#collab cubicles

[cherry-titz]

HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?” 

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus��� you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits. 

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 

Y/N never sees him again.

[ladybyakuya]

| BLIND + IZUMO HARUICHI.

+cw. — izumo haruichi x f!reader, coworker to lovers, oblivious pinning, flirting, confession, description of panic attack, claustrophobia & coping mechanisms, forced proximity, fluff, angst, character study, smut ( kissing ).

+wc. —3.1k ( shocker )

+syn.— last summer Izumo Haruichi came under your radar but this summer he has managed to get under your skin.

+notes. — part of ‘HELP WANTED’ mini server collab hosted by @interstellar-inn | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — @dear-koi @qichun @violet-turning-violet

The refectory of the office is oozing with ruckus this afternoon. It is not unusual but today it is just unbearable. The compartment plate in front of you is still filled with rice, curry, and salad as when you started eating your lunch. The line for the food is still alive; people are gossiping, taking food onto their plates, gossiping, taking spoons and forks, chopsticks— the sound of utensils clanking against each other one after another or sometimes all at once in sync is bugging you today. Your ears should be used to it by now after working for two years straight but it seems like a bother today. It is awfully loud in here. Everything is, even the heat.

Among this hustle and bustle, the only sound that bothers you the most is someone’s voice. It is faint to catch on from where you are sitting but the voice keeps coming to you in bits and pieces, like ebb and flow. Sometimes it is there and sometimes it is not. Sometimes your ears pick up on it but sometimes not and when it does not, your heart waits for it, even searches for the sound to reappear. And the heat is just making it worse. You can practically feel the beads of perspiration cascading through your cleavage as you search, waiting for the voice to turn up again. The air conditioner is on though, and the fans are working perfectly fine but with this kind of crowd, and heat in the dining place is at par with some blast furnaces.

“Well, I can take you there sometimes if you want,” Izumo states as one of the new interns, sitting diagonally to him, places a dumpling from her plate to his. Aoi Kaguragi, Izumo Haruichi, Reno Ichikawa, and Iharu Furuhasi are sitting at one table but Izumo is the most disconnected from them. 

“No. No. Haruichi-san, it’s fine. I can manage.” The girl sitting beside him pleads. A group of four girls who joined as new interns have occupied the table beside them. There is just a slit of partition between the two tables. Most tables are for a group of four people, but cubicle tables are cluttered together to make the team bigger, and better to establish a good workplace culture to some extent. 

Izumo expresses his thanks with a sun-kissed smile to the girl who just gave a dumpling to him, without asking. You make eye contact with him for a second but it's awkward. Aoi's nose shrinks. It acts as a distraction from Izumo’s azure gaze. Aoi stuffs his mouth with the dumpling Izumo just received out of disgust earning an alarming glare from Reno. Izumo does not even bat an eye to it. But the girl protests, “Hey. . .” Aoi glups it before saying, “he hates dumplings.” Iharu is busy eating his lunch. This guy . . . he woke up early, made breakfast for himself, got so busy and immersed with cooking that he forgot to eat. So, he is eating quietly. Reno keeps telling him to slow down but who is he? His dad?

“Well, wouldn't it be easier if you could get some directions and details?” The girl looks confused so Izumo divulges. “I live around there. So, yeah I could get you in touch with some agents if you want,” The girl looks at him with so much hope as if she has a chance to ask for the moon. 

“Oh my God. Really? Thank you so much Haruichi-san,” she chimes

Oh Fuck! Here it comes. Aoi, Reno, and Iharu share a look as you get up. The clank of your spoon was a little too loud to be ignored. Okonogi asks, “You didn’t even eat today too. Are you okay? Do you wanna leave soon today? I can finish your work if you want . . . ” 

“No. Kono-chan. It’s alright. I don’t feel hungry. I will eat when I feel hungry,”

“Yeah, gallons of coffee and tons of cakes,” Kikoru prompts without missing a beat. Your shoulders sink at her statement. She is not lying but gallons? Tons? That’s surely an exaggeration. You take your plate and as you walk past his table he gets up. Please let him not run into you. . . please god, please.

“Going to share the rest with your boyfriend?” He grabs a bottle from its designated section. You watch him walk, pick a bottle, and then come back but he halts in front of you blocking your way. Of course. Why didn’t you expect that? You should have taken a different route. 

“So what if I’m?” you squint your eyes at him since his Adam’s apple shift. Now, that’s different, unlike other days. Your eyebrows jump. Teasing each other is as easy as breathing for you and him. So, you just give in to this golden opportunity. “Your flirt game is so bad, no wonder you’re still single, Haruichi-san,” you snicker emphasizing ‘Haruichi-san’ since you have already been granted the authority to call him by his name but sometimes it is just amusing how he hates it when you do not use it; even if he specifically said that you can call him Izu-kun or simply Izumo. He just wanted to get included in your league of people; the people who you have given a nickname. It's almost like adopting a puppy.

Izumo rolls his tongue inside, along his bottom lip too quickly to pinpoint his frustration. He is pouting now. His hand proceeds to his nape scraping his hair for a moment in the hope of seeking some respite from this heat. Why does he even keep his hair long? Why not just cut it? Or put it in a bun. Your eyes go to the bunch of interns who are eagerly watching you two as if you are big stage actors. “My flirt game isn’t bad, . . . he trails off and then sighs. His hand swings back in his pocket as clarifies, “It’s just that . . . the person I like is a fucking idiot. That’s why I’m still single.”

You scan the group of interns at his valor display of vulgarity. Girls must find it hot, don’t they? That’s why he does it, isn't it? Good for him! He has an audience now. You bet they are practically swooning. Aoi’s face is a sight to behold. Iharu has given up. Even Reno has his head tipped down while holding the bridge of his nose. He is not someone who loses patience easily except Kafka Hibino, his mentor and co-worker.

“What a loverboy.” You opined to him before your gaze switched back to the girl who was trying all the ways to get his number. Yeah, it was very obvious especially since she was practically rubbing herself on him since the day she joined. How do people do that? Get hooked onto someone like the twinkle of a star. That too in this heat. It is hard enough to keep coherent behavior, thoughts, and habits intact but now you have another problem, Izumo Haruichi. He is being spectacularly annoying today. 

You look at the girl before saying anything. You will probably be doing her a favor. 

“don’t waste your time on him, he is going to break your heart, girl.” 

The spoon from her hands falls on the dish splashing a little bit of soup on her dress. People have already started to look at this table by now. 

“You’re just jealous,” the girl sneers back.

You part your lips forming an apology at the tip of your tongue but you realize the damage you have done. She hurriedly tries to clean herself with a napkin to avoid eye contact. 

You should not pick on people’s emotions like that, however small, however meek it may seem to you, it's a lot for them. What’s with you today? This is not like you. This is more like  . . . Haruichi. He has this habit. Maybe it's starting to rub off on you simply because he is now working with your team on this upcoming project.

