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xzaddyzanakinx · 7 months

Text

| Not Yet | part one

An Anakin Skywalker X FemReader Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Eventual Somnophilia, Cockwarming, oral, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, etc. (More warnings to come in part two)

Aggression, anger, biting, pinching,

Info: Unburned Anakin, Darth Vader Anakin - No Mask, Established Relationship, Anakin is broody but he adores you. He destroys something of yours he’s not sorry. NOT proofread❤️

Anakin Skywalker, leader of the Empire. A powerful Sith, a harsh and unforgiving presence looming over the galaxy. Known for his anger, his hatred, his ruthlessness.

No one would suspect that behind the mask, underneath the intimidating vocoder, is a soft smile. All boyish charm, beautiful sky blue eyes with just a hint of yellow. A scar across his right eye, a token of his past that he wears well.

The dark web of his blighted path is littered with holes of light shining through with the memories of his younger years. You see him for what he truly is. A master weaver.

And weave he did, straight into the missing piece of your soul.

Anakin, The Lord Darth Vader, would be seen as a weakened man if any one were to discover how he acts behind closed doors. The web of lies stretches far and wide, but never into the confines of your shared quarters. When the mask is removed, your Anakin emerges. Your sweet boy, loving, caring, considerate, everything that Vader is not.

The vastness of space always seemed to calm you, it was peaceful. The stars seemed close enough to touch as you pass the planets hanging in the surrounding darkness, watching them slowly shrink as the Death Star made its way to the next destination.

The long curved window of your living room was your favorite spot to sit and read, Anakin had a large oval shaped lounge chair designed specifically for you just for this very purpose. He couldn’t understand why you’d remove the couch cushions and place them on the floor just to be near the window, so he’d surprised you with the beautifully made black velvet seat. If you could call it that, really it was more of a day bed.

As you lay there, book in hand, the door opened abruptly causing you to jump.

“Ani?”

There was no response from behind you, just the hissing of the release of his helmet followed by the soft thump of hard plastic against the plush carpet. It was rare that he returned in a foul mood, and clearly this was one of those days. You knew better than to ask questions, he hated talking war and politics with you, work was work and home was home. He kept them entirely separate, no one dared to bother him with questions or updates once he’d stepped foot into your quarters.

You heard him huff in annoyance as he stomped off to the bedroom. You sighed and placed your book aside, making your way to the kitchen. A nice little glass of whiskey worked wonders on him on days like this. You poured a generous amount, grimacing when the smell hit your nostrils. You sat the glass aside, sliding the whiskey bottle back into its place.

You prepared his favorite snack, peanut butter and bananas, a strange pairing for whiskey… but he liked it so who were you to judge? You left the plate and glass on the counter for him and made your way to the bathroom.

You drew a steaming bath, complete with bubbles and fragrant oils, placing two fluffy towels and his robe beside the sink. He never asked you to do these things for him, but you knew he enjoyed it. It was a habit you’d started and followed religiously after the first time he’d returned home in a sour mood like this.

You undressed allowing the fabric of your dress pool at your feet. Slowly sinking into the hot water, you closed your eyes and waited for him.

Soft footsteps alerted you to his presence, a small smile upturned your lips as you opened your eyes to see him standing above you already nude. Whiskey glass in hand, he stepped into the tub in silence.

He settled in, taking a sip from the glass before setting it aside, letting his head tip back against the high wall of the porcelain tub. His hand felt for your ankle, pulling it to rest on his thigh, he rubbed his thumb gently back and forth against your skin.

He tugged at your ankle slightly, trying to get your attention after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“M’ sorry I’ve been grumpy.” Anakin whispered, watching you with a pout as you opened your eyes.

“Had a rough day?” You asked him, earning a groan and a nod as confirmation.

He shifted, trying to crawl into your lap. His cheek rested on your chest, nestled between your water slicked breasts. His left hand came up to lazily circle your nipple, watching in fascination as it hardens under his touch. With your legs on either side of his torso you took the opportunity to trap him there with your thighs. Smirking at the low rumbling you felt his chest make against your abdomen.

“How can I make it better?” You asked, twirling a strand of his damp hair around your pointer finger.

“Neck.” He grumbled shrugging his shoulders to encourage you.

“Mhm,” you grinned, placing your hands on his shoulders but not moving. You were waiting for a ‘please’.

“C’mon, you asked how to help and this is how.” He picked up his hand and flicked water at your face.

You let your fingertips ghost across his skin, hearing him sigh, you guessed it was a mixture of gratitude and impatience. You pressed a little harder watching his skin dimple beneath your touch. A small strangled moan left his lips from the sensation, just like you’d hoped. A smirk crawled up the corner of your mouth as you stilled your movements.

“Fucking stop doing that!” Anakin pinched the skin on your ribs harshly.

“Ow!” Before you could think you had smacked the back of his head. “Oh shit oh Ani I’m sorry!”

He slowly raised his head and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the golden flecks in his eyes that so intensely burned into yours. Ani had a temper, that you knew, you rarely fought and it was never caused by something as small as this. A little teasing was just part of your love language but occasionally you’d find yourself stepping over the fine line of ‘cute annoyance’ and straight into ‘Jesus FUCK! Where’s my fucking stun gun!’, followed by laughter from the both of you.

Though this time, he wasn’t laughing.

He lifted himself up with his hands firmly planted on either side of your hips, a glare in his eyes that could’ve burned through beskar as he dropped his line of vision to your chest. Before you could think of a good apology for bothering him, your brain short circuited from an intense sharp pain.

It took longer than expected for your mind to catch up with what you were seeing. Anakin had bitten you right on the softest most sensitive part of your breast. He was merciless with it, sinking his teeth in and leaving a perfect impression on your skin. It was already bruising as you ran your finger over it gently. You looked up to see Anakin watching you with a glazed look in his eyes, no emotion on his face.

“What the hell Anakin?!” You shrieked.

He stood sharply, making sure to completely douse your face and hair in water as he kicked his legs up and over the edge of the bathtub. He snatched his robe from the counter and stomped off, leaving puddles as he went.

“Fine. Whatever.” You mumbled, knowing it was not fine and it was not whatever.

You drained the tub, taking extra time to pamper yourself once you got out since someone had decided that you were enemy numero uno. You wrapped your hair around a soft silk strip to create waves once it dried. Lotion and oils applied to your legs and arms gave your skin a delicious scent and a shine that almost glowed in the dim lighting. The bite mark was throbbing and warm as you rubbed bacta-gel over it with a wince.

Normally you wouldn’t mind sporting a bitemark like this. But right now, looking at it didn’t give you a shiver as you remembered an intimate moment, it brought a red blush of anger to your cheeks.

You exit the bathroom in your towel, peering cautiously into the bedroom. Anakin was no where to be found so you went in, throwing on the first nightgown and panties you could find. Your mind whirled with reasons for his anger, but there were none. This wasn’t something you’d caused. But it was something you’d fix.

Anakin POV

Everything was so constricting. My robes, my shoes, my gloves, the stupid fucking mask. My hands flexed into fists over and over as I walked.

“I can’t wait to get home to her.” I thought.

That breifing was shit. Absolute shit.

That moron Tarkin had gotten eight, eight Imperial Cruisers, damaged and one completely destroyed beyond repair. How did this happen?

“My apologies Lord Vader”

“Those fighter pilots came out of no where!”

“You don’t understand Lord Vader! It was just a routine visitation to the Outer Rim, we weren’t aware there were Rebels gathered there!”

If he wasn’t someone who’d never made a mistake in the entirety of his career under my supervision I would’ve crushed his windpipe while he dangled above the conference table. What a way to achieve your first mistake.

The moment I walked through the doors of my quarters I dropped my helmet, shedding my outer robes as I trudged to the bedroom.

“Ani?”

I sighed when I heard her sweet voice, smiled when I heard her set aside what she was doing just too brighten up my terrible day with my favorite guilty pleasure. I dropped my clothes to the floor, kicking them out of the way before walking out the door, not caring that I was stark naked.

We must’ve just missed each other in the hall because she wasn’t in the kitchen when I got there, and the sound of water running hit my ears a moment later.

I didn’t deserve such a woman. Someone so gentle and caring. But here I am, graced with her presence every day.

I chuckled when I saw she’d made a smiley face with the banana slices.

Her body.

Her gorgeous body lay before me in the bath, she looked so serene with her head resting tilted back, her slender neck exposed. Her gentle breathing lifting her chest from the bubbly water, exposing her naked breasts with each inhale.

The water was so warm that it drew an involuntary groan from me as I slipped into my spot across from her. Soon finding her ankle, rubbing my thumb across her soft skin, doing this to sooth myself more than her to be honest.

“M’ sorry I’ve been grumpy.” I mumbled, knowing my attitude was horrible since the moment I returned.

“Have a rough day?” She furrowed her eyebrows, always concerned for me, always worried.

I nodded, it was a rough day. Horrendous actually. I groaned and lifted my head hit the porcelain behind me to make my way over to her open arms. Melting into her body as I rested my head against her chest, centered between her soft, supple breasts. I couldn’t help but reach out and tease one, just to watch it rise from the simple touch.

She squeezed my sides a bit, gentle enough but much to hard for me after the day I had. I bit back my complaint, by bruised ribs not worth ruining the sweet moment between us.

“How can I make it better?” She ran her fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp.

“Neck.” I replied, a bit more gruff than I intended. I wiggled my shoulders hoping she’d take the hint.

Her fingers slithered across my skin, palms resting on my shoulder blades.

“C’mon you asked how you could help, this is how.” I flexed my hand, bringing above the water to throw little droplets at her face.

That seemed to do the trick, I relaxed against her under the light pressure of her fingers. Letting my hands travel up her waist to rest my thumbs in the crease created under her breasts.

Though I love her massages, sometimes she takes too long to begin to really work out the knots. She kept lifting her fingers, removing them completely, bringing them back for soft pressure only to take it away again. Finally she really dug in, hitting the spot that ached the most, it was almost satisfying. It would’ve been if she hadn’t ripped her hand off me again.

“Fucking stop doing that!” I growled, pinching the tender skin on her ribs a bit harder than intended.

“Ow!” She shrieked in pain.

I went to immediately apologize but before I could make a sound her palm delivered a swift ‘whump’ to the back of my skull. Something deep inside me snapped. My breathing stopped as I felt an intense streak of rage run through my spine.

“Oh shit, oh Ani I’m so sorry!” She yelped out, she clearly did it from reflex. But the apology fell on deaf ears.

I lifted myself above her, steeling my gaze into her eyes. Normally I wouldn’t mind being smacked around by her, I encouraged it actually. But this wasn’t the bedroom, and today wasn’t a normal day. Before I could stop myself my impulses controlled my movements.

My mouth clamped down into her breast, digging my teeth in harshly. Coming to my senses I quickly released her, feeling immediate shame as I looked in her eyes again. She was hurt, physically, emotionally… it only intensified when she inspected the wound.

Her eyes snapped up at me, fire burning in her irises.

“What the hell Anakin?!”

She sounded as hurt as she looked, I couldn’t bare it. But I also couldn’t force my mouth open to speak. So I did what I do best, avoided it. I left the tub in a hurry, not caring that I’d left a lake of water in the floor as it splashed over the edge.

“Fine. Whatever.” She whispered under her breath. It wasn’t fine, and it wasn’t whatever. It was wrong of me… but I couldn’t say that right now.

I grabbed my robe and headed to grab some pajamas, hoping to hide myself away so I could contemplate which way I’d prefer to grieve the loss of my marriage when she served me with divorce papers tomorrow morning.

You had searched every corner of your shared quarters, and Anakin wasn’t sulking in any of them.

“Anakin!” You yelled and waited but got no response.

You threw on your slippers and grabbed a throw blanket to wrap around yourself as you left the warmth of your quarters to search for him in the cold corridors.

Once you’d made your way to the end of the hall, you turned left in the direction of his office. You passed a few troopers on your way who gave you a wide berth as they passed, not daring to make eye contact.

“Hey!” You said, trying to get their attention.

You startled them so badly that they collided into each other before they quickly turned to face you.

“Y-yes ma’- sorry.” One cleared his throat and started over, “Yes Empress?

“Where is Vader, I need to speak to him please?” You asked your polite tone never ceased to shock the subordinates and it shows.

“Oh-uh he…” one started, and another cut him off.

“Last I know he was headed in the direction of your quarters Empress. Shall we escort you?”

“No that’s not necessary. Thank you boys, carry on.”

You turned on your heels, padding down the hall back in the direction of your quarters. Leaving the stunned troopers behind you.

Soon after arriving home again you searched the apartments. Finally giving up when you realized his helmet was missing from the spot it landed on the floor. You resigned to crawling into bed alone, for the first time in years.

Tag List:

@tsugumiholic

@kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed!

Thanks for being so understanding. I’m truly devastated that I lost part of this post. I’ll do my best to re-write it better than the original😭

#anakin x reader #anakin smut #sw anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars fanfiction #slutty anakin #star wars anakin #darth vader #darth vader smut #anakin skywalker x reader

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cambion-companion · 6 months

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Possession

Caring at all is caring too much.

I've never written from Raphael's perspective...at least not for this long. The idea just came to me last night. He is a very possessive and proud creature. I had to wonder how he'd react if Tav yanked on that chain a little.

Raphael x Tav (female) | drabble | Raphael POV

Caring at all was caring too much. The twisting knife of jealously lodged in Raphael’s chest.

He lounged upon silken pillows, a cup of wine held idly in hand, surrounded by doe-eyed doting mortals all wanting something from him.

Not her. The nymph of his orisons who now swept in a dance some meters away, her vivid satin skirts swirling with each twirl only to come close and hug her body at the end of each enticing movement.

Raphael took a sip of wine, the bitter draught staining his lips maroon.

She was taken up into the arms of a green dragonborn, the large clawed hands dipping too low upon her form, feeling the curve of her-

The pain of shattered glass piercing the palm of his hand registered in Raphael’s mind. He was yet loathe to tear his gaze away from her, yet left little choice as the courtiers surrounding him began to make a fuss akin to a gaggle of hens upon seeing a fox.

Red blood was pooling in Raphael’s palm. “Hush.” Was all he said to the women and men attending him, the word commanding immediate silence. He plucked the remnants of the ruined crystal from his hand idly, smirking slightly.

Raphael pushed aside offered hands of help, magic lighting his fingertips as he healed himself. His brow darkened and his eyes smoldered as he trapped her again within line of sight.

She had come to the end of her dance, in more ways than one Raphael mused, and was now leaning up to kiss the cheek of the scaled interloper.

Unacceptable.

Raphael stood, abruptly. His anger spread around him like a cloud of brimstone. The mortals surrounding him scattered.

Raphael approached her slowly, as a stalking cat does its prey. Her attention was drawn, recognition flashed in her eyes. Those lovely eyes in which Raphael desired to only ever see his own reflection.

Before she could speak, though those lush lips of hers did part, Raphael stroked his hand down her side to rest atop her hip. With a gentle movement belying his true intent he pulled her to him. “What is a little bird doing straying so far from her cage.” He purred against her hair, feeling the change in her body, the tensing of her muscles beneath thin fabric.

“It is a gilded cage at best.” Tav replied. Her eyes narrowing in challenge. Just the way which had first drawn him to her. “Besides, I am not beholden to you.”

“Then why do you not walk away?” Raphael coaxed her to sway with him, in a dance more fitted to lovers. Their movements guided by the new music lilting from musicians atop the raised dais.

Tav hesitated. “We have a contract.”

