheepshead and laugh, knowing full well that Admiral Shucker would stumble and come dead last, leaving Zippy Skip to take his first ever victory and render every gambler at Sheepshead penniless. It’s a comfort, knowing exactly what was going to happen. Knowing precisely how the story ended before you read the first line. Which is why, when you ran out of newspapers for your bouquets, you were entirely unbothered – because you knew precisely what you were going to do. You would close for a few minutes, go down Park Row, grab a cheap and terrible hotdog lunch from the park vendor, and then walk until you reached the Promenade, where pack of newsboys would no doubt have stacks of papers ready for the taking as they waited for the double-whammy lunchtime rush of the University and City Hall. And then you’d hurry back, cramming your hotdog into your mouth, and re-open for the lunchtime rush yourself. Same as every Friday.

So you shut your register. You flip your sign to closed. You walk outside and lock the door behind you, and fuss with your pockets distractedly as you cram it back, because that is what you always do at lunchtime on a Friday.

Walking directly into someone’s back, however, is not.

“’Ey, watch where ya-!” Someone snaps as you stumble, tripping over your own feet. You make a rather embarrassing squeak and shut your eyes as you brace for the floor, reaching out blindly for something, anything-

“Whoa – Jesus-!”

You grab the something between your fingers, and then the something grabs ahold of you, hands squeezing your waist tight enough for you to feel rough callouses through your clothes. You open your eyes and – ah.

Well.

That is unexpected.

The boy’s your age, thereabouts. He’s pale, underneath the freckles and sunspots, with eyes cornflower blue. His face is close enough for you to make out the little threads of colour in the iris, like the veins of a petal, and the feather-down of his lashes – orange, you realize, orange and fluffy, like celosia plumes.

You both stare at each other for a moment, as the initial panic subsides. And then you remember the hands on your waist. And you feel the rough wool of a vest clutched between your fingers. And you realize he’s holding you at an angle from where you fell, so you’re dipped just a bit backwards, the way you’ve seen gentlemen dip their lovers for a chaste kiss after they proffer their bouquets.

You clutch your hands to your chest with a small squeak, and the boy leaps back as if you’d burned him.

“Sorry!” He says hurriedly. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t – I wasn’t-“

“No, no!” You say, equally panicked, as you wipe imaginary dust from your clothes. “My fault, entirely my fault, I should’ve been looking, I-“

You both stammer over the other, fumbling apologies and excuses, until you both seem to simultaneously trail off, realizing the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. You laugh sheepishly, and the boy chuckles with you.

“I-I really am sorry.” You say sheepishly. “I, um – people aren’t really around here before lunch, they’re usually working…”

The boy raises an eyebrow and jostles the bag he has slung over his shoulder.

“Well, s’pose I am workin’.”

You frown, glancing from him to the bag of – newspapers!

“You’re a newsie!” You gasp, clasping your hands together. The boy blinks, his cheeks dusting pink, and you bite your lip anxiously – you suppose he must find you quite strange, knocking into him and then getting excited over newspapers, of all things.

“Uh – yeah…” He says awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I, um – I was lookin’ for a new sellin’ spot, heard this place was kinda up an’ comin’, and, uh… I like… Lambs.”

You blink at him, turning to glance at the wooden sign that hangs over your shop door. You’d always loved it, the wee lamb snoozing in a meadow with the words Little Lamb Flowers painted below in curly lettering – perhaps some would find it cloying or childish, but you liked it found it adorable. Still, the idea of this newsie, with his big arms and rough hands and his hat on backwards, being drawn to your shop over a painted lamb… You couldn’t help but find it charming.

He's somehow even redder when you turn back to him, looking at the floor like he’s begging it to swallow him.

“Uh – not, not that I, not to say, y’know, I’m not – I ain’t, like-“ He flounders, and you try not to smile. “The sign’s… Good.”

It’s so awkwardly charming that you can’t help but giggle. He full-body jerks, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, well.” You smile, bunching the hem of your shirt between your fingers. “I like pretty things, I suppose.”

The boy makes a stifled noise, something a bit too sheepish to be a laugh.

“Yeah, s’pose you would.”

“Hm?” You cock your head, and he flushes.

“Uh – nothin’!” He says quickly, looking away with a wrinkled brow, as if the sidewalk had personally offended him. “I just – I-“

“No, um – You’re right!” You try to smile reassuringly – you hope you aren’t making him uncomfortable. You know you can be a little over-the-top, but you wouldn’t want to frighten him off, not after he helped you. And, well – perhaps you were a little intrigued by the gruff, abrasive newsie that liked paintings of lambs. “I mean, I’d hardly be a good florist if I didn’t.”

The boy is silent, glancing around at the quiet street. You fidget with your hands, opening your mouth, then closing it, your body quietly reminding you that you’re supposed to be going to Park Row, because that’s what you do every Friday, and if you don’t get back in time you’re not going to have time to eat lunch, but why would you go to Park Row when there’s a newsie right here? It’s not your routine, perhaps, but – even you can’t deny the convenience.

“Could I-“ You say, stuttering over your words. “Could I perhaps – goodness, this is going to sound awful strange, but, um – I-I don’t suppose I could take a hundred, could I?”

The boy’s neck jerks towards you, hard enough to make you wince.

“Only if you have it!” You say quickly. “I-It is a tall order, if – if you don’t, I can just run down to Park Row-“

“A hundred?” The boy manages to splutter. “What’cha need a hundred for, a pape for every flower?”

You’re sure he’s not angry, just confused – it’s a peculiar request – but it’s enough to make you duck your head anxiously.

“I, um.” You try to laugh, but it sounds a bit pathetic. “I-I like to – wrap the bouquets with them? It’s sort of a… Personal joke, I suppose? It’s silly, sorry, I didn’t mean to bother-“

“No!” He says quickly – you chance a glance towards him, and you’re almost shocked at how scarlet his face has become. “I, uh, no, no, I mean – I’d be a lousy newsie if I said no to a hundred papes…”

He pulls his entire stack out of his bag and pushes it into your arms. You grin, cradling the papers like a prize.

“Gosh, you’re my hero!” You laugh without thinking as you fish the change out of your pocket. “I sure hope you stick around, that just saved me twenty minutes!”

You slide your hand over his and slot the coins into his palm. You try not to shiver as you feel his callouses brushing your skin. He’s staring at you, you realize, mouth parted and eyes wide, and you feel your face beginning to warm up. Goodness, what a state you’ve made of yourself – there’s still pollen on your fingers, no doubt there are stray petals in your hair, and you’ve gone running into a newsboy and taking all his papers and – Lord, this is not how Fridays are meant to go.

“Sorry.” You say sheepishly. The boy quirks his brows, chuckling inquisitively.

“F’r what?” He asks. “Ya just sold me out and the lunch rush ain’t even hit yet, I…” He swallows and tangles his hand around the strap of his bag. “Thanks, uh…?”

“Oh!” You gasp. “I beg your pardon, I’m so rude – [Y/N].” You stick your hand out, curtsying as best you can with a stack of papers balanced in the crook of your elbow. “[Y/N] [L/N].”

The boy makes a noise, half-chuckle, half… Something else, and clasps his calloused fingers around yours.

“Albert DaSilva.”

Now that he’s looking at you properly, not ducking his head or avoiding your gaze, you can make out the subtle twinges of bluebeard-grey that dapple around the ring of his iris, little gleams in the sunlight. DaSilva, indeed.

“Well,” you smile sheepishly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Albert DaSilva.”

His grip tightens by a fraction as his eyes widen, just a twitch. You frown at his sudden awkwardness, glancing at your hands and-

“Oh!” You pull your hand away – he immediately yanks his own back like you’ve pricked him. “Oh, goodness, I’m sorry, I got pollen all over you!”

Albert blinks, holding up his fingers and peering at the yellow dust clinging to his skin.

“Oh, uh – nah, ain’t no big deal,” he says quietly, glancing at you through his feathery lashes. “I pro’lly-“ he blanches as he looks at your hands. “Aw, shit, I got ink on ya! Ah-!” He tenses again, his whole body going suddenly ramrod straight. “Fuck, I said shit – dammit-!”

You can’t help it – you laugh. It’s all just so absurd, so strange, so not what was meant to happen today. And you like it. It’s ridiculous and stupid and, against all reason, you like it, this bizarre newsboy who’s landed on your doorstep. He watches you as you giggle, positively perplexed, and chuckles awkwardly alongside you.

“I, um,” you manage to say between little giggles. “I-I should really get back inside.”

Albert nods, swallowing hard enough to make his Adams apple bob.

“Yeah, uh – s’pose I should go back to the Square.” He smiles smugly to himself. “Hell, I got a whole day off today!”

You snicker again, feeling just a bit proud of yourself for being the one to make him smile like that.

“Well…” You hug the paper stack to your chest, trying to hide your expression – you must look like a dope, giggling like a fool over a boy you just met. “Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Because it would be convenient, of course. That’s the only reason you ask, for the convenience – it’d beat walking all the way to the Promenade and walking all the way back with a stack of papers, having a newsie so close. That’s why you ask. Not because of lambs or cornflowers or any other ridiculous reason. Still, Albert looks almost surprised that you asked, eyes wide and pretty and nooononono, that’s not what you should be noticing right now!

“I – Yes!” He says it far too loud, and realizes that unfortunate fact quite suddenly, slapping a palm over one red cheek. “I mean, uh, yeah. Cool. Sounds good.”

You bounce on your toes and offer him another sheepish farewell before ducking back into your shop, feeling far too warm despite the breezy spring weather – and you realize with a twinge of fear that your routine is about to become very, very different, in ways that you can’t possibly expect.

You bite your lip as you fuss over your arrangements. This was why you always read yesterdays paper, for goodness’ sake – there’s no surprises when you know what’s coming. Now, you’re going in blind, and it’s – it’s scary.

But then you think about Albert. All the little peculiarities you’ve found out about him in the span of just ten minutes.

It could be a bit fun, too, you suppose.

You go on like that for a while, you and Albert. He becomes a fixture of the store, as permanent as the dried flowers in the window, or the Little Lamb sign swinging overhead. You hear him when the door swings open, barking a headline, and you see him through the window, wandering up and down the storefront, his dandelion-mane ruffling in the breeze.

You try not to get to attached. It’d be like naming a freshly picked flower while knowing full well that within a week, it’d be withered and gone. But you can’t help it. You liked your old routine, you really did – you liked the gentle monotony of your cozy little shop, you liked wandering the shelves and fussing over the flowers, you liked making polite conversation with the customers, from the bashful lovers planning a proposal to the suave businessmen looking to surprise their spouse, to even the flustered housekeepers running errands for their mistresses. But now there’s Albert, rough and unkempt Albert, sprouting between the cracks of your life like a stubborn thistle, prickly and rough around the edges, but… Then he’ll hold the door for you when you’re stumbling out, juggling an armful of flowers. Then he’ll persuade some passer-by on the street to stop in the shop after they buy a paper. Then he’ll lug a whole stack of papers over every Friday and drop them off at the door for you, offering you a stiff smile as he tips his cap.