Izumo has always been like this. Flirting with girls, leading them on, giving them hope, and then, breaking their hearts. Does he realize that? The hurt he leaves in his wake? He is like a swan in a lake leisurely swimming in the evening that attracts ducks, influencing them to be like the swan, elegant and beautiful when there is a surge of fresh batches of interns; every year. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it backfires.

His flirting is not limited to just girls. That’s how he became such close friends with Aoi. But then again, it is not exactly flirting. Could it be he is unaware of how he carries himself? Nah! That’s too much of giving him the benefit of the doubt or maybe has managed to charm a part of you. Yeah! That would happen in any case. He picks up on people’s emotions really quickly and does not hesitate to call them out. It’s a nasty habit. 

That is how much you know about him, as a co-worker. Outside this office, he is a total stranger to you. So, you do not have to look out for him, worry about being among the swarm of ducks, he might turn into one, or fearing if there hides a hawk among them.

“That’s too much talking for an intern,” Iharu remarks, taking his plate and standing up.

“I agree.” Reno nods his head. “Wait, what?” He is not surprised by Iharu’s statement but rather his wit. Before the situation gets elongated you try to put an end in your way but whether the bow will pierce the heart or the head you gamble on that.

“Yes. maybe you’re right. That was so rude of me. But you see,” you bow your head a little to match her eye level since her eyes are on her plate. “ I don’t go for committed boys.”

Izumo’s face is aghast. What did you just say? He is not committed. He is single. Excuse you, did you not hear him a while ago? 

Izumo looks at Aoi, clearly uncomfortable and frightened by your burst of bubbling behavior. That was odd of you. He has never seen you this annoyed. He has always been like this with you, teasing and flirting around you with other people. Maybe the heat is going in your head today. You walk towards the dustbin to empty your plate before keeping it on a designated table. Everyone watches you as Izumo follows you like a kicked puppy searching for his owner. It’s pathetic.

He is not pathetic . You are just dumb. How can you not get it? How can you not see it? His feelings for you? Well, not that he exactly laid his heart out in front of you but isn’t it obvious? Everybody on his team is aware of it. Everybody on your team is aware of it. Are you really that dumb? Or do you just choose to ignore his feelings? If it is the latter then he is done for. Perhaps, the fear of abandonment and rejection compels him to create backups while at the same time, it gives him a refuge to hide his feelings; keep them protected, warm, and soft; so that he can still talk to you, still be around you, breathe the same air as you.

After all, who would look for a leaf in a forest?

“Fancy a candy?” Izumo chimes as he leans against the door frame of the archive room while you slide the access card to open the door.

“No thank you.” You tartly reply with a poker face. God, he followed you here, which means he is gonna yap for as long as he is here and God forbid he better not talk about what just happened in the dining hall. 

Izumo mumbles to himself, stepping into the room, “Guess I’ll have it then,” with a pout.

“Did the storage closet door lock behind us?” you ask as the bang of the metal door sends jolts throughout your body.

“I think so,” Izumo walks towards the door to check. He hopes that you are not playing any prank or something but then again, who would like to be stuck in the archive room? Especially in summer when the air conditioner is out of service and the fans have been hopeless since last spring. Izumo hears a loud thud. As he turns he finds you curled up in a fetal position on the floor struggling to breathe.

“Oh no no no no” you blabber feeling the dread and anxiety piling on top of your body. It is getting heavier. Seeing you like that, Izumo forgets what to do. At first, his feet move slowly though, then he quickens his pace but finally skids towards you since his calf muscles betray him.

“Breath. Look at me.” His voice is so faint or maybe you are already sinking in the depth of the attack. You know what to do. The tactic to overcome this. But with people around it gets harder. Most people do not know what to do and even if they did they are only aware of the ‘321’ rule since it is easier to remember, faster to execute, and the default suggestion before the medic arrives. Right. Medic. You can call, right? You touch your hips for your cellphone feeling only your skin and clothes. Your phone is at your work desk. Fuck. Your only hope is this guy, Izumo Haruichi.

“That’s not. . . it. you inhale barely but manage to say the next set of words in one breath. 

“That 321 rule doesn’t work on me.”

Immediately, your chest starts to feel heavy. Your head feels heavy. Your breathing is labored.

“Yes, I know. I know.” Izumo assures. His voice is so still, so even that it gathers all scattered pieces on him finally. “54321 it is.” He adds. He tries to make you sit but you are so stiff under the influence of fear that even with his strength he is in no luck. Moreover, he does not want you to treat him as a threat rather than a cane to grab on.

“Identify 5 things you can see,” 

Your eyes roam everywhere, to the farthest point it can see things. It has already started to itch and water. You blink rashly before mumbling. “Files—you inhale a long breath. “cabinets, AC, tables, chairs” 

“Next. 4 things you can touch” 

“The wall,” you say and touch it. You can finally sit up now, leg sprawled on the hot floor. Next, you touch your i-card. “My ID card.” Then your hair clip. “my hair clip,” unfastening it from your hair letting your hair fall onto your shoulders; it's a turquoise one today, and finally his ID card. You grab it in your hand and watch closely, flipping it too to glance at the other side . What an awful picture of Izumo .

“Your ID card.” 

Izumo holds you by the arms. His touch feels cold against yours. The full-sleeve dress is the only barrier between his skin and yours. Your palms clamp around his upper wrists. 

“Okay, 3 things you can hear:” 

“A.C.” 

“Fans.”

“Your voice,”

Izumo nods every time but it becomes slow at your third pick. 

“2 things you can smell.” It sinks in him: how in desperation and hunger you seek whatever you can get.

You take your scented handkerchief out of your pocket. Izumo takes it and holds it against your nose. Your exhaustive eyes look at him. His perfume smells rather too sweet today. You fall into his chest, embracing him. “Your perfume,” You whisper nuzzling against him. He is still sitting with his legs folded. You can hear his heartbeat, yours too. You are alive. You are very much alive.

“1 thing you can taste,” He says in a low voice, like the start of a lullaby. Reluctantly you pull your face away and look up. At this angle you can see his tongue, it’s white due to the candy. Could it be lichi flavored? There is still a bit of it left, peeking against his teeth.

Curiosity cascades into your body like rain and soaks him wet in a fraction of a second. It is an entirely foreign sensation for Izumo: Your lips are plush and soft with no hint of lipstick. The way your fingers press into his chest is unforgiving to his taut muscles creating a sense of pain, but a different kind of pain; the good kind. You are desperate and forceful. Your lips taste like spicy and honey. What did you have for lunch today? 

WAIT. You break the kiss. Izumo is as stunned as you are. His azure is asking why did you stop? You are still holding on to him. How did he know that the ‘321’ rule does not work on you? Moreover, how did he know that you have claustrophobia in the first place? 

Ah! Now it makes sense.

