Multi-Fandom One Shots

Forever In A Night (Alma Peregrine) SFW

*

Headmistress Peregrine must've managed to seem half-way normal and charming because you ended up walking her home. The bog was treacherous, but she could trek it in her sleep. You, and by extension Miss Peregrine, stopped moving as you followed the tower of the home with your eyes, all the way to the top. Alma draped off your right shoulder like a luggage bag. Her footing was a little off, but she'd only stepped on your foot twice thus far.

She giggled from her facing-down perspective, mustering the strength to look up briefly, just enough to view you. "You've never seen it?"

You scoffed, going into motion once more. "The Murder Mansion in the middle of the woods?" you asked, almost rhetorically. "When I was a child, but that was far before you moved in." Alma stumbled alongside you, a hindrance more than anything. "It doesn't look as dangerous. It looks... beautiful." You looked down at the woman. Your fingertips lifted her chin. "Like its owner..." you mused. You tilted your head down so she knew you were speaking to her now. "Dear, is the door locked?"

Alma nodded longer than was necessary, slowly fishing a pocket watch from her pocket. Her house key was attached and you made both of your ways up to the front steps. Alma stepped on your foot for the 3rd time, but you just let it go and took the key, using it, before dropping them both to support the woman and held the door open with your foot. "Room?" The watch jangled, but bounced once it went as low as it could.

"Upstairs. Last-" she burped, "-left."

You nodded once. "Of course," you whispered defeatedly. The trek was a test of balance and patience as Alma only leaned backwards and laughed.

Eventually, you got her laid, face down, on her bed and you sought out the master bath. It was conveniently attached and you sought the trashcan, leaving it next to her on the ground. On the opposite side of the room, a glass pitcher sat on a table with a glass cup. You poured her some water before turning back to the prone- Not prone, not vuln- well, she was vulnerable in the physical sense, sitting up and shirtless. You kept a tight grip on the cup, lest it fall and shatter. The other hand covered your eyes. "Miss P, I don't think you're-"

"Alma, please," the Headmistress introduced.

You crossed the distance between the table and her bedside table quickly, setting the cup down.

"Help me," she requested in a low voice, a hint of a whine on the tail end.

You allowed the orbs, which tried to do so already, to look. Her hands were behind her, fiddling with her hair. With a sigh, you neared her beside. "Face away from me," you ordered, reaching for the hair bound with enough bobby pins to make a maze.

Strong fingers encircled your wrist and you smelled the trap too late. She pulled you atop her and grinned at the situation. "Help me!" she repeated, finding your weakness. "I could use it after this week."

You smiled compassionately, cupping her face. "You're drunk."

Alma's hands wandered your hair, your clothes, every scrap of exposed skin. "I'm not that drunk." She smiled up at you, her teeth too exposed. And, somehow, it just turned you on more. "You were the conquest since your little kindness. Why do you think I came to the Priest Hole?"

"...Because it's the only bar on the island."

Alma laughed again, pulling you in via your face.

*

Alma had been something of a player in her day. On the flip side, they'd all been young then. Now, the previous evening had been one of her better encounters. She'd have to go back another night and repeat every line. She'd have to get fake sloshed that time.

Alma had to admit to passing out after a time (but she didn't know to admit she'd clung to you too tightly to leave, until you passed out). But the bomb sirens woke her up well. You somehow slept through it, she noticed as she glanced. She picked her pocket watch up from the nightstand, resetting the clock and you, then flopped back onto the bed.

The sun was higher than it should've been when she finally awoke naturally. She checked her watch and jolted. The sun was way too high. She jumped to her feet and found her regular outfit, washed and ironed, hanging in her wardrobe. She was dressed in two seconds flat and raced downstairs to make the children's breakfast.

One teenie, tiny hiccup: breakfast was already done. And in the middle of the nearly tidied-up kitchen was you, dressed still in the wrinkled clothes you'd worn all last night. The leg was even still stained from... Alma, and she saw her lipstick on your collar. She stared, shocked. You rinsed and wrung your rag once more and set about drying and putting away the dishes you'd used.

The kitchen island had 3 large plates and 2 bowels. One place of sausage, one of bacon, and one piled high with pancakes. The bowls held 2 distinct fruits. The places you put the dishes weren't exactly right, but you didn't live here. You placed them in the general assuming vicinity, if you couldn't remember where you got them from.

"You're here," she noted uselessly.

You went to your knees to catch the bug pancake mixing bowl then slid it in the cabinet right there. It was in no way the correct location, but you left it there and stood all the same. You turned, smiled, and greeted, "Good morning! Your alarm clock was going off so I figured your schedule was connected to your children's, but after what you told me about this week, I figured you could use the rest so I turned off your alarm clock and started the most logical task." You smiled again. As you spoke, you sped up until you stopped and paused for a time. "Good morning!" you cheered again.

Alma was paralyzed. Out of everything she could predict, this was not something she even fathomed. You were wearing the same clothes you always did, but they were dirty, from a day of work, like they hadn't reset, just as you clearly hadn't. And you remembered her, and the house you were in, and the children (but everyone knew about them) and every implication she'd supplied of the previous week. "You're here," she repeated.

You slowly lost your smile. "Oh!" you realized, it seemed, too late. It wasn't uncommon for a one night stand to not stay the night. You shook your head. You mistepped. Maybe she hadn't actually wanted the previous evening or she just wanted you to leave so she could forget you. "I'm, sorry. I thought- well, I-" You shook your head again, moving to go around her, head down with the embarrassment. You hoped none of the food spoiled. These were trying times. But it seemed the trying times never ended. You fished your keys from your pocket, babbling another apology.

The woman sidestepped to cut you off, hands extended to catch your shoulders.

You met her eye very suddenly. "I said I'm sorry."

Wonder dawned in her eyes. She understood the mechanics. You weren't in the Home, or anywhere near it, when she reset. You were just like every other peculiar living out the same day in other parts of the world, in her loop. So close yet she missed you. Couldn't tell past her attraction. "Don't be," she assured, a smile growing. "Last night was very pleasant, and I'd enjoy it if you stayed for breakfast." She got closer into your space, though you clearly didn't mind by the dip in your breathing depth. She smiled at your reactions next. "We have much to discuss. But, first, come back upstairs and let me get you into some clean clothes." She turned and you continued in the direction you intended to go.

But you didn't budge and, due to your joined hands, she turned and came back. "You were too that drunk," you quipped, feeling the stirrings of guilt.

She grinned that too wide grin and the guilt was swept away as you were swept upstairs, overtaken by the idea of the woman pulling you by the wrist... dressing you.