“Which you are no closer to fulfilling.” The glow from the many candles and torches flickered and shone off the polished floor. Raphael turned his face in, closing his eyes as he inhaled her scent. Allowing himself one moment to forget his turmoil. “Least of all in the arms of a potential paramour.”

“Then what are you?”

Raphael smiled, loathe to admire her bravery in quibbling with him. He looked down upon her upturned face, caught between the desire to take her in his hands and kiss the soul right from her mouth or rake his claws down the soft skin of her back.

His deep eyes showed nothing of this conflict. With care he replied. “I am your master.” He held her tighter as she began to revile. “You are the brightest of my treasures. You will tarnish from all this inaction, and no longer be my favorite.”

The muscles of her neck tightened, drawing his gaze to the mark her vampire companion had made there. Raphael wanted to swoop down, as a fell eagle to a mouse, and replace the scar with one of his own design.

“I will go, then.” Tav seemed to take his warning to heart. She was defiant yet not to the point of becoming a fool.

“Good girl.” Raphael smiled, smugly aware of the effect such praise had upon her. “When you return, we will feast.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Raphael held her for a moment more, the moment fleeting as a crystalline flake of ice falling unguided from the sky.

Then he let her go. Grimacing only when she had turned away. His fingers still itching to bury themselves in her in myriad ways.

Raphael returned to his lounging, his little flock of admirers slowly trickling back. With effort, Raphael pulled his thoughts back into careful order. He would not allow himself to submit to the chaos she stirred within him. He had many deals being laid at his feet, and eager souls practically throwing themselves at him. It was business as usual.

#raphael bg3 #raphael fanfic #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 #bg3 drabble #raphael baldur's gate 3

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oliversrarebooks · 1 month

Text

we'll make great pets

This bit of pet whump was partially inspired by Stray by @sowhumpshaped and by my innate desire to write protagonists who are kind of assholes.

tw: pet whump, dehumanization, brainwashing, involuntary drugging, captivity, abuse, dystopia, whumper turned whumpee

"Morning, Scout," said Max in a groggy mumble as he ruffled his pet's hair. His pet looked up at him with adoring eyes, as always. It was curled up safe and warm in its nest under a pile of weighted and woolen blankets, and Max couldn't help but be momentarily jealous. He'd love to slide back into his warm bed, but the driver would be here soon and his dad would kill him if he kept skipping out on his stupid business classes.

Pets didn't have to worry about any of that. They didn't have to worry about boring-ass college lectures or overdue papers or their parents riding their ass about the family legacy. All they had to do was eat, sleep, and obey their masters. Must be nice, in a way.

"Here, I brought you breakfast." As Scout sat up, yawning adorably and rubbing the sleep out of its eyes, Max tossed it a breakfast packet in one of its favorite flavors, egg and cheese. Max always bought it the good stuff, premium pet food with lots of protein and all-natural, high quality ingredients. His pet ate as good as he did, most days. Scout happily slurped up the food as Max refilled its water bottle and dumped its pills out into his hand.

"Down the hatch, boy," he said, popping the pills into his pet's mouth and quickly following it up with the water bottle before it could spit the pills out. Scout was well-behaved, having come from one of the finest pet facilities on the Eastern seaboard, but it was sometimes a little fussy about its pills. Max's dad used to slap and yell at the poor thing as though it were capable of knowing better. It had been a lot happier since accompanying Max to college, several hours away from his parents. So had Max.

With his pet all settled, Max turned to his closet to dress himself. Half his clothes lay in a pile on the floor where he'd tossed them aside, dissatisfied, the other day. The housekeeper wouldn't be coming until tomorrow so he'd just have to live with that. "I can't believe how trash all these clothes are. I gotta go shopping. Don't you think so, Scout?"

Scout nodded from his bed.

"Exactly. You get it. Just don't tell Dad how much I've been spending. It's our little secret, okay?" He ruffled Scout's hair as it laughed softly. Scout rarely ever spoke, much less gave up any of Max's secrets. It was a bad habit of Max's to talk to Scout as if it were a person, especially when no one else was around. Scout had been a birthday present for Max's seventh birthday, back when he'd been his parents' great hope instead of their great disappointment, and he couldn't help spoiling it a bit.

Max finally settled on a 90s inspired outfit with a bold floral print, paired with chunky jewelry and an oversized watch. He admired himself in the mirror, slicking back his hair and appreciating his flashy fashion sense.

The next thing was to delve into Scout's clothes to find something complementary. Scout's wardrobe was nearly as large as Max's, and far less constrained, since no one expected a pet to be dressed in the latest designer fashion. Max was free to outfit it in thrift store finds and homemade altered goods, soaking up the compliments he received on his picture perfect pet.

Fashion was his passion, after all. His parents just didn't get it.

His phone was buzzing insistently by the time he finished up with Scout, and so he grabbed a granola bar, clasped Scout's leash on, and dashed out the door to the driver. Scout lay its head in Max's lap in the backseat of the black SUV as Max checked his schedule for the day. He groaned and suppressed the urge to fling his phone out the window when he saw his entire morning would be filled with Economics 300 and Business Negotiations II.

Screw it, he'd just sleep through those. He could scrape a C no matter what he did, and Cs got degrees.

In the afternoon he had -- ugh, he'd forgotten that mandatory pet testing was today. It was required each year from everyone between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, designed to make sure the pets occurring naturally in the human population were found and given appropriate treatment. It was, of course, trivially easy to pass if you were a person, but it was over three hours long and insanely dull.

Max had always passed with flying colors, of course. It was ludicrous to even test the heir and scion of the Parkington Corporation, as if he could be a pet, but it was federal law and apparently not possible to buy his way out of it.

His little brother, the obnoxiously hardworking golden child who could do no wrong in their mother's eyes, had passed his first pet test just last week, and of course their mother had thrown a disproportionate celebration. Max never got a cake and presents for something as silly as passing a pet test, that was for sure, but darling little Robbie was a genius no matter what he did.

Like it was so hard to prove that you're human.

A soft noise stirred Max out of his thoughts. Scout was looking up at him with a concerned expression. "It's all right, boy," Max soothed, running his fingers through his pet's silky hair. "Just gonna be a crap day. You don't have anything to worry about."

The car pulled up to the main building of McKinnon University, just a few blocks away from the Parkington Building her family had donated a few generations back. Fifteen minutes and one purchase of an enormous latte later, Max was dropping off Scout at one of the university's pet lounges. Pets weren't allowed in educational settings, of course, as too much mental stimulation was bad for them. It was a shame, as Max always found it easier to focus with Scout curled at his feet.

"Be a good boy, Scout," he said, ruffling its hair and handing it its favorite plush cow. "I'll be back soon."

Scout leaned into the touch with a dazed smile on its face. Its morning pills always made it drowsy, so Max knew it'd probably sleep most of the morning. They could go out for a walk in the park once Max was done with classes and his test, maybe play some frisbee, get some exercise.

With no small reluctance, Max left his pet behind and trudged to the lecture hall, ignoring the dirty look from the professor as he took his seat ten minutes late.

The classes seemed to drag on forever, as Max floated in and out of sleep, only catching bits and pieces of his professor's droning and powerpoint presentations before his eyes slid shut again. It didn't matter, none of this mattered. His parents' company was mostly run by the board anyway. He'd just let them handle all that shit while he built his fashion empire, his haute couture gracing celebrities at the Met Gala. Clothes that would make waves, clothes that would make people smile, clothes that would make people look good and feel good. What was even the point of being young and rich if he couldn't have fun?

Finally, Max was released from his last morning class, having learned precisely nothing. He had enough time to grab a bite to eat before the pet test, so he picked up Scout from the pet lounge and headed to a campus cafe that made a great quinoa bowl. He needed the protein and greens if he was gonna stay focused during the godawful pet test.

Since he had a few quiet moments to himself, he pulled out his sketchbook and began drawing out some ideas for a portfolio. Seeing the pet lounge this morning had got him thinking of comfortable and basic looks -- oversized sweaters, leggings, pastels, messy bedhead. Maybe a touch of academia, too, with chunky glasses and pleated skirts. One good thing about campus was that there was never a shortage of people and clothes to draw.

"Hey, Maxie!" Nathan was calling him from clear across the quad, his voice almost as loud as his jacket. He was, unfortunately, one of Max's closest friends since grade school, as their families lived in the same area and they went to the same vacation spots a lot. "Nice outfit. Love the colors."

"Thanks. Love the tiger print."

Nathan laughed. "You hate it, don't even pretend you don't. Hey, Scout." He knelt down to the pet's level as Scout nuzzled against him. "Want some chocolate, boy?"

"Hey, don't feed my pet human food. It's not good for it."

"A little chocolate's not gonna kill it. It's not a dog, you know." Nathan plopped in the chair across from Max as Scout happily munched the chocolate bar. "Whatcha drawing?" He pulled Max's sketchbook from his hands without warning. "Oh, nice. She looks awfully cozy for a stick-thin supermodel."

"That's the idea," said Max, taking his sketchbook back. "I was thinking of the aesthetics behind places like pet lounges and schools and --"

"Excuse me, can I have a moment of your time, please?"

They looked up to see a student with mouse-brown hair and wardrobe to match, clutching a sky-blue clipboard. Max groaned inwardly. A fucking survey or petition or some crap.

"Um, I'm with the Student Ethics for Pets Association..."

Of course it was SEPA. They infested the campus year-round, but they were always out in full force when there was a pet-related event, like the mandatory testing or the annual Pet Festival.

"I'm not interested," said Max. He agreed with the ethical treatment of pets, obviously, and if that was what SEPA was about, he'd be all for it. But they weren't just against mistreatment of pets, they were against pets entirely, even going so far as to claim that some pets were humans who had been unfairly forced into pet facilities.

"Most pet owners mean well, but they don't know the realities of the cruel tactics facilities use to train pets," she said, trying to push a pamphlet at Max. "Dangerous drug cocktails that result in intelligence and memory loss, brainwashing devices to ensure compliance, restraints that cause permanent joint damage..."

Max couldn't help his blood starting to boil. "I don't know where you think I got my pet from, but it wasn't some cheap pet mill in the slums that tortures pets. Scout lives better than I do. Does it look mistreated to you?"

"That's not the only problem with pet ownership. There's also the mandatory pet tests. How do we know that people aren't getting caught up in the inhumane pet treatments due to a flawed test?"

"Yeah, right. The pet test is super easy to pass if you're not a pet." Down by his feet, Scout was pressing against his legs, clearly stressed and whimpering. If this kept up, he'd have to Tag Scout, and he hated to do it. "For someone who cares about pet ethics, you sure don't care that you're upsetting my pet."

"All I'm saying is --"

"All I'm saying is get the hell out of here with your propaganda and leave me alone."

"Fine, I can take a hint," she said, turning on her heel and flouncing away.

Max scowled after her. SEPA was such a ridiculous organization. They would try to reel students in with reasonable-sounding arguments about saving abused pets and then start with their radical bullshit. It happened to gullible students all the time, and they'd go and look like idiots chaining themselves to pet training facilities and showrooms. "Friggin' ridiculous," he said, looking over at Nathan, who was watching the girl leave. "Nathan?"

"Huh? What'd you say?"

"Nathan, you don't actually believe any of that, do you?"

"What, SEPA stuff? Nah, not really," said Nathan, taking a long drink of his soda. "But don't you ever think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"What if the test is wrong sometimes? What if actual people get carted away to some pet facility and treated like a pet?" he said. "Wasn't there that girl who got taken from here a couple years back...?"

"Oh yeah, Victoria... Victoria what's-her-face. Her dad owned some tech startup, right, and it tanked after his daughter turned out to be a pet. That's gotta be super embarrassing for her family."

"Yeah, but... what if it's actually wrong sometimes?"

"You're not seriously worried that you're gonna fail the pet test, are you?" Max laughed. "C'mon, that doesn't happen. That pet probably knew deep down what it was. It was just pretending to be human 'cause it was afraid of getting caught. That's why they need the training and stuff, right?"

"I guess," said Nathan.

"Scout failed its test when it was my age, too," he said. "But, like, it was obviously failing out of college, getting super stressed all the time, crying in class... because it's hard for pets to pretend to be human. Don't you think the other way would be messed up, too, if we forced pets to just pretend to be human forever?"

"Yeah, that would be pretty messed up. They wouldn't be happy like that. I just don't like having to take this stupid test every year."

"Only a couple more years for us and we'll be done with it." Max's phone alarm went off. "Oh damn, we'd better get going if we're going to make it to the test on time. I don't wanna have to take the makeup test." They stood up, but Scout remained on the ground, curled up into a ball and whining. "Scout?"

"Is it okay?"

"It's upset 'cause of that crazy girl from SEPA. You can go on ahead, I've gotta get Scout calmed down," he said.

"Alright. Good luck on the test."

"Yeah, you too," he said, as though they needed it. He crouched down to eye level with his pet. "Hey, Scout, what's the matter?"

Scout flinched, shrinking away from Max. That was really strange. He hadn't acted like that with anyone but Max's dad.

"You gotta relax, boy. It's okay. I'm not gonna let some SEPA person liberate you or whatever," he said. "They let pets in the test room, but only if you can be calm. If you can't calm down, I'll have to Tag you."

Max should've know that would only upset Scout more. Scout backed away as best as it could, pulling at the leash, starting to actually cry. Shit. He couldn't leave Scout at the pet lounge like this, either. He didn't have a choice.

"All right, then, Scout, kneel."

Scout shook its head rapidly. "No," it said, almost too quietly to hear.

"C'mon, don't be like that. This is for your own good. Kneel."

It knelt down in front of Max, still teary and whimpering, as Max fished a Tag out of his bag. They were little disposable things that you clipped to a pet's neck that made them real quiet and docile for a few hours, perfect for calming agitated pets. They were also good for situations like vet visits and long flights, since it made the pet unable to form clear memories. Max bet the SEPA girl thought Tags were abusive, too, even though they were literally to help pets not be traumatized. Max normally tried to avoid Tagging Scout much, since he liked his pet to be active and happy.

Scout shut its eyes and bent over slightly so that Max could attach the Tag, a forlorn look on its face as he pressed the little disc just over its spine. "There you go, boy. See, that's not so bad, is it?" He pet Scout gently as the Tag's effects kicked in, its expression going glassy and vacant, a dazed smile replacing its earlier distress. "C'mon, we gotta get going or we're going to be late."

Max was glad he had resorted to Tagging Scout when the pet curled up safely under his feet in the testing room. It wasn't that Max was nervous about the pet test, but it was boring as hell, and having Scout there helped him focus.

A big portion of it was just a bunch of bullshit psychological questions, which Max breezed through without thinking about them. Then there were questions about current events, word puzzles, a bunch of really weird abstract stuff... but obviously Max was human, so he was sure that his answers must be the right ones. He'd definitely know if he were a pet.

Finally, the test was over, and the entire auditorium of people had to be held there while the tests were scored electronically, so that they could take any pets aside. Max whipped out his phone and fully absorbed himself in his feeds.

"Mr. Parkington."

"Huh?" He looked up to see the test proctor standing by his desk. "Hey, yeah, what's up? Was there a problem with my test or something?"

"Could you come with us, please?" The proctor gestured at the exit door.

"What...?" No, it couldn't be. He couldn't have failed. There was probably some kind of mistake with his form or the grading machine. "Is there a problem?"

"There's no problem," she said curtly. "We just need you to come with us to discuss your test."

Max glanced around the auditorium. Everyone was staring at him, and not in the way he preferred. Well, no wonder. The stupid goddamn proctor was making it sound like he failed his pet test, in front of half the campus. He'd never live this down. "So was my test form unreadable or something...?" he said, hoping to salvage the situation.