“You’re an angel.” You say gratefully as you press the dimes into his palm. “I used to have to walk all the way to Park Row and back for these. I’d barely have a lunch break at all!”

Albert nodded wordlessly as he fumbled over the coins, almost dropping one before he shoved them into his bag, face flushed and rosy. Perhaps you were being clingy, but you were beginning to get a bit concerned over how red Albert was all the time – sunburn, perhaps? You knew he was pale, but it didn’t seem right for him to be so flushed all the time…

“Try walkin’ all day,” he chuckles, a bit stiltedly. “M’ready t’keel over by the time the second bell rolls ‘round.”

And that sticks with you as you fidget around your little apartment above your shop. You know Albert didn’t mean anything by it – you’d never heard him complain once, not after a long day’s work, not when he heaved a stack of papers all the way down to the Financial District every week, not even when you got distracted by your keys or your flowers or whatever else and went knocking into him as you exited the Little Lamb. Perhaps he just didn’t want to tell you about stuff like that – it’s not like you know him particularly well, you suppose. Still, it didn’t feel right, having him work so hard for so little.

You frown at your butterknife as you prepare your lunch, and chance a glance towards your open window. If you strain your ears over the bustle of the street, you can hear Albert hawking away.

You shouldn’t get attached. You really shouldn’t. You can pick a flower and sear the stems or press it between books or dry it from the ceiling but eventually, it’ll still wilt.

Against your better judgement, you poke out of your shop with a wrapped sandwich in one hand and a tin mug of coffee in the other.

“Afternoon.” You try to smile away the tension in your shoulders. Albert glances over his shoulder, then double-takes, spinning around like a puppet whose strings have gotten tangled.

“Uh – yeah!” He blurts, then stiffens like he’s stubbed his toe. “I mean – afternoon! Again. Not, not that it’s afternoon again, just I – I already – you already-“

“No, I got it.” You say gently, bouncing anxiously on your toes. “Afternoon, again.”

You bite your lip and, before you can lose your nerve, shove the food towards him.

“For you.” You mumble towards the floor. “Y’know, a – a lunch break. Since you don’t normally… Get one.”

Albert stares from the sandwich to the coffee to you and back again. You can feel yourself sweating. God, this was a ridiculous idea. A newsie doesn’t want charity, for goodness’ sake, they just want to finish their shift and rest, like any other working kid in this city, they don’t want someone – waiting on them like a nursemaid, they-

Albert tentatively wraps his hand around the sandwich, his fingers brushing yours as he does so, leaving a little static twinge in their wake.

“Thank you.” He says softly, staring at you like you’re something he’s never seen before. You can feel your face warming up, and you have to force yourself to look away.

“It’s only chicken.” You ramble. “A-And lettuce, I didn’t – I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just-“

“It’s good.” Albert smiles at the paltry sandwich wrapped in parchment paper, and glances up at you with those cornflower eyes. “It’s really good.”

You feel your throat go tight. With stiff limbs, you shove the coffee towards him, a drop spilling over the rim.

“And coffee!” You say far too quickly. “I, um – I hope you like milk.”

Albert cups the tin mug between his hands and blinks.

“It’s hot.” He murmurs. His nose twitches – bunny-like, you think distantly, and then you chase away that thought with a stick because that is not what you’re here to do – and he beams. “It smells good!”

“Oh!” You smile. “Well, um – I hope it tastes the same, then.”

“I ain’t ever had coffee that weren’t stale.” Albert looks at you with a wide grin. “You’re… Thank you.”

You can feel warmth blossoming in your chest, bursting outwards like snowdrops after winter-

“Haveagooddayniceseeingyoubye!” is all you manage to blurt out before scurrying back into The Little Lamb.

Not getting attached, you tell yourself as you sweep the shop floor (to no avail, there’s not a speck of dust left, you’ve been sweeping for nearly thirty minutes now to avoid looking out the window). You are not getting attached.

(But if you chance a glance at Albert sipping his coffee and sighing, or smiling as he savours a bite of his sandwich… Well, who’s to say?)

Despite your best efforts, Albert becomes a fixed part of your routine. You bring him lunch every day. Sometimes you’ll even eat together, leaning against the window display and chatting about nothing at all. You’ll usher him into the shop when it rains (“Honestly, Albert, who would buy papers in this weather?” “Someone without an umbrella, I guess.”) and you’ll show him your floriography books, from Floral Poetry to Les langage des Fleurs (although you try not to read that one too often, since Albert’s face goes all funny when you read the French – perhaps it sounds strange to him). You’ll point out the different meanings, the different messages that can be spelt through each blossom, and he’ll nod and watch you like you’re actually saying something important. It was nice, being able to talk to someone and knowing that what you said mattered to them. You’d even brought him an aloe plant one morning.

(“For your skin.” You smiled, breaking off a leaf and scooping sap onto your finger. “See?”

Albert frowned, wrinkling his nose at the gooey gel.

“My skin?”

“You know.” You gestured to his cheeks. “Your sunburn. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable to be selling like that – this’ll clear it right up! Here, just like this…”

You swept your fingers over Albert’s face, rubbing in the gel as gently as you could, so as not to irritate his skin. He was already going crimson, the poor thing – honestly, you loathed to think about how uncomfortable he must’ve been.

“I – uh – yeah!” He squeaked. “Yeah… Sunburn.”)

It’s stupid. It’s so incredibly stupid, you know precisely how this story will go. Albert’s a newsie, the entire nature of his job is temporary. As soon as the spring crowds die down, he’ll go looking for a better place to sell, and then a better place after that, and another after that. It’s simply the way of it. But selfishly, you like having him here. You’ve grown used to your little lunch visits, to the Friday drop-offs, to his permanently red cheeks and his cornflower eyes. You tried to be sensible, you really did, but Albert had gone and nestled himself in your chest anyways, creeping around your heart like morning glory – and you just hadn’t the strength to cut him away.  

Seasons change. People change. Flowers bloom anyways. But you’ve gone and grown around him like ivy on oak, except oak doesn’t get to wander off to greener pastures when it needs to, so… So where does that leave you?

Well, you didn’t know the answer to that question just yet. You suppose you’ll just… Have to cope. So you cope. You go about your day, you tend to your flowers, you arrange your bouquets – and when the Little Lamb sign starts creaking around a patch of rust, you fix that, too.

Replacing the chains is always a pain. It’s finicky work, and you hate having to use the stepladder on the street – it sways with every little breeze, teetering left and right as you sway for balance. You grit your teeth and tighten the chain link around the clasp in the sign, gripping your pliers with white knuckles and pointedly ignoring the painted dandelion in the corner of the sign, absolutely not thinking about what the fluffy orange centre reminds you of.

“Right.” You mutter as you pull gently on the chain. It holds secure, without a creak, and you smile to yourself. “Job done.”

And now to-

“Extry, extry, sweetheart leaves idiot gawkin’ on the sidewalk, read all about it!”

You shriek at the sudden noise, the stepladder lurching beneath you as you stumble backwards, and the sign’s slipped out from under your grasp and your pliers have gone flying and now you’re falling and God, this is why you hate chain-repair days-!

You land with a soft – soft? – flop, a firm something stumbling beneath you as it braces, holding you close. Arms, you realize. Strong, bare arms, which is ridiculous because only a fool wouldn’t wear sleeves in spring, and-

Oh.

Oh, dear.

You glance up, your nose bumping against another, as your eyes meet cornflower blue.

“Y’okay?” Albert asks hurriedly. “I was gonna wait, y’looked busy, but fuckin’ Racer, he’s… Um…”

His rambling begins to slow as he peers down at you, and you’re overcome with a very silly urge to trace a fingertip over his freckles.

“Hi.” Albert says quietly, close enough for you to feel his whisper on your skin.

“Oh…” You manage to squeak around your dry throat. “Hi.”

“Oooh, hold it right there, Albie!” You hear someone say, their smile imprinted in the words, and you know Albert’s realized at exactly the same time you have that he is holding you the same way a groom cradles his newlywed. You both make a similar bastardized shriek as you scramble out of his arms and Albert backs away like he’s about to get attacked, holding his hands up in a gesture of apology or surrender or – oh, hell, who knows?!

“Al-bert!” That same voice whines petulantly – you whip around, face flaming, to see another newsie, tall and curly and grinning like a mischievous sprite, who’s holding his hands in such a way that his fingers make a rectangle, kind of like a camera. “I coulda gotten you’s on the front page with a shot like that! Perfect li’l pit’cha o’ domesticity, eh?”

“Wouldja shaddup?!” Albert snaps, and you don’t have to turn around to know his face is redder than a rosebud. “God, this is why-!”

“Racetrack Higgins, m’darlin’!” The other boy says just on the verge of obnoxiously, striding up to you and proffering his hand with an exaggerated bow. “A veritable pleasure to meet’cha!”

You can’t help laughing awkwardly at the way he stretches his voice over the unfamiliar words – very-table play-sure – and slip your hand into his.

“And, um, you as well, Mister Hig-“

You barely finish before he’s pressing the back of your hand to his mouth with an over-the-top smack of his lips. You squeak and yank your hand away hard enough to make you stumble, bumping into Albert’s front.

“Race!”

“Aw, was that Mister Higginsya called me?” Racetrack – Racetrack, what a peculiar name – grins at you, and you feel rather like a lamb about to be eaten. “Albie, ya hit it outta the park w’this one!”

“Oh, just-!” Albert slaps his shoulder, forcing the other boy away from you. “Lay off’a them, wouldja?!”

“M’only bein’ a gent, Albie! Maybe y’should learn a thing or two, might impress ‘em-!”

“Racer, if you don’t stop talkin’ right now-!”

“Well, whateva’ happened t’romance-!”

You watch, dumbfounded, as the two begin to scuffle, jabbing elbows and kicking shins until Albert manages to lock Race’s head under his arm and Race is snapping his teeth to try and bite at Albert’s wrist (“Ah, ya shit, get offa me!” “Y’gerroffa-mm!” “Quit talkin’ w’my hand in ya mouth, ya freak!”), and then they spin awkwardly in your direction, tangled in their playfighting, and realize you’re still stood there watching.

“Hello.” You wave your hand awkwardly. With the decency to look a little bit ashamed, Race spits out Albert’s wrist.