The realization paints your mind like it's high on drugs. Before you can think twice, your hands trail up to his nape enveloping his face. He instantly pulls you into his lap folding his legs one over the other to make you comfortable. He is swift and strong. This time, he is the one to demand first. The candy must have melted by now. It was coconut-flavored. You do not remember swallowing it neither does he but only the feeling of your lips on his, his on yours. He pulls away from the kiss gasping for air. His mouth and nose are cherry-tinted. He is getting an earful from Aoi for sure.

“I have texted Aoi.” His hands recoil back into his pocket from under your shirt. “He will be here soon.”

Izumo looks at the ground. Is it awkward? Yeah! Definitely. Does he want this to get over with? NO!NEVER. Damn him for wanting you. Damn him for craving you even at desperation like this.

You give him a long hum. “Why do you look like a crumpled receipt? It’s not like I will break your heart once we are out of the room, Izumo.” You place a kiss on his cheek. “Still have to thank you for saving my life.” 

You get out of his lap. He blinks hopelessly. Yeah, his suffering isn’t going to end . You still are as dense as a cabbage and so defenseless, so tactless, by god it drives him nuts. “I love you,” Izumo mumbles to himself. Aoi opens the door as you look at Izumo. 

“What did you just say?” Both of you walk side by side as you two walk out of the room. Aoi is still holding the door.

“Nothing” You continue to scrutinize him with your eyes.  “I said, I hate you.”

You smile. “Yeah! I hate you too.” 

Poor Aoi is still holding the door witnessing the cheesiest corny confession ever.

—

network: @underratedcharactercorner

[sabbitabbi]

My part of a little cubicle collab on the pixel dailies discord :)

ko-fi

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

Part 17

Zoe had a smile on her face from the second she got that text from Cillian, all throughout the hot shower she took, picking out clothes, getting dressed, picking up coffee and driving to work.

She picked out a white sleeveless bodysuit with structured shoulders, black pleated dress pants and some mules. She put on her gold bracelets that her grandmother passed down to her when she died (they were in her jewelry box collecting dust) and put on some gold necklaces and earrings. Instead of straightening her hair or putting it in a messy bun like usual, she decided to add some product to it and let it stay wavy, blow drying it upside down and scrunching it so it had volume. Zoe's hair was naturally very wavy and normally she hated it, but she decided to embrace it today.

I look like a lion, she thought to herself as she took one final look in the mirror.

Zoe arrived at work and walked in with her head held high. She walked down the long hallway towards her office, past the cubicles of junior writers that once stared her down. She felt confident, she felt happy, she felt wanted. Cillian had transformed her entire mood. If she knew one blackout night and a sloppy facetime call to him would change everything, she would of done this a long time ago.

She closed her office door, set her bag and coffee down, and sat at her desk. First things first - music. She opened her spotify and shuffled her "liked songs" playlist.

She took out her notebook and opened to the most recent page. She always made a "to do" list for the following day at the end of her day. Since she didn't get anything done on Monday, she wanted to speed through her to do list for Monday and play catch up for today:

Monday:

schedule Emma Stone interview- get talking points and questions

try and get contact info for wardrobe assistant for Poor Things - check with Casey from accounting?? cousin was a PA on set or something??

follow up with editor for Cill article --- where is it haven't had any feedback in weeks?????

see if can get invite for new PR firm party next month - Jlo should be there with Ben

speaking of ben - see if i can get a contact for jennifer garner, want to do segment for her Pretend Cooking Show and possibly do ina Garten collab -- pitch to Donna first

Zoe didn't get a chance to get started on anything before there was a knock on the door.

"Come in-" Zoe started, but the person had walked in anyway. "Oh, hey Mia"

Mia was one of the junior writers at Zoe's job. She latched onto Zoe as a mentor and always asked her to proofread her articles and, in turn, became somewhat close to Zoe.

Mia closed the door and sat down in the chair across from Zoe.

"Something is going on and you're not telling me" Mia said.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem... happier... well no shit, you're dating a movie star, I bet you jetted off to San Tropez for the weekend and spent it on a yacht" Mia said.

"Mia, you couldn't be more wrong" Zoe said, laughing while reminiscing of her spilling out of the dive bar Sunday night. Not exactly San Tropez.

"Ugh, I hate you so much," Mia said, leaning back into the chair and looking up at the ceiling. "How does it feel to be the envy of every girl ever?"

"Oh, stop it" Zoe said, rolling her eyes.

"Zo, you're dating Tommy Shelby. Girls have wet dreams about being with Tommy Shelby."

"I'm not dating Thomas Shelby" Zoe said, rolling her eyes.

"He still has the haircut. So at least you can pretend" Mia pointed out.

"Do you need help with something?" Zoe said, half jokingly and half serious. She felt uncomfortable talking about her relationship with Cillian, mainly because she still didn't feel comfortable lying about it. She rather avoid the entire topic all together.

"Just tell me one thing, please" Mia said, leaning forward in her chair, elbows on her knees and lowering her voice, "Is the sex good at least? Tell me it's mind blowing"

Couldn't tell ya, Mia, Zoe thought.

"Its... it's indescribable" Zoe settled on. Not exactly a lie, right? You can't describe what you don't remember.

"Ugh, I bet!" Mia said, standing up. "I'll tell you one thing" She continued as she walked towards the office door, "If he ever comes to visit you and I'm alone with him the elevator, i can't make promises I won't keep my hands to myself" She said, sticking her tongue out.

"You're a creep, close my door" Zoe said, rolling her eyes.

Before the door could click shut, it swung open again.

"Hi Honey!" Donna said dramatically, walking in.

"Hey Donna" Zoe smiled sweetly.

"Listen, sweetie, about your Cillian article," Donna paused, "I think it's best if we shelf it for the time being."

Zoe was heartbroken. "What???" why? it's with the editors, I was actually going to follow up so I can get it to publishing"

"Actually, I pulled it from the editors last week and it's been with me on my desk all this time" Donna said, looking out the windows behind Zoe's desk.

"What? why?" Zoe asked again.

"I just think... We, the partners feel that with your current 'relationship' status that an article written by you about him wouldn't exactly go over well" she stated.

"So it's a dead interview?" All that work for nothing. She's in a fake relationship because of this interview! well.... not fake feelings... I think.. Zoe thought, started to spiral.

"We are thinking about how to proceed, we might shelf it, or we might re-do the piece with Cynthia conducting the interview instead"

Zoe saw red. "Donna" She started

"Oh Zoe don't start. Enough with this rivalry. You need to bury this" Donna said, walking towards the door. "Again, no decision has been met yet, I just wanted to keep you posted. Lets do lunch later this week sweetie, i'll see you later" She said, leaving just as fast as she arrived.

Zoe sat there in silence, trying to figure out how she felt about those two interactions.

On one hand, she liked that she was the envy of the females, according to Mia. Even though it's technically a contract relationship, the feelings are real... right? right.