She was implacable. "You need to come with us, Mr. Parkington."

He groaned, fighting down the urge to cause an even bigger scene. The people around him were already chattering about it. His parents were going to be absolutely furious about the rumors that would fly, as though it were his fault. They'd sue the school, no doubt, but by then it'd be too late. Goddamn it.

"Fine, let's get this over with. C'mon, Scout." He chucked his phone into his bag and picked it up, tugging Scout's leash. It seemed nervous, resisting a bit, even though there was no way the Tag could've worn off yet, but it followed Max out of the room just the same. They were led out of the auditorium and into a small side office, where there were a couple of cops from the Federal Pet Agency waiting, the ones who had supervised the test taking.

"We have good news for you, Mr. Parkington," said the proctor, taking up a seat behind a metal desk.

"Good news? What kind of good news could --"

"Your pet test returned positive."

"What? That's it? You humiliated me in front of everyone to tell me that I passed? No shit, of course I'm a person."

The two agents glanced at each other.

"No, Mr. Parkington, I don't think you understand. I mean that we have positively identified you as a pet. You will no longer be required to act as a human, and your treatments can start today." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Isn't that good news?"

"...What?" Max felt as though the floor was dropping out from under him. "What the hell? What are you even talking about?"

"Your treatment can start right away, so if you'll just go with these agents --"

"What the fuck?!" he said, no longer caring about making a scene. Scout whimpered at his feet. "What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a prank? Is this some kind of viral stunt? Because I will definitely sue you to have the video taken down."

"It isn't a prank, and there is no video recording. Your test results are very clear cut."

"The hell they are! I've taken my test every year and I've never failed."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken about that."

"What do you mean by that?"

The proctor sighed and slapped a thick manila envelope onto the desk. "Your previous tests -- your real ones. Each one clearly showing that you are a pet."

"That's impossible! Then why --"

"There's a little known federal program that allows test results to be... deferred."

Max's stomach clenched. "Deferred?"

"It's an expensive option, and not widely publicized, but it allows families to suppress undesirable results for a year, while they get things in order," she said. "In your case, your family spent a great deal of money for seven years to delay the inevitable. However, this year they did not enroll in the program, so this is your final test result."

"No. No, that's not -- you're lying! You're making that up. There's no way. There's no way I failed any pet test, or that my parents paid money to cover it up. No way."

"It's all right," she said in a sickeningly condescending tone. "I know this must be very confusing, and that you've obviously been suffering without your necessary treatment for so long..."

"I'm not suffering!" He slammed his hands on the desk. The agents stepped closer, but the proctor was unfazed.

"Your grades in everything but your fashion drawing classes are --"

"I am not suffering because I'm bad at the business classes my dad forced on me!" Burning with frustration, humiliation, and a growing ember of dread, Max pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Actually, I'm going to call my dad right now. He'll put an end to this."

He was somewhat surprised that no one in the room stopped him from using his phone, until he turned it on and found no signal. "What the -- c'mon, you stupid thing --"

"Your phone service has been terminated," the proctor said. "Your parents have already been contacted by our team. They have been aware of this possibility and have made prior arrangements for you."

"No." Max's throat felt dry and his arms heavy as he dropped the phone. "There's no way. Even my asshole dad wouldn't let me be taken as a pet. I'm the heir --"

Wait.

The realization hit Max with the force of a semi-truck. The heir to Parkington Corporation. With Max out of the way, no longer a person, that heir would be --

His brother. His golden brother Robbie who could never do wrong. If they suffered the temporary humiliation of letting Max be hauled away as a pet, Robbie would be their only child. It wasn't just a matter of writing Max out of the will -- they wanted their un-favorite son to be out of the picture permanently.

Would they really go that far? The serious-looking proctors and agents in the room were a strong indication that they would.

And for the first time, Max felt true fear. This might not be a prank or a misunderstanding or an inconvenience. He might not be able to call his lawyers or his family to get him out of trouble. Even if it was a mistake, if he let them get their hands on him and process him as a pet... could you even come back from that? Wouldn't it be too late?

"I'm not going to let you take me anywhere," he said, inching towards the door. "I'll go borrow a phone and call my lawyer."

One of the agents immediately moved to block the door, unsurprisingly, as the proctor stood up. "As I was saying, your parents were aware of this possibility and have made prior arrangements for you."

"What arrangements?"

"You're going to be sent to the finest pet treatment facility on the Eastern seaboard, one that produces only high-end luxury pets. You're very fortunate."

Max swallowed hard. That sounded like the facility where they had purchased Scout for him. The thought of going through the same treatment as Scout...

That's when he realized that Scout was no longer at his feet. Instead, it was kneeling in front of one of the agents, having its head scratched. "Aww, who's a good boy?" he said. "It's you! Yes, you are..."

"Hey, Scout, what are you doing? Get away from him!"

Scout didn't even respond to him.

"Don't worry about Scout. We're going to send it to the same facility where we're sending you, for retraining and rehoming. It's a very good pet and I'm sure it'll find an excellent new home."

Scout had been custom trained to Max's childhood tastes. They had grown up together, inseparable. And now Scout was going to have its memories of him wiped, ready to be sent to a new owner...

And he was next.

"Scout. Scout, c'mon," Max pleaded, desperation in his voice. "You're not going with them. You're going with me. C'mon, Scout."

Scout had always been the most docile and agreeable of pets, always listening to Max, following at his heels and coming at his beck and call. And yet now it steadfastly ignored Max as though he were not there.

"Scout!" Max didn't want to go near the agents, so he stood a few feet away from his pet. "Scout, listen!"

Finally, Scout turned and looked at him. It opened its mouth, then closed it again. Finally, it smiled. It wasn't the vacant smile from being Tagged or the excited smile when they went out together or the sleepy smile it had going to bed at night. No, this smile seemed almost... malicious.

"I hope we can play together when you've been trained," Scout said.

Max felt the world spinning around him. Even his pet thought he was a pet. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.

An agent was approaching him in his daze. "Now be a good boy and come with us."

"No!" He jerked away from the agent's hand. He had to get out of here. He couldn't let them take him. He had to escape, find someone who understood. Maybe that crazy girl from SEPA. Maybe...

"You'll feel so much better once you've been treated," said the agent on the other side of him. "Don't resist."

"Like hell!" Max pulled his arm free of the agent's grasp and tried to barge between them, only to be met with sturdy arms knocking him backwards. While physically fit, he was no fighter and no match for two highly trained federal agents. In a minute he was been forced to his knees with his arms pinned behind his back, restrained. "Let me go!" he screamed as he thrashed. "Let me go right now!"

"The pet is resisting. It'll need to be Tagged," said one agent to the other, who nodded and pulled out an all-too-familiar flat black disc.

"No! No, don't! It's illegal to Tag a person!" said Max, knowing it was futile.

"This is for your own good." One agent held him down as the other attached the tag. He could feel the cool plastic against his skin and the bite of small needles piercing his skin, a cool and numb sensation as the Tag took hold.

The world blurred around him as a kind of dazed drowsiness took hold of his body. "No... it's not..." he slurred.

His head lolled to the side as the agents hauled him up between them, keeping a firm grip on his arms. A distant part of him still wanted to put up a fight, but he felt so far away... so out of it... so strangely calm and peaceful. He blinked, and he was already out in the hallway. The agents were shooing away the students who tried to crowd around them and shove phones in his face. This was going to be all over social media. His parents would be so mad...

...no, they wouldn't. They knew this was going to happen. There was no one coming to rescue him, not even his dad's money. Max tipped his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the crowd's gaze.

"Maxie? Maxie, what the hell? What the hell, man?" said a familiar loud voice.

"Nathan...?" He could just pick out Nathan's loud jacket in the crowd. "Help..." he said feebly. "I'm not a pet... tell them..."

"Holy shit." Nathan was rooted to the spot. He didn't seem to be moving to help Max at all as he was dragged away.

"Nathan...!"

Nathan pulled out his phone, took a picture, and then disappeared into the crowd.

The agents dragged him through the double glass doors of the auditorium to a black van waiting in the parking lot. Max couldn't find it in him to put up any resistance as he was loaded into the back seat and the doors were closed and locked. His head hit the window as he looked out at his college campus for possibly the last time.

It felt so unreal. It still felt like something that couldn't possibly be happening to him.

Would he really be turned into a pet...?

No... they'd figure out he was a person before it was too late. They had to.

#whump #whump writing #pet whump #dehumanization #brainwashing #drugging #kidnapping #dystopia

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killuagirly · 3 months

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Phantomhive Household[Separate] x F[?]Reader

Summary: It's Valentine's Day!~ Your favorite characters' time to shine when confessing their love for you. How might they go about it?

Notes: This is a bit rushed for Valentine's Day, but at least it's here!! I may end up writing for White Day as well, who knows? The reader in this case is referred to as gender neutral in most cases, but the gifts are lenient towards female readers.

CW: Nothing, really. Just some cute fluffy romance with your one and only<33

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Ciel Phantomhive

☆ Ciel would plan everything out beforehand, making sure that he could treat you to a night out to dinner or something nicer than usual. Maybe he'll have a stay-at-home date and have Sebastian make your favorites, or even host a ball in your honor where he could publicly confess to you the way a noble should.

☆ His gifts might consist of sweets, plushes, and more from the Funtom Corporation. Not to mention he'd somehow manage to get his hands on all of your favorite pastries, just how you like them. Along with sweets and a snuggly companion, a dress//suit designed perfectly to suit your taste was sent to you the day prior to inviting you over.

Sebastian Michaelis

☆ Ah yes, you are quite lucky indeed to have a demon wrapped around your finger. Like the gentleman he is, he's set up a dance for the two of you in the manor with his young master's permission. Most likely later in the day, making sure to shoo off the other servants with their duties before taking your hand to sway with the music. No worries if you can't dance, he'll guide you.

☆ Before "dancing the night away" with you by his side, Sebastian took it upon himself to present you with a beautiful bouquet of assorted red and black roses. This was along with a silver gemstone ring of your favorite color, both of your initials engraved on the inside. He slipped it on your finger with the sly wording of, "This will not be the last time we find ourselves in a position like this, my dear."

Baldroy

☆ Baldroy is a man who can enjoy the simple things, not often wishing for much more. For you however, he decided an inside dinner by the candlelight would be suitable. Rather than indulging you inside the Phantomhive Manor itself, he's booked a table far earlier than necessary at a fancy restaurant in town.

☆ Somehow he managed to make the moment of you both leaving after a nice meal romantic as well, taking out a necklace he had hand picked out just for you out of a small box and carefully hooking the clasp around your neck. Baldroy took a step back and gave you his signature toothy grin accompanied by a wink, "Look how pretty ya are now my darlin', even if ya were already pretty before."

Mey-Rin

☆ Much like Baldroy, Mey-Rin can enjoy the simple things with pleasure. She may not have booked a fancy restaurant for you, but she convinced Sebastian to let the two of you use the kitchen for the afternoon. You had a fun and playful baking date, which ended with flour and sugar covering both of your faces, the floor, and just about anything else in the room. You were both enjoying laughing yourselves to death though, so it was worth the clean-up.

☆ Along with the sweets you managed to bake, Mey-Rin brought you a box of assorted chocolates hidden behind her back. Yelling out, "Suprise! D' ya like them?" Not long after she took you to her servant's courters and pulled out a white present box wrapped up tightly in a red ribbon. Waiting for you inside was different glass containers of your favorite scents.

Finnian

☆ This boy would go to the ends of the earth for you if you let him, and Valentine's Day seemed like the perfect chance to prove this to you in his eyes. Although he was stuck on how to show his love for you for quite a bit of time, he eventually came to the bright idea of a date in the garden. Laid out for the two of you was a picnic blanket with a variety of goods, and afterwards a cuddle session wrapped up tightly in Finny's arms.

☆ Trying his hardest, Finnian picked out a charm bracelet with different combinations to match your personality. He also prepared a slightly messy bouquet of different flowers he had grown himself in the garden of the Manor, mainly consisting of colors that were meant to represent the two of you. Maybe his choices weren't the nicest when put together, but it's the effort that counts.

Snake

☆ Snake is nervous and bothered that he might mess up his chance until the very moment you go to meet him. He didn't go all out, but he did manage to set up a little stargazing date for the two of you. His actual confession would be the hardest for him, even trying to use his own voice rather than having his snakes speak for him.

☆ As for gifts, he did what he could manage and asked around the other servants for advice. In the end he settled for a small bouquet of red roses, and little matching snake rings. He definitely got scared that you wouldn't like the rings, thinking they may have been more leaning towards his interests over yours. To his relief, upon receiving your gifts, the stars you had been watching couldn't compare to the ones in your eyes.

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Masterlist

#KilluaGirly #Valentine's Day #Kuroshitsuji #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji: Phantomhive Household #Ciel Phantomhive #Kuroshitsuji Ciel Phantomhive #Sebastian Michaelis #Kuroshitsuji Sebastian Michaelis #Baldroy #Kuroshitsuji Baldroy #Mey-Rin #Kuroshitsuji Mey-Rin #Finnian #Kuroshitsuji Finnian #Snake #Kuroshitsuji Snake #x Reader

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daytaker · 5 months

Text

The Boys Roleplay As Themselves

mammoney: (This is a CLOSED scenario for me and my bros! Y'all can read it if you want to though. I'm gonna kick things off! @Lucifer @L3V1 @stn @AsmoBaby @Beelzeburger @Belphie) 8 ♡ DDSimeon and 7 others

mammoney: It was 11 PM, and the Devildom was sparkling. Thousands of demons were lined up outside the hottest club south of Antarctica: Mammonteque. At the front of the line stood six of the most powerful, most intimidating, and most attractive demons you’ve ever seen, and even though the club didn’t open until midnight, the bouncer stepped aside and let them in.

“What? That’s so unfair!” shouted the demon behind them.

But the bouncer shook his head, unmoved. “Orders from the top,” he said. Then, smirking, he added, “Clearly you didn’t recognize those guys. Must be embarrassing for you.”

Inside the club, the demons, who were all dressed in suits with boas, sunglasses, and fedoras, looked around. Just as they expected, this place was opulence itself. Golden fountains spouting gold-flake infused water. A gold disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Even the floor was made of intricately carved gold tiles.

“Obviously, Mammon is even wealthier than last time we stopped by,” said the oldest demon, looking around over his sunglasses. He quickly put them back on because the glow from the gold was too intense for him to handle.

“Wow, I never would have guessed Mammon would be as good at interior design as I am, but he proved me wrong!” said another of the demons. He was wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and a bright pink feather boa, and his fedora was covered in sequins.

Another of the demons was already stuffing his face at the buffet. Luckily, the wily Mammon had seen this coming and installed a machine that pumped out an unlimited supply of cheeseburgers.

“Seeing how successful Mammon is makes me proud to have him for a big brother,” said a demon with blue hair and a Ruri-chan body pillow.

“And speak of the devil,” the oldest said, smiling as he looked over at the entrance.