“Sorry to cause a scene, darlin’!” He laughs sheepishly. “Only that Albert talks about this place so much, I had to see it for myself – and c’mon, have you seen the fella?” He gestures vaguely in Albert’s direction. “Fuckin’ brute. Only natural for him to start wailin’ on a guy, y’know?” He twirls his finger around his temple. “Unhinged.”

“I – Race!” Albert yelps. “Don’t say shit like – stuff like-!”

You laugh, and the two go quiet.

“That’s funny,” you smile, hoping to make a good impression after – all that. “I can see why you’re such good friends.”

“Uh.” Race blinks owlishly. “I weren’t jokin’. He stole my cigar this morning.”

You frown.

“Albert doesn’t smoke.”

“Well – yeah.” Says Race, like it’s obvious. “He just… Takes shit.”

You laugh at his joke, rolling your eyes.

“Yep, that’s Albert!” You giggle. “Reeaaal barbarian, huh?”

Race stares from you to Albert, who’s blush is growing darker by the second.

“What kinda fuckin’ witchcraft have you been sellin’ this kid-“

“Park!” Albert yells, clutching at his friend’s collar as if Race were a priest offering salvation. You stall, taken off guard again – truly, what is happening today? – when Race snaps his fingers with a smile.

“Oh, yeah!” He grins, digging his elbow into Albert’s side. “Yeah, that’s what we came for, ain’t it, Albie?”

Albert’s face drops, as if he’s suddenly realized something terrible.

“Wait, noooo,” he hisses, tugging at Race’s sleeve. “Nonono, Race-!”

“What you came for?” You ask curiously. Of course, it’s Sunday – everywhere’s closed for the Church services, that’s why you chose to do the repairs today. They couldn’t be here to sell. Perhaps they were buying flowers for a sweetheart? You felt your stomach drop. Please don’t let Albert be here for flowers.

“Well,” Race drawls as Albert yanks desperately on his sleeve. “We was just in the neighbourhood, y’know, it bein’ Sunday an’ all, an’ the fellas were all thinkin’ we’d hit up the park! And then Albie here-“ he smirks, draping an arm over Albert’s shoulder, who’s staring at the floor like he’s praying for it to eat him, “goes and mentions how close that is to his new favourite florists! So we was wonderin’-”

“Racer-!”

“If this favourite florist o’ his would wanna accompany some humble newsboys,” he places a hand on his chest and bows comically deep, “to the good ol’ City Hall gardens.”

“Favourite?” You laugh sheepishly – your stomach flips as you fixate on the word. “Well, I – I don’t suppose there are any others, so…”

“Oh, but of course!” Race says emphatically, as if the two of you are telling a joke together. “You’re just irreplaceable, ain’t they, Albert?”

Albert slaps a hand over his mouth and makes a noise like he’s in pain. You wince sympathetically, stepping forward to take a look.

“Albert, your face! Have you been using the aloe I gave you?”

Race’s head perks up like a dog smelling a bone.

“Well, aloe there,” he grins, “what’s this I hear? Givin’ gifts, are we?”

“No, no, not like that!” You say quickly, your voice trilling with nerves. “I just – well, Albert always gets so sunburnt, poor thing-“

“Oh, does he?” Race’s voice pitches high with glee as Albert makes another pained moan. “Well, we can’t have poor Albert getting sunburnt, can we?”

“Racer, I am begging you to shut! Up!” Albert snaps, and you realize – oh, damn it all, you’re embarrassing him. The last thing Albert of all people would want is someone fussing over him in front of his friend.

“Um – the park!” You say quickly, trying to change the subject – Albert shoots you a soft, grateful look, and you can’t help but melt a little. “Yes, I’d love to go, if – if it’s not too much trouble…“ You glance towards your closed-up shop, clicking your tongue. “Would you mind terribly if I brought some work with me? I-I just got some fresh flowers, I wanted to make them into crowns come Monday – it won’t be too distracting!”

“Weeell, we’ll just have to see about that, eh, Albert?” Race smirks, and you frown as you try to decipher what he means – apparently, it’s deserving of a quick smack to the shoulder, though, because that’s precisely what Albert gives him. “Ooh, someone’s testy! Don’tcha worry, I’ll leave ya to it.” He makes his way up the street towards Park Row. “Don’t go gettin’ distracted, though!”

You feel your cheeks warming as he presses on the word, distracted – goodness, had you really been that obvious? – and Albert grumbles under his breath as you duck into your shop for your flowers. You gather the bundles in your arms, your eyes just peeking out over the various blooms, and skitter out the door, not wanting to keep him waiting. You walk in awkward silence, avoiding each other’s gaze as Race prances ahead of you both, and you curse yourself for getting so stupidly attached.

You don’t talk for what feels like ages, not until you reach the park. The newsboys are all eager to meet you, grinning and shaking your hands and making comments that you don’t quite understand, but seem to drive Albert up the wall. You wince every time one of the boys says something to you that makes Albert grit his teeth – you don’t know what you’re doing wrong, but it has to be something.

It's only later, when you’re sat on the grass fidgeting with your flower crowns, Albert sitting cross-legged and stiff next to you, that you just can’t take it anymore.

“Sorry.” You say quickly, stumbling over the words, and Albert looks at you, his tense face suddenly soft.

“F’r what?”

“I, um…” You clear your throat into your fist. “I-I didn’t mean to be so… You know. Clingy? I just – you’re my friend, and I don’t want you getting hurt, I mean, hawking’s got to be hard work, all that walking, and you said you don’t get much lunch-“

“[Y/N],” Albert says firmly, enough to make your voice catch in your throat. He pinks as you look at him and glances at the floor instead. “Don’t go worryin’ ‘bout that, yeah? Just the fellas bein’ jerks is all, never know when to shaddup.”

You hum, not quite a response, and make sure to keep your hands clasped in front of you so you don’t invade Albert’s space. You can feel him watching you, his stare burning your skin, and he sighs frustratedly.

“Aw, c’mon, [Y/N], I…” His voice stops and stutters in his throat. He sighs, choosing instead to knock his shoulder against yours – the touch sets you alight. “You don’t gotta be worried ‘bout that, it… It’s nice. That’cha wanna take care o’me. Ain’t many folks that do, so…”

You smile, warmth blossoming in your chest.

“Well, that’s nonsense, then.” You say matter-of-factly as you weave the stem of a red tulip around your fingers. “Caring for you’s rather easy.”

The two of you go quiet again – a comfortable silence this time, simply basking in each other’s existence. You pluck a lady’s mantle from your collection of blooms, twisting the dusky pink against the red of the tulip.

“Those, uh…” Albert says quietly, so as not to break the peaceful tranquillity that’s grown between you both. “Those mean comfort, don’t they?”

“They do.” You nod, your heart fluttering in your chest – he remembered.

“And the tulips,” he continues, his voice getting a bit steadier, “those mean ‘good health’, right?”

You giggle under your breath.

“Almost. Those were pink tulips – these are red, see?” You hold the crown up to his eyeline. “Red tulips mean, uh – true love.” You have to look away as you say it, can’t bear to look into Albert’s eyes as the word love falls out of your lips. “And I’m going to add some Sweet William, too, for gallantry – the meaning’s a bit more masculine for that one, so if you put them all together, you get…”

Your eyes flick towards Albert, landing on his freckles before you force yourself to look away again.

“You get, um… Well, a hope, I suppose.”

Albert says nothing, only cocks his head towards you in invitation. Keep going. I’m listening.

“A hope for… For someone kind,” you say quietly, “and chivalrous, who – who comforts you and… Keeps you safe.”

You can feel him staring. You grab a Sweet William and start threading it into the crown, out of sheer need for something, anything else to do.

“How d’you do that?” Albert asks curiously. “The crowns n’ stuff.”

Thank God, you think to yourself, eagerly snatching up the subject change.

“It’s quite simple, actually – look, I’ll show you.”

You smile as you press his fingers underneath yours – you so loved sharing your knowledge of flowers with Albert. You were certain he didn’t understand a lick of it, but he always listened no matter what. Like it mattered.

“So, you just twist here,” you murmur as the two of you hold the crown together, “and you sort of – lock it under the second stem there, and you…”

You try to help him weave the stems around each other, your fingertips skimming over Albert’s knuckles, but you suppose doing such finnicky work with two sets of hands overcomplicated the whole thing, because the crown fumbles out from Albert’s grip.

“Ah, shit, sorry!” He winces. “God, it ain’t broken, is it?”

“Don’t worry about it!” You pat his shoulder reassuringly as you rescue the crown. “It’s difficult at first. Oh, I know!” You point at a cluster of sunshine-yellow growing in the park. “Would you grab me those dandelions? They’re much easier to work with. The stalks are more flexible, and they don’t snap so easily – it’s how I learned when I was a kid.”

Albert nods obediently, scurrying off to gather two fistfuls of dandelions.

“There we are – here, do what I do.”

The two of you crowd into each other as Albert follows your movements, looping one stem underneath the other and then weaving it back around the blossom, locking it into place.

“Hey, I did it!” Albert grins triumphantly. You knock your shoulder against his, just as he’d done to you.

“See? Easy.”

You half expect him to leave it after that – most boys didn’t find weaving flower crowns to be a particularly manly activity, and after how embarrassed Albert had been today, you were sure he wouldn’t want his friends to see him playing with flowers – but he stays. He grabs another stem and repeats the movement, chaining them together, one after the other. You smile to yourself – you can’t bring yourself to not be charmed. It’s sweet, how eager he is, the way his tongue pokes out as he threads the stems into loops.

“I just love dandelions.” You say quietly into the breeze, almost unaware that you’d even said it. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Albert looks up from his work and frowns.

“Seriously?” He quirks a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d like weeds all that much.”

You scoff, the sound drawing his attention.

“Weed is a word made up by debutantes.” You say pettily. “It’s their way of separating what’s common to make pretty things seem prettier. But they’re all plants at the end of the day.”

You glance over at Albert’s clumsy crown and smile, tracing a finger over the fluffy centre of a dandelion.

“And dandelions are so cheerful,” you murmur peacefully, rubbing pollen between your thumb and forefinger. “They grow wherever they like, and no one can get them not to. Ask any gardener – you pull one up, and ten more grow back. They’re resilient. I bet the next time we come back here, they’ll be everywhere.”

You lift a loose blossom to your nose and breathe in the bittersweet scent.

“They don’t even have meanings, you know.” You say wistfully. “Not in any of my books. People just decided, oh, that’s a weed, and now… Now they don’t mean anything.” You brush your thumb over the feathery petals and smile as they tickle your skin. “But they mean something to me.”

Albert’s quiet beside you, and you suddenly feel exposed.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, drawing away from him. “Suppose that’s a bit strange, um – I’ll just-”

You’re about to turn back to your flower crown when a calloused hand slides against your jaw. Your breath hitches as Albert turns your face towards his, his thumb drifting over your cheekbone until it brushes over your nose – and as he pulls away, you see the pad of his thumb’s stained yellow.