As for the piece... that flat out pissed her off. Cynthia and Zoe got hired at the same time, but where Zoe had to show a lengthy portfolio of articles she's done, Cynthia's father "donated" new Mac computers to the entire building. Her heart wasn't in the storytelling part of journalism, she wanted to be close to celebrities and be one. Granted, Zoe was the one who was now dating one..... but Zoe didn't intend for that to happen. Cynthia tries to date everyone she interviews - what if she makes a move on Cillian??? No, she wouldn't. She knew they were in a relationship... right?

Zoe threw her pen on her desk and leaned back in her chair. This day started off so promising, so positive and happy, and now she had a knot in her chest.

Just then, her phone went off, a text.

From Cillian.

Dinner tonight? your place? unless you're sick of me xx

Zoe smiled.

-My to do list got cut in half, i'm leaving here at 4. Gonna stop at the store first, meet at my place at 5? -sounds good love. xx

Okay, that's something to look forward to I guess. Zoe thought. She'll pick up a bottle of wine and relax with her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend.... her"boyfriend"? Her contractually obligated boyfriend?

Cillian. She'll relax with Cillian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoe pulled up to her apartment to Cillian sitting on the front steps. She parked and hopped out of the car carrying the bottle of wine.

"Hey you" Cillian said, standing up and immediately pulling her into a kiss. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you" Zoe smiled. She looked behind him on the steps and noticed the pizza box. "Pizza night?" She asked.

"Yea, I didn't know what to get last minute, and didn't want to show up empty handed, and I figured it's a safe bet" He said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Of course pizza is a safe bet. Lets go upstairs" She said, silently thanking god that she straightened up her apartment before she left that morning.

They went up the stairs and entered the apartment, placing the pizza and wine on the counter.

Zoe turned around, half expecting Cillian to pounce on her. She knew there was sexual frustration since last night, and she wanted to continue what they started.

But, much to her dismay, Cillian began to get the wine glasses out of the cabinet and uncork wine, pouring Zoe a glass first. He carried the pizza box and his wine to the coffee table, placing them down and sitting on the couch in front of it. He opened the pizza box before yelling back to her "Hey, can you grab napkins for us?"

Hm. okay. a little bit too domesticated for me tonight, but okay, Zoe thought, grabbing some napkins. She kicked off her shoes and sat next to him on the couch, accepting a slice from him.

They made small talk about their day, and Zoe asked how the house hunting went. Cillian's mood suddenly changed.

"It's turning into a nightmare" He said, shaking his head.

"Why?"

Cillian sighed. "because now that she signed the papers, she wants this done, like yesterday. As if she wasn't the one who dragged this out for so long. She wants me out of the house in the next couple of days or else the buyer is gonna walk away. So I need to be out of the house by Thursday"

Zoe stopped chewing. "Cillian... its literally Tuesday"

"Yea, no shit" Cillian huffed. "I found a house, put in an offer, but no way it'll be ready by Thursday. It's fine. I have my assistant looking for an airb&b for me in the meantime, but I have to board Scout, which I don't like"

Zoe had an idea.

"Well... you can stay here" Zoe said.

Cillian looked at her. "I don't know, love, I don't want to be in your way-"

"This sounds like a conversation we had last yesterday, except roles were reversed" Zoe laughed. "But I'm serious. I'm assuming all of your furniture is going to storage, correct?"

Cillian nodded. "They started today actually"

"So pack a bag for a couple of days, bring Scout, and stay here. Stay for as long as you need. I know it's not much, we have ubers here, the streetlight outside flickers all night, the hot water takes a minute to get luke warm, if you want hot you gotta wait about 5 minutes, and the walls are a little thin, but it's not that bad. And you're more than welcome here" Zoe said, standing up and heading into the kitchen.

"Are you allowed to even have pets here?" Cillian said, standing up and following her.

"Yea it's fine, there are dogs here. And this way if the house falls through, you can look for another one and not have to worry about extending the airb&b or finding a new one"

Zoe was drying her hands on the dishtowel when she felt Cillian wrap his arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her neck. "But where would I sleep?" He teased.

Zoe smiled. "Scout and I already claimed the bed. You sir are getting the couch" She teased back.

"mhmmm, and I bet you'll be on the couch with me before you fall asleep" He said, starting to kiss your neck.

Zoe rolled her head to the side, making it easier for him to kiss her neck. He squeezed her tighter in his arms, making Zoe sigh and relax into him. He suddenly stopped and spun her around; she was now facing him, nose to nose, still trapped in his arms.

"Ok," He whispered. "But you gotta let me help out"

"Help with what?" Zoe laughed. "It's not hard to manage a 900 square foot apartment, I assure you"

"I could be a pain, you could end up hating me by the time this is done" He said softly, hands traveling from her back to her hips, right where the hem of her jeans sat.

"I could handle you" Zoe responded, which prompted Cillian to raise an eyebrow and smirk.

"Alright love," He said, fingertips gently dipping into her jeans, rubbing the soft flesh of her stomach.

"You wanna play house? Lets play house."

tags: @lau219 @shopgirl6us

[dragonxfuel]

Explaining the Dynamics of Entrepreneurs and Growth

In the dynamic landscape of entrepreneurship, growth is not just a goal but a continuous journey — a journey marked by challenges, strategic decisions, and the pursuit of innovation. In this blog, we will delve into the intricate dance between entrepreneurs and growth, exploring the key factors that drive success and ultimately unveiling a workspace solution that aligns seamlessly with the entrepreneurial spirit.

The Entrepreneurial Odyssey: 

The entrepreneurial journey begins with a spark — an idea that ignites passion and ambition. Entrepreneurs, fueled by a desire to bring their visions to life, embark on a unique odyssey. This journey is characterized by resilience, adaptability, and a relentless pursuit of growth.

Navigating Challenges on the Road to Success: 

Entrepreneurs face an array of challenges on their path to success — financial constraints, market competition, and the need for innovation. The ability to navigate these challenges becomes a crucial determinant of growth. It’s a journey where learning from setbacks becomes as essential as celebrating victories.

Collaboration: The Catalyst for Entrepreneurial Growth: 

In the pursuit of growth, collaboration emerges as a catalyst. Entrepreneurs thrive in environments that foster idea exchange, networking, and collective problem-solving. The power of collaboration propels businesses forward, opening doors to new opportunities and strategic partnerships.

Workspace as a Growth Enabler: 

The choice of workspace plays a pivotal role in the growth trajectory of entrepreneurs. Traditional office setups may pose limitations in terms of flexibility and cost-effectiveness. This is where coworking spaces come into play. In the heart of entrepreneurial activity in Whitefield, Bangalore, Collab Cubicles stands out as the cheapest coworking space — a growth enabler offering not just shared workspaces but also state-of-the-art meeting rooms in Bangalore.