A stretch-limousine painted gold pulled up to the front of the club. Demons began to scream and cheer as the door opened. Out stepped Mammon, who looked even more handsome than usual. You-Know-Who was clinging to his arm, staring up at him like he was the greatest being in all three worlds. 6 ♡ AsmoBaby and 5 others

stn: As Mammon approached the entrance to his club, the six demons in attendance greeted him with the coolness one might expect from Hell’s most corrupt oligarchs. The identities of these demons were as follows:

Lucifer: former angel, Avatar of Pride, traitor to the Celestial Realm, now the right-hand demon to and a massive simp for Diavolo: former ruler of the Devildom; magnanimous and crafty, with a tendency to act far stupider than he truly is Leviathan: gamer, miserable to be out in public, suffering a migraine and angry that he’s missing the latest episode of his favorite magical girl anime Asmodeus: party devil, narcissist, and self-proclaimed cutest demon in the Devildom Beelzebub: gluttonous gym rat with a heart of gold and a stomach of lead, and Belphegor: who was asleep.

Mammon himself was the Avatar of Greed, and as such, he lacked any ability to control his need to amass material wealth. This being the case, he had recently upset the political order of the Devildom with a massive coup, ousting the far more competent Diavolo from autocratic power in favor of the corrupt cabal now gathered together in this gaudy anteroom.

Mammon looked at his guests while You-Know-Who wandered off, searching for somewhere, anywhere, that didn’t hurt to look at.

“Somebody’s missin’,” observed the club owner.

“A very astute observation, Young Master,” said Mammon’s butler, Barbatos, condescendingly. He had come with the deed to the Demon Lord’s castle. “You may have forgotten, but your dear brother Satan declined your offer to participate in your sham of a government, citing the proven incompetence of yourself and your brothers as the reason.”

“Oh, right,” Mammon said with chagrin. “Damn that Satan, always stickin’ to his principles instead of sellin’ out like the rest of us clowns. Hey, where’d You-Know-Who go?”

“Ah,” said Barbatos with the nod of a man forced to act as the bearer of bad news. “That noble personage appears to have fled. It seems your company became too odious to tolerate.”

“That can only mean one thing,” Mammon said, his eyes widening as the realization struck him. “You-Know-Who ran off to find Satan, since he’s obviously the better catch.” 2 ♡ LordDiavolo and Belphie

L3V1: Or so he thought. Little did Mammon realize that You-Know-Who wasn’t remotely interested in Satan. Instead, the unassuming third-born got a message on his DDD. Stealing away from the crowd, he opened up the text. It read:

“Levi, I think you know who this is. I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long. But you know it was always you. Come find me where we shared our first kiss.”

mammoney: (What the hell do you mean your first kiss???) 4 ♡ Belphie and 3 others

L3V1: (I didn’t interrupt you, asshole!)

Levi gripped his DDD with newfound resolve. He had no interest in the political machinations of his brothers and Diavolo. That part of the plot was boring and honestly too high stakes for what was supposed to be a story about a nightclub. So, slipping away from the others, Levi sneaked out through the back exit and ran for the field of flowers where he and You-Know-Who had shared a few stolen moments of tenderness. 1 ♡ LordDiavolo

Belphie: Poor Levi. He didn’t even realize that the text was sent by Solomon, who was out to troll him. As Leviathan ran off to meet with his only true love (the bitter feeling of disappointment), the youngest of the brothers yawned and looked around, assessing the situation.

He was at a luxurious club, owned and operated by his scummy brother Mammon. He was in the company of his brothers, minus Satan and now Levi, and Diavolo and Barbatos were there too. You-Know-Who might have been there for a minute or two, but they were long gone by now, and there were hundreds of screaming demons in line, hoping for entrance to the club.

“Maybe we should have our political talks somewhere less noisy,” Belphie suggested. It was a very reasonable suggestion, so none of the other demons could really argue with him.

The seven demons piled into the golden limo outside the entrance and drove away to a less obnoxious scene. 2 ♡ stn and Beelzeburger

AsmoBaby: Except, oh no!!! The limo ran over a bunch of tacks and the tires deflated before they could get very far from the club! They had no choice but to come back. Besides, Asmodeus hadn’t gotten the chance to greet the crowds, and who knows what kind of chaos it would cause if the people learned their idol had left without offering them so much as a wave and heart fingers?

“Asmo! Asmo! Asmo!” chanted the crowd as the demons climbed back out of the limo.

“Hello, everyone!” cried Asmo with an adorable grin, waving back to the demons. They cheered more wildly than ever! Some of them even fainted when he made heart fingers. Demons all over were pulling out their DDDs and snapping photos of the most beautiful demon to ever walk the streets of hell. 2 ♡ LordDiavolo and mammoney

Beelzeburger: Beelzebub was still eating at the unlimited cheeseburger machine. He was enjoying himself. Every time I swallowed a cheeseburger, another one appeared in my hands and I ate that one too. They had relish and pickles and tomatoes and onions and mustard and ketchup on them, and I drooled just thinking about it. But not for long, because I didn’t have to think about it for more than a second or two before another cheeseburger materialized in my hands. I kept eating the cheeseburgers for the rest of the night and well into the morning. 1 ♡ Belphie

mammoney: (Beel, this was supposed to be in the third person!) 1 ♡ L3V1

Beelzeburger: (Oh, right. Sorry. I got a little caught up in my character.) 1 ♡ Belphie

monSOLO: After pulling that prank on Levi, Solomon met up with You-Know-Who at their planned rendezvous point.

“It looks like the Devildom is entering some pretty politically tumultuous waters,” Solomon said with a chuckle. “Perhaps we’d be better off returning to the human world for the time being.”

Having agreed to this, Solomon and You-Know-Who clasped hands and vanished from the Devildom for at least the next six months or so.

mammoney: (??? What? This was a brothers only event!)

monSOLO: :)

mammoney: (I’m retconning that whole bit. Somebody else go while I figure out how to delete it.) 1 ♡ stn

stn: Meanwhile, at the House of Lamentation…

Satan assessed the political machinations of his brothers as logically as he could. He knew that Mammon had no real interest in power; he wanted the glamor, not the responsibility. So who could possibly be the mastermind behind the acquisition of power by the second born?

It was all too obvious.

Lucifer had been playing everyone for fools–the contract lawyers of the Devildom, his brothers, even Lord Diavolo himself. Only Satan, ever wary of Lucifer’s intentions, was able to see past his lies.

Gathering together the power of all thirty-nine of his cat familiars, Satan stood at the window facing the Mammonteque club and uttered a curse so foul and forbidden that I dare not repeat it here. And at the nightclub several miles away, Lucifer dropped to the ground, an empty husk. 2 ♡ Belphie and L3V1

Belphie: “Lucifer, no!” cried Diavolo. Giant tears flooded down his face as he clutched the body of his beloved advisor and probable traitor.

“Rip,” said Levi, who had returned to the club after realizing no one was waiting for him at the field of flowers. “Rest in pieces, big bro.”

“Who could have done this?” sobbed Lord Diavolo.

“I have no idea,” said Belphie, who had an idea. But he wasn’t about to sell out his fellow Anti-Luciferian. 2 ♡ Beelzeburger and stn

Lucifer: How long do you intend to embarrass yourselves like this?

AsmoBaby: (OOC comments are in brackets, Lucifer~) 3 ♡ Belphie and 2 others

Lucifer: Why have I been killed off after being implicated as the mastermind behind a coup to remove Lord Diavolo from power?

Belphie: (¯\_(ツ)_/¯) 2 ♡ stn and monSOLO

stn: (I didn’t realize creativity was forbidden in this home.)

stn: (I suppose it’s my own fault for not assuming my writing would face unfair censorship.) 1 ♡ AsmoBaby

mammoney: (Okay, listen, I’ve been real tolerant of you all bunglin’ around and makin’ this whole damn activity a laughing stock, EVEN after I went out of my way to make all your characters look cool, but Lucifer, are you really gonna torch this whole thing just because of somethin’ like that?) 4 ♡ L3V1 and 3 others

Lucifer: A one month ban from Devilgram for all of you seems like a reasonable punishment. 1 ♡ monSOLO

Belphie: Are you serious?

AsmoBaby: This is so unfair! I didn’t even write any of the seditious stuff! 1 ♡ Beelzeburger

L3V1: Lmao I hate this family… 3 ♡ stn and 2 others

stn: @Belphie, would you meet me in the observatory? I have something I’d like to discuss with you. 1 ♡ Belphie

Lucifer: If I catch any of you on Devilgram within the next thirty days, I will suspend your account indefinitely. @mammoney @L3V1 @stn @AsmoBaby @Beelzeburger @Belphie 1 ♡ monSOLO

LordDiavolo: What a shame. I was enjoying the story.

(Cross-posted on AO3.)

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pickledpascal · 2 months

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Meat & Candy

Chapter Two

Warnings: mentions of child neglect and starvation, some innuendos (?)

Word Count: 3.1k

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Dean had been fussing over his appearance for what seemed like hours. Swapping out his shirt, his pants, anything that didn't seem right. Eventually, he settled on what he usually wore to his restaurant. A black chef's jacket, dark-washed jeans, boots, and a green bandana tied around his neck.

“Hey Dad!” Emma greeted between bites of leftover egg salad that she slathered onto some toast. “You excited?” She asked with a smirk.

Dean maneuvered into the kitchen and decided he might as well have the same thing as Emma. “Sam told ya, huh?” He pursed his lips as he popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and started up the coffee machine.

Emma shrugged bashfully but didn't deny it. Dean was glad Sam and Emma talked a lot without him needing to be there but sometimes it was the bane of his existence.

Dean had never been interviewed before. Especially not about his food. Sure there was that one time back in the 90s but that was years ago and it had nothing to do with him, it had everything to do with Bobby and Ellen and how so many locals loved that place. He was on his own now. Well, as ‘on his own’ as he could be with more than half the staff at his restaurant being friends he made years ago.

Needless to say, Dean wanted this interview to go well. He wanted good press—which was what Sam and Benny told him would happen. He wanted people to like him. And his food.

Cooking was Dean's favorite pastime. His labor of love. He partly blamed his cooking for how well Emma turned out so far. It was something they could do together when he came home at night, or sometimes in the morning, they could make breakfast together. Even when she was little, Dean had Emma wash vegetables and haphazardly chop them for preparation.

Dean took a few bites from his toast and hummed. “You wanna come to the restaurant after school? See the masters at work?” He asked teasingly.

Emma didn't grow up with Dean in Michelin star restaurants so she was excited to truly see him at work. The thousand-dollar stoves and ovens, the array of different pots and pans, the tile floor Emma helped pick out—yeah, Dean designed the entire restaurant from top to bottom. He did have help. A lot of help from Benny and he called in a few friends of Bobby's to make sure the restaurant was everything he wanted and more. Emma was happy for her father.

Nothing was quite like seeing his reaction to the finished product. Or even when he made the first menu for the place.

She knew that growing up, her father didn't have a lot. He had to scrape up money just to have food for the night. But that was before Grandpa Bobby came in. Life was still hard but it got easier. Dean was able to be himself, be the man he always knew himself to be. Even when Emma came into the world and messed with his plans a bit, his resolve never wavered. He just sort of…. Rolled with it.

“Maybe. But I have homework.” Emma set her plate in the sink. “And I love you, Dad, but you kinda distract me when you start singing when you clean the counters.”

Dean rolled his eyes affectionately. “You like it, kiddo.” He took another bite of his breakfast, careful to eat it over the plate to not get any crumbs on his jacket. It was freshly ironed and cleaned, he didn't need to get it dirtied. Especially before an interview.

Emma tilted her head slightly, lips forming a lop-sided grin. She didn't need to answer, Dean already knew the truth.

She leaned up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “I'll see you later, Dad.” She smiled as he squeezed her shoulder in return. She grabbed her backpack from its chair, waved goodbye, and left through the front door.

Dean smiled fondly as Emma left for the day. He poured his coffee once the machine stopped, prepared it how he liked—three sugars, a healthy pour of cream—and took a sip. Like most people in the world, Dean had to have coffee in the morning or else the rest of his day would be out of order. He'd mess up dishes, send out the wrong plate, call out the wrong order—he’d be a mess.

He arrived at his restaurant a few hours before the interview, just to get his nerves under control. And to meet up with Sam and Benny.

Sam ran the front of house so he was usually there just to take reservations while it wasn't busy and no one else was there. Dean didn't know the extent of the reservations but he knew there were a lot. More than he expected at first.

It was exciting. And nerve-wracking.

Culinary school prepared him for a lot of things and, try as they might, nothing quite compared to actually opening up his own restaurant. It was happening. The reality of it. He couldn't believe it sometimes.

And Benny, his sous chef, was there partly for moral support and partly to do some inventory on non-perishable items. Dean prided himself on using fresh ingredients, as would any chef, but some things couldn't be worked around.

“Hey, Sammy, what can ya tell me about this interviewer?” Dean said as he slipped into the booth Sam was working at.

Sam glanced at Dean from his laptop and stopped typing. “Nothing. I just talked with Crowley and he said he'd give us his best writer. I didn't ask who it was and he didn't say a name.” Dean pursed his lips as he tapped his fingers on the table. “It's alright to say you're nervous.” Sam cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

“Me? Nervous?” Dean laughed as convincingly as he could, “Ha! Have you met me? I don't get cold feet, Sammy! I mean, hell, if anything, I'm the most confident son of a bitch you'll ever meet. Ego the size of the Sears Tower. Nerves of steel, me. Definitely,” He took a breath. “Not nervous. At all. Uh-huh.”

Sam stared at him.

Dean let out a puff of air, knowing his cheeks were red as he looked down at a grain in the table. He didn't meet Sam's eyes knowing he'd been caught even if he was too prideful to admit it. At first.

Dean relented. “Look, man, I haven't done anything like this before. I'm gonna be in a fucking newspaper. That's fucking weird. ”

“Better get used to it with the way things are going.” Sam pointed out softly. He took a breath, “Look, you're not alone here, Dean. We're all going through this. You think I'm not nervous at all? I'm the one handling all the calls about this place. Charlie's tryna make sure all the desserts are, in her words, superb. I'm pretty sure the powdered sugar fumes are starting to mess with her head. And Benny, god, I swear he's looked over your menu a million times at this point. Jo has washed the wine glasses so many times, I think her hands might prune.”

Dean got the point. But he couldn't help but feel the weight on his shoulders. It was his restaurant. His and his alone. He didn't co-own it with Benny or Sam. No, it was Dean's name on the lease. It was Dean who picked out the Prussian Blue paint on the walls. It was Dean who put the first chestnut piece of wood on the floor. It was Dean who hand-printed the menus.

The restaurant wouldn't be his if he didn't have a hand on everything that came into it. He even got a few splinters.

———

Getting to Crossroads was easier said than done. Cas had to find parking somewhere. Seeing as the restaurant was on one of the busiest streets of Chicago and Cas wasn't much of a walker, he came straight from his house, not the Tribune building.

He was pleasantly surprised with how the restaurant looked. With sweeping windows to peek inside and a sign he could see from miles away—if there weren't buildings in the way. Dean Winchester must've taken a few notes from the Roadhouse.

He could see a bit of movement in the otherwise empty restaurant as he walked up to the door. He gave it a light knock.

A man he didn't recognize opened it for Castiel. He had shoulder-length hair and kind, deep brown eyes. “Hello. You must be the interviewer.” He bowed his head like he was trying to make himself look smaller. The man was tall. “I'm Sam, Dean's brother and I run the front of house.” He stuck out his hand to shake.

Castiel remembered reading something about Dean having a brother but he didn't put it down in his notes. “I'm… Castiel. Castiel Novak. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.” He shook the man's hand, trying to recall what it was like to have to interact with people for the first time.

Sam let out a small chuckle, causing Castiel to tilt his head. “No one calls me Mr. Winchester. Just call me Sam.” Cas nodded as he followed Sam into the dining room.

Castiel swore the world stopped.

Dean Winchester had changed.