“You, uh,” he says quietly, his cheeks going pink in the sun, “y’had some pollen.”

“Oh!” You laugh stiltedly. “Gosh, um – sorry.”

“Nah,” Albert shrugs as he fiddles with his crown. “S’cute.”

You feel yourself going warm, even with the evening breeze. Your throat makes a small squeaking sound, and you try to make yourself focus on your crown when you hear Albert make a dissatisfied noise next to you.

“Problem?” You ask tentatively, and he holds up a little white puffball in response.

“Think this one’s shot.” He mutters, about to chuck it when you grab his wrist.

“Don’t waste it! It’s a clock.”

Albert blinks and turns to frown at the flower.

“Uh…” He tilts his head as he examines the fluffy ball of seeds. “How?”

“No – not that kind of clock,” you explain, “a dandelion clock. Here, hold it here-” You pull the little bloom between the two of you. “We’ll share it, see? Make a wish and, on the count of three, blow off the seeds. Ready?”

“I, uh-“ Albert stammers. “I guess?”

“Great.” You shuffle a bit closer and close your eyes. “Okay – one, two, three.”

You lean forward and blow softly, the tiny seeds billowing away on the breeze. You feel one tickle your nose and you laugh softly, opening your eyes to bat it away when- oh.

Albert’s… Close. Closer than before, even closer than the first time – the naked bud of the dandelion rests between the two of you, the only thing separating your slightly parted lips from his. In the evening breeze, it sways just enough to brush against your lower lip, Albert’s eyes flicking toward the movement, and you can’t help but think about how easy it’d be to just shift forward ever so slightly and-

“Well what’cha waitin’ for, Albie, don’t leave ‘em hangin’!”

You jolt backwards, nearly falling onto the grass as Albert leaps to his feet.

“Racer, I am gonna teach you such a lesson-!”

He sprints across the green to tackle the other boy to the floor, and while you quietly mourn the loss of Albert’s warm weight next to you, you can’t help but be grateful for the distraction – at least this way he won’t notice you flopping into the grass and groaning pathetically.

After you somehow regain your composure (and Albert as appropriately pummelled Racec), he walks you home, the two of you walking dutifully on opposite ends of the sidewalk, as if simply brushing one another’s clothes will set you both aflame.

“I had fun,” you say quietly as you reach The Little Lamb. “Even if it was…”

You try to find a word to describe how being around Albert makes you feel, but nothing seems to capture it.

“Yeah.” Albert nods, smiling sheepishly at the floor. “Um – hey!” He says quickly, just as you turn to open the door. “I, um – I…”

“Albert?” You frown as he flounders. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” He nods vigorously. “Yeah, I just – I was wonderin’… Say if I, uh, wanted a flower that – that said, uh…” He stares at the step under your feet so intensely you worry he might shatter it. “That I – liked someone. A-A flower that said I… I really cared ‘bout someone and, and that maybe they cared ‘bout me, too. What…” He swallows, honey-thick, and chances a glance at you through his lashes. “What flower’d I need for that?”

You feel your stomach begin to sink.

Oaks and ivy, alright.

Morning glory around your heart.

“Well,” you try your best to smile, “if you want to be traditional, you’d only need something small – one or two flowers and a couple of herbs. White roses are a good one, they’re very…”

God, it felt like you were choking.

“Innocent.” You manage to say. “Sweet. A sort of – tentative love.”

Albert’s lips quirk into the softest smile.

“Yeah?”

“And – and hyacinths,” you say quickly, because you can’t bear to look at him smiling like that. “Blue ones. Those would work. And then you could cover it all in heather and lavender for good luck.”

“Hope.” Albert says quietly, staring at the flower crowns you have cradled in your arms. You clear your throat and shove yourself against the door, forcing your way inside – you have to get away, you just have to.

“Yes, well,” you slap a tight smile on your face, “perhaps you can come by tomorrow and – and I’ll have some for you.”

Albert stares at you through the threshold like he can’t believe his luck. Your chest aches.

“You’d… You’d do that?”

No, no, no-

“Of course!” You laugh, on the verge of hysterical. “I mean, if you’re going to go – go courting someone,” (the word tastes like ash on your tongue), “then who’s better to help you than your favourite florist?”

Albert blinks, his smile dropping.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll have the perfect selection for you!” You smile, because you just don’t learn, do you? “Not like it’ll make much difference, of course, they’d be a fool to say no to you…”

“I-“ Albert’s eyes flicker back and forth, as if he’s watching something unravel and can’t quite stop it. “Wait, but-“

“I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You slam the door, and try to shut your stupid, horrid thoughts out with it.

God. You should’ve just gone to Park Row.

You spend that night lying in bed feeling sorry for yourself. It’s pitiful, yes, and painfully childish, but damn it all, you’re sad. You deserve to curl up and wallow for a bit. It serves you right, you suppose, doing exactly what you knew you shouldn’t’ve. It’s better to just stick to what you know. Colours and meanings and silly little facts that no one else but you care about. Getting your papers on Fridays, working alone on Sundays, not going around making lunch and getting attached to newsboys.

Why didn’t you just stick to yesterday’s news? To living in the background? To being the author of someone else’s love story? No one gets flowers for the florist, after all.

But then it’s morning, and… And Albert’s your friend. And if he loves someone, really loves someone, then you’re going to do your darnedest to get that person to love him right back. It’s what he deserves.

“There you are!” You smile as Albert pokes into the shop like a stray who’s unsure if he’s allowed on the furniture. Ugh, damn it all, he’s cute. “I have your flowers right here.”

You present them with a flourish, a pair of white roses entwined around a pale blue hyacinth, decorated with heather and lavender. You’ve trussed them up with lace and pretty pink tissue paper and they look splendid, thank you very much, because Albert deserves the best.

He smiles, something small and private and a little bit sad, and holds them preciously in his hands.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, looking at you from over the blooms, and you try to keep your pulse from racing.

“Yes, well!” You say quickly, fumbling your fingers over your little pet project. “There’s also, uh-“

You shove it into his vest pocket before you can lose your nerve. Albert blinks, reaching up to brush a petal between his thumb and forefinger, the pads of which come away slightly smudged with ink. It’s a flower – well, not a real one, it’s actually a newspaper you’d fiddled and folded with until it took the shape of a rose, but… Well, you’d thought it’d look charming. Perhaps it was silly.

Albert chuffs out a small, disbelieving laugh, wrinkling his brow at the paper rose.

It was probably silly.

“Any fine gentleman looking to court needs a good boutonniere.” You mumble, a bit defeated. Ridiculous.

“I love it.” Says Albert, voice tender. He purses his lips, glancing from you to the bouquet for a moment before he plucks a sprig of lavender from the arrangement and slips it behind your ear.

“I – oh.” You murmur, feeling suddenly off-kilter as your cheeks begin to warm – and then your sensibilities come back to you. “Albert!” You scold him halfheartedly, swatting at his shoulder. “This is supposed to be for your sweetheart, you shouldn’t just go around wasting it! Go on, now, tell them what you want to say.”

“You’re perfect.” Albert says, then blinks suddenly as if waking up from a dream. “I – I mean-“

“Yes, yes, we can save the camellias for your next gift,” you mutter with a wave of your hand, as if you could brush away all your selfish thoughts. “Off you go, now!”

The next time Albert comes into the shop, you slap a smile on your face and ask him how it went, because you’re a good and not at all selfish friend, and Albert is very pleasing on the eye when he looks so wistfully in love.

“I just – I…” Albert flounders under your gaze, fidgeting with his hands, and your heart aches. Lovely boy, so nervous – you try not to envy whoever gets to see him this way. “What I wanna say – what I need to say-“

He tangles a hand in his puff of dandelion hair and groans.

“God, I just wanna be with ya!”

You’re almost taken aback by how desperate he is – and oh, don’t you just feel terrible now, envying the person who’s driving him so crazy. Honestly, you’re meant to be his friend. You smile sympathetically and pat his hand before you grab a cluster of rockfoil and press it between his fingers.

“It’s a bit peculiar,” you say reassuringly as he stares at the little white bells, “but rather charming.”

Albert makes a wounded noise, staring at you like you’ve just slapped him.

“Yeah, well – you’d know all ‘bout that, wouldn’tcha?” He huffs, more to himself than to you, before rushing out of the store and leaving you with a thousand different questions.

“Good… luck?” You try to say, but he only offers you a frustrated yell in return.

After that, Albert comes into the shop almost every day.

“I’m crazy for ya.”

You’d offer him a yellow pansy.

“I think about’cha all the time.”

You’d smile and hand him a blue salvia.

“I think I like ya more ‘an anyone else I ever met.”

You’d tuck an apple blossom into his vest.

“I’m sure they’ll love it.” You’d say every time, offering him a reassuring grin – and every time, Albert would look at you as if he were drowning and all but sprint out the door.

This goes on for a while – Albert will burst into the shop like a man on a mission, report whatever message he wants to give his love, and you’ll dutifully hand him a flower that matches. You never made him pay – a fact you’d beat yourself up about later in bed, when you’re tired and feeling sorry for yourself – but you can’t help it. It’s sweet, how eager he is to get this right, how badly he wants to impress whoever this mystery person is. You can barely bring yourself to be jealous (which isn’t to say that you’re not, but you at least have the decency to feel bad about it).

And then one day, as you’re fussing over a cluster of stubborn chamomile blossoms, Albert bursts into the shop wielding an armful of flowers. It’s a veritable cacophony of colour, reds and purples and yellows all mixing together in a chaotic muddle of petals, leaves and stamens – and as you note the wrinkles on some of the petals, the bits of blight on some of the leaves, you wonder just how many of the flowers did Albert keep?

“Alright.” Albert says gruffly as he shoves the array of flowers onto your counter. He hovers a hand over it for a moment before grabbing one at random.

“Honeysuckle!” He snaps, shoving the yellow-pink blossom into your hand. “Devotion.”

Before you can ask how many he’d like, he hands you a gillyflower.

“And that – that means ya beautiful.” He picks up stem after stem, slotting them into your fingers. “Pink camellia, I – I-I’m longin’ for ya. White lillies, m’love’s pure, bluebells, my love’s constant, and, um-“ He flounders for a moment, staring stubbornly at the wooden countertop before he shoves a red carnation at you.

“My – m’heart aches for ya.”

You stare at the nimbus of flowers in your hands, glancing from it to Albert. He’s redder than his hair, up to his ears and down to his neck, and he looks downright terrified, fidgeting on the spot, his eyes darting between you and the floor.