Collab Cubicles: The Cheapest Coworking Space in Bangalore: 

Recognized as the cheapest coworking space in Bangalore, Collab Cubicles understands the unique needs of entrepreneurs. It provides a strategic location in Whitefield, offering entrepreneurs the flexibility and collaborative atmosphere essential for growth. Access to meeting rooms in Bangalore ensures that entrepreneurs have the tools they need for successful client meetings, presentations, and collaborative sessions.

Meeting Rooms in Bangalore: Hubs of Innovation and Collaboration: 

For entrepreneurs, well-equipped meeting rooms become hubs of innovation and collaboration. Collab Cubicles ensures that these spaces are designed to foster creativity and provide entrepreneurs with the ideal environment for strategic discussions and client interactions.

In conclusion, the journey of entrepreneurs and growth is a testament to the indomitable spirit of ambition and innovation. As entrepreneurs navigate the complex terrain of business, the right workspace becomes a crucial ally in their pursuit of growth. Collab Cubicles in Whitefield emerges as the optimal solution — the cheapest coworking space that aligns seamlessly with the entrepreneurial spirit. Explore the possibilities with Collab Cubicles and elevate your journey of growth in the vibrant world of entrepreneurship.

[alexmercer786]

5 Reasons You Should Rent A Co-working Space

Not a totally new idea within the enterprise field, Co-working workplace style is possibly the maximum inspiring and powerful work surroundings for the new age entrepreneurs and ‘start-uppers’. A co-running area offers shared work surroundings that allow them to work independently and collaboratively inside hard surroundings, giving them the possibility to speak about, percentage ideas and meet like-minded human beings within the identical desk. Here are five reasons why you should hire a co-operating area for your business.

A Platform To Share Ideas

co-working workplace, a difficult situation may be unravelled by discussing it with different like-minded human beings. As people, we usually generally tend to get a deeper perception of issues by discussing them with fellow employees and co-workers. Brain-storming most effective can show up over a cup of espresso with clever fellows at the equal working area.

2. Continuous Training & Learning Opportunity

The co-operating area provides getting to know, schooling and relearning by means of website hosting seminars, workshops and other learning activities which assist the marketers and co-personnel on how they could flourish effectively in an aggressive economy. It is a platform where now not best you’re constructing contacts, but also achieving lifestyles-long relationships.

3. Build A Network

It says, making the proper connections can enhance your probability of fulfilment. A co-operating surrounding offers you the possibility to connect with ability employees, companions and buyers. In a shared office in Bangalore, you may be surrounded by purpose-oriented and excessive-achieving human beings which permit you to hook up with small commercial enterprise owners, aspect thinkers, freelancers and different entrepreneurs.

4. Save Money and Time

Being an entrepreneur, it’s far more difficult to lease a full-fledged office area. A shared workplace region saves cash huge time with the aid of giving the top hand on collaborative opportunities — immediate courting with gifted people and saves time by way of presenting like-minded human beings at the same table.

5. A Happy Employee

Co-running areas don\’t have any-noise regulations and frequently there may be groovy music in the historical past which makes the employees relax and simplicity the tension and tension typically related to places of work. Co-working spaces in Bangalore are incredible by way of presenting dedicated areas for meditation or even a room for a bit of nap. Most shared workplaces have a sports region in which personnel can stretch their muscle after a tiresome day at the workplace.

When it comes to finding the perfect co-working space in Bangalore, Collab Cubicles should be your top choice. Here’s why:

1. Prime Location: Conveniently located in Whitefield, Bangalore, Collab Cubicles provides easy access to professionals across the city.

2. Diverse Facilities: Collab Cubicles offers a range of flexible workspace solutions, from well-equipped meeting rooms to virtual office options.

3. Flexibility and Scalability: As your business grows, Collab Cubicles can easily accommodate your changing needs.

4. Professional Networking: Join a thriving community of professionals and benefit from networking opportunities.

5. Cost-Efficiency: Enjoy cost-effective solutions without hidden fees.

Elevate your professional journey with Collab Cubicles.

[hackfuel]

Virtual Office Space in Bangalore: The Key to Business Efficiency

When it comes to establishing a thriving business presence in Bangalore, virtual office spaces are emerging as the ultimate game-changer. In a city known for its technological prowess and vibrant startup ecosystem, the advantages of opting for a coworking office, such as the ones offered by Collab Cubicles, cannot be overstated. In this blog, we’ll explore why coworking office spaces in Bangalore are a smart choice for businesses seeking cost-effective solutions, flexibility, and a professional image.

Virtual Office Space

Nothing beats leasing a Virtual Office Space in Bangalore as regards fee-effectiveness; properly, not anything apart from starting to your very own terrace obviously. The high-quality virtual workplaces in Montreal are in fact absolutely moderate. It is also easy to lease one; you do not want to strain over putting resources into fixtures and different Hardware.

Coworking Space in Bangalore

Coworking Spaces in Bangalore work is moreover enormously efficient because of the distance-on-request administration they usually provide. At something point you need extra space or an extra gathering room, you may hire them genuinely. As your startup develops, you can have more workplaces brought on your arrangement.

Agent Business Address

The photograph is the whole thing in the gift competitive marketplace. There are many new businesses constructed each day, so remaining in the front of the mission calls for something apart from great items or administrations. You have to hold up a strong, agent emblem and company photo so that it will attract customers and monetary specialists the equal.

At the factor when you are scanning for bureaux digital Montreal, discover one that is splendidly arranged in a famed location. This won\’t simply raise your startup\’s picture but, in addition, make it easy to have gatherings at some point essentially.

Extra Services

How about we do now not overlook that digital offices accompany extra administrations additionally. Gathering administrations are one of my pinnacle alternatives. You also can have an organized secretary tolerating calls and messages. Far and away advanced, you could have your own commercial enterprise cellphone number, general with name sending, phone message and replying mail.

Meeting rooms are moreover a part of the virtual workplace administration package deal more frequently than not. You may have gatherings in a lavish, delegate assembly room, general with unfastened net access and all of the gear you need. The amassing rooms, by and large, are available in numerous sizes as nicely, agreeable for anything from a touch amassing to a little meeting.

Colossal Flexibility

To continue to be aggressive, your startup must be as adaptable as it very well perhaps. This includes having the choice to transport up to an adjusted workplace or have greater space to make use of at something factor critical. Locate a digital workplace specialist co-op that likewise gives respectable suites and overhauled workplace space and you may have the choice to extend and increase whilst never transferring to every other vicinity.

This specific gain clears a route to amazing….

Progression

Truly, congruity is good sized. Moving to any other space at ordinary durations just to live aware of the development of your business enterprise isn’t always useful for the enterprise. You ought to inform clients, make modifications on your letterheads and manipulate specific disturbances that could abate similarly development. These problems can live far away from deciding on a digital workplace administration that fits your wishes superbly.