His hair darkened to a nice warm brown—it was a little longer too, curving around his ear and the nape of his neck—his body seemed to fill out his clothes properly, and he grew out some nice facial hair that Castiel wouldn't mind feeling on his skin. And, fuck, his tattoos. His arms weren't exactly covered in them but he had quite a few, the ones he noticed first were on his fingers. In traditional script, his right said “Dead” while his left said, “Alive.” He could see some resemblance in the brothers.

Castiel quickly collected himself and jutted out his hand. “I'm Castiel Novak, it's nice to meet you, Chef Winchester.” He barely took in his surroundings, a little distracted by the handsome man in front of him.

“Nice to meet ya too. Just call me Dean.” The man smiled as Sam retreated to a spot with a computer. God, the curve of his lips. Castiel would be content he was struck by lightning and Dean was the last thing he saw on Earth. Dean motioned to the table he was sitting at. “I'm sure you'd like to sit for this, huh? Parking can be a bitch.�� It was set up with cups and a water pitcher. The glass across Castiel's place was full.

Castiel squinted at his choice of words. “Yes. However, I was able to find a spot a few blocks away. Not too bad.” He set his leather bag on the floor next to him and took out his notebook. His throat felt parched. He took a long sip from his water. “Well, uh,” He coughed as he took out his phone. “My phone is going to record this conversation if that's okay. I'm only doing this because I'm not the best at writing as people speak and I don't want you to have to repeat yourself.”

Dean nodded and gave him a patient smile. “That's alright. I mean, I don't know how interviews work so,” He waved his hand and tilted his head slightly, “You have free reign here.”

Castiel didn't want to think too hard about what that could mean in other circumstances. “Right,” He turned the audio recorder on. “Interview with Chef Dean Winchester at Crossroads.” He cleared his throat. “Chef Winchester, thanks for taking the time to meet. From what I hear, you'll be quite busy in a few days.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugged bashfully as a beautiful shade of pink graced his cheeks. “I just hope me and the staff can live up to the hype. Knowing my staff, they will. Me? Not so sure.”

Castiel cocked his head at Dean. He immediately caught onto his self-diminishing tendencies. To some, it might come across as humility but Cas knew better. “Well, would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself to begin?”

“Sure, uh,” Dean coughed slightly. “I used to live in Naperville when I was young. Until I turned ten, if I remember correctly, then I moved into the city when I got adopted by my, now, parents.”

“Bobby and Ellen?”

Dean looked visibly taken aback. “Yeah.” He quickly adjusted his expression to be more neutral. “They let me work at their restaurant a while back. I wouldn't be here without them.” There was a fondness in his eyes when he talked about them.

Then again, Castiel hoped that would happen when a child talked about their parents. However, he wasn’t oblivious to the things that went on in the world.

“Has food always been a passion of yours?”

Dean let out a breathy chuckle. “Not exactly. Food and I had… an interesting relationship growing up.” Castiel nodded for him to continue. Dean took a breath as he shifted in his seat. “My dad, my biological one, wasn’t the best. My mom died when I was four and he sort of just stopped caring—meaning I had to take care of Sam, some nights I’d go as far as to starve myself just to make sure he had something to eat. When we did have enough for the both of us, I’d gorge myself on it 'cause I never knew when I’d have something like that again.”

“What made that change?” Castiel’s lips pursed as a crease formed between his brows. He wasn’t quite prepared for this but he appreciated Dean’s honesty and openness.

“The fact I had a stable home. Bobby and Ellen weren’t rich but they always had food on the table, no matter what.” Dean admitted as his fingers drummed against the table. “That’s why I started to cook, turned out I had such a knack for it that they hired me at their bar. People loved my food,” His eyes sparkled with passion. Castiel loved seeing him like this. “It’s so… nice to know people like your food, y’know? I put my heart into every dish I make, it’s nourishment, and I want people to feel full when they walk out that door.”

“Is that why you opened Crossroads?” Castiel hadn’t even registered that his voice softened.

Dean spoke so passionately, so fondly, Castiel felt it. Maybe Dean wasn’t the most eloquent speaker but Castiel was sure the man could convince him of anything if he spoke that way to him.

“Some of the reason, yeah.” Dean looked flustered again. “Maybe it’s a bit selfish. I was fortunate enough to go to culinary school,” That answered one of the questions on Castiel’s mind. “And half the people there thought they were destined to share their art with the world. Me? Not so much. Like I said earlier, I just want people to eat my food and be happy with it. I have nothing to prove. Besides, maybe this place could be successful.”

Castiel wet his lips. “Why name the restaurant Crossroads anyway?”

“It’s partly because the kind of food we serve here. Culinary school taught me French techniques but I grew up mainly making American cuisine. We serve a mix here.” Just when Castiel thought he was done, Dean continued. “But it’s also just… The story of my life. I couldn’t count the number of times I felt like I was at a crossroads on both hands.” Castiel was intrigued but didn’t push. He had only just met the man after all.

“Why open your own restaurant? The way you’re talking about them, Bobby and Ellen would have been content to give you their bar.”

Dean shook his head with a light laugh. “I could never touch the Roadhouse. It’s perfect the way it is. But,” He paused, eyes flicking over the table. “I want something I can call mine. Solely mine. Which is nerve-wracking but,” He breathed but forced a smile on his face, “Nothing’s ever easy, I’ve come to learn—and I’m prepared for it not to be.”

Castiel quickly looked back down at his notes, noticing the light scarring on Dean’s hands and arms. “What do you hope to accomplish from this?”

The question seemed to surprise Dean. His lips pursed as he thought for a while. “There is the short-term gratification of being a successful restaurant that doesn’t have to close down after six months,” He tried to joke. “But there’s also security in that. The security of a proper, flowing income will make sure my kid never has to go through what I went through. She’s part of the reason I did this.” He motioned to their surroundings. “She wants me to be happy. I want her to be happy. It’s a cycle at this point.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” Castiel said reluctantly, “I think that’s all the questions I have.” He turned off the recorder and pocketed his phone. He gathered his things and stood. “It was nice talking with you.” And he meant it. Every single word.

Dean quickly stood as well. “You too,” He averted his eyes for a moment too long that Castiel thought he might’ve done something to offend the man. “Would you, uh, like to come back tomorrow? So you can see me work and put it in your article or something?”

A warm feeling washed over Castiel. He couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips. “That sounds wonderful.”

Spending more time with Dean was more than what Castiel could ask for. Not only that, but it would help to see Dean’s process. To witness the amount of love and care he put into each dish. He didn’t doubt Dean’s words but it was an entirely different thing to see and perhaps taste the compassion, the dusting of his heart, the careful composition from his hands.

His hands. When Castiel shook hands with Dean, he could feel the roughness of them. But he could also tell they were used to delicately place a garnish on top of a dish. Dean had gone through so much that he knew the strength of being gentle. How much it took to be gentle. How much it mattered.

God, Castiel needed to use that thought as a line in his article.

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lightningandfireinmybones · 1 year

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what do you need?

valaemond prompt for @dren-whalen: “soft smut: maybe one of aemond’s cases is too emotionally taxing and he can’t talk about it, valaena just takes care of him all night” (18+)

“Aemond, I dropped the twins off with my mother, we’re supposed to be-” Valaena cuts herself off when she fully takes in the dark house.

Given that they’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes and Aemond isn’t waiting for her in the entryway, tapping his foot and holding her garment bag in one hand and his keys in the other but the house is cold, empty, and silent, she is concerned. His favorite car is in the driveway, the keys to his motorcycle are hanging up.

Aemond is here, but something is wrong.

Carefully, she kicks her shoes off, creeps into the house, whistling for Grey Ghost. Nearly immediately, her dog is there, walking at her side, ears flattened to his head. He’d come from upstairs, which meant that was where Aemond was. When she crests the landing, the floor is dark too, no peep of light from under any door.

She looks at her dog, faithfully waiting at her side, and reaches down to rub between his ears like he likes.

“Where’s Aemond?” Valaena asks Grey Ghost, her good boy tilting his head at her for a moment before trotting off. Valaena follows him, deeper into the house, past the nursery and the guest bedrooms, both their offices, past their bedroom, into the darkness of their master bathroom. There are no lights on, but she can hear the gentle thrum of the shower.

Ah. She should’ve guessed.

“Guard the homestead, Grey Ghost,” Valaena orders softly, giving her beloved companion another scritch. With a flick of his fluffy tail, he’s off, gone to go sit at the big bay window in the living room and alert them to any guests or general squirrel activity.

Valaena scrabbles at the dresser until she finds the candle they’d been playing with last night, the lighter not far away. With a click and a spark, a soft flame illuminates just enough for her to see. She pads into the bathroom, past the very expensive pile of designer suit in a heap on the marble.

Steam doesn’t swirl, which means he’s in a cold shower.

Aemond’s wet hair gleams in the weak light of her candle through the glass of the rain shower. Valaena lights a few of the other candles scattered by the bathtub, bringing them closer to the shower until she can see his scars reflecting firelight back at her.

His hands are planted on the wall, head bowed, the spray of the water running down his body in a cold spiral. Valaena can see the tension in his back muscles, the way his hair is covering his face in one wet sheet.

In their relationship, Valaena is usually the tumultuous one, Aemond her steady rock. Sometimes, though when Aemond was drowning, it was her turn to pull him out, to be there. When Aemond doesn’t even move to acknowledge her as she walks in, she can see its one of those nights.

They’re supposed to meet Jace and Rhaena soon, but this is so much more important. Valaena texts her brother some inane excuse and turns off her phone. Her clothes hit the floor in a pile next to him and she slides the door to the shower open. As she suspected, the water is frigid, sending goosebumps over her skin.

Still, regardless of the blowout and her makeup, she wraps her arms around his waist, presses her chest into his back, rests her head between his shoulder blades. She feels him lean into her immediately, pressing back against her, cold water sliding over both of them.

It takes a few minutes, just the sound of the water and the flicker of the candles. Valaena stays there, warming Aemond up, holding him through it. Finally, he wraps one hand around hers on his chest.

“This fucking case,” he groans, leaning his head back on hers. “I can’t…”

“I know,” Valaena murmurs, pressing them impossibly tighter together.

He hasn’t said much about it, but there’d been a haunted look in his eye in the little he’d told her. It took so much to phase Aemond that she hadn’t wanted to know what had made even her hardened and impervious husband shudder. When he came home that first day, he’d taken the twins from her, pulled them in close, and smelled their heads until his blood pressure had returned to normal. The way he’d fucked her that night had left her sore for days, like he’d been trying to exorcise a demon in the act. After, he’d curled her into his chest and told her how much this case unsettled him in a shaky voice, saying he needed to remember his family, his life outside of a courtroom.

“What do you need?” Valaena asks, rubbing the scar on his chest, the one she gave him after their first time together.

In lieu of answering out loud, Aemond moves her hands down his front, to his cock.

“Touch me,” Aemond growls. “Please.”

Valaena doesn’t hesitate, pressing her hardened nipples into his back, dragging her nails so lightly down his cock. The strokes of her hands, the way she cups his balls, have him thick and ready in her hands. She presses kisses into the base of his spine, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock while she pumps him.

“Faster,” Aemond forces out, back muscles tensing under her lips. She complies, moving her hands up and down the length of him at the speed he likes, needing both hands to do it right. Aemond thrusts into her hands, cock twitching in her grip. The noises he’s making, the way his knuckles turn white on the wall, even the way he’s breathing unevenly, she can tell how affected he is by this. The water is like little droplets of ice around them, sliding down her back, threatening to freeze her but for the heat of Aemond against her.

She’s never more aware of their size difference than she is right now, her hands small around the length of his cock.

The restraint he’s showing would impress her, but as soon as the thought occurs to her, Aemond’s spinning around, pressing her against the freezing glass, kissing her like the world is ending. Any control Aemond had is gone, his hands so big around her thighs, lifting her up until she can feel the press of his cock against her. The way he’s holding her, hands on her thighs hard enough to bruise, feet dangling above the floor makes her feel powerless against him. Fire sizzles through her bones, burning away everything except for him, for the way she needs him and he needs her. She’s wet just from the weight of him in her hands, the way the head of his cock bumps against her clit at this angle.

“Valaena,” he pants, “Need you so bad, do you need me to-”

“No, Aemond, take me,” Valaena gasps, Aemond already sliding his cock into her aching cunt before she can finish. He fills her in one thrust, pressure fizzling up her spine at the stretch of her around him. The air is gone from her lungs, pushed out by the way her body moves to accommodate him.

It’s pain underscored by pleasure, the clench of her nails deep into his shoulders as she struggles to adjust, hips bearing down on his as he thrusts mercilessly into her. Each movement sends her up the wall, Aemond’s hands the only thing holding her in place for him.

Both of them are too worked up for it to last long, the cold of the water long forgotten. He drops his mouth to her neck, collarbone, breasts, biting and sucking until the pain lessens a bit, pleasure gaining more ground. He licks a stripe up from her nipple to her jaw, hitting that spot deep inside of her that makes stars explode across her vision, candlelight and starlight mixing together in one tangle of color.

Valaena loves it when Aemond’s like this, half feral with need, no thought but the feel of her around him. She’s adjusted to the size of him now, walking that thin and perfect line together.

“So tight for me, so good, taking everything I give you,” Aemond is mumbling against her racing pulse, tongue tracing the words. “Love you, love your tight pussy, love my good girl.”

When his thrusts start becoming heavier, harder, she knows he’s close, can feel herself getting there too. She’s fluttering around him, clenching down, hands petting over his hair.

“Love you, Aemond, come for me,” Valaena pleads back to him, rewarded by the groan deep and low in his chest of her name, the pulse of his cock inside of her. Warmth spreads deep inside, the waves of him filling her up.

It’s that warmth, that complete feeling of fullness, that push her over the edge too, stifling her cries in a kiss that tastes like absolution. The stars in her vision are a galaxy, a constellation of orange and violet and love.

When she comes back down to earth, Aemond is carrying her out of the shower, her limbs still wrapped around him, cold water sluicing down both of their bare forms. Ignoring the fact that they're both soaking wet, Aemond settles them gently in their bed, pulling her into him until she can’t tell where she ends and he begins, his hard cock still deep inside of her.

She’s half on top of him, legs still around his waist, lips pressed against a scar. His heart rate is slowing, his hands relaxing on her thighs. The tension that had kept him in that dark place in the shower is gone, washed down the drain.

He sighs contentedly into her hair.

“I love you,” he says, repeating it in Valyrian for good measure. “I don’t want to think about that case. I just want to hold you and remember there are still good things. Stay with me.”

“Forever,” Valaena promises, sealing it with a kiss over his heart.

#i love shower comfort so much #i love this scene so much i might change a few things and make it part of the modern au #anyway i love soft hours #esepcially soft hours with smut included #not that it's very detailed smut but #here you go!!#tdopom fic #writing prompt #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut

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sketching-shark · 1 year

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This is very funny to me @sketching-shark as that outburst he has in that movie is honestly half the reason this AU exists to begin with, his full on 'MAYBE I DO HAVE A MOM, YOU DON'T KNOW THAT' stuck with me so much it must've influenced this AU and it's subsequent resurgence this year unconsciously.

Also apologies for the sheer size of all this.

The first thing I ever drew for it was after Monkey King: Hero is Back came out and the designs were partially inspired by the movie making mama a bit more macaque shaped. Whereas this year both mama and Wukong got a slightly more long-tailed monkey design.

The idea of the AU - which with a pinch of salt I admit might mess the narrative the story just a touch, but it is predominantly a fluffy AU - is that instead of coming from the egg fully cognizant and adult in shape, Wukong bursts from the egg and is very much baby.