“I mean…” You say slowly, and he stares at you with wide eyes. “It’s a little chaotic, but… I can make a bouquet? I-I might have to charge you this time around, ‘cause there’s so many, but-“

Albert shoves his heads into his hands and lets out a noise between a groan and a downright scream.

“Alright!” He snaps, planting his hands on the counter. “What flowers ya got that say I love you, ya stupid florist, now please, God, please can you understand what I’m tryna tell ya, ‘cause I can’t keep on bringin’ flowers t’the lodgin’ house wi’ nowhere to put ‘em!”

You freeze, rigid-still. You open your mouth once, twice, and nothing comes out. Your hands tremble against cool stalks and you realize suddenly that Albert’s muddled bouquet is still in your hands.

“One… One moment.” You say quietly with a raised finger, before scurrying to the door. Cradling your bouquet in the crook of your elbow, you use your free hand to close it, then lock, then latch, then flip the sign to ‘closed’. You take a shuddering breath and turn around – Albert’s still watching you. He’s wide eyed, his fists clenched at his sides and his jaw held tight, as if it’d been wired shut – and you almost laugh giddily because all this time, you’d assumed he was posturing, trying to big himself up because he felt uncomfortable being in such a frilly, dainty shop, surrounded by petals and lace, but no. All this time – all this time – he’d been nervous.

You take careful steps toward him, like approaching a stray dog. His spine goes more rigid with each clip of your foot against the hardwood floors, his entire body bickering between ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ and landing on a confused, frightened ‘freeze’ instead. As you reach him, you pluck a single garden daisy from the fragrant shelves and tuck it behind his ear.

“That, um,” you murmur, realizing a touch too late how close you’ve become. “That means-“

“I share your sediment.” Albert breathes, and you duck your head with a small giggle.

“Sentiment,” You correct – his blush goes ever-darker and, out of fear that he may combust if you don’t, you quickly add, “but yes.”

Albert sways forward, almost unthinkingly, like a reed in the wind. He catches himself and clears his throat, but before he can sway away, you duck forward and, gently, featherlight, press your mouth to his. It’s soft and shy, barely lasting a second – more of a petal-brush than anything else – but the noise it pulls out of Albert – something half-blissful, half-wounded – from deep in the hollow of his throat adds more weight to the gesture than you could’ve ever hoped. The tension rushes out of his shoulders in a heavy breath as he all but staggers, slapping his hand against the counter to keep himself upright and pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Hooooly hell,” he says raggedly. “God, I ain’t dreamin’, am I?”

He says it to his hands, staring at them suspiciously like they’re trying to fool him – you slip your own hand into his and squeeze tight.

“Feels real.” You smile gently, a smile that he returns tenfold.

“God,” he says again, and you’re inclined to agree. He leans in hesitantly, looking carefully into your eyes until you nod, and he kisses you – still chaste and sweet, but firmer than the previous. It’s not a questioning touch, it’s something that roots you to the spot, grounds you, whispers yes, this is real.

Albert’s grinning when you separate. He brushes a fingertip over the daisy in his hair and chuffs out a breathy laugh.

“I weren’t kiddin’, y’know,” he mumbles. “Got too damn many o’ these things.”

You roll your eyes.

“You could’ve just not asked for them.”

“Yeah, well, I tried that, and you thought I was askin’ for flowers anyway!” Albert huffs, pouting at the floor. “The fellas ain’t lettin’ me live it down. Keep sayin’ I’m the one meant t’be gettin’ you flowers, not the other way ‘round.”

You giggle, knocking your forehead affectionately against his.

“So that’s true?” You ask coyly, grinning as he blushes again. “Flowers at the lodging house with nowhere to put ‘em?”

Albert tips his head back and groans.

“They’re everywheeeere!” He whines. “Next to my bed, on the fire escape, in the kitchen-!”

You laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Why didn’t you just give them away?”

“Wh- I weren’t gonna do that!” Albert says indignantly, as if you’d suggested selling his firstborn child. He blushes once he realizes his overreaction and looks away, pouting at the wall. “They were gifts.”

You giggle, making him groan towards the ceiling.

“This ain’t fair.” He huffs, slumping forward so that his chin rests upon your shoulder. You’re struck by the image of a tired beagle flopping its head on its owner’s lap, and can’t help but giggle again. “I ain’t usually like this.”

With just a touch of hesitation, you reach your hand upwards to fiddle with his dandelion hair. Albert hums, pleased, nuzzling against your temple.

“Like what, petal?” You say quietly against his ear, and with him resting his cheek against you, you can feel the way his jaw clenches.

“Like – argh, c’mon!” He whines. “Y’can’t just – say stuff like that! God, only you…” He mutters petulantly, wrapping his arms around your waist as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Swear, if you were anyone else… Jus’ some stranger on the street, I’d have no problem gettin’ ya t’blush, but noooo!” He tips his head back with an exaggerated eyeroll. “No, you just gotta go fallin’ right into me, lookin’ all cute, talkin’ all pretty, makin’ me forget which way’s up!” He glares at you with no true heat. “Unfair.”

“You’re unfair!” You laugh around your astonishment, raising up a hand in a poor attempt to hide your darkening face. “Catching me like something right out of a novel, being so – so…” You close your eyes with a soft sigh and lean forward, bumping your nose against his and savouring the contact. “Unexpected.”

You feel more than hear Albert’s scoff, a warm puff of air against your lips.

“Like you can talk.” He mutters, shifting just enough to nuzzle against you. “Race’s been makin’ fun a’me for days, tellin’ me to get my shit together, but how’m I meant’a do that-!” You laugh against him, so close, the warmth mingling between your mouths. “When you’re always fuckin’ – flower crowns and dandelions and…”

His hands skim over your waist, his callouses brushing your skin through the fabric, and you can’t help but gasp lightly. You’re close enough that the movement brushes your mouth against his, your cupid’s bow just barely catching on his, and another noise blossoms from his chest, wanton and desperate, as he presses your lips together, as if it’s the only thing he could possibly do. You flutter against him, your hands skimming down his shirt, and he hums softly, the noise running through you until it settles inside your chest. He traces the seam of your lips, slow and soft, savouring the feeling, and gently, as if afraid to spook you, brushes the tip of his tongue against yours. You gasp into his mouth, but he doesn’t take advantage – he pulls away, just barely, enough for your cupid’s bow to rest on his bottom lip, not quite breaking the kiss, but not quite continuing. Your eyes slip open – just barely – as his do, the two of you looking at each other for reassurance. He chuckles breathily, looking away in a manner you now realize is shy.

“God’s sake, [Y/N],” he whispers, his lips brushing yours as he speaks, “m’only human.”

Bashfully, all too aware of your inexperience, you nudge forward to meet him again. He hums once more, sweet and low, and presses a rough hand to the back of your head, tilting you just so. Tentatively, as if you’ll fade away if he moves too fast, you feel his tongue brush shyly against yours again. You make a noise you can’t quite describe, something small and soft, clinging to his shoulders while he presses a hand to the small of your back, trading tender, sipping kisses. It’s awkward – a bit foreign, a bit confused – but oh, it’s lovely.

Something sparks as he leans forward enough for you to bend backwards slightly at the waist, supported by his hand – and you can’t help but giggle.

“What?” Albert smiles curiously, the two of you still so close that your nose still bumps against his with every laugh. “Hey! C’mon, what is it? Ya makin’ a fella nervous, here.”

“Sorry,” you smile, and then you realize again, and burst into even more giggles. “It’s just – we did this before.”

Albert blinks at you owlishly.

“I, uh – don’t think we did?” He smiles, brow still furrowed, like you’re a puzzle he’s delighting over solving. “Think I’d remember if we did this-”

“The first time,” you’re wheezing now, because it truly is hilarious, “when we first met, when I fell and you grabbed me, I-“ your giggles trail off as your face begins to warm, “I-I remember thinking…”

You look away nervously, your laughter becoming shy.

“I was thinking it was awfully – awfully similar to, um – to the gentlemen who come into this shop… The way they hold their lovers after they give them their flowers.”

Albert blinks, glancing down at how he’s holding you – one hand behind your head, the other pressing on your spine, the slight bend of your waist – and his face burns red, from his roots to his neck.

“Uh – yeah,” he laughs breathlessly, “suppose it is a li’l… Yeah.” He draws away, making sure you’re upright before quickly stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I-I kinda…”

You smile as he stares stubbornly at the wall, one hand rubbing his neck sheepishly.

“I kinda thought the same thing.” He mumbles. “Not – not when it happened, when it happened I was thinkin’, y’know, wow, this person’s close, a-and beautiful, and – and…” His face looks almost painfully red now, carnation-crimson across the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, um – was on’y when I was havin’ dinner at the lodgin’ house I ach’lly realized that – that it’d – happened.”

You purse your lips into a line, trying to keep your smile from going too wide, and step forward, tapping your shoe against his shin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, ducking his head. “I, um – I-I was pourin’ the gravy so long I spilled it all over the table. We ran out. Fellas all had to eat their chicken dry. Jack still won’t let me pour my own gravy.”

You laugh again, and so does he, less shy and more… Well, he still seems shy, but less scared, if that counts for anything.

“You, Albert DaSilva,” you grin at him, “are not what I expected you to be.”

He cocks his head.

“Well, now ya got me worried,” he smirks, “what’cha expect me t’be, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes at the pet-name. There’s really no use in him trying to be suave now, not when you knew the truth.

“Big, bad newsie with his sleeves cut off, wandering around in nothing more than a vest and an undershirt?” You ask with an arched brow. “Wearing his hat backwards in spring, like a show-off, snapping at me to watch where I’m going before you go and catch me… And then you go and say I like lambs, like it’s obvious.”

Albert’s face goes almost comically blank as he remembers.

“God,” he cringes, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Shit, I can’t believe I said that. Only even tried to sell here ‘cause I figured it was a butcher place.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He nods shamefully. “Was hankerin’ for a leg o’ lamb, figured if I played my cards right I might land some mutton. Only stayed ‘cause I thought the sign was cute. Jesus, can’t believe I told’ja that.” He laughs beneath his hand. “I like lambs. God, I’m an idiot.”

You roll your eyes at your most ridiculous boy, and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him close as you nuzzle against his neck.

“My idiot.”

You feel him clench again, as if the words had sent a bolt of lightning through him.

“I – you’re – yeah.” He settles on saying, sounding almost strangled. He holds you, runs his hands down your back, and lets the tension seep out of him. “Yeah…” He chuckles. “Your idiot.”

You both stand there for a moment, enjoying the warmth, swaying slightly as you breathe each other in.

“[Y/N],” you hear him say tentatively, “y’think, maybe – if you want – we could go to Jacobi’s?”

You try to not roll your eyes, because honestly, ‘if you want’, as if you could possibly want anything else. Ridiculous boy. Impossible boy.