[thewinevoyage]

10 Team Building Experiences to Unite Your Miami Team NowWhy Team Building Heats Up in Miami Miami: The Team Building Hot Zone Crafting Your Miami Team Day My Miami Team Building Yarn How to Kickstart Your Miami Team Fun Conclusion Other interesting links Team Building Experiences, Miami 10 Team Building Experiences to Unite Your Miami Team Now I’ll never shake the memory of my team—usually stuck in cubicles—screaming with glee as we raced kayaks through Key Biscayne’s mangroves, dodging crabs and splashing like kids. That’s Miami for you: a sun-drenched dynamo that turns colleagues into a crew. Whether you’re an HR pro Googling “hot team building experiences in Miami” or a manager searching “group activities near me,” this city’s got the fire you need. From South Beach surf-offs to Wynwood art hunts, I’ve lined up ten local team building experiences that’ll ignite teamwork, boost vibes, and soak in Miami’s tropical flair. Let’s dive into these adventures and make 2025 your team’s hottest year yet! Why Team Building Heats Up in Miami Team Building Experiences, Miami Miami’s a fusion of pulse and paradise—beaches, beats, and a vibe that begs you to bond. I’ve seen stiff coworkers loosen up over a shared croqueta in Little Havana, and it’s no fluke. In a hub of tourism, tech startups, and finance, team building is the spice that keeps crews cooking. Post-digital fatigue, we’re craving real connection, and Miami’s 300+ sunny days a year (yep, I checked!) set the scene. These ten ideas blend adventure challenges with collaborative workshops, all sizzling with Miami’s fiery spirit—because who doesn’t want to strategize with a Biscayne Bay breeze? 1. Key Biscayne Kayak Dash Team Building Experiences, Miami I paddled Key Biscayne—mangroves twisting, team racing, pelicans overhead. Miami’s coastal edge turns kayaking into a riot. Why It Works: Syncing paddles builds teamwork—stroke or sink! How to Do It: Rent from Miami Watersports—guided or solo. Pro Tip: End at Rusty Pelican—our post-race mojitos sealed it. A splashy team building experience with Miami zest. 2. Little Havana Cooking Clash I diced plantains in Little Havana—our Cuban sandwich was a mess, but the teamwork was gold. Miami’s food scene is team building heaven. Why It Works: Collaborative workshops spark creativity—chop, cook, connect. How to Do It: Book via Miami Culinary Tours—Cuban classics rule. Pro Tip: Add the “Sip & Connect” package from this site—our wine pairing was fuego. A tasty team building experience with Miami soul. 3. Wynwood Walls Art Hunt Team Building Experiences, Miami I raced through Wynwood—snapping pics by murals, missing clues but nailing vibes. Miami’s artsy hub turns scavenger hunts into a blast. Why It Works: Adventure challenges test wits with a colorful twist. How to Do It: Use Let’s Roam or map your own route. Pro Tip: Stop at Coyo Taco—our post-hunt tacos fueled the fun. A vibrant chase in Miami’s core. 4. South Beach Surf Showdown I wiped out hard in South Beach—waves won, but my team’s cheers turned flops into wins. Miami’s surf scene is pure team building. Why It Works: Balancing boards builds trust—ride or roll together. How to Do It: Book lessons with South Beach Surf School. Pro Tip: Hit Ocean Drive—our beachside cocktails capped it. A wave-riding collab with Miami flair. 5. Coconut Grove Leadership Sail I sailed Coconut Grove—wind tugging, team plotting, Biscayne Bay sparkling. Miami’s nautical edge fuels big thinking. Why It Works: Leadership development programs thrive on water—steer and strategize. How to Do It: Charter via Miami Yacht Charters. Pro Tip: Pack a playlist—our sunset jams sparked ideas. A sailing team building experience with Miami shine. 6. Coral Gables Escape Room Rush Locked in a Coral Gables escape room—Venetian Pool nearby, team cracking codes inside. Miami’s charm turns puzzles into thrills. Why It Works: Brain teasers fuel teamwork with a tropical twist. How to Do It: Book at Fox in a Box—local flair awaits. Pro Tip: Debrief at Greenstreet Cafe—our post-win pastries rocked. A clever team building experience in Miami’s gem. 7. Everglades Airboat Team-Up Team Building Experiences, Miami I zoomed the Everglades—airboats roaring, team spotting alligators, mangroves framing it all. Miami’s wild side is team building gold. Why It Works: High-octane fun forges trust—ride and revel together. How to Do It: Book via Everglades Adventure Tours. Pro Tip: Bring bug spray—our swamp laughs were bite-free. A roaring bond with Miami’s edge. 8. Brickell Brewery Blend-Off I mixed brews in Brickell—teams at Veza Sur giggling over hoppy flops. Miami’s craft scene is team building bliss. Why It Works: Collaborative workshops get boozy and bold. How to Do It: Book a tasting or blending—J. Wakefield works too. Pro Tip: Add arepas from Doggi’s—our pairing was clutch. A sudsy team building experience with Miami punch. 9. Oleta River Paddleboard Challenge I wobbled on a paddleboard at Oleta River State Park—water lapping, team balancing, mangroves whispering. Miami’s nature turns paddleboarding into a thrill. Why It Works: Adventure challenges test teamwork with a watery vibe. How to Do It: Rent from Oleta River Outdoor Center. Pro Tip: Pack a cooler—our post-paddle sandwiches sealed it. A floating collab with Miami soul. 10. Unique Wine & Spirits Adventures with The Wine Voyage Team Building Experiences, Miami The Wine Voyage offers Unique Wine & Spirits Experiences that empower colleagues and friends to connect while exploring the world of wine.  Whether it’s The Blind Tasting Competition, The Perfect Blend Competition, Tequila & Mezcal Experiences, Food & Wine Pairing, or Virtual Experiences, each offering is carefully curated with a focus on strengthening existing relationships and fostering new ones. Brainy and fun team building experiences! Miami: The Team Building Hot Zone Miami’s a tropical dynamo—beaches, brews, and a buzz that binds. I’ve seen teams flip from flat to fierce over a paddle or a pint. It’s not just the 35 miles of coast or 80-degree winters; it’s the energy. These ten experiences tap that, mixing corporate group activities with Miami’s sultry soul. Stats sing it: over 60 breweries and 15 beaches mean endless fun. Home to Royal Caribbean and Bacardi, team building here is lifeblood, not a luxury. Crafting Your Miami Team Day Every crew’s got a rhythm. Techies might love escape rooms; sales reps might crave airboats. I’ve paired paddles with brewery stops—custom’s king. Weather’s a lock—sun rules, rain’s rare. Budget counts: kayaks might hit $40 a head, sails more. Pick your sizzle, and watch it pop. My Miami Team Building Yarn Last summer, I took my squad to Oleta paddleboards. I fell—twice—but the Empanada picnic after turned flops into tales. Miami’s got that pull—it’s raw, it’s real. Another time, a Brickell brew-off had us naming our ale “Miami Heatwave”—it flopped, but the laughs stuck. These aren’t just moments; they’re glue. How to Kickstart Your Miami Team Fun No guru needed—I’ve jumped in blind and scored. Here’s your kickoff: Find Your Beat: Beach rush or city grit? Match your team’s groove. Book Quick: Miami’s hot—slots fill fast. Add Zest: Try the “Collaborative Blind Tasting Challenge” from this site—a wine-charged team building experience that’s pure Miami. One step, and you’re sizzling. The Lasting Heat These aren’t just days—they’re flames. That paddle flop? Our Slack gif still. The brew win? Our war cry. Miami team building powers adventure challenges and leadership development programs that burn—trust grows, skills sharpen, bonds lock. In 2025, ditch the dull. Let Miami’s sun and swagger fire up your squad. Conclusion Light Up Your Miami Team Spirit Miami’s more than a beach—it’s a team building inferno. These ten experiences—from surf showdowns to art dashes—don’t just fill time; they forge a crew. I’ve seen it: quiet coders leading kayaks, rivals sharing ceviche. It’s hot, it’s real, it’s ours. Don’t wait—book that thrill, spark that fire. Your team’s Miami legend starts now. Here’s to a year of blazing unity! Hashtags: #MiamiTeamBuilding #TeamBuildingExperiences #CorporateGroupActivities #AdventureChallengesMIA #CollaborativeWorkshops #LeadershipDevelopment #MiamiEvents #TeamFunMIA #MiamiBonding #MIA2025 Find out more about our experiences. You may also want to check out our gallery for past events. Other interesting links CUSTOMIZE YOUR EXPERIENCE Team Building blog Wine Courses THE BLIND TASTING COMPETITION THE PERFECT BLEND COMPETITION TEQUILA & MEZCAL EXPERIENCE Food & Wine Pairing VIRTUAL EXPERIENCES Links to other interesting articles: 73-powerful-team-building-activities unlock-the-fun-with-18-virtual-team-building-activities powerful-tips-for-crafting-a-company-culture Links to other interesting articles: 19-amazing-virtual-team-building-activities 35-powerful-team-building-activities 5-minute-team-building-activities more-than-50-powerful-team-building-activities Read the full article