I had it out in a rough little comic that Mama (she has no name right now or ever honestly) comes across this egg that's been cracked open and finds a tiny little fluffball inside and she is immediately just like; 'Mine', because she's not leaving a baby alone on the mountain. He might be fresh in their troop, maybe their actual mama left them here for safety and got eaten by a tiger? So sad.

And that's how he ends up in the Huaguo troop and is raised by Mama and his aunties alongside his future generals/best friends.

The beats of the story are basically the same it just explores a closer knit connection with his family that we see partly but not enough I feel.

For instance, I haven't drawn it yet, but the first taste of death that Wukong is the death of one of the elderly matrons of the troop that drop down dead when he and the other juveniles are playing. He's so confused and distraught that this would happen, even more so that it's apparently just natural and although sad something he has to 'accept'. And obviously he doesn't, nor does he like it.

That's his catalyst for his Master Subodhi arc and along with the insult of being dragged to Hell why he erases all of the names of the monkeys in the books of death.

In this AU I like to explore not only Wukong's familial happiness but the fact that all in all his catalyst for becoming immortal is because he loves life and doesn't want it to end or be put into the cycles of reincarnation to have a 'new one'. This is his life, he wants to keep living it.

Anyway back to the crux, the beats continue and in typical Mama fashion - no matter how old he gets or how splendorous and great; he is still mama's baby.

I haven't gotten to the point of how it incorporates into the Journey, though my favourite jokes from friends so far is the idea that - would probably not work on the Great Sage whatsoever - whenever Tripitaka gets angry or extremely frustrated before he has to tighten the circelt; he just whips out the 'I will tell your mother' card on Wukong which doesn't really intimidate him at all. But in the back of his mind he's like;

'Oh no, what if he does tell my mama, I promised to be a good boy on this pilgrimage I can't have Guan Yin AND my mama be upset with me.'

The ideas are still manifesting fresh and I'm working on a hopefully cute alternative to the Six-Eared Macaque story in which he might still die, but also might end up living, it's more so how he's found out in this iteration.

But YEAH that's all I have so far, just a soft fluffy AU that explores Wukong's familial side as the community grandpa but also if he had a regular youth, an adopted mother and a lot of aunties.

Also it goes without saying that initially the Heavens are pretty petrified of Mama in a sort of;

'If she can manage Wukong, how strong must she be!?"

Without taking into the account the idea that maybe the reason Wukong actually respects and listens to her is that she's his mama and he lovers her.

SHRIEK OKAY @kaijufluffs SO I WAS FLOORED LEARNING THAT YOU'RE THE PERSON WHO DID THE SUN WUKONG MOM COMIC BECAUSE THAT IS LEGITIMATELY ONE OF MY FAVORITE JTTW-BASE COMICS AND NEEDLESS TO SAY I LOVE THIS AU!!!

Because YEAH Sun Wukong has so much love for his monkey family that provides a really interesting layer to his character, so needless to say I'm excited that you're putting together an AU that's specifically about exploring this! I do think as such that it fits pretty well with the general story of Xiyouji, even if you're making the Monkey King much more baby at the beginning. As it is since he started out a little smaller than a playing ball but did grow to a little shorter than 4 feet in the og classic, I think we can assume there was a period when he had some growing to do even if he was fully ambulatory from day 1 there. I also really like this AU because it really seems to be going further into where SWK's intense fear of and sadness about death would come from; we all have that, some more than others, but really emphasizing how much he loves his family and loves life provides a really good and really understandable motive for why he does what he does. I especially like the way too that you're using this as a way to emphasize SWK's defiance to every authority, in this case not just the natural order of birth-life-death but also the idea that one would have to become a human to have a shot at immortality/Enlightenment. He's happy being a monkey with his mama, aunties, friends and family!

I also genuinely think it's very in character for the book's events to have everyone baffled why SWK would have so much love and respect for an old lady monkey even though SWK consistently shows how much he loves his monkey family & acts with respect to people who respect him lmao.

Finaly asdgrwef that last image immediately made me think of those photos of mother monkeys tugging their kids by their tails when they try to wander off & get into trouble

#ask answered #jttw au #sun wukong #monkey king

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tree0frog · 6 months

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hey! was wondering if I could get a doctor who and Sherlock matchup. I’m female, she/her, 20, bisexual as hell, INTJ/P, Leo, ravenclaw/slytherin, and a new media artist (still in college tho). I’ve got an average build, brown eyes, black wavy hair till my shoulders, wearing cat eye clear glasses or contacts. i honestly don’t know how to describe my style cause it changes constantly depending on my art projects or vibe I’m feeling. I love game design, 3d modeling, interactive design, visual effects etc. I also love reading, gaming, binge watching, digital illustration, dancing, collecting custom jewelry, rollerblading, baking cookies, and listening to video essays/podcasts/audiobooks. My favorite genres are detective, classics, fantasy, adventure, folklore, mythology and sci fi. I love listening to music in a multitude of languages as well whether Arabic, Italian, French, Hindi and much more. MASSIVE introvert except for with my best friends where my unhinged side comes out. Despite being an introvert I’m very comfortable with leadership. I’m very contemplative and thoughtful as well as creative. I’m far from clingy and prefer to keep my own space even if I know you well. I can be a bit stubborn, and opinionated at times however. I’m a huge planner and hate when things go off schedule or when things are chosen abruptly. Think that’s all I got! Thank you!

Hii sorry this took so long

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I pair you with Bill

The two of you together would be a power couple don't try me on this.

I think you must have met when she was seeking into the doctor's classes and she sat next to you,

Bill would sometimes look over to see your small drawing of clocks or a small blue police box.

But when she learned about the doctor it had all made no sense to her whatsoever.

Over the time she travels with the two of you she learns more about you and the doctor but most importantly herself.

You know that meen where it's the couple and one like whats their hot and the other one is like can't see it hun yeah that's you two.

she has a small drawer of art pieces you made her as well as matching bracelets you had made for the both of you.

I pair you with Mycroft Homes

People this is the weirdest friendship they have ever seen.

I think the two of you met when he broke into Sherlock's home and you were just there sitting on the floor with a gaming laptop in your hands and some art thing around you and he was intreated.

Even though he doesn't like to say it he enjoys playing games with you when he has time which isn't very often thanks to his job.

will buy you that new book you have been talking about for a week but won't buy because you have 17 halve stared one in your home.

He thinks it's cute how you have a full-year planer in your room highlighted in different colours for different things.

You have been drunk before and cursed him out in french

#fanfic #x reader #doctor who #doctor who x reader #drwho #tardis #sherlock reader insert #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #mycroft x reader #bill potts #bill potts x reader

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harry-on-broadway · 2 years

Text

Tying You To Me: Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Word Count: 8.5K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M (contains sexual content)

A/N: Hey, it’s been a minute! I was going to save this for later this week but this is honestly my favorite chapter (I wrote one scene in here before I wrote any of Chapter One) and what better way to fend off the Sunday scaries than with a fic. As always, thank you for reading! Would love to hear from you after you’ve finished!

***

February 2020

“Why are your hands so sweaty?” Harry yelped as he wiped his own palm on his pajama pants.

“Because I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m meeting your mom,” Quinn exclaimed.

“So?” Harry looked at her blankly. “She’s just my mum.”

Quinn shot him a confused look. “Exactly, Harry. She’s your mother. Which means I need to impress her. If the two of us don’t hit it off it’s going to be hell. Because I know how close you all are and if she hates me what does that mean for us? I mean –”

Harry leaned across the breakfast table and cut Quinn off with a kiss. “Stop worrying and creating nightmare scenarios that aren’t going to happen. My mum knows all about you and she loves you already.”

“What if she’s just telling you that? Like reverse psychology or something?”

“Quinn!”

She took a sip of her coffee as Harry looked at her.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said softly. “I promise you. She’s not going to bite you.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“Gemma’s the biter.”

Quinn rolled her eyes as she stood to take the breakfast dishes to the sink, Harry’s cackle echoing off of the walls.

She’d arrived in London late last night and while she’d yawned as she made her way through Heathrow, navigating the baggage claim and the pick-up area, Harry had boundless energy as he met her and escorted her to the car. He didn’t let go of her hand as he drove through the quiet streets pointing out different landmarks and mentioning places he wanted to take her over the next couple of weeks.

Quinn retained approximately none of what Harry was saying and the combination of the rocking of the car and his soothing voice lulled her to sleep. It didn’t seem like Harry’s house was that far from the airport – though Quinn really had no sense of time or direction in the unfamiliar city – but she stirred awake sooner than she would have liked when they pulled into Harry’s house, a large historical home that didn’t look out of place in the neighborhood. She’d seen his homes in New York and LA, so visiting his London dwelling shouldn’t have felt like a monumental occasion, but for some reason, it did. And when Harry unlocked the door and ushered Quinn inside she understood why.

For the first time, Quinn wasn’t seeing his house. She was seeing his home.

While the buildings she’d seen in the other cities were sterile and empty, this one was filled to the brim with clutter and ephemera that Harry had collected over the years. Posters for bands and films, pictures of his family, stacks of books and records on shelves and on the floor. Art – with no discernable signature style – placed haphazardly around the room. And it wasn’t only stuff. The interior design added to the chaos. Vibrant colors, textures, and prints – it was hard for the eyes to focus and with the added challenge of her foggy brain Quinn was overwhelmed and slowly followed Harry to his bedroom.

He placed her suitcase on a rack and took her carry-on from her hand. “Figured you’d want to get cleaned up and then we could head to bed?”

Quinn nodded, dazed, but dutifully shuffled off in the direction of the master bath where she quickly showered and brushed her teeth before climbing into bed with Harry.

“My mum’s coming into town tomorrow,” he said as she lay under his arm. “I thought we could do lunch? And maybe see her again later on in your trip if schedules align.”

Quinn had sleepily nodded and closed her eyes, not opening them until she felt Harry peppering kissed across her face in the soft light of the morning.

“The reservation is at noon,” Harry called from across the kitchen. “We probably need to leave 30 minutes before or so to give us enough time to walk.”

“Works for me,” Quinn said, returning to the table. She sat down next to him, but her eyes roamed the room, still absorbing all the details she couldn’t last nice.

“Looking for an escape route?” Harry asked.

“No, just trying to take everything in.”

“It’s kind of a mess. Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t apologize. I kind of love it.” She turned to look at him. “It’s nice to see where you actually live.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, your other places are just so empty. They kind of make me sad. But this house is you, Harry. It makes me happy.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re finally here,” he said. “It was starting to feel weird that you hadn’t seen the place yet.”

“It’s very cute,” Quinn said.

“Cute?” Harry’s brows rose.

“I mean, I guess based on your other places I thought you liked that industrial, clean style, but that’s not the case. This house feels like it’s made up of all the little pieces of you that I love. And you’re cute, and the house is just cute and I meant it as a compliment…I’m rambling.” She grimaced.

Harry stared at Quinn, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Quinn glared at him. “It’s not nice to make me squirm like that. Especially when I’m already nervous.”

Harry leaned over and kissed Quinn. “Are you really that nervous? Is there something I can do to help?”

Quinn chewed on her lip. “I am nervous but I don’t think there’s anything you can do. It’s always nerve-wracking meeting the parents. I’m sure you’re going to feel the same way when I introduce you to my parents.”

Harry let out a slow exhale. “Yeah, that’s going to be…interesting. But I’m going to be right there with you, and my mum is the loveliest woman you’ll ever meet. I’ve told her a lot about you and she already loves you. She’s probably going to ask you a lot of questions, but she’s not doing it to intimidate you – she just doesn’t trust the answers I’ve already given her.”

“She’s heard a lot about me?” Quinn arched a brow.

“Only the good and clean bits,” Harry replied, nipping at her nose. “We should probably start getting ready. I want to take the scenic route on the way there.”

Quinn and Harry returned to his room and while he grabbed a shower, Quinn sorted through her suitcase, hanging some of her clothes up and trying to find something warm yet stylish to wear to lunch. She decided on some leggings and a chunky sweater and was dressed by the time Harry emerged from the bathroom, towel around his hips, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, and steam billowing behind him.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Quinn said.

“I have a guest,” Harry said, shrugging. “I need to put on a show.” Quinn yelped as he shook his head, spraying her with droplets of water.

“Are you OK walking there?” Harry asked a few moments later when he met Quinn downstairs, fully clothed and hair dry, his fringe held back by a tortoise-shell claw clip. “It’s a little cold, but it’s a nice trip.”

“I’ve got a coat,” Quinn chirped, sliding the garment on along with a hat and scarf.

Harry slipped his own outerwear on and held the door open for Quinn, locking it behind him and frowning when he saw she was without gloves. For the first few blocks, the chill in the London air felt very much like the chill in New York, but as they kept walking, Harry pointing out more landmarks of importance and shops and restaurants he thought they should visit, Quinn could feel the cold air seeping into her bones in a manner she was unaccustomed to. She tried to hide the chills and shivers from Harry, not wanting to admit that she should have worn a warmer coat and gloves.

As they waited on a street corner Harry took Quinn’s left hand, rubbing it between his own.

“Where are your gloves?” he chastised. “Don’t you have those in New York?”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Yes. I just forgot them…and my heavier coat.”

Harry made a tsk sound as he shook his head and grabbed Quinn’s hand and put it in his pocket. “We’re almost there and we can get you thawed out.”

They walked briskly across the street when the light changed, Harry steering Quinn down a quiet side street and into a tiny restaurant. He scanned the tables as they slid out of their jackets, handing them to the hostess, and his face lit up when his eyes landed on a woman sitting at a corner booth.

“This way,” Harry said, gesturing to the table as he reached for Quinn’s hand.

It was clear who Harry took after in his family as he was the spitting image of his mother. The dark hair, the dimples, and the wide youthful smile had all been handed down from Anne, and as she opened her arms to wrap Quinn in a warm hug, it was evident Harry gleaned his personality from her as well.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, sweetheart,” Anne said, pulling away to get a better look at Quinn. “Are you warm enough?” she asked, taking in Quinn’s pink cheeks and cold hands.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Quinn said. “I thought New York winters were cold but they’re tropical compared to London. It was nice to get a walk in and see the city in the daylight though.”

“You walked here?” Anne gave Harry a sharp look. “You made her walk? In these temperatures?”

Harry’s eyes darted between the two women. “She said she was fine. And it’s a nice walk. You’re fine, right, Quinn?”

“I’ll survive, Harry,” Quinn said, giggling as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How was your flight?” Anne asked. “No delays? Has jet lag been bad? Although I guess it’s only been one day.”

“Mum, why don’t we sit down before you start the inquisition,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Sorry about that,” he whispered to Quinn.

“Don’t apologize,” Quinn said as they slid into the booth. “It’s really nice.”

When they were tucked into the booth, Anne fixed her attention on Quinn, who tried to handle the questions that were rapidly volleyed at her. Anne wanted to know everything – Where was Quinn from originally and where was that town in relation to where she currently resided? Was she close with her family? Did she have siblings? Did she prefer tea or coffee?

Harry lovingly shook his head as the two women continued with their conversation, pausing only to speak with the waiter when they came around to take food and drink orders.

“Would you all be more comfortable if I just left?” Harry griped.

“Are you jealous that I’m talking to your mom and not you?” Quinn shot back, not missing a beat.

“No, it’s just I’m here too!”

“Oh, hush,” Anne said, swatting her son’s shoulder. She turned to Quinn. “I should be thanking you for sticking with him for so long.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Hey!” he yelped as Quinn tried to suppress a smile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered.