“I-I get off work at noon,” Albert rambles, pinching your shirt between his fingers and rolling the fabric, committing every detail of you to memory. “So maybe I can swing by one day when you’re closin’, walk you down… If you want.”

You pull away with an exaggerated gasp and clutch your hand to your chest.

“Why, Albert DaSilva!” You say like a scandalized dame. “Without buying me flowers first?”

He stares at you for a moment as you hold your pose – and then you both laugh, full-bodied and creasing at the sides, and you must look like lunatics, laughing amongst the flowers, with rumpled clothes and messy hair and kiss-sore lips, clinging to each other like you’re about to collapse, but neither of you care. It’s just you two here, unexpectedly, by sheer chance. Chance and newspapers. It’s a ridiculous story, truly, but it’s yours, so who’s to care?

(And if that laughter turns to one, then two, then twenty more kisses – well, who’s to care about that, either?)

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Albert James Moriarty significant other. (twt ver)

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

[kemosabeko]

RE Actor AU!

I thought I could hide it but I really can't anymore

*this is mostly about wesker but will I apologize? Nah. Imma do my own thing.

A/N: these are very, VERY self-indulgent

Warnings: None, just fluff and crack

Also this is my first post in Tumblr so idk how do texts/posts works in here :p

This was created because my current hyperfixation rn is wesker (YES)

You'd think with his role he'd be uptight and quite the serious actor. Yknow those types.

Oh boy oh boy would you look at that. He just brought another coffee for everyone on set.

MF LITERALLY IS ONE, IF NOT THE MOST, KINDEST PERSON YOU'LL MEET.

Always there to help crews moving their things, especially the heavy ones like camera.

Helps fellow actors with their script and scene.

But the most noteworthy trait of his is being a family man.

WOFJWISHJS GODDD HOLD ON

He literally SHOWS OFF his twins to his co-workers.

Everyone is a victim

"Chris look at this. They're walking"

"Yeah you showed that to me like five times alr-"

"they're WALKING"

Okay biggest victims are Chris and Leon

Jill and Chris are people who entered the industry the same time as Albert and has worked on multiple projects with each other. Hence, their closeness.

Now back to the general cast

Chris and Claire are literally siblings in real life

This franchise is actually Ada's first acting role in the industry! Which immediately became a huge boom to her career, which she didn't expect.

She was actually originally working as a stunt woman, but one time a manager suggested her to do acting after seeing her try to double a character since the original actor was sick, and she couldn't be more thankful that she took the risk.

She's very skilled in martial arts!

She and Albert are some of the few casts that don't do double-stunts.

Leon is a child actor starting from the age of 7.

Came from a very wealthy (aristocratic) family

ABSOLUTELY IDOLIZES ALBERT

Y'know that one story of Tom Holland when he talked about RDJ and was absolutely stunned when he entered the set?

Yep. That's literally Leon on his first day on set.

Look. He's worked with a lot of big shot names. Cate Blanchett, Robert De Niro, Morgan Freeman, Nicole Kidman, you name it!

But has he ever worked with this man with basically a face and body carved by the greek gods themselves, slicked back hair, and possibly the smoothest and healthiest skin ever, who's basically his entire fucking idol and goal to work with? NO!

So why, should he NOT FREEZE UP when he finally met him on set?

Albert saw a blonde, handsome boy sticking out like a sore thumb from the entrance of the set. He quickly realizes that this is the actor they cast for the protagonist. He walks up to them and smiled warmly.

"Hey! we got a new face around here. You must be Leon Kennedy right? Nice to meet you! I'm Albert Wesker"

He stretched out his hand to shake with him, but all Leon could think was

"oh my god... it's ALBERT FUCKING WESKER"

Poor blondie basically stopped working for a few seconds, before he realized how stupid he looked and was on his way to ruin his first impression.

He quickly snapped out of his shock and went to shake his hands and OH MY GOD THEY'RE SO SMOOTH AND WARM AND HIS SMILE--

Had to take a breather when he went to his tent after that encounter.

After that and throughout the shooting, they became closer and eventually became close friends

Which is how Albert met you but that's for another story.

Carlos has a HUGE and I mean, simp level of huge, crush on Jill.

This man really was the real smooth operator cause when he heard that Jill, together with a male character, will be the MC for the third franchise? Oh this man was on a MISSION.

Immediately auditioned and prepared for the role like his life was on the line (on his defense, it was)

The first to hear about this was Chris.

Which he then gossiped to Albert.

To which they both supported Carlos by giving him tips about what Jill likes, hates, her fave foods, her favorite movies, all of that and etc.

CHRIS AND ALBERT #1 VALEVEIRA SHIPPER 💯

Literally had them plotting the most insane shits for a date

Thankfully, their shenanigans bear fruit after a year when Jill finally accepted him as her boyfriend.

Man was so over the moon, he deadass called the other two in the middle of the night to talk about what happened.

Albert was NOT happy being interrupted in his sleep, but decided to let it slide hearing the joy in the younger man's voice.

After all, he wasn't so different when the same thing happened to him with you.

Oh also, did I ever mention that Albert ADORES children?

Which is why he found Sherry so cute! Even though she plots pranks with Leon and Claire occasionally.

Throughout the years, they have become absolutely close friends that they consider each other as family (I'm starting to hear Dom Toretto)

Leon and Ada also eventually became a couple after years of painful pining (the rest of the cast and crew had to suffer witnessing their years of pining for each other)

They often do a late night chats with each other, sometimes they do IG live together when everyone's free.

The fans ABSOLUTELY eats them up because it's their source of meme and crack content from the cast.

The Behind The Scenes were filmed by almost all of them, or whoever wants to.

Tons of them are Chris tripping over almost everything.

Claire trying her stunts and being extremely proud when she successfully does one without her double.

Carlos just playfully punching and having beef with the camera.

It also includes Albert teaching Ada some stunts on how to do them better and more safely, and vice-versa.

And then you got Luis, Ashley, and Leon straight up doing a mukbang ASMR for one of their BTS (they failed horribly cause they, especially Luis, can't stop laughing)

Luis tries teaching Ashley spanish but eventually gave up. But after a few months, Ashley came up to him and said in almost perfect spanish "soy un raton rubio"

Loverboy felt like a proud parent he started singing out of nowhere.

*I feel like I really have so much more to put but maybe I've finally exhausted my ideas so here they are!

[beneathashadytree]

Hello ! How do you feel now? I hope you're better now, I love all your yuumori fic so much,they're so comforting and pretty in characters!❤️

May I request some fic about clingy Albert James Moriarty x reader please?But take your time to write that and rest properly,I will wait🤗

By the way congrats for 2k,sweetie💕

CLINGY - ALBERT MORIARTY X READER

Warnings : none I think, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : domestic fluff <3

Word count : 0.8K words (oops)

Additional notes : Hi there!! I’m feeling much better now, thank you. I’m so glad that you enjoy my fics, because I love writing them so much! Sorry for taking so long to get to this; I had to finish my event requests first. Hope you like this one!💗

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

“How about now?”

“No.”

“Please?” Albert dragged out the word, his emerald eyes begging them with all the charm he possessed.

Sighing, they set down the knife on the counter, and turned to face him. “If I went to cuddle you right now, we’d starve. No one’s home to cook us anything, and lord knows what’d happen if I let you in the kitchen.”

“Louis came back a few minutes ago,” he pointed out, his expression pleading once more. “We can leave it all to him and go upstairs.”

With a roll of their eyes (though they both knew they actually felt no annoyance whatsoever), they hummed and began to wash their hands in the sink. Already grinning mischievously at them as he knew he’d gotten his way, Albert dragged them away as soon as they’d dried their hands on the small cloth beside them.

***

“Happy now?” they asked, despite their grumbling holding no malice and their eyes full of only fond exasperation.

The man currently in their arms nodded, a satisfied quirk to his lips as he nuzzled deeper into their chest. Their nails scratched at his scalp in the way he so liked, and their other hand busied itself with rubbing soothing circles on his back, inching lower and delighting in the sight of him visibly shivering with satisfaction.

Sheer exhaustion was evident on his face, and the bags under his eyes told them that he’d probably been incredibly busy the few days he’d been away doing God knows what. The least they could do when he looked like that was embrace him and hold him tight in their open arms, even if he was being more demanding than usual.

After all, indulging him also meant indulging in their own desire to have him close at all times. Giving in to their own urges, they tucked a soft strand of hair behind his ear, and pressed a soft, barely-there kiss on his forehead. It was impossible; holding back their own affections when he was right there, his weight comforting ontop of them.

Albert clung impossibly tighter to their shirt, as though the closer proximity would somehow fuse them together. A hand crept under their clothes, splaying across their waist in a manner that was so intimate, and yet so chaste. Deft fingers climbed up their spine and left a tingling trail on their skin, and it suddenly felt like all was right in the world.

“What’s going on with you today?” they chuckled, sifting through his soft locks. “I haven’t seen you this clingy since… forever, I suppose.”

Without uttering another word, their lover simply kissed the exposed skin of their chest that he could reach, eyes closed in bliss, so it seemed. It only made the warm feeling in their chest swell to twice its size and threaten to burst through their ribs.

“Fine, don’t answer, you big baby.” They shook their head, and watched as Albert burrowed even further into their warmth, his eyelashes fluttering and his fingers gently squeezing their hips, as though reminding them that he was enjoying every bit of his childish charade.

In all honesty, they liked it all the more, seeing how he reveled in the feeling. Perhaps he was acting a bit spoilt, but he deserved it; what with all the time he was forced to spend away from them. And besides, they had always been the clingy one, so a switch in places was a rather welcome change. They were more than willing to return the favor of being loved so hard it healed all the wounds they never even knew they had.

When he finally spoke up, it was nothing more than mumbling against their shirt, “Do you have anything scheduled for the rest of the day?”

Thinking for a few seconds, they came to the conclusion that they had nothing left to do. “Not really. I finished everything I wanted to get done early in the morning. Moran’s snoring woke me up from the end of the damn hall.”

He breathed out a short laugh, before he stilled once more, hands all over them in the best way possible. Their bodies so entwined they couldn’t tell where they started and ended, it felt like falling deeper in love with nothing to stop them or hold them back—especially when every sound he made brought forth even more adoration from their depths.

“I’ll fall asleep like this,” he huffed out, his words coming out slower than usual.

“You can take a nap, just for a little while. It’s alright, you know.” Patting the back of his head tenderly, they offered their body up for a pillow.

“Just for a little while…” Albert muttered, already drifting off into a dreamland, where none of his usual worries could follow him, and where his darling was ever-present.