[oisinshields]

The Art of Lip Gloss Packaging: Elevating Brand Identity and Customer Experience

Lip Gloss Packaging is pivotal in identifying logos and influencing consumer buying choices. Proper packaging no longer protects the product it additionally serves as a powerful marketing tool that could captivate capability buyers. An aesthetically captivating and practical layout can drastically raise an emblem's visibility and enchantment in an incredibly competitive market.

The adventure of making an appropriate lip gloss packaging starts with the audience's know-how. Brands want to consider their clients' choices and expectations, which may vary extensively based on demographics, lifestyle and personal tastes. For example a luxury logo targeting high-quit purchasers might choose stylish, minimalist designs with top-rate substances even as a logo aimed toward a more youthful target audience would likely select vibrant colors and playful styles.

Sustainability is another important factor of cutting-edge packaging design. As clients turn out to be more environmentally conscious, they increasingly favor manufacturers that prioritize green practices. This shift has triggered a rise in the use of sustainable substances consisting of recycled paper, biodegradable material and reusable additives. Brands that embody these practices not only lessen their environmental footprint but also enhance their reputation among eco-aware consumers.

Functionality should not be noted in Lip Gloss Packaging. The packaging must be easy to use, shield the product from infection and damage and hold its fine over time. This includes ensuring that the applicator is practical and that the field prevents leaks and spills. Additionally, modern capabilities, such as mirrors, lights or dual cubicles, can add fee and comfort for customers.

The visible enchantment of Lip Gloss Packaging is essential in attracting customers and conveying logo messages. Elements such as color, typography and imagery ought to align with the logo's identity and create a cohesive appearance that sticks out on retail shelves or online structures. An adequately designed bundle can evoke emotions and associations that resonate with clients, encouraging them to pick one logo over another.

Customization is every other fashion gaining traction in the beauty industry. Personalized packaging that includes particular designs, restricted variations or the client's name can create a feel of exclusivity and enhance emblem loyalty. This approach now differentiates the product and improves the overall client experience.

Unboxing enjoyment has become a critical part of consumer pleasure in the age of social media. A thoughtfully designed bundle that gives a satisfying unboxing can encourage customers to share their experiences online, producing natural promotion and increasing logo visibility. Elements like fashionable wrapping, thank-you notes and wonder presents can flip a simple buy into a memorable occasion.

Incorporating modern technologies into Lip Gloss Packaging can further enhance the user experience. Bright packaging boxes consisting of QR codes or augmented fact capabilities, provide extra data about the product or interactive stories that interact with purchasers. These technologies can also help users use products and offer personalized tips, fostering a deeper connection between the logo and its customers.

The rise of e-trade has also prompted Lip Gloss Packaging design. With extra customers shopping online, brands need to ensure that their packaging is durable enough to withstand shipping while being visually attractive. Compact, lightweight designs that lessen shipping expenses and environmental impact are getting increasingly popular.

Collaborations with artists, designers or influencers can also elevate Lip Gloss Packaging. These partnerships can produce precise, attractive designs that appeal to new customers and generate buzz around the product. Limited-edition packaging created via such collaborations regularly becomes a collectible, adding an element of exclusivity and driving the call.

Ultimately, Lip Gloss Packaging aims to create a tremendous and remarkable impact that aligns with the brand's values and meets consumer expectations. A successful packaging approach considers all aspects, from layout and capability to sustainability and client enjoyment. By investing in brilliant innovative packaging boxes brands can enhance their marketplace presence and build lasting customer relationships.

For manufacturers looking to reap the best blend of aesthetics and capability in their Lip Gloss Packaging, operating with a specialized packaging organization can make all of the distinction. CP Cosmetics Boxes gives bespoke packaging answers that cater to the specific wishes of each logo, ensuring that every detail is meticulously crafted to beautify emblem identification and pride customers.

[yuzu-adagio]

That's it for stream! I kinda zombied my way through, but it was fun! Raided GloopQueen! Back Thursday (probably) for the return of Terraria Calamity Collab (probably)!

Super Mario Bros.: World 5 Donkey Kong Country: Millstone Mayhem (have beaten a few times, but next save point is a long ways off) Sonic the Hedgehog: Labyrinth Zone (reached the boss once!) Mega Man: Wily 1 Gradius: Stage 2/3 Kickle Cubicle: DONEZO. Next up in the Puzzle Block is Adventures of Lolo! Wario Land: Endboss Bubble Bobble: Endboss, best run is 75% Burger Time: Stayed alive for like ten seconds in Board 3! Castlevania II: I now prosess Dracula's Heart Mega Man X: 2 down, 1 because the game just kinda gave it to me randomly. We might have to skip thisun :\ Psychic World (GG): Not very far

[penandswords]

Collab events... Right WORK. Now is NOT the time to be a fan girl Rima. "I think he could be convinced. You Two are allies after all. The top hero's collaborate on jobs all of the time, why should marketing be any different." She rolled herself to her actual desk on the other side of her cubicle to grab her sketchbook. Flipping to an empty page.