Anne ignored his protestations and continued her conversation with Quinn. “Harry said you all met at Saturday Night Live. How do you like working there?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Quinn said. “I keep thinking it might grow old, but it hasn’t. I’m in awe each week and I really hope I never lose that feeling.”

Anne nodded approvingly. “He says the same thing about performing,” she said, tilting her head toward Harry. “I think that’s a sign you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

Quinn blushed. “Well, I’m not sure if that’s the case, but I’ll take the compliment.”

Anne patted her hand. “Harry also said you met a while back, no?”

“Yeah, when he was there to promote his first album. It took us a while to get our act together but we managed.” Quinn could feel the smile radiating off of Harry’s face. “Just one of the many reasons I love it there.”

“What do you study in school for that kind of job?” Anne asked. “Communications?”

“I was a film major and an English minor. I figured if comedy didn’t work out I’d at least have the English degree to fall back on.”

“I’m sure your parents were happy about that.”

“They were,” Quinn said with a laugh. “And they’re definitely happy with where I ended up. They always look forward to their trips to the city when they can stop by the studio.”

Anne’s questions slowed as lunch was served and the conversation turned to mundane chatter, Harry asking after people Quinn had never heard of and Anne happily filling him in on the local gossip.

“You’ll meet them all one day,” Harry said nonchalantly as he piled some pasta on his fork and explained who he was referring to. Quinn felt heat all over her body as she basked in Harry’s confidence that she’d be around to meet these people.

When the check was deposited on the table and Harry placed his card down, Quinn excused herself to use the restroom. Harry pecked her lips as she stood from the table, and Quinn shot him a look, surprised that he was being so openly affectionate in public and in front of his mother.

“What?” he asked in response to Quinn’s look. “I can’t love on my girl?”

“I wasn’t complaining, just surprised,” Quinn said as she headed off.

When she exited the restroom a few minutes later, drying her wet hands on her leggings, she caught a glimpse of Anne and Harry talking animatedly. She paused to observe the scene for a little bit longer. Harry’s cheeks were pink and he smiled, dimples emerging as he looked down at his plate. Anne rubbed his arm and nodded, a look of indeterminate emotion crossing her face. Quinn wasn’t sure what they’d been discussing – she hoped it wasn’t her – but the sight made her happy. It was evident how close Harry was with his mother and after meeting Anne, she knew that the woman had played a strong influence in turning Harry into the man Quinn was in love with.

“All good?” Harry asked as Quinn slid back into her seat. Quinn nodded.

“What do you all have planned for the rest of your time here?” Anne asked, sipping her tea.

“We’re kind of playing it by ear,” Harry said, putting his arm on the back of Quinn’s chair and looking at her. “I have to work for part of the time – the video shoot – so we don’t have any definitive plans yet.”

“Oh well you should at least make time to take Quinn around the city,” Anne said. “Since she hasn’t really seen anything yet. Maybe some of the more touristy stuff. London Bridge, a museum or two?”

“That would be nice,” Quinn said. “But honestly, even though it sounds cheesy, I’m really just excited to spend time with Harry,” she said. “Getting to eat dinner with him every night is truly what I’m looking forward to.” Anne smiled as Quinn continued. “I’d like to check out some museums though, do some shopping.” She glanced at Harry. “And since this guy is always skulking around my workplace I thought I might drop by and check out the video shoot.”

Anne laughed as Harry’s face lit up with offense as he mumbled “It’s not skulking if you’re supposed to be there.”

“Well, I should be heading off,” Anne said, standing from the table and wrapping her sweater around her. “It was lovely meeting you, Quinn. I hope you enjoy your time here and that we get to see each other again very soon.” She embraced Quinn tightly. “And I’ll be seeing you again too,” she tutted at Harry. “I’m not that far away you know.”

“I know, mum,” Harry said. “Let me walk you out to your car.” He turned to Quinn. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Quinn watched as they exited the restaurant. Once they were out of the entryway, Quinn made her way over, wanting to give them space. She collected her coat from the hostess and began bundling up, waiting for Harry to return.

He poked his head in through the door right as she finished zipping up, nose pink and hair tousled from the wind. “Ready?” he asked, just a little breathless.

Quinn took his hand in hers and braced for the cold as he held the door open for her. Harry was silent as they began their walk. Quinn could feel a current of joy radiating through him, but stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak first.

“She loved you,” he finally said when they were stopped on a street corner, bouncing up and down to stay warm while they waited for the walk signal.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why are you so shocked?” Harry said, wrinkling his brow as he looked down at Quinn.

“I don’t know, I guess I thought I’d have a lot to be compared to.”

“I mean, I haven’t introduced a lot of women to my mum over the years, but she was by far most enthusiastic about you.”

“I’ll take the win then.”

When they arrived back at Harry’s place, Quinn’s first stop was the shower, where she turned the heat up as high as it would go and stood under the hot spray until she felt the last of the London chill leave her bones. She wrapped herself in a pair Harry’s sweatpants and sweatshirt and came downstairs to find him watching a video on his phone.

“Whatcha up to?” she asked, curling into his side.

Harry pulled her closer, not looking from his phone as he answered her question. “Reviewing some footage for the shoot.”

“This is for ‘Treat People With Kindness?’”

“Yeah, did I show you the treatment?”

“Not yet.”

He usually told Quinn anything she wanted to know about his work, but with the release of his album alongside the holiday season, it wasn’t surprising that this detail had slipped Harry’s mind.

“OK, so you’re not going to believe this but I’m dancing in this one.”

“Dancing?” Quinn bit back a grin. She’d seen Harry dance at parties and on stage, but his moves were not what one would call polished and the freedom with which he moved suggested a spirit that couldn’t be contained by choreography.

“Yes, dancing, and you can wipe that look off your face right now,” Harry said.

“There’s no look.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a very good dancer.”

“I never said you weren’t, H.”

“You didn’t have to use words, your face said it all.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Are you working with a choreographer?”

“Yeah, Paul,” Harry said, eyes on his phone as he searched the device for something. “There it is,” he said finally. He rose from the couch and stood in the center of the room facing Quinn. “Prepare to be amazed.” He tapped his phone and tinny music started blasting from the speakers.

“Oh, you’re doing this now?” Quinn asked, straightening herself to get a better look.

“Well seeing as you don’t believe me…”

“Be quiet or you’ll miss your cue.”

Harry grinned as the sound of his recorded voice filled the room, his real life voice overlapping the recording as he started the dance, posing, leaping, and jumping in time with the melody. As he transitioned between moves, Harry explained what the full video would look like – that while it was in black and white, he’d be wearing a sparkly jacket over a pastel argyle sweater vest. That the band would be on stage behind him in a sort of old fashioned club set up, while he and a special guest would dance on the stage and the tables. That the video had an Old Hollywood feel.

“And I jump here,” he pantomimed jumping across the space. “And then I land on the table and pose. And then this…” His enthusiasm reminded Quinn of how the kids she used to babysit for would get excited when showing her a move they learned in their weekly karate class.

“Any hints on this special guest?” Quinn asked as Harry skipped around the room.

“Nope, that’s a surprise.”

“Seriously, no clues?”

“Nope.”

“Well, should I be concerned?”

Harry grinned. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said. “Although it’s kind of cute when you get a little jealous.”

“Oh, I’m not jealous. I’m just concerned for whoever it is and the fact that they have to dance with you.” She grimaced. “I’ve been there before and it’s not fun.”

Before she could process it, Quinn felt her body leave the sofa as Harry picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

“Take it back!” he yelled as he dug his fingers into Quinn’s ribs, searching out the ticklish spot he’d found over the years. “I’m a joy to be with in every way and you know it!”

“Do I?” Quinn asked through giggles, as Harry’s fingers probed deeper. “OK, OK,” she finally said, breathless. “You’re a good dancer.”

“And?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What else?”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Quinn said quickly, Harry’s fingers resuming their dance on her ribs. “But you’re also a great boyfriend and a wonderful man who I love very much.”

Harry loosened his grip on Quinn’ middle and slid her down the front of his body to bring them face to face again. He bent down and gently brought his lips to hers. “I love you too,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper.

Quinn looked up at him. “Dance with me?”

“Oh, look who’s changed her tune.”

“Stop trying to ruin a nice moment,” she said, pinching his neck.

Harry looked down at his phone, shuffling through apps, before setting it down. A slow tune, something with roots in jazz if Quinn had to guess, started to play.

“I meant for you to teach me your dance, so you can practice,” Quinn said as Harry pulled her in close to him and began to sway back and forth.

“Yeah, I know, but I thought this would be nicer,” Harry said against her hair.

As much as she loved sparring with him, Quinn knew that the moment had passed, so she settled in against his chest and allowed him to move her as she listened to the steady thrum of his heart. The song ended and the next began, but Harry and Quinn remained in the middle of his living room as the music played on. Quinn wasn’t sure how many songs had played, but she pulled away from Harry when the fading light in the room signaled it was time for dinner.

“Where are you trying to run off to?” Harry asked.

“It’s late and I’m pretty sure you need to eat again based on what I felt coming from your stomach,” Quinn said lovingly.

“I guess I could eat,” Harry said, reluctantly, leading Quinn into the kitchen.

They worked in tandem preparing their meal. Quinn chopped vegetables to roast and heated up some bread while Harry marinated some fish for himself and chicken for Quinn. As they worked, Harry pulled out some appetizers to snack on and opened a bottle of red wine, pouring generous glasses for each of them.

They chatted as they cooked and ate, firming up their plans for the rest of the week. They’d spend the next day together – Harry had a mini tour planned – but the day after he’d be in full work mode for the video shoot.

“And you’re sure I won’t be a bother?” Quinn asked as she cut into her chicken.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I just know how sets can get kind of crowded with unnecessary people and I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re only in the way when I say you are and you’re not so…” Harry trailed off as he chewed. “Plus I want you to meet some people that you haven’t had the chance to yet.”

“Ooh, more people to pump for dirt.”

“I pay them so they legally can’t say anything bad about me.”

They made an early night of it after cleaning up the dishes, retreating to the bedroom where Harry meditated and Quinn got her clothes ready for the next day before they settled in bed next to each other under the thick comforter, reading some books – a philosophy book for Harry and a mystery for Quinn.

Quinn’s friends often teased her about her relationship with Harry, joking about her globetrotting, rockstar boyfriend, the crazy things they got to do together, and the hot reunion sex they’d have in his expensive hotel rooms. But when Quinn reflected on her relationship, it was nights like this that she thought of most often. Their hectic and unconventional careers made nights in fleeting and she held tight to the memories of them.

“Do I have something on my face?” Harry asked.

Lost in her own thoughts, Quinn hadn’t realized she’d been staring at him. “Yeah, two eyes, a nose, a mouth –”

“Wow, that’s funny. Do you work in comedy?” Harry said sarcastically.

“Actually, I do.”

“No way!”

Quinn opened her mouth to reply, but a laugh escaped before she could speak, sending Harry into his own fit of giggles.

When they recovered enough to speak, Harry placed his book on the bedside table and checked his phone to make sure his alarm was set. “I think I’m going to turn in now,” he said. Quinn turned to place her own book next to the bed. “You don’t have to though,” he said. “Stay up as late as you want. I’m sure you’re still a little off from the jet lag.”

“I should start getting into a routine here,” Quinn said as she cut the light off and wriggled closer to Harry under the covers. His hand found her back and he started scratching lightly, their breathing the only noise in the otherwise silent room.

It was a kind of peace Quinn only knew when she was with Harry.

***

“Ready?” Harry asked a few mornings later, thermos of coffee in his hand as he waited by the door.

“All set,” Quinn replied as she finished lacing her boot, grabbing her tote bag from where she’d left in in the entryway the day before.

“Do you get nervous?” she asked Harry a few minutes later as he pulled out of the driveway and started navigating the city streets. “Or since it’s not live do the nerves just disappear?”

“It’s kind of a mix. Like I know it’s weird to say, but there’s still a set of nerves, kind of like I don’t want to let anyone down, but there’s also the safety net of knowing that it’s not live, so if something goes wrong, I get another try. Kind of like the difference between the live show and pre-taped sketches. If that makes sense.”

“No, that makes perfect sense,” Quinn said as she watched the city flash by through the windows until Harry stopped outside a nondescript building.

“We’re here,” he announced.

When they walked inside, Quinn could see the shift from Harry to Harry Styles. While he was always authentically himself, there was an added sense of professionalism when he was in Harry Styles mode, greeting everyone he passed with a firm handshake, a thoughtful hello, and eye contact so intense you’d think there was only one other person in the room with him.

Quinn hung back as Harry was swept away by the hair and makeup department and she scanned the bustling crowd until she found a familiar face – Tommy – scrolling through his phone in the corner.

“Is this the spectator section?” Quinn asked when she was within earshot of him.

Tommy looked up from the phone. “Quinn!” he exclaimed. “H mentioned you’d be here. How’s your trip been so far?”

“It’s been lovely. I got a personalized tour of London, I got to meet Anne, and I’m apparently meeting more people today.”

“Oh, he probably wants you to meet Gabe, Ben, and Paul. They’ve been around for a while so they’re kind of key players.”

“Gotcha.”

“Where is H, by the way?”

“I think he went to wardrobe? Or maybe makeup? He went that way.” Quinn pointed in the direction she’d just come from.

“Cool, I’ve got some notes for him but I’ll be back in a minute.”

“No sweat,” Quinn said.

By herself once again, she surveyed the room. The chaos of the set was oddly comforting. Music videos were clearly different from sketch comedy, but the process of creating it was the same. It felt so much like home that she actually had to fight the urge to pick up a headset and clipboard and take over.

“Quinn?” she heard someone ask. She turned around, expecting to find a member of Harry’s team, but was shocked by who stood there.

“Phoebe?” Phoebe Waller-Bridge had hosted SNL at the start of the season, fresh off of her Emmy wins, and had quickly become a favorite among the cast and crew. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Phoebe said with a laugh. “But I’m in the video with Harry.”

“Wait, you’re the special guest?”

“I guess so?” Phoebe said thoughtfully. “How do you know Harry?”

“Um, well, we’re kind of dating.”

A huge smile burst on Phoebe’s face. “That’s amazing!” She paused. “I can totally see that. Did you all meet through SNL?”

“Yes, but back in 2017.”

“Oh, so you all have a history!”

“We do,” Quinn said, with a chuckle. “How did you and Harry meet?”

“Through the stage show I was doing. He and Gabe spoke to me after and now here we are.”

“Oh no, this looks like trouble,” a male voice interrupted.

Quinn turned to see Harry, in all of his sparkly, Old Hollywood glory standing next to them, his outfit an identical match to Phoebe’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me Phoebe was the special guest?” Quinn said, playfully slapping his arm.

“And why didn’t you tell me Quinn was your girlfriend?” Phoebe asked.

“How do you all…oh, SNL.” Harry answered his own question as he put the pieces together. “I didn’t realize you all were so close. Should I be worried?”

“You should be very worried anytime women who know you have gathered together,” Phoebe said quickly.

Harry looked a little nervous, but the three shared a laugh before one of the assistant directors called for places. Phoebe bid farewell and Harry stole a kiss from Quinn before heading to take their marks.

As Quinn watched Harry on set, effortlessly shifting from performing on camera to reviewing footage, she was reminded of something he’d told her last November during his week at SNL.

They’d been getting ready for bed one night, when Harry had made the offhand comment: “It’s sexy as fuck seeing you at work.”