Taglist: @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @whitecelluyu @wifeofkyojuro

[claudemblems]

The Brothers During Your Period | Moriarty the Patriot HCS

I wrote this while I was suffering with mine LOL

Louis

He already knows you're on your period before you even tell him. He tracks your cycle on a calendar so he can be prepared to take care of you way before your cramps even start

Every meal is served to you in bed, including afternoon tea (tea bags courtesy of the older ladies around town that adore the two of you). He makes sure to always keep ingredients like ginger stocked in the pantry since they can help alleviate your pain

Expect him to run a bubble bath for you every evening, complete with hot tea and bath scents if you like them. He washes your hair and massages through every tense muscle. Don't ever apologize for taking up his time; he enjoys doing this for you. He'll do anything to make you feel better again

Albert

He makes sure you're all snug and comfortable in your bed (or his, if being in his room makes you feel more secure), wrapping you up in cozy blankets and closing the curtains to prevent you from getting headaches

If he has to leave you for a while, he presses a kiss to your forehead, promising that he'll be back as soon as he's able. And when he returns, he always has his arms full of chocolates and flowers, maybe even your favorite desserts from that little bakery down the road

He'll lay next to you, arms rubbing against your back, his voice soft as he helps you get through another wave of pain. It breaks his heart to see you hurting so much. He just wants to hold you against him and never let go. But for now, he holds your hand, his thumb caressing your skin as you begin to drift off to sleep. Rest well. He'll be here when you wake

William

He can guess when your period has started simply from your change in behavior. The sudden shifts in your mood still catch him off guard sometimes (it's difficult even for him to fathom why you're crying over a spilled cup of tea), but now he knows when you need extra affection or when you just need to have some space. Whatever you require, he's prepared to give it to you

Because of his extensive knowledge on the human body (for reasons), he thankfully knows some pressure points that can relieve some of your symptoms quickly. His touch is tender and gentle, careful not to hurt you. Hurting people may be his business, but you're an exception. He wants to see you well

If you just want a distraction from the pain, he'll either tell you about his past or recount parts of his day, all while holding you close in his arms. It always makes him smile when he manages to get a laugh out of you, even if it's at his own expense. That awkward incident walking in on his student's romantic rendezvous proved to be quite the entertaining story for you

[jokeringcutio]

Chapter 22 of 'The Chance To Make A Change' is now online

Please heed all tags, triggers, and warnings. This is a dark romance, reader-insert, with dead dove: do not eat elements, sensitive topics, loads of non-con/dub-con smut.

[yyutsuu]

Pointless Regret -Albert James Moriarty x GN Reader-

———

!! Angst no comfort !!

Gender Neutral reader

!! TW !! : Mentions of using people, weapons, blood and death

Can be taken platonically and romantically I believe? Up to you to pick which you prefer

———

Word count: 1627 words

A/n: First post !! What a great way to start with some good old angst 😋 I don’t even know why I chose Albert first, he’s like my 3rd favorite

———

It was late into the rainy night, you were unable to sleep due to the constant tapping of the crystal clear drops as if they were seeking some sort of revenge on the window of your room in the Moriarty mansion. Not wanting to wake anyone up you gently turned the doorknob of your door, intending to go for a short stroll through the ill-lit mansion.

While focusing on your footsteps to make sure they were unheard a gap of light catches your attention, the source was from the room which was occupied by Albert. Your mind was coming up with all the differing possibilities of why he was still awake at this hour. Quietly approaching his door you wondered if it was truly alright to check up on him due to your concern, for he is the closest person to you from the group.

Three simple knocks were delivered on his door, you hear the familiar voice granting you permission to enter with the words “Come in.” You enter and spot Albert occupying a chair, staring out at the rain through a clear, glass window. His hazel hair appears to be more messy than usual, the papers on his desk matching them as they were disorganized and scattered all around.

Infatuated in how majestic he appeared under dim light you are quick to observe how Albert seems a bit more on edge than usual. He turns his head to fixate his sparkling emerald eyes on you, your attention diverts to his lips as he opens them and speaks in a slightly posh English accent. “Oh y/n it is you? What is it you need…?” You quickly snap out of the trance and reply, telling him it’s getting quite late and he should get some rest. Albert’s expression is one of confusion, “Why? Why would you care whether or not I sleep?” Although it sounded like a unorthodox question to ask, he was genuinely puzzled.

“Because I care about you, I care about your health,” you reply. “I’m sure you do, would you care to be more specific?” He asked, his voice consisted of a small amount of disdain as for being told to sleep. Despite that, Albert did not show it anyplace on his dimly lit face, his expression remained one of calm and impassive as the waters on a still lake.

After a few seconds Albert placed a finger to his lips in contemplation before looking back at you. “Why do you care?” He asked. “I care about you because you are my friend Albert, is it not the obvious?” You reply, sounding slightly pissed. You are about to open your mouth again to make a remark but Albert speaks before you, “A wise man once told me, a friend only exists because of the utility they can provide.” He comments simply, the gaze in this eyes transforming into a hard and cold one. “What utility do I provide you?”.

You are slightly astounded by what he says, finally deciding to say “You really do not get it, do you…” You look down, furrowing your eyebrows, “Well, I suppose that means you are simply using me, care to explain what benefits you get from me?”.

The air felt tense, there was tension in the air as the conversation between you and Albert continued. Albert gives his answer to your question. “I know you are intelligent. I can feel your mind just pulsing, and I am not afraid to admit I’m drawn to intelligence like a moth to a flame.” He explains, holding out a one hand while his sharp perceptive eyes stare straight into yours.

Your expression is one of a bunch of commingled expressions, some including anger, annoyance and also… sadness. “Would you even care if I something was to happen to me?” You ask. “A life isn’t all that important. Does it bother you that I happen to value your mind more than your friendship?” Albert says simply, smiling and staring right at you, he was being completely honest.

“All life is in the end is a set of chemical and biological reactions. The fact that a human can even think about their own existence is irrelevant outside of our species. Do animals care if they die or if others in their species die? No. And so why should we be any different?” Albert comments, daring to look you in the eyes as he says it.

It feels as if a sword strikes you right in the heart, “I see… goodnight.” You stride out of the room without looking back and return to your own room, your current emotions matching the gloomy storm that is raging outside.

Albert sits in silence, his face suddenly taking on a darker expression. He stared into the night sky, his eyes darkening like a lightning bolt in a storm, and there was suddenly some sadness behind his eyes. Had he made a mistake by saying that? Had he lost a friend tonight? Should he go back and say something? No… no, he couldn't do that. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to trust his gut… but he couldn't help feeling he had made a mistake.

In the following mission, the goal was to get rid of a murderer. Albert was required to come as a colonel of the British forces, his role was to take the man back dead or alive. Due to that, it was only the two of you being sent on the mission.

You were mid battle with the man, you spot a bullet zooming towards Albert, at this rate it would pierce into him. Without a extensive amount of time to consider, you quickly attempt to stop the bullet. Leaping towards it, you manage to deflect the zooming bullet with the dagger in your hand, but during that your attention was too absorbed in stopping the bullet you had failed to notice a bullet traveling at a rapid pace towards you.

You send your dagger in the direction of the murderer, as you do so the bullet heading towards you was only a mere few centimeters away from your flesh. The moment seems to freeze as it comes to your realization there is no way of stopping it.

The bullet comes to impact with your skin, piercing right through your heart. You let out a cough of blood followed by a grim smile as you notice your knife had managed to strike your opponent right in the neck, rendering him unable to move. Your body no longer listened to your commands as it disobeys you, making you collapse beside Albert.

Albert looks down in surprise at you as you collapsed beside him, but he is quick to realize what you had done. He looked around wildly, searching for the shooter... he saw that you had managed to take him down, however. He stared at you for a moment in shock as his eyes widened slightly but he quickly recovered. “What happened!?” Albert exclaims in horror as he quickly drops to his knees, afraid of what was to come for you.

Albert’s eyes starting at you as his hands flew around your chest, searching for the wound. “I’m… glad, I could at the very least be of use to you… even if you don’t care.” You whisper while giving him a soft smile, you start to feel lightheaded as a pool of crimson expands around you rapidly.

“You’re… you’re not going to make…” Albert’s voice trails off, sounding very panicked as he gently holds you, staring down at you with tearful emerald eyes. “You're not going to make it, are you?” He says, his voice breaking as tears start to prick his eyes and threaten to fall from his face.

“But it’s fine, is it not? I’m truly glad you won’t be affected by this loss, and I was able to protect you, you don’t care if I were to pass away right?” You smile up to him, unable to return his embrace.

“No, it's not ‘fine’…” Albert whispers, crying more as he holds you carefully. “You were my friend... and now… I’m losing you…” Albert looks at you through his blurry vision thanks to his tears. “I- I'm so sorry I said those things to you the other night. I didn't mean it. I- I should never have said that to you!”.

Your lips curl into a bitter smile as your eyes slowly lose their light as your heart fails to continue thumping. Albert watching with regret as the life fades from your eyes, his own eyes filled with tears as he gently closed them. He gently held you close as you died in his arms, crying openly. His tears fell onto your face, wetting the cold, pale skin of your cheek.

Albert couldn't say a word, he could hardly even breathe. What was this feeling in his chest? This horrible, sick feeling. It was as if there was a hand inside his heart, squeezing and crushing it painfully within his chest. He is unable to understand and couldn't explain it, all he knew is that he felt like his heart was breaking.

Albert watched the light fade from your eyes with tears still streaming down his face. He held you for a moment longer before gently laying you down on the ground. He looked down at you quietly as he tried to stop himself from crying.

“I... I'm sorry...” He whispers softly as he placed his hand on your forehead and gently caressed your hair. He simply sat there for a moment as he tried to find the words he needed to say... “I... I'm so sorry…”.

No other words would come out, he wept silently.

———

-yyutsuu on Tumblr and Wattpad-

!! Please refrain from reposting my work without permission !!

[icypopz]

with a touch-averse s/o ♡

↬ request from anon ; Hello! Could I please request hcs for Albert (YnM) with a touch-averse reader? Thank you and I hope you have a nice day :)

↬notes ; albert james moriarty x gn!reader

↬from ice ; first time writing for albert !! not sure if i interpreted the req correctly but nevertheless i hope u like it :>

↬ warning(s) ; none

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

albert is definitely the most respectful boyfriend, he would never want to do anything that might hurt you or make you uncomfortable. so when he sees you subtly shy away from him when he tries to wrap his arm around your waist at a ball, he quickly puts two and two together and steps away.

later when you get home, albert will ask you about it ( not in a rude or pushy way ). he'll probably say something along the lines of "this seems to bother you, i'd like to know more so i can refrain from it in future." when you're explaining it, he listens very intently to understand where you're coming from and tries to put himself in your shoes too.

he gets not wanting physical contact / being uncomfortable with it, and he makes a mental note not to touch you without asking again. contrary to what you were afraid of, he doesn't shame you for it or force you to deal with it. he's very caring and not judgemental at all!

albert doesn't really mind your touch aversion, to be honest. he respects your wishes, and he actually prefers quality time as his love language rather than physical touch, so it works out in his favour! he also won't bring it up unnecessarily or make a big deal out of it at formal events, albert's skilled enough in social settings to make everything appear natural.

overall, as long as the two of you are together, whether you're chatting or just silently enjoying one another's company, albert is the happiest man alive simply because he gets to date you.