"Did you have something specific in mind?" She is trying to not have a red face but her body is betraying her. It's moments like this where she's happy Hawks wears things over his eyes. OTHER wise he'd be able to feel her underlying excitement.

It was hard not to be somewhat amused seeing someone being caught off guard by his sudden appearance. "Just here to see how Endeavor feels about collab events. Though I get the feeling he probably wouldn't be into the idea."

[collabcoworkspace]

Collab Cubicles Coworking Space In Bangalore are a community of igniting minds who have decided to work under the same roof. Our workspace and startup communities around us inspire us to take action, grow, to do better. our Coworking spaces expose you to chance and opportunity.

[collab100]

coworking space in Bangalore, Our Private Office Spaces are extraordinary choices assuming you're searching for consistency and quality with a work area. Our Coworking Space gives secure access so you can have confidence that you have a protected and agreeable climate to be useful. Partake in the energy of a customary office with the advantages of every one of our conveniences and local area occasions.

[artdunk]

Collab with @godeats feat. her character, Harvey Hardwork.

I did the initial drawing, she did the line art, and then I colored!

[dragonxfuel]

Whitefield: Evolving Through Time and the Rise of Coworking Spaces in Bangalore

Whitefield: A Glimpse into the Past

Once upon a time, Whitefield was a tranquil haven, surrounded by farmlands and charming colonial-era bungalows. It was the destination for those seeking a peaceful retreat from the bustling city. However, the winds of change blew across Whitefield, heralding a new era. The establishment of the Export Promotion Industrial Park (EPIP) in the late ’90s marked a significant turning point. It brought with it a surge of IT and tech companies, and soon enough, Whitefield was transformed into an IT hub.

The IT Boom: An Urban Makeover

With the influx of tech giants, the landscape of Whitefield changed dramatically. The once-vast farmlands made way for towering office complexes, residential apartments, and a burgeoning retail sector. Whitefield became a microcosm of urban development. Yet, with this rapid urbanization came challenges. Traffic congestion, the need for efficient office spaces, and a desire for work-life balance became pressing concerns.

The Rise of Coworking Spaces

Coworking spaces emerged as the perfect solution. They provided an oasis for professionals seeking an escape from congested commutes and monotonous work environments. Coworking spaces in Whitefield, such as Collab Cubicles, have created a harmonious bridge between urban development and the well-being of professionals. They offer flexible, cost-effective, and ergonomically designed workspaces that cater to the unique needs of individuals and businesses.

Cheapest Coworking Space in Bangalore

In a city that never sleeps, affordability is a primary concern for many. Finding the right workspace that doesn’t break the bank was a challenge until coworking spaces entered the scene. Whitefield, known for its dynamic corporate culture, now boasts some of the cheapest coworking spaces in Bangalore. Collab Cubicles stands out as a prime example, offering affordability without compromising quality.

Meeting Rooms: Where Ideas Converge

Meeting rooms have always been essential for professionals to gather, collaborate, and innovate. The surge in demand for meeting rooms in Bangalore, especially in the Whitefield area, has prompted coworking spaces to provide state-of-the-art facilities. These spaces offer fully equipped meeting rooms that can be booked as per your requirements, making them ideal for presentations, brainstorming sessions, or crucial client meetings.

The Promise of Coworking in Whitefield

Today, Whitefield is more than just an IT hub; it’s a thriving ecosystem of innovation and growth. The coworking spaces that have sprung up in this bustling area are a testament to the changing needs of professionals and businesses. They offer a blend of convenience, affordability, and a thriving community of like-minded individuals. For professionals seeking the perfect balance between work and life in Whitefield, coworking spaces have proven to be the all-in-one solution.

Collab Cubicles: Where Whitefield’s Past Meets the Future of Coworking.

As Whitefield continues to evolve, coworking spaces are set to remain an integral part of its ever-changing landscape, offering professionals and businesses an opportunity to thrive in a dynamic and inspiring environment.

[alexmercer786]

Coworking and Remote Work: A Match Made in Heaven

1. Overcoming Isolation

One of the common pitfalls of remote work is isolation. Spending long hours working alone can lead to feelings of loneliness and disconnection from your professional network. This is where coworking spaces in whitefield shine. A hub for remote and freelance workers, you can overcome isolation. You’re surrounded by like-minded professionals, offering the best of both worlds: the freedom of remote work and the social benefits of a traditional office.

2. Elevating Your Work Environment

Let’s face it; not everyone has the luxury of a perfectly equipped home office. Remote work often involves makeshift workspaces, like dining tables or crowded coffee shops. But with coworking spaces like Collab Cubicles, you gain access to a professional work environment. Ergonomic furniture, high-speed internet, and all the necessary amenities ensure you remain productive without the typical home distractions.

3. Networking Made Easy

4. Structure and Routine

While remote work provides flexibility, it can blur the lines between work and personal life. A coworking space whitefield like Collab Cubicles provides structure and routine. Commuting to a workspace establishes a clear separation between work and home life, which is essential for maintaining a healthy work-life balance.

5. Accessibility and Flexibility

Finding the ideal workspace near your home is crucial for remote workers. cheapest coworking space in Bangalore, often conveniently situated, offer this accessibility. They also understand the need for flexibility, providing various membership options to cater to your specific needs. Collab Cubicles exemplifies this flexibility.

6. Portraying a Professional Image

For remote workers occasionally meeting clients or partners, hosting meetings in a professional coworking space like Collab Cubicles can make a significant difference. It portrays a more established and reliable image compared to conducting meetings in a home office or public places.

7. Supercharged Productivity

The dynamic environment of a coworking space can supercharge your productivity. Surrounded by fellow professionals, the energizing atmosphere can be motivating and inspiring. Many remote workers discover they’re more productive when working alongside others in such an environment.

8. Community and Support

Coworking spaces foster a sense of community. Events, workshops, and networking opportunities are regularly organized, which can be invaluable for professional development and seeking guidance from experienced peers.

In conclusion, coworking and remote work are a powerful combination. Remote work offers unmatched flexibility, while coworking spaces in Bangalore provide structure, social interaction, and professional workspaces. This combination addresses the challenges of isolation and distractions linked with remote work, delivering a holistic solution for those desiring the freedom of remote work while maintaining the benefits of a traditional office environment.

If you find yourself in Bangalore and are on the hunt for the ideal coworking space or meeting rooms in Bangalore, consider exploring Collab Cubicles. With a focus on creating a professional, collaborative environment, it’s here to enhance your remote work experience. Dive into this blend of remote work and coworking at Collab Cubicles, your gateway to a more productive and fulfilling work life.