Quinn had been initially confused – he’d seen her work before, that’s where they’d met after all.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry had said. “I’m attracted to you all the time, but there’s something about watching you do what you were meant to do, being the boss and all that, it really turns me on.”

She felt the same way watching him dance on stage, and kept stealing glances at her phone to figure out how much time was left before she could get him alone.

After a few hours, the crew broke for lunch and, as promised, Harry introduced Quinn to Paul, his choreographer, and Ben and Gabe, the video’s directors, as they ate some Chinese food that had been delivered to the set. When lunch was over, Quinn made her way back to the corner she had claimed as her own, and settled in to watch several more hours of filming.

As the cameras started rolling, Quinn glanced around the room and noticed two young kids, too small to be school-age she assumed, poking their head into the ballroom that was being used for filming. She had the sneaking suspicion that they knew they weren’t supposed to be there. Based on her earlier conversation with Ben and Gabe, she didn’t think they were the kind of directors to yell over on-set disturbances, but she didn’t want these kids to be the ones to test that resolve. She quietly made her way to the kids and shepherded them out to the hall where they could speak freely.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Quinn. What are you all doing here?”

“My daddy is working,” one of the kids – the boy – offered.

“My daddy is working too,” his companion, the girl, added.

Quinn searched her brain, trying to think of who she’d met that day that had kids but came up empty. “That’s nice,” she said. “What’s your dad’s job?”

“He does stuff with cameras,” the boy said.

Quinn nodded. That narrowed things down. “Are you all supposed to be waiting somewhere?” she asked.

“We finished lunch,” the girl said, not answering the question.

“OK,” Quinn said. “Well why don’t we sit out here. Have you ever played I Spy?”

The kids shook their heads and took a seat next to Quinn on the ground as she explained the rules. They caught on quickly and eagerly took turns, celebrating when they were able to guess one of Quinn’s objects or when she was stumped by theirs.

Though she had been enjoying watching Harry film, she had to admit, playing with the kids was almost more entertaining and she was only aware that filming had concluded when people started streaming into the hallway.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing out here?”

The little girl jumped up and ran toward Gabe who was looking down at Quinn.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” he said, scooping up the child. “You too?” he asked, looking at the boy.

“Do you know Quinn, Uncle Gabe?” he asked. “She taught us how to play I Spy.”

“Did she?’ Gabe asked. “I didn’t mean for you to play babysitter today, Quinn,” Gabe said, continuing to apologize. “You were supposed to be watching and you missed out.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn said. “I’m sure Harry will give me the full recap.”

Gabe barked a laugh. “I’m sure he will.” He turned to the kids. “Say goodbye to Quinn now.”

“Bye, Quinn,” the kids chorused, reaching to hug her.

“Bye, you guys,” she said.

“H is still in here if you’re looking for him,” Gabe said, as he entered the main ballroom.

Quinn picked herself up off the floor and dusted her jeans off before setting out to look for Harry. She found him holding court in the middle of the room, his sparkly attire and perfectly sculpted hair replaced by sweats and his ever present claw clip. He smiled wide when he saw her and broke off his conversation with Gabe to cross the room to find Quinn.

“Heard you made a couple of new friends today,” he whispered in her ear as he hugged her.

“It’s cute when you’re jealous,” Quinn shot back, smiling as Harry turned to kiss her.

The video shoot was a safe space – it was a small set filled mainly with Harry’s team and others who had undoubtedly signed strict NDAs – but it was nice to be openly affectionate with Harry in a public setting, without worrying about prying eyes or cameras. It was like they were a normal couple for the day.

“Do you want to head home?” Quinn asked. Though he was energized, Quinn could tell that Harry was fading fast. He nodded sleepily and directed her to the garage where he had parked.

***

Harry hopped in the shower when they got home, washing the day away and trying to soothe his sore muscles. Quinn waited for him in the bedroom, lounging among the blankets and really looking at the room for the first time since she’d arrived. It was warm and cozy and exactly what she’d imagined Harry’s bedroom looking like. He’d set up a small meditation corner and his dressers and bookshelf were filled with photos and other trinkets. She moved closer to the chest of drawers, smiling when she saw a couple pictures of her in the frames interspersed between piles of his jewelry.

When she looked up from the dresser she noticed the closet door was ajar. As fashionable as Harry was, his day-to-day style was remarkably simple, mostly vintage tees and chunky knitwear. Knowing this, she was really intrigued by what the inside of his closet would look like and what work clothes he kept in there. Hearing that the water was still running, she slipped inside and flicked the light on. She was greeted by plenty of racks of clothes, but also a wall of shelves that were filled to the brim with the fancy boxes you’d find at craft and home goods stores, the ones meant to hold photos or other memorabilia. None of them were labeled, but she could tell that they were all stuffed.

She stepped forward, hand resting on the lid when she heard Harry cough.

“Snooping?” His hair was damp, but he’d dried off and was wearing a fresh set of sweats and a questioning smile.

“I believe you said I could make myself at home so I, of course, had to check out the closet space.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Seriously though, what’s this?” Quinn asked, nodding to the box.

“Oh, I don’t think you need to look in there,” Harry said, walking over to her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s not important.”

“Oh, I think that means it’s really important,” Quinn retorted, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and before Harry could stop her, she pulled the top off of the box.

When she looked down, she was greeted by a random assortment of objects that had no apparent connection – a couple of shirts, lots of paper scraps, and what looked to be some jewelry.

Quinn lifted the white shirt near the top of the box out to get a better look. It was blank except for a single word in black text: sex.

“Is this what you wore on the show in November?” she asked Harry, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah.”

Quinn paused, waiting for an explanation but Harry just looked at her, expression indecipherable. “Why is it in this box?”

Harry offered no explanation other than a shrug.

Quinn set it aside and pulled the next item out: it was a receipt from an Italian restaurant in Manhattan. Why was he saving receipts? Did he have an expense report to file? She continued to kneel in front of the box, pawing through its contents as Harry shifted on his feet above her. There was a ticket stub from a film, what looked like the paper tag from a teabag, and a bottle of red glittery nail polish. She still couldn’t figure out the connection between the items until her eyes landed on a stack of papers in the middle of the box. The white sheets were bound together with a brightly colored piece of paper on top and a phrase spelled out in Courier font: “Celebrity Family Feud.”

“Oh my God.” She looked up at Harry, who glanced back at her sheepishly.

“Is this what I think it is, Harry?”

“Maybe.”

“Is this from that week at SNL?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. The week we met.”

“Oh, Harry.”

Everything else in the box suddenly made sense. It was the history of their relationship.

She was pretty sure the receipt had come from the restaurant they’d ate at when they first reconnected last year. And the nail polish was the shade she’d used to paint Harry’s nails when he’d asked for a touch-up during a summer visit. She’d blamed its absence on one of her friends, but apparently someone else had swiped it.

“Is this…?” She held up the tea tag.

“From one of the drinks you got me that week,” he said, ears red. “I found it in my pocket afterwards and I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. It was one of the only things I had from you at that point.”

“Harry.” Quinn could feel her eyes welling with tears. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know it’s weird,” he said, kneeling down beside her. “But I’ve always just kind of held onto things that remind me of people and places that are important.”

“I’m important?” Quinn said, half joking as she laughed through the tears that were now running down her face.

“Of course you are. Even though you go through my things and are a pain in my neck.”

She sniffed as she looked at Harry. “But that’s why you love me.”

“That’s why I love you.”

“Can I see what else is in here?”

“I mean you’re already halfway through,” Harry said with a shrug.

“It’s so interesting,” Quinn said as she flipped through postcards and pictures Harry had saved. “I know what things I’ve saved that are meaningful to me, but seeing what you saved…I don’t know. It makes me appreciate the little moments a little bit more. Wait a second.”

Quinn stopped what she was doing and looked up at Harry. “If this is what I think it is, you’re dead.”

Harry’s cheeks went from pink to red as Quinn slowly lifted an aged stuffed fox from the pile.

“Is this Toast?” she asked.

Harry just nodded.

“You had him this whole time?!”

“I can’t tell if you’re actually mad or not and that kind of scares me,” Harry said with a nervous laugh.

“Like I’m not mad, but you didn’t tell me he was here. Do you know how much I missed him? Where did you find him?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I found him in my bedroom the night you…left. I was going to try to text you and let you know but I just wanted to have a piece of you.”

“Why didn’t you get rid of him?”

Harry sighed, and then adjusted himself so he was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Quinn.

“Have you heard of the red string of fate?” he asked.

Quinn shook her head.

“Well, it’s this myth that there’s a red thread that connects people who are meant to be together…it’s kind of like the concept of soulmates. And that whatever happens, regardless of the ups and downs, those people will find their way back to each other.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “When we broke up, I was really down. Like really, really bad, and a friend told me that story and it made me feel a little better. That no matter what was happening at that moment, we’d find our way back to each other.”

“And we did,” Quinn said, voice breaking.

“We did,” Harry said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “And that’s why I held onto this guy. Because I knew I would see you again one day and give him back to you.” He laughed. “I guess I could have returned him a little sooner, but now feels like a great time.” He patted the stuffed animal that was now sitting in Quinn’s lap.

Quinn tossed Toast to the side and climbed in Harry’s lap, pulling him as close as she could, seeking his touch with a new hunger. Harry opened his arms drawing her near, kissing down her jaw before landing on her lips.

“I love you, Quinn,” he said between kisses. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“I know, Harry,” she said against his lips. “I’m never going to love anyone the way I love you.”

Harry lifted Quinn from his lap and placed her on the floor, climbing over her, just barely resting his body on top of her. Quinn sighed against his lips as she felt the weight of him, the best kind of weighted blanket.

Harry kissed his way down Quinn’s body until he reached the hem of her shirt. “May I?” he asked, his words causing her already buzzing skin to vibrate even further.

“Yes. Always.”

Harry pulled her pajama pants and panties down, not even checking to make sure they were down all of the way before burying his face between her thighs. He parted her folds with his tongue before latching onto her clit, sucking as if there were no sweeter taste. Quinn closed her eyes as she gripped Harry’s curls, trying to savor the heat of his mouth against her core. She moaned but her cries were drowned out by Harry’s own moans, which she felt throughout her whole body.

“Oh, fuck, Harry.”

Harry broke away. “Does that feel good?” he asked, nipping at her inner thigh, before smoothing the area with a kiss.

“Yes, yes,” Quinn responded as Harry resumed his ministrations, quickening the tempo of his tongue. Quinn made an attempt to focus on all of the sensations she felt in the moment, to memorize the feel of Harry’s tongue against her, the silky soft texture of his curls, the little sounds of satisfaction he made as he ravaged her, but she lost all sense of time and place when Harry easily slid two fingers inside of her, deftly coaxing a powerful orgasm out of her.

Quinn opened her eyes, trying to catch her breath when Harry moved from between her thighs, crawling up her body to rest his forehead against hers, panting.

“I could do that for the rest of my life,” he said with a smile. “There are a lot of things I could do with you, actually.”

Quinn smiled dazedly as she traced his jawline. “The rest of your life? Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“If I keep one promise in my life it’s that I’m spending the rest of it with you.” He kissed her, long, deep, hard, and Quinn kissed back, saying all of the things she wanted to say in the moment but couldn’t for fear of crying.

“Harry –”

“I know, Agent Q. You don’t need to say anything.”

“I want you, Harry,” she said. “I want you forever.”

Quinn pawed at the drawstring of Harry’s sweats, finally managing to pull them down, freeing his hard, leaking cock from the confines of his briefs. She adjusted herself below him and when she settled, Harry thrust into her in one swift motion.

Quinn knew he was on the verge of coming apart and as she dug her nails into his shoulder blades, she spoke to him.

“Cum, baby, cum for me.”

Harry lasted about two more thrusts before Quinn felt his hips falter and a distinct warm, sticky, feeling on her thighs. Harry collapsed onto her, kissing all over her face, finally at last landing on her lips. He tightened his grip on Quinn before rolling them onto their sides. He looked into her eyes as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

“I meant what I said just now, Quinn.”

“I know, Harry.”

“One day,” he said, more to himself than Quinn. “One day we’ll make it official.”

***

Quinn could have sworn she’d only been in London for two days, but soon it was time for her to return home. Harry had suggested a full itinerary for her last day in the city, but she protested saying she’d rather spend time with him. Harry eventually compromised, agreeing to a lie-in and leisurely breakfast before heading out for some secret adventure he had planned.

Quinn took her time getting ready while Harry, who usually didn’t care about how fast she did her hair and makeup, followed her around, nagging her to move faster.

“Harry!” Quinn said. “If you keep this up, I’m staying put and not going anywhere.”

When they eventually made it out of the house, Harry walked briskly through the streets, pulling Quinn alongside him until they stopped at an old looking house. Harry opened the gate and led Quinn through the doorway.

“Are we supposed to be here?” she asked. Harry shrugged in response.

They wandered the hallways until Harry stopped in front of a closed door.

“You’re going to need to put this on,” he said, pulling a blindfold from his coat pocket.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Quinn asked. “I know I said I’d do anything with you, but I draw the line at blindfolded sex parties.”

“You think someone is hosting a sex party in this house?”

“Well, you’d want to be inconspicuous–”

“Quinn, just put the blindfold on!”

“OK!”

When her eyes were covered, Harry guided Quinn through the door and helped her sit down on the floor. Eyes still covered, Quinn could sense Harry beside her and could hear the clatter of other people coming in and out of the room. Suddenly, she felt something rough and wet against her hand. She was about to yell at Harry, when he pulled the blindfold from her eyes.

Climbing into her lap was a liver-colored corgi, while two other dogs with darker coats ran towards her. She whipped around to look at Harry.

“So, they aren’t the Queen’s corgis,” Harry said. “She apparently doesn’t rent them out for private events.” He rolled his eyes. “But I have it on good word that these dogs have royal blood and very fancy names.” He pointed at the dog wriggling on her lap. “This one is called Winston if I’m not mistaken.”

More dogs came into the room and Quinn had many questions about where all of the corgis had come from, but all of those inquiries disappeared from her mind when the dogs ran over to cuddle and kiss her and Harry. When playtime was over, Harry managed to get Quinn to leave with zero dogs, despite her pleas that they take at least three.

“You know I was only joking about the corgis,” Quinn said as they strolled home.

“Yes, but when my girl asks for something, she gets it. I also kind of wanted to play with the dogs too,” Harry replied.

The rest of the day was quiet and simple. Whenever an impending departure loomed, Harry and Quinn dealt with it in different ways. Quinn had a tendency to become a bit withdrawn, not wanting to acknowledge that they’d soon be apart, while Harry became even more clingy, touching and hugging Quinn every second he could. That night as they cuddled in bed, Quinn with her ear pressed to Harry’s chest, and Harry with his hands tracing pictures over Quinn’s back, Quinn finally acknowledged what tomorrow would bring.

“At least we won’t be apart for long,” she said, trying to find the bright side.

“Yeah, just a couple of weeks and I’ll be back in the city.” Harry was scheduled to return to New York to continue promoting his album and had lined up a performance on the Today Show. “I’ll get to…what’s the word you used…skulk…around your place of work.”

Quinn dug her nails into Harry’s back and she could feel him squirm with laughter.

“I hope it rains during your concert,” she muttered.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. You look good when your hair’s all wet and disheveled,” Quinn said, yawning.

“Noted,” Harry said. He could tell Quinn was asleep or close to it from the way her breathing had evened out and her grip on his t-shirt had loosened, but he continued to speak. “I’m glad you finally came here Agent Q,” he said softly.

“It’s like the puzzle piece that was missing from my life finally fell into place.”

***

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