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2022. do not repost or modify in any way.

[s0ulsniper]

If you're still doing the prompt thing, could you do 21 and 12 for a Flamingo x Reader with a reader that's good with kids? As someone who's been told they're good with kids a few times, I can't help but imagine he'd think that I want kids even though I don't. (For context he's mentioned before that he doesn't want kids and thinks he wouldn't be a good father. I mostly remember him talking about it in "Roblox Parenthood" and "I'm raising a baby" but, I'm sure there's more examples out there)

ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩

hey anon !!

I love that idea, I think it would be pretty funny.

ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩

prompts:

21.) "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

12.) "No no– it's alright, come here."

c/n = childs name

ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩

you and albert had taken a babysitting "job" from one of his friends aunt's while they were out on vacation.

it had been exhausting but better than doing nothing all day, and it paid well.

"c/n, bedtime!" You call out into the living room.

he whines of course but obliges, putting his toys neatly back into his toy box.

you pick him up and take him upstairs, Albert watching from the couch.

after you put him to bed you come back down and sink into the couch, your head on albert's lap as you sigh.

"only a couple more days." he jokes.

he looks down at you on his lap and smiles, he feels so lucky to (basically) have you.

"I think I'm in love with you." he blurts. "And I'm terrified."

You look up at him with confusion in your eyes.

"you're terrified?" you sit up. "I'm sorry-"

you stand up off the couch.

"no no- it's alright, come here." he grabs your wrist.

you lay back down to let him explain.

"I'm not terrified of you, I'm terrified of what's to come. I haven't ever loved someone the way that I love you. I think of a future with you everyday."

he stares down at you, eyes darting from your eyes and lips.

"I just don't wanna let you down-"

you cock an eyebrow, confused.

"let me down?"

"well you seemed to love kids so much and-" your laugh interrupts him.

"I don't think I'll ever want kids, albert."

his mouth falls agape but then closes again.

"well that's a relief." he sighs out, thumb caressing your cheek. "I'm going to kiss you now."

he waits for consent before he leans down to kiss you.

it was slow and passionate, a long awaited kiss.

you felt him smile, you doing the same against your will.

for the rest of the night you and albert slept, tangled into each other on the couch ready to take the next couple days by storm until you get alone time.

ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩

TAGS 🏷️:

[cherryskyies]

Hey! Can you maybe do a grabber x reader where they get into an argument cause he accuses her of flirting with the neighbor or someone else and they argue a lot and don't talk for a while but he eventually tries to make up with reader cause he feels bad? 😬🫢

Bite the hand that feeds you

reader is not a total pussy in this tysn

Masterlist || Navigation || Ao3

You were just being kind, making small talk with one of the newer neighbors; his name is Matt you learned, early 40’s working at the local hardware store as an assistant manager. He was fairly kind, a bit vulgar for your taste — his eyes never leaving your form as he called the women your age whores. 

Albert had watched the entire exchange from the kitchen window, displeased with your warm smiles and gentle touches when he made you laugh. You should have been quick to notice the man's advancements, he was openly flirting with you and you made no attempt to stop it. 

“Alright, I hate to cut the conversation short,” you apologize, brushing loose strands of hair out of your face. “But my boyfriend got home not too long ago and I need to finish dinner.” 

Matt seems disappointed, but brushes it off. “We should get together soon for dinner if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.” The way he says it makes your head tilt, tone indicating you’re somehow owned by the man in the house. “See you around,” Matt says, taking off towards his house with a wave. 

When you enter the house, you don’t even notice the upset face Albert has, too worried you may have burnt the casserole in the oven. “Honey, did you take the casserole out?” you ask, surprised to see the oven empty, only to look up and see it on the table. “Thanks, I got caught up in conversation with our new neighbor. His name is Matt, I think we sho-”

Heavy footsteps make their way across the tile floor, Albert has a deep frown etched onto his face and you can’t help but wonder why; until he cuts you off. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy eye-fucking another man you wouldn’t have to worry about burning dinner.” He starts, brows furrowing as he watches you stand, shutting the oven and turning it off. “Go ahead, invite him to dinner so you can flirt in front of me.”

In hindsight, your next words were pretty stupid, but you couldn’t help the snarky response that slipped. “Maybe I will, bet he likes casserole,” you grumble, angrily reaching for two clean plates from the dishwasher before you stop, a smile pulling at your lips. “Should I invite him now? Or should I wait until you leave for work tomorrow, save us some privacy so we can really eye-fuck. Is that what you want, Albert?”

You aren’t being serious, Albert knows how you like to push his buttons, but he is in the wrong headspace for your jokes and he wants nothing more than to kill that fucking Matt guy. “Do it,” he taunts, cornering you. “See if I care, I’ll just lock your pretty ass back in the basement, dove.” Albert would never, but the threat sounds sincere enough that he watches the defiant look in your eyes change to one of submission — you look so beautiful when you’re scared. 

He thinks he’s won, until you give him the silent treatment and don’t come to bed with him, choosing to take the couch with a thin sheet and crappy throw pillow; but he lets it go. You’ll come back to him, he’s trained you not to bite the hand that feeds you and you’re a good pet, but dogs are often more stubborn than credited and you’ll be damned if you crawl back to him after that.

The next three days have been as follows: you ignore him, cook enough dinner to feed yourself, and sleep. 

It’s driving him nuts – you should be begging for forgiveness by now, but you seem more than happy with the current circumstances. This is where Albert starts to think he might have really fucked up.

I think it would take a lot for Albert to finally apologize, preferring to wait out your childish games and make you jealous.

But if he can see that his words and actions are heavily affecting you, he will put his ego aside, hold you tight, and whisper sweet nothings amongst apologies until you fall asleep.

[orionicchaos]

may i please request a mycroft, albert and sherlock x reader (separate) on how the spend their time after the characters come home after work? thank you!

heEEEYYy,, sorry for the very, VERY late answer, to be honest i didn't think anybody would asks something so i didn't check, anyway here's your request, hope you like it <3 it’s all soft and cheesy

× gn!reader, they/them used once

characters : mycroft, albert, sherlock

🌺

TW : soft, fluff, a bit of angst for Albert but overall that’s just some cheesy headcanons

a.n. : i'm not very familiar with mycroft and albert but i hope i respected their characters :) also it's a bit short + I’ve only finished the 12th volume

navi.

HOW THEY SPEND TIME WITH YOU AFTER COMING HOME FROM WORK

Mycroft

this man is a very busy man, it's not everyday that he comes back home early

he's usually home after 10 p.m., and sometimes he’s not even at home before midnight

most of the time you’re already sleeping, after leaving his part of the dinner on the kitchen’s table with a cute message that never fails to make him smile softly

but about once a month, he can leave his office early, and when this happens you usually go outside to walk, hand in hand, near a river or in a park, talking about little nothings like “I really love the way your hair shines when it’s summer“ or “your hat suits you very well”

he does compliment you a lot, and praise your cooking skill because gosh, you make the best dishes ever (and even if you’re not that good he’ll still praise you because you’re doing you very best not to burn the kitchen)

also during your walks, he tries to talk to you about your interests, even if it’s something he has no clue about, from car engineering to art and biology

man even studies if he ever has some breaks at work

he tries his very best!!

as often as possible, he takes you out to go buy anything you want, and do not hesitate to choose expensive things

he has the money and could buy the world for you

sometimes, when you’re still awake when he comes home, he proposes you to go on a peaceful night walk, his hand on your waist, and you can expect a lot of kisses as you’re both stargazing

plus, he calls you "dear" at every occasions he gets

Albert

same as Mycroft but also very different

he’s a busy man too, always planning something with William and Louis, but he’s either at home 24/24h or never here

when he’s at the mansion, you spend very normal days, starting with very traditional breakfasts with William, Louis, Sebastian and everyone when they’re not busy with their own life problems, and ending with a reading session in bed before sleep

but when he comes back after a long mission which can last from 3 days to a month, you can expect him to be very romantic, sweet and also a lot of gifts

the pretty hat you talked to him about weeks ago ? take it, it’s for you. the masterpiece made by that painter you love costing a lifetime’s savings ? all for you

i’m going to say this once but a LOT of cuddles

yeah you heard me, he doesn’t seem like he likes cuddles but thrust me he does (behind shunted doors at least)

in bed, during rainy afternoons, in your room… you can’t escape this man’s arms when he wants to cuddle with you

not in a clingy way, he just arrives from behind and pulls you in his arms, silently appreciating your presence

he didn’t get the chance to see you for a long time after all

compliments you a lot, loves to whisper sweet nothings to you, always tells you you’re the best person he met

just enjoys being around you, man is so scared that one day he’ll eventually have to leave you behind because of his activities, if it becomes too dangerous or if one day he just dies during a mission and gives the responsibility to someone to tell you the new

he doesn’t talk about his work at all, to protect you and because he doesn’t want you to get involved

you’re his lover, he dearly cherishes you and wants you to be the happiest person alive

Sherlock

the happiest man when he comes back from work I’m not even joking

sometimes he’s not even out for more than 4h but he missed you

opens the door smiling happily, attacks you with cuddles and kisses, yelling about how much he missed you and asking if you missed him too

say yes please you’ll make his day

sometimes he brings back some gifts he found on the way home, because that reminded him of you

he dearly love all his friends but he cherishes you even more, you’re like a light in his life just by your smile

after the attack of cuddles, he usually starts to play violin for you, not that you asked, just because he wanted you to hear him play, and when you start dancing, looking at him softly, he feels like he won over the world

also loves to talk to you about the mysteries he solves, he goes really deep into the details and explains everything to you, doesn’t care if he has to explain twice if you don’t understand something

it’s something very personal for him and he loves to share it with you, he also asks you for some advices because he thinks you’ll eventually have the solution of the most unsolved mystery, and sometimes you did !

gosh you’re so smart

often, when Sherlock’s here, John is around, and you also get the chance to talk with him

"hey, stop talking to my partner, they’re MY partner !"

yup, he gets easily jealous, even of John

oh and, he even talked to you about Liam !! I hope you realize how lucky you are

overall he just loves you so much, and tries to spend a lot of time with you

credit: orionicchaos